My grandson clung to his dad at drop-off. By bedtime, everything was different.

My grandson has always been aloof with us.

I tell myself it’s because he’s a pandemic baby and our bonding time was stolen.

Why does my coming in for a hug make him feel uncomfortable?

I assumed that my affection would be reciprocated by all of my grandkids.

Wanting to both express my love while respecting his comfort zone, I approach with awkward caution.

The plan was for me to go to my son and daughter-in-law’s house to babysit my two grandsons on Saturday night.

As usual, I check in by text the night before to confirm the time. “Would I prefer to have them sleep over at our house?” she texted back.

As I let that sit for a minute, I weighed the implications.

Was this a subterfuge to get a night off from the kids?

My babysitting had fizzled out since I had recently told all of my adult children I needed some respite.

Shouldn’t I want to spend more time with my grandkids, who bring me such joy?

What I thought would be a few hours of babysitting was turning into a potential two-day affair.

On Sunday, I wanted to catch up after my busy week and prepare for the next one.

With the kids staying overnight, it put a real squeeze on my time.

I offered to do whatever the kids preferred: me going there or their coming here.

I decided that strengthening fragile relationships was more important.

When I was told they were coming after lunch, I assumed it was the kids’ choice.

The youngest wanted to stay, but the older, anxious one was “iffy” as my son put it.

It was important to me that my grandson choose to stay overnight of his own accord.

I tried to question it without sounding as if I didn’t want them over. “He’ll be fine,” my son assured me.

When my son showed up to drop off his two boys, with the eldest clinging to him like burrs to fur, my reservations grew. “He’ll be fine,” he repeated.

When it was time for him to leave, my grandson clung harder, requesting one last hug after another, to which my son obliged.

He even told his son he could call him before bed if he wanted.

Once the decision was made, I went all in, determined to ensure we had a great day.

My first line of attack was to invite my eldest grandson to join the sleepover.

A natural dynamic leader and more than comfortable here, he was a definite ally.

Until his parents answered in the affirmative, I upped my game with a promise of a movie night and a bike ride to the park.

They burned off energy running around and climbing, and peeing in the puddles as little country boys do.

Shortly after we got back, their cousin arrived, eliminating all remaining angst.

They busied themselves with new toys in the basement while I prepared supper.

They ate, showered, and changed into pjs in record time to watch the movie.

I served them popcorn and extra little treats, and we cuddled on the sofa.

Bedtime was a non-issue — no one asked to call their parents, and I didn’t offer.

When my son texted to check that everything was OK, I truthfully assured him it was.

The next morning, I spoiled the kids with waffles for breakfast.

When they returned to the basement to play, my eldest grandson took a soccer ball to the chin, knocking out his already dangling bottom tooth.

The parents’ arrival in the midst of this chaos diverted the drama to comic relief.

They stayed for a short visit but left before lunch, leaving me time to catch up on tasks.

After all was said and done, I paused for reflection.

I should have understood my son’s need to reassure his sensitive little guy.

I should also have remembered the need to recoup while raising my own three young, energetic boys.

It is not my place to judge, just as my mom didn’t question me when I was raising my boys.

I have resolved to let the parents figure out what is best for their kids without my unsolicited advice.

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