This and That and More

Ok, first off I must address an accusation made on this site, wherein I was called, (if you’re a squeamish type, please ignore the next few words) a ‘blog fibber’. This came as a result of my lack of fresh new material appearing on this site in the past few months.

First off, unless my accuser is my daughter, I had no idea that, A – Anyone else was looking at this but her, and B – That my site would turn up on a search engine on the internet and C – that summer would get so dang busy.

My suggestion would be that if you have enough time to read my rambling’s and worse yet, miss them when they don’t arrive, you really have way to much time on your hands.

That said, I would like to interrupt my absolutely fascinating and amusing rant on weight loss to address a more current and timely issue.

That grandbaby I alluded to in my first blog has arrived a few weeks earlier than expected.

For my daughter and her husband, this has thrown them into the pool of parenting stress suddenly and with a resounding splash. And so it should be. It’s all part of the circle of life, or as I prefer to say, what comes around goes around.

For me, there is a much bigger and more profound reality that I have been forced to deal with earlier than expected. It is the issue of GRANDMOTHER-ness.

When one says the word ‘grandma’ images of a kindly white haired lady, puttering around in a flowered house dress and ruffled pink apron come to mind. A constantly stocked cookie jar and a conspiratorial wink that lets some grandchild know that sugar highs are OK at granny’s house. And that clever and insightful wisdom that comes from finally having all your own children out and living on their own.

Please, that isn’t me. I have four children still living at home (five that I’m financially supporting). I’m still trying to lose the last five or ten or fifteen or… well it’s none of your business how much baby fat I’m still trying to get rid of -and the baby is sixteen. I haven’t figured out teenagers, how to have some paycheck left at the end of the month, or even what I want to be when I grow up. How can I possibly be ready for grandmotherhood?

And to make it all worse, the little guy is a doll. You don’t even have to be a grandma to feel that. (See http://ryantiff2005.blogspot.com/ )

So here is my suggestion. If a card company can invent a major holiday without a presidential decree or blessing from the Pope, then surely I, a humble mother myself, can create a new title in the family hierarchy.

I propose, grandmother-in-training. A position not quite up there with the saintly grandmamma but a little less responsible than mother. As a grandmother-in-training or GIT as I prefer to call it, I get out of all the same thing’s grandma’s do, such as, changing dirty diapers, getting up with a fussy baby, and having to wear the baby backpack when we go to the zoo. Those are clearly mommy things and I am not the mommy.

However, unlike a normal grandmother, I don’t have to be wise and know all the answers. I don’t have to put signs on my grass saying, “Grandchildren Spoiled Here”. I don’t have to drink prune juice or walk with a cane. I can continue pursuing my hobbies, wear normal clothes, and fantasize that the young man at the grocery check out counter thinks I’m pretty sexy for an older woman. (I said it was fantasy!)

Statistics say that we are living longer and longer every year. The stage of adolescents, that use to last until eighteen, has now dragged out through the twenties and even into the thirties for some people I know. If I could live to be one hundred and ten, I think that title of GIT isn’t just a nice thought, it’s a necessity!

And so I declare my independence. Yes, I do have a grandbaby who I adore, but I am also a GIT and proud of it. Take that tradition!