Your Preschool Teacher is Now Grandmom in Fishnets

In 1992, at the age of 21, I was wearing big hair, little clothes and living at Hammerjacks. (Stop laughing, I probably saw you there dancing on the bar). That was my nightlife anyway.

During the day, I was a preschool teacher at Watersedge Baptist Church’s Little Light Christian Child Care Center. Corner of Sollers Point and Dundalk Avenue. I loved my job and loved those little three and four-year-olds even more.

Now I won’t say there wasn’t a time or two that the other older teachers didn’t have to inform me that rock music wasn’t appropriate for preschool. I sincerely thought at the time that Guns & Roses' "Sweet Child O’Mine" was perfectly acceptable to play in my classroom because it had the word "child" in the title. Evidently, this was not the case.

After a bit of persuading from the elders, I decided instead to let the children listen to “Kokomo” from the Beach Boys and “Forever Young” by Rod Stewart. Either way, I had music always in the background at play time and the kids would dance around (another big no-no that I refused to adhere to) and sing along with me. The kiddos and I always had wonderful musical days.

That was when I was 21. Fast forward a full two decades later and insert Facebook into the scene.

I don’t recall how I first located one of my students. Perhaps by chance, perhaps I looked for her. When I reconnected with the little angel I still dumbly expected to see that same tiny face that used to follow me around saying, “Ms. Cyndi… Hey, Ms. Cyndi…”

Instead each of them had, of course, grown into beautiful, mature adults. Now in their 20s themselves, they had businesses, children, spouses and grown-up lives. Some of this was hard for me to grasp at first. Especially the one who now produces “Vagina Monologue” productions. I want to give her time out every time I see her post the word "vagina" in her Facebook status. But alas, I can not and truth be told I’m really very proud of her.

As much as their lives changed in the last forever years mine did as well. Since I saw them last, I had dated, married, divorced and dated again. In the course of my "married" time that lasted nearly 15 years, there was also a beautiful daughter that came with my husband. Only 11 years my junior, we met when she was just 13. Now 31 and married for seven years, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised when I got that email in November.

My gorgeous stepdaughter was a mom-to-be. I was excited, delighted and horrified. All but that last part was for her. The horrified part? My stepdaughter being pregnant would mean I was going to be a (gulp) grandmother. I about choked on the idea. Even though her Dad and I had divorced, his sudden death just two weeks later left both my stepdaughter and I without a chance to get used to the fact that I was not in the picture anymore. 

With her Mom passing just a few years before her Dad, I became the only parent still here. I was so incredibly honored and touched when she asked if I would be the baby’s grandmother. Grandmother. Oh my.

So, as I congratulated her and celebrated with her I couldn’t help but think, “I’m 41 years old. I still wear short skirts and sometimes drink tequila. I flirt with men like I will never see another one as long as I live. I still listen to loud music, I drive too fast and I occasionally wear fishnets. How the hell can I be a grandmother?!” I also had to consider that babies eventually talk and this one will need to call me something. I phoned my stepdaughter.

“Honey, I was thinking. When the baby is old enough to talk – how about she calls me...oh I don’t know… ‘Goddess’ instead of Grandmom?”

The reaction was a giggle and a polite. “Ummm…No.”

Well, that didn’t work so I decided to get feedback from the experts. People who know the right answer to everything. My Facebook friends. So, I posted the question asking for appropriate grandparent names and in the end felt "MiMi" was a better solution. (Not really, I still vote for Goddess, but don’t think it’s ever going to get the approval stamp from the parents.) So, MiMi it is.

"MiMi" isn’t that different from "Ms. Cyndi," 20 years ago. I still like to sing and dance. I still like a little old Guns & Roses from time to time and I will still wear low cut blouses when I’m out with my grown-up friends, even if I am about to become a Granny. As much as I tend to push the preverbal envelope, kids in general adore me. I connect with them immediately and will always love those little faces. I am always sure to set a good example and never use bad words in their presence. I know lots of nursery school songs and can bop a Bunny Foo Foo like nobody’s business.

Perhaps one day I will take more of a grandmotherly appearance. Maybe I will be more like the elders of preschool days gone by and think loud music inappropriate. It’s possible that one day I may be the one to bake cookies and wear an apron. Perhaps.

(But I bet they’ll still be a pair of fishnets underneath)

Happy Mother’s Day to all the Moms, MiMi's, teachers who mother, and caretakers of children everywhere. Rock on.