Ticket to Ride

Start 'em early!

I would like to say that I have been riding a bike as long as I can remember.  That wouldn't be quite accurate.  All these years later, I still remember learning how to ride a bike - and the skinned-up body parts that come from the lesson.  I remember the Schwinn bike, given a fresh coat of baby blue spray paint to spruce it up.  I think it weighed more than I did!  I stood when I road, my legs not long enough to reach the pedals from a seated position.  The feeling of freedom was amazing in the rural town I called home.  I could go as far as my legs would take me - as long as I answered the dinner bell when my mom rang it from the front porch to call me home.

I spent a couple of near bike-less decades in my 20's and 30's.  That is, I didn't do much riding, though I did teach 3 little boys to ride.  Of course, that alone didn't take that may years, but the mothering part was pretty all-consuming.  It wasn't until they went their ways that I picking up a bike again.  And my picked up, I mean, the new bike was light enough to actually consider lifting.  What a change!  For the past decade or more, I have been doing a lot of biking.  And some of my favorite memories include grandboys - of course!  And because Bryce had me all to himself the first five years of his life, many of those memories include Bryce.

My favorite bobble head!

We had a little red bike that Bryce used to ride - one of those first bikes with training wheels, the pedals connected directly to the front wheel, and no brakes.  Given his size and ability, this should not have been a problem - until he discovered that our driveway sloped toward the garage.  He would take the bike to the edge of the driveway and zoom down, threading his way between our two parked cars and coasting to a stop just before the front wall of the garage.  This is a move he executed perfectly EVERY time.  Even with considerable "boy" experience, it made me nervous.

Then there was the time I took him for a ride in the Bugger connected to my bike.  As we went up a hill (a small one, even by Illinois standards), Bryce encouraged from behind, "Go faster, Granma!"  One of us was not amused, the other was disappointed...

Ready to ride?

I am spending this week riding my bike amongst the corn fields of Iowa on RAGBRAI (Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa) along with my brother Bruce, son Corey, and 14,000 of our closest friends.  And by "closest" I mean the roads will be jammed with bicycles!  A little over 400 miles in the course of a week, we will traverse the state from west to east.  On the same trip last year, we rode alongside a grandfather and his granddaughter on a tandem bike.  It was their first RAGBRAI experience as a team.

It got me wondering - Bryce, do you think we could we make the trip?  Hmmm - maybe.  I think I'll put him up front and tell him to go faster.  I think he owes me that much!

Greetings from the tall corn in the great state of Iowa!

Fat Mr. Raindrop

We all get our "start" somewhere.  And from such humble beginnings, something just might grow.  It might just be the growth that will set the world on fire!  That's what we expected of ourselves when we were children.  Or it might be a smaller blaze, lighting just a our corner of the world.  I'm not sure yet where my fire will lead, but I know where it started - with my Great Aunt Essie.  Let me introduce you.

Aunt Essie was my grandfather's older sister - older by 8 or 10 years, as I recall.  She told me about her memory of my Grandpa's birth once in a letter - but I'm getting ahead of myself.  This is a picture of her was taken almost half a century ago. YIKES!  How can that be true?  But that is my baby sister sitting next to her, and she is no longer a baby!  This picture actually says very little about my aunt, except that chronologically, her age exceeded mine by LOTS.  But, you see, she was always young to me.

I don't know when or how or why, but we became pen pals  - somewhere about the time I learned to hold a pen.  She would faithfully reply to the letters I sent her - or was it the other way around?  Maybe I responded to the letters she sent?  Whichever the direction, I just remember going to the mailbox hoping for a letter addressed to ME.  And on a regular basis, when it arrived, it had Aunt Essie's address in the upper left corner.  She always understood what it meant to be a little girl wanting to be a big girl.  She never talked down to me or corrected me, or if she did, it was so gently that it just felt like love.  And I loved her, and my heart still holds her memory with the tenderness and tenacity of a mama's bear cub.

I sent her a story once.  Maybe it was the first one I ever wrote.  Certainly it was the first I felt confident enough in to share with this woman who loved me - and who showed it with postage stamps (SWAK - remember that?)!  My first literary classic was called Fat Mr. Raindrop.  Now, I know I have you on the edge of your seats wondering just what made Mr. Raindrop such a captivating figure.  I hate to disappoint you, but I have absolutely no memory of the plot (if, indeed, there was one).  What I remember was Aunt Essie's accolades.  They spurred me on!  And if the book I'm now writing (Soggy Red Confetti) ever gets a cover (fingers crossed for this fall), a big part of the credit will go to my first fan, Great Aunt Essie.

Has anyone else noticed that I haven't mentioned grandloves yet?  That's about to change.

About a month ago, Aidan came running up to me telling me he wrote something for me.  He was so excited!  And my heart was skipping merrily along with him, too!  His story said, "From Aidan.  We are having a party.  I love you, Grandma."  (He misspelled my name, but I will love and forgive a 5 year old for that.)  So this Granma wrote him back - and he drew a picture for me - and I wrote him back - and - well, you probably have a good idea of the way things are progressing.

I hope that Aidan (and his brothers) learns to love the anticipation of the mailman like I did.  I hope he trudges back from the mailbox when it is more barren than he wished.  And I hope he floats back when he finds a card that bears his name.  I hope he tells me stories - words written in just such a way to bring light and love to literature.  And maybe, just maybe, someday, he will tell me his story of an overweight drop of water - or some other protagonist of grandlove renown.

And in that moment, I will thank my Great Aunt Essie. Her faith was well placed and well nurtured and so much more appreciated than I ever knew how to say - until now.  Much love, sweet lady, and much appreciation.  I love you, still.

