The mother of/at a playground

Having been at the Granma-ing for a few years, there is certain knowledge that must be collected.  I'm not talking about anything as mundane as diapering, having had plenty of practice in my younger years.  Though, truth be told, the first grandGIRLIE messy diaper was a new-ish adventure for me.  I digress.

Josiah, Elijah & Tyler showing us the ropes

No, the information that must be collected includes things like:

• Who will or won't eat what, which can get confusing when it is "times eight".
• Where is the closest bathroom when out shopping.  I still remember their location in my old haunts.  But I don't necessarily still frequent those locations anymore since the Tri-Cities have grown up and sprouted shopping areas of their own.
• And, to the point for today's blog, where are the best playgrounds.

Colin & Emma - up
and away!

Most of the tried and true from a generation ago have either disappeared or morphed into something unrecognizable.  This is not all bad, mind you.  Some of them needed a good morphing - one of them in particular, being the child-grabbing, adult-denying rocket ship in Kehoe Park (more affectionately known as Rocket Ship Park).  That thing still lures the mini's to the upper reaches where adults are not able to follow, and from whose heights children fear to descend.  Again, I digress.

Colin and Court on top
of the world

On Memorial Day weekend, several of us made the way across the house from our hosts to entertain young ones in that conveniently located park.  The swings garnered some attention, but it was the spider-web-climbing-thingy that drew them all in.  The elder grands taunted the younger from the highest reaches of the spider's lair.  This did not dissuade the more diminutive from their attempts.  They may not have reached the top,but they did grow a foot or three.  Not a bad afternoon's growth spurt!

And sometimes, the chronologically advanced cannot resist the attempt to show the following generation how it's done.  Way to go Colin and Emma!

This last pictures, though, is proof positive that I served my penance and earned the right to grandones!  I'm not sure what I should call the show offs who conquered the spider's web.  I had only one questions for them as they displayed their prowess:  who is your mother, anyway?  Sigh.  I do love those goofballs, too.  

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!

Raising Babies

I was a matronly 19 when I got married.  Eighteen months later (just for the record) but still just 20, I became someones Mommy.  Ditto at 21.  My third son, though didn't come along until I was 24 - almost ancient!  In oh, so many ways, I was a baby raising babies.  Having lived through it (and having no idea what it would be like to have babies at thirty-something), I have to admit that young and dumb has its advantages.

We couldn't afford an baby monitor, but then, we were blissfully unaware that we might need one.  Our baby boys rode in car seats - until about age two.  The laws were different then, and again, our ignorance kept us blissful.  BTW, car seats stayed in the car.  They did not disconnect for carrying; we just carried the baby.  Trust me, baby blues squirmed a lot, but at least they weren't as heavy without all that extra armor.

I remember going back to my 10 year high school reunion.  While everyone showed off baby pictures, my kiddos' pictures showed them with backpacks, hiking off to school.  Many of those same friends are just starting round two (or hoping to start round two), while I enjoy 8 grandbabies.

And enjoy, I do!  I love being young enough to sit on the floor, the base of a pyramid of grands.  There is nothing like having minis all want to sit on your lap, and not recognizing turns - or a full lap.  There's always room for one more, right?  (For the record - no, not always.)  I enjoy piggy back rides, being the designated piggy, notwithstanding.  I can't wait to see the latest hot wheels or book or game or animated video.  I want (stopping just barely short of demand) hugs and kisses from all assembled under 5' tall - all at once if possible!  I'm ok with closing the front door by falling against it in a fit of youthful exuberance.  I'm glad I get to be one of the exuberant, even while being over-run with it.

I have learned a few lessons along the way, and feel it only fair to pass along the wisdom.  First, when making cookies with more than one grandlove, have everything premeasured.  It minimizes the I-want-to-help mess, and it keeps you closer to the mixer's on-off switch (a definiate plus).  Second, it's ok to say "no" when necessary, just don't expect anyone to listen (at least it rarely works for me).  And finally, the only time better than showing up to the aforementioned stampede at the front door, is the reverse several hours later.  This Granma is not a total fool!  I love the comfort and quiet of my own bedroom.

Yep, I'm Granma - my great reward for withstanding their fathers as teenagers.  Life is good.  In fact, life is excellent!  That's what being in love will do!

Passing It On

Bryce with his Great Grands!

