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  • Writer's pictureSarahHauer

On Being a Grandma

Updated: May 22, 2021

Why in the world would I blog about being a grandma on a blog about my writing? Because writing is about my life, and my grandkids most definitely fit in that structure. At the time of writing this, I have two grandchildren, boy and girl

If you expect this blog to get all mushy, it likely will but not immediately. Isn’t that all we see in the world of grandparents? How wonderful it is to be a grandparent? How we love our grandchildren more than anyone else in the world? How thrilling it is to babysit them, get a good sugar high going, and then dump them back on the parents in the midst of said sugar high as a form of passive-aggressive delayed child abuse on our adult kids as punishment for the sins they committed as teenagers?

None of those questions are entirely true except the last one. That’s a joke. I swear. It’s a joke. Mostly.

I do adore my grandchildren. They make life worth living. They make me feel all my efforts attempting to raise my three children were worth it. After all, my oldest made the conscious choice to become a parent himself. Either he wants to repeat the spectacular job I did, or he wants to show me what a crappy job I did and show me up. Either reason is good enough for me. I still get the joy of grandkids. Better yet, I get to load them up with chocolate and let Mom and Dad deal with the diaper mess the next day. They are not going to like me much after reading this.

The real reason I love my grandchildren so much is for all the mushy reasons. Most of us grandparents can’t help ourselves. (I’m not going to lie. Some grandparents suck. And so do some parents. The world isn’t all lollipops and pixie sticks.) I'm no different than the average. I spend time going around asking people, "Would you like to see a picture of my grandchildren?"

My granddaughter looks remarkably like me. She’s gorgeous! If I posted a photo, trust me, you would whole-heartedly agree. For privacy sake, I will not. Her personality, however, is not like me. She is stubborn. In a way, that’s good. She knows what she wants, when she wants it, how she wants it, and that she is going to get it. In boys, that’s called drive. In girls, that’s called bitchiness. Bitch away, woman!

My grandson is more like me. He is Mr. Laidback. He only wants to deal with what’s important, and anything not important can be handled when either the mood is right or time is running out. He gives the best hugs too.

When they each came into the world, I was blessed with a son and daughter-in-law who invited me into the process. (Delivery only!) I was more alert for their births than for my own children, and I wasn’t even directly in the room. I was in the hallway. But I got to see them almost immediately and bond with them. To know something of yourself is being passed down to another generation is an amazing feeling. “What did I do right that this is where I am today, God?” That’s how it felt.

I can also say through experience that if you love as a parent/grandparent typically does, it makes no difference if you got there via biology or adoption.

That doesn’t mean it’s all roses either. My granddaughter is going through a stage where I am not her favorite person because I had to corral her into the living room one day when I was taking care of her and her brother, and I needed to block him in which mean I needed to block her in too. My body is not forgiving enough for him to have the run of the roost when no one else is around. Since then, she has criticized me for just about everything since. She is a girl after all. We forget nothing, right?

My grandson, on the other hand, always has a hug ready for me. Even when I don’t give him the cookie he wants fast enough. He has his outburst and is quickly over it.

Together, they are the best! I used to hate it when my kids fought with each other. I still do. Maybe because it is on some level a reflection on me. But, when my grandkids fight with each other, I get to sit back and enjoy the antics because I am not the one who raised them, and I am not the one who has to break up the fight. This time, I get to look at my son and daughter-in-law and say, “Good luck with that.”

And when one of my grandkids do something great, I get to claim a part of the victory because, “That’s my grandchild!”


Thanks for reading,


Humor In Chaos


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