Bull***t! I'm the grandma!

As I've grown older, I've become convinced that I've earned a few things, that because I've lived relatively long and fought relatively hard, I now deserve to do what I want, when I want, for whatever reason I want.

Bottom line in my mind: I've learned and earned empowerment, in any and all areas of my life.

Except when it comes to being a grandma, that is.

Yes, I'm the older, the wiser, the more experienced in the crowd known as my family. And yes, I deserve a little respect in that position. But in my short time wearing the grandma hat, I've quickly learned — through my own misplays and mistakes and watching those of others — that empowerment and getting my own way should take backseat to doing what's right for my child, for my grandchildren.

Time and again I've wanted to throw down the gauntlet and say, "Bulls***t! I'm the grandma!" I have, in fact, done exactly that ... only to be quickly put in my place. If not by others, then by my conscience.

Now when tempted to steamroll others with my status, I forcefully remind myself of what consequences may follow uttering the BS refrain:

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and I refuse to mince my words regarding the idiotic names under consideration for my grandchild! Yeah, and you'll make the parents more determined to name their child exactly that just to spite you, because that's what kids — even adult kids — do.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and I will be in the delivery room when my grandaby is born, regardless of who has asked me to stay out! Yeah, and you'll forever be responsible and remembered for the dark cloud looming over one of your child's most memorable moments.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and I will be there to help out when Mom and baby come home from the hospital, regardless of her wishes. Yeah, and you'll create a resentment that's hard to erase.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and that grandbaby of mine needs to be circumsized (or NOT circumsized) and those silly kids darn well better listen to me! Yeah, and you'll soon be told — or should be told — that it's darn well none of your business.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and I'll put that baby on its stomach (or give a pacifier, or not give a pacifier, or feed water, or demand toilet training, or keep the kid in diapers) any time I'm the one babysitting that little one! Yeah, and you'll soon no longer be asked to babysit that little one.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma, this is my house, and I'll smoke (or drink or swear or make racist comments) in my own home regardless of who is here. If they don't like it, they don't need to visit. Yeah, and soon they won't.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and I'll give my grandbaby all the gifts I can afford. Yeah, and those gifts will soon not be appreciated — or they'll be put away by Mom and Dad for reasonable rationing.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and that kid is going to learn not to talk back or he's getting a thunk upside the head! Yeah, and thunks upside the head will be what you're remembered for.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and if my grandbaby is hungry, he's gonna get all the snacks he wants! Yeah, and will you be footing the bill — emotional and monetary — related to him eventually being obese and/or ostracized?

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and if I want to give noisy toys that make Mommy and Daddy go bonkers, no one's gonna stop me.Yeah, and those toys will end up mysteriously broken ... or at your house.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and if the other grandma gets to do that, then I'm doing it, too ... and better! Yeah, and winning — or even engaging in — the grandma-one-upmanship battle leaves only your child and grandchild as the losers.

I've cringed watching other grandmas commit some of the above. And I readily (and shamefully) admit to committing a few myself. In my defense, I'm fairly new to the grandma jig and have not yet gotten the dance down completely. Maybe I never will, as I have no doubt there are many missteps to come.

But I have learned one thing for sure, which is that when it comes to being a grandma, relinquishing my power is one of the most empowering things I can do. For I am the grandma, and as the grandma, I'd much rather be known for my grace than for my grit.

And that is no bull***t.

Photo: From Megan's Facebook page.

Today's question:

Which of the above have you done, seen done, had done to you, cringed over? Any others to add?

I've gone and done it

I've always known it would happen, but I've gone and done it, long before my time. I've gotten old. And here's how I know that for a fact.

Well, first a little back story.

When my girls were young, I swore I'd never get a minivan. I didn't care how much simpler it would make life with three daughters, there would be no dubbing me a soccer mom or minivan mom or any of those other stereotypes. Especially since my kids didn't play soccer anyway (at least not when they were little; Andie did play in high school and college and was a rockin' goalkeeper who sported her bruises and bangs with pride).

