I am in grandma heaven when my four-year-old grandson comes to spend the night. The sweetness of his presence touches my heart.
He says the cutest things. Last week he mentioned, “When I was a baby, I didn’t even know your name.”
He also said, “I love that you made a room for me.”
(I think I will keep track of these statements going forward.)
I recall the days of being a working mother. I felt pressure to keep on schedule. A measure of anxiety accompanied dinner time and bedtime and playtime and bath time. You name it, stress was embedded in all of it.
As a grandmother, this no longer exists. I consider it a gift.
We enjoy our bowl of popcorn with a show. We prepare pancakes in the morning.
He paints at his easel without time limit restraints.
He realizes there is no rush at grandma’s house. Extended time in the bathtub is one more perk for him.
We snuggle up for storytime, followed by a song or two. Then, after we turn off the light, he plays with the flashlight. He points toward the ceiling and onto the walls. He asks me the names of each planet in his solar-system mobile.
We play our “kiss once, kiss twice, kiss twice again” ritual before bedtime. I allow repeats.
Do you agree with me?
Children plus “un-pressured time” equals joy.