Chunky Dunking

This whole “being a grandmother to a teenager” is more fun than I had ever imagined, but then again, I loved it when my own kids were at Charlie’s age, too.

Charlie has always been reluctant to call me Grandma. I’m not sure why. He has said that I am too young to be a grandma. (Talk about knowing how to earn brownie points.) I was only 31 when he was born, and technically I am a “step,” but that doesn’t matter when love abounds.

But now, for whatever reason, he’s changed and he has started calling me Grandma Jen about half the time. Maybe it has something to do with all the other grandma types here at the RV park calling me his grandma. My inclination is to believe it is Grandpa’s doing, wanting Charlie to call me Granny.

I don’t know, but I do know that I love it. It is a special privilege to be his grandma, and as I said, I loved those early teen years with my own kids.

Besides, I have just enough insanity coursing through my veins to make me a big kid at heart, anyway.

At thirteen, Charlie’s appropriateness filter hasn’t fully developed, yet his curiosity is fully engaged, and so he will ask some of the oddest questions—and some of the most personal. I answer at my own discretion, and often with tongue in cheek.

Yesterday afternoon when we took the dogs for a walk, Charlie and I found a secluded—and deep—hole in Neskowin Creek, which runs through the park property.

I dared him to wade in, and then he dared me to do the same. I told him that if I were to get in, I would have to take my pants off, at least. His face turned red, and he threw up his hands, “You are not going to remove your pants, Grandma Jen!”

We both laughed, and of course I waded in fully clothed, stopping only when the water reached the bottom of my bra. I did not want to win any wet T-shirt contests on my way back to camp (not that this fluffy girl couldn’t pull it off still ☺).

We talked yesterday after our swim about my skinny-dipping past. Yes, I have a past. Then he asked if Grandpa was with me when I skinny dipped. No, it was long before I met Grandpa. “Oh, well, then were there boys there?”

“Okay, kiddo, you are getting a little personal.”

Then he burst into laughter, turned red, and rolled on the floor. Yes, the tiny, limited floor of the Raven. Poor dogs had to run for cover.

My only regret is that the only “proof” of my dip is a picture of my soggy feet, and me in desperate need of a pedicure.

So if anyone knows where I can get a pedicure out here on the North Oregon Coast, then hook a girl up. I would like to be a sexy young grandma, not just a grandma. There’s still a lot of fire, secrets, and smoldering desire under all this fluff. But maybe that is TMI. My filter isn’t fully developed, either. ☺☺☺