_{photo by Rod Long on Unsplash}

“Grandmas are bumpy.” My second oldest granddaughter stated the obvious when she asked me about a bump on my arm. I wasn’t too concerned but decided to have it checked out by the dermatologist. My doctor agreed. After a forty-five-minute drive and an hour appointment, the bump was gone. “We will do a biopsy, just to make sure.”

            A week later, I received the results. Both were benign. One mole and—an age spot. WHAT? An age spot? The innocent declaration of my granddaughter echoed, “Grandmas are bumpy.”  My birthday and my doctor tell me I’m getting older.

            I grumbled to my husband about my twelve-year-old dermatologist telling me I had “age spots,” and my dear husband cheerily told me that he has them too. He sweetly reminded me with a smirk. “We’re both getting older and besides, aging is better than the alternative.” I agreed but I am certain that age spot sneered. “Happy Birthday Grandma!”

            I needed a reframe. I wanted credit for my age spots. I told my husband I would now refer to my spots as “stars on my age chart.” Now when my third oldest granddaughter inevitably asks, “What are those spots, Grandma?” I’m going to wink, give her a big hug and say, “Those are stars for all of my achievements over the years.”  

reposted from my previous blog 3/20/20