Granma with her 3 grandsons (my 3 sons)

There are volumes written about a girl and her mother: some poetic and serene, and some not.  Sometimes "Mommy, Dearest" is tongue in cheek and sometimes spoken with reverence.  As you might have noticed, I have no idea how a daughter would say those words when referring to me.  I'm eternally short on XX chromosome offspring to fill in that blank.  But my inflection when referring to my mother would be: my mother is the dearest soul I know.

I've learned a lot of things from her over the years:  how to make angel food cake (I still leave that to her - sometimes an expert cannot be equaled).  She taught me the love of water, being a fish herself.  She taught me to sew - and my sewing machine ranks up there on the list of things to save in case of fire.  She didn't exactly teach me the love of family - it just spilled over from the person she is.  There were five us of kids.  It is only in recent years that it occurred to me that I might not be her favorite - and that, not because anything changed, but because I realize all three of my sons are my favorite.  I think she probably has five favorites. Secretly, I'm sure she lists me first, though.

More to the point of this blog, though, she taught me to be a Granma.  She taught me to plop on the floor to be on the level with a toddler's imagination.  She taught me that Play-Doh is not something to be feared, but, rather an art medium capable of reaching the stars (even if it does get ground into the carpet).  Mom taught me that anything that could be thrown away should first be used ten ways from Sunday, only making its way to the town dump in new and creative forms, if then.    She taught me the joy of baking, or at least the fun in eating something loving hands have produced - even if everyone else should be warned of the pending peril of grandlove saliva.  I love to make cookies with my grands.  Eating them is always more the adventure. 

Great Granma and Aidan

A couple of years ago, we were taking picture at a family reunion.  I asked Bryce if he wanted a picture with Granma and Grampa.  His response, without missing a beat, was, "Yes, this Granma and Grampa," pointing to my parents.  How can you be upset about that?  Jealous, maybe, but not upset.

My mother is the pied piper of grands.  She lures then in with an I-Pad and plenty of games for all levels of fun.  Or she reads them books with multiple voices bringing the pages to life.  Or she might pull out pipe cleaners, or glitter, or toilet paper tubes - AND her imagination - which is contagious.  I speak from decades of experience.  She might move more slowly than yesteryear, but with every ounce of love and attention lavished on the mini-ones as always - maybe more. 

I am Granma.  And I think I do a pretty good job of it.  But my mom is Great Granma.  And she is - great and awesome!  Thank you for the lessons!  Thank you for being the best of examples.  I measure whatever success I might achieve against the yardstick of you, Mom.  I love you, Karen Packard - now and always!

Crying Uncle!

There are great uncles, and there are amazing uncles, and there are amazing great uncles.  And I'm happy to say we have our fair share of each in our family.

Great Uncle Jim & Faith

My boys grew up with, and still tell stories about, their uncle.  My brother was famous for picking up nephews by their ears.  They learned quickly to grab his forearms and give an assist with the lift - a major pain reliever...  Uncle Jim was also famous for twisting ears to turn the boys on or off.  Hmmm - something of an ear fetish, I guess.  He makes an exception when it comes to little girlie ears, though apparently Faith has heard enough stories to be cautious...

Suffice it to say, though, that my boys learned uncle-ing by example.  Fortunately, my grandboys quickly learned to save their ears with a forearm assist of their own.  But there are other life lessons being taught as well:  

Monster faces

Giggling until milk runs out your nose

How many grapes fit into a 2 yr-old's
mouth at one time.  Answer: 5

When should you take advice from your
uncle when playing games? Never

Yes, indeed, uncles are an important component to growing children.  And as you can see, there is a reason one cries "Uncle!" when you need to get out of a fix and have exhausted all other possibilities.  It's not a cry for help from an older male relative.  Nope.  Truth be told, it's a naming of your superior who possesses chronological strength and cunning.  It's a right of passage - a slow passage from childhood to adulthood.  And no one, it appears, on either side of the generational divide wants it to pass too quickly
.

Oh, and a quick shout out to aunts, too, especially when it's time to turn down the volume.  Thank you, Aunt Emma.  Granma's ears appreciate it!

Ignored!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goodbye to Summer

The last weekend of summer is over.  Actually, it's the last "unofficial" weekend of summer since officially it continues until later this month.  But everyone who is in school or who has been in school knows that summer is over now.  So does the weather, though the good stuff may linger a bit longer.  The sun it starting to sleep later and later in the mornings and the trees are thinking of disrobing.  As nice as fall weather can be, it's no summer in my book.  Bittersweet is the best I can give it.

