Getting Old

My Grandmother (maternal type, not that she's particularly maternal, she's just not a paternal grandmother) is getting old.  She's in her mid 80s and had outlived her husband, which is astonishing, as he was always the "I can do anything sort" and she was always the "I tripped, so now I need to take to bed sort."

Grandma is also pretty oblivious to the likes and dislikes of those around her.  I'd like to say this is due to age, but the truth is that that has always been the case. 

Grandma visited us in the early summer, right in the middle of us preparing to move.  Let's just say that we did not instigate this visit.  This is how we were living when she came:

We didn't have a kitchen table, a couch, or, really, any furniture beyond beds and camp chairs.  Grandma is used to a certain amount of comfort and I was really concerned about this visit.  She did hold up surprisingly well to the conditions, but it was still a rough visit. 

She came to see this, though, which I guess I can understand, as she's pretty cute:

It was Davan's spring recital weekend.  She had two she was in.  In one, she was a girl in a sun dress.  In the other, she was a jester.  Well, she was also in a white ballet outfit, but she was much happier as the jester, which was also a solo part, so that was the bigger deal.

Of course, Davan usually dresses more like this:

(These were the horse chestnuts, which we didn't eat, but, at this point, thought they were the eatable chestnuts.  Sigh.)  Any-who, she's a yoga pants, cotton shirt sort of person.  In fact, while she did wear the occasional pair of capri leggins over the summer, she's rarely found not in yoga pants and a cotton shirt.  Everyday.

So, the point of all this is that Grandma was here just a few months ago and that Davan wears yoga pants constantly and is in no way shape or form anywhere near a girly-girl at this point in her life.  

Wait!  One more thing to point out.  Grandma knows that we are difficult to buy gifts for.  You see, she gave Davan a pair of purple flip flops when she visited and was distraught that Davan never wore them (never mind that the weather was in the 60s tops - we had a very late summer).  She made such a fuss about it that I finally said that Davan wouldn't be wearing them as she can't really stand things between her toes or shoes that flop around on her.  Grandma didn't like that a bit.  

Couple that with the fact that about a year prior, we returned matching nightgowns she'd purchased for Davan and I (they were $100 and we were never going to wear them - I couldn't stand the waste!), and Grandma finally got the point that we were hard to buy for.  In fact, she complained about that while she was here.  My mom, who was also visiting, said, "Yes, I know.  I only buy them stuff I've specifically seen them long for or get them gift certificates."  She, though, was cool about it, not pissy.

So, where am I going with all this?  Well, here's what came in the mail today from Grandma:

It's for Davan.  Not only is it shockingly not her style (jester aside), it's also a size 11/12.  Davan is a size 2 or so.  Grandma did, considerately, enclose a $10 check for alterations if necessary.

I'm a little dumbfounded.  I still think I'm going to make Davan put it on, though.  Stay tuned to see if I can force her into a picture.  Then, I believe, we'll send it to her friend Emma's house to live in there costume box.