Grandparenting: the great experiment

It was the moment for a great experiment.

Matilda came to see us with only her mother, Sheena, in tow. No little brother, our grandson Elliott. No Daddy, our son Nicky.

That was a bit of a breakthrough, with Sheena getting something that has become rare indeed, a morning sleep-in. She even told Nicky as much: “you should also come and stay with your parents with just one kid too – it’s so restful.”

But that wasn’t the end of it. Sheena was going back home to the Madrid region alone, leaving Matilda with us at our home near Valencia, the first time since her conception that she’d spent a night without one or other of her parents. That was going to be our great experiment, testing whether we could take her alone for a more extended period in the summer. And it worked out well.

But that’s getting ahead of ourselves. There’s plenty to report on in this latest grandparenting experience, aside from the experiment. As there always is in every visit by our grandkids.

Things keep developing, naturally. So when she came out with us on a dog walk (something she only did once on this visit – it’s cold this week and she has more sense), she insisted on walking not just Toffee on her lead, but Luci too. Both dogs at the same time, a milestone passed.

Matilda with both dogs – Luci to the left, Toffee to the right

We returned to the horizontal tree trunk that we’d enjoyed once before, with her brother Elliott, but this time she didn’t just sit on it. This time she had to stand and then fall off. That’s an assisted fall, with a grandparent’s arms to slow it. The difference is that while it still ended with her lying on the ground, she was laughing uproariously at the fun, instead of crying plaintively at any pain.

Matilda ready for another ‘fall’ 

What with the sunset lighting our walk, it was a great time to be in the woods.

A good time to be in the woods

The next day when her granddad made her spaghetti, she and her grandmother decided that this would be an opportunity not to miss, to put the play house in the garden to good use. So it became their impromptu dining room.

Matilda and her grandmother
Lunch in the play house in the garden

As always, I was struck by her growing mastery of language. She’s learning to handle distinctions that escaped her before. A good example is how she now distinguishes ‘today’ from ‘tomorrow’. In a related development, she has also developed a neat indifference to unimportant ambivalences in meaning.

Take the following exchange. I’ll leave you to work out which bits are Matilda talking and which her grandparents.

“I want a biscuit.”

“No. You’ve already had two today. You can have another one tomorrow.”

“No.”

If you’re a smartarse granddad who likes to play on ambiguities, you might decide to treat that as meaning ‘no biscuit’. She, however, has a fine line in quickly disabusing any such granddad of any such delusion.

“Not tomorrow. Today.”

And, in case there’s any weakness in our command of English, she’ll hammer her message home in the language of her teachers, and therefore the language of the authoritative statement, admitting of no lack of clarity, Spanish:

“Hoy.”

Matilda achieving linguistic mastery, you see, and with it masterfulness.

Such amusing activities and observation passed the time until the moment came for Sheena to leave us. That marked the beginning of the experiment.

We took Sheena to the station. She waved us goodbye and headed for her train. Matilda didn’t seem too happy about this development, so Danielle and I resorted to a little bribery, if only to buy time. There was a stand outside the station selling churros, the traditional Spanish pastry and breakfast snack, which can be dipped into melted chocolate to give a distinctive and highly enjoyable meal. 

“Churros, churritos,” Matilda had exclaimed when she saw it. So we got her churros and while they lasted, her mood seemed reasonably good.

Churros bought us a little time

Back in the car, though, there was a reversion to melancholy.

“Mummy! Mummy!” she whimpered.

“We’re going to the zoo,” we assured her. Clearly, that didn't answer her complaint in the least, but then it wasn't intended to: after all, not answering is just what an evasion is for. Apparently, the announcement did at least generate enough interest to comfort her for a while.

At the zoo, seeing the animals was fine, but not what really fascinated her. That was the percussion class, led by an enthusiastic young lady Danielle had worked with before when she decided to try her hand on the drums. Matilda liked her and the drums so much, that she insisted in going twice.

Matilda drumming, assisted by her grandmother

In between, she had her face painted, which she found gratifying too.

Face painting

We saw some animals but, apart from the baby elephant, little seemed to attract her too much.

Back at home, she was so tired that she let herself be led off for her siesta with never a word of complaint. Afterwards, she was fine up to dinner, and again afterwards, until she had to go to bed. That moment, usually spent in company with her mother or father, was pretty well bound to lead to a little homesickness again.

Danielle took her into our bed and lay with her in it for nearly an hour. By then she was calm enough and comfortable enough to go to her own bed again.

The next morning was a little stressful for her. We’d promised her that she would be catching a train and travelling back to her parents, and that her mummy would be at the station in Madrid to meet her. That made it impossible for her to focus on anything else. She had her shoes on by 8:30, insisting she wanted to go to the station, though there were three and a quarter hours to wait still.

“But the train isn’t there,” we tried to convince her, “there’d be no point in going yet.”

She looked at us with wide eyes. I think she believed us. But that didn’t shake her resolve not to do anything else while waiting for the time to pass.

“Let’s go and say goodbye to your playground,” I suggested.

“Say goodbye to the playground…,” she wondered, “yes, let’s go.”

I thought we’d made a breakthrough. I got her into her coat and mittens. But then, just as we were about to go, she changed her mind.

“Don’t want to go to the playground,” she announced, “don’t want to say goodbye.”

So we spent the last couple of hours waiting for the time to go by. For most of the wait, Matilda was in shoes, mittens and coat, ready to leave.

Finally, the slow-crawling clock hands came around to the appropriate time. Indeed, our slowness getting out of the house left us, after waiting so long, having to hurry a bit to get to the station on time. But we made it.

Matilda and Danielle ready to board the train

Danielle and Matilda went wandering down the station platform. The ticket collector kindly let me through too, though I wasn’t travelling, so I could help with the luggage. Once they were settled and on their way, I headed home.

Danielle and Matilda ready for the train to leave

I’m told that Matilda’s Mummy was at the station in Madrid to meet her, along with her big uncle David. The greetings were loud and joyful. Matilda was happy again.

Still, Danielle, Sheena and I all agreed that the experiment hadn’t gone at all badly. The tears had been few, the amusement considerable. We were ready to take her for a while longer when the summer comes around.

An experiment with some difficult moments, therefore, but overall one that unquestionably achieved its goals.