” Oh, you must not know much about kids these days!
Hello, Margaret, I saw you in the garden and thought Id stop by for a chat,” said Patricia, shuffling near the gate.
She and Margaret lived on opposite ends of the villagePatricia and her husband Victor by the river, while Margaret was closer to the woods.
Theyd hardly spoken before, with plenty of neighbours around anyway. But now, those neighbours’ grandchildren were all grown up, while Patricias son and his wife were planning to send their grandsons, Oliver and Henry, to stay for a whole month.
Times had been better for their sons family beforethey used to holiday abroad. But now, with things tighter, they remembered Mum and Dad still had that cosy cottage by the river. So instead of a weekend visit, it would be a full month.
“Just a warning, Mum,” their son Nicholas had said, “Olivers thirteen and thinks hes grown. Henry wont take orders from him, so theyre always at each others throats!”
“Oh, well manage,” Patricia had said cheerfully. But after hanging up, she wonderedchildren werent like they used to be. What if she couldnt handle them?
Victor, her husband, was stricthe wouldnt stand for misbehaviour. The last thing they needed was squabbling. So Patricia decided to hedge her bets and visit Margaret, who also had grandsons around the same age visiting.
She remembered from raising her own children that keeping them busy was keyfewer problems if they were occupied and got along.
“Come in, Patricia!” Margaret called, spotting her. “What brings you by?”
“Well, the grandsons are coming for a month. Yours are about the same age, arent they? Thought they could meetmight be good for all of us,” Patricia suggested.
“Oh, you really dont know todays kids, do you?” Margaret laughed. “A whole month? Mine drove me up the wall! My husband wanted to send them home early. But fine, bring them over. What choice do we have? Theyre our grandchildren, after all!”
That weekend, Nicholas arrived with his wife Pauline and the boys, Oliver and Henry.
Theyd grown tall, and it warmed Patricias heart to see how happy they were to see their grandparents.
What was Margaret on about? *Her* grandsons must be the rowdy oneshers were polite and well-mannered! And bright, toonothing to worry over.
“Mum, just call if theres trouble,” Nicholas said as they left. Patricia waved him off. “Oh, dont fussdidnt we raise you well enough?”
That night, Oliver and Henry took ages to settle. Theyd been given Nicholass old room, but the change of scenery had them wiredtalking loudly, rustling about, keeping Victor awake.
“Why on earth did you agree to this?” he grumbled. “They dont care about the countrysidethey just dumped them on us!”
Come morning, the boys wouldnt budge.
Lunchtime approached, and they were still asleep!
“Grandma, let us sleep,” Oliver mumbled.
Henry was out cold, not even hearing her.
“How much sleep do you need?” Patricia huffed.
Then she spotted something on the floortheir phones!
“Were you up late on these? Thats it, Im taking them!”
Oliver shot up. “Give it back! Its not yours! Mum lets us!”
“Well, Ill just ring her and ask, shall I?” Patricia said. Oliver backed off, sulked, and slammed the door behind him. “Go on, then!”
For two hours, they refused to come out. Victor was ready to march inwhat kind of boycott was this on day one? But eventually, they emerged, both scowling.
“Were not eating porridge. We want nuggets or toasties.”
“Oh, is that so?” Victor snapped. “No porridge, no food at all. And have you made your beds? Lets see crisp packets? Sweet wrappers in the sheets? And you havent cleared a thing? You havent earned a bitetidy up, now!”
“We cant go hungry!” Henry glowered. “Youre mean!”
Victor nearly lost his temper, but Patricia stepped in. “Right, Ill show you how to make the beds properly. Tomorrow, youll do it yourselves, agreed? And toasties *after* porridgedeal?”
“Youre spoiling them,” Victor muttered. “No sense of responsibility!”
The boys befriended Margarets grandsonsand then the real chaos began.
If they played in the garden, Patricia later sneaked out to collect scattered sticks and broken flowers. Mud trailed inside, crumbs everywhere, chairs wobbling from rough use, doors nearly off their hinges from slamming.
“What kind of children *are* these?” Victor fumed. “Never againwe cant handle them! Oliver, come help me fix your bikes. Youll earn your keep. Grandma and Henry will make lunchwork first, food after.”
Oliver blinked. “Youre making *us* work for it?”
“Did you think things just appear? Nothings free*thats* how life works! Look at youalready tore your clothes. Lucky Grandma saved your dads old things. But nothing comes without effort!”
“Go easy on them,” Patricia chided. “You werent an angel either!”
When the boys left, they complained to their parents: “Grandad was awful! Made us work, took our phones!”
But a week later, a stunned Nicholas called.
“Mum, Dadhowd you do it? Henry can peel potatoes and vacuum! Oliver does his own laundry, even cooks a bit. They make their beds without being told!”
“And were we meant to be their servants?” Patricia scoffed. “They sulked when they leftdoubt theyll want to come back.”
Yet a year later, Oliver and Henry begged to returneven turned down a holiday abroad. The village had friends waiting.
And there was something satisfying about eating Grandmas porridge, her pieseverything she madeknowing theyd *earned* it.
After all, hard work brings prideeven bragging rights. And that, it turns out, feels rather good.
