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!

Two times Two

Two years ago this week, I was making final preparations for a 400+ mile trek across Iowa on a bike.  An Iowa native, RAGBRAI (Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa) was calling me back to my roots.  I had put in countless hours and miles in preparation to join my brother Bruce and son Corey on the journey.  It was to be the highlight of my summer - until something more important came along. With a scant few days notice, I bowed out of RAGBRAI, leaving my teammates to traverse the state without me.  In my place, Flat Lory hitched a ride on Bruce's back, something he has not let me forget in the intervening years.

So what would possibly make me throw aside 6+ months of training at the last minute?  Grandloves, of course - which is always the answer to all questions in this blog.  Specifically, it was the premature births of Faith Anne and Naomi Hope.  Rather than pedaling among the corn, I was grandboy deep in the newborns' brothers while their Mom and Dad were at the hospital.  At the time, Aidan (3), Josiah (2), and Elijah (not yet 1) were in my care for a week.  My brother might try to convince you that he had the harder job carrying Flat Lory across the state of our birth.  I only know that I had the better job, and I wouldn't trade all the rhubarb pie he ate even with all the PB&J and mac & cheese I indulged in with those boys.  (I've never claimed to be a culinary master.)

Last year and this one as well, I will spend a week in the Iowa sun, sleeping in a tent and rising early to pedal across my home state.  But before and during my journey, I marvel at those two little girlies who turned the Harris world upside-down.

They turn two on Friday.  How is that possible!  And yet, the have gone from tiny little loves, well under two pounds each unable to breathe on their own, to strapping (through still skinny) two year olds exercising their lungs when they feel overshadowed or slighted.  In other words, they are typical two year olds!

Recently, I received the blessing of watching the two of them (and just the two of them) for the day.  What a day it was!  At times, they expressed their opinions showing they are still babies and wanting undivided attention.  Other times, they wanted freedom to explore their world independently.  As I said, typical two year olds...

Faith and Naomi, you have blessed us with your presence - your love, your demands, your personalities.  Thank you for keeping us on our toes.  Thank you for giving us double the joy, even when you are being double-trouble.  Thank you for letting me be Granma!  Happy, happy birthday to two very special two year olds!  With twice the love - twice over!

Celebrating Chicago Style

Breaking and Entering 101

Someone special celebrated her 8th birthday last weekend!  We were a few weeks late with the party, so we had to do it up right!  And we did!  Bella and I joined Uncle Corey in the city for our version of Planes, Trains and Automobiles - less the planes and add a bike taxi instead.  The driver of the bike taxi joined the Lion's International Parade while cutting through to reach our intended destination.  Bella, of course, had the royal wave down - our lioness princess.

The Bean!

On Friday night Bella and I took the train to our awaiting chariot (Uncle Corey's car).  We dined on cheesy bread and pizza, followed by peanut butter ice cream.  Yum!  With full tummies and heavy eyes, we eventually made our way to bed.  For the record, Bella does not kick and snore like her older brother (yeah!!!).  Her stuffed animal, however, does tend to wander off during the night.  She contends that I stole the covers.  Seems like a fair trade - puppy found, covers lost.  All is in balance in the world.

Goofing around

After an early morning trip to the coffee shop, we made our way to Millennium Park and the "Bean" - one of my favorite Chicago locals - and then to adjoining Maggie Daily Park.  We walked, and walked, and walked some more.  Bella was a trooper, even when she was certain she couldn't make it another step.

The Grand Finale

At the appointed hour on Saturday afternoon, we made it to the stated object of our Chicago adventure.  Sitting in the front row of the first balcony, we saw Aladdin - Bella's first live play/musical.  It did not disappoint!  The sets were spectacular, the Genie was magical, and Princess Jasmine was beautiful.  Jasmine and Aladdin were a magical couple, especially when they rode the magic carpet.  Fun stuff!

There was a bit more walking before Bella and this Granma caught a train back to the 'burbs.  Even one of our fellow riders commented that she could tell from our conversation and general goofiness we had a wonderful trip in the city.  She was absolutely right!

Happy, happy birthday, my Bella!  I hope you still remember your 8th when you are 80!  I know I will, but then, I'm a bit closer to 80 than you are.  And by the time I delivered my grandgirlie home and crashed on my own couch, I felt closer to 80 than ever!  What a great feeling - and a great night's sleep, without a single wandering puppy to locate.

