I have gathered undeniable proof that my parents love my kids more than they loved me. I’m ok with it; no really, I am. The only reason I even bring it up is to let them know, “Hey, let’s try to keep things in perspective.”
They have a hard time with perspective when it comes to the grandkids. I have compiled a list to help them remember. As they say, the proof is in the pudding. And the pudding is truth-flavored. And it has a side of “grandkids are the best ever…” And I should probably stop that and get to the facts.
Proof number one: They won’t let your kids within two miles of the highway (or 50 yards, whatever.)
I agree with this rule and I also enforce it. However, when I think back to childhood, I can’t help but remember that time mom took us bike riding on the highway with the semis rushing by. I think I was 4 or 5. We rode on the edge of the road. What do they call it again? The safe zone? No, no they don’t call it that because it would be a lie. If you aren’t singing “Highway to The Danger Zone” right now in your head, I don’t even want to know you anymore.
Proof number two: Any time an injury occurs to the grandchildren, you are side-eyed by both of your parents for at least a week after.
The injuries are skinned knees and things of that nature. Standard summer collateral. I don’t think they even realized my knees were supposed to have skin on them until 15 years old. My kids? Endlessly fawned over for injuries.
Proof number three: When you’re crying, yelling and being disorderly, all of the sudden you’ve had “too much to drink.”
When my kids are crying and yelling belligerently, they are all of the sudden “tired.” See the double standard there? Enough to make you sick, isn’t it?
Proof number four: The house is stocked with much better food.
Have you noticed this, people? All of the sudden, where vegetables found their home in the freezer, there are now ice cream sandwiches. What is that business?
Proof number five: They now have the good Band-Aids.
I don’t remember ever getting to have the Band-Aids with the characters on them. They were a waste of money when I was a kid. Apparently for grandkids they are not a waste of money. In fact, they are required. Either that or Papa has an a new Tinkerbelle addiction, and in that case, an intervention might be in order.
I have your number, grandparents. Again, I am totally fine that you like them better. I think they are tops too, but let’s not pretend we don’t know what’s going on here.
And let’s all agree: you’ve gone a little soft.
This post was originally published on Ohmandelynn.