Olivia: Alright Jackson, what’s the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word 'grandma'? Jackson: Oh, easy. Unsolicited advice, a house that smells faintly of mothballs, and an uncanny ability to ask if you're hungry the second you walk in the door. Olivia: Perfect. And what if I told you that a Pulitzer Prize-winning author wrote a book arguing the most important rule of modern grandparenting is learning to keep your mouth shut? Jackson: Okay, now I'm interested. That sounds less like a heartwarming memoir and more like a survival guide. What's the book? Olivia: It's Nanaville: Adventures in Grandparenting by Anna Quindlen. And what's fascinating is that Quindlen, a celebrated journalist for places like The New York Times, turns that sharp, analytical eye inward on her own family. She’s not just writing a sweet memoir; she’s dissecting the role of a grandparent in the 21st century. Jackson: So she's reporting from the front lines of… Nanaville. I like it. But seriously, is the main takeaway really 'love the kid, but zip it'? That feels... counterintuitive. Olivia: It's the central, most painful, and most necessary tension in the whole book. It’s this idea that being a great grandparent requires a delicate balance between full-hearted love and military-grade restraint.

Jackson: Military-grade restraint. I can already see grandparents everywhere nodding along grimly. It sounds like a tightrope walk over a canyon of family drama. Where does this tension show up the most? Olivia: Quindlen gives this perfect, cringe-worthy example that I think every parent and grandparent has lived through in some form. It’s what I call "The Preschool Decision." Her son Quin and his wife Lynn decide to send their son, Arthur, to preschool after their first childcare arrangement falls through. Jackson: Okay, sounds reasonable. A common parenting pivot. Olivia: To them, yes. But to Quindlen, Arthur is still a baby. He’s too young! She’s picturing this tiny little guy overwhelmed in a sea of other kids. So, she does what any loving, concerned grandparent would do. She voices her opinion. She tells her son she thinks it’s a bad idea. Jackson: Oof. I can feel the temperature in the room dropping from here. How did that go over? Olivia: About as well as you'd expect. Her son, who she says rarely pushes back, gets this steely tone in his voice and basically tells her that it’s their decision to make. It's a clear boundary. And it floors her. Jackson: That’s a tough moment. Because from her perspective, it's coming from a place of pure love and protection. But from his perspective, it's undermining his authority as a parent. Olivia: Exactly. And it leads to this breakthrough moment for her. She's talking about it with a wise friend, Susan, who listens to the whole saga and then asks this one, devastatingly simple question: "Did they ask you?" Jackson: Wow. Five words that just cut through everything. "Did they ask you?" That should be embroidered on a pillow and handed out in every maternity ward. Olivia: It becomes her new mantra. She realizes that so much of being a mother was about doing—feeding, diapering, chasing, fixing. But a huge part of being a grandmother is about not doing. It’s about hanging back. She distills the entire job down to two commandments: Love the grandchildren, and hold your tongue. Jackson: It’s like being a consultant who’s been hired for their expertise but has been told to just sit in the meeting and not speak unless spoken to. The impulse to jump in and say, "No, no, you're running the numbers all wrong!" must be overwhelming. Olivia: It is! And she has this other great little story about it. She remembers when Arthur was a baby and inconsolable, and she recalled this old trick she used with her own kids: putting them on top of a running dryer. The vibration would soothe them. Jackson: A classic, if slightly unorthodox, parenting hack. Olivia: Right. And her every instinct is screaming to tell her son and daughter-in-law about it. But she bites her tongue. She recognizes she’s not the mother anymore. Her job isn’t to solve the problem; it’s to support the people who are solving the problem. That’s the core of Nanaville’s constitution. Jackson: That is such a profound shift in identity. You go from being the CEO of the family to being a revered member of the board. You have influence, but you don't have executive power anymore. And a lot of former CEOs have trouble with that transition. Olivia: That’s the perfect analogy. And it forces you to completely redefine what your role even is. Which leads to this other fascinating part of the book, where Quindlen observes that not everyone is even signing up for the same job description.

