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)!!!

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...

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!

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!

Can You Hear Me Now?

I, like many of you, grew up with tethered phones.  Short of a tornado that took your whole house, you never lost your phone.  You also didn't leave messages for people, because unless you were calling a doctor who paid a service to answer their phones after hours, there was no voice mail.  When we dialed the phone, we actually dialed the phone.  How many millennials use that term without the slightest idea that originally it was a literal description?  And, oh, if you wanted to know who was on the other end of a ringing phone, you had to pick up the receiver and ask.  BTW, if someone was actually away from the house, say living life or something, the phone went unanswered.  How did we get by in those dark ages?

I'm not really pining after those bygone days, but there was something kind of nice about not being instantly available to anyone and everyone.  Of course, if you ask my kids, they will tell you that I am really bad at keeping my phone on my person.  The rebellion of mid-century, middle child...

I am blessed to live within 20 minutes of all of my grandboys and girlies, meaning I don't have to spend a lot of time talking to them on the phone.  This is probably a really good thing, for reasons that aren't necessarily 21st century.

Under the best of circumstances, toddler speak can be difficult to interpret.  Frequently, the conversation is easiest to follow while chasing after the wee one to see what he sees.  At least it gives you context and a fighting chance to follow his unique stream of consciousness and foreign sounding phrases.  Even when you are two feet from him, he's too much a busy body to actually sit still, face you and speak.  This multi-directional speak is exacerbated with a phone that never moves in sync with the miniature among us.

Additionally, as it was a lifetime ago, it is still difficult to hear when a child shakes his head.  Of course, there is Facetime, which my lovely grandgirlie, Bella, employed first thing in the morning on my recent birthday.  What a sweet, sweet start to my day.  She might not agree, as she got to see me still in my jammies, hair and makeup still on my "to do" list.  And that little picture in the upper corner that shows me how I look to the other person mocks me!  Why can I never hold the phone so my nose doesn't fill the screen?  Most of the time I rather like my nose - except when Apple gets a hold of it...

The other day, Josiah and Elijah were fighting over the "phone."  Granma to the rescue - I found an additional phone not currently in use.  Yep, they were both calculators.  At least I didn't have to worry about them buying an unauthorized app...

The best part about the phones of today is that grandones are the best teachers.  All too often I hear myself saying, "Hey, how did you do that?"  With a shrug that says 'she's old - I'll have pity,' they let me in on Apple's best kept secrets.

Just reaching out to touch someone.  Now THAT dates me!

Take me out to the Ball Game!

Elijah lamenting Cubs losses in
games 3 & 4

If you live anywhere near Chicagoland, as I do, I don't have to tell you the Cubs are in the World Series for the first time in 71 years!  Even if you hate baseball, even if you are doing your best to ignore it, even if you are a Sox fan, it is not possible to have missed this slice of history in the making.  

I became a die hard Cubs fan in the summer of 1981, which makes me kind of new to the game.  I had a baby in my arms (Colin) and a beach ball of a belly (Corey).  Players like Ivan de Jesus, Lee Smith and Leon Durham kept me company as I folded laundry or picked up toys or cradled a crying child.  Having made our own sons into Cubs fans, this Granma and Grampa are watching as they pass it on to another generation.  My dad, on the other hand, remembers the last time the Cubs were in the World Series.  He was in 8th grade, the year he became interested in sports, all because of the Cubs.  

Court, Christine and crew were over for dinner the night of game 2 of this current series.  For those of you not quite so attuned to the contest, the Cubs recovered from a game 1 loss to the Indians with a handy defeat of the same to tie the series.  At one point during the game, Grampa got a bit excited about a Cubbie beating out a double play ball and yelled "Safe!", complete with arm  motions.  Wanting to join in the fun and being a toddler mimic, Elijah spent the remaining time before his bedtime pronouncing every play "safe": strike outs, walks, fly balls and ground outs.  He might have had some encouragement along the way.

