I come from a family of jokesters and give as well as I get. Well, the joke is on me. When our son and daughter-in-law shared the news that we were going to be grandparents, the search for my grandma moniker began.
Husband had his picked out a year before: G-Daddy. It’s cute, funny, a little disturbing on the rapper end of the spectrum, but fits him and his playful nature.
What would I be called? I loved exploring the possibilities. The following is a post I wrote as I searched for the perfect name that became the inspiration for this site:
Oh Dear Readers, I’m going to be a grandmother.
Me. The gal who cusses like a sailor, shoots guns, runs marathons, eats candy like a 12-year-old, snorts while laughing and finds fart jokes immensely funny… do grandmothers even do that?!
Do they have the right gal?
I say we start praying for sweet wonderful Baby-T now. He/she is gonna need it with me as Grandmother, Grandma, Nana, Mimi, Gaga, oh hell, all those were shot down by Boy, so I told him (purely as a joke): Fine, if we can’t agree on a name, the baby can call me Mrs. Tucker.
The thought of my grandchild calling me Mrs. Tucker made me laugh then and still makes me laugh. Those who have heard the story since, think it’s funny too, but the joke may be on me, as I fear it has stuck.
Oh Future-Baby, I hope you like me no matter what I’m called. And I apologize now, while you are still in utero, for the ridiculous that will be your Grandmama (?), your Nanny (?), or your Mrs. Tucker!
Like I said, pray people.
ON YOUR KNEES!