Grandmother's View - Growing Up in Santa Cruz

Grandparenting Outside the Box

growingupsc — Sat, 04 May 2024 22:01:03 +0000

Before my granddaughter was born, I had a sense about what kind of grandmother I would be. I may have underestimated how obsessed I would be with her, but other than that, I am the sort of grandmother I imagined I would be. After all, grandparenting is just an extension of who we are as parents, which is an extension of who we are as human beings. Now that we’re older (sorry to break the news), we may have mellowed in some ways while some personality traits might have gotten even more annoying, but we’re basically the same people we’ve always been (no matter how many self-help books we’ve read). There are approximately eighty-million of us grandparents in the United States now, with eighty million personalities. However, if you ask the experts, our quirks, idiosyncrasies, and ways of being can be distilled into these five basic styles of grandparenting: Formal, Companionate, Fun-seeker, Surrogate Parent, and Reservoir of Wisdom. Formal grandparents are more hands-off, also known as the We’re Just Not That Into You approach. Fun-seeking grandparents take their cues from Cyndi Lauperthey just wanna have fun with their grandkids. Surrogate Parents are full time caregivers and deserve a medal (I’m exhausted after one day.). Reservoir of Wisdom types can’t seem to stop themselves from dispensing wisdom and advice. If I had to categorize my grandparenting style I would say it’s Companionate, the type of grandparent who has a warm, loving relationship with their grandchildren but does not take on day-to-day responsibility for them (except on Fridays). If you ask actual grandparents about their grandparenting styles you will probably get a much more nuanced and interesting answer. None of us are one dimensional. You can probably find your style in several of these categories. The Reservoir of Wisdom style seems especially silly to me. It’s hard to imagine a grandparent who spends all their time passing on their wisdom and giving out advice or the child who would enjoy that. Isn’t that supposed to happen naturally while you’re doing other things with your grandkids, like seeking fun and companionating? Still, these styles offer more variety than the stereotypical images of grandmothers from my childhood: gray-haired ladies knitting in rocking chairs or baking cookies in their calico aprons. We’ve come a long way, grandbaby!This point was driven home recently while I was taking a break from care-taking my granddaughter while the East Coast helping my dad who has Alzheimer’s. (Side bar: I have grown out of the sandwich generation and into the club sandwich generation.) Winter on Cape Cod is very different from summers there. Goodbye lobster roll, hello pub food. Thankfully, one of those pubs was the Irish kind and featured live music The musician mentioned she was the mother of the bartender and that she was a grandmother. I’ve seen a lot of live music in my time, but I’ve never seen a sixty-something gray haired, tattooed woman joking about her comeback tour and belting out rock and roll covers. I was smitten, mostly because she was a grandmother who didn’t fit the grandmother mold or probably any other category one might try to put her in. It was another reminder that it’s not that helpful and not at all interesting to put people in a box. However, if they ever add Badass to the list of grandparenting styles, I will happily join her in that box.If you are enjoying my column or have a topic you’d like me to write about, I’d love to hear from you at sarahsavasky@gmail.com. By SARAH SAVASKY

