grandma
My grandchildren have gotten to the age where teasing their grandma is considered a sport. Words spoken in irritation…provided they were not aimed at that grandchild…are suddenly the funniest thing they have ever heard. They love to bring up past irritated sayings and then ask me to repeat the saying…hopefully using the same tone I used at the time they first heard the remark. The problem is that often what struck them as funny is something I gave very little thought to, and therefore barely recall saying, much less the proper tone to use in the repeat performance. Consequently, they ask me to try again using the right tone, and when I don’t know the right tone, they try to re-create the tone for me, so I can then repeat it for them, so they can laugh about it. Mostly, they end up laughing at my feeble attempts to re-create the tone to match their tone.
It’s a good thing that I’m a good sport too, because anything is fair game here. A broken heel and the consequent limping walk…along with the ensuing irritated grumbling, makes for the perfect pick on Grandma item. As does my irritation at the radio speakers in my car when they were going out, and the sound would “get really low, and then BLAST out at you!” And, let’s not forget that my grandsons are now all taller than me, so they think it is pretty funny to manhandle Grandma, because she isn’t strong enough to push them out of the way…much less get away from them. I have been relegated to the basement, as it were, in that all three of the boys are taller, so I have become Little Grandma, which takes me back some to when all of my cousins and I called my great grandmother, Little Great Grandma, a name she didn’t seem to mind either, and now I understand why she didn’t.
There is just something about having your grandchildren lovingly teasing you that has a pleasure all it’s own. You realize that while your children, at this age, were totally embarrassed at the un-coolness of their parents, your grandchildren have no such inhibitions where you are concerned. Somehow in your old age…not that I’m old, mind you…but somewhere in what seems to your grandchildren to be your old age, you have somehow managed to retain or maybe recover your coolness!! And the truly amazing thing is that all you had to do to achieve such a great accomplishment was say something silly in the middle of an argument like, “We are sooooooo done here!”
We most often think of the husband being older than the wife in a marriage. But that isn’t always the case, and I happen to know of some very good marriages in which that is not the case. Many people might find that to be odd, but love doesn’t really understand age differences…thankfully.
There can, however, be some funny side effects to being in a marriage in which the wife is older than the husband. I suppose, sometimes it is a good idea to have a bit of a sense of humor…especially if the wife in this marriage likes to…well, rub it in a bit. Bob’s grandmother was 5 months to the day older than his grandfather. Each year on her birthday, she would tell him, “Well, now I’m older and wiser than you are.” He never really said much, but I’m sure he was thinking, “Yeah, yeah, I hear you.”
The way I see it, most of the marriages in which the wife is older, include at least some degree of teasing by the wife, because that is the way most women are. It is what gives life a little spice! There might be people who would disagree with me on that one, but I know that Bob’s grandmother thoroughly loved being 5 months older than his grandfather, and he liked hearing things like she had robbed the cradle, which is usually a term used on men. That one was also used on my daughter Amy, who is 11 months older than her husband, Travis.
Sometimes, it is the unusual that makes a marriage special. The private little joke, the endearing nickname, and yes, maybe the unusual ages of the couple. We look at May/December marriages as 
being odd, but there are very often filled with deep love, though those on the outside of the marriage are always suspicious of that type of marriage. And even marriages with a medium sized difference in age might seem odd to some, but can be filled with the deepest, enduring love that there could possibly be. Marriages come in all kinds of different forms, but it is love that makes the marriage, and love simply doesn’t notice the differences that people do.
My great grandmother lived next door to my grandparents for all the years I knew her. She was my mother’s dad’s mother, and all of us kids loved her very much. Whenever we were at my grandparent’s house, we would always go over to Little Great Grandma’s house. She would always have cookies for us to eat, and she would sit with us at the table and talk a little. We didn’t go over often, because there was always something going on at my grandparents house…always lots of kids there to play with.
Whenever we got to go over, I loved seeing Little Great Grandma. I don’t know who started calling her that, but I don’t remember ever calling her anything else. When I think about my own grandchildren and all the nicknames they have come up with for me though, my guess is that one of the great grandsons got taller than her, and decided that she was now Little Great Grandma. My grandsons, who are all taller than I am now, are always calling me Little Grandma, so it stands to reason that, since my great grandmother wasn’t a tall woman, she would eventually be given that name.
I used to think it was unique to this generation or my family, since my sister’s grandchildren have those nicknames for her too, but when I got to thinking about my great grandmother, and the nickname we always called her, I think it is something that crosses the generational lines. I suppose my great grandmother would have cringed at some of my nicknames, but as times change, so do the nicknames.
