Yes, I do call myself Granny, but my little men call me Gramma just like my kids called theirs Gramma and I called mine Gramma.
Sixteen month old Oliver stayed overnight for his first sleepover on Thursday. He is starting to talk. Every time we see him there is more. And we see him most every week. He says, “Da-daa” and “Ma-ma” and “foof-foof” for dogs, and I think it’s something like “Foo” for shoe. He has a thing for shoes. Not for wearing them as much as for hauling them around the house.
Grandchildren are the best.
All the grannies say that. But when you get to BE one . . .then you know just what they mean. They are like whip cream and cinnamon on your mocha. Sweet. And spicy.
But … being a granny isn’t all chocolate and coffee and whip cream with cinnamon.
Sometimes being a granny means you need to get put in your place. Because even though you have white-hair wisdom, you forget some stuff, and your sympathy trumps your reason.
When Oliver was here and the day was all glorious fall beauty, I invited daughter and her three little men to come for a walk. She was tickled to bring the bike for the 5 year old to the “country” vs their in-town location with streets to cross.
Well, I didn’t think his little legs could put on the miles we were walking, so at the first minor whimper, my heart stirred toward him, and my “ohhhhh, Honey . . . “ was met with a sharp rebuke from my girl.
Mama knows best.
This I’d learned from my own parenting days. 🙂 So we proceeded, with her encouraging her 5-year-old to keep going, and keep going, and keep going.
He complained occasionally, and she would prod him on with promise of reward of walking his bike if he made it “to the next driveway” or to the bottom of the hill. I’m telling you, it was as grueling for granny at times as I was thinking it had to be for his little legs.
But, I kept thinking about how mamas know best.
I’m telling you, holding my tongue and not just hoisting the boy in my arms was a hard thing for me during parts of the walk. This was a true exercise in self-control!
But, you know what? The boy DID it!!! He put on the miles and he learned that he can press on in times of feeling like he can’t!!! [I currently needed that little lesson for myself-and am amazed at the ways God chooses to speak- the humbling ways . . . *ahem*!]
Daughter emailed me afterwards, revealing her own struggle with me seemingly undermining her authority, making the course of our lovely-autumn-day-walk a mite more awkward than either of us had anticipated.
But hard and awkward are often indicative of living life. And, I truly do believe mamas know best!
[That part, I got right yesterday . . . holding back my sympathy to let her be mom]
And I wonder if we get like that with God sometimes? Getting in His way of Parenting with our sympathy? Because even more than mamas knowing best, the Maker-of-Mamas ultimately KNOWS best. ~Yeah, I think that is what He was telling me . . . He’s my Daddy.
I commended her for being honest, and for knowing better than this granny what was best for her boy. And I gave her permission to confront her mama, with as much gentleness and respect as she could of course.
Walking with God means honest, humble, and sometimes painful living-true – together.
Happy Weekend Friends!! May you FEEL the Lord’s lOVE and KNOW His mERCY!!!