On a Saturday morning, a few weeks ago, I happened to go on Facebook, doing what it is we do, when I noticed two people in the sidebar also visiting. One of the names popping up in the little window belonged to my stepdaughter-in-law, so I immediately sent her an instant message.
“Good morning, how you doing?”
“Hi, Grandma Ronnie, I’m good,” she responded.
Now, I never gave a second thought to the grandma response, because my daughter-in-law occasionally addresses us the same as the children; example, my husband called my mother “Nana,” like our daughter. Everyone addressed his mother as “Ma,” so I did also.
“What you doing?” I asked.
“My mom let me play a game on her Facebook account while she is in the shower.”
“Oh, your mother is there?”
“Yes, she’s in the shower. My mom is always here,” she typed.
“Is your dad there as well?”
“No, Daddy is at work.”
“At work? In Ohio?” I queried.
“Yes, Grandma Ronnie, that’s were we live.”
“Did your mother drive over alone?” I asked.
“No, she’s been here all along,” she responded.
“But, your parents live in Pennsylvania.”
“No they don’t, they live here.”
“When did they move there?” I asked, surprise blanketing my face.
“What are you talking about, they are always here.”
“Okay, Alison, you are making me crazy. What are your parents doing there working? When did they come?”
“It’s Sarah, Grandma Ronnie.”
I explained the entire conversation to my husband; he and I laughed so hard for a week. I guess the morning cloud refused to lift, at least enough so that I could understand my ten-year old granddaughter typed and answered me like an adult. I don’t know if its old age, a brain on overload or a warning sign that I may be slipping off the edge. Either way, if you want to converse with me in the morning, make certain I know who you are.
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