What’s my favorite name these days? Nanny. Not the incredibly organized British `I-know-better-than- you-how-to-raise-your-children` nanny from reality TV, but the in-the-moment, crazy-about- you, messy, imperfect middle-aged, real-life grandmother. And through the eyes of her toddler grandsons, Copeland, 2, and Jack, 1.5, I’m re-learning an appreciation of life.
I come from a long line of nannies, each one passing down British traditions, many of which were learned in a tiny kitchen and contained names like `toad in the hole` and `bubble and squeak.` A simple British children’s breakfast favorite is `dippy eggs,`soft boiled eggs cracked open at the top, and `soldiers,` strips of toast perfectly sized for little hands to dip to their delight. It’s served, of course, with milky tea, the British staple, poured ceremoniously from a teapot into a saucer for cooling.
Sitting in that tiny kitchen with my nanny, not only did she instill cultural awareness, she created for me a sense of belonging and safety. My own parents were unable to raise my brothers and we were placed in care. It was up to Nanny to instill the values of family. I learned about patience. I learned about magic, but mostly I learned about love.
This gift has been passed down to me. When I’m in the presence of my grandsons, nothing else in the world exists. I, too, have learned to honor the passing of time. Priorities are set, and my boys and I live in the moment.
My youngest grandson Jack was born two months early, and the moment he made his tiny appearance changed the course of the journey I was on. I was acutely aware not only of his tiny fragility but of the emotional fragility of my daughter. I was needed. Needed in a way I had not been for many years. I knew that my roles of mother, grandmother and speech pathologist would be bound inextricably for the foreseeable future. I would be mentor, healer, teacher and historian.
One recent summer evening after bathing Jack, I sat with my daughter in a dimmed room, while Jack snuggled on her lap and together we sang songs that generations of British women had sung to their children. At times it was difficult to tell our voices apart. Our songs calmed, communicated and connected.
Passing down family traditions to my grandsons connects me to my nanny and connects my grandsons not only to tradition, but many other important lessons lost with the increasing demands of working families. In addition to cultural awareness, nanny time with the boys creates emotional connections and is always an opportunity for teachable moments, including language and vocabulary.
Sunday we all come together as a family and share old stories, traditions and create new one. The boys learn the meaning of family and cautiously navigate social relationships with security and curiosity, surrounded by this gift of loved ones.
It’s a time for me to honor my nanny as I now recreate that magic learned many years ago in a tiny kitchen.
