When the grandkids amaze

It was a good visit, I’d say. A successful bit of grandparenting. All made possible by the charm of Matilda and Elliott.

What made the difference on this occasion was, I feel, that I was communicating better with them than before, making the relationship much closer. That’s probably because, although I’m awkward with babies, Matilda’s now close to her third birthday and decidedly not a baby but a little girl. Actually, not that little, as my arms testify whenever I carry her any distance.

Matilda ready to slide

As for Elliott, he’s driven by a powerful urge to do everything his sister does – he was walking at ten months and walking well – which may explain why my relationship has deepened with him as it’s deepened with her. 

Whatever Matilda can do,
Elliott reckons he can do too

To be honest, it does occur to me that I’m coming up with arrant nonsense here. The change may all be in me and not at all in them. Over to you to choose the explanation you prefer.

Talking about how well Elliott walks, and now runs, reminds me of what has to be the most challenging but also the most amusing side of being with him. He’s fast. It’s no good saying “I’ll leave that door open just for a second or two while I fetch the thing I need” because he’ll be through it in a flash. Not that he goes through any door you leave open, only the ones that will take him somewhere dangerous or containing things we’d rather he didn’t touch. 

The same is true of climbing. Chairs, for instance. They’re obviously to climb up. And once climbed, they’re for standing on. From that commanding position, he then surveys, with the most charming of smiles, all the adults panicking at the prospect of his falling before they can get to him to lift him down.

Anyway, back to communication, now working better than ever. That includes the verbal form. I was delighted by how well Matilda understands everything I say. 

“No,” I told her on one occasion, “this shoe’s for the other foot.”

Without hesitation, she lowered the foot she’d raised and lifted the other. 

It’s a little more difficult when it comes to her replies. She’s getting Spanish at school and English at home. That somewhat slows progress in both. There’s much you can recognise – “¿Que es eso?” clearly means “what is this?”, and given the conviction with which she pronounces it, the presence of both question marks is clear; “Tilly did it” is equally comprehensible, and when I respond with congratulations, it’s as much for what she said as for what she did.

Then there are words with a Tilly meaning that I just have to learn. ‘Chicken’ for instance, turns out to mean ‘biscuit’. I might have avoided some heartache by providing her with one, which would have been easy, at a time when what I think of as chicken, was simply not an option. 

There’s plenty more like that. But, sadly, there are times when she launches into an extended speech not a word of which I can understand. It’s clearly entirely coherent to her, but perfectly incomprehensible to me. I like to respond in an encouraging way, so I tend to say “yes”, on the basis that this should be empowering and, frankly, while I may be theoretically committing to something I have no intention of doing, she’s fortunately not big enough yet to hold me to it.

What makes it awkward, though, is that during this visit she frequently responded to my “yes” with a meaningful pause and then, when it was clear I wasn’t going to do anything, simply repeated her demand. When that didn’t work, and she said it all again for the third time, I could hear a clear note of anger creeping into her voice, which just got me panicking.

Matilda on the rope bridge
It turns out not to be the breakthrough I imagined

She amazed me with several other areas of progress since my last visit. She walked across a rope bridge in a playground, with me holding her to prevent her falling. I was terribly proud and told Nicky, her father, my son, about it.

“She’s been doing that for ages,” Nicky laughed, puncturing my sense of achievement, “and doesn’t need any help.”

One of the activities that continues to appeal to her is going into the book exchange booth in the centre of the village. It seems to have been inspired by an old British telephone box, all panels of glass in red frames. She enjoys going in there and taking books down from the shelves. Elliott likes to join her and contributes with enthusiasm to this enthralling game.

Matilda enjoying the book exchange booth

Sadly, the books they select aren’t always the best suited to entertaining them. A Swedish language primer. An introduction to bookkeeping. A history of Spanish naval power. But then, they’re not about to read them, just to flick through the pages and then leave them on the floor. Naturally, for someone else to put back on the shelves. On several occasions, that ‘someone else’ was me. 

That wasn’t a problem, since they regularly insisted on my joining them in the booth, so I was right there to tidy up. The trouble was that, even in the relative freshness of the hills, it isn’t a lot of fun to be inside a structure which perfectly simulates a greenhouse, in a Spanish June.

Getting out was far from easy. Elliott’s just as determined as his sister on getting his way. More so, even. When they make it clear that they wish you stay as you try to get out of the broiling atmosphere in the booth, you’re left in little doubt of what they require. And, if you’re me, you give in.

Elliott exploring his environment

Elliott has also found a delightful game at mealtimes. Like his sister, he’s become a great explorer of the world around him. The effect of gravity has become a focus recently. Whether it’s bits of food or a plastic spoon or plastic dish, he finds great interest in how they move towards the floor when he drops them from his highchair. Increasingly often, he helps gravity in its work, by flinging them downwards. It’s impressive to see how his throwing arm has developed a strength that would impress a professional cricketer.

One of the effects of this is that the grandparently duty of washing up now includes extensive cleaning around Elliott’s chair. That enhances the sensation of having done a real job, and not some trivial little task, when you’ve finished.

Elliott and Matilda ready to ride
and showing how other things can be done in the wagon

Finally, I greatly enjoyed the wagon. We’ve moved on from the sophisticated two-level, two-seat buggy the kids used before. Now we’re travelling in a green plastic wagon. It cost approximately one fortieth of the price of the buggy. But it’s clearly far more fun, and the envy of all Matilda and Elliott’s friends. Go to a playground and leave the wagon standing alone for a few minutes, and you’ll find kids in it being pushed around by other kids. A source of joy for all involved.

Proof that it isn’t always money that most reliably buys happiness.

See? I learned a useful lesson. While having fun with the grandchildren.

A highly successful visit. 

Elliott raring to go