Being Jewish, the only Godmother I ever actually knew was obsessed with pumpkins, mice, the stroke of midnight, and pranced around singing Bippity Boppety Boo.
I saw many of my non-Jewish friends give careful consideration to selecting godparents when their babies were born and breathed a sigh of relief that our traditions didn’t include that ritual.
Fast forward to a time when we grasped our own mortality, hiring an attorney to draw up our living trust. Interesting that it’s called a LIVING trust and yet they force you to think about DYING.
As I mentally wrote our obituaries I had no idea who to list as legal guardians.
My husband thought we should choose his mother. And by “mother” I mean “the woman who took a razor to our newborn baby’s head so her hair would grow in thicker and then sought a wet nurse because she was convinced I couldn’t breastfeed properly.”
Me: We’re putting your mother in charge of our kids over my dead body.
Husband: Yes, isn’t that the point?
That got me nowhere. And now my own mother (upon hearing the possibility that my mother-in-law was in the running) stormed into a fit of jealously just thinking about having to make an appointment to see her own grandchildren with someone who went out of her way to wear an all-white mother-of-the-groom dress at my wedding. “Who does she think she is? Snow White?”
Clearly neither grandmother was a good choice.
We moved on to siblings. My husband and I both wrote down the qualifications we thought made our sisters outstanding candidates. Each list had the exact same number of positive attributes, which got us nowhere. At my suggestion, we next jotted down both ladies’ faults so we could pick the lesser of the two evils. (Hi Sis….I love you!)
My Sister
- Still eats Capt. Crunch cereal.
- Wears nylons.
- Wears open-toe heels with those nylons.
- Saw Star Wars 27 times.
His Sister
- Shaves her head.
- Became a wet nurse.
- Wears white to compete with brides at their wedding.
Hmmmm, understand our dilemma? Also understand his genetics?
Seeing as there wasn’t any other relatives waving their arms madly while shouting, “pick me, pick me!” we began to weed through our friends. It soon became apparent we were going to need to offer really good “incentives.” That’s a nice way of saying our kids were so bratty, it required bribing mere acquaintances to accept this profound responsibility. Even my beautician asked if we’d throw in a lifetime supply of latex gloves along with inheriting our 5-bedroom home? Apparently henna stains are unsightly. I consoled myself thinking my daughter would have perfectly manicured nails for her Bat Mitzvah.
What was happening? This was crazy thinking! What were the odds that something bad would happen to both of us at the same time? We could always board separate airplanes. He hates to fly with me anyhow because I leave deep fingernail grooves (the non-manicured kind!) in his arms during any turbulence.
It was settled. We wouldn’t choose legal guardians because the plan was to live forever. As an extra measure of security however, I have an idea. I’ll buy our daughter a red curly wig and teach her to belt out, “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow!”
Surely Daddy Warbucks doesn’t wear nylons with sandals, isn’t a wet-nurse and won’t need a pay-off.
How did you choose guardians in case something happens to you??
This post originally appeared on Once Upon Your Prime.
Stephanie D. Lewis is a humour writer whose work has also been featured on Scary Mommy, In The Powder Room, BlogHer and XO Jane. She is a regular contributor to The Huffington Post and you can follow her on Twitter @MissMenopause. A single mother of six, Stephanie will pass on a full-time nanny but she’ll definitely take a live-in psychiatrist.