I remember so well the day they brought the first Grandbaby home.  I was there, of course, but I felt terribly, terribly lost.  I didn't know what to do.

I delved into memories of my own grandmothers.  One, I barely knew.  She lived in a farmhouse in Missouri.  She had chickens and a garden, churned her own butter from milk from their own cows, and cooked big meals for the family and the farmhands.  And she was very, very old. I only visited her a few times in my whole life.  I could find nothing in those memories for me to imitate,  here in our 2004 suburban, nuclear family.

My other grandmother lived just a few miles from us when I was growing up.  She was the apron-wearing, fruit-canning, sewing-machine type of Grandma, and though I loved her dearly, memories of her gave me little to go on as I held my new grandson.  I don't even own an apron or a sewing machine.

My own mother, bless her, passed away at an early age, and though I think I might have been more like her, her interaction with any grandchildren was very limited and restricted due to her illness.

That left me only my Spanish mother-in-law.  She was a wonderful Grandmother to my children and to all the cousins.  What would she do when a new baby came to the house?  Cook up a storm, of course!  That seemed to be a common denominator for all the Grandmas I knew.  I looked around the kitchen.  I had not cooked a meal for about five years now.  This was not going to work.

That was when my eyes fell upon a pile of clothes waiting to be folded and put away!  A sense of relief rushed over me.  I could fold the clothes!!  That would be helpful.  And that's what I did.  I became Chief Clothesfolder.  I still felt uneasy, felt lost and more than a little guilty, because I didn't know how to be a Grandma. I had no idea what role I could play in the life of the new Grandbaby or of my adult children as new parents.  But at least I could fold the clothes!