The Many Faces

It has been just days shy of 6 years, but I well remember the day - and my first impressions.  I remember Court calling me from an interior room of the hospital to announce the birth.  "It's a..." he managed before the connection was severed - twice!  For the first five minutes of life, all we knew for sure was "baby," but not the predominate color or name!  Finally, on the third attempt - a full sentence, "It's a boy!"  (A singularly common occurrence at that point in time.)  Grampa and I made our way to said hospital to meet the newest baby blue.  I just remember thinking that being born is a hard thing to do - for both mother and child - and he should be tired.  But he wasn't.  His eyes gaped at the world, taking it all in, and staying open for hours when he should have been sleeping after a long day's work.  Adian wasn't then, and isn't now, apt to let anything pass his notice!

He may grow up to be a doctor or an architect or an astronaut or a teacher or a cowboy.  The world is his oyster.  He, at least in part, he has spent the first 6 years of his life as an actor.  Aidan will never be contained on the small screen - his personality is too big for that.  If he is to continue his acting career, it should be on the stage.  His expressions have already earned a Tony in my heart!

I'm not sure if you should be sorry or grateful that, I am challenged by the likes of UTube.  Imagine what I could do if I could figure out how to upload videos.  Believe me, his personality doesn't shrink when the pictures moves.  Maybe the silver screen is the place for his personality after all!

Wherever else he finds himself, whenever the world discovers this body of personality and possibility, however else the world attempts to contain this larger-than-life bundle, he will always be - first and foremost - a major love of this Granma's life.

Don't stop now, Aidan!  Keep taking the world by storm!  Share your smile and wit and antics with all who cross you path.  With much love - sometimes to the point of exhaustion - happy, happy birthday to you!  Enjoy the cake!

Back to my Roots

Clockwise: Josiah, Aidan, Tyler, Bryce & Elijah

Most of you probably realize that Tuesday comes around with great regularity.  Me, too.  But my Tuesday always starts with a Sunday evening panicked question:  what will the blog look like this week?  However, since Monday intervenes the Sunday to Tuesday sequence, I continue my day of rest...in favor of a Monday evening full panic.  Some bloggers, I understand, actually have blogs prepared ahead of time.  What a novel concept...

Sometimes between last Sunday and yesterday, I made the executive decision to go back to my roots.  We aren't talking hair, here, though I do have a haircut scheduled on Wednesday.  You are not responsible for that piece of information...  Rather, this blog started with grandboys - 5 of them.  So let's talk about that.

Tyler (6), AKA Spider Man, made an appearance on Sunday.  He is a wiry little midget, and seemingly disinterested in out growing the short label.  However, he has a totally boy way of entering the house, after calmly removing this shoes, he launches himself into my arms.  It is an endearing greeting now that I have learned to brace myself for impact.  The really amazing part is how he wraps his arms and legs around my body.  Once maximum velocity and height have been reached, he does not need me to hold him.  I, however, might need to employ the jaws of life if I need to use the facilities.

Bryce (11), on the other hand, has decided that he big enough (almost) and strong enough (almost) to pick ME up.  He will be, soon enough, but for the moment, I do not give him an assist with his efforts - except that I raise up to my tip-toes.  He isn't fooled, but then, his back is broken, either - a fair trade.

Aidan (5), employs a winning smile - between words.  He is never short of words - or topics - or energy.  I gave him a kiss the other day and asked him to pass it on to his Uncle Corey.  Aidan insisted on seven kisses - and, yes, we counted them.  I'm not sure how many of them he shared with Corey, but it made my day!

Josiah (4), oh my.  Josiah practices at ways to be silly.  Just when I reach my own personal limit and tell him to stop, he laughs - which makes me laugh - so any remote thought he had to actually heed my words and "stop" disappears into a gale of giggles.  How do you reprimand when you can't stop laughing?  Perhaps I am one of his favorite jokes.  Regardless, he wins every time.

