Baby boomer Grandparents

[Jo McDonald]

This is quite lengthy -- but ohhh soooo funny !!



This is just for grandparents that are part of the baby boom generation. Do not let the mother or father of your grandchildren read this. Trust me.

I know what I am talking about. You see, I don't want to admit this, but it has come to my attention that when we gave birth and raised our children, we simply did it wrong. Of course I didn't know this thirty something years ago. I just found out last year when my granddaughter was born. And, yes, she is gorgeous and a genius, and perfect, but that is for another article.

This is how it all started:
One afternoon my son suggested that my husband and I meet him and his wife for lunch. The exciting announcement that Kim is pregnant, oops, I mean that "they" are pregnant was met with tears of joy from all of us. I asked how far along is Kim, and was told that "we" are two months pregnant. After much use of the plural pronoun, I naively asked if Marty was going to get to experience labor pains and have certain openings of his body stretch to two hundred times their normal size for the delivery. No words come to mind to describe the look "they" gave me.
Marty and Kim also asked that we not tell anyone about the pregnancy yet because it is just too early. Of course, I agreed.
  When we got home later that afternoon, I sat in front of my computer. I wrote an e-mail to one of my friends that said something like the following. "There is nothing to discuss because I have been told not to discuss something yet. But if I were to be a grandmother, I would put money on January 6." I copied it and sent it to forty of my closest friends. I started receiving gifts from my friends like a grandmother's book, a photo album and picture frames and an embroidered grandma's tote bag. Every time Marty and Kim came over I feverishly ran around the house hiding all of these gifts until it was okay for me to let everyone know I was going to be a grandma. I actually had to make a check list so I wouldn't forget to hide anything.
Two weeks later Marty and Kim came over for dinner. A week before Marty had e-mailed me a complete list of foods that are forbidden for the pregnant mother. Apparently the pregnant father could eat whatever he wants. Soft cheeses, hotdogs, and some seafood were on the forbidden list. 
I immediately called Marty at work and asked him how he felt. He said he was fine, and I made him swear to me he was healthy. I then asked him to mail me a copy of his last physical signed and notarized by the doctor. I just needed to be sure.
  He asked me why I was asking these questions. I told him I blew it big time - I ate the forbidden foods when I was pregnant with him. I asked for his forgiveness. He told me that "they" were just following the guidelines put out by the American College of Obstetricians. He let me know that times have changed and these guidelines were not available "when you and dad were pregnant." I told him that I understood, but truly, under no circumstances, was your father ever pregnant. Nor did he e ver want to be.
  As we were eating dinner Marty let me know that now I have to be sure to wash all of the vegetables and fruit I serve. I was beside myself. I was totally distraught. I told him that his father and I are so used to eating dirty food, I am not sure we could adjust to eating clean food. He was really asking a lot of us. I promised him that from now on all of the fruit and vegetables would go through the dishwasher before they touched our lips. He said "they" were just following the guidelines by the American College of Nutritionists.
  Now they are getting farther along in this pregnancy. One afternoon Kim and I were talking and she told me how much she misses taking a bath and just relaxing in the tub. I said what do you mean?  She said the American College of Obstetricians recommends no baths during your pregnancy. I asked if showers were okay. She reassured me that they were. I said I had to go and quickly hung up the phone.
  I called Marty at work and asked him how he felt. I made him swear to me he was healthy. He asked me what else I did wrong when I was pregnant with him. I told him that we might have a problem because there is a chance I soft-boiled his brain in-utero. I sheepishly whispered into the phone that I took baths all of the time when I was pregnant. I told him I was going to repent and never take another bath. However, upon reflection, I told him it could explain why he thought it was okay to have a party at the house when he was a junior in high school and his father and I were away for the weekend.
  Not that I wish that on him when his daughter is in high school. But a few words of advice from the American College of Grandparents: check the recycling bin for beer cans.
  During the next few months I found out that pregnant women are not allowed to change the cat litter box. They could get toxoplasmosis. I felt safe with that one; I never had a cat.
  Pregnant women are not supposed to go on roller coasters. I guess it would scramble the baby's brain . But, again, I am good with this one too. I am afraid of heights and would never go on a roller coaster even if it was good for the baby.
  Another conversation I had with Marty and Kim went something like this. Kim said, "You know I cannot go on speed boats." I said, "Were you planning to?" She said, "No." I asked, "What is the reason you cannot go on speed boats?" Kim replied, "I guess because you might fall in." I said, "Then is it okay for you to go in a row boat?" Kim said, "I suppose so." I asked, "Why is falling from a speed boat bad, and falling from a row boat good?" Marty said, "Isn't dinner ready yet?"