I also think it is a form of endearment. Kids call ’em as they see ’em. My grandchildren used to call me the fingernail grandma (I believe Christopher thought of that one) when they were little and trying to figure out a way to distinguish which grandma they were talking about. I do love to paint my nails and they are always long, so I guess it stands to reason. As the years have gone by, I have been Gma, G (came from Josh, it was easier), Gram, Gramama (definitely from my granddaughter, 
Shai), G-pickle (Caalab, my joker, came up with that one), as well as several others that didn’t have a very long life, and so don’t come quickly to mind.
Endearing nicknames are only given to those we love, and since I know my grandchildren love me very much, I can look at the silly nicknames I have acquired over the years, and know that funny as they are…they are my own, given to me by grandchildren who love me with all their heart, and they show me that every day. I love each and every nickname, almost as much as I love each and every grandchild.
When a baby starts crying…everybody reacts. Sometimes it’s a relaxed, normal reaction, such as the baby’s mom or dad…who are used to the crying. Even the grandparents can be pretty relaxed with it, because they know the baby and what this type of crying means.
The reactions of a friend who is holding the baby are a little more nervous. They often range from “What did I do?” to “I don’t think your baby likes me!” looks. Everyone wants to be the one who picks up a baby and the baby just snuggles up and smiles, or the one who picks up a crying baby, and the baby miraculously quits crying…just because they saw your face. Of course, the reality is that unless you are the baby’s mommy or daddy, or maybe grandma or grandpa, you probably aren’t going to get the reaction you hoped for from a crying baby. They want their mommy or daddy, especially at bedtime or mealtime.
Some of the funniest reactions to a crying baby, in my opinion, come from other children. They often think they are going to be in trouble for somehow hurting the baby, because after all “Why in the world would this baby cry unless it was hurt”, right? Claims of “I didn’t do anything!” or “What did I do?” are fairly immediate when they are handed a baby and the baby simply turnes into a screaming bundle of noise in their arms. They just don’t understand that the baby is feeling very unsafe right now, because this person who is holding them isn’t much bigger that they are…and “Where is my mommy!!”
And for the child sitting next to the poor little one who is holding the screaming baby, the looks are a mixture of “Whew, I’m glad that isn’t me!” and “Will somebody do something about this kid!” They are really just glad the baby didn’t cry while they were holding it, and…”Maybe I’ll wait for a better time for my turn…thanks!” Kids just don’t want to be singled out as the one that made the baby cry!
Now a sister or brother who is used to this “screaming kid who has joined our family” has an even different reaction. Day after day, they hear the baby crying, and they often can’t figure out what
this kid’s problem is, and why they can’t “be more like me”…because “I never cry for no reason!” and “Why did we get this kid anyway!” When they found out they were getting a little brother or sister, they were so excited, and when the baby arrived, then confusion set in. “Ok people, this crying is just not what I signed on for when you told me I was getting a brother or sister!” “I kinda wanted a bigger kid…you know, like a new best friend…soooooo, could we just trade this one in one a better model…I think this one is just a bit defective!!” “Hey Mommy, can you please turn the volume down on this kid…or better yet, maybe we should put him in his crib…and shut the door please!!”
Bob’s grandmother, like most grandmothers, loved babies. If there were babies in the house, it was a sure bet that Grandma would be there holding them. From her children, to her great great grandchildren, Grandma loved having the kids of all ages come for visits to her house. She would go all out, making good things to eat and reading books to the little ones. It was like a little bit of heaven for her to spend time with her precious little babies.
And the children loved coming to visit her too. She would go with them to explore the ranch. Out to the garden or the chicken coop to find eggs, she gave them a glimpse of how different life is on a farm or ranch, from that of a city or town. She let then help in the kitchen and read to them before their nap. Grandma had a bed out on the enclosed front porch where the kids could nap in the coolness of the porch on a hot summer day. It was always a favorite place to nap, in that they could still listen to the activity going on in the kitchen until they fell asleep.
Through the years, many a child, grandchild, great grandchild and great great grandchild has sat on Grandma’s lap and enjoyed the luxury of feeling like they were Grandma’s special little one for a while. It was a special treat, because there were so many grandkids that sometimes it was a fight for the right to sit with Grandma. I guess its a good thing that Grandma always had room enough for two little babies to sit with her. All the grandkids loved Grandma, and she loved them, and that made going to visit Grandma a wonderfully special trip, and one that will always be cherished by all her 
children and grandchildren.
