The telltale signs of the golden years

I thought it can never happen but after 30 years, I’m in love again. We also sleep together. While he snores and turns 180 degrees every half an hour, I lose sleep over the pillows that I try to buffer him with and the blanket that he quickly dislodges. He takes full cartel of my bed and I’m happy as a lark even if I’m left with just a fraction of the mattress. Who cares if my right foot dangles out? In the morning, I wake up to the smell of nah! not freshly-brewed coffee but his sweet breathe. When he yawns followed by that drop-dead gorgeous smile, I melt and it marks another "good-hair" day for me! Never mind if I woke up with the pigeons and I barely had four hours of sleep.

I’ve become a "white lie" proponent because my RSVP is always "regrets" to concerts, art exhibits, benefit shows and parties. Oh well, maybe I can reconsider so long as the function doesn’t fall on a Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Why? Because I’d rather catch the moon and the stars while holding hands with him. Have I gone mad? Yes. But the wonderful news is that I’m not alone. It happens to everyone around the time you reach the golden years. I’m a bona-fide grandmother!

Just today, my husband cut out an article about the phenomenal growth of a $30-billion-a-year industry that keeps growing (Asian Wall Street Journal, Shortage of Kids in U.S. Leads to Birth of an Industry, 5 November 2001). This new breed of grandparents snaps up how-to videos, different-stages-of-development books, diapers, brag books, car seats, vitamins, health food, cook books, Baby Genius series and holiday weekends with the grandchildren!

If you’re talking of libraries, it’s not the leather-bound first edition variety we’re excited about but a whole shelf of Thomas the choo-choo train engine, Winnie the Pooh, Barney, Elmo, Ernie, Bert and the Cookie Monster. We know everything about Tigger, Eeyore, Piglet and the Hundred Acres Wood and since it’s the age of information technology, even our websites and software show nursery characters and inter-active animation. Just check our "favorites" and they list everything from Tiffany’s diamond-studded baby shoes to Oprah’s Choice of the best book-of-the-month for toddlers.

We are the first wave, post World War II, baby boomers now turned grandparents. But we are giving a whole new meaning to the role – with "characteristic zeal – and – self-absorption." The article said that "post war baby boomers always considered themselves as the most important generation and everything revolved around them." That’s a good point because our generation did catch the high wave of our parents’ resolve to give their offspring the best that they were deprived of during the war-torn years. Education, security, travel and the freedom to choose and earn a living. Now that we’ve come full circle, what would stop us from going full blast in our show of affection and over indulging hysteria? What first-time parents seemed to have overlooked is that, we now have the luxury of time and "tender" to re-live our youth with our better versions or look-alikes.

I shrieked with delight and recognized each exhilarating feeling that an eminent writer wrote about his being a grandfather. Juan T. Gatbonton called it their "Days of the Dinosaur-giver" (Family Reader, September 2001). They delighted in the un-heralded title of "babysitters emeritus" who found a revitalized calling as they "made sure that baths are taken; homework is accomplished" and TV-watching controlled. All days they went about their routine alert for quarrels, falls, and spells of suspicious silence. The italicized words I strongly related to. Whew! When our house falls particularly quiet, I panic! I instinctively push open the nursery door expecting the worst but drawing breath to see the little man taking his afternoon siesta.

In our house, we had to keep all kinds of magazines on the top shelf for obvious reasons except for the National Geographic with this big center-fold showing a slimy, bulging-eyed chameleon and other amphibians slimier and bigger-eyed than the now-you-see-him-now-you-don’t lizard! He loves imitating the sounds that each creature makes and if youíre not alert, there’s a 38-pound "frog" that might just leap into your unsuspecting arms! His mother of course sets down the house rules but when she’s away, we sort of ease up on them. There are many "bargaining" hours where we end up compromising our once-unbendable principles: "Okay, okay! You can watch TV but lower the volume" (to put him to sleep); "Shhhh! Don’t tell your Mama and I’ll give you one last chocolate but promise, to brush your teeth again!"

No conference, no business call can replace the importance of taking him to the bathroom for his potty time or bath time. It’s crucial, you know. Who’s the lucky shower companion today? Rubber ducky, Mickey Mouse, or the tow truck? ("Not that dimwit – it’s battery-operated!)

After a day of bubble blowing, strolling in the park (don’t forget the mosquito lotion!), skinny dipping in the club’s pool, and clay-making, is there anything else we missed? Storybook time. We gather five to six books and pick out the Book of the Evening. I lost count of the times I read the story of the parade of hamsters that visited a little boy’s house just "10 Minutes before Bedtime." To my surprise, we managed to carry the story through despite its lack of words and dialogues. The book was designed for the reader (grandparent) and the child to develop their creative knack for storytelling and imagination. From a collection of best loved Filipino children’s stories, he was awe-struck to listen to the story of the Wind, the Rain, the Thunder and the Lightning. He felt so good that he jumped less and trembled less at the next clap of thunder ("It’s the god of thunder beating on his bongo drums only").

Our feet are still floating on a cloud when I received a call from a business executive-son of a friend. He said, "Tita, I heard that your little grandson has started to go to pre-school classes. I just thought I’d drop by and chat with you for 20 minutes about a college education plan." What is he talking about? (as my mist-of-a-cloud puffed in mid-air). He’s barely out of disposable diapers and we’re talking of universities, books, and horn-rimmed professors? Isn’t he talking to the wrong person?

While we go jelly in this little man’s hands and he can surely make everybody in our house jump lest we get a glimpse of his crocodile tears (huh?), we remain firm that his father’s "birthright" is still secure in our house (a phrase I borrowed from Mr. Gatbonton). It also frees us, these doddering grandparents, of that burning-the-midnight-oil-to-provide-a-secure-future-for-each-child commitment and guilt trip.

This is one fun ride that one can never accurately describe except experience. This is our golden years.