Being a grandmother, from a long distance
There is no inconvenient time to be asked to hold a grandchild, Judith Timson writes.
Life should surprise us: Did I really mean to marry that person? Or commit to that work decision? And look where it led …
But the real surprise is when you have kids. Holding your own infant child in your arms for the first time, unless you’re deeply delusional, you can’t possibly predict who they will be as adults, let alone where.
I was thinking about life’s surprises a few weeks ago as I deposited my luggage in a rental apartment in a Paris suburb, and together with my husband, walked a few blocks to meet our brand new granddaughter for the first time. We were beginning our journey not only as grandparents, but longdistance ones at that.
The bébé is a few weeks old and is, of course, exquisite.
Let’s not use her name, which is perfect in French or English. I will have a profound respect for this little person’s privacy, having written so much about my own children when they were young, including a book about modern family life, that they would occasionally plead: “Mom can this be off the record?”
We — her Canadian family — deliri- ously drank champagne in the middle of the Toronto night when our daughter and son-in-law elatedly called to tell us their daughter had made her entrance.
And in the few short weeks until we actually flew over, technology and all its applications brought us pictures,
videos, live chats and the sound of a little soul stirring to life, unaware of her luck.
She is enveloped by love, which is in itself a great privilege. It starts with being the first child of two parents who are smitten with her, who together bring battalions of more love. A French family in Normandy, a Canadian family in Toronto, Ottawa and Montreal, friends, colleagues, acquaintances all beyond eager to welcome, protect and nourish her in a wide and complex world.
But technology can’t make you a grandparent in the same way that holding her in your arms and helping out on a daily basis can.
So there we were, one whole suitcase loaded with other people’s baby presents — some of them hand-knit, not all of them pink — arriving with open hearts and eager hands. Our daughter had even asked us to bring gift bottles of maple syrup for the midwives. Oh Canada!
Before I went, I asked some long-distance grandparents what works and what doesn’t. “Your job is to smile, say nothing and shell out,” joked one woman, also noting that longdistance grandparenting, which I assumed would be difficult, gives you an intensity of time together that can make for a more intimate experience than weekly visits.
Perhaps it’s the French factor, but quite a few Canadian friends found the whole notion of a little French granddaughter completely romantic: “I see you pushing a stroller through the Bois de Boulogne wearing something like this,” said a stylish friend in a gold linen shift.
Well, not exactly. For one thing, it was winter, even over there, and for another, my petite fille’s parents have opted to carry bébé in approved scarves and a beautifully designed carrier, so far obviating the need for another piece of equipment in their compact apartment.
My job actually was to cook. We designated our rental apartment, a brisk 10 minute walk away from theirs, as the dining area, and we set to work whipping up meals that gave the new parents and their infant both an outing and a stress-free dining experience.
We started with Sunday lunch. “How about a nice omelette and salad,” my husband suggested. “We were thinking more about a roast,” said my daughter, who I must say, after 10 years, has become very French.
In two short weeks, we did some stellar food shopping and cooking, including apricot chicken, roast lamb, poached salmon and more desserts from excellent pâtisseries than I will ever allow myself to eat again. Yes, there were many vegetables as well.
Our rental was right above a good grocery store, but we also had two great markets for fresh fish and produce. Love those baby radishes.
We accomplished more “firsts” as grandparents than we dreamed of, including our newly minted granddaughter’s first social outing, first café outing — as her Toronto great aunt said, every girl should know her way around a French café — and, of course, love at first sight.
Grandparent love is everything it’s cracked up to be. There is no inconvenient time to be asked to hold her, and no detail too small for me to ooh and aah over.
But grandparent love is also a potent political force. One Toronto friend, a former politician, told me she thinks that grandparents and millennial new parents now are motivated by the same passion for cleaning up the environment precisely because of this tiny new generation, helpless to our whims.
It was hard to leave when our two weeks were up. Yet when nature graciously gave us an extra day in Paris as a snow- storm on both ends cancelled our flight home, you might be shocked to learn that, put up at an airport hotel, we opted not to rush back for another moment with the new little family, but to dine à deux on the left bank.
There are, of course, already more visits set up — both there and here.
Apart from having this beautiful new being to love and get to know, and the pleasure of watching my daughter and her husband become excellent new parents, the visit was charming for my husband and me in other ways. We loved the view from our apartment window which overlooked a bustling street, we sat sipping coffee or wine at our small table, each with computers, working away when we weren’t in bébéville.
In fact, it occurred to me that perhaps long distance grandparenting, especially when it involves France, is not a makedo situation at all, but a sublime treat.
Onward with love. And perhaps, yes, why not, just one more dessert.