The heartless grandmother

Given his druthers, Jacob would spend an entire day with Mincrafters on theiPad, the iPhone, and barring that, watching TV. It's not usually a problem because when he's here after school we're busy with homework and then he's off to baseball practice or a game. I figure between school and baseball and walking his dogs, he gets plenty of exercise and time away from electronics.
But he was recently grounded from electronics for several days, and he became the bright, talkative, loveable child I am used to. We went to dinner and had a great conversation, we laughed and joked, and he read a book in my office and declared now he knew why I love to read.
Today being Friday, he had no homework, so he was here from three to five-thirty (turned out to be six) without anything to do. He immediately picked up the iPad and disappeared, though I warned him he would not spend the whole afternoon with it.
At four I said it was time to put it away, and we had a bit of a scene. My words about wanting him to use his creativity instead of being a sponge fell on deaf ears--at seven, he may not have understood what I was saying. I suggested several things he could do but he shook his head at each and declared everything "in this house is boring." He came close to uttering one of the words he's forbidden to say, close enough that I got the gist and said if I heard that again he'd go to time out. I left him, taking the iPad with me, and told him to decide what he wanted to do. In a bit he came into my office.
End result: we had a delightful two hours. He dictated a letter to Elizabeth (my goal is to get him to write it himself) which caused lots of jokes and laughter and mock indignation on my part, and then he said if I'd do it with him, he'd do a puzzle. He absolutely delighted in doing a fairly simple one that we'd done before, but he had a wonderful time and crowed every time he put a piece in place. By then, it was five-thirty so we went to watch the news together. He was most interested in the woman who tried to storm the White House and wanted to know why the police shot her and why she did that. I tried to explain about mental illness and government security, but when the news cut away to another subject, he said, "I wanted to hear the whole story."
Long story short, we did things together--yes, I had work on my desk, but I chose to spend the time with him. I know grandmothers who won't discipline because they want to be loved. I don't feel that way, and I hope someday he'll remember me as the grandmother who tried to teach and appreciate and help his creativity. I read in Ann Landers about a grandmother who never called her grandchild on his lying. Ann Landers asked if she wanted to be remembered as the grandmother with whom the child could get away with anything. I don't want to be the grandmother who didn't care what he did and let him play electronic games all day.
Highpoint of a day which was quite pleasant--I wrote a lot, went to the dermatologist (one of my favorite people), and served Betty lunch on the deck--tuna salad and a fruit salad that really was pretty if I do say so.

My surreal day

What an odd day. Mondays are always long and hard for me, because I rarely have anything on my calendar--just a desk full of work. So I stay home, alone except for Sophie, with my face in the computer screen. I'm a person who thrives on other people, so much as I love working I like the break of lunch or dinner with a friend, even errands.
This morning I dallied--email, Facebook, a couple of blogs, anything to put off working. Then I did my yoga routine, made the bed, tidied the kitchen (which doesn't get messy with one person eating cottage cheese--one small dish, one coffee cup) and marched into the office. Don't get me wrong--I get wrapped up in what I'm writing and carried away with it and time passes, in spite of the late-morning grumbling of my stomach which would prefer lunch at, say, ten-thirty. At eleven-thirty I fixed my lunch, did some household stuff, and went back to the desk.
It wasn't as though I was without human companionship all day. By three I had Jacob in hand, and at his insistence we reworked two puzzles we'd already done. He is good with spatial relationships--whizzes through his math homework, and that trait shows in working the puzzles. Granted, we'd already done both of them, but he was off on his own, putting things together. I'm afraid he still doesn't get the straight edge concept--he prefers to work by picture, choosing today to begin with the zebra in the jungle scene. He also doesn't quite understand about looking to see if not only pieces but the picture fits. But he put a lot together and was delighted with himself, crowing, "I am so good!"
As he was leaving with his dad for a baseball game, Elizabeth came in for supper. I'd experimented and made her a gluten-free meat loaf, substituting potato flakes (long in the cupboard, purchased for one recipe, and then left for me to wonder what to do with them) for bread crumbs, threw in an egg plus some tapioca to bind it (a trick my mom taught me) and seasoned it with red wine and thyme. We agreed it was pretty darn good. A bit salty.
But al the time I was doing all this I had the subconsciious feeling that I was dealing with my long day alone--and that's what made my day surreal. It was like there were two of me--one functioning on one level and another struggling to function on a different level.
Sophie however continues to be a joy and a source of amusement, though today I had a fright. I know full well she will bolt out the front door if she gets a chance, and I'm paranoid about someone opening the door when she has the run of the house. Today, after lunch, I brought her in, put the leash on her so I could catch her for our nap, and headed back to my office. Saw the postal carrier coming up the walk and threw open the door in a neighborly gesture forgetting all about the dog--Sophie darted between my legs but fortunately she didn't want to go any farther than to greet the woman, and I was able to step on her leash. The lady was nice about it, even the jumping, and we had a chat about Bordoodles.
Sophie's newest trick: when I open the back door and ask if she wants to come in, she simply stares at me. So I say, "Okay, bye," and close the door--and she bolts for it. At sixteen months, she's still ornery, msichievous puppy.