It's not even a contest. Grandma is happy to lose, and Zoe's got her so wrapped around her finger she has Grandma thinking it's a win.
I'm talking about my mother here, aka Queens Grandma, Zoe's name for her. Her other grandmother she calls Connecticut Grandma. Connecticut Grandma is also charmed by Zoe, going so far as to call her a "pleasure" and a "delight." However, Connecticut Grandma's been in the trenches. She raised four kids and now has seven grandchildren, Zoe being the last. So she's seen things you wouldn't believe and has either lived to tell the tale or long enough to forget the worst of it.
My mom is a different story. Zoe is her only grandchild. So she dotes till it hurts and then she digs deep and dotes some more.
This weekend was a case in point. My mother was over and we were going out to dinner along with my sister and her husband, both older and wiser, i.e., childless. The occasion? My mother's birthday. Now ask me if even though it was her birthday she brought a gift for Zoe. If you said yes, you'd be wrong.
She brought four gifts.
And when our reservation at the restaurant was late, guess who shelled out more money for another gift at the toy store next to the restaurant?
Zoe was overexcited and hungry, the one-two punch of misbehavior, so The Husband and I had to keep disciplining her, reminding her of her manners, threatening to take toys away, etc. Meanwhile she continued to slide around on the banquette, whining and making repeated demands for chocolate milk and pasta.
According to his grandmother, Alex wasn't all baddiwad. It were his droogs. |
None of which fazed my mother, leading me to wonder: Who was this woman? If I'd behaved this way in a restaurant as a child I would've been in so much trouble. Where was the lady who wielded her wooden spoon with authority, threatening to smack my sister and I on our respective fannies if we didn't shape up and stop acting like hooligans?
The answer: This woman was now The Grandmother, not The Mother. Her job was to sit back and relax, enjoy her birthday, her meal, and the antics of her granddaughter. My job was to be the killjoy disciplinarian.
And that's fine, really it is. I don't expect my mother to discipline my child. However, I also didn't expect all the blatant enabling, and part of me wondered if she was getting revenge.
See, after all of her shenanigans, I told Zoe she couldn't have dessert. Not only didn't she deserve it but I was honestly afraid of what an influx of sugar would lead to.
You will be the instrument of my vengeance. |
See, after all of her shenanigans, I told Zoe she couldn't have dessert. Not only didn't she deserve it but I was honestly afraid of what an influx of sugar would lead to.
That's when Grandma said, "Don't worry, Zoe, you can have some of mine."
Uh, wut now?
Sure enough, when the desserts came and Zoe didn't get her own plate and started to cry, Grandma came to the rescue, shoveling chocolate cake and ice cream onto Zoe's plate. Grandma even spooned the final large bite into Zoe's adorable gaping maw when the little eating machine wearied.
Alas, the bite was too big, so Zoe was forced to spit it out into Mommy's hand, freeing her mouth to complain about the bite and it's bigness. Then, surprise, a millisecond later, Zoe said, "My tummy hurts," and put her head down on the table, the picture of suffering.
And, as I looked on in appalled silence, the woman who gave birth to me, who taught me my manners and scolded me for misbehavior, this same woman stood up and moved beside Zoe so she could massage her back.
Zoe: 67; Universe of grandmothers: ? (Transcends numbers and reason)
For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on Facebook and on Twitter at @zoevsuniverse.
I need a win here, people.