What I Didn't Know

It has only been four years, but it feels like a lifetime.  Actually, it is a lifetime - yours, Josiah!  When you were born (Grandboys = 4, Grandgirlies = 0), I knew immediately that I loved you with my whole heart, yet oddly not diminishing in the least my love for your cousins and brother.  Love is a funny stretchy thing that way.  I was happy to be stretched!  Oh, how you have continued my education over your lifetime!

Maybe I should have suspected that you would follow your older brother around like the Pied Piper.  What is the point of older brothers if not to emulate them?  But how could I possibly foresee how you can grab onto one of his antics and take it to a whole new Josiah-level?  Anything Aidan can do, Josiah can do sillier.

Being the "older and wiser" between the two of us, I didn't know I was no match for "Josiah stubborn."  I didn't know that in a test of wills, I would always be the one to first cry "uncle" or some other such relative.  I had hoped, but really didn't think, that logic would be a deciding factor in such cases. Logic has no relevance when you lock into pure, unadulterated "you can't make me."  Thank you for your "gentile" guidance on how to compromise effectively when we are at odds.  First, seek to head off the loggerhead with humor if at all possible - it allows both of us a graceful exit.  Secondly, I will state my case firmly but eloquently to your defiant body language.  Third, I'm still bigger and stronger, and I know how to direct you to your bedroom.  Sixty to 120 seconds later, I will love you up in an effort at reconciliation.  And finally, I will allow you to decide the exact timing of the return to "situation normal," confident that our final destination will be marked with hugs and kisses.  Once again, love shows its stretchability as it covers all manner of divergent opinions.

No, you can't make me
pick up the shoe I just threw
across the room.

I think my favorite Josiah-discovery over your lifetime is your laugh.  Just when I'm about to caution you and your brothers against the slippery slope of too much silliness, you start with the belly laugh!  And it's all over!  All of us go slipping, sliding, giggling down the hill.  I know it may not end well, laughter too often ending in tears, but I cannot keep a straight face long enough to insist upon the needed decorum.

Happy brithday, Josiah!  I can't wait to see what you will teach me over the next years!  I love you bunches!

Hero in a Half Shell

Snips and snails and puppy dog tails, that's what little boys are made of - or so the saying goes.  It's poetic, but I'm not 100% certain I agree.  If I had to slap a label on the "boy" package, I think it would read (from greatest to smallest):  dirt, megaphone, love bunny, dinosaur, super hero, stardust, giggles and dreamer.  Poetry has never been one of my strengths, but I do know boys!

The ingredient list above is a generalization, of course, since no two boys are packaged identically.  I had one boy of my own who had more stardust than usual, one with an excess of love bunny, and one who was fully one-quarter Tyrannosaurus Rex - though all of them still had dirt as their first ingredient...  Likewise, grandboys vary slightly in proportional content.

Tyler's 6th birthday was last weekend.  You can probably tell from the picture what his predominate ingredient is.  In his case, dirt is not number one on the list, though it might be a close second.  Years ago, even while we struggled to understand his toddler-speak, he was shooting the bad guys with a rifle masquerading as a stick or Legos doubling as a gun or cardboard tube nunchaku.  Tyler, then and now, adds his own sound effects.  I would tell you what they are, but I'm not a good speller and I fear auto correct would not know what to do with my attempts.  Think "boy noises" and you will come close...

Happy birthday to my favorite hero in a half shell!  Not only is the world safe, but this Granma is secure in your love, as well.  I love you, Leonardo (blue mask - I Googled it)!  Happy Birthday!

Ignored!

It happened again, as it does with some regularity.  The family gathered for food and bedlam at increasing decibels.  Here is the funny thing about decibels:  they increase, one child to the next, each vying for attention, until - Mom or Dad or another adult figure ups the ante on the loudness scale and demands silence (parental oxymoron: yelling for silence).  The adult safety valve was released, but long before the echos died away, the noise returned.  Someday when I am deaf, I will smile contently at the din I can no longer hear.  I just enjoy the gathering!

Last weekend's event was to celebrate birthdays of Bryce's and mine.  That made me a special guest - well, I'm always special, right?  But there was a consensus on that day, and I expected to revel in it.

Walking in the front door, the town crier opened the basement door and bellowed, "Granma's here!"  Five munchkins, all under the age of eight bounced off the various subterranean walls and responded.  "Granma!!!!"  The thundering herd came up the stairs laughing and talking.  Elijah voice, carried above them all - not that he was the loudest, but his toddler voice continually repeated my name.  I love that kid!  I got hugs and kisses and happy birthdays and requests for piggy back rides.  Piggy back turned into piggy pile when I made the mistake of sitting on the floor.  I love all those kids!

