What is a grandma?

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My website stats show that folks often arrive at Grandma's Briefs by way of the search query, "What is a grandma?" As we grandmas darn well know, defining who and what we are isn't as simple as penning a few sentences similar to a dictionary entry.

That said, the Grilled Grandmas are experts in the field, so I figured combining their answers to the grilling question of "What one word do you hope your grandkids think of when they think of you?" would provide a pretty darn accurate answer of what a grandma is, or at least what one should strive to be.

So I did it. I went through all the Grilled Grandmas—from the very first to the one featured last week—collected their answers to that question, and input them into Wordle, using each word only one time (some, such as love, fun, and caring, were mentioned numerous times).

And here, my friends, is the result: The ultimate answer to the ever-burning question of ...

What is a grandma?

Bottom line? Looks to me like the best way to put it is that grandmas are just plain awesome!

Today's question:

What other words do you think should be added?

The Saturday Post: Mama Then & Now edition

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The International Museum of Women recently launched Mama Then and Now, the latest gallery in the moving and thought-provoking online exhibition called MAMA: Motherhood Around the Globe.

MAMA: Motherhood Around the Globe explores the lives, visions and voices of mothers from more than 60 countries. Personal stories are shared through original creative works including film, music, art and more.

One of the highlights of Mama Then and Now is the following video in which women from around the world reflect on their personal motherhood experience and the generational differences between the grandmothers, mothers, and daughters of their families.

MAMA: Motherhood Around the Globe also offers in-depth looks at Heroes: International Council of 13 Indigenous Grandmothers, Activist Grandmothers, tongue-in-cheek, Facebook-inspired embroideries in a feature called Friend Me , and much, much more.

Take a look MAMA...then share it with the other mamas in your life.

Today's question:

How is your mothering and grandmothering experience different from your mother's and grandmother's?

Grandma's going to the desert and in her bag she'll pack...

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I leave Friday for a twelve-day visit with my grandsons—seven days of which I'll be sole caretaker of kids while Megan and Preston attend an out-of-state conference.

In campfire-game fashion, I've made a list to ensure I remember all I need for the duration of my longest desert stay yet.

Grandma's going to the desert and in her bag she'll pack...

A — Aluminum foil for trying the back yard foil river we never got around to doing last time.

B — Bandaids to share with the boys. Decorated with VeggieTale characters.

C — Coffee. Lots and lots of it. (Okay, I'm not really packing the coffee but I've made sure it's included—in bold letters—on my list of demands that Megan have on hand.)

D — DSLR camera manual. And the camera, too. In hopes I can figure out a few more fancy functions while I have super subjects for shooting.

E — Earth-friendly crafts from Green Kid Crafts. The owners of the subscription service sent me several packets o' fun to review with Bubby, including Pirate Loot, Fishbowl, Great Horned Owl Mask projects and more.

F — Frozen Planet DVD. I'm excited to share it with Bubby.

G — Glasses. And a spare pair of glasses, too. I can no longer fake my way through reading small print—sometimes not even large print—and must bring a spare just in case something happens to the first pair.

H — Humor, or a good sense of it. From what Megan says, I'm likely gonna need it as the boys have been pills of varying sorts for the past week or so.

I — Ibuprofen. I'm pretty sure I'll be needing these pills for the above-referenced pills. If they really are pills. The boys, that is, not the pain reliever.

J — Jammies that are sufficiently grandma like as I don't want to scar my grandsons for life with any unintentional over-exposure.

K — Kitchen stuff. To include vanilla candy coating, sprinkles, and my grandma apron for making Confetti Popcorn with Bubby.

L — Laptop. A telecommuting working grandma can't leave home without it.

M — Music. On my laptop, on my iPhone. Because everything's better with music...and dance parties with cute boys. Cute boys named Bubby and Baby Mac, of course. (Well, named that at least here on the blog. In real life, those cute boys go by even cuter names.)

N — Ninety-four things I'm forgetting about as of this writing. Luckily there's still time for me to remember what those ninety-four things are. I hope.

O — Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year by Anne Lamott. In-flight reading material my good friend Heather recently bought and had autographed for me. (I'll be finished by then with Lamott's excellent book about becoming a grandma, Some Assembly Required. Huge Anne Lamott fan here.)

P — Power strip for ensuring I'll have plenty of spots for plugging in my laptop, camera, and iPhone each night as I nestle into bed.

Q — Quality hugs, kisses, and grandmotherly attention to be doled out in excess.

R — Realm for Women by Erox perfume. I really stink at accessorizing, but I always wear a (light!) squirt of an understated perfume. I like to smell good. And I like to think my grandsons will always remember that Gramma smells good. (Not that my Realm was purchased with them in mind. It was actually a gift from Jim—who always remembers that I like to smell good.)

S — Stickers! Race Cars Sticker Fun for Bubby.

T — Treasure. Also known as coins. PawDad always gives me treasure I'm supposed to pass along to the grandsons. Most times I do; sometimes I forget. (Just kidding, PawDad.)

U — Underwear. Because I had nothing else that started with a U. Well, because they're a necessity, too, but you know what I mean. Umbrella is the typical U word in such lists, but it's not likely I'll need one as the forecast's for triple digit heat while I'm there. (Maybe undertaker would have been more appropriate as the heat just might do me in.)

V — VeggieTales: Robin Good and His Not-So-Merry Men DVD.

W — Water balloons and the nifty gadget that makes them easy to fill. Will be So. Much. Fun. Especially on the trampoline.

X — X-tra patience. "See H — Humor" above.

Y — Yellow crayons...and every other color of crayon, too, to be used with the coloring book I'm packing.

