When I got home from work one day last week, my younger stepdaughter was there with our older grandson, who is 3. I didn’t get to see them very long, but they had been visiting with my husband, who had obviously been quite busy entertaining our grandson, evidenced by the many toys scattered around the house.
As I was preparing my cat’s dinner in the kitchen, I heard a delighted shriek from the living room and peeked around the corner to see what was up. My husband was “sneaking up” on our grandson, wiggling his fingers in the universal “I’m going to get you” gesture, and our grandson was laughing and screaming at the same time, trying to hide behind a sofa pillow. (It didn’t work, by the way).
My stepdaughter said they had to leave for something they had going on with Psycho (my husband’s ex and my stalker), so we walked them outside. My husband picked up our grandson and put him on his shoulders, then turned him upside down, which he loved. In between laughing and shrieking, he breathlessly said, “Again!” until my husband scooped him up again.
I love watching my husband turn into a very tall little boy when he is playing with the grandkids, and I love watching our grandsons laugh and smile as he entertains them. The problem came when it was time to get into the car, and our grandson realized he was leaving.
He stopped laughing. Stopped smiling. At first it was a simple, “No”, but when he was lifted into his car seat, he burst into tears, pushed at my stepdaughter’s hands as she buckled him in, and then called out for his granddaddy.
I could tell it was getting to my husband. He hid it, leaned into the car, told our grandson they would see each other soon, and tried to comfort him. And as I watched, I was taken back to this exact same, much-too-familiar, very unpleasant scenario, played out countless times, when it was time for the kids to go back to Psycho: tears, sobbing, stalling, not wanting to go, and us having to explain that we would see them again soon, but nothing comforted them.
Our grandson was still crying as the car backed out of the driveway. My husband stood in the driveway, waving as they left, calling out “I love you” and “Be careful” until he couldn’t see them anymore. I remembered him waving to the kids as we drove away so many times after dropping them off, never showing them anything but a smile and cheery promises to be together again soon, trying to get them to laugh instead of cry.
When our older grandson is with Psycho, by all accounts, nothing is much different than it ever was with the kids: shove a TV, phone, other screen into his face so she doesn’t actually have to interact, play with, teach, or discipline him. Once the selfies are done, just go away, kid. What use could she possibly have for him anymore?
When he is with us, we go outside, make up games, chase each other, go to the park, push him on the swing, actually talk to him, and teach him. My husband and I have joked about what a workout it is when the grandkids are with us, because we are on the floor or in the yard with them, in constant motion, the entire time.
It’s no wonder our grandson didn’t want to leave. He was having fun. He was being treated like a valued person, being loved. He’s not just a photo opportunity, attention supply, or pawn to us. He may only be 3, but he certainly feels the difference already.
Damn…some things never change, do they?
Sweat & Sparkle 