What's in a name?

Some moments in life are SO theatrical.  Consider this exchange.

MOTHER: So what's this kid going to call me? [pause] I'd like him to call me Elizabeth.

SON: [shouts] NO WAY!

MOTHER: [put off] Why not? That's my name? What's he supposed to call me?

SON: [coy and soft] Grandma!

MOTHER: [hot under collar] NO WAY!

You get my drift.

Tunde and I had a discussion along these lines a while back and it made me think: Why shouldn't Jalen call me Grandma? Why did I react so negatively to the idea? And then,  I remembered.  Before I was married, I used to take my own mother everywhere - even to my local jazz club – and I used to introduce her as 'my mother'. One day a woman barked at me,  'doesn't she have a name?'  I was really taken aback.  Of course she had a name, but she was my mother and I wanted everyone to know that.  I loved my mother. But she was right and after that I always introduced Mom as: 'this is my mother .... and added her name'.

I guess the reason Tunde wants his son to call me 'grandma' comes from the same deep love.  He was nine years old when Mom died. They adored each other and I am not sure he has ever gotten over losing her.  So, it's natural that he wants Jalen and I to have a similar relationship. Which is great, but I don't feel like 'A GRANDMA'.

And this begs the question then: what's in a name? Why do I call myself AdunniMama in this blog, anyway?

Adunni means 'the one we like' in the Yoruba culture of Western Nigeria, where Tunde's father came from.  At least, that's what I was told when my mother-in-law gave me the name. I've never met the lady, but I've always felt a bond with her through this name. She has many grandsons, but she's never seen this one, so I think it's fitting for me to use this particular name as I enter the new stage of being a grandparent: her world, as it were.

In the old days names were very important and most cultures have developed special ceremonies to name their offspring.

I was named after my father's first wife, who died when my brother was born. I've always been very conscious of her presence in my life and I am sure that's because of the name. Why haven't I changed it?  I actually have, when I officially anglicized it from the Hungarian Erzsébet, to Elizabeth, which is the English equivalent.  I didn't change the name because of its meaning, but because I was fed up with people pronouncing it badly. So, I did not change my parent's intention in this regard. I think it was a question of respect.

According to the baby dictionaries Jalen is a new name with no special meaning. At first I found that very strange.  But now that Jalen is developing his personality, it seems to fit perfectly. How can that be?  I turned to the internet again and, while there are lots of suggestions as to what it was contracted from, the one I like best is that it's probably a variant of Galen, meaning serene or calm. Well, that explains it! On Skype that kid looks like his father was - serene and calm for a baby. Jalen - a perfect name for this tyke. Galen was also a famous Greek, who is regarded as the father of experimental medicine. No wonder I prefer that derivation.

'Grandma' - how does it feel?

I've never had grandparents.  One set died of old age before I was born and the others were murdered by the Hungarian Arrow Cross when I was six months old.  Many of my childhood friends, including my cousins, missed parents or grandparents because of WWII.

Tunde, on the other hand, had a close, loving and very special relationship with my mother, who died suddenly when he was 9 years old. I don't think he ever got over it and he wants to recreate his experience for his son.  The trouble is, I don't have any idea of what he expects of me.

So, I am in a unique situation. I can invent my role as grandmother from scratch. Now, that's an awesome task.  Many of my friends and relatives have become devoted grandparents.  Some are regular babysitters, providing effective free daycare, others are less hands on. Very few are long-distance grannies like me. It will be interesting to to see how this relationship can work. Maybe someone out there has a similar experience with some advice?

New Beginnings

The world didn't end on the 21st of May after all. Phew! What a relief!  I set up this blog the day before that auspicious day, but then thought why bother: nobody would be around to read my pearls of wisdom about the End of Days! So, I spent the day with my family: my son Tunde, his wife Zabrina and their new baby, Jalen.  The other two kids, Nikeya (pron: ni-kee-ya Mom! says Tunde for the umpteenth time), who is graduating from high school next month, and 12 year old Jerrell, were doing their own thing, unconcerned that they were about to miss my last hug, had it all gone according to predictions.

Well, it didn't and here we are, a day later, and the world is as it was the day before. Or that's what I thought, but I just read in the Christian Science Monitor that I shouldn't get too complacent. 41 per cent of Americans still believe the world will end soon – maybe as soon as 2050.  No worries, as the Australians say, my 67th birthday is coming up soon, so I would be judged by then anyway.

Back to today – a new beginning – for the world and for me.

For me the new beginning actually started three weeks ago with the birth of my first biological grandson, Jalen Alexander. Yes, of course, he is healthy and gorgeous and a miracle. Have you ever seen an ugly, nasty baby?  Neither have I. Nasty people are bred, not born.

It's a beautiful, sunny day in southern Florida. Sunday. Hardly a cloud in the sky. I am sitting on the back porch, watching the slowly lapping waters of one of the myriads of canals dotting southern Florida. I've been sitting here for hours. A couple of middle aged men passed slowly on their very masculine jet skis - one with a dog in a yellow harness in the back seat. Three teenagers zoomed passed in a noisy motorized canoe, but returned much more quietly.  I guess they spent their energies rushing upstream.

A bucolic day. A day for relaxation and dreaming.

When I was a teenager, I would dream about the future. What would it be like? Would I get married, would I have kids?  When I had Tunde, I wondered what HE would be like and whether I would be a good mother and wife?

To my surprise the question today is of the same ilk: what will Jalen be like and would I be a good grandmother?  What does it mean to be a grandmother? Let alone a good one?  Do I stop being me - an independent single woman living in Australia, engaged in the World, or am I supposed to move my butt over to Florida to be near Jalen and do whatever grandmothers are expected to do?

Don't get me wrong.  Nobody is expecting me to do anything - openly.  But the question hangs with me and Tunde, my friends and me and, between me and me. 'What will you do now?'

What am I supposed to do?!

I am a city girl.  I was born in Budapest, Hungary, grew up in London, UK, lived in Washington DC, USA and now live in the heart of Sydney, Australia, a 20minute bus ride from its iconic Opera House. I don't do suburbia well – even with a car – never did.

So, the purpose of this blog is to discover what being a grandparent is all about. It's a new adventure for me, and I would like to share it with you.