Anyway, the minivan-mom life was not for me. I was determined to steer clear of that, and I did. The closest I came was purchasing a Ford Explorer, which was kind of the same, only cooler. Like me. Or like I thought I was. (The fact I'm still driving that Ford Explorer makes me very uncool, I know. But it's very paid for, and that's what matters most at this point.)

Fast forward to the empty nest phase. My dad, a younger sister, and another younger sister (neither named Daryl) all own RVs. Recreational vehicles. A monster recreational vehicle at one point, in my dad's case. The kind that are obscenely decked out, obscenely long, and require obscene amounts of gas to get anywhere. And that require cameras at the rear and monitors at the dashboard so you can see what's going on in the event one's actually crazy enough to try backing that thing up. A monster motorhome so huge my stepmom, the navigator to Dad's driver, had to use binoculars to watch for exits ahead so they'd have time to change lanes without disastrous effects when traveling the interstate.

The RV owners in the family have great stories to tell of their road trips and camping excursions with their motor homes. Yeah, they look nice, travel well, and are a nice place to visit, but I certainly wouldn't want to own one. I prefer flying. Get on the plane, get off, get a hotel. That's my kind of traveling.

Until now. I'm a little tired of wasting the hours that lead up to the getting on and off of a plane, hours that could be spent getting somewhere. In an RV. A mini RV, to be exact. I'm not interested at all in owning or driving or sleeping in one of the monster RVs owned by many a grandma and grandpa. No, like the minivan aversion, I'm too cool for that.

But I recently admitted to Jim my desire to possibly one day own a smaller version, one that's 25 feet long or less. A Class C motor home, is apparently what they're called, according to a little searching I did online yesterday. A Class C mini RV that might look something like this with a cooler paint job, of course, as this one looks rather '80s to me (I did find more awesome ones online, but the photos were not copyright-free):

Yep, I could handle that. I could drive that, sleep in that, bring the dogs along when we go out of town in that. And I could imagine the thrills Bubby and Baby Mac (when he's grown a bit more) would get out of playing in that when Gramma and PawDad visit.

Of course, by the time we can afford such a thing, Bubby and Mac will be older, wiser, and more likely to think such a thing is very not cool, and very much for old fogies. Which, as I noted at the outset of this post, is apparently what I've become, long before my time. That's the only explanation I have for fantasizing about owning such a stereotypically old and uncool automobile...and hotel...all rolled up into one. With air-conditioning and a well-appointed sound system. And a DVD player, a refrigerator, and a bed. And most important of all: a bathroom.

Which sounds to me like a pretty cool way to travel.

Yep, I'm old.

Photo: flickr/The Motorhome & US RV Show

Today's question:

What's the most UNcool vehicle you've ever owned?

My dreams for my grandson

These are my dreams for my grandson as he grows:

That he always shows gratitude, curiosity, strength, forgiveness.

That he exercises his body and mind in equal proportions.

That he laughs daily, with others, at himself.

That he loves himself, is proud of himself, treats himself kindly, compassionately.

That he shows kindness and compassion to others, to animals, to nature.

That he turns a deaf ear to intimidation and ignorance when it comes to thinking and doing what's good, what's right.

That he understands the value of patience, compromise, silence, restraint.

That he always loves learning ... and teaching.

That he uses his hands for hugging not hurting.

That he accepts responsibility.

That he does his part.

That he has -- and is -- a true and loyal friend.

That he makes time for silliness, pleasure, play.

That he appreciates and cultivates strong bonds with his siblings, from youth to old age.

That he embraces productivity and pursues careers that matter to him, to the world.

That always -- always -- people are more important to him than things.

That he keeps his word.

That home, family, tradition matter.

That he communicates -- in small ways, large ways and when it may not seem to matter ... but does.

That he never fails to see the beauty, the delightful, the admirable, the awesome.

That he never fails to see those less fortunate.

That he takes nothing for granted.

That his fears and nerves lead him to greatness not despair.

That he appreciates differences of opinion, culture, ideas.

That he has abundant supporters, cheering him on. When he can't hear them cheering, that he doesn't hesitate to cheer for himself.

That he finds a loving forever mate and together they create a loving forever family.

That he makes a positive difference in the world, be it as simple as a smile to a passing stranger or as complex as contributing to global change.

