The Joys of Grandparenting

Happy Family Matters

Written by daughter, B. Marie  

 

11/13/26 9:10 PM

You may have heard people say that being a grandparent is a different kind of love. That is very true! The pure excitement and joy I felt when our first grandchild was born was indescribable. When I gave birth to my own children, I was certainly happy and excited, too, but those feelings came mixed with fear and anxiety.

When I held my grandchild and took that first whiff of the hair on top of her perfectly rounded head, my heart just exploded. You see, I gave birth to not one, but two sons. So when I finally held my granddaughter, I cried.

This little one was our first girl—the daughter of our eldest son, and a true extension of us. She is beautiful, as any grandmother would proudly say, and I immediately claimed her resemblance to me. To this very day, I still call her my mini-me.

From the moment she was born, I became the resident photographer. She had a camera in her face the second she greeted this world, and the exact same thing happened when our second granddaughter arrived. My family still teases me about the sheer number of photos and videos I have of my babies.

My husband even had to remind me that they didn’t need another single thing bought for them. It felt like every store suddenly put a spotlight on all the cute girls' outfits and toys, with flashing signs saying, “Buy me! Buy me!”

The relief we feel as grandparents comes from knowing our main job is just to love up on them and send them right back home to their parents.

I distinctly remember telling my sons before walking into a store, “Don’t touch anything, don’t ask for anything, and don’t act up and embarrass me in here!” Yet I’ve actually heard myself say to my eldest son about his own daughter, “Awww, don’t be upset with the baby. Give her what she wants.” He looked at me as if to say, “Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?”

The leniency you have with grandchildren is in a class of its own. Now, don’t get me wrong—I am still an old-school grandma who believes in loving discipline that teaches and trains children. Values have to be taught and boundaries learned. Children will test you, so you must be consistent and firm. Say what you mean, and mean what you say.

Children are also always watching and will imitate what they see and hear, so we have to set a good example. Be good, doting grandparents—love them up, and send them back home.

Sweet Memories

Happy Family Matters

Written by daughter, B. Marie  

 

10/17/26 9:10 PM

Living with memory impairment can be daunting and frustrating. Watching my mom navigate each week, unable to keep track of the days, is heartbreaking. Every morning, she checks the clock and the calendar, yet the question always follows: "What day is it?" But I am deeply grateful that her most precious memories seem to exist outside the boundaries of space and time.

Some of her favorite memories are of the long, winding drives she used to take with her lifelong friend. Back then, she looked forward to those Sunday outings with the pure, bubbly excitement of a child awaiting a school field trip. Every Sunday afternoon, they would set off, not returning until late in the evening. The following week she would happily recite their ventures and how much she enjoyed herself.

They crossed county lines and state borders, chasing roads down to the oceanfront or navigating the busy streets of D.C., Maryland, Virginia, and Pennsylvania. For the entire week that followed, she would fill the house with her recollections—the bursts of shared laughter, the music they sang along to or quietly enjoyed, the deep conversations, and the local restaurants where they stopped for dinner.

Moments Well Spent

Happy Family Matters

Written by daughter, B. Marie  

 

8/28/26 12:29 PM

Last week I heard my Mom fiddling with something in the corner of her room, so I went in to see if she needed assistance. She was trying to reconnect her TV, so I asked, “Mom, why did you disconnect the TV?” Frustrated, she said, “I don’t know who disconnected it.” I replied, “Well, you’re the only one who's in this room.” She then sadly looked at me and stated, “Since turning 40 years old, I can’t do anything right anymore.” 

First, I had to stop myself from chuckling because how is it that she’s now twenty-four years younger than me? Then the kicker was what she said next: “I wish that my children were here with me.” Now, I simply wanted to cry. Instead, I reconnected her television, turned to her favorite show, and then gently kissed her forehead while saying, “That’s okay, you have me here.” She then smiled and said, “Girl, I’m certainly glad of that!”

Learning Never Stops

Happy Family Matters

Written by daughter, B. Marie  

3/14/24 9:10 PM

I have always been a planner. Whether it is organizing a complex itinerary, diving deep into research, or meticulously mapping out an event, I thrive on details and fact-finding. 

But nothing in my life could have fully prepared me for the role of becoming my mother’s permanent caregiver after her dementia diagnosis.

I quickly learned that caring for someone with dementia is a journey without a standard roadmap; it is entirely unique to the individual. Along the way, I have stumbled, learned, and adapted. 

To help other caregivers navigating this challenging path, I have gathered the most valuable lessons and practical strategies that have brought peace, safety, and even a bit of joy back into our daily lives.