Not wanting the summer to slip away without one last family gathering, seventeen of us gathered on Sunday for a gourmet meal of encased meats, corn on the cob and other summer delights.  There is always a certain bedlam that arrives with such a gathering.  It is my kind of chaos.

It starts with our dogs who announce the arrival of each person - for several minutes per entry, until the assembled turn to them in unison and say "shut up," which is absolutely ineffective but makes us feel better.  When enough have gathered the dogs will stop.  Maybe they have gone hoarse, or maybe they are just drown out by the rest of the cacophony.  They spend the rest of the night hoping the wee ones among us will drop something edible.  They are never disappointed.

Snippets of conversations fill the house, along with running and laughter, and the inevitable tears that follow running and laughter. Eventually we settle at the table (or two) to eat.  At this specific meal, Tyler discovered he likes corn on the cob (would Granma steer a kid wrong on that!), and Bryce confirmed how much he dislikes it (silly child).  Round one of the dishes cleared, dishwasher filled and started, a board game breaks out.  This occupies several adults and one child (the corn distaining one), which is perhaps not a good use of authority figures.  Then again, to watch the game being played, you occasionally have to wonder about the authority being represented.  Rules are challenged, and much (conflicting) advice is given to the youngest player.  There is also much laughter, and rarely does an actual winner get crowned.  A shorter game might be in order, but Bryce favors Monopoly and the such, so the game usually ends with a consensus of who would have won.

Eventually, we disburse, but not until the house is searched several times for a missing blanket or sippy cup or keys or something.  We then move the party outside for hugs and kisses while the more diminutive crawl into the back seats of mini vans.  Multiple waves and many blown kisses later, quiet returns to Forest Ridge Road.

I know the pictures above look pretty tame.  Truth is that neither of them were taken this past weekend.  It never even occurred to me to take a picture.  Nor would I have know where to find my phone.  Sometime you will just have to join us - or not - depending on your relative preference for noise and sloppy kisses.  I love my family.  Any reason to gather is good enough for me. The last celebration of summer was a perfect opportunity.  Now, let's start celebrating the autumn...

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!

Water, water everywhere!

Memorial Day.  A time to remember and reflect, and I do!  With a heartfelt thanks to my grandfather (WWII), my father (Korea) and my son Colin (Operation Iraqi Freedom), among the multitude of others owed a debt of gratitude.

But in a whimsical (exact opposite of the initial intention) and new-traditional bent, it is also the start of summer.  On a personal note, I love spring because it means summer is coming.  I submit to fall's natural air conditioning and I endure winter to get to spring.  Thus, for absolutely personal and trite reasons, I love Memorial weekend that much more - the unofficial start of summer.  Last weekend did not disappoint.  Sunday, the grandboys and girlies and those who I love on up the generational-relational ladder, gathered for a celebration of family.

In addition to "grand" love, hugs and kisses, where was food and laughter and family nonsense - a normal gathering.  Grampa got extra smiles and love from Naomi - and if you zoom in, a trail of liquid love extending from her mouth to his shirt.  Those would be 10-month old brand of kisses!

Elijah shared his water with me after playing in the pool with the "big" kids - and crying foul at their antics.  Well, certainly crying anyway.  He came up to sit on my lap instead.  Thankfully, no pictures exist of Granma's well loved and dampened lap.  Let's just say it didn't remind anyone of a pool.

Then, of course, there are water guns.  Aidan looks like his valiant attempt to hold his own might be waning.  Uncle Corey's self-satisfied look of triumph seems to validate that assumption.

 Eventually water gave way to the park and then whiffle ball (ish) and soccer (ish) and a game of Monopoly (straight up - see the May 10th blog).  This Granma left just after all the aforementioned, except for the conclusion of Monopoly, which as we all know, is endless.

Happy Memorial Day to all!   Bring on the water! And the happiest start to summer!  It is going to be a great one!

Best. Uncle. Ever!!!

I feel sorry for the kids that don't have one.  You know, the uncle who teaches them to make volcanoes out of mashed potatoes filled with golden butter lava.  The one that buys them the BEST toys at Christmas and birthdays and just because - the toys that make parents cringe with fear and the kids squeal with joy.  It is the uncle who gives them Garrett's popcorn at 10 am cuz it's a veggie, right?