Grandma has been in Heaven now for over 13 years, and many new grandchildren have come along, who have not had the great privilege of knowing this wonderful lady. That makes me very sad for those new little ones, because their Grandma was an amazing lady, and I always felt that my girls were better people for having known her. As for all these new little ones, their grandma will be waiting to greet them when we all get to Heaven, and I’m sure there will still be room on her lap to hold her little babies…even if they are all grown up.
When my sister Cheryl’s grandchildren, Jake and Siara were little, they loved to spend the night at her house on Saturday nights. So much so, in fact, that they spent just about every Saturday night with their grandma. They always had a wonderful time at Cheryl’s house, hanging out with their aunts and uncle and the variety of other kids that so many nights hung around my sister’s house…because it was the fun place to be. Saturday nights meant hanging out with grandma, watching movies and eating popcorn, and staying up late…probably a little too late into the evening, but what better thing to do than stay up later that normal because you could get away with it at Grandma’s..right?
The next morning always found my sister trying to wake Siara up for church…repeatedly. Siara was simply not a morning person. Siara loved to sleep in, like most kids do on the weekend. When Cheryl would go in to tell her to get up, she would just lay there for a while, and then begin the usual, “in a minute” or “I’m too tired” excuses. Cheryl would try just about everything she could think of…now this is where you might think Siara was going to be in a lot of trouble, as her grandmother lost her temper, but you would be wrong. Cheryl did try everything…including shaking Siara and finally threatening her with the secret weapon!!
What was the secret weapon you might ask? Well, the secret weapon was Siara’s brother Jake, and as with most big brothers, Jake was itching to go in and attack his sister. It was after all, fast becoming a tradition for every Sunday morning. Once given permission to attack, Siara really didn’t stand a chance. Jake would go into the room she was sleeping in, and stand on the bed with one foot on each side of his sister. Then he would reach down and pick her up with one hand on each side of her waist. He would then lift her up off the bed…bodily, after which she would immediately go completely limp and hang there like a rag doll…not that it did her much good. After a few mid-air shakings, Siara would finally admit defeat and drag herself out of bed. Which just goes to show that try as she might, Siara was no match for her grandma and Grandma’s secret weapon.
How well I remember the visits to Bob’s grandparents house in Forsyth, Montana. We used to go there every year for a visit. A lot of the visit revolved around the kitchen, where Grandma always seemed to be busily cooking up something. From that first cup of coffee in the morning with real cream from the cows they milked, and fresh eggs that she went out and gathered herself, toast and real butter, to the jellies and pies and cakes she made, everything just tasted different there…special. I suppose it was because of the fact that it was all farm fresh, and not store bought, but I think it was the love that it was made with too.
We loved going out to that old house, even though it was a bit of a drive to be sure. They owned a lot of land…I’m not just sure how much, but it was a big ranch, so the drive out to the house took some time. You could see the highway from their front yard, but it was a long way off. Mostly they owned everything as far as the eye could see. I remember sleeping in the bedrooms upstairs where they raised their children, Bob’s aunts and uncles. The rooms still looked like they did when the kids were living there, complete with the pictures they had on their dressers. It was like stepping back into time, for a little while.
But the best times were spent in the kitchen. We would play cards, for as long as Grandpa (Walt, who was Bob’s step grandpa, but never felt like it to us) could keep the game going, or Grandma would call it a day. Grandpa could play cards all day if she would let him, but she has other things she needed to do. She was always busy in that kitchen. I often wondered if she was so busy because we were there, or if that was always how she was. Of course, when we were there, my girls and I would help out, which they really enjoyed. Funny how your kids enjoy helping out at someone else’s house, but will do anything to get out of work at your own house. She just made it feel like fun, I guess. The girls always felt special at Grandma’s table too, because she had these old pans, that looked like a camping skillet, that the kids got to eat out of. I suppose most people would laugh at that, but there isn’t a one of the grandchildren that didn’t get to use them, nor one that doesn’t love those old pans.
I have been thinking a lot about that old house, and the treasured memories I have from there, and wishing that those days weren’t in the past now. Grandma and Grandpa have gone home to be with the Lord, and while I miss them a lot, they will always live on in my memories…especially the ones in Grandma’s kitchen.
When my grandchildren were younger, their moms had to be to work at 8:00am, and I didn’t have to be to work until 9:00am, so I took the kids to school and daycare. They would begin arriving at my house around 7:30am, and when Josh, my youngest grandson, would walk in the front door, the first words out of his mouth were always the same…”Treat, Grandma…treat!!” Josh was a treat-a-holic, he had a one track mind, and he was always hungry. Left alone with a bag of candy, he would devour it all in one sitting. It wasn’t a matter of greed, he just liked treats so much that he couldn’t stop himself very easily.