In the kitchen my husband came over to me and whispered that maybe I should talk about something safe during dinner.  He suggested I talk about gardening.
  So we sat down at the table, and I said that I wanted to plant a lot of spring bulbs next week. I told Kim that if I had any bulbs left over I would give them to her. She said pregnant women are not allowed to garden because outdoor cats could have gotten into the dirt and she could get toxoplasmosis. So I decided to talk about something that I knew for sure would be a safe topic and yet of the utmost importance. I asked whether they thought Clay or Rueben would sell more records.
The big day has arrived. "They" go into labor. My husband and I get the call and drive the hour and a half to the hospital. We go straight to the waiting room and Marty comes to greet us. After lots of hugs and kisses, he says "they" still have a ways to go and it will be several hours before "they" give birth. Marty tells me we can go back and visit Kim shortly. I start walking down the corridor, and I hear Kim scream for Marty to get out of the room, never touch her again as long as he lives, and bring her drugs. So I am thinking to mys elf, I guess things haven't changed that much. Labor is labor. It doesn't change from generation to generation. And from that moment on, only Kim was in labor and only Kim was having the baby, and only Kim was in pain.
  And Marty's role was "father-to-be." No more, no less. But just as challenging, according to him. I don't think any sane woman in labor would agree with him. Chloe was born.
  It was overwhelming to see my first grandchild. It was wonderful. And my son was so proud and had so much joy coming from every pore in his body. It was a perfect moment never to be forgotten. Both sides of the family were back in the waiting room. Everyone couldn't get over how beautiful Chloe was. I turned to my husband and told him I thought the resemblance between her and ET was uncanny. But I thought she would outgrow it. My husband's eyes pleaded with me not to say this out loud to the rest of the family. I decided to give him a break, and I just smiled. By the way, Chloe did outgrow it.
  So we went over to their house the following weekend. I tiptoed upstairs to the nursery and just stared at Chloe.  It brought back so many memories. Finally she stirred and woke up. I started to pick her up and Marty and Kim were aghast. They said don't touch her. I could not figure out what I did wrong. Then I was asked if my hands were clean. I looked at them and said sure. I don't have dirty hands; dirty fruit and vegetables maybe, but my hands are clean.
  They asked when I washed them last. I said April 10, 1994. They said seriously, I have to use this special antibacterial soap before I can hold Chloe. I said you are kidding, right? Oh, no. They were not kidding. You cannot touch the baby until you use the antibacterial soap. I looked at Marty and asked him how he felt. I made him swear to me he was healthy. He just shook his head and handed me the soap saying, "The American College of Pediatrics recommends this."  I noticed on a table next to the crib was a chart. It had the date and time and amount of all of Chloe's feedings. All of her wet diapers and poops were recorded. Oh, oh. Another thing I didn't do. I just fed the kids and changed their diapers. I never kept track. I asked if this chart was something to be framed or bronzed and given to Chloe as a keepsake when she is older. I then asked Marty how he could be so healthy when he obviously was so neglected. He said he guesses he was just lucky.
  Needless to say over the next couple of months, you can probably guess how often that pacifier was washed. Every time Chloe dropped it, it was thoroughly washed with very hot water. One day Chloe wanted her pacifier but couldn't keep it in her mouth. It kept falling out. Marty made so many trips to the sink washing that pacifier that he was making me dizzy. After Chloe dropped the pacifier for about the tenth time, Marty just stuck it back in her mouth, straight fr om the floor.
I clutched my heart. Perhaps Marty had read the recommendations from the American College of Common Sense. I looked at him and he said he was sure it was okay. That day I started taking baths again.
  One afternoon I baby-sat Chloe at my house. She was ten months old. We have a Golden Retriever, Angie, and both of them get along very well. Chloe was teething, fussy, and getting into everything. All of a sudden she was very quiet. She found the dog's Nyla bone and was happily chewing on it. She was very content; after all it was chicken flavored. I looked at the baby and knew I had a decision to make. Do I let her teeth on the bone or do I take it away?
  She was so happy and Angie was quite willing to share. And Chloe was quiet and already chewing on it, so what harm could a few more minutes of chewing the Nyla bone do? I decided to err on the side of my granddaughter's happiness.
  If letting my granddaughter be happy i s a crime, then let me be guilty. When I told my husband the story, I asked him if he thought we should buy Chloe some Nyla bones for her birthday. He answered, "Only if you never want to see your granddaughter again." Chloe is starting to talk now, one word at a time. She loves Angie, and is always saying "doggie." I point to myself and say "grandma" but she just looks at me and says "doggie." She looks at my husband and says "grandpa." He whispers to me that maybe I shouldn't have given her the Nyla bone.

