Rules of Grandparenting – Rule #4

Grandma.

I never expected to be one so soon. I was only 40 when our first Little made an appearance. No one asked if I was ready to be a Grandma, they just told me I was one.

Let me tell you something though (I’m sure you’ve heard this from others), grandparenting rocks!

Bonus round…

Grandparenting is a lot like the bonus round in a video game – you’ve beaten the dragon in the tower and now you get to have your reward of bonus points, extra lives, and collecting shiny jewels. It is not, in my opinion, supposed to be the level where you’re slogging through the deep, dark swamp fighting monsters and defeating wizards. You’re all smart enough to draw parallels between toddlers, teenagers, and time in the trenches of parenting, with a video game.

Been there, done that…

There are some things you just never expect to have to do as a grandparent.

Things like parent-teacher interviews, potty training, and explaining the ‘facts of life’. Seriously. Not my job. I did those things for my own children and once (twice, really) was enough.

It is also possible I am alone in my version of grandparenting, viewing it as a second chance to do all those fun things I didn’t have time for (or so I thought) when my kids were small, but I doubt it.

We had our Littles here on Sunday. We went into town to pick them up and then brought them home to spend the day on our acreage.

They love it in the country! It’s a lot different than living in town; the backyard has two acres of woods to explore and a seemingly endless stream of wildlife wandering through.

Rule #4 No sex talks

It was that endless stream of wildlife that almost caused the violation of one of my Rules of Grandparenting. Rule #4 There will be NO explanatory conversations about anything of a *ahem* personal nature if you know what I mean.

No. I don’t really have Rules of Grandparenting in a numbered format. Oh they exist, but only as an informal guideline as to what all parties involved can expect from me. Maybe I should make a list…hmmm…

Middle B (who used to be Little B until his little sister arrived on the scene) was helping Grandpa in the kitchen. He caught movement in the yard out the kitchen window and looked up.

“Hey!” he shouted, “It’s a daddy deer!”

And he leapt off his perch to run to the dining room window for a better look.

“Grandpa! Get your gun!”

Some of you are probably freaking out about that statement. The fact is we are a family who harvest wild game for the meat. We do not trophy hunt. We do, however, involve the children from a young age because we want them to know where their food comes from and at what cost. You don’t have to agree. That’s fine, but it is how things are done in our family.

We explained that it wasn’t hunting season and this deer was off-limits. Middle B grabbed his binoculars for a better look which was kind of silly because the deer was at the bird feeder less than ten feet from the window. He’s five. Binoculars are cool. It was a solid 10 on the cuteness scale. Until the doe wandered into the yard.

And the buck’s head came up along with his hormones.

Oh boy.

Middle B looked up and solemnly pronounced, “That’s a daddy deer and that’s a mommy deer.”

Which is when the circling and sniffing and courtship rituals began in earnest.

If you know anything at all about wildlife, you know those rituals are a quick preliminary to the…well…to something that was about to get seriously awkward to explain.

And it is NOT my job to explain that kind of thing. See Rule #4 as explained above!!!

This was most definitely an unexpected turn of events and I’m floundering for a way to get Middle B away from the window.

“You better go get your brother!” I blurted like an idiot because clearly it wouldn’t be bad enough having to explain this wondrous event to just one of our grandsons?

Middle B spun around and raced for the porch where his brother was playing a game shouting “J! You better come quick!”

Thank goodness that he missed the buck’s attempt at consummation and the brief exposure of his private deer bits – something else I did not want to have to explain.

The doe was skittish and raced away to the neighbour’s yard with the buck in hot pursuit.

“Aw,” Middle B lamented, “They left.”

“Yeah, they did buddy. That’s too bad.”

I was not sorry, not one little bit.

I’ll take that as evidence that the Universe agrees with my Rules of Grandparenting. Well, at least with Rule #4…that’s a job for Mom and Dad.