Shortly thereafter, this Granma was rescued by a voice telling those under five feet tall to take it downstairs until dinner.  Not yet having shrunk in stature enough to be banished to the basement, I remained upstairs for adult conversation.  Elijah, feigning height he does not actually possess, remained upstairs, still spouting my name every other sentence or so.  Love, love, love!

Dinner arrived along with the diminutive noise makers.  Here things turned left:  Uncle Corey became the human equivalent of a jungle gym.  Uncle Colin participated in his share to monkey business, too.  Granma watched.  Eventually the miniature were herded back down to their lair.  Aside from a call to cake, where the cake garnered more attention than this birthday celebrant, midgets were only sighted periodically, usually bringing words like "he took my..." or "he won't let me..."

As the evening wound down, I thought maybe I had lost my Granma-ly touch (though my sanity was blissfully in tact) as I put on jacket on to leave.  Then was heard an announcement aimed downward from the top of the steps:  "Granma's leaving!"  And right on cue, the the masses fell up the stairs pushing and shoving and giggling.  I was swept up on a chorus of "I love you" and "happy birthday", sloppy kisses and hurdled hugs.  So much love!  It was indeed my special day afterall.

Oh, and glad I didn't have to pick up the basement.  I can only imagine...

Happy birthdays to me!

Today is the exact mid-point between my birthdays.  As a kid, I always wanted a second birthday - you know, back when getting older seemed to have all the perks.  Besides, my birthday is close to Christmas and a spring present opportunity seemed a good gig.  Gifts aside, I finally got my second birthday - two days before the original one.  Tomorrow I will be 57 (gasp), but yesterday I turned 11.  So I guess I'm 34 today.  Maybe you can follow my math but question my logic, but I assure you there is logic there - somewhere...  Eleven years ago yesterday, my original grandboy was born, and along with it, the birth of this Granma.

That baby boy Bryce was pink and wrinkly when he was born - pink when he wasn't testing his lungs, which made him more fuchsia - but still 100% blue.  From those very first hours, he taught me to be a Granma.  He taught me to share (him - with his parents).  He taught me to eat yogurt off of chubby, sticky, outstretched fingers (I still hate the stuff, but I obliged him out of love).  He reminded me that even after reading the same book 25,000 times, you still can't skip a page.  Of course, you don't actually have to "read" it, either.  It just rolls off your tongue (and through your nightmares).

As he grew he learned that even average hurts to a small body are huge - I lesson I wish I could have spared him.  Hugs and kisses might not vanquish all those hurts, but they are good salve for the soul - both of our souls.

Together we have conquered merry-go-rounds and water slides and roller coasters.  We proved that you are never too old for Disney - not at 11 or 34 or 57... or 114 for that matter.  Bryce tried to teach  me about Mario Cart - unsuccessfully - and more recently about Minecraft and Pokemon.  Alas, with the same results.  I taught him to play Monopoly, first of the Junior variety and then the real game.  The rules of the adult version include no more blind-eyed Granma letting him cheat to win.  It is a lesson he learned well.  Winning is now a shared talent.  Sometimes he even cheats to lose just so the game won't end as quickly.  (Monopoly and end quickly = oxymoron!)

It doesn't feel like 11 years ago.  I don't feel like 57, either.  Maybe I'll just lay claim to 34 for awhile.  I love sharing this birthday season with you, Bryce.  And I love you!!!  Happy Birthday!!!!

Been There, Done That

This week celebrates the second anniversary of the birth of my grandboy, Elijah.  He has grown into the job of being third born and third son in the family.  For those of you without three sons of your own, that means he had to learn to stand up for himself - even before he could physically stand up at all.  He is tough and he is solid, and his heart is solid gold, too!

He has a belly laugh that makes the gloomiest of days morph into instant sunshine.  You can't not smile when you hear it - even if he is laughing at his favorite game:  throw the toy up in the air.  There are only two variables in this game:  exactly what toy gets thrown and which direction it goes when tossed.  Which, I guess, leads to a third variable - who or what might be in the way of the incoming projectile.  But he laughs, and you rub your aching shin, and you smile - and you protect yourself against the next giggle producing ear of plastic corn.

There might be nothing better than showing up at the house of Elijah.  Regardless which grandboy opens the door, Elijah pushes his way through the assembled saying, and I quote, "Granma, lkej eiosh truck wioury oui up."  He had me at Granma.

