Naming names

Unlike other women I know, I have no problem with the label of grandmother. I welcome it as an exciting chapter in my life, and I feel proud that I've made it this far with so many good things to look forward to. But, surprisingly, terminology has become somewhat important at this juncture. What do you want to be called? our children ask. My husband's grandmothers were called Grandmother (a.k.a., "the pill") and Grandma, the former being the proper one around which children were to be seen and not heard. Grandma was the fun one who built snow forts and read bedtime stories. I had two Nanas, I guess to avoid confusion or maybe because we kids were a little slow in the vocabulary department. One was intellectual and as fun as she allowed herself to be, the other--my Greek grandma--offered a ready lap and hugs and kisses at all times. Though she knew just a handful of words in English, all of them sounded like love...or food. Most of my cousins called her Yia-Yia. Our daughter calls my mother Nana, and she called my husband's mother Grandma. So I pretty much have the whole gamut from which to choose...or, I guess, I can come up with something new. But there's always baggage: it's sort of like if you knew a girl in high school named Martha whom everyone disliked, you'd never call your kid Martha. So I guess I can't use Grandmother. And I really dislike colloquialisms like Maw-Maw and Pappy, though I'd pay a hundred bucks to call my husband Pappy just once. Baby talk is out, as are puffy ethnocentric names like Grandmere (who are we kidding?) and Yia-Yia. I'm really leaning toward Nana for two reasons: one, my mom, Nana, defines grandparenthood in the best of ways; and, two, I always loved the big, lovable, nursemaid dog of the same name in Peter Pan. I guess that says it all: I want to have the wisdom and caring of my Mom, with the vigilance, playfulness and big sloppy kisses of a St. Bernard.