Grandparenting; The Good. The Bad. The Incompetent.

I was always told that it is more fun to be a grandparent than a parent. And that is true for a very well understood reason. As a grandparent, one has the luxury of interacting with one’s progeny without the responsibility of rearing them into responsible, well-mannered adults.

Unless, of course, we have agreed to take charge of them for any length of time. When that’s the case, we must act in locus parentis. We must keep them safe. But we must also entertain them with stimulating and enriching diversions, and discipline them when they misbehave.

In theory, that should be a simple job: Just care for them the way, decades earlier, we cared for their parents. Of course, it doesn’t work that way anymore – at least in my situation. I’m expected to parent my grandkids according to the same child-rearing theories and protocols their parents follow. These, I’ve been told, are more enlightened than the crude techniques they remember me using with them.

I can understand the point. Children need consistency. And even if I don’t believe an extra scoop of ice cream will permanently damage a toddler’s brain, there is no absolute need for me to provide one. No matter how adorably the grandchild asks for it.

But when it comes to the activities and interactivity my grandchildren are accustomed to, I must draw a line. I have less energy, emotional elasticity, and physical endurance than I had 20 or 30 years ago. There is a limit to how many times Dado is willing to be pushed into the pool.

Because of such expectations and constraints, I am happy to be the Dado when my grandkids’ parents are present. But as for keeping them safe – i.e., alive, uninjured, and un-kidnapped – while I’m watching them, I’ve established a time-limit of five minutes.

I just can’t imagine how embarrassing it would be to have to say to the mother of one of them, “Gee. I don’t know. He was there when I nodded off. I’m sure of it!”

Luckily for me, I’ve never been asked to be the sole guardian of my grandkids for more than five minutes. If, like me, you think that is a good thing, you may be interested in emulating what I did to get my name checked off the list for long-term care.

Volunteer to be responsible for the children’s pets. And then mindlessly (and honestly) allow them to disappear. I have done this twice in the past five years. And I’m happy to report that each time the animals were eventually recovered. But the lesson was clear: Momo is fine. Dado? Not with my babies!

This has worked out very well for everyone involved. And it has taught me something about grandparental love that I admit and respect. My affection for my grandkids is roughly equal to their affection for me. When they are adorable, I adore them. When they are affectionate, I am delighted, and return the affection. When they want to listen to a story, I’m more than happy to read to them. And when they want to play, I am good for as long as my cardiovascular system allows. But when they are irritable and obstreperous, I leave them to K or their parents. They have no objection. And neither do I.

What kind of grandparent are you? If you’re not sure, click here to read an article that might help you figure it out.