Spurred By Recent Events...

Dear Grandparents:

I know you mean well. And I know you love your grandchildren. But if we are all going to enjoy a happy, peaceful co-existence, we're going to have to abide by some basic ground rules. And 21 hours of labor entitles me to set the rules, at least where my kid is concerned.

First rule: Don't undermine me. If I've taken something away from the child, forbidden the child to have something, punished the child in some way, or otherwise offended your delicate sensibilities about the child, please don't give them whatever it was under the table or behind my back, roll your eyes at me in the kid's presence, mutter under your breath, or otherwise steal my parental thunder. You're not helping anyone. My rules are my rules. If you have a problem with them, please set aside some time to talk with me when the kid isn't present. Or butt out. That's probably even better.

Second rule: Before you accuse me of being too harsh with the child, too loud with the child, or too anything else, I want you to think really really hard about raising me. You yelled. You took things away. You slammed doors. You whispered in that terrifying way. And you got to spank. Without social frowning or Social Services. Our generation doesn't get the spank, so we make a lot more use of our voices. Your "better way" doesn't work--I've tried it. Spare me the lecture, remember what it was like to parent, and unless you think there's actual abuse happening, have a nice tall glass of Mind Your Own Business.

Third rule: Sugar is not a food group. And it really isn't funny to get my children all hyped up on the stuff and then leave me to be the bad guy and clean it all up. An occasional treat is fine; an entire box of Froot Loops in one sitting is not. So help me, I'm passing on the dental bills to you.

Fourth rule: Santa Claus makes his appearance one day a year. You do not need to shower the little angels with gifts every single time you see them. I'd like them to love you for you, not for your credit card. And this deal where they expect stuff all the time? Not attractive. Please stop it. Give them kisses and hugs and time instead. You'll all be better off.

Fifth rule: I'm sure school is much too challenging these days and my children's' teachers know nothing. Ditto for their pediatricians. But please keep those opinions out of earshot of the little guys. Undermining those people is about as helpful as undermining me. I didn't pick them randomly out of a phone book. Please don't insult me by assuming you know more than they do.

Sixth rule: Ixnay on the outingpay. Remember how you'd flip when I pouted? It's not working so well on your end these days. They're my kids and I'm going to make decisions I feel are best for them, even if those decisions hurt your feelings, offend your intelligence, or otherwise go against your personal grain. I'm the parent and it's my prerogative. Deal with it in an adult manner.

We love you. Grandparents rock. But lately, the helping isn't so helpful. It's my job to set rules and boundaries and enforce them. I'm trying to let these little cuties grow up into decent, responsible, healthy adults. I'm not trying to insult you or hurt your feelings; in fact, most of it has nothing at all to do with you.

I'm just asking you to work with me. Be part of my team. See where I'm coming from, try to remember when you were in my shoes, and if all else fails, pipe down and let it go. For all of our happiness.

Love,

Your Daughter, the mom