Hey, Do You Wanna?

Together again!  In living color!

There are lots of things to love about a bestie - and I love my bestie LOTS!  Merry and I have been joined at the hips for almost two decades now - Yikes!!!  That sounds like a lot longer than it feels!  At any rate, one of the things I love the best is when either one of us starts a sentence with "hey, do you wanna..."  The proper response, and it never varies, is "YES!"  And off we go on some kind of adventure.

So a couple of months ago, I started the conversation with "hey, do you wanna go on a color run?"  And rather than the traditional response, she said, "hey, do you wanna bring Bryce and Ava?"  Oh, yeah!  This would, of course, mean Bryce, eldest of these Grandboy Tales, and Ava, Merry's grandgirlie-ish.  Ava's actual relational status is complicated, so we will leave it at that.

Feelin' Smurf-ish

You may remember that the four of us went to Disney World last summer.  The two events, in case you were wondering, have their similarities - scant as they are.  Both are in technicolor, much walking was involved, there were many people and a considerable amount of fairy dust floated through the air.  In other words, a color run is no match for Disney, but it is a different kind of fun.

Fairy Dust in the Air

After stopping for donuts at six o'clock in the morning. we headed down to the "run".  I put that in quotes since a considerable amount of the early morning conversation revolved around the fact that there would, indeed, be no running.  We intended to walk among the colors.  Arriving in time for the pre-party, the air was filled with multi-colored fairy dust and some un-Disney-like music to drum the assembled into a frenzy.  So it was that when it came our time to start the walk, Ava took off like shot.  Maybe it was the donuts.  We didn't try to keep up, and we didn't see her again until the finish line.

Bryce, Merry and I enjoyed our 5K stroll along the Fox River, pausing only to photo-document along the way.  Not surprisingly, we did not set a course record, though it might have been a personal record for each of us.  After meeting up with Ava again, the younger half of us found their way to the mosh pit by the stage.  The older and wiser among us kept an eye on water bottles and a park bench.  What a morning!

You know, it occurs to me that when Bryce discusses his Granma with his friends, I hope he tells the tale in glowing technicolor detail!  Because that's the kind of memories I hope he always has of me.  I do make cookies, but I don't knit.  And as you can see from the picture above, Bryce has the blue hair, not me.  Hmmm - wonder what kind of memories we can dream up with next!  "Hey, do you wanna...."

Hop, Skip and a Jump

Christopher Robin with brother Bruce and me. Circa 1964

Some things, they say, skip a generation.  Twins are an often sited example of that phenomenon.  That being the case, I don't expect to live to see my great, great grandtwins, so I'll just have to continue to enjoy the little girlies now!  What an odd thought that someday they might play with grandtwins of their own...

In my family, quilting skipped two generations.  Neither my mother nor my grandmothers were quilters, but my great grandmother was!  I have a couple of her quilts and I cherish them.  I hope the next generation of quilters in the family will still look on them with love and honor for a woman they never met (I never met her either).  And, not so secretly, I hope it won't skip a generation.  I would love to see the birth of a quilter in my lifetime.  Time will tell.

Other things skip a generation, all within one lifetime.  I think that is the joy of being Granma - happily skipping back past parenting to being a kid again.  Some might call that jumping back, or even reverting.  Be that as it may, I did and then I didn't and now I do again.  And if a generation is 20 years (more or less), then mathematically, I did indeed skip a generation within my own lifetime.

For example, I have fond memories of playing London Bridges and Ring Around the Rosy on the playground with my friends.  When you got caught in the "take the key and lock them up" phase, you might be tossed around like a towel in a washing machine - and there is no place you would rather be!  I don't specifically remember singing those action songs with my sons.  However, I love the recent memory of playing them with my grandboys (no girlies present at that time).  I made a pretty good bridge, holding hands with a five-year old.  We caught and shook up a couple other grandboys, with giggles all around.  Fortunately, no pictures exist of my turn to be caught by the bridge of four and five year old extended and interlocked fingers!  And my knees thanked me for carpeting.  We won't even talk about Ring Around the Rosy, except to say that the ground is a lot further down than it used to be.  And the up is further yet, especially after a couple of dizzy rounds.

Of course, some of the very best stuff doesn't skip a generation: bedtime stories and ice cream snacking (not necessarily in that order), soccer games and t-ball, sillies and snuggles.  That is awesome stuff that no generation should miss out on.  But whether it's really skipping a generation or just hopping back, there is nothing liking sharing a world of discovery with little eyes and hands and hearts.  Much love to my fellow adventurers.

Words and Slime: The Perfect Combination

GRANMA:  Slime - the stuff of (grand)boys!  When I got a text from my oldest grandboy asking if I wanted to make slime with him, he knew the answer to that as well as I did:  bring it on!!!

BRYCE:  Recently we made slime.

GRANMA:  The ingredients are few, but they vary some.  Elmer's Glue is a staple in all of the recipes.  The other main ingredient is either Borax or Liquid Starch or Contact Solution.

BRYCE:  Note To Everyone, NO ONE NEEDS BORAX IN SLIME!!! If you haven't seen on the news, one little girl of the age of about 9 was a slime making machine! But she used borax in all of her slime making career then when she woke up on a day, her hands were on fire from the borax. She also needed a cast. The ingredients we used were Elmer's Glue, Contact Solution, Baking Soda and Paint.

