Grandparents.com columnist Adair Lara is the author of The Granny Diaries (Chronicle Books, 2007), a satiric guide to grandparenting.
Should you become a grandmother? Not everybody is cut out to become one. Before you take this important step, let's take an honest look at your qualifications.
First, what are grandmas? They're comforting figures trailing a faint smell of lavender and strewn with cookie crumbs, grateful for any time or attention they get.
And what are you? Look in the mirror. No. With your glasses on. Step back. Do you see an apron? Do you smell reassuringly of lavender? Are you wearing low-heeled black shoes? Does that chair behind you rock?
We thought not. You're a jeans-wearing, BlackBerry-toting, e-mail-obsessed gal with sculpted biceps and Titian hair, aren't you? Can you even make triple batches of Toll House cookies? With organic flour? Are you even aware that European butter has higher butterfat content and makes a snappier cookie?
Now take a look at your house. Is it safe for prospective grandchildren? What about that swing-out cabinet stocked with ... plastic bags? PLASTIC BAGS? What are you thinking? You can't have plastic bags in your house! Take them out to the trash right now!
Now, how do you feel about having the gravel of damp amphibians washed in your sink? Hmm? Well, we can get back to that.
Let's move on to decor. Visualize a object d'art made in preschool taped over your mantel. (Grandchildren will regularly pawn off these works on you in lieu of more meaningful gifts or checks.)
While you're at it, imagine wearing to your board meeting a necklace of snap beads made by a 3-year-old. Can you pull it off that look? Or will you wimp out by wearing a high-collared shirt over it?
Now let's turn to your schedule. When news arrives that a grandchild is coming over, will it find you sitting with your hands folded on a chair in an empty room, just hoping that the phone will ring?
No. You're already slammed, aren't you? But are you selfless enough to put aside your own pesky worries — the merger, the sales report, or the scale model of the Golden Gate Bridge that you're sculpting — in order to drive a grandchild to school, a grandchild who will be screaming to be allowed to wear her green flip-flops, one of which has been missing since July?
Do you enjoy finding presents of wilted flowers and leaves in your purse?
Have you always wanted to be called Boo-Boo?
Oh, and is your relationship with the daughter (or son) in question one of mutual regard, envied by all your friends? Will she just love it when the baby she's trying to soothe holds his arms out for you?
And are you prepared to quell a tantrum by letting your grandchild play with:
a. the TV remote
b. your cell phone
c. your wallet
d. the only manuscript of your unpublished novel?
Are you ready to learn the New Math? How about the New New New New Math?
Do you enjoy being blindsided by almost unbearable love and anxiety for somebody else's children?
Finally, are you ready to matter so much that if you were gone, there would be a grandma-shaped hole in your grandchildren's world?
Okay. Let's tally your points, shall we? ... Sorry, but this doesn't look promising. What's that? You went ahead and had grandchildren already?
Oh. Then you might as well just go ahead and enjoy them.
Find more grandparent humor on Grandparents.com:
Home
