“When my grammy and grampy come to visit, I have to wear underpants,” three-year-old Harper said.

Harper’s grandparents stared straight ahead and pretended not to hear her.

Josiah gave another bounce on my father’s lap. “When my nana and papa come, I’m not allowed to play bongo drums on my peepee and sing babaloo,” he said.

“Before you know it you’ll be all grown up, young man,” my father said, “and you can sing babaloo whenever the mood strikes.”

I took a page from Harper’s grandparents’ book and pretended not to hear my father.

“If you’re thankful and you know it, clap your hands,” I sang.

The kids jumped right in. “If you’re thankful and you know it, clap your hands. If you’re thankful and you know it, then you really gotta show it. If you’re thankful and you know it, clap your hands.”

What I was really thankful for was that I could tweak any song to fit any holiday—it was my superpower as a preschool teacher. We clapped our hands. We stamped our feet. Those of us who could snapped our fingers, and the younger kids faked it. We laughed out loud.

When circle time was over, we had mini pumpkin muffins for snack, and then the kids were free to choose their own activities. They rolled out floor mats or found seats at short tables to work independently. Shapes and colors and smell matching games, counting games, fine motor activities, letter tracing, sand play.

I stood for a moment watching Griffin’s grandmother read a book to him in our reading boat. When she turned the last page, she caught my eye and smiled. Griffin was sound asleep, his thumb in his mouth, a corner of one of the fluffy pillows clutched in his other hand.

“Griffin’s such a sweet little boy,” I said, thinking it best not to point out that his only fatal flaw was that he wasn’t quite as toilet trained as his parents had led us to believe he was.

“Just you wait,” his grandmother said. “Being a grand is the best thing ever. People tell you it’s because you can spoil them rotten for a few hours and then give them back to their parents. But that’s not really it. The biggest gift of having grandchildren is that it’s a do-over. You get to be a child again. I could spend another five hours playing at that sand table over there.”

I smiled. “Feel free. Just lock up when you leave.”

She smiled back. “Of course, that’s ages and ages away for you. How old are your children?”

“I don’t have any,” I said in a voice I didn’t quite recognize.

She waved a hand in front of her face. “You have plenty of time.”