One of my grandmas could make a jumping mouse out of a handkerchief.
The other grandma let us have a sip of her beer and eat supper without washing our hands.
One grandma took us to the store to buy pop and candy, the other entertained us for hours by telling stories from her childhood in Germany.
I loved both of my grandmas. I didn’t love them for what they could do. I loved them because they were “my grandma.”
And now I’m the grandma. I share my Indiana granddaughters with Other Grandma.
The competition between us is subtle. So subtle, I’m not even sure the Other Grandma is aware of it.
It begins with breakfast. This Grandma says, “Finish your banana and you may have more oatmeal.” Other Grandma makes unicorn pancakes with whipped cream and sprinkles.
For entertainment, I ask, “Who wants to pet the cat?” Other Grandma takes the girls for pedicures at the local spa.
Gifts from me are practical, sensible. Other Grandma sends sparkles and dresses and crowns. This Grandma sends story Bibles – small print, no pictures.
When I visit the girls, I usually organize and paint a room for their mother. The girls have asked before I visit, “Which one is coming? Playing Grandma or Painting Grandma?”
The girls arrive at my house tomorrow. They’ve just spent four days with Other Grandma playing games, eating sprinkles and getting pedicures.
This Grandma is planning to take them to a friend’s hobby farm to see a baby cow.
As a small gesture of love, I’ve also placed soft pillows on the floor next to the guest bed they will share to lessen the blow if one of them falls out.
I realize the girls love their grandmas equally. Grandmas are more than sources of activities, food and gifts, but … I’m thinking about learning how to make a jumping mouse out of a handkerchief – just in case.