Theidentity of grandmothers has changed. Once, they cooked for the extended family, saved cloth remnants for quilts, reared chickens in the backyard and thought nothing of eating leftovers.
Today’s grandmothers are a different breed. They head to the park for morning exercise, go for facials, scroll through social media during pedicures and travel to exotic destinations. I know – I am one.
Yet one thing remains unchanged – the power of the bond. Through time, grandmothers have always nurtured, protected, fed and told stories. Being a grandmother gives me permission to release my inner child and embrace life’s more whimsical side. Grandmothering, I believe, is about the only thing in life that isn’t overrated.
My grandchildren, all aged nine and below, introduced me to Steve’s Lava Chicken by Jack Black. The youngest and I dance wildly around the living room singing Chicken La Lava, revelling in its sheer silliness. It brings pure, unfiltered joy.
With them, I can limp, groan or act utterly daft – and it’s all part of the fun. In their world, there are no goofy grannies, only grown-ups willing to play. My grandchildren fascinate me, and through them, I’ve learnt to relax, laugh and simply delight in being.
The humid evening is perfect for making bubbles. The pursuit of the most beautiful one becomes a friendly competition – the bigger, the higher, the more glorious. Armed with colourful bubble wands, we dip them into tubes of soapy liquid and sweep them through the air, releasing shimmering orbs of light. Each floating bubble fills the air – and our hearts – with delight.
One particularly large bubble swirls with rainbow hues before landing gently above the little one’s head. The children gasp – a moment of pure wonder, fleeting and fragile, much like life itself.
Their spell is broken when their mother, my eldest daughter, calls out: “Bath time before dinner – and homework after!” Parental authority slices through the laughter. The elder two know the drill; their giggles fade as the seriousness of routine returns.
I, too, sober up – until the youngest giggles and sings Chicken La Lava, pulling me back into the groove.
After a few days with my grandchildren, I pack my bags for Malaysia. I return to the same life I left behind, yet somehow changed. Time spent with them has replenished my emotional reserves, reminding me where joy truly lives.
My hope is that one day, when they are grown, they’ll remember evenings like this – when Grandma blew bubbles that shimmered and popped in the twilight.
Life is full of such small revelations – reminders to keep our hearts open for joy when it least expects to be found.
