Grandma-shaped impressions

As grandmothers, we influence and inspire our grandchildren in myriad ways, leaving grandma-shaped impressions on our grandchildren that may last a lifetime. Sometimes our influence is intentional. More often, though, it's not.

My maternal grandmother inspired me to communicate through the written word, though I doubt she consciously planned the impact she had on me. Especially as her greatest influence came once I was an adult, not when I was a child. During the first decade or so of my adulthood, my grandma and I regularly exchanged letters. I was honored she took the time despite her failing eyesight to share the this and that of her days and express concern about mine. Her handwriting—so tiny, tight, and perfectly aligned, thanks to placing a sheet of paper beneath each line then going back to add the tails to any Y, P, J, or G requiring such—illustrated the power of words to connect, affirm relationships, express love across miles. To this day, I'm far better at expressing myself in writing than in person. I attribute a fair amount of that to those letters from Gramma.

My paternal grandmother also unintentionally influenced my character. The grandma-shaped spot she left, though, was imprinted on me as a child. I loved my grandma on my dad's side, yet she and I weren't close by any means. She had oodles of children who had oodles of children of their own, and I'm pretty sure that to her I was just another one of the many kids who showed up at her place on weekends and holidays. I always remember that grandma as being sick or out of sorts much of the time. Not frail and bedridden, just impaired to some degree—and being quite vocal about the real or imagined injustice of her infirmity. From having often seen my grandma in such a disgruntled state, I learned to be quite strong—and usually silent—in the face of most illnesses or ailments. That's a good thing, I think, and I attribute it to wanting to do the very opposite of what I saw in my grandma.

MY GIRLS WITH GRANNY (LEFT) AND GRANDMA CARPENTER.

When I consider the ways my daughters were influenced by their grandmothers—my mom, my mother-in-law, my step-mother-in-law—I imagine the ways those women affected my girls, when they were little and now that they're grown. I've not asked my daughters about it, but I can see smidgens of the grandma shapes on them, attributable to each of their grandmothers.

The girls have seen their step-grandma, Jim's step mom, only a handful of times. Each time, though, involved doing a craft project, resulting in, at least partially, the girls' artistic streaks and BRIANNA AND ANDREA WITH GRANDMA (MY MOM).enjoyment of crafts. I see impressions of my own mom—a lover of animals, dancing, and offering far more food than necessary—on each of my daughters in their attention to animals, enjoyment of goofy dancing, and desire to gift food upon those they love. And I attribute much of my daughters' commitment to their faith to my mother-in-law, who was the most joyfully faithful example in all of our lives.

My grandmas and the grandmas of my daughters likely didn't consider how their daily actions and interactions would influence, possibly even inspire, the children birthed by their own children. Kids they weren't around every day, yet whom they affected in unexpected and unintentional ways. Ways that even as adults, continue to affect us, move us, guide us.

Which leads me, naturally, to consider how I might be affecting my grandsons in unexpected, unintentional ways. What grandma-shaped impressions am I leaving on them?

Like my own maternal grandma, I live far away from my grandchildren. Yet influence and inspiration knows no boundaries, and I have no doubt I impact them through even the limited interactions we have. The idea warms my heart. It also, though, gives pause to my heart as I think of which negative traits of mine might be ever so obvious, unattractive, undesireable to my grandsons. Now or eventually.

I hope that with any and all unseemly attributes of mine, my grandsons do as I did with my paternal grandma—the very opposite, improving themselves by seeing in me and my failings exactly what not to do.

As I continually strive to intentionally make a positive difference in the lives of my grandsons, I think it's also worth considering all the unintentional ways I might be making a difference in their lives. I hope that when they're adults, they can pinpoint specific acts and traits of mine that made an impression on them, shaped the characters they'd become.

And I hope they look fondly upon those impressions, for better or for worse. That they consider the grandma shape imprinted upon them as having inspired them to be stronger, more productive, more compassionate, more faithful, more loving—of others, of themselves, of life.

Regardless of whether such inspiration was intentional on my part or not.

