LITTLE PEOPLE CONVENTION

Queenie and Pa, back in the parenting saddle.

We just completed three weeks hosting 6 of our grandchildren – the 7^th unfortunately still in lockdown in California, which is competing with Venezuela for world’s longest running citizenry abuse – and it was a tiring blast.

Week one featured the first group, parents plus a 9,7, and 5 year old; week two “Queenie and Pa solo”, those three without their parents, who had gone home to ‘work’; and week three, our daughter with a 5, 2 and 7 month old. Her husband had stayed home to ‘work’.

One of my many reflexes gone bad is my excuse making, or I would have gone somewhere to ‘work’. 

There was a brief period of overlap, with all 6 here. I know that seems like a lot of tracking detail, but we feared losing one while they were in our care. Returning 84% of the kids may sound impressive, but…

‘The Uncles’ joined the mix for a while, and they may have been higher maintenance than the kids. At least the grandkids didn’t need the crusts cut off their sandwiches.

Retirees love routine – always helps to know what time your hip is going to act up – and it’s critical to keep the crowd entertained and calm, and ours featured: beach, pool, beer, donuts, nap time and beer.

What the kids were doing, who knows, but I assume they had fun.

A tough parenting transition is when your children leave their ‘innocence phase’, and turn into ‘adults’. But both have their memorable moments:

Their first words to spending days on their phones;

Their first steps to their first car accident;

Doing chores to earn allowance to demanding government debt cancellation;

Leaving for college to moving back into the basement.

We were nervous that the 9 year old may be ‘outgrowing’ the beach -missing his friends and activities at home – but he came around quickly, and assumed his place as ‘alpha cousin’.

Each set of parents has their own parenting styles, each equally effective, but importantly they are both built on routine: their kids know what to expect and when, there are tablet and TV limits, and there is bed time. The latter blessedly ensured an end to the day, and some adult time.

Where they learned how to parent is a mystery, as we made it up as we went along.

We did allow them to use our tablet to access arts and crafts tutorials on YouTube – I believe the internet is here to stay, check it out – but were careful to limit their search activity.  

But we found some ‘non-educational’ search history: “Best toy shops in the area”, “Pa’s criminal record”, and “The meaning of expunged”.  

During the ‘overlap’ period’, there was a lot of whispering and map drawing, and each of the cousins had a code name.

Suddenly, whenever we Wazed, it took us to a local ice cream joint, the Roku could only access Minecraft, and Alexa would only respond to requests with “Ask Henry”.

It brought back so many great memories of our parenting days; though at this point, we’ll take memories of anything.

But taking care of your grandchildren is like renting a car – you’re not too concerned about how much mileage you put on them or their condition when you return them.

We love being GPs and realize how lucky we are to have time with them, savoring every moment while we can, knowing that someday they’ll turn into their parents.

But for a glorious few weeks, time paused, and we were able to enjoy them in their current state of development.

For 118 more posts like this –each with the crusts cut off – go to beersatthenifty.com

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TO ENHANCE YOUR ENJOYMENT OF THIS POST, PAIR IT WITH THE FOLLOWING SONGS:

Chalkhills and Children   XTC

I’m floating over strange land,
It’s a soulless, sequined, showbiz moon.
I’m floating over strange land,
And then stranger still, there’s no balloon.
But I’m getting higher,
Wafted up by fame’s fickle fire ’til the…

Chalkhills and children,
Anchor my feet.
Chalkhills and children,
Bringing me back to earth,
Eternally and ever Ermine Street.
(Even I never know where I go when my eyes are closed.)

I’m skating over thin ice,
Upon blunted blades of metal soft.
I’m skating over thin ice,
While some nonesuch net holds me aloft.
But I’m getting higher,
Lifted up on lucks’ circus wire ’til the…

Chalkhills and children,
Anchor my feet.
Chalkhills and children,
Bringing me back to earth,
Eternally and ever Ermine Street.

Even I never know where I go when my eyes are closed.
Even I never spied that the scenes were posed.
Even I never knew this is what I’d be.
Even eyes never mean that you’re sure to see.

Still I’m getting higher,
Rolling up on three empty tyres, ’til the…

Chalkhills and children,
Anchor my feet.
Chalkhills and children,
Bringing me back to earth,
Eternally and ever Ermine Street.

I’m soaring over hushed crowds,
The reluctant cannonball it seems.
I’m soaring over hushed crowds,
I’m propelled up here by long dead dreams.

Still I’m getting higher,
Icarus regrets and retires puzzled.

Chalkhills and children,
Anchor my feet.
Chalkhills and children,
Oddly complete.
(Even I never know where I go when my eyes are all closed.)

