Godparents and Godchildren

Many of us are given the honorary title of godparent. My goddaughters are two of the most gorgeous creatures (inside and out) to inhabit this earth.

People define being a godparent in different ways. Here are mine:

Legal: This is technically a guardian. You have been named to raise a minor child or children in the event of the death of the parents.

Religious: You are expected to assist in the religious training of the children. You are to be a steward. (I sat in a priest's office and made my case to be godmother, although I am not Catholic.)

Moral: You've made an oath to be there. Love them. Scold them. Hold them. Have a vested interest in their lives.

For the two girls above, I've tried to do all three. Okay, they've seen me drink and smoke. They've heard my potty mouth. They've also known that my love for them does not fail. They were put in my arms shortly after birth and my arms have a pretty long reach. They're now semi-grown. We've reached a new phase of life -- they don't need me; I need them.

Yes, I've missed games and dances. But I've been there for every milestone from the first tooth to the first boyfriend. Sometimes I've just been there by talking to their mother.

The baby has some godparents. Neither of them has seen him in years. It's probably for the best -- he has enough parents. But I do get annoyed that this honor was taken so lightly. He's grown now and they've missed out on a lot.

There's a reason "God" is part of the title.

Meanies

My goddaughters used to collect Beanie Babies. I collect Meanies.

Somewhere along the line, I've let people know that it's okay to tell me the unvarnished truth. Even when it hurts, I prefer it that way.

Walking around in a fog, trying to figure out what I said or did, doesn't work for me. Just tell me! Fortunately, I grew up with someone who has no problem calling me on the carpet.

I used to tell the husband that I don't have a mean bone in my body. When he started gasping for breath and I was trying to remember my CPR training, I decided to let that phrase go.

I grew up with Queen Meanie and I am her clone.

I See Me

Most parents look at their children and see a part of themselves. I look a lot like my mother but I've decided lately that my predominate physical traits come from my father's side of the family. (Other than the legs.)

It's not just DNA.

I watch the daughter push herself in a challenging situation. I see me. I watch the baby make mistakes and have to figure it out. I see me. Plus, he's the most helpful person you will ever meet.

My goddaughters are these amazing young people. Both are beautiful and I don't envy them for that. They will be judged first on their looks which is unfair. People who bother to look below the surface will find some really smart women. When their good and bad traits come out in full force, I see me.

My maniac dog hates the word "No." She will get in your face and bark herself silly. I see me.

Not Disappointed

Yesterday was the beginning of my goldies weekend. You now how sometimes you look forward to something with such anticipation that you feel let down because it didn't live up to your expectations? This is not the case. So far it's even better than I dared to hope.

Yes, I did cry in the airport.

We all had our questions but Jan kept calling to remind us not to start them without her. We had enough food and drinks for an army. Once the three of us were in the same room, any sane person would've had a head spin. We couldn't talk fast enough. My goddaughters came over and I noticed some eye rolling at how silly the three of us can become.

Did I mention that Jan needed to have her dogs out of her house for a couple of hours so at one point, we had my maniac dog and her three dogs running around. Gabby thought this was a big party just for her!

Other than our husbands and children, we know each other better than anyone else in the world. Yet, we still keep learning about each other. Within the first hour, we had cried and then laughed until we cried our make-up off. All of our quirks and mannerisms came out in full force. We listened to music and interrupted each other to say, "This song reminds me of the time ..." My stomach muscles actually ached from laughing.

And the weekend has just begun!

Not Good Enough

Most of you have experienced the magic of birth. The baby is plopped on your chest and the husband gets to cut the cord. Some of us witness this. Some of us come later to the story but that doesn't make the emotions less intense.

The baby is pretty tight lipped about his love life. I respect that. He'll come around with some girl sooner or later. I'm hoping for later.

The daughter has been very open about her dating life. I watch the husband. If he had a tattoo, it would say, "You're not good enough for her." No offense intended to any boy/man she's ever dated. It's just a guttural thing. I suspect my father has experienced the same feelings.

One of my childhood friends is raising three boys. She and her husband seem to have a great partnership. These boys are babies. I cannot wait to see her claws come out when they reach dating age. I know her. I know her mother.

I have two goddaughters that have taken beauty to new heights. I do not envy their dates and/or boyfriends. I know their father.