Today's question:

What unintentional impression did your grandmothers leave on you?

Oh, how they grow

When I visited my grandsons last weekend, it had been only two months since I'd last seen them. We all know, though, how quickly kiddos change and grow, so in those two short months Bubby and Mac changed and grew in myriad ways.

Here are just a few:

Mac no longer sits in a high chair or needs help going up and down the (carpeted) stairs.

Bubby says things such as, "Gramma, you don't need to worry about me because I know how to use scissors now" when doing crafts and, "I'm going to build a contraption" when explaining how he plans to proceed with his play.

Mac says big words, too, at least for a 14-month-old. Words such as bubble and book, uh-oh and down, Mama and more.

Bubby no longer calls out from the bathroom, "I'm done...!" and can now wipe himself.

Mac no longer eats crayons—most of the time—and can now color with his brother.

Bubby has figured out how to do cartwheels on the trampoline.

Mac has figured out how to lie on his tummy in the bathtub—something he refused to even attempt until this past Saturday night.

Bubby has also figured out how to flatter the ladies—especially Mommy—recently delivering this perfect line after she kissed him goodnight: "Mommy, sometimes your kisses are better than snacks."

Oh, how they grow.

One thing Mac and Bubby haven't outrown, though, is loving on and posing for pictures with Gramma.

Oh, how I hope they never do.

Today's question:

In what ways have you recently noticed that your grandkids or kids have grown?

How the news I'd be a grandma broke my heart

I’m continually enthralled by the videos on Facebook and YouTube of moms and dads getting the news from their adult children they will soon be grandparents. They’re always thrilled beyond words, often whooping and hollering for lack of any other way of expressing their joy.

For me, the experience was different. In fact, my heart unexpectedly broke into a thousand pieces when my daughter and son-in-law announced they were pregnant, that I would soon become a grandmother.

Megan and Preston chose to share the good news during a Thanksgiving visit. On their first night in town for the holiday, as our family gathered at a local restaurant, my daughter handed my husband a small, wrapped gift then handed a similar one to me.

“How sweet,” I thought, figuring they’d given us new pictures to hang in the house we’d just moved into a week before.

It was pictures, all right—ultrasound pictures in photo frames personalized for each: “Grandpa’s pride and joy” for my husband; “Grandma’s pride and joy” for me.

The unexpected gift threw me off for a minute, then it sunk in. And I began to cry, right there, in public, with dozens of restaurant patrons watching the scene as my husband and I passed our photo frames to our two other daughters as an explanation for the tears, whoops, hollers, and hugs.

Preston and BubbyI was overjoyed. And heartbroken. At the same time. Two feelings I never knew could co-exist—just the first of many “firsts” in my transition from mother to grandmother.

I was overjoyed for obvious reasons. I’M A GRANDMA! I wanted to shout to the room. The heartbreak, though? My heart was broken in a million pieces amidst the joy because nowhere was there mention that my daughter and son-in-law, who lived 819 miles away, would be relocating to be near me—Grandma.

Throughout the holiday weekend, the news was shared with extended family, always with a bittersweet tinge to my tune of happy tidings. Yes! Hallelujah! I was to be a grandma! But how very, very sad that I’d be a long-distance grandma.

I couldn’t be the only long-distance grandma, I consoled myself again and again that holiday weekend and beyond. But how do they survive? How can they function with huge chunks of their hearts living miles upon miles away?

MacI imagined my daughter, upon giving birth, would change her mind and want to move closer to Mom, to Grandma. I figured she’d convince her husband relocation was required and that idea tided me over for the many months of heartache and worry and yearning.

Then came the birth of my grandson. Labor wasn’t scheduled—though I now understand the advantages of doing so…for Grandma’s sake, of course—so booking a flight that would perfectly coincide with the big day was a gamble. A gamble I lost. My daughter and son-in-law managed to get through the delivery of my sweet grandson, though, and I arrived a week later.

The thrill upon meeting my grandson gives me goose bumps and throat lumps to this day. I cried the moment I saw him and took him in my arms. For a week, his little bundle of a body took turns being passed from Mommy to me. Every once in a while we’d share with others—reluctantly, for sure.

