Grandparents are not merely parents gown older. We seem to have developed a kind of sublime perspective on the antics of our grandchildren that comes from age, wisdom, experience and a certain raw mindlessness borne of blind adoration.
Take last night. Our nearly 3-year-old granddaughter visited our close-to-immaculate-since-the-last-child-left house and made a mad dash for the blocks, the crayons, the dolls and the freezer.
Yes, that’s right, she learned how to open the freezer. And how to leave it open...all night...so that the ice melted and dripped all over the hardwood floor, and the Costco chicken breasts completely defrosted, and the ice cream dripped on the formerly iced cinimmon-crunch bread, also from Costco.
“Isn’t that cute,” swooned my husband the grandpa. “See how precocious she is! She can open the freezer!”
“That’s pretty darned smart,” I agreed, temporary amnesia blocking the reaction I’d have had if one of our own children had managed the same impressive feat. “And look what else! She drew a word on the wall with a bright red permanent and completely unwashable marker! ‘FSH.’ She’s going to be a marine biologist!”
The pride was practically palpable. We smiled in blissful serenity.