In the Name of Recreation: Party Time at Grandma’s

Ah, recreation—a word that conjures images of quiet reading nooks, long walks in nature, or perhaps an afternoon of painting in peaceful solitude. But let’s not get carried away with Pinterest fantasies. Sometimes, recreation looks a lot more like chasing a toddler around your living room while yelling, “No, don’t eat that!” and “Where did you even find that?!”

This weekend, in the sacred name of recreation, I did things differently.

From Friday afternoon to Saturday, I had my granddaughter over for a visit—a very busy, delightfully chaotic, emotionally refreshing, and physically obliterating kind of visit. You know, the kind that fills your heart while simultaneously stealing all your energy and knee cartilage.

Let’s rewind.

🎉 Welcome to Party Time at Grandma’s House

She came in like a storm cloud made of glitter and joy, and immediately claimed her throne (aka the entire living room). We played peekaboo on the couch with Papa Wil, and every time he stepped out for a smoke, she spun herself dizzy in his chair—because obviously, his chair is now hers. We “cheers”ed every beverage like we were at a toddler keg party. Water? Cheers. Juice? Cheers. Empty cup? Still cheers.

We took the fun outdoors, visiting with neighbors and petting their adorably tiny dog. She even let one of them scoop her up for a quick cuddle, which basically made that neighbor’s entire month. I should start charging for toddler joy therapy.

🥓 Foodie Friday, Toddler Edition

Dinner was a five-star French toast affair: two slices of toast, two scoops of hashbrowns, four pieces of bacon. I had to text my daughter to ask if she was starving my grandbaby, because the way this child ate, you'd think she’d been lost in the wilderness for a week. Apparently not. She just has a black hole where her stomach should be.

Then came her first ice cream sandwich. I wish I could’ve bottled the look on her face. Pure bliss. Also, sticky. Very sticky.

📚 Saturday Shenanigans

The next morning, she polished off two slices of Nutella toast (again: black hole) and drank a full “grandma smoothie.” We read every single book in the house. Several times. She brings me books with an authoritative “Thank you,” which in toddler speak means: Sit down and read this to me now, peasant.

We had deep discussions about the items on my walls. “What’s that?” she’d ask, pointing. I’d answer, and she’d repeat it with wild confidence, even if she got it slightly wrong. Honestly? That’s how I handle adulting most of the time, too.

She played with Lucky (my dog and her accidental snack assistant), who stayed politely at a distance during chocolate-containing food events. Goldfish crackers tided her over until lunch—because toddlers, much like gremlins, require constant feeding and can get aggressive if left unsupervised for more than seven minutes.

There was also a game of "Throw the Baby on the Couch," which is apparently her Olympic sport of choice. It’s basically wrestling, cardio, and strength training for Grandma. By the time we got her ready to go home, I made sure she hadn't napped so my daughter could enjoy at least a couple of hours of peaceful laundry folding.

💤 …And Then I Died (Napped)

I got home and thought I’d have a quick little power nap. You know, a restorative 30 minutes before getting on with the rest of the day.

I woke up at 5:30 p.m. So… not quite 30 minutes.

When I told my daughter, she said my granddaughter had napped until 5:00 too. Apparently, “Party Time at Grandma’s” is the kind of event that requires next-day recovery. She sent me a picture of my grandbaby at 7:30 p.m.—eyes barely open, clutching her cup, looking like she just got back from Coachella.

All I said was: “You’re welcome.”

🧠 But Let’s Talk About Recreation—For Real

On a serious note, this is recreation. Maybe not the kind with a yoga mat and ocean sounds, but the kind that fills a different kind of need. Spending that much focused, intentional time with my granddaughter was a reminder that joy doesn’t always look peaceful. Sometimes it looks like chaos, crumbs, belly laughs, and baby socks in weird places.

It was also a reminder that recreation isn’t always about the activity itself—it’s about the restoration that comes from it. The literal root of the word means “to create again.” And that’s what happened. In between “cheers” and French toast and book marathons, I reconnected with a piece of myself I didn’t realize I was missing.

Yes, it was exhausting. Yes, I needed a full recovery nap. But it was the kind of tired that felt good. The kind that comes from doing something meaningful. And maybe that’s the kind of recreation I needed most this week.

📸 Until Next Time…

Next visit, I’ll be armed with my real camera (yes, I forgot again, don’t judge me) and possibly a pair of knee pads. But for now, I’m just grateful. For the laughter. The snuggles. The total toddler takeover.

Recreation accomplished!