The season of goodwill is upon us! The shops online and in the High Streets are buzzing with Christmas fare. There are 3 for 2 and 50% off, etc, enticing us to spend our hard-earned cash. But I have become more savvy over the years. I now make a list and stick to it with self-inflicted discipline to keep myself from going overboard. I learned my lesson the hard way years ago, and now I am one step ahead of the crafty retailers’ advertising. Seriously, write a list. I do mine around the beginning of August (yes, as early as that). And, bit by bit, I find out what the grandkids have their little hearts set on, except George, who is 7 and will chop and change from one week to the next and start putting money aside when I price things up. The older grandkids all want money, so that is easy, and I begin to put money away for them from the beginning of the year; believe me, you don't notice it so much. Around October, I look at my Christmas decoration...
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Being a Nan is a bit like being a very loved pet – you're adopted by the grandkids, fed biscuits during tea parties, and called upon in times of mild crisis and/or homework emergencies.
This week, my middle grandson, Charlie, went off on a school trip full of sporty, outdoorsy activities – you know, the kind that make Nans hold their breath, "Wasn’t hopscotch dangerous enough?"
I popped by for my usual Saturday visit and noticed Charlie staring off into the distance. I could sense he was a little nervous about going away, in that very specific "I’m fine" way that translates to "I’m definitely not fine, but please don’t make a big thing of it." His dad was the exactly same as a lad – nervous before school trips that included more than a day away from home!
Come Monday, off Charlie went, apparently with a few tears. His parents were slightly more stressed than him, and I was no better.
I spent most of that day thinking about him – especially because it was boiling hot, and I imagined him sweating in a helmet somewhere in a field, mildly traumatised by communal meals. Then, that evening, my phone pinged. And then pinged again. And again.
Lo and behold, there was Charlie… flying through the air on what looked like a glorified death trap with a harness. He was smiling like a man who’d just discovered fizzy drinks were now considered a health food. I nearly dropped my phone in the tea. The next day? More pictures. There he was again, helmet on, zooming across a rope like a tiny action hero. Who is this child and what have they done with Nervous Saturday Charlie?
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the youngest brother George – who usually shares a room with Charlie – had a meltdown of Shakespearean proportions. There were tears and questions. "What if Charlie gets lost in the woods?" Mum ended up downstairs on the sofa for the night with George clinging to her like a baby koala.
Anyway, I can’t wait to see the Wilderness Warrior this Saturday, safely returned, full of stories, possibly smelling faintly of mud and adventure.
Being a Nan is never dull. It’s basically being on call 24/7 for love, laughs, and minor emotional triage. George has yet to go on his away week with the school in a few years time, and I wonder if history will repeat itself. Still, as George is the youngest there will not be any dramatics for mum and dad to cope with!
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