This grandparent gig has no rivals.
You listen to the infectious laugh of 14-month-old Vivian and say to yourself: “This is the purest, most joyful sound in the universe.’’ In the next moment, you wince as she jumps on your groin. It resembles an America’s Funniest Home Videos segment without being heavily edited or contrived.
Or minutes later, you are reading “Go, Dog. Go!’’ with 3-year-old Wes and he takes over the reading. “Do you like my hat?’’ He adds his own emphasis to the response: “I doooo!’’ He gives you the ultimate compliment by taking home one of your ballcaps.
We love having them visit for a once-in-a-lifetime solar eclipse. We love having them visit anytime, but we can’t wait for them to leave … so we can nap.
That’s when the work begins.
You want to break that evil child gate that has blocked the basement stairs. But you glare, remove it and patiently stow it for the next visit.
The gate has been the bane of the weekend, forcing you to climb three feet over it at the top of the basement stairwell, twist, and execute a nimble descent down the stairs to the home computer. If Olympic authorities ever open the Grandparent Games, I’m well prepared for the balance beam or something resembling rhythmic gymnastics. Balance the stack of bills, don’t drop the sandwich, duck your neck because you’re too tall, and the key – don’t miss a step. I am fit enough to join The Flying Wallendas.
With the gate stowed, you move on to the next task.
There are toys to pick up. The antique pull toy – it dings when you pull it — needs its two clowns reattached. They are under the couch.
The little fold-out foam sofa and toddler’s highchair are returned to the dark corner in the basement. You bid happy trails to the rocking horse too.
The portable crib – gosh, if they only affixed folding directions to the side – must be returned to its bag. But first, wash the sheets.
Toss out the sugar cookies with images of bunny rabbits. Sure, they are tasty, but the longer they linger on the counter, the greater the chance your blood sugar skyrockets.
That only leaves the coffee table. You need to restore the antique tray and the arrangement of candles that were treated like hand grenades.
What’s an hour or two of disassembling a child-proofed home? The vintage glass power pole insulators are returned to a table, framed pictures are hauled down from a high shelf, and antique bottles regain their place on a console.
It sure beats the 5-1/2 drive through the snow to Reading, Pa. Occasionally, you’ll find a landmark like the Alibi Hotel in Minersville. I wonder if it resembles the Alibi bar in Shameless. We’ll have to stop someday.
Or we could be sleeping on the air mattress with the slow leak. Halfway through the night, you feel like you’re at sea as the bed rolls beneath you.
We have nothing to complain about, even if the clouds obscured the eclipse.
You check your phone and revel over the grandchildren’s pictures. You appreciate the hugs and smiles and laughter, the chance to bond with the next generation, and you value watching your children parent their own children.
Every grandparent simply wants to forge a relationship with the wee ones and be acknowledged as the aging saints who fuss over them. We spoil them a bit, then send them packing. It’s a blessing.
If you are too worn out, take another nap. Or see if there’s an Internet market for unused eclipse glasses.
Morristown native Jim Holleran is a retired teacher and sports editor from Rochester. Reach him at jimholleran29@gmail.com or view past columns under “Reflections of River Rat’’ at https://hollerangetsitwrite.com
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