That he never breaks his mother's heart. Or his father's.

That he builds people up, not tear them down.

That he's slow to anger, quick to reason.

That he leads more than he follows, listens more than he speaks.

That his body, mind and soul stay strong, growing and bending but never breaking.

That he dances, sings, eats, enjoys, cries, giggles, dreams without worrying what others may think.

That he sets goals far and high and reaches them ... then goes beyond them.

That adversity makes him stronger not hopeless.

That he uses the words I will more often than I'll try or I can't.

That his heart is gentle and generous yet strong and resilient.

That he keeps an open mind.

That the words misogynist, racist, hateful, liar, addict, or bully are never used to describe him.

That he never, ever doubts he's loved.

That the love he gives in return is never in doubt.

That he travels.

That he dares.

That he excels.

That he lives.

That he depends on God's guidance, comfort, forgiveness, love always, in all ways.

That all who touch his life help make these dreams a reality.

More importantly, that he makes these dreams a reality. Plus every single dream of his own.

Holiday question of the day:

If you could give one gift that can't be wrapped -- the realization of a dream, goal, wish, trait -- to one person, what would you give and to whom would you give it?

This post linked to:

Grandma's got a brand-new bag

Full disclosure here: Contrary to the post title, this grandma doesn't really have a brand-new bag. What I do have is an

old

bag filled with

new

fun to share with Bubby when I visit him next week.

Here's the deal: Soon after Megan first had Bubby, one little girl in her class regaled Megan with tales of her visiting grandma. A primary reason for the girl's excitement, Megan learned, was the special bag Grandma brought along every time she visited her grandchildren. The bag was filled with all kinds of goodies for the grandchildren to use and share and enjoy during the visit, but the fun was always packed up with Grandma to take home with her, keeping it fresh and exciting for the kids each time.

It sounded like a wonderful idea back when Megan told me, and now that Bubby has reached the age where he'd be delighted by such a thing, I'm copying the idea.

I've gathered together some goodies for the inaugural toting of my very own Gramma's bag to the desert, and here are the nine things I have inside it so far:

Disney movies. It'll take years and years before Bubby is caught up on the wonders of Walt Disney movies, but this time we'll likely fit in at least one, chosen from Wall-E, Robots and Monsters, Inc.

Picture books. I have piles of picture books to review, and a visit with Bubby is the perfect time to try them out on their intended audience.

A Hatch-N-Grow dinosaur egg. I'm willing to bet Bubby will no longer be afraid of the hatching egg and is ready for hatching his own. I think it'll make a difference for Gramma to be there to get things started ... and to bring along the dinosaur hatched from my practice run.

KIDZ BOP Dance Party video game for the Wii. This, too, is a review item I recently received. Considering Bubby's love for the KIDZ BOP CD -- and Megan and Preston's wish for some active games for their new Wii -- I'm thinking this will be the highlight of the bag.

"Mini Disco Set." Along with the dance party game above, I received a rotating mirror ball, LED light and three neon glow-in-the-dark party sticks to really set the dance party vibe. This grandma can't wait to get the party started!

The Original Squirmles. Okay, I still gotta figure out how to make these darn things squirm, but the young man at Bed, Bath and Beyond said they're all the rage with the kids nowadays.

A "Find-It" container. Hidden within a tube filled with beads are shells, nails, Bobby pins, pennys and more that Bubby and I will do our darndest to find all 47 on the list.

An Elmo flash drive for toddlers. Another review item, this nifty little USB drive is already loaded with a "Best of Elmo" video, with space left for me to add photos or videos for Bubby to enjoy anytime Megan will let him plug it in to a USB port on the computer. I'll teach my favorite toddler in the world how to plug it in -- or how to wear it on his wrist when not in use.

Caramel Apple Taffy. THIS is my favorite holiday candy, taffy that is available only for a short time (at least where I live) beginning around Halloween. I figure it can't hurt to share some of Gramma's favorite candy with her favorite grandson.

There's still a week before takeoff, so who knows what may be added. My plan is to keep the bag filled with these items and more so Bubby eagerly anticipates the opening of Gramma's bag during each visit, just as Megan's former student did with her grandma's bag.

