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Ten

TEN

Ten is a significant number. Ten fingers. Ten toes. It’s a handful and a decade. Wow.

My granddaughter turned ten on the Fourth of July.  Katy Perry sings it:

Baby, you’re a firework
Come on, let your colors burst

It was a rare thing for me to miss the Fourth of July firework display but in 2011, I was holding her in my arms for the first time. It had been the most tumultuous year and then:

After a hurricane comes a rainbow

But something else happened.  At the moment of her arrival, I became Mamie. A prestigious title recognized worldwide. A title that removes the last vestige of awkwardness when the son-in-law addresses me, Mamie, easy to say, honorable and unique.

Mamie is the place where experience, knowledge and fun mash up. When the next six grandchildren were born my heart went boom, boom, boom like the fireworks.

The transformation to Mamie was quick, My Fourth of July granddaughter was the beginning of the rainbow. She was followed by a sister and a cousin in 2013 and then a brother and a cousin in 2015 and in 2018 another sister and another cousin, five girls and two boys. Seven, another magical number considered so perfect and powerful that it is universal positive of happiness, energy and perfection.

They are all the same and very different. Obviously, the oldest is the leader, mostly benign and kindly but still the boss.  There is the flower child who wants to be a NASA engineer, an interesting combo.  There’s little brother with his head full of curls who may be the statistician perhaps the next Steve Kornacki’s with simple, lovable good-humored energy.  There’s the sober, meticulous rule follower destined to be a Supreme Court Justice who rules in the other household despite the instigator middle sister who is both a shameless storyteller and the perfect little mother to her baby sister.

The babies in both families are girls. While both are sweet and smiley, the one is fiercely independent who will put an overbearing classmate in a headlock and the other has a Florence Nightingale gene who is quick to comfort anyone with a tear.  Even at three years old it’s clear that these girls know that “baby” is a treasured spot.

I lay claim to this entire kaleidoscope. Each day is a new twist of color and design. Depending on the activity depends on the grouping. When the boys are together, it looks like Chandler and Joey with the future Supreme Court Justice upholding the proceeding as the up-and-coming Kornacki bubbles over with enthusiasm. The girls re-group depending on the activity, although the nail polish fest sitting in a circle on the deck that included the three-year old’s doing ankles and wrists was a sight to behold. Thank god for the totally nontoxic and mostly nonstick polish.

While I believe Katy Perry sings those lyrics for my Fourth of July granddaughter, she sings it for me too. As Mamie I’m different. I have no worries about getting it right. I know I’m right or it just doesn’t matter.  While not in charge I am lucky enough to be involved. I’m the go to person, for pouring a glass of milk, interpreting craft instructions, or sneaking an extra snack. When the bag of zeppoles was consumed I sent them for a spoon to scoop up the leftover confectionary sugar. Yup, I did that. The grandchildren loved it. My daughters, not so much.

Like a lightning bolt, your heart will glow

My first grandchild is ten, double digits. She is approaching those ‘tween years which are dreaded by all the world. I refuse to become obsolete. I will do my best to continue to hold her close, to learn this new set of ropes. I want to be the extra boost that will help her shoot across the sky, leading her siblings and cousins, to do the same.

I have no doubts, she will lead the way of the magnificent seven. Get ready world for a fabulous display.

My magnificient seven.

Boom, boom, boom
Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon

With thanks to Katy Perry:   https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=z9JpfXKX2cg&list=RDAMVMz9JpfXKX2cg