Oh groan!

So, this was the mate's idea. We both had mothers who placed a high value on grammar. His mother went to Boston Latin for high school. My mother had school teachers for parents and was an entirely precocious, if socially inept, person. Anyway, the mate puns. Hence my blog title.
Of course, the rest of it is what we both have to acknowledge: I am a bad gramma. And evermore shall be so, sans doute. I have been so designated since the oldest grandboy was, maybe, 18 months, and I had barely seen him, despite our geographic proximity.My son called me up, to let me know how my negligent attention was perceived. I was not entirely chagrined but close. Grandboy's mother then thought up all sorts of ways that I could redeem myself and Participate With His Life, including giving him ice skating lessons as a Hannukah present.
Me, I like to ice skate. I'm more afraid of falling and whacking a body part into smithereens than I used to be, but I truly love that feeling of inhaling cold moisture and gliding on a hard surface. So sure, ice skate with a 2 year old where Kristi Yamaguchi (am I remembering that right?) practiced as a young suburbanite, heading for glory. Bring it on. Here's my check.
I got to go with Grandboy to the last of his four classes. We put on our skates and headed for the ice. He was wearing a helmet and a look of grim determination. The class was full of little races and rewards. Only two small girls had transcended the pull that ice exerts on ankles and were already on their way to Olympic couples tangoes. Everyone else, me included, needed a nap. Or a snack. Or both.
Would I have welcomed the chance to keep him for an evening or an overnight, to give his parents a break? Hard to say. That wasn't an option because the family lived right around the corner from the other grandparents, whose child minding services were always on offer.
Pretty soon, the family enlarged by another grandboy (II). Only this time, the mother fell into serious post-partum depression and then migraines. Fortunately, there was a nanny in place.She wasn't really as fond of II as she had been of Grandboy, so the new little guy spent his early life puzzled.
Every time I visited, I felt like I was walking on a mine field. Had the adults just been fighting? Were they putting the fight on hold for the whole length of my two-hour visit or would it erupt in furious little sports every time they had to speak? Was it my visit that provoked the fight? Really, how self-centered can I be? Surely there were other topics to fight about, since, increasingly, they didn't seem to agree on much.
The best times were when my son and I and the mate could take the boys to the beach, a mile from their house. There, they could run and roughhouse and tumble, dash in and out of the brutally cold water, peace out. Sitting in the sand, creating canals for the incoming tide, lets a body rest easy with other small bodies. Out of the house, away from Mom, the boys visibly relaxed and became goofy and jokey.
Then came the separation.