CAMP GRANDMAMA: A CONFESSIONAL

My grandchildren are simply adorable, no question about it. They own every piece of my heart, which I willingly gave them as soon as they were born.

A couple of months ago, Marcy asked if they could stay with me for a week in June at “Camp Grandmama’s.” Even though I enthusiastically agreed at the time, I thought I would have recovered sufficiently after dislocating my hip in February. But, alas, I am still plagued by pain when I walk. It's like a wounded duck; Karma, for the time I made fun of a teacher’s gait in junior high.
An added “bonus” was their six-pound Maltese, Enzo, who has a bladder problem and wears diapers inside to prevent him from peeing on the furniture. Enzo has to be taken outside for a walk with my dog, Paddy, at least four times a day. I live in a townhouse and don’t have a fenced yard to let him out. Enzo likes to get out of bed by 6:30 AM and cries until you take him outside, feed him, then take him outside again to poop. He has a small bladder and metabolism that operates at the speed of light.
The grandchildren are 4 (Gigi) and 6 (Patrick). They are accustomed to sleeping with their parents, as I did with my daughter until she was nine. When she turned nine, I encouraged her to sleep in her bed after being advised by a therapist that our role as parents was to train our children to be independent. I’m the grandmother in this situation, so I wasn’t about to change anything. My most pleasant memories of my grandmother were sleeping with her during family visits, which I did until I graduated high school. She told the best stories in a high-pitched voice as we lay in the darkness. I wanted to be that kind of grandmother, but my grandchildren are used to watching their electronic devices until it’s time for sleep. I’m unsure if my stories are decent enough for young children. The two kids and two dogs overtook my king-sized bed while I slept on 5 inches of the mattress at the edge. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall off, but the two dogs and two kids were on top of various parts of my body, thus anchoring me in place. One night, I was awakened by what I thought was a mouse crawling over my face. Instead, Gigi’s hand smacked my eyes as she slept like a restless baby. Another night, I was startled awake by Patrick’s finger sticking in my ear and his knee stabbing my breast. Don’t judge me for allowing this because I loved their warm bodies in my bed.
Young children require lots of energy and patience. Unfortunately, I don’t possess either of those traits, especially now in my current physical state. After a day of feeding them multiple times (“I don’t like it”), doing laundry because one must change into clean clothes at least twice a day, entertaining them (“I’m bored”), watching them fight in the pool, and gingerly walking dogs multiple times, I would be exhausted as the evening rolled around. My grandson’s willingness to store the toys after playing with them was the only saving grace. Patrick’s a trooper! My patience was gone by the end of the day, and I would get short with them. I immediately regretted losing my patience. After all, I wanted to be the kind of grandmother who was ALWAYS sweet and loving. The type of grandmother my grandmothers were and the kind of grandmother I imagine my friends are.
We had lunch with two of my friends on our last day together. The children ordered a dreadful-looking quesadilla, so I didn’t blame them for not eating it. After our lunch in the restaurant, I knew they were still hungry. I asked what they wanted for lunch. They both screamed, “McDonald’s.” After waiting at least 30 minutes in the drive-through, they each received their Happy Meal. As I drove from McDonald’s, Patrick dropped his frozen drink on the floor on Gigi’s side of the car. When I opened her door, out spilled her boxed meal. I loudly yelled some curse words (bad Grandma!), retrieved what I could of the drink and food, and continued down the road. I overheard Patrick say under his breath, “One more day, Gigi.” Gigi responded, “I don’t want my hamburger.” At that moment, I wondered how I would get through the next 24 hours. When I told the story to my daughter a few hours later, we laughed out loud. Out of the mouths of babes. Poor things.
Camp Grandmama might not have been a rousing success, but thank goodness the three of us (and the dogs) survived. Despite my short temper and impatience, my grandchildren enjoyed themselves and still love me. I’m not sure I deserve their love, but I’m confident of my love for them. Did I mention that I am missing them now, and it’s only been two days since I last saw them?! I hope they come back soon.


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