I’m going to have another grandchild, this time a grandson. Woo-woo!
My sister heard my two-year-old granddaughter call me granny and she said in a horrified tone, “You mean, you want to be called Granny?”
I know. I guess I’m kind of weird. But I watched a British TV series, Happy Valley, where the heroine was raising her grandson. He was so darling and he called her granny in that sweet British accent. I loved it, and I thought, why not? I’ll be a chic granny!
My son-in-law’s mother goes by Grandma. My older sister went by Mimi and Grandma. My niece’s mother-in-law goes by Gran. My sister-in-law goes by Grams. My grown-up children call their grandma Oma. They called my mother Grandma. I called mine, Grandmother. Their great-grandchildren (my kids) called her Nana and Gramps. I thought about Nana, but I always think of Peter Pan and the dog they called Nana. I know, my mind is off-kilter. But see what’s happening? Nobody in my family goes by Granny. My sister must be thinking of that old TV show The Beverly Hillbillies; I think there was a Granny in that series.
My granddaughter calls her grandfather, pa-pop.
Anyhoo, I’m sticking to my guns. I’ll go by just about anything, even or especially Granny!