Kids come up with cute names for their grandparents all the time. My kids apparently never received the memo that the nicknames should be cute because they lovingly call my mom “Gring-grom.” (We’re not sure how to spell it. I’m fairly certain it’s Klingon.)
It’s possibly not their fault because the cute nickname gene does not run strong in my family. My siblings and I gave our grandmom the nickname “Grandmom in Texas.” We were nothing if not geographically aware.
(That’s a joke, by the way. My sister once went from Chicago to Kansas City via Indiana. But that’s another story for another time …)
I’ve been thinking about Grandmom In Texas quite a bit lately because she is single-handedly making sure that my children are entertained. She sends unique gifts. Her gifts are the type that engage the imagination and encourage creativity. (Engage the imagination and encourage creativity = code speak for incites loud outbursts of giggles and glitter.)
Sometimes I fail to thank Grandmom in Texas for all her wonderful gifts. (Because I can’t keep up with them all!) So this would be a wonderful opportunity to thank her publicly for her awesomeness.
However, that’s not what I’m going to do – I have a complaint to lodge.
First, some background: Grandmom in Texas is a walking Encyclopedia of knowledge about everything. She can talk about the gardens of queens, sing any song from any musical, describe in detail the chronology of any historical event that ever happened, casually bring up major advances in science, and entertain children with lesser known facts about dinosaurs and ninjas. David, my nine-year old, finds her fascinating. They literally spent hours discussing the Aztecs, volcanoes, and Greek mythology. David kept coming back to her with increasingly random questions and she always knew the answers. The flow of their conversation was impossible to follow for anyone other than Grandmom In Texas and David. David had a look of relief the entire time as if he was thinking, “Finally, an adult who knows things around here!”
Grandmom in Texas is very involved in her church and community. She is an Assistance Leaguer, an Episcopalian, and a member of Army Daughters. She is obviously an Army daughter, an Air Force wife, and the mother and grandmother to Air Force officers (okay, okay, some of her children and grandchildren went Army – we can’t all make good decisions all the time.)
She is a lot of wonderful things so, frankly, I was a bit surprised by a recent gift.
My Grandmom in Texas bought my nine-year-old son flatulent putty. It’s called Flarp.
It’s putty. That makes fart sounds.
Just in case I haven’t described it clearly enough: It’s a can of putty that can be manipulated to sound like someone needs an emergency run to the drug store for some Gas Ex. The person in possession of the offensive can is my NINE-YEAR-OLD SON.
And the person responsible is my lovely, eloquent, wise, tea-party-throwing Grandmom In Texas.
I know she loves David but I feel I should remind her that I was her first grandchild. And I’m fairly certain I’ve always been her favorite. (Right, Grandmom?)
On a side note: Grandmom, we’re really hoping to visit you sometime this summer. We’ll be packing the Flarp.