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Child’s Play

growingupsc — Mon, 04 Mar 2024 04:07:38 +0000

Before I had a grandchild, much of my internet searching started with a headache that quickly escalated to the most common symptoms of a brain tumor, or the discovery that one of the side effects of a new medication is death. Now that I’m a grandmother, my searches and the results are a bit more cheerful, but they can still send me down a rabbit hole. The rabbit hole is where I learned that there is a condition called Obsessive Grandmother Syndrome and a style called Coastal Grandma. And where I learned that I might have Obsessive Coastal Grandma Style Syndrome (OCGSS). And yes, my granddaughter’s big head does mean she has a lot of brains, but it doesn’t mean I can brag about her nonstop. The rabbit hole is also where I found out that there are four or six kinds of grandparents (depending on the website) and five stages of pretend play. A few months ago, when my then one-year-old granddaughter started to pretend that she was drinking from a tiny toy teacup and stirring her imaginary beverage with a spoon, I thought it was a bit early for this type of play. And because I will always jump to the conclusion that she is a little genius; I googled the average age that pretend play starts. And just as with my self-diagnosed brain tumor, the results were illuminating. It turns out she’s not just pretending; she’s developing important cognitive skills. Of course she is! And if I was opening a preschool or writing a thesis this could be helpful information. But I’m just a grandmother, trying to confirm that my grandchild is above average. A simple yes is all I am looking for. Of all the things to analyze and categorize pretending seems the most absurd. Pretending is magic and make believe and imagination. Leave it to grownups to take all the fun out of fun! But since I can’t unknow what I have learned, I pass my knowledge on to you in the hopes that when your grandchild offers you your first bite of imaginary cake you won’t have to pretend that you don’t know that something truly amazing is happening in her brain (and you won’t have to google it!) The first stage of pretend play is called Enactive Naming, in this stage your above average grandchild is not actively pretending. She is simply showing you the knowledge she has, i.e., cups are for drinking from. In the second stage called Autosymbolic Schemes, your little genius is displaying the first signs of pretending, but only in relation to herself. In other words, she’s not ready to share her pretend tea. Decentred Symbolic Schemes is the third stage This is when she brings others into her web of pretend play (note: in this stage grandma is also engaged in pretend play as she is pretending to enjoy drinking her twelfth cup of tea). The next stage is called Sequencing Pretend Acts. Here she learns to apply a logical sequence to her pretending. For instance, if she wants to give dolly a bath, she will take its clothes off first or, more likely, get grandma to take the clothes off for her (as we’ve already established, she’s no dummy). The final and most sophisticated form of pretending is Planned Pretend. At this stage your brainiac will collect props and items needed for her pretend play.Now if all this has made your head hurt, there’s no need to panic. It’s not a brain tumor. Take two aspirin and go have another cup of tea! If you are enjoying my column or have a topic you’d like me to write about, I’d love to hear from you at sarahsavasky@gmail.com.

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The Times They Are a Changin’

growingupsc — Fri, 02 Feb 2024 18:56:00 +0000

The thing about “the times” is that they’re always changing. It’s their nature. I want it to be my nature too. I want to be the kind of grandmother who adapts to new ideas. Not the old person in the room complaining how everything has changed or rejecting out of hand anything that isn’t done the way it used to be done. Why? Because I believe a lot of things have changed for the better, but mostly because I want to embrace the things that my children and grandchildren are embracing, so that I can truly be a part of their lives and have deep connections with them. It’s harder to do that when you’re stuck in the “good old days”. I saw this happen with my father and his relationship with his grandchildren suffered because of it.I want to be the grandma who plays in the garden, even though it means getting dirty, and gets in the swimming pool, even though it means getting in a swimsuit. I want to be the old dog who can learn a new trick. I want this for myself just as much as I want it for my granddaughter. Sometimes this means putting aside my assumptions and old beliefs and jumping in. For the most part I think I’ve done this, (but I probably shouldn’t get too cocky, she’s only nineteen months old.) I’ve gotten on board with the new trends. I accepted the highchair that moonlighted as a tripping/death trap for grandma. Thankfully I survived this with only minor injuries and my granddaughter now uses a booster seat, that remarkedly hasn’t changed all that much in the last thirty years. (The main difference being that I decided I needed it, and voila! It arrived on my doorstep the next day.) It took me a minute, but I overcame my fear of choking and got on board with baby led feeding. Yes, it’s true we used to puree the life out of our baby’s food and patiently feed them their dinner with a spoon while pretending it was an airplane or a choo choo train. Now it’s “here’s an apple, go with God.” But I can already see that my granddaughter’s palette is much more sophisticated than my babies were. She eats so many things, and she eats them with no help from me! And at least now there’s a website you can visit to help you manage your fears about choking. And if you or your baby are having any trouble swallowing any of this you can even find a feeding therapist. Along with childrearing philosophies and highchairs, the look of your average grandparent has changed. Remember back when you were little, your grandparents looked so old? Partly because you were so young but also people just looked older at fifty or sixty then than they do now. #sixtyisthenewfifty. (Also, remember when hashtags weren’t a thing?) My grandparents were pretty hip and stylish, but they still looked like grandparents. Now there really are no “rules” about what a grandparent should look like. There’s even a style trend called coastal grandma which many people who are not grandmas and who do not live on the coast are emulating. And if you don’t know what coastal grandma style is, you can find out in a matter of seconds because these are the times we are living in. Maybe I’m kidding myself, but I don’t think my granddaughter is going to think of me as old. I’m hoping she will see me as the funny, hip, fashionista I imagine myself to be. Worst case scenario, she’ll appreciate the effort and I’ll have a lot of fun trying to convince her. If you are enjoying my column or have a topic you’d like me to write about, I’d love to hear from you at sarahsavasky@gmail.com.

