She Ought to Be in Pictures

The other day I ran into an old school friend of mine at the mall. We hugged and did the usual exchange of greetings, “Girl, you’re looking good!” and “You, too! You haven’t aged a bit”, although we had both changed a bit. And then we got caught up on our mutual friends, where everyone was, what they were doing, etc. After that she asked me where my kids where and how old they were now, and were they married yet, which was great of course, because it let me segue nicely right into news of my grandchildren. I’m thinking it wouldn’t be a bad idea if grandparents came with a warning. “Do not ask about my grandchild unless you really want to know because I will tell you.” It’d be kind of like our very own “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. This grandmother phase is just like all the other stages of life. You have to get here to understand.

I pulled out my pictures and told her all about Grant, Emerson, Carlisle, and Connor—and the fifth one that’s on the way! This grandmother has officially joined the picture carrying mob. Only it’s even worse in our smart phone world because we can carry thousands, literally. If I wasn’t being obnoxious, it wasn’t for lack of effort.

For the record, I was just getting around to asking about her kids, I promise I was, when a young woman I thought I recognized as her oldest daughter came out of the nearby dressing room, toting an adorable cherub on her hip.

“And this,” my friend said, “is Kathleen with my grandbaby, Ellie.” She tickled Ellie under the chin and we were all rewarded with a big, toothy grin.

“She is beautiful,” I said, “simply beautiful.” Her reply, as she stood there with the flesh and blood child was perhaps the best I’ve heard yet.

“Oh, girl,” she said, quite seriously, “Wait ‘til you see her pictures!”

 

Hugs, Shellie