Bob and I have had our local grandsons staying with us for several days. Grand-parenting is like taking a refresher parenting course, except you don’t care what grades you get because your only job is to enjoy the kids and to return them alive and well to their parents.

I was pretty worn out by the end of each day, which may have had something to do with the fact that the days started before the sun got up, which is something I usually avoid with great vigor. But I don’t think I was as tired from slicing a couple of hours off of my nightly sleep as I was from the activity. And the chatter. And the laundry. And the food preparation, which I am not used to doing on a daily basis for multiple meals, but I found that I still am quite capable in that arena. So that’s good. I guess.

Mostly, though, I just enjoyed having them around, except for homework time. The boys are both in double digits now, so they are fairly independent in their studies. But I received a note from the teacher that said something like – have your student finish the rough draft of his research paper, format it to look like a pancake, send it to someweirdgoofyname.net to ensure he gets credit for completing the task. The words download, reload, or unload may or may not have been used.

All right, those are not the exact words, but they are close enough. I handed this over to my husband who didn’t receive it with the confidence he used to have when dealing with our own kids, lo, so many years ago. Somehow or another, between the two of them, they figured out how to crack the code and get ‘er done. Since our laptop computer was in use and not theirs, we had diddly squat to go by, but my sweet and capable husband figured it out. If he hadn’t been here, I probably would have kept the boys home from school. I know that would have been wrong, but that would have been the price that my son and his wife paid for having us watch the boys.

My favorite part of their stay was being privy to some interesting conversations between the two of them. They are very close in age, so they’re always together. I was driving them home from school when one of them yelled at the other, “Hey, get your finger out of my ear. What are you doing?”

Boy 2 – “I’m just doing what it says in the Bible.”

Me – “There is nothing in the Bible about sticking your finger in your brother’s ear.”

Boy 2 – “It’s in Matthew, Mark, or, I don’t know – one of the gospels. I was going to get the wax out of his ear, but then I remembered I had to get the wax out of my own ear first. I did that, so I stuck my finger in his ear just like the Bible says.”

Me – “I’m certain that you have that confused. First get the log out of your own eye, then you can get the speck out of your brother’s eye. There is no mention of ear wax.”

Boy 2 – “I think it means the same thing.”

Me – “Now I know you’re messing with me. Just keep your fingers out of each other’s ears.”

They were laughing away and on to the next aggravation by that time. I almost got to use my old line, “You may never touch each other again.” Almost. Or my other old line, “Just because I’m laughing doesn’t mean that what you did is appropriate.”

My husband and I have raised three sons and a daughter. Watching our grandchildren grow up is such a blessing, so much fun, and really tiring. I should be ready for them to come over again in a couple of weeks. Just, no homework please.