I recently looked after three of my grandchildren aged 6, 4 and 2½ for four days and three nights. They were delightful and very well behaved. Even in church on Sunday morning, they endured the service without a peep.
These four days and three nights took me back to my twenty four/seven days as a mum with four young children under the age of two years and seven months.
I remember the long days and short nights and the washing line full of nappies – disposables were around, but they were expensive and one thought of landfill then.
There was order in the house, a very regular routine where the children knew what to expect and what was expected of them.
I applied the same principle over the past few days, trying to keep to the routine my daughter has set in her home and have managed to come out relatively unscathed, my sanity intact and, surprisingly, not overly tired.
The children are a credit to their mum and dad who have gone to great lengths to teach them obedience and good manners and how to conduct themselves appropriately in the company of others.
When I say, the children endured without a peep, at one point I looked up from playing the keyboard: Grandad Les and the older two were standing looking up at the overhead screen, along with the rest of the congregation. G Les was singing to his heart’s content while little 2½ year old Evie was on her chair, on her back, legs in the air and wide apart. I was mortified and tried in vain to catch Les’ eye. I acquiesced, reasoning that there are some things a grandma just cannot manage. I thanked God that she was, at least, wearing leggings.