The Things Grandkids Should Never Have to Worry About When They Visit Grandma

The grandkids came for the weekend a few weeks back. Their parents dropped them off on Friday night and went to stay with friends two towns over. Tom and I had the house full again from Friday supper to Sunday lunch. I was tired by the end of it and I would do it again tomorrow.

Something happened on Saturday morning that stuck with me. One of the little ones knocked over a cup of juice at the kitchen table. The cup hit the floor and juice went everywhere. That child went still. The face went pale and the eyes got wide. It was the look of a kid waiting to find out how much trouble was coming. I grabbed a towel and said it was fine. The child did not believe me right away. It took a minute.

I thought about that look for the rest of the weekend. I started paying attention to the small worries that showed up in the kids’ faces. By Sunday I had a list in my head. These are the ten things I decided a grandchild should not have to carry around in my house. Tom read the list later and added one of his own. I will tell you which one.

Whether spilled juice is a disaster

I will start with the juice. After I wiped up the floor I sat back down. The child was still quiet. I asked if everything was okay. The answer was a small nod. Then a question came. Was I mad.

I said no. I said that cups fall over all the time. I told the story of the time I dropped a whole pot of gravy on Thanksgiving when our oldest was small. Tom chimed in from the sink and said he still remembered the sound. The child laughed a little. The shoulders came down.

Later that day the same child spilled a glass of water. This time there was no frozen face. The child just said oops and went to get a towel. That was the whole thing.

A spill in my kitchen is a towel and a laugh. It is not a verdict on anybody.

If there is enough to go around

On Saturday at lunch I made grilled cheese. I set a plate in the middle of the table with the sandwiches cut into triangles. One of the older grandkids took one triangle and then watched the plate. The other kids each took some. The older one waited until everybody else had gone through before reaching for a second.

I noticed because I used to do that at my own mother’s table when company came. You eat a little and you watch to see if there is more. It is a polite habit in a grown person. In a child at Grandma’s house it is a worry that should not be there.

I made four more sandwiches. I put them on the plate and said there was plenty and there was always more bread in the drawer. The older one took two triangles at once and relaxed.

A kid at my table does not have to count the sandwiches. That is my job.

Being quiet so the grownups can talk

Tom and I had a few things to go over on Saturday afternoon. There was a bill that needed a phone call and a question about the car. We sat at the kitchen table with coffee. The grandkids were in the living room with a puzzle.

One of them came in to ask something. Tom held up a finger and said just a second. The child stepped back and waited by the door. Then another one came in with a different question. That one got shushed too. Within a minute both kids had gone quiet and gone back to the puzzle. They stayed quiet for a long time after that.

I told Tom the car could wait. We went into the living room and sat on the floor with the puzzle. The questions came back. They came back loud and all at once, the way kid questions do.

Grown-up talk at my house can happen after bedtime. The kids come first while they are here.

Whether Grandpa is really mad

Tom has a voice he uses when he is frustrated with a thing. It is not a loud voice. It is low and short. He used it on Saturday when the garage door would not close. He was out in the driveway muttering at the opener. One of the grandkids was on the porch watching him.

The child came inside and asked me quietly if Grandpa was mad. I said he was mad at the garage door. The child asked if he was going to come in and yell. I said no. I said Grandpa gets grumpy at machines and then he fixes them and then he is fine.

Tom came in ten minutes later with grease on his hands. He said the door was fixed. He asked who wanted to help him rake leaves. The same child jumped up and went with him.

A grumpy noise from the driveway is about the garage door. It is not about anybody in the house.

Getting in trouble for an honest question

On Saturday night at supper one of the grandkids asked me why I have so many wrinkles. The table went silent. One of the other kids kicked the asker under the table. Everybody waited to see what I would say.

I said it was because I have been smiling for a long time. Then I said the real answer was that I am old and that is what happens. The kid who asked wanted to know if it hurt. I said no. We talked about it for a few more minutes. The kid who did the kicking looked relieved.

