I am a long-distance grandma. Have been from the beginning of my grandma gig.
The first few years I moaned and groaned ceaselessly about the miles separating me and my sweeties.
I'm now nearly nine years into grandmahood. In that time I've thankfully learned there is indeed — unbelievable as I first thought it might be — a bright side to my grandbabies living so far from me.
Following are a few such perks on which fellow long-distance grandparents just might agree.
Bathroom breaks at my house are a breeze. I never need straddle a step stool when using the toilet. Nor do I have to question who left the seat up as only two males share my home — and the clever canine one is not (yet) clever enough to not do his bathroom business outdoors.
Empty nest free-for-all. Visits from grands require advance planning. Which leaves zero possibility my husband and I will be caught in the act — of eating ice cream for breakfast, that is. Or any other adult-only activity.
Saturdays belong to me. Youth soccer, basketball, birthday parties, swimming lessons and similarly time-consuming extracurricular events often take place on Saturdays. Events local grandparents often spend their Saturdays spectating. Not me! Mine, mine, mine... Saturdays are all mine to fill — or not fill — however I please.
Netflix is all mine, too. When the streaming service asks "Who's watching?," there's only one profile to click — and no reason to enter the Kid Zone.
Same goes for snacks. Never, ever do I have a hankering for a cheese stick only to find upon opening the fridge that a grandkid gobbled the last one. When I want a banana for my breakfast, no one else has nabbed it. (Cookies, well, they're another story, thanks to the cookie-gobbling grandpa-in-residence.)
I don't have to watch my language. I can say <cuss> and <cuss> and <cussing-cuss-cuss> all I want the majority of the time and not a single person within earshot will be corrupted or concerned with Gramma's potty mouth.
Lying is acceptable, encouraged even. To oneself, at least. Because who would have the heart (or lack thereof) to call out a grandma who compiles lists of feeble reasons why she's just fine and dandy living miles and miles and miles — 815 to be exact — from her grands? Especially a grandma who, truth be told, would be quite content to spend Saturdays in the stands of sporting events of her grands.
What additional benefits might there be to being a long-distance grandma? (You lucky local grandmas are encouraged to pipe up about things you could do without.)