Kathy Rohloff:
Monya and a Little Boy with Large Brown Eyes

I have a new name. My name is Monya. I have been waiting expectantly for my name since the birth of my first grandson Karl who was born 2-plus years ago.

According to my daughter, we were to be Grandmama and Grandpapa. And Karl tried, he really did, but the G’s kept coming out garbled until one day he began to call me Monya, and so Monya is my name.

The interesting fact about the word monya is that it was one of my son Peter’s first words. The problem is that it was his word for an airplane. I think it’s a marvelous coincidence that they both use the word monya, but I’m a little fearful that I may be beginning to resemble a Boeing 727.

I have discovered someone that I did not know existed in Monya. Monya doesn’t mind changing dirty diapers, being thrown up on, singing London Bridge AGAIN, watching tractor videos, or reading the same dinosaur book over and over and over again.

Monya stalks through toy departments and shoe stores and clothing clearance sales looking for "just one more thing that Karl needs." And now it’s compounded because Dominic, grandson number two, arrived in April.

Monya is a push over for the word "Maybe?" It needs to be said by a little boy with large brown eyes and curly dark hair. It ends with a hopeful lilt and is accompanied by a brilliant smile.

"I don’t think that you can use the new trowel in the sandbox."

"Maybe?"

"But Monya bought you these plastic toys."

"Maybe?"

"Well, ok...this time."

"Monya is going to make chicken tonight, what would you like?"

"Pizza."

"Not tonight."

"Maybe?"

"Well, I could call Paacha (Grandpapa) at work and he could bring it home."

But there are times when Monya stays strong and determined. I had set up a small pool for Karl to wade in. It was in the mid 70s and the pool had just been filled from the hose. The water was very cold and Karl wanted to get in.

His mother decided that he could get in, all he had to do was remove his pants. He could splash around in his diaper and shirt.

He was in for a few seconds before he commanded, "Monya, water."

"Karl, it’s too cold. Monya’s not going to get in the water today."

He splashed water my way while he thought of a way to lure me in. After a few seconds, he beamed and suggested brightly, "Monya, pants off."

"Karl, I’m NOT taking my pants off to get in the water. I’m not getting in."

He put his hands on his hips and urged, "Monya, pants off."

Laughingly, I replied, "I’m not coming in and I’m certainly not taking my pants off in my front yard. Believe me, Bethel would never be the same."

The smile became brilliant and the lilt was extremely hopeful, "Maybe?"

But Monya DID NOT get in the pool.