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Beginner’s Mind

growingupsc — Wed, 03 Jan 2024 17:19:34 +0000

I’ve thought a lot about the things I hope to teach my granddaughter, but the truth is I will probably learn more from her than she will ever learn from me. Seeing the world through her little eyes has already opened mine. There is concept in Zen Buddhism called beginner’s mind. It refers to having an attitude of openness, eagerness, and lack of preconceptions about a given subject or idea, just as a beginner would. It is meant to counter the closed-mindedness that can occur when one thinks of themselves as an expert. A person can become so used to doing things in a certain way that they do not consider or acknowledge new ideas. I am not a Buddhist, but I’ve always been intrigued by this concept. I have been about as successful at incorporating it into my life as I have been with daily meditation, which is to say not very. My sixteen-month-old granddaughter, on the other hand, is an expert at beginner’s mind. What I’ve learned from watching her learn is that beginner’s mind is baby mind; and the best way to cultivate beginner’s mind is to spend time with a toddler. Like most toddlers, my granddaughter’s approach to learning to walk is willy-nilly. She has no plan. She puts one foot in front of the other. And even though she has been walking for a few months, she falls a lot. When she falls, she gets right back up. She rarely cries about it. Even when she bonks her head or scrapes her knees. She is undeterred by her failures. She has no preconceived ideas about how long it will take to learn to walk or what the best way to learn is. If I were trying something new and I failed that many times, I would give up or assume I was doing it wrong. I would declare to myself and others that I’m just no good at walking, and I’m never going to be. Then I would beat myself up for not “getting it,” and resign myself to a sedentary life. And if I ever dared to try again, I would proceed with caution, walking slowly and never ever running. I know too much. Grace is very confident in her abilities. Overly confident. She tries to climb up into chairs that are much too big for her. She approaches the chair, or the ladder to the slide or the climbing structure, with the same “can do” attitude. And it isn’t just the too-big-things. Recently she found a doll house chair, no more than three inches high. She set it on the floor, backed her little body up to it and tried to sit on it. I try to imagine relating to the world in this way, as if anything is possible; as if it never hurts to try. The phone is where I can really see the wheels turning in Grace’s beginner’s mind. Every Friday (my Grace Day) we face-time with my daughter. Grace loves this and smiles and kisses her auntie goodbye. I think she has come to the understandable conclusion that people live inside the phone. She has taken this to another level with the framed photographs on a table in my living room. She points to them and says “dat, dat, dat,” while I explain, “dat” is your great grandma Bubbie, and “dat” is your cousin Julia. She never tires of this game. (My interest wanes around the twentieth “dat.”) Lately she has been picking up the frames and turning them over and upside down. I can almost see her mind working this out, trying to understand how her auntie is inside this object too. Then she holds the pictures up to her ear as if it’s a phone and starts jabbering. And when the conversation is over, she says goodbye. Who knows what is going on in that brain of hers. I’m guessing it’s something remarkable. Maybe even more remarkable is what’s happening in my old, set-in -it’s -ways brain, as I watch her discover the world. By Sarah Savasky. If you are enjoying my column or have a topic you’d like me to write about, I’d love to hear from you at sarahsavasky@gmail.com.

