Let’s Talk About It…

A few weeks ago my firstborn said something to me about making my granddaughter mind.

Now… I love that boy with my whole heart. But in that moment, my eye twitch applied for a promotion.

Because yes, he’s her daddy. He gets final say. I heard him, I nodded, I said ok like a civilized adult responding to the boss.

Then I went right back to doing what grammas do.

My boys never really had the classic grandparent setup the way I did. My Grampa and Gramma were straight out of a movie (minus the Yuengling & Jameson). I did no wrong. They spoiled me. They comforted me. They loved me with every fiber of their being, no fine print attached.

My boys had their paternal side, but they were as old as my own grandparents. Papa died when they were little. NeeNee had so many grands, but she did think my boys could do no wrong. Then there were my parents. My mother could “spoil” but it came with a contract. She kept score like a bookie. It wasn’t love, it was leverage. She didn’t have any love to give.

My dad was in prison until my boys were in their late teens. Complicated doesn’t cover it. But I do know this, he thought those boys did no wrong. He still thinks that. And now he loves being a great-grandpa like it’s his favorite title on earth. And he is going to always show up for them!

So when my son says “make her mind,” what I hear underneath it is, “Help me shape her.”

And I get it. I do.

And before anybody gets offended… let me explain the difference between parenting and gramma-ing.

Parents have to be the mold. They have to hold the line. They have to teach routines, responsibility and consequences.

Me?

I’m the comforter.

I’m the peaceful place.

I’m the soft landing.

I’m the fun-der-dome.

Yes, I teach behavior. I’m not raising tiny feral raccoons and sending them home like “good luck, Godspeed.” But I do it like a gramma. I redirect instead of barking. I soothe first, then I sort. Because kids need an escape from the mold sometimes. They need a place where love isn’t earned by being perfect.

And here’s why I’m like this: I love my boys with everything in me. Jake and Jarrett do no wrong… of course they do, but I love them regardless. Then they had babies and suddenly I got to watch that love come back around in little faces and little voices and little arms running full speed at me like I’m the finish line.

That moment where they light up and yell “Gramma!” and squeeze you like you’re oxygen? That’s joy and blessings times two in a single moment.

And love like this isn’t about DNA. It’s about belonging.

I didn’t give birth to my bonus son, Mitch. I married his dad when Mitch was 21. But the grandsons Mitch gave me? Same love. Same heart-exploding joy. They know what grandpas and grammas are for. At our house, they play, fish, sing, dance, make up stories, eat cookies too late and fall asleep next to their gramma after a good movie… because they KNOW they’re safe and loved.

And truth be told, my first grand came another way too. When Jarrett got married, I had an instant grandchild who was about two. I loved her instantly. The bond is a little different only because she wasn’t around me as much, so we didn’t get that day-to-day rhythm. But the love? Every bit the same.

I’m her gramma always.

Parents tell the kids, “You better behave at your gramma’s.” The kids swear they will. I swear I’ll make them. And we all know I’m gonna do what I want.

Because I’m a gramma.

That doesn’t mean no rules. It means different rules. We use manners. We don’t hit. We don’t act ugly. We clean up. We’re kind.

But if you’re tired, you can melt into my lap. If you’re sad, you can cry. If you need comfort, you get it first.

So yes, I respect their parents. If Daddy says no, it’s no. I’m not here to undermine, I’m here to support.

But I’m also going to love loud. I’m going to keep the magic alive. I’m going to be the soft landing.

Love doesn’t require matching DNA. It requires showing up.

And baby… I show up.

XOXO, Jani

A happy, stubborn, love-soaked gramma ❤️