The GRANDMA title.

"Hey, GRANDMA!" My neighbor said this to me as I was herding my two grandsons toward my car. I smiled and nodded, as I attempted to keep the three-year-old from wandering out to the alley. The neighbor was encouraged, going on to say, "What's the matter? You don't like being called Grandma?" He seemed genuinely tickled by the thought.

And so it goes, folks calling out "Grandma" or "Grandpa", as if it is a slur, indicating that one is OLD! I didn't get older when I became a grandmother, I didn't feel older, either. But somehow, general perceptions of me changed.

Well, here's a great big news flash! Grandparents are COOL! We listen to cool music! My youngest son listens to Jerry Lee Lewis and is looking for Sam Cooke for his iPod. My phone/music player has the Foo Fighters and Cage the Elephant.
And we TEXT! Now, I am not the text-monster that, say, my teenage step-daughter is, but I can hold my own.

Obviously, we blog!

We e-mail, we are tech-savvy and fashionable.

OK, well, this Grandma is no fashionista, my uniform is capri pants, concert T-shirts and flip-flops. But take a look at my daughter's mother-in-law, who also favors capris and flipflops, but ALWAYS looks perfectly put-together.

The days of Grandma in a rocking chair, with her silver hair pulled into a bun, knitting sweaters and endless booties while baking cookies are done.

Don't get me wrong, I can bake a wicked batch of cookies. Or homemade bread. But I am just as likely to whip up a batch of hand-rolled sushi or Ahi Poke.

My daughter and her dad were shopping once, when she was pregnant with her first child. They found a shirt for a baby that said "Grandmas house smells like cookies" or something to that effect.
My daughter scoffed, saying her kid needs a shirt that says Grandma's house smells like garlic!

So, go ahead, call me Grandma! Just make sure you know who you are talking to!

I'm not your grandma's grandma.

Hell, I'm not even my own grandmother. My earliest memories of my grandmother are of a darkened room at my Grandpa's house. As a very small child, I'd skitter past the room, because there was a red glow floating around in the dark room. And the strange creature inside would bark at intervals. She'd order my mother around like a servant. She scared the living crap out of me.

Flash forward 20 years. I was married, had a nice home and I flew my grandmother out to stay with us. She didn't smoke anymore, but she was even more demanding than I remember. My husband and I both worked full-time and she bitched because she was at the house all day alone. She whined about the food, the weather, the fact that my home only had one bathroom. My daughter was 5 or 6 when my grandmother visited, but doesn't really remember her, other than that she was mean and scary.

My daughter is now 27, with 2 kids. She lives about 45 miles away, so I see my two grandsons on a regular basis. I happily volunteer when she and her husband want to get away, and the boys come stay with me. I live in a small apartment and my car is not really meant for two car seats, but I don't care! We have a blast.




What happens at Grandma's.........
stays at Grandma's






Now, I am not in any way trying to demean my own grandmother. She is who she is. I don't think she ever wanted kids, much less grandchildren. I just like my own way of grandparenting. I am finishing this post with the 9-month old on my lap. He'll be going home in a few hours and I will miss him when he does. But that's the best part of grandparenting! You get to give them back!