Over the weekend, I was preparing a talk I’m giving this week to a group of speech-language pathology graduate students. I was invited to speak because these are students who know a lot about the therapy side of things, but don’t yet have hands-on clinical experience, and their instructors thought that hearing a parent’s perspective would be helpful to them.

As I was preparing my remarks, I started thinking about the role that therapists play in the lives of my children, and it dawned on me: they’re a lot like grandparents.

1. Being with both therapists and grandparents is a lot of fun for the kids. They get their undivided attention, they play a lot of games, and the therapists smile at them a lot.
2. Neither therapists nor grandparents are involved in anything other than very high-level only-if-it’s-absolutely-necessary discipline. The unpleasant stuff is left for Mom and Dad to handle at home.
3. Spending time with the therapist or grandparent is a treat, limited to small intervals.
4. Both therapists and grandparents are invested in the well-being of the children in their care, and act accordingly.
5. Because of their valuable knowledge and experience, both therapists and grandparents have suggestions – most of them good – about ways to help our kids.
6. Both therapists and grandparents celebrate even the smallest of my children’s achievements.
7. Both therapists and grandparents are awesome!

Of course, there’s one more way that therapists and grandparents are alike: they don’t have the full-time experience of parenting my particular children, and they don’t have the the ultimate responsibility for raising them, either.

But I’m glad that my children have BOTH grandparents AND therapists, and I consider them a valuable part of our village.

You just finished How Therapists Are Like Grandparents originally posted on Bringing the Sunshine and copyrighted by Andi Sligh. If you enjoyed this post, be sure to follow me on Facebook and Instagram.

Enough said.

So anywho…Papa and Bebe live on a farm with horses, an all-terrain(ish) golf cart, and a three-wheel recumbent bike with something akin to a truck-bed on the back of the bike for hauling stuff (like kids). It’s like being at Disney World…almost.

`

The big blue eyes plead for a turn at driving the golf cart.

In four and a half years, she’ll qualify for a permit to drive a real car…

Happy Thursday!

You just finished Afternoon at Papa’s Farm originally posted on Bringing the Sunshine and copyrighted by Andi Sligh. If you enjoyed this post, be sure to follow me on Facebook and Instagram.

Despite my steadfast declarations that we’ll always stay home for Christmas, some branch of my family tree manages to exploit a loophole every year. This year, my dad and stepmom were the culprits, planning a family reunion at their house this past Sunday. Given that my dad and his sister are the last remaining two of the original five children in his family and that these folks almost never get together, I decided to go.

At the last minute, due to the accident that occurred at Mr. Andi’s workplace last week, he opted (with my blessing) to stay home, so the kids and I made the 250-mile trek without him. Shortly before arriving, my dad called and suggested that we meet them at a local Mexican restaurant – my favorite back when Mr. Andi and I lived in the area (they still remember me eight-plus years later!) – rather than going straight to the house.

It seemed like a great idea at the time.

Six hours after we left our house, we finally arrived at Papa and Bebe’s. My dad carried Nathan in and set him down, not realizing he had started walking several days earlier (my dad doesn’t do email or the web, so you guys knew it before he did!) Papa was surprised and delighted when Nathan took off (his PT was right when she said he could have started a long time ago – he looks like he’s been walking for months).

The first area hit by Hurricane Nathan was the TV table that Bebe had been using (as best I could tell) to address Christmas cards. Envelopes and boxes went flying. While I was cleaning up that mess, he dove for the remotes. My heart began to beat a little faster when I realized, to my horror, that Papa and Bebe had quite a few more tchotchkes than I remembered. The path of destruction would probably have been more widespread had Nathan not spent a good deal of time just walking around saying “Ooo!…Ooo!…Ooo!…”

So many things – he wasn’t sure where to start.

This visit was our first official Christmas gift-opening occasion, so Sarah Kate was eager to head to the tree in the formal living room. The next danger zone that greeted me was a lovely nativity scene, lying on a bed of greenery on the coffee table – the perfect height for a little dude. Said nativity boasted a single candle burning behind it as a star. I could see the wheels turning in my little guy’s head.

It took me a minute to realize that the top of the coffee table was actually a glass tray that slides off. Glass AND flames – fabulous. The candle was quickly snuffed out and Bebe attempted to redirect Nathan’s attention with a gift. Predictably, he showed zero interest in unwrapping anything, and very little intrigued him about the contents of the packages once I’d unwrapped them, either.

Sarah Kate, meanwhile, was tearing through paper and boxes like her life depended on it, chattering away about the items inside (“Look, Mom!”). At least that’s what I think was happening. It’s all a bit hazy in my memory because I had spotted a collection of ceramic bells that appeared very antique-y on a shelf exactly at Nathan’s eye level and was doing my best to prevent him from noticing them, too.

All the while, Papa laughed.

As quickly as it had begun, the gift-giving was over and I grabbed a second to visit the restroom while Nathan was distracted by his new John Deere tractor. I was relieved that SOMETHING other than knick-knacks and fire had grabbed his attention. Unfortunately, the break was short-lived. When I emerged, I found myself in Phase Two of Toddler Christmas Hell.

Papa had installed batteries in Sarah Kate’s new remote control car.

Thank you, Papa.

The powder-blue bullet careened down the halls and through the kitchen, ramming into walls, doors, and furniture. Nathan may have liked the John Deere tractor when it came out of the box, but he isn’t stupid: John Deere is to Remote Control Car ~ as ~ Stuffed Animal is to Real Puppy!

Nathan chased the car all over the house – on foot, one, and/or both knees. Sarah Kate squealed whenever he got close to it, feigning concern that he’d snatch it up. We tried distracting him with limited success – the only item that held his interest at all was an old round cake pan that he had pilfered from the kitchen cabinet when I walked out of the room.

After a number of tries, he managed to swipe the car, and when he did he headed down the hall with it clutched to him like a star running back headed for the goal line.

You’d never guess that kid just learned to walk a week earlier.

And all the while, Papa laughed.

Ultimately, the RC car was put away for the night, and it was getting late, so I hauled Nathan upstairs to get him outfitted for bed. Papa helped me carry our things up, and then stood by and watched while Nathan writhed and wriggled and squirmed so much that I’m pretty sure I’d have had better luck putting footy pajamas on a greased pig.

My dad, of course, found this scene just about the most entertaining thing ever.

I triumphed in the end and we went back downstairs for a few minutes of down time before bed. It was getting chilly out, so my dad turned on the gas logs.

As you might expect, those gas logs lasted less than three minutes. But never fear – we didn’t need an actual flame for the boy to be entertained by the fireplace – the tiny rocks in the bottom were enticing enough in their own right.

And all the while, Papa laughed.

So, in the spirit of the holiday season, I’m going to offer you a couple of pseudo-wise thoughts –  takeaways from the weekend, if you will. Christmas is still five days away, and, should you now or sometime in the future have a rambunctious toddler, I urge you to keep the following two things in mind:

1. Cake pans are way more fun than real toys. Bonus: they don’t require batteries and are impossible to break. You might be in trouble, however, if Bebe needs them to bake cinnamon rolls in the morning.

   

2. Grandparents should come to YOUR house for the holidays when you have a toddler, as I’m pretty sure there’s a fine line between thinking it’s cute that Papa laughs at everything his only grandson does and wanting to smother that laugh with a pillow while he’s sleeping.

You just finished Holiday Road: Lessons in Grandparents, Holidays, Toddlers, and Cake Pans originally posted on Bringing the Sunshine and copyrighted by Andi Sligh. If you enjoyed this post, be sure to follow me on Facebook and Instagram.