Last week, as I spent time with Kieran and Nea, my understanding of a most wonderful truth about being a grandmother grew. It is OK to play. It is more than OK actually – it is almost a requirement and in fact it is fun.
This kind of playing belongs mostly to grandparents I think. I suppose a really silly parent can get by doing the same things but most parents take the importance of their high role too seriously. A grandparent can get away with being really silly or simple and no one is likely to judge you for being a poor grandparent because of it. They will probably watch you down on the ground picking up stones, examining them carefully with a five year old and marvel at the joy you still find in life.
This summer, as I drove out to Vancouver, I gathered a few treasures along the way. Rocks.
My excuse was that they were for Kieran. But maybe it is the repressed child in me. I always gathered rocks on my summer vacations as a child. Why not do it again now? This will perhaps be the last period of my life when I will be able to gather them. And a grandmother needs no better reason than that I will be able to sit with my grandson and admire their shapes and colour.