GRANMA:  Does anyone shop at Woodman's?  You need roller skates to make it from one end to the other!  That place is huge!!!  So certainly, I could find the needed ingredients there.  Liquid Starch, check!  Glue?  Not so much.  Three small bottles was all I could find.  With fingers crossed, I brought the sticky stuff home with me.  BTW - if you need any liquid starch, I am happy to donate, free of charge.  But if you are making slime, I highly recommend the contact solution!  Great slime and minimal mess...

BRYCE:  We were making slime for three kids, Bryce, Tyler and Bella. Bryce made a sky blue colored slime. Tyler made a red colored slime. But Bella, the two of us had to give her some because we ran out of glue. We sent my Dad to pick some up, but they were all out. Apparently schools are buying glue to make green slime! He went to two other stores, but they had the same explanation.

GRANMA:  Who knew we were just part of a bigger parade?  Elmer's has to be loving this trend!

BRYCE:  Then we got awesome slime at the end of it.

GRANMA:  What he said!  The slime was fun to make and so boyish to play with.  Bryce stretched it into a thin sheet over the counter top.  He then carefully folded it up before maliciously squeezing it.  Next came farting sounds closely followed by giggles.  Boys and slime.  Gotta love it!

And what do I love even more?  Sharing this blog with my grandboy and guest blogger - at his request and insistence!  Slime will forever be one of my favorite memories!  Thanks for the assist, Bryce!  I love you!

The Public Privy

It may please you to know that the public toilet situation for (Gran)ma and (grand)boys has improved some over the past thirty plus years.  There is now this awesome invention: family restrooms.  Where were they when I was agonizing over how old is too old to bring a man-child (accent on child) into the women's restroom?  Alas, though, they are still not universally available.

And so it was that last week when grandboy #4 (who coincidentally turned 4 the same week), announced that he had to go to the bathroom - the one located in the bookstore we were frequenting - the bookstore without a family restroom.  We were exactly 12 minutes into our adventure - and 15 minutes since Josiah last used the restroom, at least by his account.  Sigh...

But I know better than to ignore the bathroom request of a four-year-old.  I was also acutely aware that we should avoid the isles with toys and children's book while en route to our destination.  Apparently, the bookstore is well aware of the power of the gauntlet.  Those things that grandboy #4 missed in his ogling were pointed out by grandboy #3.  It was tough to keep them on task - a task of the utmost importance and urgency, or so I was led to believe.

When we finally arrived at the correct corridor, with empty hands (score one for Granma), Josiah headed into the first door - the one marked "MEN."  Aidan, thank you child, pointed out that Josiah was a boy, not a man and he couldn't go in that door.  Fortunately, he didn't apply the same logic when the three of us went in the door marked "WOMEN."  I take my wins were I can find them.

There was a slight delay in choosing the optimal stall - all three being empty and therefore subject to inspection.  Door number two it was.  While Josiah announced his every move, Aidan went straight to the sink.  "Look, Granma, a snowman!"  Indeed, a little melting pile of fluff rested in the palm of his hand.  Aren't automatic soap dispensers a marvelous invention?  Might be up for debate...  Next came the magic water dispensers that operate that the wave of a hand.  Followed by the similarly responding giver of paper towels - one for Aidan, one for Granma (who wasn't quite yet in need of Aidan's considerable consideration).

About this time, Josiah emerged from door number two, with Lightening McQueen encircling his slim hips, while his shorts, who would otherwise cloak the shy McQueen, circled his ankles.  "Josiah, you should pull your shorts up before coming out."  Back to the sink for another round of snowmen, magical waterfalls and Aidan's help with paper towels, this time both for Josiah and for the next person who happened into this enchanted room.  How kind...

In the end, it appears our side adventure was quite the success.  If you don't count the slight over spray from the sink, all liquids ended up in their appropriate vessels, as did the paper towels, with the exception of the one left hanging from the dispenser for convenience of the next guest. We continued on with our quest to find the perfect books for birthday boy and his brothers.

Note to self:  never believe a four year old who insists he "just went" before leaving on a quest.  "Just" is a relative term - but it's no relative of mine!  Next time, he will have to prove it!

Pinterest to the Rescue?

Hello, my name is Granma, and I'm a Pinterest junkie...  There isn't anything you can't find there with a simple search.  While looking for quilt ideas, I found a paper bowl bird feeder (complete with Fruit Loop embellished hanging strings).  Searching for science experiments, I came across elephant toothpaste.  It's a whole website of dreams!  Someone dreamed it up and made it happen and put it online for the rest of us to peruse.  And when one believes in the dream and their ability to recreate said magical creation, go at it with gusto!  Sadly, some perfectly executed online dreams turn into our nightmares.  And when that happens, we are generally out a few art "supplies," but have gained a great story!  Sometimes, even when the dream works pleasantly enough, the story is still better than the final product.  Here's hoping that happens with today's blog...

Easter is coming, and so were the three eldest grandloves:  Bryce, Bella and Tyler.  Rainy weekend that it was, Easter egg coloring seemed a good idea.  Perhaps I should have stopped there, but, no, I proceeded to Pinterest.  Did you know you can color Easter eggs with shaving cream and food coloring?  In hindsight, I realize that half a good idea was just then gathering steam and rolling down the mountain at break-neck speed.  It did occur to me that if the Pin was a fail, I might need a plan B before an egg fight broke out in my dining room. The eggs were hard boiled, so the mess would not have been overwhelming.  Shaving cream, on the other hand....  I'm running ahead of myself.

Watchfully assuring that the shaving cream spout was aimed in the proper direction, ditto for the food coloring, and we were, I hoped, on our way to a successful pin!  To a base of shaving cream, we added drops of food coloring, lightly mixed by running a toothpick through the fluffy, gentlemanly-smelling whiteness.


