She’s been adored from the moment they met her.

In fact, as I write this, my little girl is with one set of grandparents (my parents) down in Devon, on her own. And you know what? That’s how it should be.

My daughter’s grandparents love her and want to spend time with her and I like that they (sometimes) get to do that without me. Frog’s completely comfortable with both Grandma and Granddad, Marmar and Dadaz.

As much as I want to be part of the memories she’s making – the beach visits and the icecreams, the trips to the park and the bedtime stories – there’s something pretty special about the fact she’s doing these things without me. She’s spending quality time with people who love her, without me.

I remember when Frog was just over a year old, we left her for a night with her northern grandparents, while we visited friends nearby. I was anxious at first, but after being reminded she was being looked after by a couple who’d happily raised three of their own boys, I knew not to fret.

As much as we loved the night off, it was also lovely to know Frog had enjoyed some time bonding with her grandparents without us being there to distract her. Now, if she cries when her grandparents are around, she’s just as likely to go to one of them for a cuddle as she is to come to me or her dad. Sometimes she actually prefers to be on her own with them, demanding “Mummy and Daddy NOT here now”, while she pulls a grandparent this way or that.

My mum tries to explain to me how different it is having a grandchild compared to having a child. I think it’s something about enjoying each phase more, being more laid back and having the time and patience not to worry about things. And there’s something in there about not feeling guilty proffering treats near to teatime.

Here are some moments between Frog and her Marmar and Dadaz, the ones who reside in Devon. I’m sure there have been lots more like these over the last couple of days, but I haven’t been there to snap them. As it should be.

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My one remaining grandmother is not known as Grandma. Neither is she Granny, Nanny or Nan. She is Nana, pronounced Nan-arr (as if she was christened by a pirate).

Nana

Nana’s husband, my grandfather, was called Dada. He was also christened by pirates, so his name was pronounced Dad-arr.

These are the names used by all their grandchildren. I’m not entirely sure where the pirate theme originated from, but I’m pretty certain it had something to do with my eldest cousin Louise, who probably struggled to say Grandma. There’s a similarity between Grandma and Nana, if you say it slowly, in toddler fashion.

In an equally non-traditional way, my other grandmother also shunned Grandma as a name. She had a bobby dazzler of a title: Suntan.

Yep. That is what we actually called her. Without a hint of humour. Her name was Suntan and that was that. No questions asked.

Again, I think this has something to do with my elder cousins. I know they referred to her as Tantan, which in my 2 year old state of mind I probably found quite boring. So, in our house, Tantan was just plain old Suntan. It was a given. She even signed her birthday cards and letter, “Love from, Suntan”.

My 22 month old daughter is currently in the naming phase. She is lucky enough to have all four grandparents to christen. All four grandparents, whom she idolises. Her obsession over each grandparent rivals my own obsession with Gary Barlow. It borders on the unhealthy.

She’s cracked the names of my own parents. This happened with a certain finality over the last couple of days.

My mum, her Grandma, is Mar Mar. Dragging my mother around the house, Frog shouted Mar Mar at the top of her lungs.

The excitement was almost too much to bear when she was met on the road by the newly arrived Mar Mar. Frog’s legs waved around in all their hypermobile glory, like a plasticine man gone wild. She shrieked with elation “MAR MAR! MAR MAR!” before settling into a quivering state of excited shock.

Mar Mar it is then.

She has also newly named her grandfather this weekend. He is the Mark Owen to Mar Mar’s Gary Barlow. Another object of complete obsession. And from now on, he will be known not as Grandad, Grandpa or Pops.

Nope, his name is Dandaz.

Dandaz

Frog’s northern grandparents remain Grandma and Grandad, unless she decides on something different. I’m almost hoping she really mixes it up with something like Sparkly Pants and Icecream Head or an equally bizarre alternative. Or maybe she’ll just stick with Grandma and Grandad, who knows.

So, for now, the grandparents in our life remain as Mar Mar, Dandaz, Grandma and Grandad.

I’m intrigued though, is this normal? Coming from a history of non-traditionally named grandparents, it seems normal enough to me. But what are the grandparents in your life known as?

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Her name is Nana, or Anita if you want to get all formal.

One of my earliest memories is receiving a present. I was about two and a half and this present was pretty much the most amazing present I could have ever imagined. It was a huge doll called Lucy, which Nana had lugged on the train all the way from Derby to Bristol. I still have her now (although she has a little less hair after I decided to practice my hairdressing skills on her as a teenager).

When we were little we used to go to North Wales on holiday. We’d stay in Nana and Dada’s caravan. The whole family would be there, aunties, uncles and cousins, all squeezed into the caravan. And Nana would be at the helm, cooking the fry-up to end all fry-ups, finding a plaster for a scrazed knee, or just sitting and reading a story to us. And always with a naughty sense of humour and a smile on her face.

She baked for England. Lancashire Lemon Fingers were my personal favourites, but she could whip up a mean chocolate torte too. You could never go to Nana’s without getting fed to within an inch of your life.

But a few years ago, my Nana lost someone. He was her companion of sixty odd years and a constant source of irritation and amusement for her. She loved him dearly.

I still miss Dada terribly. I miss how he used to have the telly turned up so loud you could hear it from the end of the garden. I miss his, “What’s for pudding ‘Neet?” as soon as the main course was placed in front of him. I miss how he thought he was being subtle smoking a cigar in the garden, when you could clearly see the smoke curling up from behind the greenhouse – he was fooling nobody.