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Becoming a Great Grandmother

growingupsc — Fri, 01 Sep 2023 05:47:30 +0000

An old adage says the best thing about being a grandparent is that you can give the baby or toddler or teenager back to the parents when you’ve had enough. That might be true, but for me it doesn’t get to the heart of the matter. Plus, I don’t always want to give my granddaughter back to her parents when my time with her is up. Of course, I always do, because that would be kidnapping and kidnapping is bad.For me one of the best things about being a grandparent is that I know I’m not going to mess up or mess her up. As I mother, I wasn’t so sure about myself. This knowledge makes it so much easier to be present and delight in every little thing she does. As an adult I know that my grandparents’ relationships with my parents weren’t perfect, but my relationship with them was separate and free of those complications. And that’s the thing about being a grandmother: It doesn’t matter if you weren’t the best mother in the world. Your grandchild doesn’t necessarily carry that knowledge (at least not when they are little). All they know is that you are their Granny, or Nana, or Bebe or Lolly. You can be the best grandmother even if you weren’t the best mother (and who was). My own grandmothers didn’t live near me, but they were a big part of my life. I was in my thirties when they died, and I remember thinking there was no longer anyone in the world who still thought I was precious. My grandma Grace (whom my granddaughter is named after) was very glamorous, at least I thought so. Whenever she came to visit me, I couldn’t wait to see what she was wearing, usually a pantsuit or a fitted dress and pearls. But the thing that made the impression were her shoes and matching handbag, almost always patent leather. She used to tell me the story of one time when she came to visit and the very first thing I said to her was, “Grandma, how come your shoes don’t match your purse?” (One look in my closet and you’ll see that I have kept my grandmother’s spirit alive.) Since becoming a grandmother, I’ve been thinking more about the legacy my grandmothers left to me and the one I will leave. This is another “best thing” about being a grandmother, having the time and space to think about relationships this way. I was recently given letters my great- grandmother wrote shortly before she died. “If someone don’t send me a snapshot of Sarah, I’ll either walk to Somerville to see her or send them a pencil drawing of what I think she looks like –then they’ll all be sorry.” In another letter, after my aunt sent her “snapshots” of me, she says, “The baby’s pictures are dear, aren’t they? I keep looking at them over and over and feeling very abused because I can’t see her in person.” She was one of the first female doctors in the country and delivered hundreds of babies, but I was the baby she wanted to see and know. She died a month after writing that letter, but what a gift to have this little window into who she was and to know how important I was to her, and mostly to discover who I got my sass from. I don’t know how much time I will have with my granddaughter, but I do know that I will leave lots of breadcrumbs (possibly in the form of shoes) so that she will know who I was and how precious she was to me. If you are enjoying my column or have a topic you’d like me to write about, I’d love to hear from you at sarahsavasky@gmail.com.

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One Over the Top Grandmother

