Now that I'm a grandma: Realization #47

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.)

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Today's question:

How much of a straight-laced prude are you?

5 reasons why grandkids love Grandma

Today I'm pleased to share with you a guest post highlighting a point of view from the other side of grandmotherhood.

Guest post by Sara Dawkins, written especially for Grandma's Briefs readers

As a grandchild and great grandchild, I have been blessed to know my grandma and two great-grandmothers on a deeper level than most. As a grandmother you may think that we grandchildren love you for your never-ending candy supply and your gift-giving ability, but believe it or not there is more. When I was younger there were a handful of things that kept me loving my grandmother, and as an older grandchild I whole-heartedly still adore the following things:

Your smell: This may seem weird at first sight (or scent) but you have a smell. Whether it is the same perfume that grandfather has been giving to you on your birthday for the past the twenty-eight years or your Dial hand soap, we love it. It is amazing how much scent can stir up memories and feelings. Stick to what you are doing and don’t change!

Holidays: The colors, the music, the smells, the laughter, the cookies, and the food! Spending the holidays with grandmother is like living in a movie. Every December, grandchildren get excited and giggly at the thought of spending time with you in your kitchen or eating at the family table.

Your hugs: There is something different about a grandmother’s hug. Your hug seems softer but stronger, warm and safe. A grandmother’s hug is usually paired with a quick swaying movement and followed with some sort of adoration for us. Never underestimate the power of a grandmother’s hug.

Your jewelry: Oh my! As I child I could spend hours rifling through Grandma’s jewelry box. A granddaughter trying on her grandmother’s jewelry for the first time is the moment when a little girl realizes she wants to grow up and be a grandmother with tons of necklaces and bracelets. Playing dress up is a must!

Your kitchen: Grandmothers are the masters of their kitchens. Watching grandma gracefully hurry from the stove to the fridge and back is almost an art form. Not to mention the finished products you whip up in no time. King Ranch Chicken. My grandmother would stomp her foot if she knew that was my favorite dish she cooked. Cooking side by side with your grandmother is one of the most memorable moments of any child’s life.

So as a professional grandchild, I would like to say this: Grandmothers, we love and adore you as much as you love and adore us. Keep that cookie jar full and those arms open.

Author Bio
Sara is an active nanny as well as an active freelance writer. She is a frequent contributor of a nanny agency. Learn more about her here.


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Today's question:

Why did/do you love your grandma(s)?

Photo replay: Standing guard

Luke and Kameliah stand guard while their mama, Andrea, recuperates from her tonsillectomy.

February 24, 2012

 

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Today's (unrelated) question:

What's the highlight of your upcoming week?

The Saturday Post: Poem for my grandsons edition

As a grandmother, I'd like to think I have abundant wisdom to share with my grandsons. No need for me to try putting into poetic form advice on being kind and good and true in a world that is often the very opposite of such things, though. Rudyard Kipling already did that—far better than I ever could—when he wrote If.

Kipling wrote If in 1895 in a very different time and place, yet his advice and inspiration still stand true today—for my grandsons, for all of us.

I love Kipling's poem and plan to share it with Bubby and Baby Mac and all my grandchildren to come when they're old enough to understand. Today, though, I'll share it with you.

Enjoy your Saturday!

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The healing power of positive thinking...and puppies

Those of you who follow Grandma's Briefs on Facebook and Twitter know that I've been on nurse duty for my youngest daughter, Andrea, who had her tonsils out this week. At 26 years old. Which had her mama—that would be me—pretty concerned.

The surgery went well, and I think much of that can be attributed to Andrea's positive attitude going in.

I've heard distressing stats on how long it takes adults to recover from tonsillectomies, ranging from two weeks of intense pain (and hunger) to it taking three full months to get back on one's feet. Again, I think (and hope) Andrea's positive attitude will make for the best possible outcome.

Despite moments of debilitating pain and frustration immediately following the surgery, Andrea's sense of humor continues to carry her through. To wit: When the nurse summoned Andie's roommate and me from the waiting area to see Andrea in the recovery room, the nurse said Andrea's first words were, "No grape popsicles!" All Andie and a reference to her concerns medical staff would immediately provide purple pops afterward. Seems purple popsicles and the vomiting that accompanied them is Andrea's only memory from her only other surgery, getting tubes in her ears, more than 20 years ago. Her roommate and I couldn't help but laugh (yes, out loud!) as we followed the nurse to Andrea's bedside.

Another example of Andrea's goofiness and how it's helping her deal with the pain is her novel approach to communicating in the first excruciating hours after surgery when talking was virtually impossible. She started off with pen and paper to relay her requests—and, at times, distress—but that soon proved too cumbersome and Andrea turned to her iPhone, typing all she wanted to say into the Notes application then having her text read by the computerized voice...which involved not only a monotone voice—except when a typed question mark meant text was read with a lilting tone at the end of requests—but numerous awkward and incorrect pronunciations of words. Which got Andrea giggling despite the pain. Which made her repeat the humorous text again and again. Typing song lyrics got her roommate and me giggling as well.

That's not to say it's been easy on Andrea. At all. She's in pain, she's hungry, she's worried about coughing and choking and vomiting, and concerned the recuperation might not go as quickly and smoothly as we all hope. When mustering her own comic relief doesn't come easy, though, puppy love steps in, courtesy of Luke (Andrea's dog) and Lennox (her roommate's dog).

