"What do you want to be called," my Sondra asked me about my preference for what the new grandchild would call me. "I don't know, how about 'your majesty' or 'diva'?" I asked, still in shock at learning I was to be a grandparent at the ripe old age of 42.
Fast forward a few months and my daughter decided I was going to be "grammy." Mason started talking and saying everyone's name. "papa" "mommy" "daddy", but no name for me, or so we thought.
It wasn't until he really wanted something and he kept tugging on my leg, "E, babble, babble, babble." After a while, we realized that I was "E", it wasn't just a preliminary noise he made before launching into an unintelligible request or complaint of some sort.
Fast forward a few more years and adding two granddaughters -- my son's girls -- and I'm still "E." Not that they can't say "Grammy" or "Grandma" should they so desire. No, they go out of their way to correct people about the name they've given me. They were delighted when a character on the Incredibles was called "E." And, no my name is not Edna. "E," you are on the Incredibles! And so I am.
Now I'm sitting here in my office, my red "Incredibles" phone handily by (Yes, really. It's got the "I-logo" and everything cool. Flashes when I have a message.) and missing my grandchildren -- my three little monkeys very much. Whoever thought being a grandma would be so much fun. Play, spoil, send them back home.
Oh well, it will be the holidays -- not soon enough -- and I'll get to play with the little monkeys who all live far away now. E will definitely have some spoiling to catch up on.
