When I Grandmummy, it will be Serious

God willing, it won’t happen sooner than it should, but when the time comes I have this to say about grand-mummying:
I will be kick-ass. 

First of all, I won’t make them call me “Grandma,” or “Nana,” or “Grammy.”  They’ll call me whatever they can manage at six-months-old, even if it is more like a noise, like “Gam.” And it will stick. It won’t change with coaching. 

They will learn trot-trot-to-Boston before they’re feeding themselves, followed by Pattycake, and Miss Mary Mack when they are more coordinated. We will have contests. The winner will get a milkshake.

I’ll wear super-hip glasses which they’ll want to try on. They’ll bump into the furniture and say, “Wow, you are like, blind.”

I will teach them sophisticated words from their Uncle Sam’s SAT prep books which they will remember because I will feature them in compliments: “The thing I like so much about you is that you are eloquent without being loquacious.” 

I’ll wear false eyelashes sometime and ask them what’s different about (whatever my name is). The winner will get a milkshake.

I’ll take care of them overnight, and we will do whatever they want, no matter what the cost, with the following exceptions:

• No restaurants, or visits to the grocery store before six years old unless we are buying something for them.
• No restaurants on Loudon Road or any restaurant where there is an hour + wait at 5:15.
• No trips to Toys R Us or Chuck E. Cheese unless they are at least fifteen because then they’ll want to go as much as I do.

I’ll wear small amounts of elegantly applied make up. 

Possibly hats.

If they don’t appreciate me, I’ll come to the house wearing knee-highs with a skirt to show them what kind of a grandmummy I’m not. 

I’ll show up sometime wearing a fake tattoo and see who notices first. The winner will get a milkshake. 

I will take them to Boston on a regular basis and we will go wherever they want, with the following exceptions:

• The Museum of Science
• The Aquarium

We will eat in restaurants where celebrities have been spotted and we’ll talk in our nice-restaurant voices about when they’re famous. 

I’ll keep my hair up every day and nobody will know how long it is.  

I’ll employ swear words in exactly the right places and wink at them after I use one. 

When they’re a little older, I’ll tell them stories of their parents which will make them feel better about their mistakes: “Your mother once coated the toilet seat with Vaseline and waited for someone to fall in.” They will think this is hilarious.

When they’re older still, I will be an ally but not an accomplice. If they tell me things they don’t want to tell their parents, I will tell them that parents are many people all wrapped into one like they are, and need to be discovered, like they do.

God willing, it won’t happen sooner than it should, but when the time comes, I won’t just be a good grandmummy, I will be the grand-mummiest.

I didn’t mummy all these years for nothing.