I remember being hushed as a girl for asking honest things. You learn fast to stop asking. I would rather my grandkids ask me anything and get a plain answer.

An honest question at my table gets an honest answer and nothing else.

Being the one who is loved less

Sunday morning two of the grandkids wanted to help me make pancakes. There is only room for one helper at the stove. I picked the one who asked first. The other one went and sat on the step by the back door. The back was turned to the kitchen.

I know that back. All three of my kids had that back at one time or another. It means somebody thinks they came in second.

I handed the spatula to the first helper and went to the step. I asked the second one to be in charge of the syrup and the butter and setting the table. That is a real job and I said so. I also said something I try to say to each of them at some point during a visit. I said I was glad that particular child was here. I used the name. I did not say it to the group.

Each grandkid in my house gets told alone that they are wanted. Not in a bunch. One at a time.

Being sent home for crying at bedtime

Friday night did not go smoothly. The youngest grandchild cried at bedtime. It was the kind of crying that is about missing a parent and a familiar bed. It went on for a while. I sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed a small back.

In the middle of it the child asked if I was going to call Mom to come get everybody. The question stopped me. I said no. I said crying at bedtime at Grandma’s house was allowed. I said nobody gets sent home for being sad.

The child cried a little more and then fell asleep. The next night there was no crying. I think knowing the door would not close helped.

Tears at my house do not end the visit. They are just part of a night.

Keeping something from Mom and Dad

This is the one Tom added. On Saturday I let the grandkids have ice cream before supper. It was a small bowl each. One of them said we should not tell Mom. I laughed and did not think about it.

Tom brought it up that night after the kids were in bed. He said he did not like the sound of it. He said a kid should not leave Grandma’s house carrying a secret, even a small one. I argued that it was just ice cream. He said the ice cream was fine. It was the secret he did not like.

He was right. On Sunday when their parents came to pick them up I told them about the ice cream myself. The kids watched me do it. Their parents laughed. Nobody was in trouble.

What happens at my house can be told at home. There is nothing here to hide.

Breaking something old

I have a glass bowl that was my mother’s. It sits on the sideboard in the dining room. On Sunday one of the grandkids was running through the room and bumped the sideboard. The bowl rocked. It did not fall. The child stood there looking at it as if it had already broken.

I came in and saw the face. I picked the bowl up and moved it to the top of the china cabinet. I said it was my fault for leaving it where somebody could bump it. The child apologized anyway. I said there was nothing to be sorry for.

The truth is that I love that bowl. The other truth is that it is a bowl. My mother used it for potato salad at picnics. She would not want a grandchild walking on tiptoe because of it.

Anything in my house that I could not stand to lose goes up high before the kids come. The rest can take a bump.

Whether they are welcome next time

The car came at noon on Sunday. The grandkids gathered their bags and their drawings and the pinecones they had collected in the yard. At the door one of them asked if they could come back. It was asked carefully. It was asked like somebody who thought the answer might be no.

I said yes. I said the next visit was already on the calendar in my head. Tom said he needed help with the leaves again in two weeks and he could not do it without them. The child grinned and got in the car.

I thought about why the question was asked that way. I think kids hear grown-ups say they are tired. I think they add it up. Two days of noise and spills and crying at bedtime. Maybe Grandma has had enough.

The last thing a grandkid hears at my door is that they are coming back. I say it before they can wonder.

The house was quiet by one o’clock on Sunday. I found a sock under the couch and a drawing on the fridge I did not remember putting there. Tom sat down in his chair and fell asleep with the paper on his lap.

I kept thinking about that first look on Friday night. The juice on the floor and the frozen face. I do not know where a child learns to wait for the worst. I only know that in my house I would like them to unlearn it. That seems like a good use of a grandmother.

What is the one worry you would want gone from your grandkids’ faces the minute they walk through your door?