Our grandchildren know that they can pretty much get away with anything around us. Well, at least not playing with matches or running with scissors - you know, dangerous stuff. But in those rare moments when we do tell them, 'no', they look at us as if to say, "You're kidding, right?"
The other day, our grandboy, Ezra, jumped one too many times from the coffee table to my pillowed lap and I had to tell him, 'no'. I wish I could have captured the expression on his face. He simply could not believe that I actually said 'no' to him!
Then, tonight, we were babysitting Ryleigh and Xander. Xander decided he had enough of his snack of rice cereal and dumped the bowl on the table. The milk flowed onto the floor which prompted the dog to lap it up as the milk continued to flow onto her head. While we were cleaning up the mess, Xander decided to pull flowers out of a vase. Paul scolded him. I scooped him up and took him upstairs to get him ready for bed when he then said to me: "Pop-pop told me no. Hahahaha."
And there you have it. We're pushovers to our grandchildren. Total pushovers.