My boys had uncles like that - who hosted them up in the air by their ears and wrestled them to the ground and later "died" dramatically in a sword fight.  Uncles are supposed to show the next generation the art of cookie thievery and then manufacture a bedtime reprieve of at least an hour or so.  When their nephew slips in the mud, unsure if he should laugh or cry, it's uncle to the rescue, joining him in the muck, laughing the whole time - or not joining him and laughing the whole time - mud makes uncles a bit unpredictable.  However, if you laugh at an uncle who got muddier than expected, you had better have a good head start and be a track phenom...

My grandboys and girlies are blessed that have "that" uncle.  They call him Uncle Corey.  Sunday he took a day to show Aidan and Bella his city: bats and butterfies, train and boat "garages", Five Guys and french fries.  He even helped Aidan pick the sesame seeds off his grilled cheese when they proved to be "too spicy".  He planned, organized and kept track of our schedule, getting us back to the train garage at just the right time.

Ok, truth be told, the Sunday train schedule is on alternating hours.  If we missed the train, he would either have to drive us to the 'burbs or entertain us for another two hours.  Yep, he's one awesome uncle, and a smart one, too.

We love you, Uncle Corey!

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!

Universally True

I grew up in a family where there was always room for one more.  I don't exactly remember my parents saying that, but I never remember being denied when I asked if a friend could come over for dinner.  There were already seven of us gathered around the table, but eight had a good ring to it.  One year we had a foreign exchange student, so adding a friend stretched us to nine.  There was always enough.

When my eldest, Colin, was a whole three months old, we discovered that our family would be growing again.  I remember watching my baby sleep and wondering if I could love another one as much as I loved him.  But the moment Corey was born, all doubt disappeared.  Love is not a static quantity that must be divided among the interested parties.  It is elastic.  Even that doesn't describe how love works.  Elastic can be confining.  It gets stretched and sometimes breaks.  Love just keeps expanding - like the universe, or so I'm told.  I haven't measured the heavens lately, nor have I figured out how to measure love.  Maybe there is no reason to measure either...

Universally speaking, grandbabies are a black hole of a whole different kind - the best kind!  Whether the black hole is blue or pink, the gravitational pull is so strong that it sucks you right in and never lets you go.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

In my experience, babies have come home within a couple of days of their birth day.  The excitement of the birth hasn't worn off - seeing the 10 fingers and toes for myself, kissing their peach fuzzy heads, even changing a diaper is confirmation of new life.  "This is real," it shouts.

Last week, two little bundles of pink came home.  It was a long anticipated homecoming, and well worth the wait.  To hold Faith and Naomi together, nearly four months after they first made their appearance. well, it made them real, too.  It's like a child waiting for summer vacation.  Just when you give up that it will ever happen, it arrives, and all the pent up excitement and anticipation does not disappoint.

The Harris universe has expanded.  It is not at all an uncomfortable stretch nor does anything about it diminish another's share.  It just got bigger to accommodate two wee little baby girls. We are all standing in line waiting our turn to shower Faith and Naomi with four months worth of kisses:  their parents, brothers, cousins, aunts and uncles, Granma and, as you can see, Grampa, too.

Welcome home, love bugs, and welcome to the family.  We love you!

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...)

Been There - Haven't Found the Exit Yet

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

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

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

The victory gloat!

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

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

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!

Is this Heaven? No, it's Iowa!

Last year, my family had a reunion in Door County, Wisconsin.  My parents, siblings, spouses, nieces and nephews, and even most of my parent's great-grands were in attendance.  It was an amazing week that none of us will forget any time soon.

Colin was not able to attend owning to his new job, but we brought Bryce along with us.  It was not always 100% obvious that he was having the time of his life.  Eight was a rather moody year for him, owing to factors beyond his control.  Bryce really didn't fit in with the rest of the great grands, being six or more years older than most of them.  But he was ten plus years younger than the next grouping.  Something I LOVE about my family: Bryce was included as one of the "big" kids.  They went swimming in Lake Michigan in the rain (no thunder or lightening), watched movies and played DS together.  He stayed up late with them while Grampa and Granma went to bed.

This past Spring, I asked Bryce if he would like to join me on a trip to Iowa: water parks and amusement parks and visit with several relatives.  He answer was emphatic:  No, he wanted to go to Wisconsin.  Ok, so moody didn't exactly end at age eight.  Granmas are wise enough to ignore moody when it bears no resemblance to reality.

A couple of weeks ago, four of us piled in the car for the trip to a neighboring state that was NOT Wisconsin.  (More info is available in the June 30th blog, but you, my loyal readers, already know that!)  There were a few snafus along the way, but the corn encrusted state of Iowa treated us well.  It was nothing like the Wisconsin trip, but equally amazing!