Then came time for me to return home. My husband and I headed to the airport with tear-filled eyes and empty arms. Oh, how the longing overtook my being. I didn’t recall ever feeling so lonesome for someone I’d known for such a short time. For someone I’d known ever, for I’d never before had to be apart from those I love the very most.

The word lonesome didn’t come even close to capturing the desolation I felt for weeks after. I thought again and again that there must be something wrong with other long-distance grandmas because they seemed so normal, so functioning, so accepting of the situation.

Megan and MacI railed against the distance far more than my daughter wanted to hear. She and her husband made their home far away, that was where they would stay, and I would just have to deal. Her words, her sentiments. My challenge.

I accepted the challenge as well as possible, with my mouth shut and my feelings to myself as much as I could bear. My daughter and I agreed to visiting, at a minimum, every other month. Either she and the baby would fly to the mountains, or I would fly to the desert. I was fortunate, I told myself; it’s better than some long-distance grandmas get.

After each visit, each extended period of hugging, touching, squeezing, and loving on my grandson, my arms would physically ache to hold him again. At such times I understood the phantom pains of amputees who had lost important, essential parts of their being.

I couldn’t imagine years of such yearning and hoped my daughter and son-in-law would eventually realize what was best for their son—meaning a grandma who lived locally. I was selfish in wanting that, expecting that, justifying my selfishness by pretending my grandson wanted me as much as I wanted him.

I was crazy. I now know that. Crazy in love—an unrequited love—with my grandson. I needed to get a grip.

Slowly I did.

Little by little the distance became easier. Okay, the distance didn’t become any easier, but my acceptance of the circumstances made the distance easier to bear. I stopped focusing on the times we spent apart and looked forward to the times we’d have together. I learned to keep a strong connection with my grandson—and now my second grandson, brother to the first, too—by whatever means I can find: telephone, Internet, postal service.

And I give thanks for the good fortune of being able to visit with my grandsons often, at either my place or theirs.

When you have no other choice, you do your best with what you've been given. Doing your best heals your broken heart.

Today's question:

How did you get the news you'd be a grandparent? If not a grandparent, how did you share the news with your parents?

Grandma guilt strikes again

Through the 20+ years I spent raising my three daughters, guilt was an emotion I wore reluctantly yet often. Daily, in fact. Obsessively. The list of things I—and other mothers, surely—had to feel guilty about was endless.

Did I nurse long enough? Too long? Eat correctly to make the best breastmilk I could? Oh, I should not have had that beer...or the second one. Did I start them in school too early? Too late? Help them enough with their homework? Or too much? And the clothes, the cool and expensive clothes I couldn't afford! I surely damaaged their self esteem making them wear hand-me-downs. Or rag rollers—that made such adorable hairstyles!—the night before special occasions. Or homemade Halloween costumes instead of the fancy store-bought kind donned by their friends. And I didn't sign up often enough as class party mom. And I made them stop trick-or-treating before their friends did...well, at least poor Brianna, the one we practiced parenting on. Sheesh, the ways we messed up that girl. Well, all the girls because we had them so close together...and we were so broke...and I was so strict. But they did get to have pagers. But it wasn't cell phones...or iPads or even computers. MAN! We didn't have a computer until they were in junior high, and then I rarely let them on it without demanding they spend time with Mavis Beacon to practice their typing before they were allowed to play VidGrid. VidGrid? Oh, yeah, I surely warped them letting them watch music videos. Well, in the later years, that is, because I had the parental lock on MTV when they were younger. Was that right to do? And was it right to make them be home for dinner every single night? Go out for at least one sport per school year? Get a job at 16? But not be allowed to work on Sundays because they had to go to church and be there for Sunday dinner? We made them pay for their car insurance, but we didn't pay for driving lessons. Oh, I just KNOW it warped them in some way for me to teach them to drive for the first time in the cemetery. But at least they couldn't kill anyone there. How horrible of me to say that...in front of them. And how horrible to demand they go to college for AT LEAST one semester before deciding if college was or was not for them. Maybe they weren't cut out for college? Maybe the student loan debt was too much for them. Maybe I was too much for them.

