While the District Nurse is bandaging Mr B’s poor legs, she and I discuss grandparenting. One of my favourite subjects!
don’t really need to be present while the nurse attends to her Bandaging Duties but I do prefer to be there. This is partly so that I can check for myself the state of Mr B’s lower limbs (I’m nosy that way) but also because if I’m not
around, chances are my fella may well forget to tell me something important. This will not be due to failing memory, but more a case of Selective Hearing. If the nurse has seen fit to read a gentle riot act, Mr B will not hesitate to conveniently forget all
To be fair, I was guilty of much the same behaviour at the age of seven or eight when my piano teacher took me to task for not holding my wrists
high enough above the keys. Amazing, isn’t it, that I can remember what I was doing wrong, all these many years later. Being a Tender Plant who could never bear to be criticised (like wine, I have improved a bit with age. Though not a lot) I cried -
to such an extent that my poor piano teacher gave me a letter to take home to my mother. Which I promptly “lost” on the way home, arriving home to stoutly declare my intention of giving up piano lessons with immediate effect.
Recalling this episode from my childhood, I must concede that Mr B’s failures to pass on information I might need to know pale in comparison. I wonder, did my mother find out
anyway? She must have contacted the piano teacher, mustn’t she? Between the two of them, there would have been a discussion about me. My ears are burning at the thought of it, even across the distance of years.
However, I digress. Not that I have a problem with digression which is part and parcel of the Daily Blog. Some days I have so much to write about that the Blog more or less writes itself. Other days, I digress in order to
fill in the space. When all else fails I ask Faris the Rascal (he of the Many Opinions) to do a bit of blogging. This brings me neatly back to the subject of today’s Random Rambling, which is (if you can remember back to the start of today’s blog
and haven’t lost the will to live) grandparenting.
The District Nurse has two grandchildren, of whom she is rightly proud. I hesitate to tell her about our
Truly Tremendous Ten, in case it sounds as if I am trying to outdo her but Mr B has no such concerns and introduces her to our happy state of grandparenthood. Her reaction is one we have heard so many times before: “Christmas must be expensive in your
house!” she exclaims.
We discuss how our grandchildren honestly believe we lived in the Olden Days. Then we rather spoil our righteous indignation by recounting
horror stories from our childhood days about homes without central heating, waking up on winter mornings to icy patterns on the inside of our bedroom windows and to freezing cold linoleum on which to plant our bare feet as we rise from our beds. We are waxing
lyrical, you can tell. It’s a bit like Call the Midwife but without the nuns and the gory births.
Our friendly nurse tells how she recently excused herself
from a somewhat strenuous game on account of her age - only to have her five year old granddaughter a few days later instruct a whole supermarket queue that her grandmother should be allowed a seat “because she is SO old!”
We talk about the pleasures of not having to be the ones required to discipline these grandchildren of ours. “Don’t you ever tell anyone off, Nanna?” Young Morgan
(aka The Duracell Bunny) asked me recently. I responded that I left such matters to his Mum and Dad, my role being simply to play and have fun. The Duracell Bunny nodded, sagely. This clearly made absolute sense to him.
And also to me.