...Happily reading the "This is what my family did this year" letter from my younger step-son, Jayson. Life is good, Rodney got into two racing magazines, he had a great year racing. Sandy computerized their whole small business. Jayson's doing well in school and has learned lots of nifty tricks on how to eat without wheat flour (poor guy, but he's very clever so I know he's got a lot of good ideas).
Then he hits me with the heart failure paragraph: "D.J. has recently landed a job in the school system, working with computers. He is very happy. They have a new addition to their family! A brand new Baby!"
GASP! (That's me inhaling an ice cube.) PEE! (That's me peeing myself.) HISS!!!! (That's me scaring the crap out of the cats.)
I remember very clearly a conversation at DJ and Sarah's wedding (my older step-son and his lovely wife). In that conversation I said, "Take your time and enjoy each other for a while before you make me a grandmother. And while we're at it, I might as well tell you that I refuse to be called grandmother. I like Nana or stick to Mom like you boys call me. But NOT grandmother!" And I was assured at that time that grandkids were definitely not in my near future. And I was greatly relieved.
Not so at Christmas--no relief; simply sheer, horrifying, stark terror! I AM NOT OLD ENOUGH TO BE A GRANDMOTHER! 39 be damned, in my heart I am still 21! (Hey, I have to be old enough to drink, now!) And my boys are still 4 and 6 down in there, so they CAN'T be daddy's! No, no, no, no, no...
Finally, after all this trauma, I've decided I should at least read on to find out the name and sex of my grandchild. I find that the newest Mickle is...a dog. And his name is Tasselhoff. I don't know if the Burrfoot is part of his name or not. I nearly peed myself again out of sheer relief.
I love my boys very much. But they just take too much pleasure in bringing me to the verge of heart failure.
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