The Second Time Around...Grandparents raising Grandkids

As I sit on the patio, the wind blowing gently, I watch my grandson play on the swing set and in the sandbox. I have to sigh. I get to enjoy him Monday through Thursday from 11:15 until 2:30 when his mom picks him up. And I truly enjoy this part of my day. No matter how tired I am or how trying he is, I love it. He doesn’t talk much and the smile as he gets off the bus and runs past me speaks volumes. It is enough for me.

Yesterday, I was watching old reruns of the series V. Being science fiction fans, my husband and I raised two sons who are science fiction fans. Brandon is the oldest son of my oldest son. He cut his teeth on a Star Trek phaser (not really but it was a possibility if we’d had one). Well anyway, as I watched the show, Brandon walked through the room. He stopped, raised an eyebrow (yes, just like Mr. Spock), ran to the other room, turned off Toy Story, grabbed his juice and ran back into the room, climbing into the recliner with me. I had to chuckle. This show, with all the hokey special effects, would have scared his four year old cousin senseless but Brandon enjoyed it. And I enjoyed having him watch it with me.

This is what being a grandmother is all about. Indulgently opening the jar of chocolate covered raisins for him when he asks for “chocolate”, opening that second bag of chips he shouldn’t have but because I am granny I can excuse it, hitting rewind and letting him watch Toy Story for the umpteenth time. I covet these times and the moments with his baby brother when I am taken by the cheeks and made to look at the cookies as he says “more”. Being a grandmother is about baby giggles, chocolate chip cookies and rice krispie treats. It is about hugs and kisses and snuggles.

Okay, by now, you are sick of the syrup and are wondering just what it is I am preparing you for. The answer to that is the other part of being a grandparent. The part that steps in and takes charge when the parents of your grandchildren just stop trying. When the state takes custody and asks you if you would be willing to raise them. This would be my other son. The father of the other four-year-old, my baby girl. Who brings with her a 7-year-old sister and a 9-year-old brother. There is no hesitation when we say yes, signing on for years of love and support and raising of a new family at the age of 50.

Part of me wants to scream in protest. I have health issues, I have worked hard for my leisure. But even as the protests work their way to my lips, the hazel eyes of my baby girl look up at me and she smiles. The words die a hazy death in the depths of my soul – there is no way I can say no. Under no circumstances can I turn my back on her. The image of her father is in her face, her actions are the same as his at this age. Already she has seen way too much violence and been hurt far too much at the hands of those charged with her care and well being. We have to protect her and her sister. We have to provide a safe haven for her brother to grow and learn how to be a man….the right kind of man. Already he has learned to hit girls and that must be stopped. The girls need to be taught that it is NEVER alright to be hit by the men in their lives.

As I watch Brandon play and occasionally come back for a drink of juice, I covet these times. It is only now I can be a granny. Only when he is alone that I can spoil him. Only when he is alone I can trade kisses and hugs for a handful of chocolate covered raisins. Only when it is just us that I can snuggle with him in the recliner and watch hamster eating aliens get beaten by the good guys.