  I know the story won't end here. In fact, it is just beginning. So maybe we baby boomers did it wrong during our pregnancy and raising our children.
But I know we also must have done something right. As my son said, "I guess I was just lucky."
Don't believe it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Janet Harrington]

I loved that.  That Grandma was a hoot. 

[Judy Harder]

What amazes me is that we do survive all this.
First one we watch over like a hawk............let the next one come and we ease down a little..........

with the third, he was on his own......used this and old this and dirt just blended in with the stains on the hand-me-downs
and for the teen years, well we do survive and can't wait for pay-back.

LOL.....good one Jo, thanks

Hugs and God bless

[Teresa]

Oh mama.. that is just so funny. I loved it.. And it is true...
But then ..even now.. I see that after everyone has their kids and the new is worn off.. they raise them just like everyone else has for century's..
A bit of dirt here and there.. lots of hugs and kisses and slobbers exchanged.. and what seemed like disastrous is taken in stride.

But when you are a grandma.. things really take on a new perspective. That will be the one thing that will allow you to see what is really important and what isn't.
With Mason and Ashley... time with them is important. And I had Ashley every day for the fiorst 3 years and I have Mason now and I can honestly say that my priority's have been finally put right. Gone are the days of having to get the dishes done RIGHT NOW.. or a host of other things that I used to think were so darn important..
Being with those angles of mine ..having and making good use of the quality time is the most important.. They are little for so very short of time.

[Wilma]

It is good to hear that I did things right when mine were little.  My house work waited, my bed didn't get made, all the things that I have to do now, weren't important when the girls were little.  As for the kids getting dirty; mine got dirty.  They didn't stay dirty, but they were allowed to get dirty.

This little story is true.  When my girls were little, they went barefoot any time of the year.  They wore shoes only if they wanted to.  They were even out in the snow without what is considered proper clothing.  One of my sisters-in-law asked me one day, as she was wiping her little boys nose again, how come my girls didn't seem to catch cold.  It hadn't occurred to me that they were never sick except for the childhood things.  They were healthier than their cousins that couldn't do this and weren't allowed to do that, especially run around without shoes or socks.  Maybe there is something to a little dirt never hurt anyone.   

[Jo McDonald]

I got such a grin from that.  I, too, let our girls play - get dirty and then get pretty when they were nice and clean again.
They played outside every day if they wanted to and could and they were never sick..only with the usual childhood diseases.  I baby set with 5 other children when we lived in Pittsburg - and all the Mothers were shocked when they came to pick them up and they all chatered away at what they did outside that day - and it was as cold a blue blazes, sometimes,  but they wanted to go out and the little darlings were bundled up 'till they could hardly move, and out they went and played until they wanted to come in.  We had a neighbor across the street and her two boys were the same ages as Teresa and Sherri and they were not outside any on any day that was not perfect -- and they were kind of "puny"  and she never did realize why, I don't think. 
When we moved to Howard, it was May 31st and that winter Sherri - Teresa - Jan and Peggy Layton would all play out in the snow on the north side of our house in the big ditch -- I would put bread wrapper sacks over their shoes,- then put on their snow boots and those little feet stayed warm and dry.  I am a firm believer in fresh air - warm sunshine and cold noses.   lDirt and lots of soap and water.  lol lol

[Roma Jean Turner]

My grandparents were my babysitters, I practically lived with them from age 3 to 14, so they had a tremendous effect on my life.  I remember being small and playing in the dirt... all of a sudden I would run to the house and yell " Grandma, wash my hands quick, wash my hands!!!!!!!!!!"  She had told me that if ones hands got tooo dirty, they might just fall off. 

You experienced and you learned in those days.  Once I took an entire jar of pickles, crawled under the dining room table and began eating them during a big family dinner.  My aunt thought it was terrible that grandma didn't make me give up the jar of pickles and sit at the table. Grandma said, "Leave her alone. If she eats them all and keeps them down, then she needed them.  If not, she will never eat another full jar of pickles again."   God, I miss my grandmother  (I did keep them down).