To Grandparents' House We Go
“Time does not change us. It just unfolds us.” - Max Frisch
I never realized this until today. Maybe over the years you’ve noticed it too…
The transition to “grandparents” isn’t as instantaneous as I believed. As a child, I just always remember them as my grandparents. After I was born, that’s what they always were. And when we visited, we went to my grandparents’ house.
There were toys… and fragile “don’t touch” things… and one too many broken wooden spoons every time I visited (My specialty); The chores we were asked to help with; the specific rooms we slept in.
And it was always my grandparents’ house. That’s all it ever felt like - my grandparents’ house.
And… now as a grandparent, I’m realizing… it doesn’t just BECOME a grandparents’ house. This should have been obvious.
It wasn’t obvious to me.
Until today.
When I first was told I was going to be a grandfather, it will be no surprise that I was excited. I hugged my daughter and hubby… and then I recorded a couple dad jokes with them. You don’t have to believe me, the proof is in the dad jokes playlist.
And after that day… until today… when I would tell others I was about to become a grandfather, when I refer to myself as a grandfather, I immediately smile and get energized, while at the same time feeling…. well. Old.
I’m older than my mom was when I fathered her first grandchild. So perhaps that feeling makes sense. I can see why some grandparents fight to act young. I like to think I’m different… I don’t want to act young. I exercise and lift weights and do HIIT functional fitness to be able to move like when I was young. And I’m okay with my age. I just also want good health with my age. And someone out there is looking at me and whispering that I’m going through a midlife crisis. (And if they aren’t, I might not be trying hard enough)
My second granddaughter is a month away. At most. Her older sister is nearly two years old. And still - when I say I’m a grandparent it makes me come alive, and I’m instantly tired. It’s such a dichotomy of simultaneous feelings for me.
I watered the flowers in my front room today. And I stopped and looked at them.
I never kept a single house plant alive… until those plants… well. Until those plants had a story.
The first one is lilies I bought my wife for Valentine’s Day the first year I wasn’t traveling for work (honestly because I knew part of the gift was ME keeping them alive). And then the assortment we were given when my mother in law passed away, and my MIL’s Christmas cactus we inherited. And the gift from Sara’s employers. The 3 large potted plants I bought to add color to the backyard for my daughter’s wedding. The succulents my kids brought home from some potting event, and we actually kept alive (because every one we ever “bought” before that we did not)… and the tiny yellow rose bush that was bought in memory of my sister.
The stories made them matter. The stories gave them extra TLC.
And maybe that’s what makes the difference.
Stories. In this case - of Plants. In my home.
A grandparents’ home.
How do you know? Because on the shelves just below the plants are dozens of children’s storybooks.
Some books 30+ yrs old. Some weeks old.
My granddaughter and I… We go to “the library” (this front room) and pick out books to read every time she comes over. We will water the plants together and then pick out a book (or three). We might lay on the floor, sit on the chair by the books. or go back to the couch.
I smiled.
And my eyes opened with realization. I began to look around the rest of my home. Every room a mix of the same. The item with a story, the old and inherited items, the gifts, the young and new additions.
The “piece” that shows our age.
The next one that says we’re still parents of a nearly 16 yr old.
The gift - sometimes reminds of a heartbreak, and sometimes it gives a happy wistful smile, a recalled memory.
The new toy, which is also sometimes old - pulled out of storage, or recently purchased… somehow always slipped in between the “relics.”
Kids magnets and Artwork back on the fridge
Dolls and their stroller, in whatever nook it found its way into this week
A toy bin that is more attractive than practical
A playhouse … next to our basket of comfy blankets for the couch
Tiny legos and really big building blocks, next to charcuterie serving trays
A college daughter’s bedroom which quickly transforms into the granddaughter’s room with a portable set up crib… as she gets older… whose room will she remember it belonging to? As a child, I can’t remember whose bedroom I would sleep in, though I definitely remember the rooms. They must have belonged to my parent, or their siblings… and it was always our room. Did I know then?
Rubber duckies surrounding the jacuzzi soaking tub… with bottles of no tears shampoo. Wasn’t too long ago we debated getting rid of the tub in preference of an oversized shower
Step stool in powder rooms, toddler toilet seat, faucet extender
Baby spoons next to luxury steak knives
Bottles next to martini glasses and coffee mugs (okay… that may be “new” parent too )
Stuffed Monkeys hanging on surround sound speakers.
You got me. I lied. That last one was definitely since my oldest was in middle school.
Huh. I have a stuffed animal hanging off a speaker that is older than my youngest daughter.
It’s a pirate monkey. Which probably doesn’t help my case. I just thought it was fun.
Is it still helping me feel young?
Even as my granddaughters visit this home.
Mimi and Jaja’s house… to them it will always be “our grandparents’ house”
The mix of toys, old and new… next to fragile “do not touch” items, and chores their grandparents don’t actually need help with (and probably take more time because of the help), and really like you coming along beside them: Watering the plants, giving Kooper treats, washing the dishes, making muffins.
This grandparents’ house that two years ago was just a parent’s house…. And twenty five years from now will be a great-grandparents house.
Oof. Young. Old. Exciting. Exhausted. Energizing. And ever-moving through across this spectrum we call life.