Now to roll the egg in the prepared lather.  Not for the squeamish - not that anyone objected, mind you.  Upon successfully coating the eggs, the grandloves rolled their hands in the same mixture.  This picture of Bryce's fingers is just for show.  All thoughts of contemporaneous photo-documenting disappeared when the first, second and third set of goopy hands (fronts and backs) came bounding my direction.


The eggs rested in their lather for 10 or 15 minutes while hands were washed - and the table - and the sink - and Tyler's shirt (which miraculously came completely clean).  Tyler and Bella returned to Legos while Bryce and I considered how to get the goop off the eggs.  Half a roll of paper towels later, we had a beautiful bowl of Easter eggs!  We were all quite impressed with our success!  And just to prove our efforts were genuine, the grands took a bonus piece of the project home with them, safely embedded in their fingerprints and palms and nails.

Dear Pinterest, Might I suggest plastic gloves?  Unless, that is, Easter hands are now an "in" thing.  And next time we will try Cool-Whip rather than shaving cream, opting for improved smell and taste while still maintaining texture.  It might result in Easter mouths and noses to match our fingers.  We'll let you know - next year...

Kiss Me, I'm Irish!

I'm Irish!  Or at least I think a part of me is Irish.  Basically, my heredity is European, and Ireland is over there somewhere, so I claim it.  Besides, everyone is Irish on St. Patty's Day!  So I stand by my statement:  I'm Irish!

A few years ago, Bryce was staying overnight on St. Patty's Day Eve, a wee bit of a holiday followed by a grand one.  I listened with great interest to his tale when he confided that if you trap a leprechaun, he has to grant you a wish.  I took the bait.

First of all, the miniature magic of Lucky Charms' fame is attracted to silver and gold.  We all kind of knew that, right?  Apparently, though, and I'm getting my info from a very wise grandboy, they aren't interested in U.S coinage.  They want real silver and gold.  I guess I could have risked some of my jewelry for a chance at that wish.  It might have been a really good idea, though I just now thought of it.  Besides, if the sprite took the bait and Bryce took the wish, I would have ended up with an X-box or something, which is not stylish in the least.  Selfish or wise?  Hmmmm  Anyway, I've heard it said that leprechauns are near-sighted, so we improvised.  Admittedly, we were short on the gold, but buttons wrapped in tin foil have an attractive glitter that was sure to attract an imp or two.  We wrapped lots of buttons.

The next step was to devise a trap.  Bryce went to work.  There was a box held up by a stick - kind of the classic catch a rabbit trick.  Again, though, worried about our prey's eyesight, we decided not to take chances.  Bryce trailed post-it notes down the stairs and across the room, ending at the trap.  How's that for a grand welcome!  A trick for the trickster!  Eventually, as all good sleepovers should include, Bryce fell asleep, with visions of green dancing in his head.

When we awoke the next morning, we traveled the same trail of post-its to claim our prize.  And there was a prize, though not a leprechaun or a wish. Instead, the little green elf left us a message.  "Thank you for the silver!  Since you were so generous, I decided to leave you some gifts, too."  Makes me glad in reverse that I didn't leave him real gold and silver!  In addition to the hat and pin Bryce claimed, as seen above, there were green Peeps and Andie's Mints.  Bryce wasn't overly generous with the green sugar, but he's not beyond being guilted...

So Friday is coming, and with it St. Patrick's Day, and my mother's birthday (which might be even more important!).  So dye the river green, speak with an Irish brogue, hide your gold and wrap your buttons in foil!  It's a great day to be Irish!

A Heritary Construct

Colin & Corey lending a hand - circa 1993

As a freshman in college, my advisor encouraged me to take a genetics class that I would ultimately need for my major in Sociology.  I guess it made sense to get it out of the way, except that I was missing the pre-requisite (hmmmm).  It was a small college, thankfully, so I got to know each of the other 9 students in the class - all upperclassmen - all pre-med.  Seriously, my advisor should have been shot.  I learned all about the the sex habits of fruit flies, and why calico cats are always female, and blue eyes verses brown.  And I remember these things 30+ years later, which probably says more about the nightmares I endured than my actual interest in genetics.  I squeaked by with the lowest of B's, and have never been more proud of a grade.

Another generation starts with Bryce!

So here's a genetics lesson 101 for you - free of charge.  (You will receive what you paid for...)  Dominate traits include things like dark hair, eyes and skin coloring.  You probably already knew that.  If Mommy and Daddy both posses a dominate trait, like brown eyes, there is a 75% chance that their child will, as well.  However, in my rather "scientific" observation, I have uncovered a lesser known dominate trait that runs in my family.  I call it the handyman gene.

My father, a pastor, would also tinker with cars and construction.  He inherited that from his father, an engineer.  My siblings and I are also carriers of the gene, which is a good thing, since Dad put us to work, helping on his projects.  My husband is also handy with a hammer.  I'll never forget when he volunteered to help a friend shingle his house - the on-site expert.  He came home that night and announce how much fun it was to do something he had never done before.  I was a bit horrified!  But the roof didn't leak - to the best of my knowledge.

Likewise, our sons grew up playing in sawdust and figured out quickly which nail (metal verses finger) to hit with a hammer.  They are willing to tackle most jobs on their own or with an assist from either a parental unit or U-Tube - whichever is more readily available.

Court is currently remodeling his basement, which lead to a proud Granma moment.  When I went over to check on the progress, I found grandboy number one revealing his heretofore hidden genetic ability.  Crowbar and hammer in hand, Bryce showed me how he was prying up tiles from the concrete where they had been affixed for at least a couple of decades.  He gave me a huge smile as he explained his exploits.  At least, he said he was smiling when I took the picture.  He wouldn't lie about that, would he?