Since Dada has gone Nana has had a hard time. She has loving family all around her, with her youngest daughter and family just over the road. But she misses Dada. It makes her confused. She forgets words now. She recently gave up baking. She has no one to look after any more. No one to scold or deliberately wind up by saying words like “Bugger”. The house is quiet.

So I was desperately pleased to have Nana there on my wedding day recently. She looked marvelous in a hat and fancy jacket. Just like me, she wore a dress made by her daughter, my mother. She laughed and ate and cried and laughed some more.

It was her 87th birthday on that day. And I clearly remember looking at her after I’d given her some birthday flowers and thinking, blimey, if I have half as much to show for my life when I get to 87 I will be a very happy woman. Five children, ten grandchildren and four great grandchildren. And wives, husbands and partners to boot. That’s some family. All because of Nana.

She started it all. We wouldn’t be here without her…

The woman who started it all, Nana

***

This is my entry for this week’s Gallery, where the theme is Faces. Head over to Sticky Fingers to see the rest.

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Not quite the gushing words of congratulations I was hoping for.

But then Frog was born and I could tell it was love at first sight:

And the same was true of Frog’s Grandma and Granddad from the North. They didn’t meet her until a week after she arrived, but after a weekend of cuddles and barbecues, the bond was firmly sealed:

Frog is so lucky. She has two sets of grandparents who love her, look after her and play with her. They buy her beautiful toys, make her beautiful clothes and smother her in kisses. The only thing is, none of these grandparents live close by.

When Frog was first born, I wanted my mum. I wanted to be able to pop in for a cup of tea with my new baby. Or swing by for a Sunday roast. And when we saw the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine’s parents, I didn’t want them to go home. I liked the glasses of water Grandma from the North brought me while I was breastfeeding. I liked the way Granddad from the North took charge of the stinking runny nappies.

But over the last year, I’ve come to see the positives of living far apart from Frog’s grandparents. It means the time she gets with them is even more special. We’ve been on holidays abroad together, where Frog has been taught the art of the crossword by Granddad F:

We’ve been on daytrips to new places where Frog’s been pushed in her buggy like the Ruling Princess that she is:

We’ve had funny, melt-your-heart moments, like when Granddad F drove 200 miles to help Granddad from the North babysit while I went off on a jolly to see Take That. I still wish I could have seen the pair of them singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to Frog in harmony, as they put her to bed.

So actually, it’s not that bad being far away from Frog’s grandparents. Because when we need them, they are here. They are here to help butter 50 rolls for a 1st birthday party. They are here to mow the lawn and fill the paddling pool and be generally the most helpful, brilliant grandparents you could wish for.

Frog is so lucky. She just doesn’t know it yet.

This post is my entry for this week’s Gallery, where the theme is Grandparents. Pop over to Sticky Fingers to see the rest.

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The party starts here

I realised something this weekend: I am officially a grown-up.

Not a pretend one, who goes to work and attempts adult responsibilities like paying bills. But an actual real grown-up.

It was during Frog’s 1st birthday party that this realisation dawned on me. After spending the previous 24 hours baking and cooking and blowing up balloons and making party bags, I was (rather unsurprisingly, I think) gagging for a drink. A grown-up drink.

But as the first guests started pouring into the garden my raging thirst for wine began to disappear. I was busy, you see. For the first time in my life I had not consumed a bottle of wine before the party had even started. For the first time in my life I actually poured other people’s drinks before my own. My, my, how the tables have turned.

An hour into the party, once the huge piles of nibbles were starting to disappear and the children had all had a go in the paddling pool, my thirst returned. It’s funny how 60 minutes of pouring drinks for others can reignite your own interest in the stuff.  But then I did the typically grown-up thing of putting my glass down and forgetting about it.  This has NEVER happened before.

By the time the last party bag had been handed out and the last cake had been eaten, I had only had about four sips of my white wine spritzer during the entire day. This is very unlike me and I’m more than a little disappointed in myself.

So, in my sober, grown-up state I was in a good position to learn a few things about hosting a 1 year old’s birthday party:

1) Expect nakedness

No amount of pre-party pampering and special birthday party dresses will tempt a 12 month old to keep her clothes on. Especially if a paddling pool is involved.

Nakedness is an inevitability

2) Let them eat cake

You may have cut up an entire cucumber and carrot in the hope that your child will consume at least a few vitamins during her party. But if chocolate cake, cupcakes, jelly and rice crispie nests are doing the rounds, you’re fighting a losing battle. Embrace the sugar rush and admit defeat to the mess.

Cake: good for eating and rubbing on face

3) Prepare for Baby Wars

Put two babies next to each other, with a plate of food, a cake and some toys and prepare for battle. Babies are hard. Marvel at their ability to head butt and bite each other in the battle for the cake or the pink sparkly toy. And then marvel at their ability to call peace the next moment and share in the love of said cake.

Cake: the food of love

4) Don’t under-estimate the power of grandparents

Sausage roll baking, potato salad making and BBQ lighting is infinitely easier if you have grandparents on hand to help. They are also pretty handy when it comes to clearing up afterwards.

5) Buy a new fridge for the left-overs

A new fridge (preferably a walk-in one) will be particularly handy when storing the ten tonnes of left-over salad and BBQ meat after the party. Take heart from the fact it is only the 1st birthday party you’ll ever host and by the 18th you may have become better at calculating the amount of food needed for such an event.

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