Loose Ends
When I grow up
Susan Nienow

I like to reinvent myself every 10 years or so. I am overdue. I get to the point where I get tired of myself, so change is due. I don't do the "think I'll be a redhead" thing. And it isn't the same as working on New Year's resolutions. That's really "work." Reinvention should be fun.

In my 30s, being a mom dictated a certain persona complete with the outfit. I had chocolate frosting on my jeans and school glue on my elbow. I signed checks and permission forms and drove forgotten lunches to school in a tan van. Most of the time I was addressed and introduced as someone's mom.

So when I was in my 40s, and my kids denied they had a mother, I became a tennis player. It took me several years before I realized I was better at buying tennis skirts than actually playing. It might have been the fact that everyone I started learning tennis with was several levels above me by then that gave me a nudge to move on. I left that persona but still bat away at the tennis ball for stress relief.

In my 50s - well, I tried a couple of new identities before settling on writing. I could do it sitting down which was a plus. And I didn't have to wear a short skirt which is becoming increasingly important.

Since my last birthday, it has become obvious that it is time to find a new me: grandmother. Though I didn't choose it, I would have definitely picked this new me.

I still don't have to wear a short skirt, but I do need a course in what my grandchild expects of me. This new me is really all about her. What nerve! We came to visit when it was convenient for her. Then we ate on her schedule - 5:30 p.m. That's the time for a glass of wine or a beer, not dinner. We went to her house for dinner and were back home at 6:50 p.m.

We packed enough stuff for her to fill the back seat - a gift someone had brought to the house for her birthday, coupons for specialty personal supplies she needs and a book I love that is perfect for her.

She interrupted our dinner, and I didn't even get to finish. Someone had to leave the table and go make her happy. It is getting to be a habit with her - interrupting the personal time of others. Not to mention sleep time. And it has only just begun.

She's just three weeks old and is changing our lives already. As I look down at her peaceful, sweet face, I see flashes of critical moments in her father's life and wonder if I said the right things, reacted the right way.

Will I have the courage to teach her to eat dessert first, despite veggie lessons from her parents?