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!

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)!!!

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...."

Gimme S'more!

Warmer weather when family gathers: there are so many reasons to love that!  First of all, with apologies to the neighbors, the action tends to move outside - and the voices.  No longer is heard the admonishment, "Inside voices."  Ironically, those two words are exclusively issued by those over 5' tall while using their outside voices.  Those directions must be in the parenting handbook, because we have all done it at one time or a hundred.

Happy Tyler, sticky fingers

I know Memorial Day is still a couple of weeks away, but the beautiful late spring weather has also brought with it the summer menu: hot dogs, hamburgers, chips and watermelon.  Even after eating to our heart's content and our bellies bulging, there is always room for s'mores!  

Our pyrotechnic heroes

So it was that Bryce and I found ourselves at the grocery store the other day to purchase the final ingredients for a well-rounded  and complete summer meal.  As we walked across the front of the store, I had my eyes up reading the aisle labels for candy, marshmallows and graham crackers.  Bryce, on the other hand, looked straight ahead and pointed out the end-cap display with all three items from our list.  I love that kid!  BTW, marshmallow and graham cracker packaging both come with directions for making s'mores.  We, the Harrises, contend, however, that if you need directions to make the gooiest of all summer treats, you skipped too many years of childhood to ever recover the true joy of the process.

Grampa got the fire going with help from Bryce and Bella. Lessons in Fire 101.  As you can see, everyone was taking is seriously - or seriously enough not to be a danger to themselves or the neighbors or the house - a successful blaze.

Next came the age old debate: light the fluffy sugar and burn it to a cinder or carefully coax it to the perfect golden brown.  You may be able to guess which side of the debate registers my vote.  But among the gathered, it was a draw.  I contend that the cinder people are just too impatient to do it properly.  But what do I care, mine are perfectly roasted, melted goodness.  I don't allow anyone else to prepare my marshmallows.  In case you were wondering, none of the packaging weighed in on the correct proportions of fire to sugar.  One more reason a recipe is absolutely unnecessary.

There is only one thing that would have made those messy harbingers of summer even better: homemade marshmallows.  Oh, yes, it is possible to make your own marshmallows and they are truly amazing!  I have promised them for our next batch of s'mores!  Oh, YUM!

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!

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!

I Don't Care to Chew My Milk

Josiah wearing his dessert

There were seven of us in my family of origin.  Even by my ancient standards, we were a pretty big family.  And big families come with certain rules.  One of the rules was to eat everything on your plate.  With one rare 'oyster' exception that we still talk about to this day, that rule was strictly enforced.  Oh, and my Dad served the plates, meaning that you were not allowed to pass on anything other than dessert.  Apparently, I was not too scarred by the rule, since my sons endured the same requirements.  However, some childhood trauma foods have never been served in my house:  liver, beef heart and Spam, to name three.  Other family favorites like Lima beans and lamb are served here, but with a special exemption issued to ME.

I'm really not that picky an eater.  I've had shark and jicama, edible flowers and head cheese, reindeer and frog legs.  Some I like more than others.  But there is one food, that I don't recall eating as a child, and I want to like as an adult - but I don't.  Everyone around me eats it and sings its praises.  A couple of times a year, I'm sure I will change my mind - or my taste buds, whichever.  Alas, every time, I'm wrong.  I cannot eat yogurt.

Elijah attempting not to waste a drop

In high school, I spent a summer in Finland, where my host family treated me to homemade yogurt, sprinkled with Frosted Flakes.  I went through half a box of cereal and still had half a bowl of yogurt staring up at me when I threw in the towel.  I can't for the life of me make myself like the taste of sour milk.

My grandloves, though, can easily be bribed to eat almost anything as long as they get yogurt for dessert.  They must get that from their Grampa's side.  He has that creamy sour stuff for breakfast most days, so the frig is generally well stocked - and the grands (boys and girls) count on it!  As you can tell, it's a messy kind of treat, at least for those under the age of three.  Actually, the three barrier can breached by silliness, as Josiah proved the other night.  I'm pretty sure his cream-covered nose was an intentional fashion statement

Bryce, the champion Granma breaker

There was one grandboy, though, who not only attempted, but succeeded at the impossible.  Like his cousins, solidified milk was a perpetual favorite for Bryce when he was a baby.  But being an only child for the first five years of life, he was more apt to share his bounty.  Look at those baby-blues and that near toothless smile!  How could I say no to his culinary shareable?  With chubby little, gooey little, germ-y little, yogurt-y baby finger offerings, I knew I was had.  I still can't say I liked it, but I was madly in love with the purveyor.

