ALEXANDRA SHULMAN’S NOTEBOOK: Why it is a lot harder to boss us proxy grans about

ALEXANDRA SHULMAN’S NOTEBOOK: Why it is a lot harder to boss us proxy grans about

My fourth proxy grandchild arrived last week. Proxy because none of the parents of these four delightful children is a child of mine, but of either my ex-husband or my now partner.

So while I am thrilled by this new arrival (a gorgeous little girl), it also feels like cheating to accept the congratulations of others on ‘my’ grandchild. Because I am not really a grandparent.

Modern maternity units, it appears, ban grandparents from the hospital, so the queue to see the as-yet-unnamed newborn the instant she got home was a long one. As much as I wanted to catch a first glimpse, I felt as if I was depriving the opportunity from someone – a blood relation – more worthy.

When I did snuggle her in my arms, staring down and wondering if she was going to have her mum’s nose and whether she would be lucky enough to get her dad’s bright blue eyes, I realised that I didn’t feel like a grandparent. Or what I imagine a grandparent might feel. It was as if I had been flung into a condition that I wasn’t fully in working order for.

My own mother was (I hope she won’t mind my saying) a full-time journalist and not entirely keen on taking on full-scale the identity of grandparent when her grandchildren first appeared.

She referred to herself only ironically as ‘granny’ and was more likely to keep up a constant conversation about current affairs and cultural events when the babies visited than get involved in sleeping schedules. (Of course she loves them madly, and they her, now they are adults and can show an interest, for example, in the Philip Guston show at Tate).

My fourth proxy grandchild arrived last week. Proxy because none of the parents of these four delightful children is a child of mine, but of either my ex-husband or my now partner (stock photo)

I hope I have slightly more innate grandparental tendencies, should my own son produce a child in years to come, but I don’t feel I am quite there yet.

Naturally there is an element of not wanting to think of oneself as old enough to be a grandparent but as most of my contemporaries proudly show off photographs of their grandchildren all through dinner, this is not at all the reason.

It’s that I haven’t crossed the generational Rubicon whereby your child becomes a parent themself.

Delighted as I am by the company of my step-children – who have been a huge part of my life to different degrees – I don’t feel any entitlement to their children.

I haven’t had the emotional experience of watching my child go through this massive life-changing experience.

Despite that, I hope that with this fourth proxy grandchild I’ll be able to play a more active part in her life than I have with the others. I intend to indulge her in every way I can.

New parents nowadays can be frighteningly stern in their approach to what is allowed and how their children behave, with unbreakable routines. But they aren’t able to be quite so bossy with a proxy grandparent as they are with their own parents, whose devotion and willingness to do as they are told they can take for granted.

…But we’re more helpful than chimps

I’m certainly going to be more use than the chimp grandmothers of Ngogo in Uganda which have no interest at all in caring for their grandchildren. A team of evolutionary biologists has been studying their negligent behaviour to discover more about the role of post-menopausal females of the species.

The scientists wonder what the primates’ purpose is if they are no longer able to reproduce and are not helpful to the new generation. But answer they have found none. Sadly, the research from Arizona State University does not explore the existential validity of useless grandfather chimps.

I’ve seen the light – and it’s not all white

When we moved into our home 17 years ago, we ripped out everything the previous owners had installed: the wallpaper, the dark wood, the small kitchen and the hanging ceiling lights.

Back then, dangling ceiling lights were not the thing. They were too reminiscent of the dingy lighting from cheap old paper globes that were all we could afford in student digs.

How times change. Last week, I was obsessing over fitting a pair in the living room where the ceiling roses have been unused since we moved in.

Today, every kitchen worth its Maldon salt seems to have a trio of pendant lights hanging over the island, and a whizz through interior magazines shows the importance of ‘statement lighting’, which I think is what these lights would be.

But all the same, their possible installation is causing me great concern. Will they make the ceiling appear lower? Will they make the room appear smaller?

With these worries, clearly it would be easier to leave well alone. But our house is painted an unfashionable white, with bare floorboards and not a wallpapered feature wall or kitchen island in sight. It could be a museum exhibit for Noughties interior style. At least if I had some pendant lighting I would feel I had made a step into the interiors of the 21st Century.

Apparently three stars is a triumph, Lily

HOTTEST TICKET IN TOWN: Actress Lily James in Lyonesse

It’s unfathomable how anyone manages to get West End theatre tickets once a play has started its run. As the daughter of a theatre critic, I remember how many people used to say they had either been influenced to go to see something, or not, by his reviews.

Critics could fill or empty theatres. But nowadays, by the time their opinion is announced, every seat has long been filled.

For weeks I’ve been stalking seats for Lily James and Kristin Scott Thomas in Lyonesse – lured by their names and that of director Ian Rickson. But I couldn’t get a seat for any reasonable price. Now I’m happy. The reviews have been pretty dire. Or so I thought. Discussing this with someone, I was amazed that he thought the reviews had been perfectly fine.

‘Three stars!’ he pronounced as if this was a trophy rating.

I suppose like most things, the reaction to any review is in the eye and mind of the beholder.

Source: Read Full Article