Wibbley Wobbley Timey Whimey Stuff

     Once upon a time, when my mother turned 50, she looked up from her birthday dinner and exclaimed, "I just cannot believe that I have grandchildren in school."  Her mother, my Nana Joyce, shot back, "I look in the mirror and I see a two-seater, red convertible.  I look out the window and I'm waiting for the senior van.  I have GREAT-grandchildren in school."

     Until that moment, I had never seen Nana as anything but a grandmother.  To my eye, she was always, well, OLD.  It tickled me to think that she could imagine any other version of herself.  And then this happened:

     This past weekend, three generations of my extended family gathered to celebrate the college graduations of Thing 1 (her BS), my Mama's god daughter (her MSW), and my uncle (his AA--the associates degree, not the 12-step group).  It was everything you could ask for in such a gathering--plenty of incredible food, coolers full of cold drinks, games to play, perfect weather for being on the boat and splashing about in the lake, and so many things to laugh about.

     Late Saturday afternoon, I'm sitting on the front porch next to one of my dearest friends (she was matron of honor in my wedding to my Personal Chef twenty-four years ago).  We are chattering away and just enjoying the day.  I looked up to see our daughters chattering away and just enjoying the day.  And for a second there, I couldn't tell us apart.  I mean aren't we still the 22-year-olds having a blast at the lake? How can we be, if those two beautiful, smart young women are our daughters?

     In that instant, I understood what Nana meant.