When my first grandchild was born, I swore I’d be the kind of grandma whose house they can’t wait to visit.
Not because it’s filled with gadgets or piles of candy (though there’s usually a cookie or two around), but because it feels safe, cozy, and full of connection.
Now that I’ve got a small crew of grandkids who tumble through my front door like a mini parade, I’ve learned something important: it’s the little things that make them love being here.
Here are eight of those little things—simple, real, and doable—that keep their hearts coming back.
1) I keep my home calm, not perfect
Kids pick up on energy more than they notice spotless windows or fancy throw pillows. My house is clean enough to feel comfortable, but I don’t obsess over clutter.
There’s always a pile of picture books on the couch and art supplies out on the table.
When my granddaughter once asked, “Grandma, can I paint right here?” I didn’t think twice. We threw down an old tablecloth and let creativity happen.
The paint splatters are still faintly visible—and I kind of love them. They tell the story of her joy.
The truth is, kids remember how a place feels, not how it looks. They crave calm, not perfection.
That’s what I aim for—a home that feels like a deep exhale.
2) I let them help with real life
When my grandkids are here, I don’t entertain them nonstop. Instead, I invite them into the rhythm of my day—baking bread, folding towels, watering the plants.
Kids love to feel useful. My oldest grandson calls watering the garden “his job,” and my littlest likes to hold the dustpan while I sweep.
It’s not about getting chores done quickly (trust me, it takes twice as long). It’s about belonging.
These small moments say, “You’re part of this family. You matter here.”
Instead of worrying about creating constant excitement, I create connection through participation.
When we knead dough together or hang laundry on the line, we’re building memories that smell like sunshine and yeast and love.
3) I create little rituals they can count on
Every visit starts the same way: they drop their shoes by the door, and we make cocoa—no matter the season. It’s our thing.
We sit at the kitchen counter and talk about whatever’s on their minds. Sometimes it’s dinosaurs.
Sometimes it’s dreams. Sometimes it’s just giggles over marshmallow mustaches.
Rituals don’t have to be grand; they just have to be consistent. Kids find comfort in repetition—it’s like emotional glue that says, “You’re safe here.”
One of my granddaughters once told me, “I like that your house always smells the same.”
She was talking about my cinnamon-and-vanilla blend simmering on the stove. But really, she was talking about familiarity.
Predictable little moments like that—warm drinks, bedtime stories, a favorite blanket—anchor children in a world that can sometimes feel too big.
4) I keep things simple and screen-light
Don’t get me wrong—we’ve watched the occasional movie on a rainy day (we’re big Paddington 2 fans). But I try not to make screens the centerpiece of our time together.
Instead, I set up what I call “invites to play.” A basket of pinecones and fabric scraps on the floor. Some chalk and a patch of driveway. The old box of buttons they love to sort and trade.
I’m amazed at how little they actually need to have a good time. When imagination leads the way, they invent whole worlds from scraps and shadows.
Psychologist Peter Gray once said, “We have forgotten that children are designed by nature to learn through self-directed play and exploration.”
And when I give them time and space, play unfolds naturally.
Less structure. More wonder. That’s the sweet spot.
5) I make space for their emotions
Sometimes, even at Grandma’s, big feelings show up. Someone misses Mom. Someone else gets frustrated that the toy won’t work.
Instead of trying to “fix it” right away, I just sit with them. We take deep breaths. We talk about the feeling without judgment.
I’ve learned that saying “It’s okay to feel sad” goes a long way. Kids don’t need us to erase their emotions—they need to know emotions are safe to have.
One afternoon, my grandson had a meltdown because we ran out of blueberries. (The tragedy!)
Instead of dismissing it, I said, “You really wanted blueberries today. That’s disappointing.” He nodded, sniffled, and then helped me slice strawberries instead.
It’s amazing how empathy can turn a breakdown into a bridge.
6) I keep the backyard wild and welcoming
You won’t find a perfect lawn at my house. There’s a small herb patch, some raised beds, a sandbox, and plenty of dandelions.
I like it that way. The yard is a place where the kids can dig, build, and explore without worrying about making a mess.
We look for bugs under rocks. We build fairy houses out of sticks. Sometimes, we just lie in the grass and find shapes in the clouds.
Nature does the heavy lifting—it calms overstimulated little nervous systems faster than any toy ever could.
As Richard Louv wrote in Last Child in the Woods, “The more high-tech we become, the more nature we need.” I couldn’t agree more. Giving my grandkids time outdoors is one of the best gifts I can offer.
7) I share stories from the past
Kids love hearing stories about “when you were little.” I keep a basket of old photos, postcards, and keepsakes near the couch, and we often pull them out after dinner.
They’ll ask questions like, “That’s you, Grandma?!” or “Did Grandpa really have that hair?” (He did. It was glorious.)
These stories connect them to something bigger—their roots, their lineage, their sense of belonging. They realize they’re part of a family with a story that stretches far beyond their own timeline.
And sometimes, those stories spark bigger conversations about choices, values, and courage.
Sharing how I once faced something scary (like moving to a new town) helps them see that bravery runs in the family.
Storytelling keeps the generations woven together, one memory at a time.
8) I say yes to joy, even when it’s messy
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that joy is almost always a little messy.
It looks like flour on the floor from cookie baking. Paint under fingernails. Water splashed everywhere after “washing” the doll clothes.
But those moments? They’re gold. They tell my grandkids that fun doesn’t have to be fancy, and that adults can laugh and play, too.
The best sound in my house isn’t the quiet hum of a tidy kitchen—it’s giggles coming from the blanket fort we built in the living room.
Yes, I let them stay up a bit late to finish their puppet show. I say yes to one more round of hide-and-seek. I say yes to extra bubbles in the bath.
Because when they look back someday, I want them to remember Grandma as someone who said yes to joy.
A few closing thoughts
Making my grandkids feel loved isn’t about spoiling them or crafting picture-perfect memories. It’s about giving them space to be themselves, to feel seen, and to know they belong.
If they remember anything about Grandma’s house, I hope it’s that it smelled like cookies, sounded like laughter, and always had time for one more story.
And if you’re a grandparent—or parent—reading this, you don’t need to do grand gestures either. Just start small. Create a ritual, keep a listening ear, and open your heart.
The little things really do become the big things.
