The Clash of the Grandparents.

Before having kids, I knew my parents would make good grandparents, but I honestly had no idea how amazing they'd be. I mean, I knew they'd love my kids, but I simply wasn't prepared for just how much.

My kids are blessed to have a whole lotta grandparents. My family is big through multiple marriages and divorces, so my kids have 4 grandmas and 3 grandpas, not even counting Mark's parents, who will join the family next June.

Frankly, we've got more grandparents than you can shake a stick at. And the kids and I LOVE it.

One of the things I was the least prepared for as my parents evolved into grandparents, is how lenient they've become. They were, back in the day, extremely strict parents. We kids didn't get away with much. But now, they've turned into a bunch of cream puffs who like to play arm-chair quarterback to my parenting.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not mad or annoyed, I think this is all very amusing. I often hang up the phone and wonder where my real parents are and what these coddling grannies and poppies did with them.

I can still remember the first time my parents saw me give The Deuce, who was about three at the time, a timeout. We were at their house for dinner when she refused to eat. After failing to coax her into eating, I set her in a timeout until she could come back to the table and eat properly.

Her wails from the back corner in the next room were very upsetting to my parents. My dad got up and started pacing. My mom covered her ears in agony. The entire timeout was less than three minutes, but I know it felt like an eternity to them. When the timer went off, before I could make it into the other room, my dad, brushed past me and whisked The Deuce up and out of the corner.

"Okay, honey," he said. "Let's go back and eat before your Mom gets mad again."

Humph. Mad? I'd barely raised my voice.

Driving home, all I could think about was how, as a kid at the dinnertime, my dad would slam his hand down on the table and command us to obey.

"I SAID...EAT!" he'd yell and then... SLAM! The silverware would jump and we'd be scared out out of our skins. And if we didn't clear out plates right then and there, the next stop was to my parents room for a "whippun."

Funny how grandparents forget those things.

Even though my parents are softies and sometimes disagree with my "strict" parenting approach, they're careful to never undermine my authority in front of the kids, which I appreciate very much. They are quiet observers who take what they've seen at my house, home to analyze from their lazy-boys. Then, a few days later, I'll get a phone call, gently asking how so-and-so is, "you know after getting in trouble the other day."

It happened again just recently:

At my house, I have a box that's designated for library books. To keep books from getting lost, and fines from piling up, if a kid's not reading a book, it better be in the box. That way, come library day, we're not scrambling around, trying to locate all the books. It's a pretty good system.

Well, last winter, Mad Dog bucked the system. I found two library books wedged in the wrung of the top bunk. She'd put them there so she could pull out a book and read before bed. I'll admit, it was clever, but I was concerned the books would get lost. After considerable pleading and promising, I grudgingly allowed her to keep the books there. Mistake. We both forgot about them and the books got lost.

The whole summer went by before we found them again. The library fine was over $20. To teach a lesson, I had Mad Dog contribute $5 of her allowance to the fine. She handed over the cash without complaining. She didn't argue, cry or bargain. She simply apologized and promised to take better care of her books.

Proud of this successful parenting tale, I shared the story with my parents. They quietly listened, nodding their heads as I spoke. But, several weeks later, they called me up one night to admonish me for being too strict. They thought it was unfair to make Mad Dog pay and felt the need to point out that I'm "not the most organized person in the world either, you know."

Trying hard to not get defensive, I thanked them for sharing their concerns and reminded them of some of the finer points of the story: Mad Dog promising she wouldn't lose the book. The fact that she only paid a small fraction of the fine -- that I didn't have her on some work-release plan to pay off the whole $20. And that I've come a long way in my organizational skills. I gave them a refresher on the library book box system.

In the end, they recanted. They praised me for being a good mom and confessed to "turning into a bunch of softies." But I'm certain that after they hung up, they still shook their heads and pitied the kids for having such a mean mom.

Oh well, I guess it's their rite.

Looking back on my childhood and listening to my friends talk about theirs, my parents' generation was, collectively extremely strict. I know I wasn't the only one who feared my dad's belt or mom's yardstick. Getting smacked for misbehaving was the norm. It was no big deal to see a parent belt their kid in supermarket. But now, parents just don't do that as much. We discipline though a series of rewards and takeaways.

Funny how even though there's less corporal punishment in my house, my parents think I'm stricter than they were.

During their first visit after the great library-book debate, I saw my dad slip Mad Dog a dollar. Watching the sly exchange, I couldn't help but think how, as a kid, I would've gladly handed over my whole allowance to avoid one of those whippuns.

Oh well. Someday it'll be my turn to be the softie.