Time Changes Everything

When my kids were born I swore up and down,
I'd be the best mom, and my kids be reknown.
I laid down the rules, and I stuck to my guns.
My boys would be preachers, my daughters would be nuns.
I didn't have time for nonsense and sass.
If any of them acted up, I got out the brass.

But then they grew up and had families of their own.
And what happened then, I won't attempt to condone.

Now Grandpa and Grandma saw nothing amiss.
You broke Grandma's teacup? Come. Give her a kiss.
What's that spot on the carpet? Oh, don't worry now.
We'll clean that right up. Long ago I learned how.
Yes, your father used to do that when he was your age.
("And mom tanned my hide." said the father with rage.)
They're squealing and running? Don't give it a thought.
And, all siblings fight. If they don't, then they ought.
We needed new curtains and end table anyway.
Don't make them eat that! Don't take their cookies away!
Our daughters were baffled. Our sons said, "Who are you?"
You can't be the mean parents that we once knew!

And then we grew older, the grandchildren too.
There was nothing ever wrong, whatever they'd do.
We loved them through tantrums and food fights and such.
We loved them through it all, nothing ever too much.

And they grew to be mothers and fathers themselves.
They had their own children, little angels and elves.
We scraped up our money and bought presents and toys.
We loved their sweet faces, pretty girls, handsome boys.
They brought them to visit and to sit on our laps.
Great-Grandpa and Grandma having much fun, perhaps.
But after thirty minutes I turned sweetly to their mom.
"We just love your sweet babies. Now please, take them home."