So thanks to my ill-advised advisor, I am ready to scientifically state with 75% certainly that Bryce carries the handyman gene!  Here's to another generation!  Happy to see the trait continue!

Picture Perfect

I have this thing about pictures - though absolutely no talent personally.  When I say "pictures," I mean snapshots, which is the extent of my capability.  They always look better in my head than on my camera, but I love them anyway.  As my bestie, Merry, says, "The best camera is the one you have with you."  Thank you, Apple.

Snapshots aside, I really admire photo professionals.  I admire their artistry and persistence and anticipation - especially when photographing people - most especially small people - who do not take direction or prisoners.

We recently engaged our friend, Stacy Vitallo, to take one year pictures of Faith and Naomi.  Mind you, they passed the one year mark six months ago.  But seeing as they started life on the miniature side, the decision was made to stretch the celebration documentation a bit.  It seemed like such a great idea.  And while the bright ideas were cropping up, why not take a picture of the three brothers along with their sisters?  Indeed, why not...

Step one:  Distract Faith long enough for Mama to hide.  Otherwise we would have needed a video camera to capture Faith crawling at lightening speed to Mama to be held.

Step two:  From her hiding place, Mama found some "pearl" necklaces to use as a photo prop.  That met with some success!

Step three:  Remove pearl from brothers when their turn comes to face the camera.

Step four:  Arrange boys aesthetically for a pleasing picture.

Step five:  Repeat step four.

Step six:  Coax smiles - with varying degrees of success, and never all at the same time.

Step seven:  Go for broke!  Throw all five into the mix!

Step eight:  Buy Stacy a beer.  I think she earned it!  Actually, there were some absolutely adorable pictures of each child.  But sometimes it's all about the one that got away.  It's certainly not a still life, but it is a real life!  Thank you, Stacy!

Falling for Grandboys - Again

Except for the thermometer that registered in the 80s today, we are completely into the fall season.  The fall colors are heading toward breath-taking, though the temps in the early morning can be as well.  I love the fall, especially when I get to take grandboys to the pumpkin farm.

Growing up in rural Iowa, the only pumpkin farms I knew of were the ones in the back yard.  They did not have jumping blobs or apple cider donuts.  Actually, they had weeds - a fact that my parents pointed out to my siblings and I.  Our "play" in the pumpkin patch involved ridding it of said interlopers.  I had to move to the 'burbs of Chicago to make peace with the pumpkins.

A couple of weeks ago, grandboys #1 and 2 were in need of an outing, which was really good timing for this Granma.  We traveled westward about 20 miles to a favorite fall location of mine.  Kuipers - home of the most amazing apple cider donuts!  I have been known to make the trip all by myself, returning home with a half empty donut bag on the seat next to me.  Coincidentally, my seat belt was stretched a bit further, too, around the other half of the donuts...  Back to Bryce and Tyler...

Fresh off a sleepover at Granma's, we headed first to the jumping blob, though we had to play nice since we were not the only autumnal revelers. Then there were the water pump duck races - Bryce won.  Tyler and I had a run off for second, which I diligently tried to lose.  I lost at losing.  As it turned out, the pouting face that acknowledged defeat was only a shadow of the fun to come.

We proceeded to the slide, the spider web and the hay bale jump before wandering into the corn maze.  Just looking at the maze, all three of us had flashbacks to last year, when we got hopelessly lost among the ears.  Feeling slightly brave, but mostly realistic, we opted for the beginner's maze.  Half way into that baby maze, we backed out.  Discretion is the better part of valor.  Besides, the loud speaker told us it was time for the pig races.  Who could pass that up?  The pig nose that Bryce is sporting is proof that he backed the winning pig - Albert Einswine, as I recall.

Next came lunch and an epic Tyler melt down.  Lack of sleep, lack of blog jumping time and lack of pig nose combined to make for whine time as we waited in line.  It may have contributed to the shorter line, too - people were actively avoiding us.  Even apple cider donut promises did not stem the tide of tears.  Nor, in the long run, did it prevent donuts.  I don't threaten with fall's favorite treat!  I wouldn't want to have to make good on the threat!

In the end, it was a good trip.  Tyler brightened up and sugared up, as you can see, and I adjusted my seat belt for the trip home.  I must begrudgingly admit that fall is indeed a wonderful time of year.  And we didn't get swallowed up in the corn maze.  Success!

Don't Let the Bed Bugs Bite...

When I was growing up, so many, many moons ago, groups of girls used to gather for sleepovers.  The more bodies you could talk your parents into, the better - never an easy sell  I suspect the parents on the other end of the equation were happy for the night off, though.  Not having raised any girls, I'm not 100% certain of that.  Boys had sleepovers, too, which involved much pizza, soda, belching, and shouting that generally had to be corralled when it oozes into hear-shot of the neighbors.  But that's another story all together.

I remember on certain sleepover at Polly's house.  We were in the basement, two stories away from others hoping for some sleep.  Monika fell asleep first, which is never a good thing.  Better to stay up all night.  Anyway, someone got the bright idea to wake her up while shining two flashlights in her eyes and yelling "truck!"  She had nightmares the rest of the night.  Apparently girl sleepovers are as squirrely as boy sleepovers, minus the belching.  Sorry, Monika...