Elijah (2), though, won the week - twice!  I showed up to watch his sisters so the rest of the family could take a train into the city to visit Uncle Corey.  I opened the door to Aidan's conversation, Josiah's giggles, and Elijah's proclamation, "I don't want to go.  I want to stay here with Granma."  How much do I love that kid!  So how did he top that?  Well, actually: he got on the train to go visit Uncle Corey.  The girls and I had a relatively quiet and very enjoyable day.

What can I say?  I love both the coming and the going!  And I love the absolute joy of being a Granma to boys!  That's my boy(s)!!!

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.

Are you sure he's related to me?

Aidan DOES love sugar

There are some things that are just the hallmark of being me.  Some of them I'm proud to mention:  grandmothering, of course, and quilting and writing and biking.  That's a solid enough list, though honestly, a bit thin.  But those are some pretty common things you might hear about me, especially judging by my Facebook page - oh, and margaritas, but that's a blog of a different title...

Elijah vs the cupcake

There are other things that are "me" through and through - I'm just not fool enough to highlight them in a blog that I hear will reside on the Internet long after my demise.  Then, again, as long as we are talking about it - or I am anyway - let's bring one of them into the light of day.  Two rounds of Weight Watchers notwithstanding, I am a sugar-a-holic.  My mom taught me to make cookies before my age of remembering.  By second grade, I would make them by myself on a whim or as a result of a dearth of appealing after school snacks.  These days, I try (some days successfully) to keep my sweet tooth in check - or exercises off the excess - as dictated daily.  However, I am well aware that there is a bakery in Sycamore (20 miles west of here) that has the BEST frosted sugar cookies!  Fortunately, you can buy them individually; I cannot be trusted with two.  And I can't easily or often make a 40 miles detour just to satisfy my sweet tooth.  This is what passes for self-control in my life.

Josiah and the object of his affection

Frozen sugar

One of my jobs as Granma - one of the ones I love the best - is making cookies with the grands.  It's not my stated job in life to doom the generation-after-next to a sugar addiction, but apparently I'm not beyond it, either.  Chocolate chips are always at the ready.  Ice cream in always in the freezer (Grampa's vice more than mine, but only by degree).  Mind you, I have never forced sugar or even the love of sugar upon the mini's; they have followed quite naturally, voluntarily and enthusiastically.  Go figure... Until the introduction of cotton candy...

First, a disclaimer:  I wasn't there and I didn't ply the three with pure spun sugar.  I mention this only because my friend, Sue Wauer, beat me to the punch.  A Granma herself (though she spells it "Yaya"), Sue was watching out for the ones I love when she saw them sitting empty handed at a baseball game.  Gaining parental permission, a considerate gesture, she bought blue cotton candy for each of the assembled three.  How sweet - and I say that with multiple meanings.

Whether or not the gift was appreciated by parent(s), it should have been destined for love by three little boys - though in reality, only two-thirds ended up singing its praises with sticky blue mouths.  The picture below graphically reveals Aidan's opinion of the the fluffy stuff, as well as that of his brothers.  This photographic evidence occurred even before the first taste, though I'm told the reaction was that much more pronounced after the first, and therefore last, bite.

While I might not be a cotton candy aficionado, it is sugar, meaning I will eat it just because.  So, really, Aidan, whose grandboy are you?  Well, sweetheart, I still love you!

Want to make some chocolate chip cookies?

Said No Kid Ever...

You don't have to be a Granma to know there are some things you will never hear from a kid.  You don't have to be a parent, either.  Every kids has a list of taboo statements.  And if they talked to another kid - any other kid - each would come away with a longer list.  And there would be no discussion.  Some things are just universally accepted.  There might be a shared laugh of agreement, but there would be discussion.

"I'm sorry you don't feel well.  I'll be good while you take a nap, Mom," said no kid ever.

"I want to do my homework before playing outside on this beautiful spring afternoon," said no kid ever.

"Yes, I hit by brother because I wanted his toy.  Please spank me now," said no kid ever.

"It's my birthday!  Do I have to open gifts?" said no kid ever.

