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!