Of course, I'm already thinking I may have to relax my rules just a tad and leave an item or two with Bubby when I head home. No sense having the fun (and Elmo flash drive) wasting away, unused in a bag in the closet for months, when a little boy (and his parents) could be enjoying it. Right?

Besides, leaving an item or two will give me more space to add something new to Gramma's bag -- just in time for the Thanksgiving visit!

Today's question:

What do you remember about your grandmother's or mother's bag or purse?

Intersections

I have a friend who recently found out she's pregnant. Pam, whom many of you may know in real life -- or from her comments and reviews here on Grandma's Briefs -- received the good news a few weeks ago.

It was surprising news for Pam as she'd pretty much settled into life with the assumption she'd never have kids. It had taken her a long time to find a partner she'd deemed worthy of parenting with her, they'd gotten pregnant, they sadly lost the baby. They were told by specialists -- in their infinite wisdom -- that they'd likely never have children.

So Pam moved on to other pursuits, including studying to become a personal trainer (and being within just the exam of certification) and preparing the home she and her significant other share for putting it on the market so they could move to a place more fitting their lifestyle.

Now their lifestyle has been thrown into surprise makeover mode.

Though it means (and meant) incredible ups, downs, heartbreak and hope for Pam and her SO, such stories are fairly common.

What isn't so common, though, and what I -- along with my friend, the mommy-to-be -- find most intriguing about her story is that, get this, Pam will become a full-fledged mother at the very same age that I became a GRANDmother!

Yes, Pam, who is only a few years younger than I, will be struggling with diapers, doctors and disparate parenting philosophies at the very same time that I'm struggling to get quality time with my Bubby and hoping for the arrival of additional grandbabies sometime soon.

I'm not sure if that says more about me, more about Pam, or more about the current generation of parents ... and grandparents ... in general.

I became a grandmother at a relatively young age, but I'm far from the record of Youngest Grandma Ever. My oldest sister was nearly five years younger when she became a grandma, and I've featured a Grilled Grandma who had her first grandbaby at an age much younger than the one at which I first claimed the crown.

Does that mean strangers might mistake me for Bubby's mother when we're out and about together? Possibly. But I sure hope not. Megan deserves all the credit -- and the craziness -- that's part and parcel of being the one whom Bubby calls Mom. I'm proud to proclaim myself Bubby's grandmother, not his mother.

And with Pam firmly in the "older" mother category -- yet decades from Oldest Ever designation -- does that mean she might be considered little Nubbin's grandmother when she and the sweet one are out and about once Nubbin arrives? Possibly, but highly unlikely. Pam is in the best shape ever (did I mention she's nearly a personal trainer?) and looks, dresses and acts far younger than most women her age -- myself indubitably included. And the youthfulness looks fabulous on her. She'll most definitely proudly proclaim her status as Nubbin's mother, not grandmother.

What I think the situation really underscores is that the women of my generation are doing things far younger than in the past (including becoming grandma) as well as far older than in the past (including becoming mama). And every once in a while there's an intersection of the two.

I'm honored to have met Pam at that intersection.

In the several years I've know Pam, we've been similar in so many ways, each with minor deviances from what we share. We like basically the same movies -- with the exception of her penchant for zombie flicks while I prefer documentaries. We read many of the same books -- with the exception of her well-read list of classics compared to my enjoyment of non-fiction fare. We've worked together, been in book clubs together, gotten drunk together, worried about health scares and aging together, written together.

Now we'll blog together. Pam recently embarked on a mommy blogging venture, calling it 40-Something First Timer. I can't think of a more worthy blogging buddy.

Nor can I think of a more worthy buddy with whom to share the 40-something parenting experience, albeit from opposite ends of the spectrum -- Pam as new mother, me as (fairly new) grandmother.

As many of my readers can attest, Pam is in for the ride of her life -- with both the blog and, more importantly, the baby. I wish her the very best of luck with the challenges of both!

Photo courtesy stock.xchng.

Today's question:

Stereotype, schmereotype! What about you goes against the stereotype of someone your age?