I’m lucky enough to live in the same town as my three grandchildren, and lucky enough that their parents allow them to have overnight visits on a regular basis. I love my grandkids and enjoy spending as much time with them as I can.
Yesterday, I was visiting the two younger ones while their folks took a well-deserved break for an off-Cape shopping trip.
Almost as soon as the van left the driveway, the kids started lobbying for an overnight.
I must admit that I enjoy my granddaughter’s visits the most. She’s not a TV addict like the boys, she likes to help around the house (last time, she and I cleaned the floors, I swept, she mopped) and in the good weather, she enjoys gardening.
My oldest grandson likes to stay in the house, so I can usually keep him busy with board games (he beats me) and, when I can get my hands on them, science kits.
Still, it irritates me that he keeps the TV on, especially when his younger brother, James, almost age six, tags along.
Occasionally, James is able to play with my next door neighbor’s little boy. That’s probably good for an hour. If we remember to throw James’ bike on the truck, that’s good for another hour.
The rest of the time is a challenge, though. He’s really too young for most board games and, except for doing the Shake part of Shake’N Bake, he’s not much for cooking.
Yesterday, he asked – too many times – about an overnight. When I said that was up to his folks, I’d asked them, and they’d promise to call back with an answer, he’d dissolve into tears and wails. This repeated over and over and OVER again.
I honestly couldn’t figure it out, since he has every possible toy at his own house (“boring!”) and a good-sized, fenced-in yard with a swing set (“boring!”). What was the big attraction about an overnight with me?
He FINALLY admitted the real reason: I have Cartoon Network on my cable service and I permit them to watch it, while “Daddy doesn’t”.
Well, good for Daddy, as far as I’m concerned. I HATE Cartoon Network, loathe it, and they know it. It makes me nuts when they watch it, but I figured it was part of their standard leisure-time fare, so have always gritted my teeth and endured it, high-pitched, screeching voices and all.
Now, I have every excuse to be the “mean” Grandma: next time they come over, I’m putting a block on that hideous channel. Maybe I’ll leave out a mop and a broom for them if they get “bored”.