Granny Kaki

When I was a kid, my cousins and grandparents called me Kaki. Loved that nickname. Sometimes family members still call me Kaki and it makes me feel kicky and young, instead of worn out and haggish, which is what I currently am. Perhaps one day I shall be kicky again. Young, no, kicky, maybe. Anyway, I have decided that I want my grandkids to call me Kaki. You are probably wondering to yourself right now, gee, Kaki, that's great that you've picked out a name already but isn't your oldest child eight years old? Why yes indeedy, but it's never too early to start thinking about these things. If you don't lock in a name early, the other grandmother, or grandmothers if it's a step-family situation, might take all the good ones and you'll be left with Big Mama. Perhaps you should put some thought into names right now, post haste, before it's too late and all you hear throughout your dotage is "Big Mama! Look at this!" You have been warned.

At any rate, I also know that I am going to be a fabulous grandmother. Again, you are probably wondering, geez, Kaki, since your oldest kid is eight how do you know you'll be a good grandmother? I will tell you, with some pictorial evidence. A good friend of mine had a baby six months to the day after GG3 was born. I declared him perfect in every way when I visited him in the hospital and snuggled him for the first time. He is a sweetums cuddlybumkins baby that adores me. For the purposes of this blog post I will call him Mr. Perfect. So why does Mr. Perfect adore me? Because I spoil him rotten. And I mean rotten. May I point out that he is only six months younger than my youngest child? But I treat him like he is an entirely different sort of creature all together, a tiny version of perfection that was designed for me to cuddle and love at all times. He can do no wrong. For instance, at Family Night Supper the other night at church, Mr. Perfect did not want to put his jacket on. His parents were both squatting down, struggling to stuff his flailing form into his coat. It was cold, put on the jacket, let's go. Parents can be so unreasonable. I, grandmother-to-be, Kaki, saw their struggles, knelt down, and said, "Come here, angel boy, and let me hold you!" He ran to me, one arm trapped in his coat, tears streaming down his face. I scooped him up and he pressed his face into my neck, clutching me around the shoulders, and sobbed. Now, if he was my child, I would spank his bottom and force him into his coat. But being his surrogate grandmother Kaki, I merely glared at his parents and said, "He doesn't want to wear the coat. What's wrong with you? Don't make my baby cry!" I then sat on the ground with him and sang a song while I put his jacket on him. It took ten minutes. His parents were too tired to be mad at me, although I'm sure they were. I clearly am going to be an awesome grandmother.

Last weekend, I babysat my precious little angel dumpling while my own evil children were out of town at their grandparents' house. I don't like babysitting when I have my kids, too, because my kids tend to smother new children with love and affection and it's a bit off-putting. Especially for Mr. Perfect, since he is currently an only child, but I hope that changes soon. At any rate, my kids  were out of town and Mr. Perfect came over for me to watch him while his parents went out on a well-deserved date. Here is a list of parenting atrocities I committed while watching Mr. Perfect for two hours:
1. Carried him from room to room and waited for him to point at which toy he wanted. I would then get it for him and carry him to the living room for him to play with the toy. When he tired of that toy, I would repeat this reprehensible action.
2. Fed him by following him around with his dinner. He would extend his hand and motion for another bite and I would feed it to him. Disgusting grandmother spoilage.

This is a picture of him as he coyly glances at me, wondering if I am going to give him a slice of cheese next or a hunk of sandwich. Smart boy.

3. Gave him free access to every room in the house and didn't tell him no about anything, except flushing the toilet more than say, five or ten times. I did put some limits on him. Some.

4. Pulled out the camera and took about fifty pictures of him. He was well aware of my doting since he would grin as soon as the camera went up. Mr. Perfect has my number.

When Mr. Perfect's parents finally got there, I was disappointed. I demanded that they go back out again, perhaps for dessert? They claimed they were tired and had spent all their money but I am suspicious. I think they knew what I had done to Mr. Perfect while they were gone and they didn't want to prolong the spoiling.

Now, lest you think that I only have a soft spot for Mr. Perfect, here is another example of why I will be the perfect grandmother: a photo shoot for a Christmas card with a friend's three sons. Now, her middle child is two days older than GG2, so again, not a great deal of age difference to explain my attitude towards these three angel boys. Their mother would scoff at me for calling them angels, but I think they are! Literally everything they did was precious to me. Honestly, who wants a boring Christmas card picture with boring children lined up in a boring line? How about karate moves? Where do sticks used as weapons come into play?

Nothing these three did fazed me. Not the leaping, punching, kicking, whooping, or general malarky upset me. I laughed and clapped and encouraged and said things like, "That's good, boys! Now, jump off the log and kick out while you do it!" Their mother was almost apoplectic. She was very unreasonable about the whole thing. I personally think Christmas cards are much too staid and family members would appreciate a bit of levity. Don't you? Everyone would welcome a card with three blond angels sticking out their tongues. I have no idea why their mom cared so much. I sent her back inside. She was ruining our fun.

That's right, precious boys, wrestle! I think you're adorable! 

Even though they are tusslin', they maintain their angelic looks. 

That's right, sweet boy, pose with a stick! It is an accessory! Look at that smile! (His killjoy mother didn't want him to hold the stick.)

If it were up to me, this would be their Christmas card. Adorable! I think their mother preferred the one where there were no visible tongues. 

So, my friends, you now have evidence that I will be the best grandmother ever. At least to my grandkids. I will irritate my children to no end and cause them no small amount of stress. Oh well. I can't wait to serve my grandkids chocolate cake and coke for breakfast like Mamoo did for me, or buy them any kind of shoes in the store, doesn't matter that your mother doesn't want you to have them, like Granny did for me. Kaki is waiting in the wings, kids. Hit me with some grandkids! But not for awhile; I have to save money so that I can shower them with unnecessary gifts and take them on toy runs. Plus, also, I think I need to buy a pony. A little cute one that is only useful for cuddling and consuming inordinately large amounts of feed and posing for pictures with my perfect grandkids. I don't think that GH supports my dreams in this area. He hates ponies. I have some convincing to do before the grandkids start to arrive.