We received a request from one of our family recently, asking were we available to do a spot of grandchild-minding of their three children over a weekend while they flew to Sydney for a break. No trouble we said. We always love to catch up with the grandchildren and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. A whole weekend where we could play games, chat, listen and perhaps even pass on a little wisdom gained from having lived a few more years than their own parents.
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What a nonsense that all proved to be!
We arrived Friday afternoon to find three pages of intricate notes on the kitchen bench. Those notes all proved extremely necessary, detailing the breadth of each of the three grandchildren’s activities, sport, and social events for the weekend. So much for time to play cards or board games. No chance.
On Friday night, teenager number one was meeting his ‘sweet young thing’ for a film and dinner straight after school. Her mother would drive him home.
Saturday morning the same teenager was to be driven to tennis at 7.30am. Grandpa arose at dawn to make sure he and grandson were on time. Mid-morning two further grandchildren arrived for a spot of grandchild-minding for a few hours.
At noon, Rob and I took off to a concert for the afternoon with tickets purchased months before, while the two granddaughters of the house applied umpteen pots of makeup and lotions and potions, emerging briefly when we arrived home before being collected for the evening to share a birthday dinner with friends.
I began to fret when they hadn’t arrived home by 10pm but eventually they bounced in, totally ignored Rob and I as they were obviously exhausted, and disappeared off to sleep until 10 o’clock Sunday morning. By 10pm that same night, the teenage grandson had finally returned. He had disappeared before we returned from the concert. He had been helping a mate film something for a media assignment and who were we to argue. We were just relieved he was safely home.
Sunday morning and the oldest teenage granddaughter set off to ballet and gym classes for the day, with someone’s mother driving everyone home.
Sunday afternoon and Rob and I took the two other grandchildren into Melbourne by train to the Van Gogh exhibition and lunch at South Bank. One problem, no one had told us how popular the exhibition would be. We waited an hour in the queue. When we entered the exhibition it was so crowded we could barely see the paintings. Not a great way to enthuse one’s grandchildren about art galleries. They were fantastic. Not one whinge.
Weekend dishes were stacked endlessly in the dishwasher and food was a continual feast of whatever there was in the fridge and pantry. The untrained labradoodle pup bounced around frenetically and energetically inside and out.
I’ll never complain to my family again about not spending time more regularly visiting the aged and elderly in the country i.e us. These parents are far too busy.
I remember a similar situation when Rob and I, as parents, could barely stop to say hello in the hallway. Teenagers are in a class of their own! It was lovely to be part of our grandchildren’s world if only for a weekend. They do delight us but we were all like ships passing in the night. No time for any deep and meaningfuls. Ah well. They probably wouldn’t listen anyway.
ANNIE YOUNG