Premature Grandmotherhood

14 Jan


 Image via my Instagram

I need your honest opinion, do I or do I not have the personality of a grandmother?

You can go ahead and give me the verdict based on your experiences with your own grandmother, if that’s easiest.  I mean, she’s probably the one you know best.  If you have a best friend’s grandmother you’re really close with she could work as evidence, too.  All grandmothers are welcome in this discussion of my PREMATURE GRANDMOTHERHOOD.

It’s a thing, but first, let’s back up.

I’ve always known that if/when I am a grandmother I would like to be called Mimi.  I’m not sure where this desire comes from (Mariah Carey), it feels like it’s always been my destiny to be Mimi (Mariah Carey) and I can’t escape it (Mariah Carey).

Grandma Mimi.  J. Lo for short.

You’re feeling it, right?

Wait, what was that?  Could Mimi be based on Mariah Carey’s nickname?

Now that you mention it…

IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE: I recently tried to get my nephew to call me Aunt Mimi.  This did not work for several reasons, and not just because he is quite a distance away from speaking.  When I announced I would like to be Aunt Mimi everyone said, “No Jill!” and “That’s not how it works!”

I retorted, “Yes, well Mother changed her name to Nana as soon as she had a grandchild, why can’t I change mine to Mimi?”

It’s like people can’t see logic.


Hilary has a Grandma Mimi, and when she told me I was absolutely delighted.  I instantly felt a kindred soul connection that only women who choose to name themselves Mimi can share, and asked to know everything about this fine woman.

It turns out Mimi has a love story that rivals Jacob and Rachel (there are parallels, this is not me going religious on you), she knits, she has a huge shoe closet, she watches soap operas and has avocado appliances, and, oh yeah, SHE OWNS ALL THE GONE WITH THE WIND BARBIES.

When I told Rob that I was Hilary’s grandma, he seemed unconvinced until I told him about the Barbies and then he said, “Whoa, Jill.  That really narrows it down to a select few in the world.  You probably are the same person.”

I don’t know why people keep doubting me.

All right, so Mimi is evidence #1 that I am already a grandmother.

Evidence #2 comes in the form of my father’s Grandma Ileen.  This little woman drove to McDonald’s every day and the workers knew her by name and had her order ready and waiting. Like, “Hi Ileen, here is your burger. Good to see you today, by the way.”


That’s like verbatim my interaction with the Malibu McDonald’s workers.

Oh, and as I made juice the other night and offered it to my father, he said, “No thank you, that just reminds me of my grandma.”  Apparently Ileen was a carrot juicer as well.

I would rest my case, but there’s more.

Evidence #3 (as if we needed it): muumuus.

I mean, conversation over, right?

The whole grandma thing came together this week at Rob’s birthday dinner.  We were talking about Rob’s family and I mentioned how much I love his grandma.  She’s a character, that Miss Angela. She runs a book club in New York, she loves a good piece of gossip, and when we were roommates back in the good ole Cape Cod days we got on famously.

Famously like on that trip I brought a book to the party hosted by my peers, but I spent large amounts of time talking about life with Angela.

That kind of famously.

As I recalled this all at dinner and reflected on my Mimi self, Rob said, “So is that it then?  You’re just a grandma already?”

I thought about it for a second and then said, “Yes.  Yes, I am.”

Premature grandmotherhood.

It’s a thing.

Hopefully premature Mimihood is next.

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    […] “No Mimi!” they’ll moan. ”Not this story again!” […]

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