After my sister died and I had the job of raising her children, I never considered that one day I would be a grandma.
Grandmas in my mind have always been chubby bundles of G-d-filled light and love. They baked pies and attended prayer meetings. They were married for over 40 years to the same man with whom they had raised their children.
They nurtured and guided with love and tenderness. Grandmas were always kind and gracious.
I am none of these things. While I do bake, love to cook and I suppose I’ve done my share of nurturing, I’m in no way wholesome.
I drink spirits. I swear like a sailor on liberty. The one thing that I have in common with my grandmother is that I love my grandchild completely, unconditionally and without limit.
My grandson is the brightest star in the constellation of our family. He is funny, inquisitive, preternaturally intelligent…he is the best child I have ever met.
I say this knowing full well that there are people out there who say the same thing about their own children and grandchildren. They are wrong, poor dears.
See, when you become a grandparent (technically, I am a great-aunt) you lose all of your tact, you become insane and while you don’t notice this intitially, you come to embrace the foolish manner with which you comport yourself.
You tell everyone within earshot about your grandchild’s milestones. No child ever walked before your grandchild. No child ever turned a cute phrase the way yours does. There was no sunshine, I am quite sure of this, before my grandson came into the world.
Yes, I am completely, madly, deeply in love with this wonder of nature. It was love at first sight and I pray that the enchantment is never broken.
He is a blessing to me and he is making his mother crazy.
THIS is the bonus.
He is in the ‘terrible twos’ stage in his development and has embraced it with a vigor that I’ve seldom seen. He is naturally curious, he is a daredevil, and this causes his mother to run after him all day long. This makes me happy.
In recent weeks he has overturned the contents of her powder box, run his mother ragged around the neighborhood, tried to cut his mother’s hair and upon escaping her reach, fallen asleep in his toy box.
He’s too cute. My advice to her is simple. Get in shape, he’s going to be even more active.
Thankfully, he is also good natured and calls his ‘Bubbe’ (me) without his mother’s knowledge or consent. He’s figured out the speed dial on her mobile phone.
See? A genius. Einstein would be proud. I know that I am.