Grandmothers

Two Peas in a Pod^R5

Sallie A. Rodman

When my granddaughter Emily was five she was a go-getter who tried my patience to the limit. With big blue eyes the size of saucers and blond hair that looked like it was combed with an eggbeater, she was a whirlwind in motion. After one of her visits, I would head for the bottle of aspirin and fill the tub with hot water for a bubble bath, some medication and meditation.

During one particular visit, she was in rare form. She had twirled into a lamp and broken it, stuck her toe into the nightlight and burned it, and clogged the toilet by flushing a napkin down it, all in the course of twenty-four hours.

She was up at the crack of dawn the next morning and found my cosmetics. I was practically scared out of my wits when a small ghoulish form in full make-up crawled into bed with me. I was ready to scold her, but my heart melted when Emily said, "Nana, you always look so pretty. Would you teach me to wear make-up just like you do?"

I decided that day we would do a craft project together to keep Emily out of mischief and maybe this time we would bond a little. I sat at the kitchen table with scrapbooking tools of every description, papers in various hues of the rainbow and scissors that cut every which way. I was working hard at lining up letters on a page while Emily twirled around the room in circles.

"Emily, please sit down!" I practically yelled across the kitchen. "I'm getting a headache watching you."

"But, Nana, I love to see the colors in my skirt go round and round," she replied.

Pushing on my temples, I tried to will away the throb that was building behind my eyes.

"Emily, you're not helping Nana's headache," I cautioned.

"What's wrong, Nana? I'm just twirling. I'm not hurting anything."

Why did Emily drive me crazy? I had done fine with my own children but this granddaughter was getting on my nerves. I must be a terrible grandmother, I thought as I lay in bed that night listening to her hum to herself. Why couldn't she sit still? Where had I gone wrong? I was more determined than ever to make her visit a happy experience. Maybe we would form a connection. Living two hours away, I didn't get to see her as often as I would have liked.

The next morning I gave up on scrapbooking and let Emily play dress-up with my costume jewelry and old evening dresses. Heels, purses, boas and scarves kept her busy the rest of the afternoon. As I busied myself in the kitchen, I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She seemed to have more fun tramping around the room singing than trying to do a craft project with me. I felt like the worst grandma in the world.

That evening I called Emily's mom, Jennifer.

"Jen, I'm just doing terrible as a grandmother," I confessed.

"What makes you say that, Mom?"

"Well, I can't seem to relate to Emily. She's a bundle of energy and never sits still long enough for us to get to know one another," I said, practically in tears.

My daughter began to chuckle, "Mom, you don't get it, do you?"

"What?" I asked.

"She's you! You two are exactly alike—two peas in a pod."

"Me? You're kidding, right? I'm not like her."

"Yes, Mom, you! You're both bundles of energy. You both like glittery clothes, shiny jewelry, and are drama queens at heart. Give yourself a chance."

"A drama queen? Really!" I couldn't believe my ears.

I paused to think. Could it be? Was she right? She had made some good points. I had to admit it—maybe she was right on.

"You know, Jen, I just didn't see it. I may have been going about this all wrong. I have an idea that might work. We'll talk again tomorrow night," I said, gently hanging up the phone.

The next day I decided to try a different approach. I dragged out the Karaoke machine and Emily's eyes lit up. She loved to sing and dance, just as I had at her age. I remembered the feel of the conical toe shoes in ballet class and the sound of tap clicks on the wooden floor of the dance studio. I was never happier than when I was singing or dancing. I loved make-up and wearing bling.

"Emily, would you like it if Nana put on a show with you?" I asked.

"Oh goodie," she said, clapping her hands and jumping up and down.

We moved the furniture around and hung up a sheet in the entry hall. We used the tiled foyer as our stage. Then we proceeded to put on a wild floorshow, complete with improvised costumes, lots of beads and make-up. The afternoon flew by as we glided and stomped across the floor. Emily and I moved to the beat of the Stones, and giggled and hugged when we took our bows. It felt good to feel so young and alive again. Maybe I wasn't such a bad grandma after all.

"Can we do it again tomorrow, Nana?"

"Sure," I replied. I had found the magic key. That night in bed we cuddled and recollected our day. I got a big kiss goodnight and an extra long hug.

Emily and I got bolder as the week went on. We danced to Chubby Checker, Herman's Hermits, Buddy Holly, and did our own version of Grease. Emily didn't know where I got all the material, but little did she know her Nana was once a hoppin' and boppin' teenager.

Ten years have gone by and Emily has lived in Japan and Washington. Even though she is far away she sends me pictures of funky clothes she likes, via e-mail. I see her pictures on Facebook and I mail her glittery costume jewelry that I find.

Our love has evolved over time and we are now in sync. I can relate to her and I love her enthusiastic approach to life. What was once so annoying to me is now as refreshing as the baths I used to take when she left. Emily is a sophomore in high school and is moving back to our area this year. She now does performances in local theater and in her school's talent show. I can't wait to be there in person. I'll be the one cheering in the front row. I know when she bows she'll blow a special kiss just for me. We're two peas in a pod.

(1147 words)