growingupsc — Fri, 30 Jun 2023 20:11:09 +0000

As I write this, I have: I’m pretty sure this makes me one over-the-top grandmother. I didn’t even mention the things I’ve found for free. Was I supposed to leave the hand-crafted doll bed and highchair on the side of the road just because I don’t know if my granddaughter will like dolls or even be tall enough to play with them for another three years? My husband thought so. There is also the abandoned Radio Flyer rocking horse, almost as big as a real-life pony, currently living in my garage. Every time I walk by, it whinnies at me, as if to remind me how ridiculous I am. Am I trying to win a competition? Do I think Amazon will be out of business in two years, and I will have missed my chance to buy all the cute things in the world? Of course not, Amazon will always be here. I, however, will not. And there it is: I’m afraid I will die before I get a chance to buy all the things and she will forget about me forever. On the other (less dark) hand, it could be a simple matter of “wherever you go, there you are.” I’ve always been a collector and lover of little things, so I guess it’s only natural for me to stockpile for the next generation. I was hoping by this age I would have stopped trying to be different than I am–that I would have embraced my quirks. But here I am still wondering why I do what I do and if I’m going to die an untimely death (most likely a slip and fall, involving a small toy). Even though age appropriate and educational playthings are not as adorable, as say, a tiny mouse in a toy crib, I have those too. The newest addition to the toy basket is a collection of magnetic shapes, some with faces showing different expressions: one happy, one sad, one surprised, one I’m not sure, queasy, maybe? The very helpful saleswoman explained that the faces help babies learn about emotions. And here I thought babies learned about emotions from having them and seeing other people have them. At any rate, all my exceptionally smart grandchild wants to do is eat them. I would keep writing but I need to get going on her birthday present. Her first birthday is right around the corner, but I’ve been so busy planning her high school graduation party that I’m way behind on what is actually right in front of me. If you are enjoying my column or have a topic you’d like me to write about, I’d love to hear from you at sarahsavasky@gmail.com.

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Exhausted in the Best Way

growingupsc — Fri, 02 Jun 2023 14:53:54 +0000

My granddaughter is exhausting. But I’m not complaining. When I am with her, I am all in. When she is hungry, I feed her, when she wants to climb up the stairs, I follow behind her ready to catch her if she falls. When she wants to open and close and open and close and open and close the cupboard doors, I sit patiently on the stool until something else catches her eye. The cat walks in, unaware that there is a strange and scary little being who is about to squeal with delight at her presence. She follows the frightened kitty into the bedroom, and I am right there with her. “The kitty isn’t sure about you, bug,” I tell her. She smiles, more determined than ever. She is always in the present moment, and when I am with her so am I. This might be the only time I am.My granddaughter is exhausting, that is why I do what everyone tells new mothers to do, (although they never do it because they have a to-do list, another child, a meal to prepare, clothes to wash) My list sits politely somewhere in the back of my mind. I sleep when the baby sleeps. Well, I don’t sleep, that would be out of the question. I have to be alert; in case she wakes up. I can’t let go in that way; I can’t let my guard down. What if she wakes up and I don’t? So, no I don’t sleep, I rest. I rest with her sleeping on my chest. Sometimes for hours. and every so often, or more like every few minutes, I smell the top of her head or kiss it gently. I listen to her breathe and watch whatever show I am currently binging, with the volume very low. It doesn’t matter if I miss some of the action. Sometimes she wakes up and lifts her head and looks at me and smiles and lays her rosy cheek on my chest again and falls back into a peaceful sleep. Sometimes she wakes up crying and tosses her head and body around and lays her head down with a bit of a thump and fusses for a while. I sing her favorite song. I’ve always been embarrassed to sing in front of anyone, but I sing and my voice, my not-so-great voice, soothes her back to sleep. I hope I was this way with my own babies, but I’m not sure I was. The truth is I don’t remember. I remember feeling worried all the time. Worried that I was doing something, maybe everything wrong.Now, with her, I know that I am doing everything right. When she wakes up there is no more rest, there is diaper changing and lunch and following her carefully as she climbs up the stairs again and gets too close to the kitty litter and has to be distracted. And I carry her back down the stairs very carefully, I am too old to do this, and she too heavy for me to carry. But here I am carrying her down the stairs. I can’t lift her car seat with her in it, but somehow, I get her in the car. I can’t push the stroller up and down the hill, but she loves the bumpy road so here we go again. At the end of the day, I am eager for her dad to come and take her. But then when he does of course it’s bittersweet. And I am exhausted in the best way. If you are enjoying my column or have a topic you’d like me to write about, I’d love to hear from you at sarahsavasky@gmail.com.

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