THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, June 7, 1994 TAG: 9406070038
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: By DEBRA GORDON, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: 940607 LENGTH: Medium
My husband and I hugged each other and danced around the living room in pure joy while our 7-year-old and 18-month-old boys looked on, mouths agape.
{REST} Of course, they were happy that their grandparents - my mother and stepfather - were moving back to the area after four years in Chicago.
Of course, they looked forward to sleepovers and toy-buying sprees, but you didn't see them dancing around like crazy people, did you?
But then, they aren't the parents. To them, grandparents mean toys.
To us, grandparents mean time.
Time to be alone.
Time to clean the house.
Time to sip a glass of wine while Pop-Pop plays basketball with the 7-year-old.
Time to go away for our first weekend together since the baby was born.
Time to read a book while Nana takes the boys to the zoo.
Having your parents move to within a 20-minute drive from you is like suddenly being granted an extra two pairs of hands. It's better than a new car, a promotion AND a raise all rolled into one.
Take a recent Thursday evening, for instance.
My husband had a 4 p.m. meeting in Ghent that would go until 5:30. I had a 4 p.m. interview in Deep Creek that would last until at least 6. The baby needed to be picked up from day care in downtown Norfolk no later than 6; the 7-year-old had to be picked up from after-school care to make it to his T-ball game near the Naval Base by 5:15, and then both my husband and I had to try to make it to the game by 6, with a tired, hungry baby.
But with the grandparents here, I just picked up the phone and dialed Pop-Pop.
Of course, he'd be happy to pick up the 7-year-old and get him to the game.
In fact, he'd even bring the juice and snacks I was supposed to provide for the team.
He'd also have french fries and a hot dog waiting for the 18-month-old, because he knew the baby was always starving right after day care.
Sigh of relief.
But there's more to it than just the physical help. Having the grandparents here enables us to shrug off just a few of our parenting duties, feel just a few ounces of the weight of responsibility slip from our shoulders.
They're the first to notice that the 7-year-old needs new shoes - and buy them for him.
The first to have a tissue handy to wipe the baby's running nose.
Whether they need it or not, I know both boys will get a bath when the grands are around.
And breakfast at the grands' house isn't a bowl of cold cereal - it's homemade french toast.
Then there's the kind of adulation grandparents bestow upon their grandchildren, an all-accepting love that turns our high-maintenance, stubborn-as-a-mule baby into a ``high-spirited, independent and brilliant'' little boy.
The kind of love that leads Pop-Pop to videotape every minute of the 7-year-old's T-ball games, including a mandatory post-game interview - and then go home and watch the game two or three times during the week.
It's a kind of love exhausted, harried parents are incapable of giving - just as our parents were incapable of giving it to us when we were young.
But it's the kind of love every child needs and deserves.
Thank God the grands have the energy to give it to our kids now.
by CNB