"It's getting close to bedtime.  Can I go to bed now?" said Aidan last Sunday.

What!?!  Since when does a five year old want to go to bed early?  He's breaking a code or something!  That could have lifelong repercussions for an entire generation to come!  He might get a pass if he was sick or he had a 2 AM bedtime.  But, no, he was healthy and it was shortly before 8 PM.  This Granma had to seriously wonder what could make a child say such a thing, though of course, his parents acquiesced.

Aidan marched into the kitchen where I was talking with his parents, gave us all a kiss, handed his mom a small blue pillow with a slightly bulging pocket on the front, and headed for bed.  Aidan, you see, just lost his second tooth and had succumbed to the magic of the tooth fairy.  He wasn't looking forward to a dollar or five or whatever the going rate tends to be.  No, he was looking for a real payday - a Paw Patrol stuffed animal.  I understand the tooth fairy did not disappoint.

Did you know that the great white shark has rows and rows of teeth?  When one falls out, the next one is ready to fill it's spot.  Now, I'm not interested in a shark for a grandboy, but wouldn't that make bedtime a snap?  If, that is, you could find your way through all the stuffed animals to confiscate the tooth - a flaw in the plan.

I love you, Toothless!

Forty and Holding

I remember quite distinctly when I was thirty-something and someone asked me how old I would be if I didn't know how old I was.  I was raising 3 boys of my own at the time and I felt like the world (or my corner of it) rested on my shoulders.  My immediate answer was "40".  That, my friends, was depressing.  It was also the epitome of an exaggerated sense of self-importance.  Obviously, I took myself WAY to seriously at thirty-something.

Bryce Then

Tyler Now

Tyler Then

Bryce Now

So, now, I'm older and wiser - haha - or pretending to be.  My answer to the same question - two decades later - is still the same.  Thirty-seven plus years of marriage, 3 sons, 5 grandboys and 3 grandgirles - I'm still 40, right?  Just say, "yes," and everyone will have a nice Valentine's Day...

For the novelty of it all, I changed the wallpaper on my computer to randomly scroll through my pictures folder (seeming non-sequitur, I know).  It continues to amuse me every time I sit down at my computer.  Sometimes I actually sit and watch the changing pictures just to see what will come up next.  What can I say?  Frequently it is more entertaining than what is on TV.

Aidan Then

Aidan Now

While watching my own private picture show, I often find myself melting:  oh, I remember that! or Which kid is that? or I want to kiss those cheeks!  Somewhere the years have melted, as well, grandboys moving from flower child to pokeball fanatic - from rock hound to super turtle - from chubby-cheeked cherub to devil-may-care independence - from would-be-scholar to junior-GQ.  And with all those changes, all those loving moments, all those kisses and tears and sighs of exasperation, isn't it remarkable that I haven't aged even a day?  Well, OK.  Maybe I'll admit to 41 now, but only if I'm feigning honesty.  I just enjoy living in my own fantasy land with these grandboys.

Josiah Then

Josiah Now

BTW, Aidan guessed I was 67 the other day.  I don't hold it against him - mostly...  I might have threatened him with an early bedtime, though, if he didn't take it back...

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!

Gone Fishing

My husband liked to fish.  He went on an annual trip when our boys were young.  I think he just wanted a week of peace and quiet...  Some years he drove south to fish for bass.  That's good eating!  Some years, though, he drove north in search of Muskie.  On those occasions, I lived the week fearing that he would actually catch one!  No way did I want a dead fish adorning my fireplace mantel!  Fortunately, he never caught a legal-sized one, so we didn't have to sell the house to lose the fireplace...

Grampa also took our sons fishing - when he wasn't in the mood to catch many fish.  Once, I remember, I was in charge of worms on hooks.  Wouldn't you know it, we ran into a herd of hungry and foolish crappies.  I'm not a fishing fanatic - that didn't help.  When I look back on it now, it is still not with fondness.  But it is with a smile, so that's good enough.  The fishing gear has found its way down the line to our sons now.   I think Colin and Court inherited their love of drowning worms from their father, and for the same reason.  It's an escape to silence in a peaceful setting.  Both of them have taken their sons fishing, so maybe it's more than just an escape.  What did the worms ever do to them?