In my 35 years of routing for the Cubs, I have occasionally felt guilty about subjecting another generation to the curse of being a Cub fan.  As a Granma, though, I'm feeling better about that decision.  It might be senility on my part, though, as that is always a possibility.  Too many men in your life will do that to you!  But mostly it's because the curse of the goat is broken.  I don't actually believe in curses, but I'm not fond of goat, either.  And at least it's a story that will be told as a historical anomaly to my grandboys, and not as a sudo-factual excuse.

Court (future father of Elijah), Corey (enjoying his 8th birthday)
and Colin enjoying a day at Wrigley Field.

Go, Cubs, Go!  Win one, no, two more, for the midgets among us and cement another generation of fans!

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!

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...

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!

They Don't Call Me Granma for Nothing!

Last summer, Aidan and I had a birthday conversation.  His special day was coming up, which of course is a hot topic.  His natural curiosity lead him to inquire of my age as well.  What harm could it do to tell the truth.  55, I told him.  He reminds me of that conversation frequently, generously and correctly adding another year in November.  Sweet as his reminder is, there are other things that remind me of the half century that separates our births.  Put that way, I'm feeling older than ever!  Sigh.  Let's call it nostalgia.  For instance:

• No grandchild of mine would have the slightest idea what to do with a car's crank window.
• Their Granma will never figure out video controls.  I could use arthritis as an excuse, but that only makes me sound older and has nothing to do with the fact that A-Up-Up-Left-B-enter are not directions my fingers could have followed at any stage of joint functioning.
• "Do it again!" is music to my ears when squealed with joy by grandboys and girles, alike.  My back, however, is not such a music lover.
• Elijah at 18 months is a professional foot photographer - and he has very cute little piggies! But what if he had to wait a week or more for the pictures to be developed?  
• Tyler would be clueless with a VCR tape.  Bryce, on the other hand, would probably figure out how to tie him up with it.
• Court and Christine run their TV through their computer.  It does indeed take a four year old to turn it on for me.  However, he still needs me for the password!
• And my personal favorite - Bella asked me what to do with that rectangular thing by the sink.  Until that moment, I hadn't noticed that bars of soap were part of a disappearing landscape.

Come to think of it, it's a rather short list, especially when compared to our common interests:

playgrounds

ice cream

bubbles

children's books

pizza

The Lego Movie

squirt guns

echos in a stairwell

play doh

cuddles

tickles

and even birthdays!

I'm feeling my age, alright, with just a slight shift of the decimal - 5.6.  Perfect!

Circling around to the Circle of Life

There are times when things rattle around in my head, making endless and annoying circles until they find an outlet.  One effective such exit is my fingers on a keyboard.  Sometimes what comes out is still circular, and maybe even annoying.  Let's see what happens today.

Sunday morning my bestie's aunt, Big Mary (or just Big), was taken by ambulance to the hospital, dehydrated and generally not feeling well.  She is 92 years young and we aren't done with her smile and sweet disposition.  And fortunately it appears she isn't done with us,either.  Get well quickly, Big!

At approximately the same time, 10 miles away, my youngest grandson was employing similar transportation to a similar local.  There are worse things than getting that news - like finding a blue tinged baby and tripping over your own stomach while restarting your own heart and hoping his is, too.  Thankfully, it is a happily ever after story.  Elijah is back to his little boy energetic self.

It's a time honored tradition that Granmas will cross over before Mamas and Daddys and definitely before grandboys and girlies.  When someday Elijah does breathes his last, I want to be a distant, though sweet, memory.  I want to be waiting for my grands on the other side with arms open wide and kisses and "I love yous" that I have been saving up for decades.

Time honored tradition, indeed, but not always life honored.  Life can be messy.  And Sunday reminded me again that wanting does not always intersect with having.  I can say "thank you, Lord" and "praise God" that a little boys uses his toddler legs to keep up with his older brothers and his special brand of sloppy kisses to shower his sisters.  But what if God's plans had been contrary to mine?  Would I still praise Him in the storm?  I want to say "Yes!"  But I'm not sure I even have enough faith to believe my own proclamation.

What I can do is say a sincere thank you to the Lord of the Universe who saw fit to send two sets of first responders and two hospitals to nurture the lives placed in their hands.  Beyond that, all I can do is take tomorrow on faith - faith that faith will be enough when paths inevitably diverge.

