Take me out to the Ball Game

So many quotes are attributed to it:  

• America's pastime
• There is no crying in baseball
• The (grand)boys of summer
• As American as baseball and apple pie

Generally speaking, I might be more interested in the apple pie than baseball - but that just reflects upon my over-developed sweet tooth...

Josiah is playing T-ball  for the first time this summer.  Having shown his prowess in the backyard with a wiffle ball and bat - no "T" needed - he set off to seek his fame and fortune on the diamond.  Well, maybe he would just start his pre-fame-and-fortune story; everyone has to start somewhere.

T-ball rules vary slightly from the baseball it will evolve into.  First, besides first base, there are no set positions - and every team member plays on the field in every inning, regardless of how many show up at the game.  After an opposing diminutive slugger hits off the "T", the ball is thrown to first base.  No outs were recorded in the game I watched, but even if they had, the runner remains on first, advancing to second only when the next batter takes his place on first.  There are no doubles, triples or home runs.  Those will be doled out in future renditions of the game in years to come.

T-ball does have one thing in common with baseball, as I clearly recall from previous Little League days: there is no clock.  Baseball can take hours, and can be seriously elongated by either a pitchers duel or a slug-fest.  Of course, there are no pitchers to duel in T-ball, and in the entire three inning game, only one ball dribbled out of the infield.  BTW, there were no outfielders, everyone bats in every inning, runs are not counted, and outs are too rare to mention.

Apparently, T-ball is not perfectly in line with Josiah's definition of baseball.  "Can we go home now?" he asked after inning number two.  "Not yet, you get to bat, again!"  Being on the home team, there was half an inning of fielding, complete with much yawning from my favorite player, before his last turn at bat.  Game complete, the teams line up for the traditional "good game" slap of the hands with their opponent.  The final game obligation complete, Josiah moved more quickly than he had while running the bases - to claim his prize of Gatorade and a snack.  Little boy motivation has not changed in the intervening generation.

One thing did change, though, being how seriously parents take a game among four-year-olds.  Several of the players donned their own batting gloves as they stepped to the "T".  Over the top, maybe, but harmless and kind of cute.  But when several players stepped to the plate with their own batting helmets, I had to wonder:  do you think I was witnessing the very first season of some future major leaguer?  I think I missed my chance at an autograph or two!

Actually, Josiah signed a picture for me just the other day.  I'll keep that one.  After all, it is already priceless.  No waiting for the majors required.  Swing for the fence, Josiah! 

Gone Fishing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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...

Hoping for a Positive Outcome

We have all been there - that is "there" before you have experienced the actual "there".  Like when a bunch of Texans laugh about how big the snakes are and you laugh, too, at their outrageous stories.  Then a snake eats your car and you aren't laughing anymore.  I will never live in Texas.  If my name was Eve, we would still be living in the Garden of Eden.  I run screaming at the sight of a stick that looked like a snake, much less an actual living and talking belly crawler. But I digress...

So before I became Granma, I laughed at the stories that it might be possible to lose points for giving certain gifts with the most loving of intentions.  Well, except for really loud gifts like drum sets.  I knew from my original parenting gig that such would not be classified as a gift, but rather revenge, and I don't want to be a vengeful Granma.  Nor would I ever give a snake for a gift, even to a budding herpetologist.

Now a decade into Granma-ing, I have some words of wisdom to pass on to up and coming Granmas and Grampas.  You may laugh, but trust me, there is wisdom here born of trial and error.  If you want to stay in the Garden of Eden as long as possible, heed my words.  Gifts to grandboys and girlies inherently have points attached - three sets of points, in fact:  parent points (P), kid points (K), and Granma points (G).  Some examples:

1.  Mylar balloons, which last forever, though they only float for a few days.  Kids LOVE them!  They run around with their eyes on the ceiling, squealing with joy (until they run into a door jam or something).  They provide hours of entertainment at a very low price, and as an added bonus, they give parents hours of exercise pulling them down from heights inaccessible to midget arms.  Granmas love balloons and how they hearken back to days of old.  Points:  -5(P) + 4(K) + 3(G) = +2.  Pretty benign.  Go for it, especially for birthdays!

2.  Large toys, especially those that must be used indoors, like cardboard building blocks.  Again, kids LOVE them!  And their father had wonderful memories of them!  But their mother must find a place to keep them and endure the he-knocked-over-my-tower tears.  +4(P1) - 5(P2) + 7(K) + 4(G) = Go for it, but apologize upfront to your daughter-in-law.

