‘I’ve got the pre-grandkids-visit jitters’

I woke up this morning at 4:30 and could not get back to sleep. I was having one of those dreams where you’re trying to do something impossible and/or scary and are thwarted (I just love the word “thwart”) at every turn. In my case it was trying to climb down from a really tall tower — on a horse. (I’m really scared of heights AND horses). It was too late to pop a pill, so I got up and made coffee.

Well, looks like somebody’s not afraid of horses

And fretted. No, not about heights, or even horses. (A fear of heights is self-evident; my equine fear stems from horses drooling and peeing on me in addition to not paying attention at ALL to my feeble commands and running amok with me clinging to their manes and/or reins.)

Our other adorable grandson, Baby Too, sporting his big brother’s outgrown beanie (or “toque” as they are known in Canada)

My fretting had to do with the fact that my two adorable grandsons are coming to visit and staying for a week and two days. (Their parents are coming as well, but that’s not a fact that lessens the anxiety.)

I’ve discovered that this pre-visit anxiety is more common than one would think. Why, my friend Amy, who is one of the coolest, calmest persons I know, admits to feeling stress when her granddaughters visit. It’s not that we don’t know what to do with kids — Amy raised three of them — but it’s that we feel discombobulated with all the new parenting mores and folkways. (I’ve written about one aspect of this before: See “It’s a Good Thing This Baby is so Adorable” for a piece about the abundance of gear these babies require.)

The Powers That Be would have me arrested if I tried to reuse The Child’s crib. No can do, since long ago I gave it back to the person I borrowed it from

To prepare for this upcoming visit, I’ve already ordered another Pack ‘n Play (a portable crib that simply everyone has; I wish I owned Graco stock), plus a highchair. I’m thinking about getting a pail and shovel for the beach. And maybe some toy trucks. The Child on our last FaceTime call, broadcast from their Canadian Family Visit, after I noticed Mr. Baby playing with a couple of trucks: “Aunt Susan has lots of toys.” (Note: Aunt Susan has no children.)

Who needs toys? Mr. Baby has room to roam visiting his Canadian family

As for me, I can’t recall owning much gear. I do remember tying Her Childness to a kitchen stool with a bathrobe sash. A high chair seemed like a bad investment at the time. After all, we had just the one kid.

Having fun bathing just the one kid in our just the one bathtub

And. even more disconcerting than all the gear, there’s the difference in the parenting folkways. Way back when, it was the grownups that ruled the roost — or so it seemed at the time. It was “time for bath” and “time for bed” and, so heavenly,  “naptime.” Now everything is sort of kid-driven. It’s “he might get tired in the jogging stroller” and “looks like he’s hungry.” Speaking of “looks like he’s hungry”, there’s a lot of running-around-while-eating. Maybe I can send the highchair back. Although he’s getting his kicks while seated in one, here:

Thank you all for the opportunity to vent. I feel so much better now. I’m ordering some shovels and trucks the second I post this. Meanwhile, I know that, when all else fails, there’s bathtime:

Amagansett, New York. July 2026