Easing into grandparenthood
When my partner, Molly, and I visited my family this past summer, there was much ado in Southern California, what with grooming the yards and spiffing up the spare bedrooms. Now it’s our turn to do the same. Though, we don’t have a yard, and the spare room is our writing studio. Sheesh, well, nonetheless my dad and stepmom are coming to visit.
Our ado is more along the lines of dusting and vacuuming, decorating for the holidays and building the Lego train to circle the Christmas tree. The hanging of the ornaments will be left until my parents arrive. We figure the temperature in these northern climes will shock their blood just enough to warrant a cozy afternoon inside, sipping hot cocoa and decking out the tree, on their first day here.
We’ll also leave some of the train track for Dad to connect. He, after all, is my original Lego-building buddy. The holidays, especially, found us huddled on the floor, piecing together a new set.
I’m curious to see how my pop reacts to my newest Lego buddies. Though he’s had a year and a half hearing about Molly’s two boys, and now six months (since we moved in together) of stories about me learning to be a mom, I don’t think Dad has fully assimilated what it means.
He’ll have to share floor space when it comes time to connect the colorful Lego bricks. He’ll watch me help with homework, remind about wearing mittens and a hat, take and give lots of kisses and hugs as bedtime nears. He’ll witness my duties as a carpool mom. And I suspect at some point in the five-day visit, my dad and stepmom will think, “Holy cow, we’re grandparents!”
They are visiting because we specifically asked them to come meet the boys, but I’m still not convinced my parents have let their minds wander into the unfamiliar territory of grandparenthood. None of my parents (including my mom) grew up with grandparents. And to their credit, they have never implored me to find a husband because they were pining for grandchildren.
Instead, my family reluctantly accepted years ago that I am gay and subsequently decided that also would mean their only daughter would never get married or have kids. Perhaps the grandparent conversation is one I already should have started with my folks, but I try to take these things gradually.
Molly’s parents, for example, have rather naturally moved into referring to us as the moms of their grandkids. They live in Spokane and have the benefit of seeing us more regularly, in their home and ours. I’m hoping time with us, in our city, will have the same effect on my folks.
Rather than force my parents into heavy-handed conversations, I’d like their thinking to shift by seeing the home Molly and I have built. By witnessing my happiness. By getting to know their grandkids.