Week at Grandma’s

When I was young we stayed home all summer every summer, except for weddings and funerals. As a teen I went with my parents to see sights. It was very intentional; my mother said she realized we had not seen the places she and my father had seen, living in the West. So she carefully planned trips to Yellowstone, Thermopolis Hot Springs, and Temple Square in Salt Lake City. My father drove willingly and seemed to enjoy it… though being idle was hard; there was no work to do!

My husband and I were poor as church mice; there was no thought of camps or daycare. I stayed home with our children and that was that. I was shocked, therefore, when my mother-in-law said she’d take my children for a week every summer. She started when we had three small children and had just moved two hours away from her, instead of living in the same town. She said we needed a break from them and she would love to have them.

She was right about me needing a break. I got more sleep when children were not home. My husband spent his days off with me; he had work and I spent the other days by myself. My husband arranged his vacation days so we could travel to my family in Wyoming every other year, not the week Grandma had the children. In alternate years we visited Grandma and Pappap the week of the Ambrose family reunion.

My children grew noticeably during those weeks at Grandma’s house. Incremental growth became spurts when they collided with new ideas. They learned suddenly, made connections. And got in the habit of watching cartoons instead of doing chores. They loved it.