More on the kind of grandmother I don't want to be...

11. The kind that sends  $5 check for birthdays and Christmas from the time the baby is born til the time they graduate from college, never acknowledging inflation or changing tastes.
12. Alternatively, the kind that only sends practical gifts.
13. The kind that says, "Grandkids are great because I can send them home!"
14. The kind that thinks they know better because they're old.
15. The kind that can't remember what it was like to be energetic 24/7.

Daddy's little girl

Em, like me, appreciates her Dad's insights and wisdom. One recent night they had a discussion about a father's feelings when a new baby is brought home. I learned something I'd never really acknowledged...fathers feel a little left out--displaced, I guess--when a newborn enters the picture. I can't remember much about it, but I hope I was sensitive to this when we brought Em home many years ago. I can't be sure. Mostly I just remember feeling dependent on him--for food, shelter and comfort--and this took a little getting used to for me since I've never liked that feeling. But in hindsight (and many years of it), I realize that life only works when we depend on each other, not in a stranglehold, but in an egalitarian way. "I need you," doesn't make me needy. It just makes me human.

Pictures say a lot

I love to take pictures, though I often forget my camera at the most opportune moments. I am a chronicler type of photographer, which means that I go more for the scrapbook moments than the art of it. Our daughter Emily, on the other hand, is a wonderful art photographer and has taken some astounding pictures over the years of such things as landscapes, architecture and, my favorite, food. We're all foodies at our house, and she has managed to immortalize the past several Thanksgiving feasts with magazine-worthy shots, course by course, that can make my mouth water--and I was there. But back to my pictures...As an example of my "type," I have many shots of Em as a little child that leave no doubt about the holiday or event that I was chronicling. Oh it must be Christmas: Em is all in red smiling in front of a decorated tree. Yes, it's Easter: Em is sitting primly on the grass with a stuffed rabbit and an overflowing basket. See what I mean? I leave nothing to the imagination or intelligence of the viewer. I go for the facts. For history. For truth. My Dad was a commercial artist, and much like Em (which is probably where her talent comes from) he always found the shot within the shot and elevated everyday life into something momentous. He took roll after roll of Em as a baby, perfectly capturing her sleep-heavy languidness just before nap, or her pure delight at the sandpaper tongue of a petting zoo lamb, or her intense wariness of a mall Santa. He never bothered with perfect hair or unruffled clothes or a centered background. He revealed her. And it just occurred to me that next Christmas I'll be photographing my 10-month old grandchild. I'll try something new. For Dad.

Making it my own

I ran into a friend of mine at the gym this morning, and she, too, is having a grandchild mid-February.We grandparents-to-be have created a kind of bond, sharing updates, stories and our thoughts and feelings about the whole grandchildren thing. For a time, there were seven of us expectant grandparents, but now we are six. One had a happy and healthy little girl just yesterday. Some of us are first timers, others are old hands. But the excitement seems just as true for those of us who've done this before as for us newbies. As I ponder this I am struck by the seasons of our lives. My friends and I  are all roughly within the same age bracket, give or take a few years, and we are reaching many of the same milestones at the same time. It seems we're ready to experience this new phase and make it our own, to leave some things behind and start some things new. Except baby boomers never do anything quietly or easily. We may have "grand" before our names, but we're not ready to let ourselves go gray, frumpy, lumpy or slack. We're getting advanced degrees, we're down-dogging our way to centeredness, we're still trying for that six pack and our hairdressers are the only ones who really know for sure. We're starting new careers and winding down old ones. We're finding love, and we think that's as it should be. We'll be active, engaged and amazing grandparents. We must.

A small but perfect village

Emily and Mark's baby is due mid-February, and the time is flying quickly. We're all busy buying things, ordering things, taking birthing classes and planning showers. But if I had one wish for Em--that money or time can't buy--it's for a cadre of women to talk to, share with and trust as she traverses those early months of motherhood. It makes me think of my sister Joanie, with whom I shared many hours on the phone when our children, born just weeks apart, were infants. Everything is so new to a NEW mother, including feelings that one might not have expected. Did I do the right thing? Am I good mother? Is it okay to wish for a few minutes to myself? Do I have to enjoy those 3 a.m. feedings every time? Will I ever catch up on my sleep...reading...work...exercise...you name it? Have you EVER seen a cuter baby?? I guess it's a kind of insecurity--the same insecurity that any new undertaking or adjustment engenders, be it a job, marriage or whatever. Especially when you want to do it well--better than anything you've ever done before. And Joanie is and always has been my hero, and I can only hope that I comforted her as much as she comforted and reassured me. So I'm happy that Em is going to mommy group meetings, taking classes and developing new mommy-to-be friends. It might take a village, but one best friend is pretty great.