Hug Em While You Can

When my husband and I married, a few dozen years ago, we had numerous sets of grandparents still alive. The real problem with that began hitting the fan when the holidays rolled around. On a typical Thanksgiving or Christmas, we had 3-4 feasts that we were expected to participate in. I didn't (and still don't) have a clue what the word "no" means, or "let's take turns." We would drive 2-1/2 hours to Lincolnton and Thomson, Georgia, have two Thanksgivings there, then drive home and have another one at Ken's parents....and then have another one the next day at my folks' house. Somewhere in there we would visit his other grandparents in Marietta. Then Christmas came and it was even more complicated, particularly when we started popping out progeny. I remember one epic Thanksgiving. Ken's Grandmama Babe fed our firstborn son about two boxes, not joking, of Vanilla Wafers, behind my back. In the space of four hours. I didn't realize how many of those things a human can eat, until we experienced something akin to a lava flow, a golden brown one, in the back seat on our way back home to our third Thanksgiving dinner. This from a child who had never eaten anything with sugar in it, at least not from his Mama's hand. I had a lot to learn.

There's never so much fussing as a great-grandmother does over a child. They are way too far removed from child-rearing to be giving advice, at least when it comes to food. But they also don't care what anybody thinks anymore, so you get the full brunt of it. As a new parent, your insides are still quivering about all the decisions and responsibilities. You want to prove that you can do it all, though you're pretty sure you're messing it up. But nobody better tell you that. I remember my guts being in turmoil any time I had to parade my culinary prowess and parenting skills in the same visit. Which was pretty much any visit. The baby was always too cold, too hot, chugged up, crying too much, I wasn't feeding him enough or I was feeding him too much. I didn't bring what I was supposed to bring to the soiree or I forgot or I didn't ask the right question and just brought what I fixed. Or brought what was easy. There was no way to win this Wonder Woman event.

Now that I am a Yaya, time has mostly erased the hard parts of being a young Mama. It's easy to stand back on the hill and remember with fogged-over eyes how much I loved my babies, how I fed them right and disciplined them so well. I mean, look at those babies now - they're full grown, responsible adults starting to raise their own children. They're strong, healthy and even potty-trained. So with that fuzzy memory of what was difficult about it, I'm also thinking of how I miss those grandparents that I fussed about back then. How I'd give anything to ask their advice, to quiz them about things that I never bothered to find out. I assumed they'd always be here, because for all I knew, they arrived before the dawn of time. But this must be the way of it, that God doesn't inform us about what the future is, to know what we know now. The rhythm of time and the seasons turn over the earth of our souls. What was then is simply hard to believe. How did we do it? Where did that girl go? How did I forget her? 

She's wrapped up, like so many threads in a garment. A tapestry garment, with crazy-quilt squares and garish knots. It can get ugly. As the world turns, there are fresh crops of expectations from all sides. I thought that somewhere in there, I'd get a free guilt pass. But no. And then it dawned on me. That is exactly why all the Grandmamas, Grandmas, great-Grandmamas, Nanas, Mimis and Yayas love their grandchildren so passionately, even when they can't do everything they'd like to do for them. They realize that all the casseroles, turkeys, gumdrops, money and everybody's silly presumptions and opinions are a bunch of hooey when it comes to that baby. There's a whole lot that just gets thrown out the window. Yaya (or whatever she gets called) looks deep in those sweet bunny eyes and says its me and you kid against the world. And that baby knows it.

There's nothing like Grandmama love, when you know she loves you even if you commit a felony. In fact, it might be why you don't.