By Jane Pohlman
“First, I was Mom … now, I’m Grandma.”
These are the words displayed on a T-shirt I bought when I learned I would become Grandma for the first time. I wear that shirt proudly. Both titles mean the world to me.
First, I was Mom: I am the mother of three beautiful children, two girls and a boy. Being a mother is my greatest joy in life, my calling, and I believe the purpose for which God put me on this earth. I learned from the best, my own mom, who was the epitome of the word “mother:” devoted, selfless, patient, kind.
I became a mom for the first time at age 32 and chose to be a stay-at-home-mom. I didn’t plan to be a full-time mom; in fact, at age 25, I started college, acquired my degree and had plans of working in the marketing field. That all changed when I laid eyes on my first-born, a daughter. Anything else I could do in life paled in comparison.
Two years later, along came our only son. We enjoyed little boy adventures, and the house was louder. Four years later, our second daughter came. We had a mix of both worlds of boys and girls. Our family was complete.
Time passed. Seasons changed. The children grew into the fine adults they are today, whom I could not be more proud of. I think back and wonder how it all happened so fast. It feels like the blink of an eye as we got up each day and just lived life. If I could have a super power, it would be to remember every last moment of it all, but time marches on, and each new day, treasured new memories are made. All those moments are a compilation of feelings I hold so dearly in my heart. My home now bursts at the seams with all of the toys, clothes and memorabilia from their childhoods I can’t bear to part with. Some days, I get overwhelmed with all of the stuff and want to declutter.
But — now, I’m Grandma: to a beautiful granddaughter who fills my heart with joy. The past three years she has been on this earth have been a reawakening of familiar feelings washing over me. Bittersweet feelings of longing for the days of raising my own children that now blend with the joyfulness grandmothering brings me. Like coming out of the contemplative days of winter to transition into spring where all feels renewed again. Like replaying a favorite movie I never tire of.
I myself have no memories of my grandparents. All of them had passed on by the time I was 1 year old. I’ve never called anyone Grandma or Grandpa, so having grandparents is a foreign concept to me. As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to the realization that I missed out on an important part of life. I feel very blessed to be Grandma, and I want my granddaughter to remember me always.
My son and daughter-in-law have entrusted my granddaughter’s care to me one day per week. This enables me to truly get to know her. I want to impart wisdom upon her while having fun. We rarely watch TV. Instead, we read, go outside to run and swing, take flower walks, and play hide and seek and tag. We pretend, we sing, we make crafts, we get out all of the old toys her daddy and aunts played with, and she loves it all. So do I. In a world where everything seems to move so fast, I want to teach her to appreciate the simple things in life. That the best reward is the satisfaction one feels from knowing you did a job well done. That boredom fosters creativity. To just be yourself, to enjoy being every age and not wish your life away. To never lose childlike wonder.
While I am teaching her, she teaches me. We learn from each other. She teaches me to choose enthusiasm over complacency, to appreciate things with fresh eyes that I have seen a thousand times before but she is seeing for the first time and is excited about, like clouds, or the dandelions I see as weeds dotting our lawn, but she sees as beautiful flowers. The fun of catching snowflakes on my tongue and chasing butterflies. How to abandon self-consciousness and just give whatever I am doing my all.
She also teaches me patience. While making a craft together one day, it wasn’t going as I’d hoped. I was feeling frustrated. In her wise, 3-year-old words, as she gently rubbed my shoulder, she said, “It’s OK, Grandma, it doesn’t have to be perfect. I still love you and have you in my heart.” She’s so right: Things don’t have to be perfect.
She has also taught me doors never completely close as the cycle of life continues on, as it did from my grandparents to my mother and will even past my time here. I hope she will carry these memories we’ve made with her all the days of her life.
So grandmas, grandmothers, mimis, mawmaws, meemaws, gigis, mom-moms or whatever your sweet darlings call you, you are important. Keep teaching, encouraging, believing, championing and loving those grandbabies. Let them renew our spirits and keep us young. We have learned while raising our own children that childhood is fleeting, but now we get to live it all over again.
What a joy.
Comment