It was the day of the Grandma War. We (me, my daughter, and her three kids) are in Grand Junction, Colorado for a few days and I am living the grandma dream. Well not exactly.  Let’s face it, driving along with three small children in the car is not everyone’s idea of fun.

My daughter’s children are a handful and particularly Ella,* the oldest, who is in personality a combination of Scarlett O’Hara and Nellie Bly. She wants her way. All the time.

(* Ella is a pseudonym.)

I avoid being thought of as grandma as much as possible.  I have a special name, MeiMei, which avoids being classed Grandma. My daughter says Ella made it up … Mama and MeiMei … but I think my daughter solidified the name.

She knew I didn’t like being a grandma. “I’m not actually really old enough to be a grandma,” I told Ella one day. She looked on quizzically. You can’t quite explain to a four-year-old that you were only 23 when her mother was born and for college educated women that’s a good ten years, or maybe 15 years, younger than usual.

So now, when Ella grows irritated with me she calls me Grandma. Loudly. Over and over.

I have to admit I have felt the absence of male leadership about twenty times during this trip. The dad, whether he’s efficient and considerate, or lazy and indolent, he does tend to have a strong de-escalating effect on minor children. But my son in law, unenthusiastic about car trips, perhaps with reason, elected not to come. 

“Sit down and be quiet or I’ll … “ just doesn’t have the same force when your mom says it. Or your grandma.

But on the other hand the temper tantrums my husband would throw on our vacations dwarfed anything a kid could dish out. Not that Ella didn’t try on this trip.

We were at Colorado National Monument when Ella and I had our showdown. And it didn’t involve the “g-word.” It was about self-will. Even thought she is four and a half, Ella wanted to ride in the child carrier, while her brother who is two wanted to walk.

I viewed this development with a weather eye, but my daughter (who is, compared to me, a softie) decided that she would allow it.

Still, a quarter mile from the end of the hike, we stopped to rest and my daughter said “no more” to carrying Ella. We were sitting on a bench under a pine tree, my daughter was feeding the baby, and Ella didn’t like the idea of walking when we got done. She started to get into the child carrier.

“No, I’m not carrying you” my daughter told her. But Ella got in the pack and started yelling. “I don’t want to walk; I want to be carried!”  

The Grandma War Starts in Earnest

“Just go, I’ll deal with this,” I told the mom and she and the two-year-old took off. I had the baby in a front pack. I started to walk away too, as Ella sat in the carrier yelling various complaints. It was grandma quality time now. 

“I’m too tired to walk! I’m too tired!” she yelled. “I can’t walk! I can’t! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama!” The Nietzschean will to power was active. 

“Your mom has gone to the car now get out of that pack and walk.” I told her over my shoulder, continuing down the trail.

“Mama! Mama! Mama!” she screamed. Her mom looked back but I waved at her, telling her to keep going down the trail. And she left. I hid behind a tree. Ella realized that she was sitting in the child carrier all alone surrounded by red rock cliffs and pinon pines. “Mama! Mama! Mama” she yelled.

I waited.

“Mama I can’t walk, I can’t, I can’t!” Ella yelled into the silent cliffs and rocks.

I waited.

But she didn’t get out. Instead she extended her legs down beyond the carrier and began walking along while sit-standing in the carrier, dragging it along. “Mama! Mama!” she yelled.

I stepped out from behind the tree. “That’s enough,” I said. “Your mom is halfway back to the car … Get out of that thing and walk.”

She refused at first. She kept trying to walk down the trail while still in the carrier, looking like an organic version of R2D2. Finally, though, tired out from dragging the carrier, and perhaps seeing that asking me to carry her was ridiculous since I already had the baby, she frowned, sniffled, grumbled, and climbed back out of the pack and started walking. I picked the pack up and followed her.

We got back to the car. Her mom was filling water bottles. Ella ran up and grabbed her, looking back at me with rebellious eyes. You could read her look: MeiMei is *bad*. She’s *mean*.”

Would she ever realize that I love her and this is how you show love, by not letting capable people get away with sponging off of their family or relatives? Would she learn that a strong family is strong because they hold each other accountable?

I couldn’t be sure, but I had to hope. The truth is, I do have some evidence. Which is that her mother was pretty much the same. This is not, as they say, my first rodeo. And so, my daughter being the wonderful adult that she is, I believe in this method. But I have to wait another 15 or 20 years to find out if I am right.