It was my grandson’s birthday recently—his tenth, a proper milestone. I’d picked out the perfect gift in advance, or so I thought: a big box of building blocks, something he’d been going on about for ages. On the big day, I got ready, put on my best dress, and headed over to their place. I pressed the doorbell, and within seconds, the sound of scampering feet echoed from inside.
“Come through to the kitchen, Mum,” said my daughter, opening the door. Her voice was warm but had that faint edge of exhaustion, like she’d spent the whole day prepping for the party. “You do remember our birthday boy’s name, right?”
I grinned as I stepped inside. Of course, I knew my grandson was called Oliver. But instead of answering, I just nodded, clutching the brightly wrapped present. The kitchen table was already set—colourful plates, napkins covered in cartoon characters, and a massive cake with ten candles, just waiting for its moment. Oliver sat at the head of the table, beaming. His mates—just as bouncy and ten-year-old as him—were loudly debating something, all talking over each other.
“Gran, is that you?” Oliver exclaimed when he spotted me. He dashed over, threw his arms around me, then zeroed in on the box in my hands. “Is that for me?”
“Course it is, love,” I said, handing it over. “Go on, don’t keep us in suspense!”
The lad tore into the wrapping, and his eyes lit up when he saw the building set. The other kids immediately swarmed around him, peering at the box and chattering about what they could build. I watched the chaos and felt my heart swell. Nothing beats seeing a child’s face light up like that, especially on their birthday.
My daughter—let’s call her Emily—came over and murmured, “Cheers, Mum. You always know how to make his day.”
I shrugged like it was no big deal. Truthfully, I’d spent ages figuring out what to get. Ten isn’t just any old birthday—it’s that age where they start feeling almost grown-up. I wanted the gift to be more than just a toy, something he’d actually remember.
The party rolled on. The kids played, laughed, and then came the candle moment. Oliver made a wish, took a deep breath, and blew out all ten in one go. Everyone clapped, and Emily started slicing the cake, handing out generous pieces. I sat back, watching the joyful mayhem, thinking how time flies. It felt like yesterday he was a little toddler, and now here he was, all grown-up with his own hobbies and dreams.
Once the cake was demolished and the kids had scattered to play, Emily plopped down next to me. We got chatting about how life changes, how fast kids shoot up. She mentioned Oliver had recently gotten into robotics, even signed up for a club where they build models. I couldn’t help feeling smug—looked like my gift had hit the mark.
“Y’know, Mum,” Emily said, “he’s been counting down to this day. And you showing up? That’s the best present of all.”
I smiled, but secretly, I thought it was me who should be thanking them. Being a gran is special—you’re not lugging around the full weight of parenting, but you get to dish out love, encouragement, and, let’s be honest, a bit of spoiling.
By evening, as guests started trickling out, Oliver bounded over with a freshly built spaceship from his new set. He proudly showed it off, explaining how he was going to construct an entire galaxy. I listened, ooh-ed and aah-ed, and reckoned this birthday would stick in all our memories for a good long while.
Heading home, I felt light and happy. Ten’s just the beginning. Oliver’s got a whole lifetime of adventures ahead, and I’m chuffed at the idea of being there to see him grow into whoever he wants to be. For now, though? I’m just glad I could sprinkle a bit of magic on his special day.