Z — Zoris. I received a pair of Neat Zori sandals for review, but Colorado weather is not yet conducive to sandal wear. Days in the desert, though, are a perfect opportunity to see how the shoes stand up to days upon days of active fun in the sun.

photo: stock.xchng/bb_matt

Today's question:

Any recommendations of things I should add to my bag?

Now that I'm a grandma: Realization #47

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I admit it: I am a prude. I use the word loosely here, not in a sexual sense. I simply mean I've become straight-laced. And I didn't used to be. I've done and said and been all kinds of things in the past that were not very prude and straight-laced at all. Some actually not so far in the past and some still presently going on.

For one, I've always considered myself a pretty rocking grandma. Hard rock is my music of choice more often than not. And I only recently quit going to rock concerts—because of economics, not age.

Plus, while I've never been a cigarette smoker, I sure as heck still enjoy alcohol on a fairly regular basis. I'm talking 7&7s, too, not some girly umbrella drink.

And swearing? I don't say the F-word myself—except when I poke myself in the eye with the mascara wand—but I have no qualms about others saying it. Well, unless, of course, it's mothers saying it in front of children, regardless of their children's age, or people who utter it only when they've downed two or ten too many margaritas, mojitos or Miller Lites. Same goes for GD when anyone says it, regardless of reason.

Yes, I admit that unless I'm around my grandkids, I show little restraint when it comes to spewing bad words, especially those that begin with S, H, D, B, or A. When writing blog posts I typically write <cuss> instead of writing the cuss word I have in mind, but in real life I can be a real potty mouth.

I'm not proud of that potty mouth nor of any other non-grandmotherly things I do. But there was always some twisted sense of pride in being able to say I'm not a prude.

Well, not anymore. Alas, I am indeed a prude.

I lately felt prudeness creeping up on me as I noticed more and more of my friends and family apologizing to me when they uttered certain utterances that typically make grandmas cringe—even if I hadn't cringed, hadn't even noticed the offense. Now, though, I know for a fact that I'm in full-blown prude status. At least when I'm in charge of my grandsons.

I realized I'd officially crossed over to Prudeville when I took Bubby to see The Adventures of TinTin. It's rated PG, so I figured it would be safe to see with my nearly four-year-old grandson. He had no problem with it but within the first five minutes, I did. I had a huge problem with it and actually considered leaving the theater. There were guns and fisticuffs and unsavory behavior from the moment the title sequence flashed across the stage. Guns, I tell you! Shooting! All being deliciously savored by my grandson, who is not allowed to have guns, not allowed to watch violence beyond what takes place in nature, like in, say, The Lion King and Jungle Book.

As Bubby smiled and swayed and reeled from gunfire and leaned over to me to say, "This is a great day and the movie is the best part, Gramma!" I sat there worrying that I was warping the sweet little boy beside me, that the gentle soul who had accompanied me into the theater would transform into the town bully when we walked out. Because of the violence I let him witness on screen.

And the drinking. Of alcohol. Oh my! One of the main characters in the movie was a drunk. A sweet drunk, but a drunk nonetheless.

I think there were actually a few swear words in the film, too. I don't remember for certain, though, as I was just too consumed watching for blood to spurt during the swashbuckling scenes (it didn't) or death to come to one or another of the bad guys who stood in TinTin's way (which it didn't). Or to the drunk, or, heaven forbid, to TinTin himself and his little dog, too. (Again, it didn't. Luckily.)

Bubby loved the movie, talked about it at length on the way home. And he didn't take aim at Baby Mac with imaginary guns or pretend to slice up Mom, Dad, or the dog with a fake sword. And he didn't chug his drink then slam down his glass as if a tankard and tell Mom "Hit me up again!" at dinner. Luckily.

Still, I felt bad, as if I'd tainted my grandchild. Which is ridiculous, I know. It was a PG movie, for heaven's sake. Megan and Preston drink alcohol. They watch violent shows on TV (after Bubby has gone to bed). They use swear words. I'd venture to say they've even let the F-word fly when little pitchers were unknowingly nearby.

It's their taste in music, though, that proved my ultimate saving grace, saved me from being the one who tainted Bubby. It also solidified for me my self-label of prude.

To wit: As Bubby and I drove home from the movie that fateful day, he shouted from the back seat "Turn it up, Gramma" when LMFAO (whom I later learned was the artist) came on the radio. He then proceeded to sing along.

And it was that very moment, as I watched Bubby in the rearview mirror popping about and singing, "Girl, look at that body...I work out!" then "Wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle, yeah!" that I knew I had crossed over. I had become a prude.

Bubby's wiggle dance was truly hilarious as <cuss>, but golly gee, it just seemed so wrong.

That right there, my bristling at a song that clearly made Bubby so happy, was the last straw, the final bit of proof that I've entered Prudeville.

And there's no turning back. Forget the Sexy and I Know It song. The only song this grandma will be doing the wiggle dance to is one a little more tame.

Well, at least in title. My song: I'm Prude and I Know It.

C'mon, fellow grandmas, join in! Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, yeah! Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, yeah! We're prude and we know it.

Maybe?

(One small confession: I'm not that much of a prude because I've actually had a weird affection for the LMFAO song ever since Bubby introduced it to me with his back-seat wiggle dance. Just don't tell anyone. And I won't tell anyone if you click on that link above and listen to it over and over and develop a wiggle song all of your very own.)

The voting continues: If you liked this post—or Grandma's Briefs in general—please vote for Grandma's Briefs in the About.com Favorite Grandparent Blog poll. Vote once per day through March 21. Thank you!

Today's question:

How much of a straight-laced prude are you?