I was blessed to birth five sons over a ten-year period. They each hung the moon for me. (I’m the former feminist who was never getting married or having children.) With the passing of time and my growing understanding of the power of parenting, I was passionately committed to seeing each one reach his destiny. Still am.
But I wasn’t really clued in on the whole grandparenting thing. The manic addiction some seemed to have with their kids’ kids was a mystery to me. I’ve known lots of grandparents, but never really understood them. I just didn’t get it.
And then, this.
Yes! They stole my heart.
Nothing is too hard: another storybook, another kiss, a nose to wipe, a diaper to change, another prayer, another hug, another flower to pick, just one more dance…they may call me what they like, play with my iPhone, break my stuff, eat my best snacks, trash my house, get crumbs in my bed…it’s all theirs.
The mission of my heart?
Impart to them.
Build a relationship with them.
Is it a job? No.
Is it work? Yes.
Is it tiring? Yes.
Do I ever get tired of it? No!
I’m laughing out loud! This is like dessert to my crazy, colorful, incredible (often stressful and somewhat bizarre) life journey. Being a grandma. Or, in my case, a Nana aka Nannie.