In case you were wondering, Granma's are not too old to learn new tricks.  Gogurt, in squeezable pouches, deliver their contents more concisely to the mini ones, rendering moot the need to decline a taste from their adorable fingers.  Saved by convenient packaging!

Here's hoping they never develop a taste for Lima beans...

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...

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!

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!!!!

The Parade of Halloween

Colin circa 1991

I'm not a major Halloween fanatic.  Well, I was when I was little.  Nothing like a sugar coma that can last for weeks. At some point, though, I realized that since Reese's come in two packs, it was far easier and almost as attractive to simply apply one to each hip.  Sigh.

As I kid, I would spend weeks leading up to the fall fest planning what to wear - AND gathering the parts and making the costume.  I have never worn a "store-bought" costume.  They probably weren't as prevalent when I was a child, but I don't remember lusting after them.  I kind of felt sorry for the poor kids whose parent's couldn't create a costume designed by the heart's desire.

When my boys were in the trick-or-treat age span, they never wore "store-bought" costumes, either.  I enjoyed creating whatever they wanted to be.  In their youngest years, of course, I was able to guide their requests based on ideas and props I had on hand.  There were lions and tigers, crayons and pumpkins, baseball players and maffiosa. In later years, they put me to the test. One year Colin was a baseball.  Another year Corey was a baseball card.  Court made an adorable T-Rex.  But if there is one contume that stands out among the many, it was the year that Colin decided he wanted to be a milk carton.  It seemed an odd request, but not an impossible one.  And, hey, he works in the grocery business now, so maybe it was just foreshadowing...

I thought my costume creating days were over.  Let's face it, now the store-bought can be pretty impressive - expensive, but elaborate.  This Halloween, though, I got "the call!"  I didn't even know I was missing the call, until it came:  costumes for Bryce, Tyler and Bella.  Bryce wanted to be a Pokeball (which I contend looks like a bobber.  I think his father should dress as a fish.  Just a thought.).  Tyler is Mike Wazowski (I'm hoping you guessed that from the picture).  And Bella, well, she is a Southern Bell(a), of course.  Unfortunately, she wasn't available to model for this picture.

So, Happy Halloween, everyone!  Not spooks and goblins, but fun and imagination... and candy!!!

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!

Just call me (for) Bubbles

I love bubbles!  I'm not talking bathtubs or champagne.  And, believe me, I can pass on a sink full of bubbles with a stack of dirty dishes alongside.  Bubble wrap is good, but my favorite is the good old run of the mill bubbles from the bottle that come from the Five and Dime Store (which is now the Dollar Store - inflation...).

In the days of my youth, we would fish that slimy wand with circles on each end out of the colorful plastic bottle.  With just the right offering of air flow, bubbles would cascade from the wand.  They would float through the air without a care in the world, catching sunshine and manufacturing fragile, round rainbows.  If you mastered just the right delicate technique, you could catch the bubbles on the tip of the slimy wand, thereby holding a bubble in your "hand."  I really can't tell you what the attraction is, but considering that bubbles have been around FOREVER, I think I can say with confidence that it's not just me!

When Bryce was little, I would take him out on the back deck and blow bubbles with him. By that time, a great advance had taken place in bubble-ology - the bubble gun.  No more fishing a slimy wand out of a plastic bottle, though fingers still ended up sticky in the end.  There were times when Bryce was safely home in his own bed when I would sneak out on the deck just to blow bubbles by myself.  Sometimes there is nothing better than being three again in the privacy of your own backyard.

A few weeks ago at a craft fair, something like an electro-magnetic force drew me to the booth of a couple who were making enormous bubbles.   Yes, they did come home with me, as if there was any doubt - the bubbles magic, that is, not the vendors.

On a recent fine early fall day, we experimented with gigantic bubbles!  What our technique lacked, our enthusiasm made up for.  And by "our" I really mean Bryce and me.  My original soapy orb companion grandboy is still my most loyal bubble boy.  There is an amazing slow-mo video of Bryce making an 8' long bubble.  The really cool part was watching it pop in slow motion.  Alas, you will have to take that at my word.  Apparently the great, big wonderful world of technology has passed me by.  I'll just have to be satisfied with being a bubble guru - a much more distinctive, if not completely useful, distinction.  Thank you very much...

