My mother, by her own admission, was not the perfect mother. (Seriously, what mother buys their child green denim jeans from Sears?) Yes, I was extremely fashion forward, even back in the day, so be jealous, but back to topic...
I, in turn, was her equally less-than-perfect, introverted, highly sensitive child who played alone in my room with vinyl paper dolls, a Donny and Marie record player, and a whole gaggle of fun and engaging imaginary friends. Hey, it was the 70's. They didn't medicate kids back then.
Anyhoo, while I was strongly bonded to my mother, our relationship was a struggle (read: screaming at each other, fighting over my clothes, etc. (Yeah, Mumsy. Like the green denim jeans were SO much better than my mini skirt and black lace formal.) My point? There was often a lack of mutual understanding that went well into my college years.
Flash forward to the birth of my children. So what happened? My less-than-perfect mother morphed into the physical manifestation of the perfect grandma right before my very eyes, and I love it.
There is so much laughter. So much joy. So much fun. Grandma Shirley is up for anything with the kiddos and the unconditional love is mutual. So what's my policy? What happens at Grandma's house stays at Grandma's house. Candy? (Bring it). Sleep in a tent in the living room? (Fine by me). Stay up till midnight? (Sure, I won't be there). McDonald's for breakfast and lunch? (If you must). 52,000 piece lego sets or puzzles spread over the house? (Whatever).
If they're happy (and breathing) when I pick them up, it's all good with me. When mom loves on my babies, she's loving on me too...and that's pretty perfect for all of us.
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