Speaking Grandson fluently

Jackie Wells-Fauth

As I have grown older and my daughter has had children, I have discovered that I must learn a new language. That language is called “Grandson.” And despite my headline, I do not speak it fluently, even after 13 years, but I do try. It doesn’t help that the language changes as the grandson ages.

My eldest (hereafter referred to as Eldest so he can’t sue me for libel) grandson has always relied heavily on gestures and looks. He’s really very good at it. For instance, he has perfected the “Grandma’s done lost her mind,” look.

The “Grandma’s Done Lost her Mind,” look appears when I give him something that he thinks may be beneath him in maturity. For Halloween, I thought it would be cute to get each of the grandsons a skeleton to hang on their doors and thus be festively prepared for the holiday. The younger two opened their skeletons and immediately played with them or tried to scare each other with them or whatever. Generally, they were having fun and at that point, not questioning Grandma’s sanity.

I have a photo, however, of the Eldest. He is carefully unwrapping the skeleton, removing all pieces of paper that are stuck in the ribcage or wrapped around the feet. And the look on his face communicated it all: “Grandma has done lost her mind. What am I going to do with this collection of bones?” He was polite and he said to me, “Thanks for the…skeleton thingy.” I know that expression. When you call something a “thingy” that means it’s probably beneath your contempt, but you love your Grandmother (even though she’s done lost her mind), so you try to be polite.

He also has some sighs that convey quite a message. When he was here in October, he decided he wanted some apples from our tree to go home and make an apple crisp. I was charmed. While he was picking the apples, I said to the Eldest, “Now, when you get the apple crisp made, be sure to take a picture and send it to me.” Eldest heaved the biggest, long-suffering sigh you’ve ever heard, shook his head slowly and solemnly and said in his most patient voice, “Oh, Grandma.” Yes, yes, I know, Grandma’s done lost her mind!

The little one (hereafter referred to as Wild Man—you figure it out) is much simpler in his Grandson language, even though he has command of fewer words. His theory has always been “Grandma’s old and fading fast, so be direct.” On a recent visit, I awakened in the morning to find him by my bed, peering into my face. As soon as I came back down from the ceiling where I leapt with a scream, he got down to business. “Hi, Gamma. Wild Man awake.” (He used his own name, but I don’t want him to sue me either).  

After scaring the life out of me, he took my hand, and led me from the room. “Okay,” I said, figuring my heart was off to a good start, “let’s go get you dressed for the day.”  He let go of my hand long enough to grab a package of baby wipes as he walked by, “Pants yucky,” he announced in his usual direct fashion. It’s just as well to have that conversation and interaction when you are still half asleep!

I have always depended upon the middle one (hereafter known as Middle Ground) to be the easiest on his grandmother when it comes to Grandson language. He’s a pretty easy-going guy most times. He’s quick with a smile and a hug and he dearly loves to beat his grandmother at War. In recent times he has, however, taken up the hobby of Lego-building. He’s quick at it, nimble in his operation and never fails to make his point with what he builds.

That’s why Middle Ground kind of threw me for a loop this weekend. He visited my house when I was not there and spent the night as a break on a longer journey. No doubt, he was working on some Lego projects, or even dearer to his grandmother’s heart—reading a book. However, Middle Ground left some of his Legos behind on my desk. If you check the picture above you will see them…exactly as he posed them when he left them there.

Now, I’m not entirely sure what this means in Grandson language, but Middle Ground has left me with something of a dilemma: I’m supposing one of those characters is supposed to be his grandmother—do I want to be the dinosaur who is such a monster she eats people; or do I want to be the poor schmuck getting eaten? So far, his only verbal comments are a laugh and the admission that he is the guy who staged the scene. So I ask you—is he trying to tell me in grandson language that I should be worried???? I need to work on my fluency!