Meet my grand dogs. That is Marley on top with the black nose and Lucy on the bottom with the brown nose. They are adorable – I know. I used to have a grand bunny as well – Mr. Ginger – but he sadly passed away. I have often wondered if Mr. Ginger didn’t just finally pass from the shame of being named "Mr. Ginger". He started off as Ginger when my daughter believed he was a she and then was migrated to "Mr. Ginger" when his true sex was identified. I can’t say he ever got over the indignity of having his masculinity stripped from him.
I do miss Mr. Ginger…as far as grand bunnies go, he was one-of-a-kind. If your grand babies have to have attitude it is best if they are the grand bunny version. And attitude was what Mr. Ginger had (again, not sure how much of that was tied to the name). He would charge right up to my cats when I was babysitting him and scare the living daylights out of them and then hop off as if they weren’t even remotely interesting – it left the cats perplexed and Cheyenne (my youngest child) and me laughing. Yes, Mr. Ginger is missed.
But, as is typical, I digress. I am introducing my grand dogs to you for a reason. These are the only contribution my oldest child, Sarah, has made to my Glamma status (more on the terminology later). My second oldest, Noah, has already provided two grandchildren, Noah Jr. (almost four years old) and Courtney (all of two months old). Alas, Noah has dual citizenship and lives in Canada with his kids. Sarah is close – right here in Fargo – but she refuses to reproduce despite the unmitigated joy it would provide her mother. In the beginning I was hopeful that the furry grand babies were a precursor to human grand babies. Alas, it turns out the furry grand babies were not the grand beginning of other things as I had hoped.
I must confess though that as excited as I was to enjoy the benefits of grandchildren, I was decidedly less excited to bear the title "Grandma" (I was ONLY 46 at the time). In my vision of a "Grandma" this new role required a big purse, sensible shoes and a light sweater to be worn at all times. I could not envision fitting the mold. I started looking for a therapist to ease me through my issues. Luckily my friend Laurie came to the rescue with the new improved title – "Glamma". My high heels, fragile ego and I felt much better with that title.
And so I became a "Glamma" and it was good. Grandchildren are God’s gift for surviving the indescribable challenges involved in raising teenagers (without killing them – if you kill them – no grandchildren – its in the small print on the contract). Grandchildren are a fabulous gift as they allow you not only the joy of their company (which really is the best thing ever), but also the opportunity to torture the children who earlier tortured you. Here is the opportunity to give horrifically messy gifts that kids love but parents do not (think finger paints, clay, bubble-gum making kits, goo oozing toys, etc.), much candy (that too should be somewhat purposeful – pixy sticks, taffy, gum, etc.) and lots of parenting advice (all unsolicited of course) – all under the guise and with the societal blessing of grandparenting.
Yes, being a "Glamma" is good and I want more of it. As such, I have decided today that in the new forty I will make a more concerted effort to promulgate local grandchildren – human local grandchildren that is. I have a plan…it has been long in the coming, but with this new decade and the new forty wide open I think the time is right!
You see, I have this little fabric doll and I have acquired a number of personal items from Sarah and attached them to it. I am going up on eBay today to look for a book of voodoo spells…she’ll never know what hit her (well, she may know, but she’ll never suspect that I had anything to do with it). Now all I need is your help to bring my plan to fruition…dear readers, please help a local Glamma acheive her goal – send stick pins.
Day four of the new forty – obla di obla da