Saturday night, I took part in another sleepover.  We slept in the basement, well, some of us did, and the exact number of souls sleeping there changed over the course of the night.  Aidan (5), Josiah (3), and Elijah (2) started the adventure.  Trying to be considerate, I plugged in a night light.  However, the shadows it cast were scarier than the darkness - a problem easily solved.  Having spend a napless afternoon keeping up with his brothers, Elijah was the first to fall asleep.  I protected him from even the slightest suggestion of a flashlight, and waited for his brothers to join him in slumber before finding a bed of my own.

My motherhood ears did not let me down, alerting me to a coughing child in the middle of the night.  I spend a very long half hour or so sitting in bed holding a weezy child until he drained properly.  Gratefully, he settled into a peaceful slumber.  Just as I was about to join him, Josiah announced his presence to the neighborhood, He was never able to articulate between his sobs just why he was crying.  But eventually, he settled down to sleep.  The sudden silence prompted Aidan to turn to me and ask "what's that sound?"  2:00 am is not a good time to explain a water softener.  Fortunately, he wasn't really that interested in the answer.

Back to bed next to a two year old, who was blissfully and animatedly sleeping.  That made one of us.  I spent much of the rest of the wee hours removing toddler hands and feet from various parts of my body.  6:30 arrived WAY ahead of schedule, ushered in by our barking dogs.  The little boy eyes laying next to me popped open.  I know this, because I'm not sure mine ever closed entirely the whole night.

What a great, exhausting, incoheriently comical night it turned out to be.  By 7:30 everyone was happily munching on Pop Tarts (breakfast of champions) and making plans for the rest of the morning.  Their mom and dad arrived in the early afternoon, refreshed after a quiet, restorative night together. 

By 2:00 pm, all the toys (and boys) had been returned to their designated locations.  I took a nap to ward off the feeling of having been hit by a truck, sans flashlights.  And just like sleepovers of old, I can't shake the feeling that I want to do it again!  Sleep tight, grandboys of mine!

Where the Ocean Meets the "See"

He's got the whole world in his hand!

I spent last weekend in Copper Harbor, Michigan, WAY up North on the shores of Lake Superior.  What beautiful country!  Gazing at the shoreline as white-crested waves made their way endlessly to shore, I couldn't help but ask myself who needs the ocean!  The opposite shoreline could be 10 or 100 miles away.  The spray against the rocks could be fresh or salted.  Even with an intent gaze, there was no way of discerning either.  I couldn't help but think of Aidan, and the globe, and a recent science lesson.

Using a small rubber ball masquerading as a globe, I showed Aidan where the land (multi colored) was verses the water (blue, of course).  We talked about how we lived near a big lake and I pointed out Lake Michigan to him.  We talked about how much water there is in the ocean and how big it is.  To my surprise, Aidan responded that he knew how big the ocean was because he had fallen into it.  I'm certainly not with the child 24/7, but I was pretty sure he hadn't wandered to a continental coastline, either.

On the edge of adventure - and the ocean...

With great patience, Aidan told me how he was riding his tricycle around the ocean with his brothers and Daddy.  He had gotten a little too close to the edge of the walkway, tumbled down the embankment and landed in the drink.  It was very wet, of course, and cold.  Daddy wrapped his coat around Aidan to keep him warm, because they were on the other side of the ocean and it was a long way home,  A harrowing experience, for sure!

"Where is the ocean, Aidan?"  With great enthusiasm, he walked me to the front window and pointed to the offending body of water - across the street, behind the playground equipment but front of the school that was just barely visible from our vantage point - an extremely large body of water to be sure.  At five, Aidan is just starting to explore the vastness of the world, starting with the expanse visible from his front window!

Oh to be five again!  I want to experience the wonder and the terrifying depths of the ocean across the street.  I want to judge my size compared to the ordinary, because ordinary is unquestionably extraordinary.  Thank you, Aidan, for the gift of seeing the ocean through your eyes.  Thank you for sharing that marvel anew.

About the Mouse - Or Not

What a week - well, four days, which alternately felt like ten and then one.  Mickey was quite the host to Merry, Ava, Bryce and me - and roughly a million of our closest friends.  And by "closest" I mean we swapped sweat in the sweltering Florida heat and humidity.  At one point, we even went into the Enchanted Tiki Bird Hut just for the air conditioning.  If you have had the experience of being serenaded by tiki birds, you will realize just how hot it was...

Merry and I got to watch the wonder of fresh excitement starting with taking off from O'Hare.  Bryce and Ava (in first class, none the less) marveled over the Chicago skyline as we flew overhead. Even a fellow passenger commented on how much more fun the two of them made flying - seeing wonder again in what had become ordinary.


Once we arrived at Disney, there was Splash Mountain (twice), The Seven Dwarfs Mine Ride (in line twice, turned away the first time - the evil queen's fault, I'm sure), The Haunted Mansion (the graveyard made the wait bearable), Soarin' (twice and my personal favorite), Peter Pan (could have done without the 70 minute 'build up' to the 5 minute ride), Space Mountain (twice with increasing bravado), Tomorrowland Speedway (once for the four of us, another time for the mini drivers among us.  They drove both times, the tall ones among us got smarter the second time around.), rockets and teacups, princesses and swimming pools.  If that seemed like an endless run-on sentence, imagine what our feet felt like at the end of each day.  Coincidentally, the end of each day was also the start of the next - we never got to bed before midnight.

But before we could even consider bedding down,there was the electric parade and light show and fireworks - and a slow walk down Main Street with the aforementioned million before returning to our room for a round of much needed showers.  The final night, Merry sacrificed two hours of sitting on a curb to save the perfect viewing area for the evening's spectacular.  I was charged with taking munchkins to It's a Small World.  Who got the better end of that deal?

