On Becoming “Grandma”: What I Have to Offer

— Empty Nest Living | Linda Hanstra

I’m trying to wrap my head around the idea of becoming a grandmother. It won’t be long now.

I imagine cradling that little bundle, my own son’s child. Beyond that though, I can’t really imagine becoming “Grandma”. Will I know what to do? Do I have what it takes?

Luckily, I’ve had some pretty good models.

I remember my grandmas.

My Dad’s mom lived down at the end of our driveway, a two-minute walk away. A hardworking farmer’s wife, I don’t recall her laughing much. But she always had a jarful of cookies. Before I would stick my dirty farmgirl hands in the jar, she’d tell me, “Wash your patties!” No one else I know called hands “patties,” but Grandma did. Just like she called her couch a “davenport.” She had an interesting, old-fashioned way of saying and doing things.

I remember sitting at her kitchen table on ironing day as she prepared for the job. She took each garment and sprinkled it with water as if baptizing it for a higher calling. Next, with hands working in perfect rhythm, she’d neatly fold the cloth into a strip. Starting at one end, she tightly rolled it and placed it on her stack of garments. Then, as she ironed the clothes, there was built-in steam. Watching her work was mesmerizing.

She worked hard. And through her labors, she loved her family in her own way.

My Mom’s mom lived in town. We would often go to visit after school or for coffee after church on Sunday. This grandma loved to laugh. She made delicious cakes, coffee cakes, and pies. We would enter the house through the garage and then walk into the kitchen where we’d always find Grandma, busily going about her work.

I can picture her long dining room table, covered with a handmade lace tablecloth. Aside from her children and grandchildren, Grandma’s needlework was her pride and joy. Intricate lace doilies, crocheted or tatted, graced every end table and coffee table. Grandma always had time to talk. I could see the love my mom had for her mom, especially when we lost her to breast cancer. At age 58, she was gone far too soon.

She was creative and joyful. And through her handiwork and laughter, she loved her family in her own way.

I’ve watched my own kids with their Grandmas.

My husband’s mom has always been “fun grandma.” Having six grandchildren (four of which were my children), she had plenty of love to go around. As toddlers, they would laugh endlessly at the goofy gibberish that she poured forth whenever they pressed her “silly button” (i.e. the mole on her neck). With unending hugs and “I love you’s,” she wasn’t afraid to show her affection.

She insisted the kids visit every summer, giving us parents a much-needed break. During those visits she would spoil them with trips to Indiana Beach to ride the coasters, the mall to buy new school clothes, and Frozen Custard for the best ice cream cones ever. With Pop-Tarts in the cabinet and lunches made-to-order, with Arni’s pizza and breakfast at Christo’s, a visit to Grandma’s house is still always a treat.

She overflows with gifts and goodies. And through her generosity and warmth, she loves her family in her own way.

My mom was known as “the grandma with the cousins,” which always made her house a boisterous place to visit. With seventeen grandchildren, this grandma couldn’t lavish them with as many “gifts” as the other Grandma. But she easily made up for that with the pool in her backyard, the farm to explore, and the thirteen cousins to frolic with. She paid attention to detail, making sure every child got equal love through her meticulously wrapped Christmas gifts. Matching sweaters, jackets, shirts, and pants–always the latest fashion–Grandma made sure her grandkids were dashing and chic.

Until Alzheimer’s stole her energy and short-term memory, she was sharp and spunky. And even after, her witty humor still makes us laugh until we cry. Although she now has less to say, her delightful coloring pages express the gentle beauty of her easy-going nature.

She takes life as it comes and gives much in return. Through her calm and charming spirit, she loves her family in her own way.

And now it’s my turn.

I’ll soon answer to the name “Grandma.” Or should I be “Mammaw,” “Nana,” “Lolly” or “Oma?” That’s my first decision-what shall I be called?

But then, what kind of grandma will I be? I don’t even have a cookie jar. And ironing? Ha! I don’t bake much and I only knit a little. I despise having Pop-Tarts in the house. And there’s no pool in my backyard.

But I can think of a few good “grandmother” traits that I do possess. I may not have sweets, a silly button, a pool, or little cousins (yet); but I do have something to offer. Traits that both of my grandmas had. And both of my children’s grandmas have as well.

This Grandma (or Mammaw, or Nana, or Lolly, or Oma) will always have…

A lap to sit in.

Arms to hug and hands to hold.

Lips for kissing little chubby cheeks.

Feet to bounce on.

Sight and speech for reading.

A voice for singing.

Ears to listen.

And a heart that’s wide open and ready to love. In my own way.

See the original story with photos of my grandmas and my kids’ grandmas here.

Originally published at https://www.lindahanstra.com on May 22, 2020.