The Crown And The Manger

Lory and I have a few traditions. 

Christmas Cookies

Margarita Fridays

and Christmas Blogs.

 Some may be more God honoring than others 

but I believe God blesses them all. 

After all, he joined the two of us at the hip. 

Further proving God likes a good time.

But I digress.

It's time for our Christmas 

Blog? 

Extravaganza?

Ramblings?

We shall see. 

Generally Lory and I have but the 

faintest of an idea of what our over-riding 

connection will be for the year.

Then we sit back and see where 

God takes it any given day.

This year I am challenging us to try to tie the 

Advent story

to the Easter story.

I love Christmas and the hope and promise

of that tiny baby sent to save us.

But every year I also try to remember 

what cost that precious child

will pay for my salvation.

Let's see where God takes us this year.

Wii Are Quite the Pair

This is my eldest grandson, Bryce.  He can frequently be found in Mario World, fighting Bowser and ghosts and other creatures whose names I have banished.  If I could banish them on the screen, Bryce would be oh so much more impressed with Granma…

A few years ago, when he was just learning to navigate Mario’s world, Bryce would hand me the controller at particularly strategic times saying, “This is the hard part, Granma.  You have to help me.”  I did so love that he believed that I could!  But, alas, I have 9 thumbs and one pinkie.  How do you actually travel the maze of A, B, up, down, left and right while simultaneously watching a flickering screen in an attempt to save the lives of Mario and “Luwedgie”? 

“No, Granma, you aren’t listening!  You have to do it like this,” at which point the controller would exit my thumbs and pinkie.

He’s on to me now – he doesn’t ask for help anymore.  But he does ask if I want to watch him play with his video friends.  Any friend of Bryce’s is a friend of mine, and I watch – ad-nausium even!  But seriously, Mario and Luigi could use new, less mushroom-ish hats (green really does nothing for Luigi), and would someone please write new music to go cross-eyed by! 

I love you, Bryce!

Sharing

Last weekend we attended the wedding of a dear friend.  Jordan and my son, Court, were best friends from toddlerhood through high school before life pulled them in different directions.  It’s an odd thing to watch a once wide-eyed, rabbit-catching, big-idea-spouting little boy turn into a wide-eyed, wonder-filled, love-overflowing groom.  And who can blame him!  His chosen was (and is) radiant - absolutely a show stopper!  I know because I glanced her direction many times.  However, there was another angel in the room that had my more undivided attention:  Elijah. (Sorry, Kay!  I have Granma eyes!)

Not wanting to appear too anxious, I decided to wait until we were seated in the church to grab the baby.  I’m working on being a grown up, you know.  Who knew that a certain friend, who shall remain Wendy, would grab Elijah before I could even get into the pew!  This despite the evil eye I was giving her.  (She saw it – and laughed!)  It wasn’t until the service finally started that she handed the child over to his rightful Granma!  And only then because she didn’t want to be responsible if he started crying in the middle of the service.  Humph.

Fast forward to the reception, where once again, I had to pry my baby-blue from the hands of said Wendy!  I seriously think she should respect her elders – and I am that, chronologically – and proud of it!  Through our joint efforts, though, Court and Christine got a kind of date night (mostly) without children, albeit with parents.  Holding hands, dinner, dancing, Champaign and no bill at the end!  And I learned to share – about as willingly as a toddler, maybe.  But I did it!

Oh, and Wendy, guess who came to dinner last night?  I didn’t have to share him with anyone…

Let's be Frank

My fifth grandson was born recently.  So when Mama went into labor in the late afternoon, I picked up Aidan (3 years) and Josiah (16 months) to stay overnight.  The next day we were driving to the hospital so we could all meet the new baby.  On the way, Aidan asked, “Granma, what’s the baby’s name?”  To which I confidently replied, “Elijah David.” 

“No, Granma, what’s the baby’s name?”  he demanded.

Thinking maybe the David part threw him off, I replied, “Elijah.”

“No, Granma, what’s the baby’s name?”  Persistent little sweetheart.

“Eli?” I said doubtfully, wondering where the conversation was going.

“No, Granma, what’s the baby’s name?”  Apparently I’m failing at granmahood 101.

“I don’t know, Aidan.  What’s the baby’s name?”

To which he replied with a definitive nod, “Frank.”  That settled that.  I know better than to argue with a 3 year old.

When we got to the hospital and after I had my share of infant kissing, I asked Court and Christine why Aidan thinks his brother’s name is Frank.  This lead to much laughter on their part. You see, they never share the baby’s name prior to birth, but Aidan is such a sponge that they were afraid he might have picked it up and would share it if pried by curious grandparents – a valid concern. 

So they convinced Aidan that the baby’s name was Frank.  Middle name:  Furter. J

Happy Birthday to ME!!!

Today is my birthday!  My mother might disagree, and I'll give her that.  She was, of course, there when I was born.  But then, so was I!  Her memory might be a bit more clear than mine.  Being so new, the whole experience was rather overwhelming to me.  I cried.  Perhaps Mom cried, too.  I never asked.  I am her third child but first daughter.  Maybe she was overwhelmed by the prospect of pink, as I might be - someday.  I digress.

At any rate, she claims that my birthday is not for another two days.  My birth certificate backs her up.  Regardless, today is my ninth birthday, another fact that is inaccurately cataloged on said certificate.  Today is the anniversary of my birth as GRANMA!  (Spell check thinks I don't know how to spell my own name.  It's phonetic.  The "D" isn't silent, it just isn't there.)  I remember this birthday much more accurately - indelibly, even!

Nine years ago today, Bryce Harris made his way into the world and into my heart.  He cried.  So did I.  Gazing on those tiny fingers and toes, kissing his peach-fuzzy head, wondering how such a tiny body could hold such tiny lungs that could filled a whole room...  He was beautiful - perfect - 100% boy - 100% love of my life - my grandboy! (Here, the "D" is not silent.  Spell check still tells me I can't spell.  I already knew that.)  

You will probably find it no surprise that he is still beautiful and as perfect as 100% boy can manage and the love of my life.  As that little-boy-blue-bundle grew, so did I.  Naturally, I already knew my way around a baby, but I had to share this baby.  My opinion wasn't gospel, and sometimes not even welcome.  Sigh.  He cut teeth, and I cut my teeth on him, too.  Metaphorically speaking, of course; Granma's don't bite.  

Once I got used to that slight, umm, slight, I rather like this new life!  Love 'em up and send 'em home. The best of the best!  I get to buy things that have zero practicality just because they are cute or potentially fun and hopefully not too dangerous in the hands of 100% boy.  I get to visit the zoo and the pumpkin patch and school sings again.  They are all more fun this second time around.  I get to swing at the park and climb up the rocket that houses a slide that little ones managed on the up side but fear descent when it's time to return to earth.  Alas, that hasn't changed.  This particular rocket in question is not adult friendly - less so now than it was a quarter of a century ago.  The amazing part is that the rocket is still there, capturing childhood imagination and unsuspecting or overindulgent adults.  I was unsuspecting with my sons and overindulgent with the grandboys.  My nemesis - maybe the worst part of Granma-hood, which should tell you why I insist on celebrating such a special birthday today!

Happy birthday to me!  And happy birthday to Bryce!  I love sharing a birthday with you!