**Diary Entry:**
My grandson recently turned ten—a proper milestone, that. I’d picked out his gift well in advance, certain it was just the thing for the occasion. A big box of building bricks, the very set he’d been going on about for ages. On the day, I got ready, slipped into my nicest dress, and headed round to their place. At the front door, I pressed the bell, and moments later came the sound of quick footsteps.
“Come through to the kitchen, Mum,” said my daughter, pulling the door open. Her voice was warm but with a hint of weariness, like she’d spent all day getting ready for the do. “You do remember our birthday boy’s name, don’t you?”
I smiled as I stepped inside. Of course I remembered my grandson was called Oliver. But instead of answering, I just gave a nod, clutching the brightly wrapped present. The kitchen table was already laid out—colourful plates, napkins printed with cartoon characters, and a proper cake with ten candles, waiting its turn. Oliver sat at the head of the table, beaming. His mates—just as boisterous as any ten-year-olds—were all chattering away, talking over each other.
“Gran, is that you?” Oliver exclaimed, spotting me. He dashed over, threw his arms round me, then eyed the box in my hands with curiosity. “Is that for me?”
“Course it is, love,” I said, handing it over. “Go on—open it up!”
The lad tore into the wrapping paper, and his eyes lit right up when he saw the bricks. His friends crowded round at once, peering at the box and all chipping in with ideas of what to build. Watching the bustle, I felt warmth rush through me. Nothing beats seeing a child’s joy, especially on their big day.
My daughter—Emily, as I still think of her—came over and said quietly, “Ta, Mum. You always know just what’ll make his day.”
I shrugged, as if it were nothing. Truth is, I’d spent ages deciding what to get. Ten isn’t just another birthday—it’s when a lad starts feeling halfway grown. I wanted the gift to be more than just a toy—something he’d remember.
The party carried on. The kids played, laughed, and then came the candles. Oliver made a wish, took a deep breath, and blew all ten out in one go. Everyone clapped, and Emily got to slicing the cake, handing round pieces. I sat back, watching the happy chaos, thinking how fast time flies. Feels like yesterday Oliver was still in nappies, and now here he was, full of his own ideas and dreams.
Once the cake was gone and the kids had scattered to play, Emily plopped down beside me. We got chatting about how things change, how quick kids grow. She told me Oliver had taken up robotics lately, even joined a club where they build models. I couldn’t help feeling pleased—my gift had landed just right.
“Y’know, Mum,” Emily said, “he’s been counting down to today. And you coming—that’s the best part for him.”
I smiled, but inside, I reckoned it was me who ought to be thanking them. Being a gran’s a special sort of joy. Not the same responsibility as being a parent, but all the love, the support—and yes, a bit of spoiling, too.
By evening, as guests began slipping off, Oliver ran up to me with something he’d built from the bricks—a little spaceship. He proudly showed it off, explaining how he’d make a whole galaxy next. I listened, marvelled, and thought how this birthday would stick with us all.
Walking home, I felt light, happy. Ten’s only the start. There’s so much ahead for Oliver, and I hope I’m there to see him grow into the man he wants to be. But for now, I’m just glad I could give him a bit of magic on his special day.
**Lesson:** The best gifts aren’t just things—they’re the moments that remind you how fast they grow, and how lucky you are to be part of it.