The other day, Aidan wanted to show me his new game, which is actually multiple games in one:  checkers, bingo, tic-tac-toe, snap, war, old maid, and Go Fish.  At least, those were the ones I saw up close and personal - as in "Look, Granma, we have this, too!"  These are the times I'm glad I wear glasses - as personal eye protection if not for vision...

We tested out several games, but the one that seemed to catch the fancy of both Josiah and Aidan was Go Fish.  Elijah made himself useful by confiscating sets of 3 or 4 when laid down.  Score keeping was nonexistent.  Aidan made great strides in understanding the game's goal.  Josiah, being three years old, spent every turn asking for cards bearing his favorite number - 3.  It mattered not if he had a 3 in his hand, or even if all the 3's had been played and were now in Elijah's hands.  Quite often, I brokered a trade with Elijah in order to make the 3's available to his elder brother, not wanting Josiah to quit in frustration.  Playing Go Fish with two players lacks whatever element of surprise and strategy might otherwise enhance the game.

I could win convincingly every time with almost no effort.  But the art of the deal is to LOSE believably at least an equal number of times.  Grandboys shouldn't win every hand.  But they must have fun and win some, or they will have no interest in challenging elder cousin and game-master Bryce someday.

If, by chance you go fishing with my grandboys, remember, you may have the bass or muskie for YOUR mantel, but leave the threes to Josiah.  At least until April, when he turns four...

Cookie: Monsters and Minnions

Some Christmas traditions just must occur.  I might spend some time wistfully thinking how much easier the season would be without hours spent, say, wrapping gifts or decorating the tree, but I wouldn't give it up.  That makes me either a hopeless sap or obsessive compulsive.  I prefer sentimental Granma hoping to pass on a tradition or two - though OCD is pretty descriptive, too.

I am hardly the investor of the Christmas cookie baking tradition.  There are a lot of us sugar plum(p) fairies during the holidays!  As a child, my siblings and I required our Mom to make gingerbread Santas.  They were about 6" tall, frosted and an unquestioned stocking stuffer.  No one really ate them, but they were not Christmas optional, either.  Mom grew tired of making them long before we moved out of the house.  They are still required when we go home for Christmas...

About 17 years ago, (how could it be that long?) my bestie invited me to join her in making Christmas cookies.  I think the first year we had a dozen different kinds, the second year we made 13.  Each year we tried to top the previous year - until we realized we weren't that impressed with ourselves.  Six is a good number for anyone wondering, a fact that we proved again last Sunday.  We were heavy on the chocolate, which might not make for the most photogenic sugar gathering, but it sure tastes good!

Just a couple of days previous to that, Josiah and Aidan joined me in round of frosting art.  Their cookies, as you can plainly see, are a study in eye catching design.  Little to no chocolate was employed, though marshmallows were popular, as were sprinkles.  We started with more marshmallows than you see here.  Apparently, it's pretty easy to sneak those fluff balls - there is no tell-tale crunch to call attention to the guilty pleasure/party.

At one point, I caught Josiah "sprinkling" his tongue with red sugar.  Upon extracting the bottle from his mouth (and bidding it a premature farewell), I looked left to see Aidan taste-testing the blue sugar in much the same fashion.  Brothers...  It has been a few days now, and I'm starting to remember with fondness, and a giggle, two little boys with red and blue smiles.  I must remember to get more sprinkles before attempting cookies with them again.  Who knew it a whole bottle of sprinkles was a single use item?

So who won the cookie cook-off of 2016?  Well, for looks, I have to give it to the mini monsters.  They beat the besties with color and creativity!  However, for general public consumption of a more sanitary nature, I recommend the chocolate.  Seventeen years of practice has to show up somewhere - besides our hips...

Merry Christmas!!!

Christmas Magic

There are some special "grands" Christmas memories.