Paint me a Picture

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

5 Noses in a Row

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not Quite Picasso - Yet!

Remember when you were a kid and some things just struck fear into you heart?  Things like:  dentists, chores, school and, in my case, Lima beans.  (The latter still doesn't cross my lips.)  Then I became a Mom and there were other fears like red Kool-Aid in the living room and winter baseball games and toys with tiny sharp pieces that attack in the middle of the night.

Granmas have fears, too.  The biggest one is please-God-don't-let-him-get-hurt-on-my-watch, but it's not the only one.  Like how much supervision does a 10-year-old need on the computer (answer: more than you might think, though you might have to ask what he is doing to determine the appropriate amount of fear.  This Granma is a techno-flop. Sigh.).  But even with the younger ones, who I believe I still outrank in the bigger and stronger and smarter categories there are things that make my blood run cold.


Want to see Granma quake?  Just say - PlayDoh.  I loved it as a kid.  I loved it as a Mom (did I mention the table they played at was surrounded by a sea of linoleum).  I have recently resigned myself to the doh-side as a Granma. Please permit me to pass on words of mold-able wisdom. We Granmas have to "stick" together.

First, keep it far, far away from carpet - or resign yourself to spotted carpet.  Yes, it dries, and yes, you can pick it out once it does.  But if your grandbabies love it as much as mine do, the colorful additions will quickly overwhelm your desire to de-spot the carpet.

Secondly, and this is key, do NOT buy the regular sized tubs of the goo - and NEVER supersize it! First of all, whatever color you pull out, they will want another.  And when they con you into it, you will end up putting away a muddy shade of brown or gray - AND they will ask you what happen to the green or red or yellow, as if you magically made the colors disappear.  If you have pets (or ignored the carpet warning) that newly formed neutral shade will also be hairy.  No one really wants to play with hairy grey slime the next week.  So - buy the tiny tubs that they make to go in birthday gift bags.  You will get 20 colors, all in small quantities.  They can be used twice (at most) and then thrown out.  Is that wasteful?  Maybe, but the wisdom time has afforded me permits this luxury.

And finally, PlayDoh is not just for sculpting anymore.  Apparently, it is now a wearable accessory.  Grab the camera and have some fun!  It's time to forget the carpet and conquer your fears! As Homer Simpson would say, "Doh!"

Out-Gobbled - a Bonus Blog

The Thanksgiving eat-fest has come and gone.  Well, not really gone since we are still enjoying turkey sandwiches and turkey pie and all manner of other things turkey.  But the pies are gone and the dressing and the crowds at the dining room table.  The thought of all of them make me smile.

There was more food than a small village could reasonably be expected to eat - Colin and Elijah, notwithstanding.  But in this bonus blog, I thought you would like to know how the contest turned out between the two.  First, it should be noted that at 15 months, manners are still optional for Elijah.  Therefore, while Colin was forced to cut his food and eat by the fork-full, his competition's food was inhaled more like a contestant in a hot dog eating contest - fist-fulls at a time.  But the wee one's real advantage was his speed out of the starting gate.  Colin, being forced to wait until grace was said, was already one round behind before he took his first bite.  Elijah exploited that advantage.

When dessert was presented, Bella opted for pumpkin pie.  She has had my cherry pie before, and she knows it comes with potential pits.  Her fear was my gain!  And by the way, NO pits!  Which is probably a first in this household.  In our traditional cherry pie pit contest, the winner generally places 2-5 seeds onto their plate.  That was a total non-sequitur, but again, it makes me smile.

When we all rolled away from the table, I believe the count was three helpings a piece for Colin and Elijah.  Both of them went down for the count.  Here is Colin and Corey sleeping off dinner.  Elijah was also in a food coma, but cuter in his slumber, though no picture exists.  You will just have to take my word for it.

You might think the day ended in a tie, but it didn't.  Roused from their slumber, both Colin and Elijah returned to the scene of the competition.  Colin played a board game with his brothers - where again, he did not prevail.  Elijah used the location for its more traditional use - he ate again.  Colin gave him one look and admitted defeat. Elijah just kept happily munching away.