Heart-to-Heart: Lessons in Connection and Patience

Trade arguments for peace. Dementia gradually strips away age-appropriate reasoning. Arguing with your loved one will only cause distress for both of you.
Master the art of distraction. When tension rises or a fixation becomes unhealthy, gently pivot. Point out something outside the window, change the room, or start a new activity to guide their mind away from the trigger.
Embrace therapeutic fibs. White lies are acts of kindness here when it eases tension. If a small untruth prevents panic or heartbreak, give yourself permission to use it.
Guard your tone and expression. People with dementia are highly sensitive to emotional energy. Even if you are feeling frustrated inside, maintaining a cheerful voice and a calm face will almost always mirror back a positive response.
Retire the word “remember.” Asking them to remember can highlight their cognitive gaps and cause anxiety. Instead, simply share the memory yourself or look at a photograph together to see if a spark naturally ignites a memory.
Decode their language. If they are struggling to express a thought, listen for a single recognizable word. Use that word to gently anchor your follow-up question and help them finish the thought.
Anchor them in routine. Maintain normalcy as much as possible. Drastic changes to schedules or environments can spark deep irritation and confusion.
Let outsiders deliver the hard truths. When it is time to deliver painful news—like taking away the car keys—let a doctor or the DMV be the "bad guy." This protects your relationship from resentment.
Take control of finances early. Step in and manage their financial affairs before a mistake or a disaster occurs.
Secure your own oxygen mask. You cannot provide 24/7 care alone. You need to take a breath at least once each week. Go out and get some fresh air. Hire in-home help, even if only for a few hours a week, and use that time to do something that truly fulfills you.
Find your tribe. Joining a support group is not a luxury; it is essential for your mental and emotional well-being.

What Day Is this?

Happy Family Matters

Written by daughter, B. Marie  

 

2/29/24 10:31 PM

I woke up to a beautiful, blustery, sunny day. After being sick for the entire week, it was great to hear the birds singing outside of my bedroom window and to see the sun shining brightly. I did a mental check of how I was feeling: 

No fever…. Check.

No headache…. Check.

No stomach ache…. Check!

No lower back ache…. 

Well, maybe a little, but nothing a little ibuprofen won’t relieve. So, surmising that I am feeling much better, I get up to start my usual routine. 

So thankful for Angelo, who stepped right up and made sure that both Mom and I were well cared for.

After breakfast and making certain that everyone’s needs were cared for, I decided to run my usual Wednesday errands. I noticed that I didn’t have my usual pep in my step. In between running into different stores, I had to sit in the car to regain my energy. By my third stop, I realized that my stamina was depleted and that I needed to narrow down my errands to just one more venture and head back home.

While driving home, at a red light, I began to make a mental note of what I had on my schedule for the next day when suddenly I realized that this day was in fact Thursday, not Wednesday… OH NO! I totally missed an important appointment that I needed to attend on Thursday… today.

You Got This Girl!

Happy Family Matters

Written by daughter, B. Marie

4/16/24 9:10 PM

I often wonder if I'm ever going to make it through the day. There are bills to be paid, breakfast, lunch and dinner to be made and a sore body to be laid, right across my bed. As I make my way to my bedroom I heard commotion.

"Stop making all that noise up there!" Mom yells while banging on the wall. I quickly run into the room gasping, "Mom, what's wrong? Who are you screaming at?" "Those people upstairs are so noisy." she replies frantic and frustrated. Mom that's Angelo. He's just opening the garage to get the gardening tools out." "No! That's not Angelo. It's those noisy people in the building. The ones living upstairs over my apartment!" "Mom, there is nothing upstairs but a roof. There is no upstairs." Suddenly I remember that we do have an attic and some attics have drop-down steps. 

I'm really not sure if the attic has drop down steps because I'm too afraid to venture up there. What am I thinking? By this time my own thoughts are confusing me. 

Looks like she's finally did it people. She finally got to me. I'm second guessing my own reality. I feel like I just got infected with a dipsey daft virus and if I stay in her room any longer I will start showing the full symptoms of lunacy.  I can see the signs on the wall. "Welcome To The Insane Asylum For Seniors." "Straight jackets are free - Drop your coats off at the door." "Stay calm, someone will be with you shortly."

The Uncontrollable Remote Control

Happy Family Matters

Written by daughter, B. Marie

February 22, 2024  

 

Mom will go to great lengths to get the stupid remote fixed. For example,                                                                                                                                                       3 or more times a day while laying on her bed and enjoying her TV shows she accidentally changes the channel or hits the power button and turns off the TV. She surmises that she did not do anything wrong. It's the remote control's fault. 

The remote has run amok, and it needs to be taught a lesson! After fiddling to try to make it work herself, she quickly gets out 

of bed and begins her search for someone, anyone, to fix her remote.  

I dread the day when she can't find anyone in the house to fix the remote and ventures out of  the house.  She would knock on our neighbor's door, and when it opens, she will say, "My stupid remote control won't work. Can you fix it for me?" Of course the remote control works fine. It's the latest in remote control technology. The problem is that for the past 12 months she has not learned how to work it. The poor thing. But it's not entirely her fault. To add to the confusion, some days she thinks the remote control is the cell phone.  

Since she moved from Maryland to Pennsylvania, we had to change cable services. The new service came with an upgraded cable box with a remote control. We hoped she would have learned how to operate the new remote by now, but she hasn't. It would not be so bad if she would just put the thing down and stop trying to change the channel with those busy fingers of hers.  So three or more times a day she roams the halls searching for me or Angelo to help her make her remote work.