Friday evening as Bryce and I sat in the Orlando airport munching on such fine dining as can be found there, he asked me a question that I was actually preparing to ask him - "What was your favorite part of the week, Granma?"  Without a moment's hesitation, I said it was spending the time with three people I love so much.  His answer was just as quick - talking and giggling in bed after the lights went out.


Be still, my heart.  After all the hype and all the walking and all the line standing and all the photo ops, it wasn't about the mouse at all.  I would do it all again just for that shared revelation.  You're a good mouse, Mickey, as rodents go.  But you pale in comparison to spending precious time with precious people.  With much love to my traveling companions, it certainly is a Wonderful World!

We're off to see the Wizard - the one with Ears!

It's here!!!  The time is now!!!!  Bring on the Mouse!!!!  If by chance you are reading this in the p.m., we will be looking down on you from the friendly skies, winging our way to Orlando.  Bryce and I, bestie Merry and rent-a-kid Ava are headed to Disney!!!  There has been much anticipation of this trip.  The countdown started with two digits, the first being a six.  And now it's finally here!

Last year Merry and I took Bryce and Ava to an amusement and water park in Iowa.  As a result, Bryce loves Iowa and can't think of a better place to go.  Of course, he has heard about Disney, but can it really be that much better?  Oh boy!!!  There might be nothing better for a Granma than blowing the mind of another generation.

"Do we get to take an airplane?"  I have a five hour maximum for driving, so a flight is in order.

"Do they have roller coasters?"  Tower of Terror, anyone?  (Not that I really call that a roller coaster.  More of a bungee jump with a seat belt.)

I've only been to Disney once - with my bestie.  It was awesome!  To see Cinderella's castle all lit up for the night, and wait in line forever for the micro-thrill of a lifetime, and witness the scope of the world's largest souvenir stand.  And now, I get to see it all again!  But this time through the eyes of a child - a couple of children, actually, that I love very much.  Pictures to follow on Facebook - and no doubt in a future blog, too.

Watch out Mouse!  Here we come!

And a Good Time was had by ALL

This is not the first blog I've written about going to the zoo.  It's not likely to be my last.  I love the zoo, though I'm not sure exactly why - it's expensive, it smells, the animals are generally either pacing or (more likely) listless, the crowds are daunting and the parking lot endless.  There is also an undeniable magic there - creatures of so many varieties, most of which I do not want to meet in my backyard (or at all) without benefit of separating glass or bars.  But they are a testament to the creator's infinite imagination and biologic prowess.  Go God!


When Bryce and Tyler got in my car the other day to embark on such an adventure, Bryce immediately announced, very sweetly and succinctly, "I don't really like zoos."  I smiled sweetly, too, and then pointed the car toward Brookfield.

How to convince a 10 year old to enjoy the zoo:

1.  It's a 30 minute trip assuming cooperative traffic and a lead foot.  We made it in a record 40 minutes.  Bryce didn't complain once.  That's because he has a very wise Granma who gave him her IPhone to use on the ride.  On the other hand, there were several rounds of are-we-there-yet from younger brother in the back seat.

2.  Promise younger brother seat a piggy back ride at the zoo.  Minimal success with the whining - sigh.  And, yes, he got his ride - double sigh.

3.  Impress grandson-the-eldest with zoo map reading skills.  We came in the North entrance, so I turned the map upside down to orient myself.  This did not escape Bryce's notice - or friendly, jabbing comments.  It did, however, get us to our lunch spot with much greater efficiency than his own cartography interpretations.  So later in the day when we were by the South gate, Bryce pulled out the map to find the next desired attraction.  Tyler pointed out he had it upside down, to which Bryce replied, "This is how Granma reads it and it works."  I love that kid!  Fortunately, by then I had my bearings.  We didn't get lost even once - a Granma acomplishment.

4. Buy tickets for the Dolphin Show, three hours hence.  Nothing like saving the best for last.  More on that later.

5.  Wander from playground to playground by way of animals.  This pleased both of my personal primates.  Speaking of monkeys, they voted no to Tropic World.  I was only mildly disappointed and hid it well.  Kudos to me.

6.  Dippin Dots.  'Nuff said.


7.  The Dolphin show starts at 2:30, the doors open at 2:00.  In past visits, we have never been there early enough to get a good seat in the Splash Zone.  We were first in line at 1:45 and had our choice of prime seats.  We made it through the whole show without collecting even a drop, which pleased Tyler no end.  His brother - not so much.  As the crowd rose to disassemble, Bryce and I looked at each other to lament our lack of splash, when a rouge dolphin performed just one more trick for the audience.  YES!!!  We got wet!  (Have I mentioned yet that it was 50 degrees outside?)


All good things must come to an end, and they did - right on schedule - five and a half hours later.  As you can see from the photographic evidence, he really doesn't like the zoo.

Yep, that's what I thought...

Out of the Mouths (and Noses) of Babes

There is one thing you should always expect from the mouths of toddlers - besides whining when they don't get their way.  You should always expect the unexpected.  They make for the best stories - as long as you can remember them - ergo the blog.

Case in point - I took Aidan and Josiah to the park on an AMAZING February day in any part of the country, but especially in Illinois.  Sunny and 60.  There is a God and He loves me very much...  Now back to the blog...

The boys, recently recovered from colds, had a wonderful time running around at the park - their noses were doing the same, so don't zoom in on the picture too much.  You have been warned!

"Granma, take a picture of me going down the slide."

"Me, too," says Josiah.

"Granma, take a picture of me climbing up the slide."

"Me, too," says Josiah.

Have cell phone, will travel.  Aren't you glad I'm not torturing you will all 34 pictures and 2 videos of the outing?  You're welcome.

