Every Boomer grandparent swears they'll follow the rules, but watch what happens the moment those little faces appear at the door—suddenly, bedtimes become suggestions and "no" becomes "just this once."
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The doorbell rings, and before I can even get there, I hear my daughter's voice through the door: "Mom, we talked about this - no candy before dinner, remember?"
I freeze, hand already reaching for the secret stash of chocolate I keep in the hall closet specifically for my grandkids' visits.
She's right, we did talk about this. In fact, I distinctly remember promising just last week that I would absolutely, positively not undermine her parenting rules anymore.
Yet here I am, already plotting how to slip those treats to the kids when she's not looking.
If this sounds familiar, welcome to the club!
After years of watching my fellow Boomer grandparents in action—and catching myself in these exact contradictions—I've noticed we all seem to have the same selective memory when it comes to our grandparenting promises.
We mean well, we really do, but somewhere between good intentions and those precious little faces, our resolve crumbles faster than the cookies we're not supposed to be baking at 9 PM.
1) "I won't spoil them."
This might be the biggest lie we tell ourselves. I remember sitting with my daughter when she was pregnant with her first child, nodding earnestly as she explained her philosophy on not overindulging kids.
"Of course," I said, "children need boundaries."
Fast forward to now, and I have a dedicated drawer in my kitchen filled with their favorite snacks, a closet with "just in case" toys, and I've already started a college fund that I top up every time one of them gives me a particularly good hug.
The truth is, spoiling grandchildren feels different than spoiling our own kids did. When you're not responsible for the daily discipline, when you see them less frequently, every instinct screams to make those moments magical.
And if magic looks like ice cream for breakfast when they sleep over, well, what's the harm in a little magic?
2) "I'll respect bedtime."
"Bedtime is 8 PM sharp," my son reminds me every single time he drops off his kids.
Every single time, I assure him that of course, routine is important. But then we start a puzzle, or we're in the middle of a story, or they beg for just one more chapter, and suddenly it's 9:30 and we're making popcorn for a movie that hasn't even started yet.
There's something about grandchildren that makes clocks irrelevant. When my 8-year-old granddaughter curls up next to me, asking to hear about when I was her age, how can I possibly look at the time?
These conversations, these connections? They don't follow schedules.
3) "No means no."
Have you ever tried to say no to a grandchild who's mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes?
I used to be strong. Thirty-two years in a high school classroom taught me to hold firm boundaries but, apparently, all that training evaporates when a 2-year-old great-grandchild reaches up those chubby arms and says "Pease?"
Just yesterday, I told my granddaughter she couldn't have a third cookie.
She looked at me, tilted her head, and said, "But Grandma, you make the best cookies in the whole world."
Reader, she got the cookie, and possibly a fourth one when I wasn't counting.
4) "I won't give unsolicited advice."
Every Boomer grandparent I know has sworn this oath: We will not tell our children how to raise their children.
We remember how annoying it was when our parents did it to us and, yet, the words tumble out: "You know, when you were little..." or "Have you considered..." or my personal favorite, "I'm not telling you what to do, but..."
The struggle is real. We watch our children navigate parenting challenges we've already solved, and staying quiet feels like watching someone take the long route when we know the shortcut.
But here's what I've learned: Sometimes, the long route is their route, and that's okay.
5) "Screen time limits will be enforced."
"One hour of screen time, max," I confidently told my daughter, "Just like you asked."
But then it's raining, and I'm trying to cook dinner, and they're quietly entertained, and suddenly they've watched three episodes of something with singing animals and I'm pretending I lost track of time.
Or worse, they introduce me to their games, and next thing I know, I'm deeply invested in helping them build a virtual farm or solve puzzles with cartoon characters I couldn't name if my life depended on it.
How did this happen? I was supposed to be the enforcer, not a co-conspirator.
6) "I won't contradict their parents."
"Your mom said no dessert? Oh, well, this is just a tiny piece of cake. It barely counts as dessert."
I heard these words come out of my mouth last week, and I immediately remembered promising my daughter I would present a united front.
The problem is, grandparent logic operates in a different universe. In my universe, grandma's house has different rules. Special occasions happen more frequently (Tuesday can be special if you squint).
Sometimes, being the fun one feels more important than being the consistent one.
7) "I'll keep the house clean."
Before they arrive, I clean, I organize, and I put breakable things up high. I promise myself that this time, we'll do activities at the table, use placemats, clean as we go.
Then they burst through the door like tiny tornadoes of joy, and within minutes, there are toys everywhere, craft supplies scattered across surfaces I forgot I had, and somehow—I still don't understand how—play-doh on the ceiling.
You know what? I've learned to love the mess.
The house being upside down means it's been filled with life. When I find a toy under the couch three days after they've left, it makes me smile.
The tidiness can wait; these moments can't.
8) "I won't buy them everything they want."
"We're just going to the store for milk," I tell myself, but then my grandson mentions he's learning about dinosaurs at school, and before I know it, we're in the toy aisle examining every prehistoric creature made of plastic.
"It's educational," I rationalize as we head to checkout with an entire Jurassic period in our cart.
The truth is, saying yes to grandchildren feels different than it did with our own kids. Maybe because we have more disposable income now, or maybe because we understand how fleeting childhood is.
Either way, my credit card has become very familiar with the toy store.
9) "I won't let them eat junk food."
I stock up on fruit and vegetables before every visit. I plan healthy snacks and balanced meals.
Then they arrive, and suddenly we're having a very serious discussion about whether rainbow sprinkles or chocolate sprinkles make donuts taste better, and I'm googling the nearest bakery that sells both so we can conduct a proper taste test.
Food with grandchildren becomes about more than nutrition.
It's about the cookie baking sessions where more flour ends up on us than in the bowl, teaching them my mother's recipe and watching them measure ingredients with the concentration of tiny scientists, and memories that taste like chocolate chips and sound like giggles.
Final thoughts
Here's what I've discovered in my journey as a grandmother: All these promises we break are adjustments to a different kind of love, one that comes with the wisdom of age and the freedom from daily parenting responsibilities.
We break these promises not because we don't respect our children's parenting, but because grandparenting operates on a different frequency: One tuned to joy, indulgence, and the acute awareness that these moments are precious and finite.
Yes, I'll probably keep saying I won't do these things; yes, I'll probably keep doing them anyway.
Being a grandparent means having the privilege of breaking a few rules, creating a little magic, and sending them home sugared up and slightly spoiled.
After all, isn't that what we're really here for?
