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My grandma’s picture was in the dictionary. Look up “little old lady” and you will see her picture. Yep, the one with the curly white hair and the walker. Notice that her legs look really big. I use to think that she had fat legs, but really, they are wrapped in layers and layers of Ace bandages. She wouldn’t be able to walk at all otherwise. Yep, that picture in the dictionary is my mom’s mom, Grandma B.
Now my dad’s mom, Grandma E. is young and spry. She still helps Grandpa on the farm and walks the dog and plays with us kids. Her picture might be in the dictionary under “fun grandma” if they were to make such an entry.
Every Christmas we spend dinner with Grandma E and supper with Grandma B. I never liked to leave Grandma E’s house, especially to go and sit quietly at Grandma B’s, but it had to be done. This year, as I said good-bye to Grandma E, I told her why we had to leave. “We have to go see our little grandma now.” That is how I think of them – the little old lady grandma and the big, young grandma.
Well, Grandma E has always been about teaching us young ones what we should and should not do. “Why do you call her your little grandma?”
“Well, she’s a little old lady.”
“Don’t you think that your grandmas are about the same age?”
I had never thought they were, but if Grandma E said they were, than they must be. “Well, I guess so.”
“How old do you think your grandmas are?”
I thought about Grandma B. Surely she was really old, so even though I didn’t think of Grandma E. being that same age, I gave the best answer I could. “I don’t know, really old. Up in the ninety’s someplace.”
My grandma stepped back, shocked before she started to laugh and ruffled my hair. On the way to Grandma B’s, my older siblings told me that Grandma E is in her fifties and Grandma E in her sixties. See, I knew Grandma B was a little old lady and Grandma E was young and spry. Just don’t expect a seven year old to have a good grasp of adult ages.
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