Later that evening as we reminisced, Aidan flipped through the pictures commenting on each with the same words, varying only the inflection, "Oh, how precious!" or "Ohhhhh, how Precious!"   Now, remember, I have three sons and five grandboys.  There are, indeed, precious pictures of each of them.  None of them were taken with leaking noses while at the playground.  "Cute" maybe.  "Hilarious" probably.  "Oh, boy!" definitely.  NOT precious!

But, oh, Adian, how I do love you!  Your words are as precious as are you!  But I have to disagree with you on your assessment of the photographic evidence.  Not even this Granma can give your brother's and your faces, coated with snot, that assessment.  I think I'll kiss your foreheads...

Paint me a Picture

Last Friday, my bestie, Merry, invited me to come to my son and daughter-in-laws house to help her paint stripes on their walls.  I'm honored that she will let me near a paint brush with her, but that's another story. I think she probably likes me better than she likes my actual painting, but it was an invitation none the less.  Merry is very artistic and smart and she loves me.  Of course, I said yes!  My biggest concern was if I would end up painting a grandboy or two.  I am easily distracted those love bugs.  And they, for their part, like to watch - and help - and whirlwind around the room, wet paint not withstanding.

5 Noses in a Row

When we arrived, clad in our best pre-painted clothes, I started by spilling coffee.  I hadn't taken my coat off yet, and I don't even drink coffee.  Humble beginnings.  As Merry calculated the stripe proportions, I played with three grandboys.  The girlies were sleeping.  And to make things all the better, Court was kind of working from home and Christine was painting an adjoining room.  This means the number of midgets outnumbered adults by only one.  Piece of cake!

I shepherded three munchkins down to the toys in the basement, keeping their voices (alternately giggling and crying) two stories away from sleeping grandgirlies.  Of course, there were tales of this one hit that one - accidentally, I'm sure - and the blue toy was more coveted than the green one.  Discussions ensued until the voice of reason (that would be me) arrived at an equitable arrangement.  I'm still half a step ahead of them - except where paint may be found - or coffee.

When I went up to check if I was needed for painting purposes, I was told I was in charge of crowd control instead.  About that time, the rest of the crowd woke up.  Upstairs I went along with my entourage.  For anyone keeping score, that leaves no bodies in the basement, 3 adults on the main floor, one Granma, 3 grandboys and 2 grandgirlies upstairs.  Daunting, yes, but help was literally a scream away.  And there was - a scream - when in a fit of all-boy-bravado, Aidan got his head smashed under the crib.  Aidan headed downstairs for Mama kisses with Josiah following for good measure.

In a purely numbers game, my odds improved - 1 on 3, though the three left were the youngest.  I kept losing track of the only mobile one while changing diapers on the younger two.  Now, if you are confused as to who is where and why and wondering if the paint is confined only to the walls, then I have succeeded in my endeavor to explain the morning to you.  That's pretty much how I felt, too.

Stripes finished - I never got near paint, but neither did the boys - Merry and I took our leave, - well, after several rounds of kisses and "I love yous" and "come back again next Wednesday."

I had a great time - for a few hours - with roadside assistance just a few steps away!  I have known for years that Christine is an amazing Mom, but I just have to brag on my daughter-in-law.  RESPECT, Christine!  Total RESPECT - times FIVE!

When Fast (Thankfully) Isn't

Once, while eating a can of spinach, I thought I could do anything!  So I got my Popeye on and took three munchkins to a fast food restaurant all by myself.  First you have to get three midgets across a parking lot, something akin to playing Frogger, but with much higher stakes!  Then you have to decipher who wants what and then how to carry and corral at the same time.  After picking out the green stuff from between my teeth, I decided I rather like the role of Olive Oil instead.  I tell you this just to prove that you can teach an old Granma new tricks...

Last weekend there was a similar opportunity involving three munchkins and fast food.  I grabbed ONE grandboy (and the eldest, at that) and the food desires of the others and off we went in search of Portillos.  For those not from Chicagoland, too bad for you.  If you ever get the chance, try it!  But I digress.

Bryce was a little less than smiling when he got into the car.  His favorite game system, DS, had been denied entry into the vehicle, an unpopular and decidedly unGranma-ly dictate.  Thus the following conversation:

• How's school?    Fine.
• Still practicing violin?  Yeah
• Bet I can get an answer out of you longer than 4 letters - what day is it?  Sat (Game on!)
• What month is it?  Feb
• Bet I can get you to answer with less than 4 letters - how old are you?  Diez

Ok, I lost the bet, but it got us giggling and conversing, so I won the war.

More giggling and goofing around, a couple of bags of food and a root beer for the munchkin and we were off again.  Speaking of goofing around - what happens when you set a Styrofoam cup of root beer on a heated seat?  Nothing.  What happens when a certain smart boy tips the cup just to be sure no hole has melted into the bottom?  Root beer pours out the straw.  Oh (grand)boy.

Our return was greatly anticipated.  And by "our" I mean the french fries.  Greasy goodness divvied up, we moved on to eating.  There were stories to tell, including the one about the root beer.  There were chicken tenders to nibble into guns.  And being ever so versatile, more chicken to become a beard.  My favorite is when you ask Tyler a question he doesn't want to answer, so he doesn't.  And when you point out to him that someone asked him a question, he replies with, "I can't talk with my mouth full," or something like that.  It was hard to tell since his mouth was full...

All in all, our fast food took about an hour and a half to gather and consume.  The nutritional value that fed our bodies would turn the stomach of a dietitian.  But my soul left filled and refreshed.  And no green between my teeth.  Just call me Olive "Granma" Oil!