Grandson: Mamoo, you aren’t a stereotypical grandmother…..you’re legit.
Me: What’s a stereotypical grandmother?
Grandson: One who knits ugly sweaters and does boring stuff.
That was such a cool compliment. He did have an ulterior motive, though, because he wanted me to take him to the mall. And the idea about knitting sweaters must have come from TV.
Notice he didn’t mention the scarves I knit. None of my grandchildren wear the scarves, so I’ve stopped knitting for them.
This is the part of the post where I want my own children to stop reading.
The standard saying is that we love our children unconditionally. And that our parents loved us unconditionally. That isn’t exactly true. I love my children with every cell in my body, but there are some issues with that.
With our children, we get mad and feel guilty about their transgressions. What did I do wrong? I am a firm believer in natural consequences to inappropriate behavior. If I were going to take one of my kids out when they were in middle school or high school, and they were rude about it, or threw a fit about it…..natural consequence. I wouldn’t take them. Oh, what a responsible mother I am. A bad report card? Oh no, I didn’t help them enough. Or what is wrong with them that they aren’t studying enough?
Every achievement and every bad decision they make reflects on the parents. Great achievements? “They must have had such a wonderful upbringing.” Every bad decision? “I wonder what goes on in that house.”
But then the grandchildren arrive. Total unconditional love. No guilt on our part. If they screw up, we think of ways to help them. No taking credit away from them by thinking of their successes, phew, we did a good job.
Is it because we’re a generation removed? Maybe, because in my case, they don’t live with me? Sleepovers are awesome, visits a treat. Perhaps it is our visceral reaction to seeing our DNA is being passed down to yet another generation.
I think it’s just love, without our putting conditions on that love.
My opinion. But, to my grandson? I’m……