Living in the village ... of Grandmas

We've just come back from a trip to Way the Hell Up North to see Gramma and Grampa. I've been reading all the wonderful, thoughtful comments all of you have left on my last post and I'm thinking it all through.

Now I'm wondering about the village of Grammas ...

BUT FIRST! A WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR! THIS POST BROUGHT TO YOU BY MOMMY-BLOGGER GUILT--WHEN OVERWHELMED BY LIFE AND SUMMERTIME AND WORK AND TRAVEL, AND NOT POSTING OR READING AS MUCH AS YOU LIKE--USE MOMMY-BLOGGER GUILT! GUARANTEED TO MAKE YOU REMORSEFUL AND APOLOGETIC.

FOR THE LOW LOW PRICE OF YOUR PEACE OF MIND, MOMMY-BLOGGER GUILT WILL REPROACH YOU FOR NOT READING ANYONE AT ALL, NOT EVEN YOUR FAITHFUL COMMENTERS! FOR NOT ATTENDING TO THE COOL MEMES THAT AWAIT! FOR NOT POSTING.

Err, what was that? Anyhow, the village of Grammas. In the village of Grammas, you never need fear that your toddler is unsupervised. Grammas are always ready with a spitty-finger to clean peanut butter off noses, and ever vigilant to signs of tiredness or hunger. Grammas always tie sunhats and zip jackets. This is all very good.

In fact, this is all very very good. As Munchkin gets older, Gramma is becoming more hands-on, more involved ... and, it strikes me, more smitten and more loving. Confident that Munchkin is no longer dependent solely on me, my own mom lets me: have naps, go out at night, take a shower in peace, and run errands while she plays with Darling Granddaughter. I have to say that our trip up north was wonderful for the relaxed pace of parenting it offered. It was also wonderful to watch my mother bond with my daughter. They form a perfect mutual admiration society, gazing deeply into each others' eyes, broad smile crinkling the gaps between nose and forehead. Each squeals with delight in the face of the love offered by the other. It was wonderful to watch.

But the flipside? Time with Gramma is now a course in Remedial Parenting for yours truly. Here is a catalogue of my most obvious maternal sins, compiled by my mother:

* did not bring the right kind of pyjamas for Munchkin: it's COLD up north
* do not cut Munchkin's bangs to proper length, and risk blinding her with hair
* remiss in the use of developmentally appropriate toys: the ones we have are not challenging enough
* risk scarring Munchkin for life with my enforcement of vegetarianism on her
* do not speak enough french around Munchkin (I am fluent, by contrast, despite my own mother's never having spoken french to me at all)
* wrap her in too many blankets at night
* foster an inappropriate attachment to doudou
* talk too much to Munchkin
* pay too much attention to Munchkin

I am more interested than annoyed by this assessment of my parenting. I was particularly startled to hear that I pay too much attention to Munchkin. Inteweb, if I'm going to be brutally honest with you, I often consider myself somewhat lax in the attention-to-child department. I don't really like to play blocks and have a limited patience for recitations of The Owl and The Pussycat. I cherish naptime and often try to set Munchkin up with a good bunch of toys so that I can hide in the kitchen and tidy ... or read the paper. I play with her, sure, frequently and gladly, even, but if she's concentrating on something and looking really engaged, I tend to sneak away.

Let's say, kindly, that I aim to foster independence and self-reliance in Munchkin. In this, I find I behave, actually, a lot like my mother. I am acutely conscious of, say, my preference for the Saturday Globe and Mail over another round of 'throw the tiny football and squeal like a maniac', and I have to say, I feel really bad about it.

I feel, in my heart of hearts, like I should spend more time with Munchkin. That I should pay her more attention, not less.

Evidently, my mom feels differently. And so, criticizing me as a hover-mommy, she has, paradoxically, freed me from my guilt. If I think I pay not enough attention, and she thinks I pay too much ... well, I must be within the acceptable boundary of care and neglect, don't you think?

Thanks, Mom!