Grandmas

Sage Says: 

I woke up thinking about grandmas this morning.  

I was thinking about Shayla's daughter - she is fixing to have her first baby.  She is glowing and I can only imagine the excitement, the joy, the apprehension and the "lets get this baby out, there is no room left in there" feeling our momma to be is probably thinking. 

What I can't imagine is how Shayla is feeling...  My kids are still little, so the thought of them having their own children feels like a long way off.  

Squirrel!  My littlest daughter asked me what "Nimples" are the other day.  After a long cows and calves discussion of all things mammary gland, the poor girl couldn't figure out why her friend would say she had such things on her face.  It occurred to me then that she was asking about dimples.  I may have scarred that kid with my frank discussion.  At any rate, Shayla gets to lead the way for me again.  

I'm sure Shayla is feeling all the usual feelings alongside her daughter.  But, is she also thinking about all the things she learned when she had her first child?  Or is she thinking about the fun things she gets to do with her grandson to be?  Or maybe she forgot all of those details (I am forgetting them as we speak... in fact, my mom and I have had several discussions about how you forget the hard parts as you go, to keep your sanity.)  

My grandmother Gigi spoiled me.  She also taught me lessons that are still with me today.  Gigi was so incredibly independent.  She fell in love with a brilliant man who became a full-time alcoholic.  They had two children, and she worked, kept house and did all the parenting.  He, unfortunately, drank too much and missed a lot of family time.  Gigi taught me to love no matter what.  She also had a way of saying "You people" that let you know she was not in approval.  She took me to the department stores to shop for special outfits, good underclothes...

Squirrel! She was a nurse and she said you just never know when someone will see your underclothes, make sure they always look nice.  I used to really freak out at the thought of someone seeing me in my underclothes - who wants to be seen in their under-roos?  Thats why they are under. 

My other grandma, Grandma Tommie, also spoiled me and gave me some neat lessons.  She was a survivor, too.  When she was going through cancer, the very last time I saw her, she took me bra shopping.  Apparently, she also worried about my underclothes.  She saved every single baggie, washing it out and reusing it.  Her pantry had a years worth of food, and she always tucked a little cash into my wallet in a secret spot.  She was ready for that rainy day, having lived through a few of them. 

Both of my grandmas loved me, and I know Shayla will love her new grand-baby fiercely.  I bet she will have fun little quirks that her grandchild will adore...I can picture the two of them eating ice cream for breakfast together.  Gigi and I ate a lot of ice cream together.  Her favorite was butter pecan.  I can still see the table (set with placemats and good napkins, too) and our bowls of ice cream.  Sometimes we would sit on her bed and eat ice cream while a hockey game was on.  Grandmas are special that way.  Shayla will be special, and I am looking forward to hearing about it.

Shayla says:

Unlike Sage, I woke up this morning thinking about grandbabies, not grandmas. That was of course after thinking “I need to pee” and “Ugh. I guess I have to walk all the way out to the kitchen and feed these dogs.”

My first grandbaby is due in four days so every day is “is this the day?” 

I mostly don’t feel like a grandma so much as I feel like a mom—anxious and nervous. While I suppose I should be sitting back and enjoying my daughter’s baby, the truth is I am more focused on my own baby as she goes through this rite of passage.

I’ve spent the past nine months swimming through a sea of emotions. My daughter only got married and moved out the beginning of August. She started her senior year of college, her final year of soccer which, like Sage and her kids with the rodeo became like that favorite relative you visit and spend every free moment with.

It’s been a hard year of transitions for me as a mom so sometimes wrapping my head around the “grandma” part is overwhelming.

If I’m going to be honest, it’s been kind of a lonely process. In my circle of friends I tend to be “the first” in many milestones—marriage, kids, kids growing up, now grandparenthood. (ADD sidebar: When I was a kid I used to want to be the first at everything. I would get docked on my report card for handwriting and my mom would ask me why I wrote so sloppily and I would say, “Because I wanted to be done first.” My mom’s response was, “Well you could be first and do it neatly” to which I answered, “So.” Yes. I know I sound like a dream child. I suspect you are all jealous that you didn’t raise me or are laughing because you have one just like me. Being the first in turning in an assignment in first grade is one thing. Being the first as an adult in trying to achieve life goals is sometimes like running a race and getting to the finish line only to discover there were no other participants.)

I try to picture myself as a grandma and it’s something that is hard for me to envision. 

(ADD sidebar: Lately I’ve been particularly stressing out over what this baby will call me. It’s not because I’m so vain that I take the term “grandma” as a slight, it’s just that being called “Grandma” seems so boring. I told my daughter I would be fine with being called “my favorite Grandma” but she said something about it being hard to pronounce and hurting the other grandmas feelings or some other blah blah blah.) 

(ADD sidebar sidebar: I also spend a lot of time trying to picture myself changing his diapers. My daughter is using cloth diapers which both make me nervous and gross me out. In reading about Sage's grandmas' obsession with undergarments, this diaper concern made me feel slightly more grandma-ish though. Thanks Sage!)

It’s kind of scary not knowing the kind of person you will be. (ADD sidebar: That right there is what I’m talking about. It seems really un-grandma-like to be scared. I feel like grandmas should be fearless and brave and know how to knit and stuff.)

My grandmas were two varying extremes.

My Grandma Wailly was heavyset, quiet, and passive. 

When I was little we would visit once a year and all I really recall is the time my sister and I wanted donuts and soda for breakfast and, though my mom objected at first, grandma won with the argument of “Let them live a little! They’re on vacation!” 

The last time I visited her, I was fifteen. 

She was pretty much an invalid in the early stages of Lou Gherig’s disease. 

We bonded by watching ‘As the World Turns’ together.

My Grandma Faulkner was a tiny, outspoken, chain smoking chocoholic.

I usually saw her once or twice a year.

She loved fiercely which could bring out the best and the worst of her.

One time when I was visiting her I was looking at a picture of my uncle with his daughters hanging up in one of the bedrooms. As I was admiring it, I noticed that he had an arm missing and then realized half of my cousin’s body was missing too. Upon figuring out that she had literally cut my uncle's ex wife out of their family picture and piece it together I felt a combination of amused and slightly frightened.

And more than one of us had been locked out of the house late at night because she was pissed off that we didn’t come home at a reasonable hour despite the fact that my sister and I were well into adulthood or my parents were in their 50s. When she finally opened the door we got the angry eyebrows and a long lecture.

And while both of those stories may seem like examples of a mean little old lady, she was more complicated than that.  

 She was just as forthcoming with the love (the other stories are just more fun to talk about) and even though it’s been thirteen years since she passed away, it still pains me sometimes to know that I can’t call her to hear her uniquely joyful, “Hello sweetheart” on the other end of the phone or develop second hand smoke lung cancer by visiting her in person to see the angry eyebrows…or hear her deep voiced, slow, and breathy laughter…or fall into one of her warm, lingering hugs.

So, I don’t know what kind of grandma I will be. 

My kids have amazing grandparents. 

That’s not an exaggeration. 

They are amazing. 

Sometimes I worry that I won’t be able to live up to that gold standard of grandparenthood. 

And I don’t have the addiction to soap operas or cigarettes to pull off being like my own grandmothers.

My daughter and I get pedicures sometimes and the little Vietnamese ladies call me “young mommy.”

I guess one thing I have going for me is I will be “young Grandma.”

I guess I’ll just have to be my own kind of grandma. What that means exactly, I don't know. 

I'm not sure that I'll be fun enough to be giving him ice cream for breakfast like Sage imagines but oddly enough she does have me feeling compelled to go buy him some underwear.