Last week, my mom watched the kids while Matt and I grabbed a rare dinner out. When we came home, she was folding laundry with this particular look on her face. You know the one. That pressed-lip smile that says “I have thoughts but I’m keeping them to myself.”
Later, while helping me put away dishes, she casually mentioned how “different” things are now compared to when she raised us.
Different. That carefully chosen word that grandparents use when what they really mean is “I cannot believe you’re doing it this way.”
After years of navigating the delicate dance between honoring my parents’ experience and trusting my own parenting instincts, I’ve become fluent in grandparent body language. Those raised eyebrows, the quick glances between them, the way they suddenly become very interested in their coffee when certain topics come up.
Here’s what I’ve learned they’re really thinking but have trained themselves never to say out loud.
1) The screen time situation makes them anxious
Remember when our biggest tech concern was too much Nintendo? My parents watch me limit screen time for the kids and I can practically hear their internal dialogue: “We just sent you outside until dinner and you survived fine.”
They see me agonizing over whether 20 minutes of educational apps counts as screen time, meanwhile they raised us during the era of Saturday morning cartoons that lasted four hours straight. But here’s what they’ve learned not to mention: how we turned out okay despite parking ourselves in front of the TV with sugary cereal every weekend.
The irony? They’re probably right that we’re overthinking it. But they bite their tongues because they’ve figured out that parenting anxiety looks different for every generation, and ours happens to involve YouTube Kids and tablet limits.
2) They think we’re turning our kids into picky eaters
When I serve my daughter her third option for lunch because she declared the first two “yucky,” I catch that look. The one that says “You ate what I made or you didn’t eat.”
My mom has mastered the art of the neutral “Oh, that’s interesting” when I explain that we’re letting the kids explore their food preferences. She watched me make separate dinners for each family member last Tuesday. I know she wanted to say something about how she made one meal and we either ate it or made ourselves a sandwich.
But she doesn’t say it anymore. Not after the time she suggested that kids won’t starve themselves and I launched into my whole philosophy about not creating food battles. She just nods now and secretly feeds them cookies when she thinks I’m not looking.
3) The sleep arrangements baffle them
“So where does everyone actually sleep?” my mother-in-law asked once, trying to understand our musical beds situation. Some nights my two-year-old starts in his bed, migrates to ours at 2 AM, and by morning we’re all scattered across different rooms like we’re playing some exhausting game of midnight musical chairs.
They grew up with “You sleep in your bed, period.” No negotiation. No family bed. Definitely no philosophical discussions about attachment theory and co-sleeping benefits.
What they think but don’t say: “You’re never going to get them out of your bed.” What they’ve learned to say instead: “Whatever works for your family.”
4) Our car seat obsession seems excessive
My dad almost said something when I spent 45 minutes researching whether my son’s winter coat was too puffy for his car seat. Almost. I saw him open his mouth, probably to mention how we bounced around the back of station wagons like pinballs, then close it again.
They remember when car seats were suggestions rather than legal requirements until age 12. When “safety” meant mom’s arm shooting out across the passenger seat during sudden stops.
Do they think we’re paranoid about every millimeter of strap placement? Absolutely. Will they say it out loud? Not anymore. Not after witnessing one too many passionate car seat safety monologues from millennial parents.
5) The overscheduling makes them dizzy
“Does she really need swim lessons AND music class AND nature group?” The question hovers unspoken when I rattle off our weekly schedule.
My parents scheduled exactly nothing for us. Summer meant disappearing after breakfast and showing up for dinner. Now here I am with a color-coded calendar trying to balance “enrichment opportunities” with “unstructured play time” which I’ve somehow also scheduled.
They want to point out that boredom bred creativity in their day. That we found our own fun. But they’ve learned that suggesting kids don’t need constant stimulation opens a whole conversation about modern childhood they’d rather skip.
6) They’re confused by how much we discuss everything
When my five-year-old negotiates bedtime like a tiny lawyer, presenting her case for why 8:30 is more reasonable than 8:00, I see my mom’s eyebrows climb toward her hairline. In her day, “Because I said so” was a complete explanation.
We validate feelings. We offer choices. We explain our reasoning. We basically run family meetings like we’re the UN Security Council debating nap schedules.
Sometimes I catch my parents exchanging glances when I’m in the middle of explaining why we need to use gentle hands with our brother. They’re thinking about how a simple “knock it off” sufficed for decades. But they’ve learned that suggesting authoritarian parenting to millennials is like suggesting they give up coffee. Not worth the fallout.
7) The “gentle parenting” consequences puzzle them
“We’re going to take a break from the playground since we can’t use kind words with our friends.” My dad watches this unfold, and I know he’s thinking about the more immediate consequences of his generation. Swift, decisive, and definitely not preceded by a discussion about emotional regulation.
They see me give warnings, offer choices, and implement “natural consequences” that require a philosophy degree to understand. Meanwhile, they just sent us to our rooms and called it a day.
What they’ve learned never to say: “A little fear of consequences never hurt anyone.” What they say instead: Nothing, usually. Just a supportive nod while internally marveling at our patience.
8) Our obsession with organic everything seems extra
The eye roll is almost imperceptible when I check labels for organic certification at their house. They raised us on whatever was on sale, and we turned out fine.
They watch me pay $7 for a tiny container of organic blueberries and remember filling us up with generic brand everything. No one checked for GMOs. Food dyes were in everything. And somehow, miraculously, we survived.
But they keep quiet about it now, especially after learning that questioning organic choices leads to lectures about pesticides they’d rather avoid.
Finding the middle ground
Here’s what I’ve realized: grandparents have learned to bite their tongues not because they don’t care, but because they care too much. They’ve figured out that keeping the peace means keeping their opinions to themselves, even when every instinct screams “But this worked for generations!”
And honestly? Sometimes I wish they would speak up. Because buried in their eye rolls and suppressed comments is wisdom. Sure, we didn’t have car seats, but we also had neighborhoods full of kids playing together until dark. We ate processed foods, but we also had family dinners every night without screens.
Maybe the real gift is finding the balance between honoring their experience and trusting our instincts. Between acknowledging that they raised us pretty well and accepting that times have changed. Between organic blueberries and the occasional cookie from grandma.
After all, isn’t the fact that they’ve learned to keep quiet about our parenting choices actually the ultimate act of respect? Even if it comes with a side of barely concealed bewilderment.
