Grandma Guilt
Probably most people reading this—grandma or grandpa—adore their grandchildren. You
anxiously awaited the birth of the first one and now you can’t see them nearly often
enough to suit you. Oh, I know the old saying, “It’s great to have them come, and
it’s great to have them go home.” But if the other grandparents I know are to be believed,
their grandchildren are the light of their eyes and their grandchildren adore them!
But I have no idea how many of you actually feel guilt about their grandparenting
or lack thereof.
Origins of Grandma Guilt
I know a lot of women who strongly dislike Mother’s Day, including me. All we feel
we get out of it is a lot of accolades that make us feel guilty about the things we
aren’t doing and maybe a little plant that adds to the number of things we must take
care of. There is a Grandparents’ Day, but at least in my world it doesn’t get nearly
the attention that Mother’s Day does, and so it is not the cause of my Grandma Guilt.
My Grandma (aka Nana) Guilt doesn’t come from what I see on the Internet, either. It comes from observing all the things my two sisters and those in my circle of friends and acquaintances do with their grandchildren. Maybe what I see as my faults have their roots in the fact that as the oldest daughter of nine children, I had helped my mother raise a family before I even got married, and then I raised five of my own. I’ve been there, done that!
I thought I was smarter and that it would be easier raising my own children than helping my over-burdened mother raise hers. Of course, I was wrong. By the time I had three, I wondered, “What was I thinking?” We had number four to keep number three company. Again, “What was I thinking?” Number five was a four-years-later surprise. I had pre-school kids for 18 years!
Besides managing all the well-known chores of child rearing, I found that I didn’t have the patience to play with Barbies, trucks, building blocks or Play Doh for more than about 20 minutes at a time. I read books to myself while I bottle-fed them, and when my kids wanted me to “play,” I set a timer to let them and me know we were now free to do something else. I cheered rather than cried when each one went off to school for the first time.
History Repeats Itself
I now have 15 grandchildren—nine girls, five boys, and one great-grandson. The oldest
one turned 30 this July and the youngest turned 5 in January.
The grandbabies were adorable, but I didn’t love taking care of them, even though I would tend them as needed. I’ve had the same feeling about playing with them as I did with my own kids. The only thing I really love to do is read to them, even though I have my limits there, too, and now all but one can read without my help. I must admit that because most of them are older, can talk to me intelligently and are becoming interesting people, I enjoy being with them more.
My mom loved it when our whole family of nine, plus spouses and grandkids was together. I didn’t. Our kids cried when we moved back to Utah after 20 years in Massachusetts and we were expected to attend huge family gatherings at Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter. After about a year, much to my mom’s dismay, we opted out, saying our family was big enough and old enough to continue making our own holiday traditions.
Our traditions now include our own, growing-in-size family gatherings on Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, Memorial Day, July 4th, Pioneer Day and Labor Day. I know! What am I thinking! Our middle son’s family, who lived in VA for a few years. has opted out of Christmas Eve in pursuit of their own family traditions. Some of the older grandchildren don’t come to anything if they can snag a “better” invitation. I get it!
Comparing Myself to Others
Our only daughter, her two kids and the one great grandson live in Indiana, so it’s
never the whole family, yet on the recent, very hot Pioneer Day, we had 20 people
for an indoor picnic. The grandkids who were here all missed their grandpa (aka Papa),
gone two years now. Dennis would always disappear to play with them, leaving me and
other grown-ups to prepare the dinner. At the time, I saw it as him abandoning me,
but now I feel guilt over what I could have done and should do in the future to deserve
such adoration. Someone has to be in charge of the dinner!
Still, I’m left with the feeling that my husband was much better at being a grandpa to our grandchildren than I am at being a grandma. Keeping in touch with my grandkids is an ongoing struggle for me, especially with those who are no longer in public school. I still try to attend school programs for those who have them, but that doesn’t really involve much communication. I have to settle for them knowing I care and was there. And what do young adults want to do with their grandparents?
I asked my hairdresser (aka therapist) what she does with her grandchildren, and she gave me a list so long that I can only remember two or three things—like she always has treats and a little toy for them, hosts yearly family reunions, and she will always play any game that they ask her to play. Even though she tried to talk me out of it, she is a perfect example of why I feel Grandma Guilt!
A Few Things I Do Right?
I’m not a total failure. This past year I’ve managed to have a one-on-one birthday
restaurant lunch with 10 of the 15. That’s a new goal I’ve set for myself. For years,
every day-before-Thanksgiving I have had a “Baking Day” for those who want to learn
to make pies, twice-raised rolls and stuffing (dressing?) for the turkey. I have two
granddaughters who have become pie crust and rolls experts and two granddaughters
and one grandson who are aspiring to become such. I try to remember to ask all who
can read about the books they’re reading, and I’ve even read some of them. I took
two granddaughters to see “Wonder Woman” because I liked the message. Does that count?
Tomorrow I’m tending my three youngest grandsons, ages five, seven and ten. I’m thinking I’ll take them on a bug collecting expedition around the yard. However, that probably will only last for 30 minutes or so. I’ll have them for about five hours! Maybe we’ll make cookies and watch a movie while we eat them. I still have a few hours to come up with some other things that might make this a memorable day at Grandma’s house. Chances are I’ll still have Grandmother Guilt when my son picks them up.
I guess that, like being “a good mother,” there’s always more any grandma could do, but I feel like I’m on the low end of the scale if you tally up what I do. Maybe A.I. can give me some ideas for activities with grandchildren that even I will enjoy. On the other hand, maybe I don’t really want to know. It might make me feel even more guilty because there’s no guarantee I’ll do them.