You must not know today’s kids very well!

**Diary Entry A Summer with the Grandchildren**

*June 15th*

“You must not know much about kids these days!”

“Hello, EvelynI saw you working in the garden and thought Id pop by,” Margaret fidgeted near the gate.

She and Evelyn lived on opposite ends of the village. Margaret and her husband, Victor, had their cottage by the river, while Evelyns was closer to the woods.

Theyd barely spoken beforethere were always plenty of neighbours about. But now, all the other grandchildren had grown up. This summer, though, Margarets son, Nigel, was planning to send his boys, Oliver and Henry, for an entire month. Apparently, they were tired of the city.

Years ago, when Nigels family was better off, theyd holidayed abroad. But times had changed, and suddenly, they remembered that Mum and Dad lived by the river. Not just for a weekend visit, eithera whole month!

“Just a warning, Mum,” Nigel had said, “they dont always get along. Olivers thirteen and thinks hes grown. Henry wont be bossed around, so theyre always rowing!”

“Pfft, as if we cant handle our own grandsons?” Margaret had declared cheerfully. But after hanging up, doubt crept in. Children werent the same these dayssometimes you couldnt even talk to them. Theyd only visited briefly before. How would they behave now?

Victor had a sharp temperhe wouldnt stand for disrespect. The last thing they needed was constant squabbling.

So Margaret decided to hedge her bets and visit Evelyn, whose grandsons were around the same age.

She remembered from raising her own childrenkeep them busy, and thered be fewer problems. Maybe theyd even make friends.

“Come in, Margaret!” Evelyn called, spotting her. “What brings you here?”

“Well, the boys are coming for a month. Yours are about the same age, arent they? Thought we might introduce themgood for all of us if they get along.”

Evelyn laughed. “You really dont know modern children, do you? Arent you nervous having them that long? Mine drove us madGrandad nearly sent them home early! But fine, bring them over. What choice do we have? Theyre family.”

When Nigel and his wife, Polly, arrived with Oliver and Henry that weekend, the boys had grown so much. They seemed happy to see their grandparents, and Margarets heart eased.

What was Evelyn on about? *Her* grandsons were polite and well-mannered! And bright, toonothing to worry over.

“Mum, just ring if theres trouble,” Nigel said as they left. But Margaret waved him off. “Oh, hushwe raised *you*, didnt we?”

That evening, the boys were restless. Theyd been given Nigels old room, but excitement kept them awaketalking loudly, rustling about. Victor scowled.

“Why on earth did you agree to this, Maggie? They dont care about the countryside!”

Come morning, they wouldnt wake. Nearly lunchtime, and still they slept.

“Nana, let us sleep,” Oliver groaned.

Henry didnt even stir.

“How long *can* they sleep?” Margaret huffed.

Then she noticed something on the floor. Peering closer, she gasped.

Their *phones* lay discarded.

“So you stayed up playing, did you? Thats itIm confiscating these!”

Oliver shot up. “Give it back! Its not yours! Mum lets us!”

“Then Ill *ring* her and ask!” Margaret snapped. Oliver backed off, sulked, then slammed the door behind him. “Fine, call her!”

Two hours passed without a peep. Victor was ready to march inwhat sort of boycott was this on *day one*? But the boys emerged, both scowling.

“Were not eating porridge. We want nuggets or toasties.”

“Oh, *do* you?” Victors temper flared. “Well, stay hungry, then! And have you made your beds? Lets see” He marched in. “Crisp packets? Sweet wrappers *in* the beds? And you havent even *cleaned*? Youve earned *nothing* yetpick this up, make the beds!”

“We cant go hungry!” Henry glowered. “Youre mean!”

Victor nearly exploded, but Margaret stepped in. “Come on, Ill show you how to make the bed. Tomorrow, youll do it yourselves, yes? And toasties *after* porridgedeal?”

“Youre too soft,” Victor muttered. “No shame in them at all!”

Oliver and Henry soon befriended Evelyns grandsons.

But the *four* of them together? Chaos.

Sticks and branches strewn about the garden, flowers trampled, grass stains tracked inside. Crackers crushed underfoot, chairs wobbling from rough use, the front door nearly off its hinges from their slamming.

“*What* kind of children are these?” Victor fumed. “Never againtheyre hopeless!”

Later, he hauled Oliver off. “Come on, youre helping me fix the bikes. Nana and Henry will make lunch*earn* your meal.”

Oliver blinked. “*You* have to earn yours too?”

“Did you think I laze about all day? Nothings free, boy! And lookyouve torn your clothes already! Lucky weve got your dads old things.”

Margaret nudged Victor. “Go easyyou werent an angel at their age.”

When the boys left, they complained to their parents.

“Grandad was awful! No phones, just *work*!”

But a week later, Nigel called, stunned.

“Mum, Dadhow on earth did you manage it? Henry can peel potatoes and *vacuum*! Olivers doing his own washing, even *cooking* a bit!”

Margaret huffed. “Were we meant to be their *servants*? They sulked when they leftdoubt theyll come back.”

Yet a year later, Oliver and Henry *asked* to return. Skipped a holiday abroad for it.

After all, the village had their friends.

And there was something satisfying about eating Nanas porridge*properly* earned.

Turns out, taking pride in your work *feels* good. Even if you grumble the whole way.