All hail the winner of Thanksgiving-fest 2015.  Elijah!!  I love that kid!

Gobble, Gobble

Uncle Colin and Elijah
The Contenders!

I don't need to tell you that this Thursday is Thanksgiving - unless you are reading this after the fact or you are a citizen of a different, non-turkey-obsessed country.  In which case, it gives you a frame of reference.  In two short days, we will each eat three days worth of calories in the span of a few hours and then lull around in a food coma for the rest of the day.  I do love Thanksgiving!

Thirteen of us will gather around the table.  Actually, the two tiniest will not be at the table, nor will they dine with the same type of caloric intake.  If tradition holds, and it generally does, my son, Colin, will make a valiant effort to make sure there will be no left overs.  He will not succeed.  Either he will admit defeat, or his father and I will point that fact out to him.  However, despite his gastronomic efforts, Colin will not be crowned the biggest eater of the day.  Most assuredly, pound for pound, that title will go to Elijah.  

Eli is the happiest little bundle of energy - until he sees or senses food.  Once anticipated, this grandboy insists upon filling his tummy immediately!  There is not time to finish preparations; there is no point to reasoning with his rumbly tumbly.  Give the child FOOD!  Rest assured, whatever stopgap provisions you give him will not suffice until everyone else is seated.  Keep seconds at the ready.

That is the glee-filled gobbler in his orange bib.  In front of him are four chicken tenders and a handful of fries.  Fifteen minutes and a third of a muffin later, his tray was empty of anything large enough for toddler fingers to grasp.  His smile was as winning at end as it was at the start.  Meanwhile, his elder brothers completed their own few fries and one or two tenders each - and a third of a muffin.  It was necessary to interrupt their chattering every couple of minutes to remind them to use their mouths for other purposes.  Elijah never needs such a reminder.

At a recent birthday party, our youngest grandboy topped off a full belly with cake, of course.  Not even those who blew out the candles enjoyed the sugar as much!  Note to Granmas everywhere:  purple frosting is not necessarily the best color choice when dining in a more formal room in the house, but it does make for great photo ops!

Happy Thanksgiving from this extremely blessed and thankfilled Granma!  I can't wait to see what he will do with pumpkin pie!

Taking it to the Next Level

For the past thirty five years, I have had the privilege of working the second best job ever - being a Mom.  There have been tears - I have kissed away a few and shed a few, and when I'm honest, I've caused a few, too - not always as justified as I willed myself to believe at the time.  There has been laughter - from chuckles to belly laughs to milk-running-out-the-nose-falling-off-the-chair laughter.  There has been loud - from turn-down-the-music to I-heard-that-get-out-of-the-cookie-jar.  And there has been quiet - like watching the even breathing of a sleeping toddler to why-is-it-so-quiet-what-are-you-doing.  There have been agreements, disagreements, because-I-told-you-sos and I'll-agree-with-you-until-I'm-out-of-view. Toddlers and Teenagers both begin with "T" - a coincidence?  I think not.

Ten years ago I got a promotion to the best job ever - Granma!  (You knew that was coming.)  Granma entails all of the good stuff of being a mom but only about 25% of the not-so-much-fun stuff.  And that 25% is so ingrained that I couldn't not do it, no matter how hard I tried.  Grabbing a toddler's hand when crossing a street is automatic.  Poopy diapers haven't changed that much, nor have the other bodily functions that involve elimination.  On the plus side, I'm treated to far fewer of those events.  Finally, after so many years of it, what would I do in a bathroom my myself, anyway?  Actually, we have two small dogs and a master bath door that doesn't latch properly.  The puppies kept me in practice in anticipation of grandbabies.  I might get lonely in there all by myself.

But just the other day, I discovered a brand new level of be-still-my-heart and I-could-die-happy-right-now and live-doesn't-get-better-than-this.  It actually arrived wrapped in jealousy, which is kind of an odd delivery for something so valuable.  I was out of town for Halloween, so didn't get to exclaim in person about how my grand ones had the best costumes that absolutely fit their personality.  In fact, I had to leave it to others (gasp) to sugar the love bugs up - and I understand you all did admirably.  Thank you very much.

