Every year at this time, I contemplate what it means to me to be a grandmother. My two grandsons have their birthdays two days apart, and it always shocks me, each year, how quickly the years are flying by. This year it is even more so, as they are both in school and they are so clearly growing up. Their faces are no longer the faces of babies or toddlers - they are boys, growing and thinking and in possession of their own personalities and thoughts and plans.
I did not grow up with grandparents. I always knew I was missing out on something, because my friends would talk about how great it was to go to their grandparents' homes, but mine all died before I was born, or when I was so young I don't remember them at all. I didn't really spend time with friends at their grandparents' homes, either. The only real example I had was my own mother as a grandparent to my kids, and while she did so much right, I thought about ways I would do it differently, also.
So when I was approaching grandparenting myself, I felt like I finally had a clean slate to make the role my own. I don't have to live up to anyone else's memory. I don't have to follow anyone else's example. I don't have guidelines or expectations to meet. I get to be the grandparent I want to be, just the way I want to do it, and no one else is involved except the kids, who don't know any better. Perfect! What freedom!
