My favourite place to sit in our house is an old retro-green armchair that Mum got us from the Salvo’s when we first moved in. This house has more living spaces than we had furniture and given that we’d just sold our soul for a mortgage, we weren’t in a position to buy lots of new things. Six years later it still hasn’t been replaced and we turn a blind eye to its ugliness because it’s so comfortable. The seat is well worn and is hugged either side by wooden armrests who are always ready to hold your coffee or wine or a cold beer. I get the feeling these armrests would’ve been home to a few ashtrays in their time and I like that the chair has a story before ours, even if it is a seedy one.

Anyway, I’m sitting in my favourite old chair, takeaway coffee in hand, and computer on my lap, enjoying a rare moment of ‘empty house time’. Ash is at work, Bobby is in day care and Sid is no doubt being cuddled to sleep by his Nan as we speak. Winter sunshine is coming through the window and birds are gargling their conversation across the road in the park. I should be doing housework but I’m just not. I thought I’d spin a yarn instead.

When I was a young’un I was the shyest little thing you’d ever meet. As a toddler my head was permanently buried between my Mum’s knees, lest anyone dare try talking to me. The only person more shy than me was my younger brother. Man did we put our parents through some outrageous tantrums, as the pent up frustration of hiding ourselves from the outside world was unleashed at home. Going to friend’s houses always brought a mixture of excitement and anxiety. And sleepovers were just completely out of the question.

The only place I felt truly comfortable, aside from the sanctuary of home, was with my grandparents, Marsie and Pa. Kids are intuitive little creatures, they feel things even if they can’t yet label them. And I felt their love for me like a warm hug, safe and unyielding. Marsie’s soft body was the perfect place to rest your head and I can still feel the fabric of her blouse against my cheek. I can smell the chicory essence that sat like syrup in her bottomless coffee cup. I can hear her husky laugh as it fell from her mouth and wrapped its hands around my heart. I don’t care how corny that sounds, in my memory that’s how I feel it. Always nurturing, never belittling. My grandparents are the taste of too many icy poles, vegemite saladas, sponge cake, shell noodles with butter, cups of tea and All Bran cereal heaped with sugar. I even dabbled in a few of their Quick-Eze lollies over the years.

The trees in their garden were the ‘jungle’ of our imaginations. So many hours spent playing there with our cousins, so many happy memories. Our walks along the river track were treasure-finding ‘adventures’, with no sense of time or need to hurry.

Sleepovers at their house meant ice cream for dessert and lollies from the milk bar. There were mud pies in the garden and cubby houses built everywhere we shouldn’t. There were gruff, bristly goodnight kisses from Pa and wet lipstick marks from Marsie. We had the choice of squeaky single beds or co-sleeping with a snoring grandmother. I usually chose the latter and just prodded her when she got too noisy.

I’m all grown up now and my grandparents are very old. Marsie is well-looked after in the local aged-care facility and Pa rides his tricycle down to sit with her every day, accompanied by her skittish Maltese Terrier. They bicker like only old people can, though they’ve done that their whole lives. I want them to last forever, as we do with everyone we hold dear.

As incredible as it seems, I now have my own children, which has brought me to a new stage where my parents, and Ash’s parents, have moved into the role of grandparents. And that’s what got me thinking about all of this in the first place. Because here I sit, just feeling so blessed that I can have some time to myself, while my littlest feels all the love of his Dad’s parents. Grandparents are a gift from God. And I’m not even religious.

The time I spent (and continue to spend) with my grandparents cannot be undervalued in the way that it has shaped who I am, and I know that the influence of grandparents in our boys’ lives will have the same impact.

Because while parents enforce the rules; grandparents soften them.

While parents plant imagination; grandparents let it flourish.

While parents build confidence; grandparents nurture it.

While parents teach respect; grandparents help to practise it.

While parents give security; grandparents provide the backup.

While parents give love; grandparents make it whole. No gaps.

Bobby and Sid are so lucky to have four healthy, active, loving grandparents in their lives. And Ash and I know we are just as lucky. Our boys’ grandparents are there to love them when we get tired. Love them when we need a night out. Love them when they’re naughty. Love them when they’re good. Love them when they just want to love them for loving them’s sake. How incredible.

So I don’t care if the rule book goes out the window when our boys go to play at their Nan and Pop’s or their Mama’s or Poppa Spidge’s. I don’t care if they eat chocolate or watch telly or get cuddled to sleep instead of put in their cot. I don’t care if they stay up late or have pancakes for tea. I don’t care because grandparents are a warm snuggle on a cold day. They are the stuff of picture storybooks. They are the cloudy dreams that conquer scary nightmares. And they’re just bloody awesome.

If our boys can get a little of their Nan’s gentleness, their Pop’s generosity, their Mama’s spirit and their Poppa’s kind temperament – well they will be the luckiest little boys in the world.

I know not everyone is fortunate enough to have such wonderful grandparents, or even have grandparents around at all. So today I am grateful for all of the loving grandparents that walk among us, and taking a little moment to remember those that have become the treasure of our memories. Even if they are no longer here, their stories live on through their family. Their values get passed on.

Grandparents, they’re really the Grand Parents to all of us.

Thank goodness for them.

Eliza xx