My birthday was Monday, and I received a small stack of birthday cards from friends and family. As always, I received thoughtful and loving notes from my grandmothers (along with some money). Now, I’m not super great at writing thank you notes (I think I’m still burned out from all those thank yous after my wedding), but I do at least acknowledge gifts and such with a phone call to the respective giver. I waited until today to call my grandmothers, mostly because I don’t work on Fridays and I never know how long our conversations may last.
I called Grandma Irene first and got a complete account of how my brother and mom helped take out the pear tree last weekend. Now Grandma can see Grandpa Norman’s shop and what an eyesore it is. I also heard how Aunt Donna is missing her phone and how Grandma and Grandpa are going to cancel Grandpa’s cell phone this weekend.
I called Grandma Helen next and received an account of Aunt Christina and Grandpa’s garden this summer (they have enough watermelon to have a church-wide watermelon party). Grandma also told me about her church’s new pastor and the trouble they’ve had keeping pastors at their small country church. Grandma also told me a great story of how the most she ever ran was one mile one summer when she was late to get home. She was twelve and had to run home from her friend’s house: up one small hill, down one big hill, up one big hill, and then flat all the way home.
Really, it doesn’t matter what we talked about today. What matters was that I picked up the phone and called them. I’m an adult, I’m married, and I’ve moved away from my hometown, so I rarely get to see my grandparents, but that’s no excuse for not calling. The least I can do is call them myself and not rely on my mother to relay what’s happening in our lives to one another. I should be thankful that at 25, all four of my grandparents are still alive and kicking. I am happy to pick up the phone and call my grandmothers.
“Grandmas are moms with lots of frosting.” — Author Unknown