From what I can tell, my sister is raising some pretty amazing kids. When she was a child, I used to pull her aside for unsolicited advice. I still follow her around with tips she does not need. I've become Crazy Grandma ... "You'll see."

Remembering 17

My Annie is 17 today.

Technically, she's not really mine but I'm not hung up on the technicalities.
Sunrise, sunset. Wasn't it yesterday when she was born? Wasn't it a year ago when I stood at the altar and took a vow to be her Godmother?

With both of my goddaughters, I was on the short list to hold them right after birth. I completely respect the right of the parents to hold them first. Then, I start knocking people out of my way.

Long, tall, and gorgeous doesn't begin to describe her. She looks like her mother but some of her father's genes are also apparent.

At 17, her mom and I had a lot of fun and participated in some mischief. I suspect she does the same.

You will notice her beauty before you talk to her. And then you will engage in conversation and see that she is smart and creative.

She's interested in writing and journalism. Guess how that makes me feel.

She doesn't recognize her powers yet and that is a good thing.

Big Hair People

One of my goddaughters is a freshman in college. Her mom always teases me that she got my DNA. I tease back that I injected some while my friend was pregnant.

We share some scary traits.

She has my humor. She has my lack of patience with stupid people or stupid situations. But most of all, she has my hair. Like me, she has spent her lifetime trying to tame it. I don't have the heart to tell her it's not going to happen.

The running joke in my life is that my hair arrives on the scene about 5 minutes before I do. It's slightly true.

(Oh Emily, I'm sorry. I held you within seconds when you were brought into this world. I rubbed your little head. Did I do this to you?)

So, she called me the other day. The party she was attending had an 80s theme. I loved the 80s. Big hair was IN in a big way. I perfected the Farrah flip. I said, "Go with the big hair. Work it girl, Work it!"

She was skeptical but I think I convinced her. I asked for pictures.

Her parents were kind enough to take my first name and give it to her as her middle name. Her fate was sealed in that moment.

I Forgot to have Babies

I am 44-years old. I have come to terms with the fact that I will never birth a baby. Even if my body would allow it (which it wouldn't,) I don't want to be one of those women who attends her child's high school graduation at 65 or 70-years old. Science has allowed many new fertility options but I am slightly repulsed when I read about women going to gigantic lengths to have a baby in their 50s or 60s. Joan Lunden having two -- TWO -- sets of twins at her age is wrong, wrong, wrong.

I have been blessed with my husband's two children in my life. They are my greatest blessings. All of my friends have shared their children. My goddaughters ... oooh! I cannot explain the passion I feel for them.

Actually, I'm being facecious. I didn't forget. It was a conscious decision. I've been in other relationships and maybe I would've done it but the timing wasn't right. When I fell in love with the husband, there were already two children involved. I have been allowed to be actively involved in their lives. The good, the bad and the ugly.

I was 27 when the husband and I started dating and 29 when we married. The oldies lived in Mississippi and the first exposure I had to the mother-in-law's personality was when the husband said, "I told my mother about you." As the story goes, she said, "Get rid of her -- she'll trick you into having a baby." (I love to remind her of this story because she had never even met me.)

Tricking is not in my nature and obviously, that little prediction didn't come true. The other day she said to me, "You would've been a wonderful mother." Well, well! I'm a little psycho about certain things but it is always done out of love.

Others may not agree with me but I did get to experience motherhood, or at least a piece of it. I'm a nurturer by nature. I may not have birthed a baby but I've nurtured a few children. Still do.

Girls

With due respect to Martina McBride, this one's for the girls.

A lot of men wish for sons to carry on the family name. I say to the girls, "Keep your own name." (You got married, not adopted.) Or, take his name but keep your own. We have options.

When the chips are down and the next disaster strikes, it's the women who pull it together. Sons gravitate to the wife's family. This may change at some point but I'm convinced it won't be in my lifetime.

Many of my friends are dealing with their own version of the oldies. The men send checks, mow the lawn, paint the fence. The women hold their hand, help them dress, clean up bodily messes, buy cards, make phone calls, schedule appointments, listen to stories, go to the grocery, pick up prescriptions ... I could go on and on.

If you're lucky, you've got a son for about 20 years and then you become an afterthought. If you're really lucky, you have a daughter, a stepdaughter, a goddaughter ... they're with you for life.

Girls rule!