Talkin' 'Bout Her Generation

Grandma.
Potty-talk excluded, no other word seems to evoke the glee those two simple syllables do.


In days of yore (pre-twins), preceding my mother's presence in our home, I'd go into a cleaning- purging frenzy. Vain attempts to create the illusion that tidiness holds any sort of sway would occupy me into the wee hours on Visit Eve. Well into my 30's, I'd box up all the hootch and tote it to the basement -- knowing she finds its very presence disturbing.
[She knows we enjoy a drink; she didn't want to see the evidence of it. We respected that.]

With six-year-old twins, now I'm not the only one who makes household modifications before Grandma's arrival. The kids clean the den. The sidewalk gets decorated.

The clothes she's given are donned. Animal greeting squads are assembled.


The bar stays in place, but I have to admit, the stacks of papers and magazines are straightened and streamlined, the recycling is strategically arranged, and the occasional discovered find that might raise a grandmaternal eyebrow...

...like this pamphlet Sarah squirrelled away from the pediatrician's office because that "little cowboy is so cute;" suffice it to say -- better disposed of.

Today was filled with hugs, giggles, vociferous reinforcements of Mommy's behavioral expectations (Amen!), even an impromptu trim...

or two...

...plentiful reminders of just what makes multi-generational days welcome --and wonderful.