Jackson: What do you mean? I thought the 'grandparent' job was pretty standard-issue. You show up, you bring presents, you spoil the kids, and you leave. Olivia: That's the mythology, but Quindlen sees a major split happening in her generation. On one side, you have what she calls the "do-over grandmothers." These are women who look back on their own parenting years—maybe they were working too much, maybe they feel they made mistakes—and they see grandparenthood as a second chance. A chance to get it right this time, with more patience and wisdom. Jackson: Ah, the mulligan. The redemption arc. I can see the appeal. You get all the fun parts of parenting without the 3 a.m. feedings and the existential dread of college tuition. Olivia: Precisely. You get the "best-case-scenario kid" for a few hours and then hand them back. But then there's the other camp, which is far more surprising. Quindlen calls them the "nonos." Jackson: The nonos? As in, "no, no, I'm not doing that"? Olivia: Exactly. These are grandparents, often grandmothers, who are actively resisting the traditional role. She talks about women who insist on being called "Glamma" because "Grandma" sounds old, or a socialite who invented the name "Tootsie" for herself. They're drawing a hard line. One woman says, "I’m happy to be a grandmother, but I don’t want to be a babysitter." Jackson: Huh. That's actually really interesting. It feels very tied to the identity shifts of the Baby Boomer generation. Many of these women were the first in their families to have major careers. They fought to not be defined solely as mothers, so it makes sense they'd resist being defined solely as grandmothers. Olivia: It's a complete rejection of the idea that their lives should now revolve around surrogate parenting. Quindlen contrasts this with her own grandmothers, who had 32 grandchildren between them. Their role was to be the matriarchs of a sprawling clan. It wasn't about individual, hands-on relationships; it was about lineage. Love was conditional, based on how you behaved and what you accomplished. Jackson: Whereas now, the expectation is this deep, personal, emotionally available connection. But the 'nonos' are saying, "I'll give you that connection, but on my terms, and it doesn't include canceling my trip to Italy to watch the kids for a week." Olivia: Right. And Quindlen is very clear-eyed about this. She acknowledges the huge number of grandparents who are raising their grandchildren full-time, not by choice, but because of addiction or other tragic circumstances. So you have this whole spectrum: the joyful do-overs, the resistant nonos, and the conscripted parent-again grandparents. There is no one way to be a grandparent anymore. Jackson: It's not a monolith. It's a messy, complicated, and deeply personal choice about how you want to spend the third act of your life. And you don't even get to decide if the curtain goes up. Your kids have to make that choice for you. Olivia: That's the ultimate powerlessness of it. You can't make yourself a grandparent. And once you are one, you can't control the child. And Quindlen argues that letting go of that control is where the real magic happens.

Jackson: Okay, so if you've managed to hold your tongue and define your role, what's left? Just watching from the sidelines? Olivia: It's more than watching. It's about bearing witness to the future. And for Quindlen, this becomes incredibly personal and powerful because her grandson, Arthur, is multiracial. He's half Chinese, half Caucasian. He is, in her words, what the future of America looks like. Jackson: And that brings a whole new layer of complexity to it. Olivia: A profound one. She tells this incredible story from right after Arthur was born. The pediatrician is examining him and points out a "Mongolian blue spot" on his lower back—a common, harmless birthmark found in many Asian babies. Jackson: I've heard of those. They look a bit like a bruise, right? Olivia: Exactly. And the pediatrician makes a point of explaining it to them, because in communities unfamiliar with Asian babies, these spots have been mistaken for signs of child abuse, leading to devastating consequences. Jackson: Whoa. That is… heavy. In that one moment, a simple birthmark becomes a lesson in sociology, cultural awareness, and the very real dangers of prejudice. Your grandchild's body is suddenly a political and social text. Olivia: It's a stark reminder that the world has changed. Quindlen reflects that when she was a child, interracial marriage was still illegal in many states. Now, her own grandchild embodies that progress. But it's not a simple, happy story. She also recounts being in a store when a man looks at her, a white woman, holding her grandson and asks bluntly, "Where did you get him?" Jackson: Ugh. That's just awful. The audacity. What did she say? Olivia: She just deadpans, "Whole Foods." But the incident reveals the flip side of progress. Even as society becomes more diverse, these casual, ignorant, and exclusionary moments still happen. She even gets it from sophisticated friends, one of whom says, "Well, at least you won’t have to worry about his math scores." Jackson: The "model minority" myth. It's a stereotype masquerading as a compliment, but it's just as limiting. It shows that even with the best intentions, we carry these old templates in our heads. Olivia: And that's her ultimate point. Grandparenting, especially in a multicultural family, is about throwing away all the templates. As a parent, she had all these expectations for her kids. But as a grandparent, her job is to have no expectations at all. It’s just to watch this unique human being unfold. She quotes another grandmother who says of her grandson, "He isn’t like anyone else in the family. Isn’t that wonderful?" Jackson: That's a beautiful way to put it. It’s the freedom to love someone for exactly who they are, without the parental anxiety of who they're supposed to become. You're not shaping them; you're just appreciating them.

Olivia: Exactly. It’s a purer form of love, in a way. It's unburdened by the day-to-day responsibilities of parenting. Jackson: So, it seems like the journey to 'Nanaville' isn't about arriving at a destination of pure, uncomplicated joy. It's about navigating this incredibly complex new territory with a new map—one where you're not the driver anymore. You're the beloved, occasionally-consulted navigator. Olivia: That's a great way to put it. And Quindlen's ultimate insight, the one that ties it all together, is that your greatest success as a parent is raising a child who becomes a great parent themselves. She sees her son Quin, who she wasn't sure was cut out for fatherhood, become this incredibly patient and loving dad, and it's the most profound reward of her life. Jackson: So the real measure of your parenting isn't what your kids achieve, but who they become as people, and as parents. Olivia: Yes. And your job as a grandparent is to love them, trust them to do it, and get out of the way. It leaves me wondering, for anyone listening, what's the one unspoken rule of your family? The one that everyone knows but no one ever says out loud? Jackson: That's a great question. We'd love to hear your stories—the good, the bad, the funny. Find us on our socials and share your family's 'unspoken rules.' It feels like every family has a secret constitution. Olivia: They absolutely do. This is Aibrary, signing off.