When Josh would start asking for a treat with his cute little face, it was a hard thing to resist and I think he knew that, because he took full advantage of the hold he had on his grandma’s heart. He probably conned me out of more treats than the other three grandchildren combined. The only good news was that I tried to have some nutritious sweet snacks in the house, so he wasn’t always eating junk. I just don’t know how one kid could eat so many treats.
Josh can be a bottomless pit, but not usually for the normal foods unless he is in a growth spurt, but he is always a bottomless pit when it comes to sweets, like many other people I know, but that is where the similarities end, and I’m sure it is because he is a kid. You would expect that a child who likes candy and treats as much as Josh, would be an overweight child, but as soon as his baby days were over, so was any sign of chubbiness. Josh turned into a slender, athletic young man, who is a good basketball player and runner. He is also doing well in school, and I am very proud of him, but oh, I do remember the days when that little boy could smile his way into my heart and come out with the prize he was looking for…a treat.
It’s funny that when boys are babies and toddlers, they are so sweet. You just think they will be that way forever. Now, I’m not saying that they are bad…it’s just that it doesn’t take very long for their “boy-ness” to kick in, and when it does, they have to show everyone their new found abilities. It really is a bad time to be the only girl in the bunch, as my only granddaughter, Shai, often finds out. When those boys decide that it is “pick on Shai” day, she is in for it. Sometimes, it’s not too bad, but sometimes she almost needs to be rescued. The good news is that they are just playing, and I know that as they all get older, she won’t think that they are such total pests.
And just because Shai is the only granddaughter, doesn’t mean that she is the only “victim” the boys have, because their moms and even their grandma are fair game. It’s a good thing that I know that they are just kidding, because to be honest, I know that any one of those boys could take me. They are all bigger than I am, and stronger, so I am learning that it is a good thing that they have all learned respect for their elders. They just pick on me because…well they can and I don’t get mad. I guess that makes grandma a pushover, and I would have to say…probably so, because these boys, as well as my granddaughter, know that they really can’t do very much that is wrong in their grandma’s eyes. I’m pretty taken with them.
And it really doesn’t matter how old a boy gets, it would seem that they never really outgrow that “tough guy” persona. You put several teen aged boys together with their grandpa, and the next thing you know, you have a dog pile. Each one trying to prove that he is the strongest. It is the greatest test of “manhood” they have come across in their lives…at least so far, that is. I suppose it is a rite of passage to a degree. Men and boys proving their strength one to another…or maybe it’s the grandsons trying to prove to grandpa that if it’s 3 against 1, he will most likely lose the battle too, although, I’m not really sure who it was that lost this battle…I mean, how could you tell…really.
When Bob was young, he used to love to go to Montana to visit his grandmother. He would go almost every summer. He would help out on the ranch, milking cows, collecting eggs, feeding the stock, and anything else they were doing on the ranch. It was a young boy’s dream summer. Bob loved spending time with his grandma.
To a boy, getting to go spend part of his summer with his grandma was like winning the lottery. Grandmas are notorious for spoiling their grandchildren, even when they have them do chores. It just doesn’t seem like the same thing when it is for your grandma. Grandmas have a way of making chores fun, or maybe it’s just that when the chores are for your parents, it seems boring. Probably mostly because it is for your parents, right.
Bob never outgrew his love for spending time at his grandma’s ranch. As soon as he was old enough, he started going there on his own. Grandma loved having him visit. He even brought his friend Paul with him the last visit before Bob and I were married. He was so proud of his grandma.
After we were married, we continued the tradition of going to visit Grandma on a regular basis. She was so full of life. I quickly learned that Grandma had a way of making everyone feel special. She was so loving, and so welcoming. We went to visit her every summer. Our girls loved going, and Grandpa added to the draw that the ranch held, with his adventurous ways. We just never got tired of being there. They made it so interesting, and they really didn’t do anything so special. They were just themselves, and it was such a different world from what we were used to that we craved it at least once a year.
Grandma and Grandpa are both gone now and we haven’t seen the old ranch house in a long time, but they live on in my memories, as well as Bob’s. In my mind I can still picture the fun times we had out there. Our girls chasing chickens, and riding the horses. And while I wasn’t there at the time, my mind can dream up a picture of a little 10 year old boy spending the summer with his grandparents pretending to be a cowboy and helping with chores that were somehow fun when you did them for Grandma.
