LAST MONTH MY MIL, Jean, pleaded with me to watch the children for a week during their school recess. She vowed they would have a marvelous time, so I acquiesced.
For ease, I provided her with $1,000 for provisions and any other necessities they might require, ensuring Jean wouldn’t exhaust her personal funds. Jean was ecstatic. She affirmed to me they would be well-nourished and in excellent health.
But upon my arrival to retrieve them a week later, anticipating their delight with their grandmother, I WAS HORRIFIED.
Everything Jean had guaranteed was a fabrication. She misrepresented herself as the quintessential perfect Grandma figure. But the truth transpired to be appalling for my kids.
“What’s going on, Jean?” ⬇️”What’s going on, Jean?” I asked, my voice tight with barely suppressed panic as I surveyed the scene. The living room looked like a toy bomb had detonated. Candy wrappers littered the coffee table, sticky juice stains marred the rug, and a mountain of unwashed dishes teetered precariously in the kitchen sink. But the true shock wasn’t the mess. It was my children.
My usually vibrant, energetic kids were… listless. They were slumped on the sofa, eyes glazed over, remote controls clutched like lifelines. Their clothes were rumpled, and they had the distinct pallor of children who hadn’t seen daylight in days. My son, normally a whirlwind of activity, barely registered my presence, his thumb stuck firmly in his mouth, something he hadn’t done since he was a toddler. My daughter, typically chatty and inquisitive, just mumbled a barely audible “Hi Mom” before returning her attention to the blaring cartoon on the TV.
Jean, however, beamed at me, oblivious to my mounting horror. “Oh, darling, they’ve had the most *wonderful* time! Absolutely marvelous!” she declared, clapping her hands with genuine enthusiasm. “We’ve been having such fun, haven’t we, dears?” she prompted, nudging my son with her foot. He flinched but remained glued to the screen.
I knelt down, forcing myself to smile at my daughter. “Sweetheart, did you have a good week with Grandma?”
She shrugged, her eyes still fixed on the television. “It was okay.”
Okay? Just okay? This didn’t sound like the ecstatic reports I’d been expecting based on Jean’s promises.
“Okay?” I repeated, trying to keep my voice even. “Just okay? What did you do all week?”
My son finally looked up, his eyes slightly unfocused. “Watched TV,” he mumbled, then popped another sugary cereal puff into his mouth from a half-empty box on the coffee table.
“And played video games!” my daughter chimed in, finally tearing her gaze from the screen for a moment. “And Grandma let us have ice cream for breakfast sometimes!”
Ice cream for breakfast? I turned to Jean, my pleasant façade crumbling. “Jean, what exactly have they been doing all week?”
Jean waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, just having a bit of fun! It’s their recess, darling! They deserve to relax and be spoiled. I let them watch whatever they wanted, eat whatever they wanted, stay up as late as they wanted. I even got them those new video games they were wanting! See? They’re happy!”
She gestured towards my children, who, while perhaps not outwardly unhappy, certainly didn’t look healthy or rejuvenated. They looked… overstimulated and under-nourished.
“Jean,” I said, my voice shaking slightly, “you said you’d make sure they were well-nourished and in excellent health.”
Jean looked genuinely confused. “But they are! They’ve been eating constantly! Look,” she pointed to the overflowing candy wrappers and cereal boxes, “plenty of food!”
“Jean, sugar and processed food isn’t ‘well-nourished’,” I explained, trying to keep my voice calm. “And staying up late watching TV and playing video games all day isn’t ‘excellent health’. They haven’t been outside, they haven’t eaten a vegetable, and they look completely wiped out!”
Jean’s smile faltered. “But… but I thought that’s what kids wanted on vacation! Fun and treats! Spoiling them a bit!”
I sighed, finally understanding. Jean hadn’t been malicious, she’d simply had a completely different idea of what constituted a “marvelous time” for children. She’d equated grandparenting with pure indulgence, a stark contrast to my attempts at balanced parenting.
“Jean,” I said, softening my tone, “I appreciate you wanting to give them a fun vacation, but ‘fun’ for kids isn’t just sugar and screens. They need fresh air, healthy food, and some structure, even on vacation.”
Jean looked thoughtful for a moment, then a little crestfallen. “Oh,” she said quietly. “I… I just wanted them to love being at Grandma’s house.”
I knelt down again, this time pulling my children into a hug. “They do love being at Grandma’s house,” I said, looking at Jean. “But maybe next time, we can try a different kind of fun. How about we plan some walks in the park, maybe bake some cookies together, and read some stories?”
Jean’s face brightened. “Oh, yes! That sounds lovely! We could even plant some flowers in the garden!”
My children, sensing a shift in the atmosphere and the promise of something more engaging, started to perk up. My daughter even smiled, a genuine smile this time.
“Yeah, Mom, can we plant flowers with Grandma?”
I smiled back, relieved. “Absolutely. And maybe we can start with a nice, healthy dinner tonight, okay?”
Jean nodded enthusiastically, and even my sugar-laden son managed a small nod of agreement. The week hadn’t been the idyllic break I’d envisioned, but it had been a learning experience for all of us. Jean learned that “spoiling” wasn’t always the best way to show love, and I learned that sometimes, even well-intentioned grandparents can have a drastically different definition of “fun.” And most importantly, my children, despite their sugar crash, were still my happy, resilient kids, ready for a healthy meal and a fresh start. Perhaps next time, with a little more communication and a shared understanding of “grandma fun,” things would be truly marvelous.