Last year was one of them.  Holding two precious baby girles, home from the hospital, but still tethered to oxygen.  How sweet that was!  This year, holding them is much more difficult - they want to be down and moving, especially Faith.  She gyrates in your arms, demanding the freedom of the floor.  What a wonderful, miraculous, welcome change!

Bella's first Christmas with us was last year, too.  She arrived walking and talking, of course.  She and I made ornaments to decorate the tree, dancing snowmen and gingerbread men and women.  We started out following the directions.  We ended up with a whole village of our creations - no two the same.

A dozen Christmases ago, was Bryce's first, all six weeks old of him.  I was still trying on the name 'Granma,' and hadn't settled on the spelling yet.  But I certainly had settled on Bryce!  He has sparkled on Christmas every year since.  I'm looking forward to some boardgames with him this Christmas.


Tyler was almost a year old by the time his first Christmas arrived.  Older and wiser, he enjoyed all the gifts, especially the wrapping and bows.  I love to watch the world through his eyes, which haven't lost the wonder of expectation.

Elijah slept through much of his first Christmas, a mistake he won't make again, I'm sure!  Being grandboy number five at the time, the pack-and-play was a safe location for him, while the rest of the world spun out of control with laughter and bits of colorful confetti raining down.

But my favorite grandboy Christmas memory is the year Aidan learned to blow out the Christmas tree!  He walked into the house, straight up to the tree and started blowing.  The behavior seemed a bit odd, quite frankly, two-year-old adorable, but odd.  Court and Christine let us know that we should stand at the ready by the light switch that controlled the outlet to the tree lights.  We were a quick study.  The lights went off (or back on) with each watery blow from his lips.

My next favorite memory is too intertwined to be a separate memory, though it happened two years later.  Aidan was then in control of the light switch for two-year-old Josiah.  His younger brother would giggle with delight that started at his toes.  Aidan, sharing in the joy, joined a duet with the shear joy of toddler laughter!

I can't wait for Christmas!  I wait expectantly with the joy of a toddler for the gathering of the red and green grands!  Merry Christmas, everyone!  And merry memories in the making!

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!

Belt and Suspenders

One of the things I love most about those ages represented by the fingers on one hand only is watching them learn.  You can almost watch things click into place in their growing, absorbing, curious minds.

"Were does yogurt come from?"

"Milk."

"No, Granma, you can drink milk, but not yogurt."

"Yes, really!  Yogurt comes from milk and milk comes from cows."

"Wow!  Where do shoes come from?"

"Well, leather comes from cows."

"TWO things come from cows?!"

Should I blow his mind that hamburger has bovine origins, too?

Aidan is also quite the reader, and speller, too.  He wants to know how to spell everything, which is good reason to stick to cow rather than bovine or Guernsey.  The other day, after spelling things out on scratch paper, he came and flopped down on the couch by me.  I started making letters on his back with my finger.  He told me the letters and then the word.  L-O-V-E  (easy and a natural, of course), and then A-I-D-A-N.

Recovering his five-year-old energy quickly, he announced that he could write on my back.  I bent over to give him better access to the intended writing surface.  C-E-I-L-I-N-G.  A bit random, I must say, making it harder to guess.  Fortunately, I had just spelled it out for him when he was using more conventional writing implements, so it wasn't completely from left field.

I was pretty sure the next word would be E-X-C-E-L-L-E-N-T, another word I had helped him spell earlier, and on the list he held in his hand.  I was right, which made un-refined back-writing easier to decipher.  However, midway though the word, he stopped.  "You have a bump on your back, Granma."  And with that, he pushed up my shirt up my back to investigate.

"Oh, I see," he announced.  "It's your belt."

No, I did not correct him.  I just did my best to stifle my laughter so as to not to shake his writing surface too much as he continued with the letters.  Excellent.  Yes, indeed, Aidan, you are!

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.