Remembering for Those Who Can't

Last weekend felt so normal and so not.  The weather was beautiful but the mood was kind of bittersweet.  The fifteenth anniversary of 9/11 held sway over the news and nipped at my memory throughout the day.  How could it have possibly been 15 years ago?

Last summer I was traveling with Bryce.  As we waited to board our return flight he lamented that he would really like to see the cockpit.  "You used to be able to do that," I said, "until 9/11."

The look he gave me let me know a question was coming, but it wasn't the one I expected.  "Is that the month and the day or the month and the year?"  Bryce is 10.  How do you explain the horrors of that day without frightening a grandboy?  And how do you honor the fallen without an explanation?

What followed was a very abbreviated explanation of what is my life's current event and his dust-covered history.  Hijacked planes lead to the security line we had just wound through that keeps us safe.  Locked cabin doors are an added precaution.  That September day was, in part, what caused his father to join the Marines less than a year later.  It occurs to me now, that indirectly, that uniform lead to his parents meeting.  Absolutely unaware, unanticipated and unlikely, 9/11 and the chain of events to follow, lead to the birth of my eldest grandboy.

I have long thought that 9/11 is the Pearl Harbor of my generation.  It offers me a glimpse into my grandparents' cautious nature.  The indelible mark left by great, sudden and senseless evil gave my Granmas and Grampas a wariness for the world my siblings and I just called life-as-usual.  They feared for our future, for the possibility of history repeating itself.  One Granma lived long enough to see that fear come true.  Did she spend 9/11 remembering Hawaii and the subsequent entry into the Great War - a war that left her to care for three small children while her husband sent letters home from Europe?

I don't know where this meandering leads me, really.  Though I feel two generations older now, as I watch my grandboys and girlies running in the yard, pausing occasionally to point out an airplane passing far overhead.  I remember the weeks when the shiny birds held the ground instead - and the day when they sounded above again and a shiver went down our spines as we looked up and watched them glide by.

I don't want to forget.  And I want this twice descended generation to know this piece of their dusty history, too.  In truth, though, I want it always to remain history to them.  But like those who came before me, how can I believe that?  I can't.  I can only hope that a blanket of love will protect their hearts.  I'll just have to do my part to keep them covered.

When is a Family Born?

There is nothing like witnessing the birth of a baby.  I've witnessed it three time, and my full attention was on the birth, but not necessarily on the baby at the exact moment he entered the world.  Though two seconds after the fact, the baby was all that mattered.  It's a magical time, absolutely!  But is that when a family is born?

I've been to my share of weddings, too, in various capacities.  The one I might remember the least is the one in which I played a starring role.  That was a blur of happy, but the specifics are mostly in snapshots, captured by another's eye and then reproduced for my benefit.  I remember more of the feeling than the specific, and that's good enough!  Certainly that was the birth of a family, a small one that would later grow into something wild and wonderful.

But last Saturday I got to witness the birth of a family in a whole new way.  It's not that it's never been done before - it's actually quite frequent.  I might have even been present at such a celebration before, though I can't call it to mind (I'm blaming it on being a Granma, and I'll leave it at that.)  On Saturday, though, Emma became Mrs. Colin Harris, and included in the union were Bryce and Tyler gaining another Mom and Bella gaining a Dad.  The steps to being "steps" had been in the works for a couple of years, but Saturday made it official.

Amidst all the planning for flowers and photographs and food, and the wearing of white and matchy-matchy guy clothes, included in the guest list and highlighted by their position of honor at the front and center, was a new family - five strong - five hearts beating each for the other.

Now, I'm old, and sometime purposely senile (when it suits me), but I'm not such a fool as to think that the new family of five will live happily ever after with never a cross word or hurt feelings or overblown jealousy between them.  Seriously, who would want a family like that anyway - where is the sport in that?!  However, Colin, Emma, Bryce, Bella and Tyler are now tied together irrevocably, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, as long as any one of them continues to draw breath, and likely even long after that.

It's a high and holy thing to witness the birth of a family, whether twins or in this case quints appear.  And it's worthy of a celebration, which also appeared and didn't disappoint.

Happy wedding, happy new life to the newest Harris family!  Love multiplied once again - by a factor of FIVE!

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!