Grandchildren Need Work

by Adair Lara
May 18, 2009

Painting a room gives one grandmother a break from the playground grind.
Okay, I do take my grandkids to the playground, where I push them on the swings beside all the parents who push children with one hand while manipulating their Black Berrys with the other.

Fresh air exercise, all that I get it.

But I don’t like playgrounds. They’re made-up worlds with weird spongy stuff underfoot and too many things to duck under. And the slides nowadays are more like long polished downward oozes than slides, as the fun-spoilers have made sure no one goes too fast on them.

My thinking is this: Instead of my following the kids to Kid land, why don’t they follow me to Adult land? It’s a much more interesting place, and they’ll live in it eventually anyway, so why not take an excursion there now? My dad took me to building sites with him and to this day, I can pound a nail straight, not to mention I still love the heavenly smell of freshly cut two-by-fours.

So when I was asked to take the two grandkids for the day a couple of Mondays ago, I didn’t let the fact that I was painting an apartment that day stop me. (It was a day off from school – “teacher training.”)

Off we went in my Jetta, which was filled with drop cloths, paint rollers, the girls, and the dog, to the apartment I was getting ready to rent out after finally dislodging my ex-son-in-law from it by getting him to move in with my son.

The girls were dubious at first about the idea of a day spent “learning to paint.”

“I already paint at my school every single morning,” 3-year-old Maggie pointed out.

“Is it work like cleaning my room? Because I hate cleaning my room,” 5-year-old Ryan chimed in.

It took only five minutes at the small three-bedroom to change their minds. Maggie was dazzled by the idea of painting an entire wall. Ryan found a tiny paint roller her own size and plunged it into the tan paint the three of us had compromised on as a color for the bedroom. The girls used their best Dora the Explorer Spanish – they believe they’re fluent – to chat with and fire questions at Carlos and Joel, the men from El Salvador I hired to do some additional work on the apartment. “Dónde hola buenas dias!”

The girls that morning had elected to wear their red velvet Christmas dresses, a choice I always approve because velvet blocks the San Francisco wind so well. They scorned my offer of their dad’s T-shirts to keep the paint off, on the grounds that the shirts would cover up the pretty dresses.

What an educational day! Ryan learned about primer, and about wiping the brush on the edge of the paint can before aiming it at the wall. Maggie learned that it’s better to put your paint roller together before you dunk it in paint, and also that, when you’re finally persuaded to take off your red velvet Christmas dress, it’s best to take off your green plastic gloves dripping with Bronco Beige first. I learned that Bronco Beige will not come out of red velvet, and that a rag and Windex will get most of the paint out of a wall-to-wall carpet, but not off an antique armoire.

All in all, it was a great day, and I did not have to go to the park, play “store,” assemble tiny plastic corrals, or pretend ten times in a row to be getting a puppy who looked like Maggie out of the pound. (We keep a cardboard box in the closet for just that purpose.)

When the kids, the dog, and I returned home in the late afternoon, we were tired and happy, filled with the satisfaction of a job if not well done, then at least eagerly attempted. Mom got to work all day, where I imagine she Googled the best approaches for getting Bronco Beige out of little girls’ hair.

 Source: Grand Parents