I know the guilt was too much for me. Patience and energy and money are all easily exhausted for parents, but guilt? Guilt continues to grow and multiply and take over one's days. At least a mom's days—and nights, feeling guilty about all those things we may have forgotten to feel guilty about during the day.

Thankfully those guilt-ridden mommy days and nights are over for me. And, fortunately, guilt-ridden isn't a defining trait of the grandma gig. That's not to say it's non-existent, though. The past couple weeks I've been faced with a bit of grandma guilt, an especially nagging grandma guilt when it comes to Baby Mac, my second grandson.

Baby Mac will celebrate his first birthday in a couple weeks. The creative invitation designed like a ticket to a baseball game came in the mail over the weekend. Megan has told me of all the bits and pieces going into the baseball-themed affair, and it sounds like it'll be a home run for pleasing ball-loving Baby Mac and entertaining all in attendance.

Thing is, I won't be attending. And I feel horribly guilty about that. Yes, I'm a long-distance grandma so such absences are to be expected. But I was (and am) a long-distance grandma with Bubby, too, and I managed to attend every single one of his birthday celebrations. There have been only three so far, but I was there for them all. Photographed them all. Sang "Happy Birthday" to my grandson at all.

But I won't be doing that for Baby Mac. Because he—and his brother—will be visiting my house for an extended stay just a few weeks after his birthday. So it's silly to pay the money to fly 815 miles to the desert to sing Happy Birthday, eat some cake, take some photos. We'll just have a second party at Gramma and PawDad's when the boys arrive for their visit.

Actually, we'll have two birthday parties when the boys visit in June, because Bubby's birthday is mere days before the boys come to the mountains, so we'll have one for him, too. We have a fun activities planned: one will include a dinosaur museum visit; one will feature a visit to my sister's ranch so the boys can ride Shetland ponies. Aunt B and Aunt Andie will get to attend. It will be awesome.

But I still feel guilty. For not attending my second grandson's very first birthday party. Well, and for not attending my first grandson's fourth birthday party. Their real parties. The ones Mom has planned for both boys. At their own home, with their own friends.

Grandma guilt. There's nothing worse.

Except, of course, mommy guilt.

Today's question:

How does grandma guilt compare to mommy guilt in your life?

15 mommy things grandmas may have forgotten

Until the past week, I'd forgotten all of this:

1. How often drinks spill.

2. If you think you have 20 minutes before the kids wake up, take the shower right then—without dawdling—for you really only have 10.

3. Ponytails are a mom's best friend.

4. Dishes and dusting CAN wait...and usually do. Along with answering email, reading, and going to the bathroom when you have to.

5. The shape a sandwich is cut into and whether the crusts are left on or not really do make or break lunch time.

6. You WILL need to nap when they do. Sometimes even when they don't.

7. Two in the tub is NOT double the fun, it's double the stress...and double the screaming when soap gets in eyes, double the resisting when it's time to get out.

8. Poopy diapers inevitably happen the instant bath time is over and the kid's dried, lotioned up, diapered and pajama-ed. (But don't complain—it's better than those horrendous times it happens before bath time is over.)

9. Go-to distractors for a little one determined to do a variety of dangerous deeds: "Look," "What's that?" and "Where's your toy (or nose or the dog or—in dire situations—Mommy)?"

10. Telling a kid "No" only means he or she will say "Yes" to trying to do it again...and again...and again. (I should have remembered that one from my daughters' teen years.)

11. Kids don't care how good—or bad—you sing.

12. They also don't care if you wear makeup. (Good news, considering No. 4).

13. Dinnertime through bedtime is the most challenging part of the day.

14. Heart-stopping screams are rarely indicators of death and destruction; more often, they're a barometer of delight.

15. Everything's better with ketchup on it. Or ranch dressing. Or syrup. But not mustard—ever.

Today's question:

What else would you add to the list?