I know you aren't supposed to have favorites.  It's a good rule and one I hold to - mostly.  But there are exceptions.  First, birthdays render the rule moot for the day.  But on the other 358 days of the year, my favorite is the one I am currently laying hands, eyes and kisses upon.  Meaning, of course, that I can have multiple favorites all at one time.  This Granma gig is a great one!

The son...

And his father

Sometimes, though, when I catch a glimpse of that little third in line, fireplug of a toddler and spark plug of a personality, I see another third boy child.  It takes my breath away!  There is, of course, a perfectly logical explanation for the déjà vu - like father, like son.  And, Elijah, you are your father's son!

Happy Birthday to my favorite of the day.  Oh, heck, you can have the whole week.  I love you!

The Great Poop Caper

I raised three boys.  We joke often that we can't make it through a meal without discussing bodily functions.  Sadly, I confess, this has not changed in the intervening years between grade school and their thirty-somethings.  I theorize that dining discussions tend to be different with you have both sons and daughters, but I have no way for knowing for sure.  Anyway, it's all fair game at our table.  Bear this in mind, and sorry in advance, if you are invited to dine with us...

We all gathered for a birthday celebration the other night, and there was indeed some lively conversation which had not made its way to bodily functions - a feat unto itself.  This would be a good time to mention that four members of the gathered see no need for the privacy of a bathroom when nature calls.  Additionally, we have two small dogs, one of whom likes to be in the middle of everything.

As cake time approached, I passed off a baby grandgirlie and grabbed a soon to be two birthday boy.  It was the smell first, and then the gooey-but-not-frosting on my arm that caught my attention...  (The cake had not yet been touched - thankfully!)  By process of elimination (girlie smiling and pleasant smelling, upcoming birthday boy smiling only), we found our culprit - or so we thought.

Emma, from the other side of the room, walked in and said,"wow, something smells."  I mentioned small dog, right?  Did I mention waist high to a toddler?  Apparently puppy of the curious nature had done no better than I at avoiding the discards of a certain almost two year old, which were now securely located behind his ear, not that he seemed to mind in the least.  Cake further on hold, toddler in Daddy's capable hands, I grabbed a puppy in my hands along with soap and water.

It was almost a Harris record - an entire meal without an ounce of poop talk.  Way to go, Elijah!  Bring us back to our roots!  You are a Harris man-child after all!  Looks like the tradition will continue...

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!

Some Birthdays are Bigger than Others

Growing up!

Some things don't change in a year.  For example, this time last year I was putting in lots of miles on my bike to get ready for RAGBRAI, a week long bike ride across the state of Iowa.  My brother, Bruce, and my son, Corey, were doing the same.  And here we are again, wondering why anyone would want to ride a bike across the state of Iowa and anxiously, crazily anticipating the trip.  The difference is that Corey and Bruce actually made the trip in 2015, which might lead one to believe that they are the truly crazy for doing it again!

I, on the other hand, sent Flat Lory as my RAGBRAI representative last year, when Faith and Naomi decided to enter the world at just 24 weeks, weighing slightly more than a pound a piece.  3D Lory spent the week with their brothers Aidan, Josiah and Elijah, loving it and (realistically) longing for bedtime - theirs and mine (which coincided pretty closely).

Of course, the girlies first months of exploration where medical in nature. It was quite some time before we could even get a clear view of their precious faces.  But it was worth the wait!  After almost four months in the hospital, they came home tethered to oxygen and monitors with endless doctor's appointments and medications.  Court and Christine threw themselves into the honor of loving and caring for the girlies - oh, and their three brothers!  

Faith making it through an obstacle course 

Naomi's birthday smiles!

Now, weighing in at about 15 pounds a piece, they are exploring the reaches of the universe, or at least of their universe, and getting more bold by the day!  Faith, especially, gets herself into some pretty amazing positions trying to keep up with her brothers.  Naomi is perfecting the army crawl as well, though she can also get what she wants with her beautiful smile.  The world is wrapped around their tiny and perfectly formed and functioning fingers.

So, little girlie girls, it has been quite the year, an extra special one because of you!  This Granma can't wait for another year of loving you both!  Happy First Birthday!

Happy Birthday to Her!

I missed her first - and second.  As a matter of fact, I missed her third, fourth and fifth birthdays, too.  But I was there for the sixth, and the seventh arrives later this week!  My eldest and first grandgirlie!  Miss Bella!!!