A Hand Full of Fingers

Five is a pretty essential number.  There is high five and Jackson Five and five little monkeys jumping on the bed.  I have experienced them all, though I know the Jackson Five dates me some.  That's ok, 'cause One Bad Apple Don't Spoil The Whole Bunch - if you are Granma or Grampa enough to know what I mean...

There is an extra special "five" happening this week, though, when Aidan has his birthday!!!!  For anyone reading this, you've been there and done that, I know.  Maybe you remember or maybe not.  I can't really say I remember the exact day I turned five, but I have relived the occassion a couple of times with other grandboys.  There is something magical about spreading all your fingers on one hand to emphasize your age.  Maybe because it's the end of an era - when was the last time that a child showed you six fingers when asked his age?

Aidan is a rather precocious five, a trait he has dragged with him through many years now.  I have had to give up on spelling over his head when I didn't want him to know what we were talking about.  No matter how fast I say the letters, he announces the spelled words.  Not that he is a perfect speller; there are two notable exceptions to his talent.  First, he is convinced that "of" is spelled "o-v".  He might have a point there.  Secondly, he insists that my name is GranDma.  On that score he is just wrong, but after spending much time trying to convince him that there is no D in Granma, I gave up the quest.  We will take it up again when both hands are necessary to indicate his age.

Aidan's most ambitious adventures start with "I have an idea..."  However, some of the most ill-conceived thoughts start the same way.  You have to be very careful and discerning with those sentences.  On the other hand, if you tell him something as a throwaway comment or just to pacify him, be prepared to hear about it again.  He never gives up and he never forgets.  If it weren't for his wiry body, you would think he was an elephant.  As you can see, though, he is getting cuter and his personality is getting bigger by the photograph.  Pictures don't lie!

Happy Birthday, Aidan!  You are one major goofball, and I couldn't love you more if I tried!  Bring on the cake and candles!

Friends and Countrymen, Lend Me Your Ears!

Naomi - with room to grow

Faith - Pretty in Pink

With all good intentions, I promise this will be the last Disney post.  Meaning - I will not be held responsible if sentence #1 turns out to be an outright lie...  But this post is a must, cuz there is much cuteness to be displayed!

Before leaving to Florida, I spent some time mulling over what gift to bring Illinois bound grandbabies from the land of Mickey.  The possibilities are endless, of course, in the land of the world's largest souvenir stand:  t-shirts, toys, stuffed animals, to name the most conventional.  The mouse, of course, doesn't stop there, but I did - until...  Merry suggested bringing back ears for all the mini-folk!  Perfect!

Bella - My Bell!

Aidan - Lightening McQueen

So between Space Mountain and Soarin' we four travelers embarked on the great ear hunt.  Finding ears was not the problem - they were EVERYWHERE, including the heads of most of our new best friends and mouseketeers.  Total non-sequitur: while trying to figure out how to spell mouseketeers it occurred to my typing fingers that it could be "mouse-cat-ears" - a shout out to Tom and Jerry, I suppose.

Anyway, mouse ears come with glitz and glitter and in Army drab.  There are bride and groom ears, princess ears, Star Wars ears, Winnie-the-Pooh ears (which kind of defied imagination),  Lightening McQueen ears, under the sea ears...  You get the drift.

Tyler - Scorcerer

Josiah - Goofy

Not feeling the need to start collections of our own, Merry and I brought our "vintage" ears from a previous trip and paraded them around.  Bryce chose the R2D2 ears for himself and Ava's ears lit up - and flashed in time to the music at various attractions as well as being timed to the fireworks.

But really, how adorable are the Illinois mouseketeers!  It would have been nice to get all those ears in one picture.  It was suggested.  However, we all know how mice tend to scatter when you try to catch them.  I would say that Mickey has that affect on the mini ones.  In truth, it's also the nature of grandbabies.  I am settling for assembling them in this blog.  It's the easiest way to get them to sit still!

Elijah - Mickey!

Thank you to Mickey for the additional set of ears each.  I'm sure it will have a great affect on their listening skills, too!  As long as they can hear "I love you" - that's all that really matters!