What really sent me over the top was that those who call me "Mom" arranged a gathering to include with those who call me "Granma" - without me!  Hence the jealousy part (I wanted to be there!) - and the exact reason for the nirvana part!  Apparently it is no longer up to my husband and me to gather the troops.  Maybe it hasn't been for awhile, but to open up Facebook and see an Instagram of these six goofballs dining together.  Well, it made my toes tap and my heart sing!!!

Fortunately there are no pictures of me playing the part of Fred Astaire - for which both you and I are grateful.  But there is photographic evidence of the cause, complete with faces that this Granma finds irresistible!  Happy Halloween, all over again.  And happy Family!!! (Grateful sigh...)

Houdini, I Need Your Help!

When watching grandboys, one of the most important Granma super powers is her hearing.  There are two things that make this particular super power a problem, and therefore all the more coveted.  First, Granmas have, by definition, put a few miles on their ears.  It kind of makes me feel 90+ to admit that, but it's true.  But the bigger problem is on the grandboy side, especially when grandboy becomes grandboyS.  Two grandboys do not make twice as much noise as one - they make three times as much.  Three grandboys make five times as much noise as two.  Those are just rough estimates, mind you, made by a Granma with aforementioned diminished hearing.

Some things Granma's hear but ignore.  For example, a little while ago I was playing with three grandboys in their bedroom when I heard a small "click."  There were no tears, so we continued on our way.  The next sound, also heard but discarded, was the closing of the bedroom door.  The third sound, spoken very softly with a kind of four-year-old hush that grabs the attention of Granmas everywhere, was, "Ah-oh.  I just locked the door."

This may not sound like a problem until you realize that the bedroom door locks from the hallway side, their parent's solution for keeping should-be-nappers corralled.  Still not a major panic, since it is a standard passage lock.  I only needed something ridged and skinny to pop the lock from the inside.  A hanger should do it - except that they were all of the plastic variety.  Bedroom toys were limited to the stuffed variety, which are great for cuddling, but totally useless for picking locks or popping hinge pins.

Fortunately, besides myself and three grandboys, my cell phone was also locked in the room.  I called their mother for her suggestion.  No problem, there is a Q-Tip on top of the door jam for just such an emergency.  Apparently Christine has heard the click and close followed by ah-oh, too.  Perfect!  Except that the swab-passing-as-key was not in its designated hiding spot.

Not wanting to call again, I made another sweep of the room.  The baseboard door bumper seemed to be my savior.  Unscrewing it from the wall, the attached screw should work.  Close!  But just a little to fat to grant us the freedom I was hoping for.

When I later told my son, the boy's father, about my dilemma, his suggestion was to climb out the window onto the porch roof, jump off the roof, and come in through the front door to unlock the bedroom door.  I immediately spied a couple of problems with this plan.  First, I wasn't at all sure the front door was unlocked, which would have left an open window and two locks between Granma and grandboys three.  Secondly, and more to the point, Granmas do not jump off roofs - well, they do on occasion, but only metaphorically.

I had not yet reached complete 911 panic, though it was on the horizon, when I saw the various pictures on the wall.  Taking one down, I was rewarded with the sight  of a small nail - small enough that the rest of the nail was embedded only in the drywall, and not something more substantial - better than a Q-Tip if only because it was available.  The next sound I heard was the small click of a lock releasing its hold, it echoed in my ears along with my sigh of relief!

Not exactly an escape worthy of Houdini, I suppose.  But call me Granma MacGyver, if you please!

At the Zoo

With a generous word assist from Paul Simon
And photo assist from Ken Harris
(Those Granmas and Grampas among you can sing along to this blog!)

Someone told me

It's all happening at the zoo

I do believe it

I do believe it's true

 The monkeys stand for honesty
(when they aren't photo bombing)

Giraffes are insincere
(and downright rude!)

And the elephants are kindly
but they're dumb

Ourang-outangs are skeptical

Of changes in their cages
(but oh, so cute!!!)

And the zookeeper is very fond of rum
(no, actually, margaritas)

What a gas

Ya gotta come and see

At the zoo

More fun than a barrel full of Bella!

Please don't feed the animals!

Beware escapes!