Bella can light up any room.  Actually, she can boss a room around pretty effectively, too - though quite nicely, I might add.  She LOVES little cousins!  And they follow her like the pied piper that she is!  She is pink and purple and lipstick and Barbies.  In other words, a foreigner in these parts and a welcome one.

Then again, she is also the master at going cross-eyed, and she certainly doesn't shy away from water fights and goopy stuff and being one of the boys. (I''m so disappointed I can't find the picture of my cross-eyed beauty!  It does exist!)

You know the hardest - and best - part about having a grandgirlie like Bella?  I have to figure out what to get her for her birthday.  So far, I've figured out nothing with wheels, or superheros, or guns.  What does that leave?  I think I need a trip to Toys-R-Us - and Fast!!!

I love you, Bella!  Happy Birthday!

The Final Countdown to THREE

Tomorrow it will be official:  Josiah will turn three.  Three is my least favorite age ever.  I prefer thirteen to three - though there are similarities between them - squirrelly and prone to temper tantrums to name two.  But I'll say this for Josiah - he is absolutely my favorite three year old, so he has that going for him.

In January of last year, I did a blog titled "Stuck in the Middle with You" - featuring tomorrow's birthday boy.  That was when he was the second of three.  Now, as the second oldest of five, life has changed.  Now he is one of the "big" kids.  And as a big kid, he gets to go to school when Granma arrives to teach science (oh, there will be future blogs on THAT!).

Then there are days like Sunday when we had a family dinner to celebrate Grampa and Josiah's birthdays.  Josiah decided to flaunt his youth with just a "touch" of blue icing lipstick.  Granma is totally useless at telling him to stop when she, herself, can't stop laughing.  His unnatural smile kept growing until Mama grabbed the wet wipes.  After all, someone had to be the adult, and I was doing a poor job of it.  In fact, I was thinking of blue lips myself.  Thank you, Christine, for saving me from myself...

Josiah has two modes - absolute-goof-ball and nothing-you-do-will-make-me smile.  But look at those eyes!  Coppery hazel!  They bewitch me and apparently they go very well with blue - he might be on to something.  He also has two voices - toddler-what-is-he-saying? and billy-goat-beats-me-what-he's-saying.  Seriously, he should think about opera - no one has a vibrato like that kid!  Fortunately, Aidan is really good at interpreting.  Actually, sometimes Aidan just shrugs when asked what his brother is saying.  He might actually understand, but it is an older brother prerogative to feign ignorance.

Josiah, I love you dearly, just the way you are!  You are a love bug of epic-ly three-year-old proportion!  I'll love you next year, too, when you are (relieved sigh) four...  Happy Birthday!

Eat Your Hearts Out, Buzz and Woody!

 This week is the 28th birthday of (drum roll) BIRTHDAY BEAR!!!!  And there is quite the celebration to be had!

We didn't know when he joined our family that he would have such staying ability.  Honestly, he was an impulse buy.  I was wandering through Jewel grocery store in the days leading up to Court's birthday when bear's fuzzy little nose and hat emblazoned "I'm 4!" caught my eye.  I could say I set him gently in the cart so as to give him a good home, but I'm sure that is giving me way too much credit.  He probably shared a plastic bag with the ketchup and frozen peas.  Court, though, fell in love the Birthday Bear immediately!  He was a constant companion and my shut-eye-savior.

Fast forward a couple of decades when this Mom was packing up a room for her baby who no longer resembled a baby in the least.  I just couldn't part with such a loyal companion.  No, he didn't return to the condiment and frozen veggies from which he sprang.  Instead, he found a box, surrounded by other mementos of an era:  a Cub Scout flag, a soccer trophy, a various decorations that once hung proudly in a little boy's bedroom.  And there Birthday Bear patiently waited.

As luck would have it, this Granma recently decided it was time to clean out the crawl space.  Wading through boxes and pictures and tokens of bygone eras, I came across our little friend.  His nose isn't plush anymore and his shirt isn't white.  His once blue pom-pom is fading to grey (I can relate - to the grey, not the blue).  I piece of me, roughly 37%, asked why hang on to this grocery store ghost of galas gone past.  63% of me couldn't bear to put the bear out to pasture.

Sometimes it's a good thing to be a sentimental sap.  I reunited bear and best friend.  The instant Court saw his faithful companion again, it was like turning back the clock to 4 again.  "It's Birthday Bear!  Look, Adian, this was Daddy's friend when I was your age!"

