Helpful Grandchildren

Our four grandchildren (11 to 6) are past the "lap" and "carry me" stage*.  Their hands and legs are better than mine, so it made sense to take advantage of that.  Zoe, the 9 year old, has been offering her party preparation services for awhile and I've come to depend on that.  She wipes down outdoor tables and chairs, counts napkins and moves things from point A to point B.  It was surprising to me how many simple tasks are associated with getting ready for a party.  It would take me forever, but she is done in a few minutes and ready for the next job.

Even Lexi, the youngest, folds napkins as precisely as a military recruit makes a bed. I often save the small, meticulous tasks for her; what focus!  She's happy to open a door for me and old enough to keep her toes away from the wheels of a scooter or walker.  Before their dog got so big, she could hold Porter's leash as he enthusiastically pursued affectionate scratching when we visited.  She and I are no match for a growing golden retriever; so, another job goes to someone with some height and upper body strength.


Sarah, the oldest at 11, brings laundry hampers downstairs, checks the daily mail, and is available for whatever she can fit in her schedule of homework, soccer, and friends. Since Sarah and Kyle moved in, Heidi and I were able to merge the kids' usual chores with their grandparent house chores.  Things they do without thinking (taking stuff upstairs), would be a lengthy ordeal for me.  So, I add that to my "Thanks for your help" list.  The reality is, Sarah and Kyle will have more to do as they mature and as Heidi's and my ataxia progresses.  They're already used to setting the table, clearing their plates, getting breakfasts and snacks.  Kyle, 8, takes out the trash and recycling.  Actually, he brings up empty bins as well.  It's one of those jobs that would otherwise wait a few days.  Kyle can navigate our driveway curb better than Skeeter.  He doesn't even think about the curb that becomes a major hurdle for me.  With my balance, I'm not even in his ballpark (uh, soccer field). 

When you have a disability, asking for help from anyone is difficult; children are so uncomplicated.  If they can't or don't want to, they say so.  The more simple, well-defined, do–able tasks that are helpful to me, yet not burdensome to them, mean fewer sighs, eyerolls, or "I'm so tiiireds".  I try to remember that they're capable children, not minions.  They're strong, but not weight lifters; growing, but not tall yet.  Adults, mostly happy to help, do things they don't want to or don't have time for and believe their non-verbals go unnoticed.  Spoiler alert—they don't.  I save the little jobs for grandchildren; the heavy, high jobs go to the big people.


The lesson:  People of any age are happy to help if they can.  Bite the bullet, get over the 'burden' struggle, and ask**.

*Previous post: Out of the Mouths of Babes
 
**Previous post: Caring but clueless in Portland

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