The grandma bag

I was selling books at an author fair last weekend when I noticed an older woman carrying a tote bag covered with children’s photos. It’s the grandma bag, built with plastic slots to display 4 x6 pics. There were babies and toddlers and pictures of what must be the woman’s grown children posing with the grandchildren. As a bag, it was pretty ugly, but it’s one of those symbols that so many mothers and grandmothers carry around, proof of a great accomplishment. Of course it may just be that she loves to look at the pictures. Nothing wrong with that. Just another little case of me feeling left out. The bag I carried that day had flowers on it.
You’ve seen the jewelry with gemstones or nametags for each child or grandchild. For lower budgets, one can buy tee shirts or license plate holders boasting of motherhood or grandmotherhood. Again, it’s a whole market where we childless women are left out. Sitting at the stoplight, breathing the exhaust of a Buick with a World’s Best Grandma bumper sticker, don’t you sometimes wonder what your bumper sticker would say? World’s best . . . dog owner? Flute player? Flag-pole climber?
We don’t need any of this stuff. It’s silly. It’s often tacky, but there’s that little twinge of oh, I’m not in the Mom Club. I’ll never get a bracelet with the names of my kids engraved on it. And deep inside, we kind of really want one.
Anybody else feel that way?

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