You Wouldn't Believe What My Grandchild Did... [antikvár]

Introduction ^ / ow that women like Elizabeth Taylor, Jacqueline / y Onassis, and Debbie Reynolds are grandmothers, peo-C/ ^ pie understand that grandmothers no longer have to look like those little roly-poly grannies in first-grade readers. We don't have to wear round glasses and square shoes. We don't have to bake cakes from scratch. We don't need to sit around on rocking chairs, knitting and waiting for the world to pass us by. We are a whole new generation of grandmothers and grandfathers, who exercise and eat carefully in order to feel fabulous and fool the calendar. We work and we travel; we dance and we party. But in our heart of hearts, we never forget that we are grandparents. Our buzzwords are "condo," "Disneyland," and "yes." Our grandchildren know, while still in the crib, that we are something else; we are totally different from their parents. We know too, because we look at these new lives with a love that is not filled with the everyday anxiety of parenting. We realize that we are here to provide the soft edge to the hard rules mothers and fathers must enforce in order to raise children with some sense of order and responsibility in a chaotic world. We understand the parents' role. After all, we've played it. We've been the policemen and the parole officers in the home. We've been the teachers and the trainers and the coaches. 15