Giving Thanks -- by Jamie

Although this blog entry won’t be posted until after Thanksgiving, I’m hoping I’ll continue to give thanks for all the wonderful things I have in my life long after the holiday has come and gone. That said, I’d like to start here.

As a single mother by choice, I put a lot of thought and effort into becoming a mother, and therefore, I feel very fortunate to be one. I’m especially grateful to Jayda’s sperm donor for helping me create her. But at times when I’m frustrated or disappointed with my daughter’s behavior, I need to remind myself to be thankful that my issues with Jayda aren’t big ones. I may stress over our reward system for potty training, what nursery school will be welcoming and challenging enough for Jayda, and how to get her to fall asleep without rubbing her back and holding her in my arms, but I am fortunate enough to have a healthy, happy, intelligent, and well-loved daughter—and in the grand scheme of things, that’s a lot to be thankful for.

In addition to being a mother, I’m thankful for having a mother—especially one who is so wise, loving, and caring, as well as a wonderful grandmother to Jayda. At a time when I’ve recently witnessed several of my friends lose their mothers, and have listened to others complain about, or battle with their moms, I know I’m very lucky to have a mother who is an amazing maternal figure—as well as my good friend.

I’m also thankful for my father, who has always supported and loved me, and has been there for me to lean on. He epitomizes the type of male role model I want Jayda to have in her life, and fortunately, he’s involved very deeply with her upbringing. He also exhibits many of the qualities I’d like to find in a mate for myself someday, and I’m thankful to him for showing me the depth of love and kindness that both Jayda and I deserve.

After recently listening to the trials of one of my teenage relatives, who laments over not having any good girlfriends, I’ve realized how thankful I should be for my girlfriends. I still socialize with several high school and college friends, as well as my best friend from elementary school. Just as importantly, in the past few years I’ve made some wonderful “mommy friends”—women with children Jayda’s age, whom I can confide in and count on just as much as my friends from my youth. I’ve never taken my friends for granted, but I suppose I may sometimes underestimate how lucky I am to have so many solid connections in my life. And though I still find it difficult to ask my friends for help when I’m in a bind, at least I know I have friends to lean on if I need them. And I’m thankful for that.

Last but not least, I’m thankful for Barney (Aaaargh…did I really just say that?!) for “babysitting” Jayda while I read my paper in the morning, for Folgers coffee for giving me the extra energy I need after Jayda’s 5 a.m. wake-ups, for Gold’s Gym for helping me release my stress (well, at least some of it!) in a positive way every morning, and for all the laughter I have in my life—be it Jayda’s raucous giggles, or my own squeals of amusement while gossiping with friends. These days, while I often find myself stressing over my finances, and my plans for the future, I’m grateful that my life, in general, is filled with happiness, and a wealth of good times. And thankfully, as a result, Jayda is a very happy person, full of lots of laughter, herself. I can only hope she’ll be that way for the rest of her long life. Amen.

Do I Want to Be a Grandmother at 50? by Cara

Every once in a while I go on to Facebook to catch up with the happenings of friends near and far. Invariably, I get one of those silly quizzes that pop up. What kind of dog are you? What does your name mean in Japanese? Just as invariably I take a quiz or two if I have the inclination and the time. I found out, incidentally, that my name in Japanese means, “Love Child.” Well, okay, whatever. At least it doesn’t mean, “Burning Sword.”

In any event, I received a quiz from a newly aquatinted friend titled,”Questions About Me.” It was a rather lengthy questionnaire, but after reading the questions and responses my friend had put down, I decided to take the time to answer the questions myself and pass the quiz back to her.

Many of the questions were rather benign, however I almost choked when I read one of the questions two-thirds into the questionnaire. “Would you like to be a grandparent at age 50?” AGE 50??!! I’m 46!! My son is 6!! That would mean that my son would have to impregnate some girl at age 10!!!! NO, I don’t want to be a grandparent at age 50!!! But this got me to thinking. When WOULD I want to be a grandparent?

If I had my son at age 40, and statistics and trends are pointing to later in life marriages and births, what age will I reasonably be a grandmother? I have every hope that my son will attend college. And I would be even more grateful should he decide to go to graduate school or go on to get a professional degree. Would he marry at 25? 30? 35?

My father was an “older” parent and had the joy of seeing my son born at age 86. He had three beautiful years watching my son through his baby and toddler years. And for some unknown reason, even though my father was severely hard of hearing, it didn’t matter one lick to my son nor to my father that they didn’t understand one another. They communicated in a higher form called love.

I think my father and my son had a bond that has continued to transcend his demise. And my son continues to reflect on him with fondness and yearnings of love. I would hope that my son might choose to have children at a slightly younger age than me. It would give me great pleasure to see my grandchildren grow for at least a decade! I could do a lot of “spoiling” in a decade!! (And, yes, I know that only food gets spoiled...but you get my drift!)

But, if my son has a child or children later in his life, as I did, perhaps I, too, could capture a bond of love that would transcend the corporeal. That would make me immensely happy too. Side by side with my grandchild, bringing me a leaf or a stone found on the ground and presented as a gift. Through love that is boundless. Sometime the innocence of the young and the old, brought together, can mean more than spending years trying to establish a relationship with a relative you have a difficult time getting along with.

Well, I have a “few” more years before I need to worry about becoming a grandparent. And incidentally, anyone who draws up a questionnaire with a question such as this, must be, oh, say, 20?

GUEST BLOG: A Grandmother's Perspective

THIS IS A SPECIAL GUEST BLOG BY A GRANDMOM, Rochelle Jewel Shapiro, author, "Miriam the Medium" (Simon & Schuster). Your comments to this blog are welcome, and may be posted below.

As hard as it is for a woman to admit she’s growing older, it seems even harder for a daughter to admit her mother is getting on in years. Last week, I took the train upstate to my daughter’s at a time of revolution. Her daughter, who had thought kindly of her baby brother when he was sedately swaddled, suddenly was faced with a sibling who crawled at top speed, knocking over her blocks, sticking her doll house figurines in his mouth. She now wanted to (and almost did) ring his neck. My daughter, holding her daughter back, called out “Get him, Mom,” as her son scooted under a computer table to yank the wires, as if I am still the young woman once again who could scoop up her ashy little brother from the fireplace. I did get him. I did everything that was needed and came home with vivid memories of snuggling my granddaughter, seeing my grandson’s gummy smile as I tickled his belly. But, although I didn’t tell my daughter, I also came home to Ace Bandages and heat packs and bed rest. My daughter loves me. She tells me so each time we talk. I can see it in the light in her eyes when she looks at me. If I bring up my physical limitations, it would be like bringing up the topic of my mortality. As grown up as she is, she’s still my child. So, even though I haven’t yet had the courage to broach this with my daughter, I want to share it with all of you. Perhaps I’m practicing for the next conversation I have with her.