At the end of our time, Bryce asked me what state I would take him to next year.  I have learned after years of successes and failures, that sometimes it is best to answer a question with a question.  So I asked him what state he would like to go to.  His answer:  Iowa!  (This would be a good time to say that I was born and raised in Iowa - I'm a small town girl at heart.)  Perfect answer, though it might or might not be our destination in 2016.

Perhaps I should have just smiled and let it go, but sometimes I can't keep the "I told you so" in.  "Bryce, remember when I told you we were going to Iowa and you said you only wanted to go to Wisconsin?"

"Yes," he replied, "but I didn't know Iowa was so much fun!"

Most people don't, Bryce.  What a pity for them.

The Fourth Dimension

Girls, I've heard it said, can be a bit unpredictable; they change their minds at the drop of a hat.  Personally, I've never noticed, which might be due in part of the dearth of females in my family tree (between myself and the next generations - heretofore).  But such was the case with my baby grandgirls last week.  They decided to make an early, Early, EARLY arrival.  Fortunately they listened to their elders and decided to stay put.  Their Mama is also staying put, in the hospital, until they are born, hopefully in October.  This is called a change of plans in a family way - extended time and family, both!

My initial plans for this week had included a bike ride across the state of Iowa with my brother Bruce and my son, Corey.  As a Granma, I was planning to remove my hearing aids and cast off my walker and show up the younger generation.  One place where I can still impress my 9 year old grandson is on a bike.  I have to take advantage of that while I still can!

But five days before my departure to the cornfields of Iowa, my grandgirlies changed my plans.  I am so excited to be watching three grandboys (the girlies' older brothers) for the week instead, while their Daddy goes to work.  My brother (got to love him!) is biking with a 2D version of me across the state of Iowa and having way too much fun - much of it at my expense, I might add - while this 3D version runs around after 3 toddlers and waits anxiously for nap time.  (True confessions, on my first day, yesterday, while Aidan watched Chuggington, Josiah and Elijah napped and Granma dozed. :-)

Happy peddling, Bruce and Corey!  I'm picking up toys and changing diapers.  So here is a picture that proves that I am pulling my weight, though not on a bike.  You really should be jealous!  This is the 4D version of me - the fourth being love.

Postscript:  between the writing of this blog and the publishing, the girls have changed their minds again.  Please pray with us for God's hand on them and on Christine and for wisdom for the doctors as they assess the situation.  Updates to follow on Facebook.

Ketching Up

When I was in junior high, our family added another brother in an unconventional way.  Kwame joined us as an exchange student from Ghana.  He was the kicker on our high school (American) football team.  Our small school didn't offer soccer, where he would have surely been a star.  We teased and laughed and occasionally fought with Kwame.  In other words, he fit right in with the rest of us.

With a core family of seven plus Kwame on a pastor's salary, we didn't go out to eat often.  But there was once we all went to a fancy restaurant together.  You know, the kind where a waitress takes your order and the ketchup and mustard have their own special holder at the table.  No individual packets there!  I don't remember what our newest family member ordered, except that there must have been french fries.  What we all agree upon, is that he had to ask for another bottle of ketchup.  I swear, he could drink it straight from the bottle!  We might have egged him on a bit, but he would have found his way to the same result even without our encouragement.

Last weekend, my kids and most of the grandkids gathered for a cookout at our house.  There were eleven of us.  I know because my husband and I kept asking each other, like maybe the number was a moving target.  Eventually we all gathered around the same table, where the eating and the talking and the laughing mingled together.

I was seated with a grandboy to the left, one to the right, and the loan grandgirl just around the corner.  Maybe I was supposed to be keeping a better eye on the lot, but I was really just making sure the dogs didn't look too happily overfed at my end of the table.  So when Josiah asked for more "sauce," I correctly assumed ketchup and obliged.  Presumably he was dipping pieces of his burger into the tomato staple.  Two minutes later, he asked again - and then again almost as quickly!  Now he had my perhaps belated attention.

Apparently the love of tomato-y goodness runs in the family - it just skipped a generation.  Josiah has never met his great uncle from across the pond, but the two of them are definitely related.  Forget the burger, that grandboy was shoveling forkful after forkful into his mouth: just ketchup with just a fork!

When we go out to eat, Josiah, I will order an extra bottle of ketchup for you as soon as the wait-staff first greets us.  French fries will be optional...