It’s not that I was too young to be a grandma, that wasn’t it.
It wasn’t vanity stuff either. I’m not that person.
I’ve never even lied about my age.
Well, wait…I did once when I was 15 and my girlfriend and I got a job at the concession trailer at the Detroit Drag Strip.
I lied then and said I was 16.

It was just I didn’t FEEL like a grandma.

In my life, I’ve felt like a girl, a daughter, a sister, a teenager, a woman, a wife, a mother, an aunt, a nurse and a published writer….I’ve even felt like a piece of crap now and then BUT, I’d never felt like a grandma!

Grandma was…..well, like MY grandma.
She came from “the old country” and spoke with a very broken, heavy accent;
wore “house-dresses” under big bib aprons; brown hair in a bun at the back of her head in a hair-net, (always brown, never gray and not Lady Clairol induced either); beautiful deep brown eyes but tired looking, even kinda sad; shoes, the same “old lady” black shoes that the nuns wore with thick support hose rolled down to her ankles. (Footies hadn’t come along yet!)
She grew a big vegetable garden; picked apples from her apple tree and made great pastries with them; had a room that was always drying her homemade noodles.
She didn’t have a TV, and I never heard a radio going…..I never even SAW a radio
She did beautiful needlework, not afghans but doilies, pillow cases and tablecloths.
She even had a chicken-coop for crap sake.
I remember helping her collect the eggs!
I loved my grandma bunches but I didn’t feel like her, and she’s what grandma meant to me.

My other grandmother was my Mimi and that name came from our French Canadian heritage.
I lived next door to my Mimi for much of my childhood and since forever, I’ve held her high up on a pedestal as the greatest woman I could ever know.
I tried to think of being called Mimi but I couldn’t do that.
That name belonged exclusively to my Mimi, and I wasn’t really pedestal material.

After the initial excitement passed of my daughter’s pregnancy news, I began imagining having a grandchild…..what fun we’d have.
Grandchild! Wow!!
I was gonna have a grandchild!
That meant I was gonna be a grandma and that meant before long a little voice would be calling me by a new name.
I tried to let that be but, I couldn’t.
Nope, grandma wasn’t gonna work for me.

I doubt my daughter is aware of how much it meant to me when she gave me the go-ahead to figure out what my name would be to this new little munchkin about to arrive.

The hunt for a name began; grammy? g-ma? Sue? Mrs Fone?
I was lost.
Nothing sounded right to me but I had a few months to figure it out.

From the start, my husband knew who he’d be.
He’d be Lobo like he’s been since high-school.
That worked for him.

But me?
Grams felt pretty good but that wasn’t quite it.
I explored the word Grandmother in different languages but nope, not that.

One day it hit me right smack outta nowhere.
I was again thinking of names and asked myself….who am I to this little child? I’m this little one’s moms mom!
That’s who I am!

Then in September he became my grandson and I became his Momsmom.
It fit! It felt right.

When he began to talk, momsmom came out right behind Mama.
There was a slight change in Lobo’s name…..he became Bobo.
Heck, even our daughters and sons-in-law call him Bobo now!

One of my high school friends says she absolutely loves the way her grandson calls her grandma, she loves the sound and the way it makes her feel.
That’s me, every time that all grown-up grandson calls me momsmom.

The other day I began wondering about something, so went to my magic machine full of info and answers-past-infinity and I took a poll asking my facebook friends…..what do your grandchildren call you?

The responses were fun, here’s a few…..
Lots of Grandmother, Grandma, Gramma, Grams, Gamma, Grammy, Grannie, Grandmom, Grandma followed by a first name, Grandma Mimi, Gma, GoGo, GaGa (which I was told is what Hillary Clinton is called), Amma, Nanny, Nannymom, Mimi, Ma, Mamaw, Memaw, and Busha.

A few others…..
Bella (Gypsy Grandmother), Tutu (Hawaiian), Lovey, Barbie, Gabby, and Homie G.
One responder wrote she didn’t care what she was called, just so it was respectful and a kinda funny one was a gal who has a way to go before she’s a Grandma and thinks she’ll probably end up being called “Ancient”.

There were a few Grandfather responses too…..
Pop, PePa, Papa-Don, Pap, Pappy, Cra-Pa, Harmonica-Man, Pa-Paw and Popsie.

I saw my Quarry Road neighbor’s response.
It wasn’t the response but the thought that my little neighbor is now a grandma?

And MY babysitter? The gal that saved my sanity? SHE’S a grandma too?

And if that’s not bad enough, here comes the kicker…..our kids kids are havin’ kids!

And at this point in this journey, name-wise I feel just like one of my facebook friends said in her response…..WHATEVER!