With a cute quotient so high, how could these adorable kiddos not make her feel better?

I head home today, leaving Andrea under the care of her roommate—and the pain relieving power of puppies.

I have no doubt she'll be better in no time.

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Today's question:

When you don't feel well, what one thing never fails to help you feel better?

47 real names for real grandmothers

In the stats for Grandma's Briefs, I often see that folks arrive here via search engine queries such as grandma names, what to call grandma, nicknames for grandmas, modern names for grandmas and more.

Here to satisfy such searches are some of the names grandmothers really go by, as revealed by some real grandmas themselves—the Grilled Grandmas:

Grammy

Minna

Mamama

Gramma

Granny Angel (full disclosure: her name is Angel)

G-ma

G-Maw

GG (sometimes standing for Gorgeous Grandma; other times Great Grandma)

Nana

Wheemaw

Bubbe (the Yiddish word for grandma)

Nanny

Gammy

Nona (the Italian word for grandmother)

Grand-ma

Mee mee

Grammie

Grandmother

Gramski

Mema

Pajama Grama (she gets everyone jammies at Christmas)

Gwamma

Gramma <first name>

Gramma with the white hair

Mams

Mi-Ma

Nama

Grandma Muzzy

Granny

Gran

Nee

Savta (grandmother in Hebrew)

Maw Maw

Nina (which morphed from Nana)

Nandy

Baba

Nimmy

Real Grandma (versus those not-so real)

Grandma Cat (because she has a cat)

Oma

Mammy

Grannie

Nonni

Grammi (with an i)

Grandma

Grandma <first name>

And my very most favorite because it’s what Bubby and Baby Mac call me: Gramma!

Today's question:

What did/do you call your paternal and your maternal grandmothers?

Beyond the pits: Grand kids and good canines

Once again, the tragedy of a child having been bitten in the face and disfigured by a dog has made the news. And, naturally, it's a pit bull that did the disfiguring.

The "naturally" isn't commentary on the nature of pit bulls; it's commentary on the nature of the media. Dogs of all breeds attack and maim children and adults at an alarming rate—4.7 million Americans are bitten by dogs each year per the CDC—yet it's those stories featuring pit bulls as the bad guys that make the news. Every time.

The recent horrible story locally involved a nine-month-old baby and the pit bull owned by the baby's grandpa. I have an eight-month-old grandson. And I have a pit bull. Well, he's only part pit bull, the other part seemingly pointer, but it's the pit part that freaks everyone out. Naturally. And it's the pit part in the dog that recently bit that poor baby that likely, sadly, influenced the decision to euthanize the dog.

LylaI'm not going to tell you pit bulls are the sweetest and most misunderstood of dogs. That can be the case, but as is the case with all dogs, much is attributable to an animal's upbringing and environment, not just their supposedly inherent traits. I will tell you, though, that my pit bull, Mickey, is the least likely of our dogs to hurt one of my grandsons. Our other dog, Lyla, because of torture the poor rescue dog suffered, torture which we'll never know the details of but that clearly messed up the mutt's mind in oh so many ways, is far more cause for concern around my grandsons just because she's so skittish and unpredictable.

Regardless of predictability or pedigree—and I've said this here before—kids and dogs, especially dogs that are not used to kids, are not a good mix. Should not mix. At all.

That's a hard thing for grandparents, I think, because we dearly love our canine babies who reside in our home day in, day out. When the grandkids visit, we want the grandbabies to get to know our canine babies, play with them, become friends with them, love them like we do.

It's not that simple, unfortunately.

I recently wrote an article for another publication on this exact topic. Here are some of the points from that article in hopes it might help prevent a tragedy similar to the heartbreaking one—for the baby and the dog—now getting top billing in the local media:

  • Baby gates are key. As a long-distance grandma, my grandsons visit my house only a few times a year. When they do, we make use of baby gates. Lots and lots of baby gates throughout the house, separating our human babies from our canine babies. It’s not ideal, but the alternative is to have no dogs at all, which doesn’t sit well with this pet-loving grandma.
  • Pets should be provided a quiet, out-of-the-way room during gatherings with extended family. Though some pets may enjoy socializing opportunities, others will be overwhelmed by the excitement. Be sure yours has access from his quiet place to his bed, toys, and water.
  • Don’t allow grandchildren to give animals treats without you helping out. Kids often don’t understand or follow the standard treat-giving protocol, and dogs may be skittish or overly aggressive in nabbing the goodies.
  • Be sure older grandchildren—who may be tempted to sneak sweets and treats to the family dog—know the rules of what foods are or are not acceptable for sharing.
  • Try to limit the disruptions to your pet’s eating, sleeping, and exercise schedule as much as possible. Animals thrive on routine; throwing things off only adds to their excitement and confusion.
  • Never leave kids and canines together unattended. Your granddaughter and Fido may both be sweet as can be, but all that can change in an instant if your granddaughter decides to dress Fido in play clothes, ride him like a horse, or worse.

Sure, your dog is your best friend and may be saddened or jealous or confused about little visitors taking your time and attention. The most important thing to remember, though, is this: Grandchildren take priority. So regardless of your dog's hurt feelings, it’s always best to err on the side of caution—the side that protects your beloved grandbabies above all else.

Today's question:

What is your No. 1 tip for keeping grandbabies safe and canine babies happy when under the same roof?