I haven't asked him, but I'm sure Birthday Bear would agree that it was worth the wait for another generation of bedtime snuggles and secrets.  He is a wizened little bear - 28 years and growing younger by the day, thanks to the love of another little boy who bears a striking resemblance to the original.

Happy Birthday, Bear!  And Happy Birthday, Court!

Dreams do come true, Woody!  Here's the proof!

Our First Decade is in the Books

It's hard for me to believe, but the one who started me on this wonderful Granma journey will be 10 this week.  Wasn't it just yesterday that you used to sit on the counter and play with soap bubbles in the kitchen sink?  I can never wash dishes without smiling at the memory.  I would put a finger-full of bubbles on your nose, and we would laugh.  You would return the favor with a toddler-sized fist-full of bubbles and put them somewhere near my face.  You would laugh.  Well, I would, too, for the joy of it all, but not until the bubbles were cleared from my mouth and eyes as needed.

Did you know that when your Daddy was born, Grampa and I set forth our favorite names:  Colin and Bryce.  Your dad got them both, and in that order.  I didn't know I just had to wait another generation for my choice to get top billing.  You were most definitely worth the wait, Bryce!

Do you remember coming in the door and threading your way through as many bodies as necessary to run and jump into my arms?  There was one Thanksgiving when everyone arrived at the same time.  It was quite the obstacle course, but you were up for the challenge.  When I close my eyes, I can see it all again and again.  You were doing exactly what I wanted to do, though your low center of gravity and agility were far superior for the task.  That, and it's so much cuter and more socially acceptable for an adorable midget to elbow elders out of the way.  Such behavior from Granmas is frowned upon.

The Bryce and Granma duo have seen much joy, and shed a tear or two together as well.  We have had the greatest of adventures.  Some that we discuss often and with great fondness, like the trips to Door County and to Iowa.  There are others that live in infamy, like when you dropped the rock on your toe at the Arboretum and I carried you on my back the rest of the trip - poor, dejected toenail.  My back felt your pain.

As we move in to our second decade of loving each other, this is my prayer:  That you may remain young enough to glimpse the wonder of us, and that I can be old enough to grow up with you.  I'm plenty willing to elbow my way through the crowds to wrap my arms around you.  And I'll keep bubbles at the ready for more good, clean fun.

'I love you' doesn't really say how deeply you reside in my heart - how the tentacles of you wind through me, surrounding and supporting my heart.  Three small words cannot be expected to say what you  mean to me.  But they give you a starting point and a reminder.

Happy Birthday, Bryce!  I absolutely do love you - now and forever!

Been There - Haven't Found the Exit Yet

So I started this blog on the premise that I am the mother of three and the grandmother of five BOYS.  There have been some female additions since then,whom I love very much - welcome Bella, Faith and Naomi!!!  They are breaking me in slowly and surely.  (Did you know that grandgirlies will actually walk around the block with you while pushing baby dolls in a baby carriage?!  Who knew?!)

Last weekend the family gathered for a birthday celebration for Colin and Corey.  Born 50 weeks apart, they have forever had to share birthday honors.  Side note:  my brother Bruce and I are also 50 weeks apart.  I spent many happy decades taunting that I was as old as he was for two whole weeks!  Now the tables have turned and he reminds me that I'm as old as he is for those two weeks annually.  He should end up with many more decades than I got to gloat over.

Anyway, there were 14 of us vying for food, table space and talk time.  Quite the cacophony of sound and bodies - and an absolute favorite for me!  The three at the top of the page are a generation removed.  What a funny way to say that - they aren't removed from ME!!!  I keep them as close as often as I can!

The victory gloat!

The two to the left, though, I get full credit for - which means half credit since it does take two to tango.  And what might they be doing?  Dinner is finished (not a leftover to be found) and cake is still to come.  The table, which had been set with table cloth, flowers and cloth napkins, is now missing a couple of napkins.  Court, sporting the impressive beard, and Colin, his backside front and center, are giving their best boyhood display of affection running around the house - with napkins - soaked in water - snapping at each other - leaving welts.  So what do I do but grab a camera and document.

It's only a matter of time before the grandboys will join in the fraying of the napkins.  It's just one of those things that boys do - to each other and to their sisters, too.  If you need help, girlies, I grew up with three brothers.  It just requires the right amount of water, feigned disinterest and a snap of the wrist when he least expects it.  Then run like crazy for your mom and dad, looking innocent as you hide behind them.  Oh, snap!!