Here I go again.

You never know  Wilco

Come on, children, you’re acting like children
Every generation thinks it’s the end of the world
All you fat followers, get fit fast
Every generation thinks it’s the last, thinks it’s the end of the world

It’s a dream down a well, it’s a long, heavy hell
I don’t care anymore, I don’t care anymore
It’s a fear we transcend if we’re here at the end
I don’t care anymore, I don’t care anymore
You never know

Come on, kids, you’re acting like children
Act your age, get back to black metals and pearls
Oh, all you sword swallowers, pull yourselves together
Every generation thinks it’s the worst, thinks it’s the end of the world

It’s a secret I can’t tell, it’s a wish down a well
I don’t care anymore, I don’t care anymore
It’s a long, heavy hell, synthesizer Patell
I don’t care anymore, I don’t care anymore
But you never know

Ah, you never know

I don’t care anymore, I don’t care anymore
It’s a secret I can’t tell, it’s a wish down a well
I don’t care anymore, I don’t care anymore
It’s a fear to transcend if we’re here at the end
I don’t care anymore, I don’t care anymore
I don’t care anymore, I don’t care anymore
But you never know

Ah, you never know

We’ll inherit the earth  The Replacements

“Shocking how nothing shocks anymore, “
The message read as it washed ashore
Skies turn black as my eyes look down
Written on the back are these words I’ve found:

“We’ll inherit the earth but we don’t want it
It’s been ours since birth, what’cha doin’ on it?
We’ll inherit the earth but we don’t want it
Layin’ claim at birth, what’cha doin’ on it?”
Waterfalls of grain flow through our hands
We’re too weak to stand and too weak to stray
Big trees sway and the air is still
Lovers climb at the top of a hill and say

“We’ll inherit the earth but we don’t want it
It’s been ours since birth, what’cha doin’ on it?
We’ll inherit the earth but we don’t want it
Laid our claim at birth, what’cha doin’ on it?”

We watch the world from the padded cell
And our eyes scream what our lips must quell
Oh, well…

Last bundle of twigs grew strong and young
We can’t hold our tongues at the top of our lungs

We’ll inherit the earth but don’t tell anybody
It’s been ours since birth, and it’s ours already
We’ll inherit the earth but don’t tell anybody
It’s been ours since birth, and it’s ours already
We’ll inherit the earth but don’t tell anybody
Sister’s Clothes

I got my hands in my pockets and I’m waiting for the day to come
(Inherit the earth
Inherit the earth…)

Big Sister’s Clothes Elvis Costello

Sheep to the slaughter, oh I thought this must be love
All your sons and daughters, in a strangle hold with a kid glove
She’s got eyes like saucers, oh you think she’s a dish
She is the blue chip that belongs to the big fish

But it’s easier to say “I love you”
Than “Yours sincerely”; I suppose
All little sisters like to try on big sister’s clothes
Big sister’s clothes

The sport of kings, the old queen’s heart
The prince in darkness stole some tart
And it’s in the papers, it’s in the charts
It’s in the stop press before it all starts

With a hammer on the slap and tickle under grisly garments
With all the style and finesse of the purchase of armaments
Compassion went out of fashion
That’s all your concern meant
Sweat it out for thirty seconds on home improvements

But it’s easier to say “I love you”
Than “Yours sincerely”; I suppose
All little sisters like to try on big sister’s clothes
Big sister’s clothes
Big sister’s clothes
Big sister’s clothes

We Live Again  Beck

These withered hands
Have dug for a dream
Sifted through sand
And leftover nightmares
Over the hill
A desolate wind
Turns shit to gold
And blows my soul crazy

The end
O the end
We live again
O I grow weary of the end

O hungry days
The footsteps of fools
Gazing alone
Through sex-painted windows
Dredging the night
Drunk libertines
Stink like a colognes
From the newfangled wasteland

The end
O the end
We live again
O I grow weary of the end

Love is a plague
In a mix-match parade
Where the castaways look so deranged
When will the children learn
To let their wildernesses burn
And love will be new never cold and vacant

These withered hands have dug for a dream
Sifted through sand and leftover nightmares

The end
Of the end
We live again
Oh I grow weary of the end

Pa Said   The Grandchildren Seven

“Careful in the parking lot, Don’t run,

Put that back, Don’t hit your sister, Isn’t this fun?

Use a plastic glove to get the donuts, Don’t hit your cousin,

The Winn Dixie doesn’t need to know there are 32 in our Bakers Dozen,

Always remember Queenie and Pa love you,

Don’t hit your Brother, Grow up to be strong and true”