I am GDAWG

Memory:
I am not cool. I am rolly-polly and I have freckled saddlebags for cheeks. I am only two months away from my 62nd birthday. Yet I am the GDAWG.

A few years ago my oldest grandson, Matt, and youngest grandson, Jake, were forced to share a room together due to lack of space in their home, and Matt hated it. My real husband and I would use this situation as an excuse to lure him to our house for Friday night sleep-overs. Those were some of the happiest nights of my life.

He would bring his XBox-360 over with him and we'd have Pepsi and popped corn, while he wiped my face in the dirt beating me in every video game. I am not a "gamer" by nature. I am a cook, but what wouldn't I do to be with my grandson? Who really cared anyway that I could never make my guy turn around in the cave, or that I got shot before I could even pick up my sonic spear? It made my gorgeous Matthew laugh and I loved it.

One game in particular was my favorite to lose. It was a street racer game, in which each player got to design his own car. The more races you won, the more you could add to it. Matt had his tricked out Honda with flames and skulls and whatever on it. I chose a tasteful little Miata, that would never have the threat of wearing skulls hanging over its English Racing Green hood, because I could never win to earn them. Eventually, the game said I had to have a street name.

My name is Grammy actually. It suits me. But in the game there was all this cool rap music in the background. Pink haired girls were cheering as the racers took off, and tattooed men waved their fists as the cars flew into hyper-space on something Matt kept calling noss. I just couldn't be Grammy around all this pink hair, tattoos and noss. I had to become something more; much more. That was the birth of the GDAWG, and so it shall always be.

After Matt would have his fill of annihilating me, his grandfather and I would watch a movie with him. It was usually some "Lord of the Rings" type production, but oh what bliss. And then I'd poop out, and his Papa would stay up with him to watch "Trick my Truck" or something like that. The next morning we'd go out and do whatever we had to do, and leave our grandson in his bed to waste the rest of the morning sleeping. When I'd get back, it was time for me to make breakfast for Matthew.

It wasn't always easy to make the breakfast he would have wanted. We had issues in our home. My real husband is a vegetarian. No food can be processed. No one can have soft drinks in the house, and especially not in the morning. We only have wholesome, whole wheat or multi-grained bread. My grandson only likes pasty, white WonderBread. He loves Pepsi in the morning and is a carnivore. So Michael and I would hash it out before we got back to the house about how I always spoil Matt; how someone has to give Matt an example of how to eat right, and the food Matt likes might taste good, but it's not good for you. Yada, yada, yada.

I would soothe my health conscious husband and encourage him to mow the lawn, as I pulled the rashers of bacon out of the refrigerator and tucked the pasty white bread under my shirt to make as many egg and bacon sandwiches on his disgusting white toast as I could put in front of my baby with a glass of Pepsi to wash it down. I was no longer just Grammy. I was GDAWG; hear me roar, and this was my time with my grandson. I knew there would be only so many Friday nights left. The time would come (and it did) when Matt would have his own room, his own car and his own life, so I had to make bacon while the sun shined. I miss those nights so much, but, hey, there's always the next grandson.


Recipe:
Matt's Egg Sandwich

• Fry bacon, lots of bacon in a large skillet

• Fry up one egg per sandwich and break the yoke just before turning the egg over in the pan. Don't bother with the salt and pepper. Your grandson will load it down with those anyway.
  

• Toast the mushiest, most deadly white bread you can buy, and then butter the toast with way too much butter. Matt really prefers margarine, but there's only so far I will even go.

• Layer the toast with the egg and the bacon. Slice in half. Pour the Pepsi.
  

Thought:
I happen to agree with my real husband about food, but I don't regret gutsying up and being GDAWG for my babies whenever they give me the chance.