3.  Not all gifts are specifically for the grandboys and girlies.  For example: changing diapers.  Everyone benefits from this gift, including neighboring noses, but none more than the parents.  For this reason, consider giving this gift liberally after #2 above, especially if you smell the #2 in their diaper.  +10(P) + 2(K) - 2(G) = a whole lot of bonus points if your tally is running low.  By the way, these points can easily and quickly double and triple if said rump covering has been combating the flu or teething for a few days.

4.  Books, and educational toys in general.  These are great parent pleasers and with a Google assist, can be a great kid pleaser as well.  This Granma is pretty partial to this type of gift.  The biggest problem tends to be age appropriateness, either to the high side or the low side.  The low side isn't so bad if there are younger siblings, unless it was intended as a birthday gift and the recipient calls notice to such gap.  Equally, though, too much to the high side and it falls on parents' shoulders to assemble/explain/supervise.  This is rarely a problem with books.  Build their library.  +7(P) + 5(K) + 4(G) = Win for everyone.  BTW, the G points would have been higher, but have you priced children's books lately?!

I could probably go on endlessly, and there are individual family variables that might affect your actual score.  I didn't even mention stuffed animals.  There is a reason for that:  it's likely already hard enough to find the child in their bed, though the child knows and will panic if even one such cuddly thing is missing.  It is virtually impossible for a net positive score no matter how positive the K and G elements.  RESIST the urge to buy them, no matter how cute!

There.  A public service announcement worthy of blog space:  cuddly, cute, adorable stuffed animals can practically and easily fall into the same category of Eve's nemesis. Words to the wise.  You are welcome!

The Games People Play

 We play games - some of them good, some of them devious, some of them human, and some of them on a board.  Can't help it, we are a normal family.  If you don't do all of the above, you don't meet our definition of "normal", which might or might not actually be normal - if you know what I mean...

Bella has recently discovered Monopoly Junior - I hear she is kicking behinds and taking names.  I also hear she is learning about how to lose - gracefully, I hope.  You win some, you lose some.  That truth cannot be altered - on the board or in life.  (My philosophy for the day.)

Bryce has dropped the Junior moniker for his brand of Monopoly.  He goes for the real stuff.  It was quite the transition, actually:  from a 20 minute game to a 2 hour game - from a wink-wink "sure that's a six" to "yeah, I can count, too".  In the Harris household, if you want to play an adult game, you have to play by adult rules.  Credit to Bryce, he wanted to graduate to the "real" game.  Sometimes he wins, sometimes he loses.  (Though last time I played him, I trounced!  Right, Emma?)

Then there is Tyler with a Simpson's chess set.  He wanted to join in the fun - a grandboy/Granma game.  Tyler has his own set of rules (you get to make those at age 5).  First of all, he got five pieces - Homer, Grandpa, Bart, Bart and Bart - verses my two - Lisa and Marge.  The games was strictly along gender guideline.  I tried to insert Maggie, but it led to the exclusion of Marge.  Tyler rules - go figure.  In the end, Spider Man won.  Again, Tyler rules - go figure.

We also play Tenzi, generally with 10 dice each.  However, some hands are not big enough to hold them all.  They get 5.  Super Man won (read Tyler).  Bryce and I fought it out for second.  I think Bryce won.  The scoring wasn't kept that accurately, but I'll admit defeat.

So if you come to our house for a family gathering, you should be prepared to participate in several things:  food, comradery, noise, chaos and a board game.  Don't expect mercy - once you hit double digits, we offer none.  Just ask Bryce...

The Best Quilt EVER

I'm a quilter.  Actually I cut up and pieced fabric back together for several year before I felt worthy of that title.  Now it's just part of my DNA.  I look at art and wonder how to represent it with fabric.  I see a sunset and consider how to combine fabrics to obtain that effect.  I've never succeeded at that - God has me beat every time.

I have made so many quilts for the ones that I love that I fear they are smiling through gritted teeth and wondering what to do with yet another.  I feel their pain (not really) and I try to hold myself back (unsuccessfully).  It's just one of the quirky hallmarks of being me, and I'm really not apologizing for it, either.

My quilting room, which doubles as my office and workout room and playroom for the grands, has the requisite tools of the trade: sewing machine, a yard or two (thousand) of fabric, scissors, pins, etc.  But there are also the common but less expected quilting tools: tape measure, compass (of the geometric variety), a carpenter's square, and pink Styrofoam insulation.

The Styrofoam board is meant to be used as a design wall - for arranging and re-arranging blocks before they are sewn together to get just the right balance of color, design, placement.  Whatever it takes to "make the heart sing" (credit to Connie Pomering for the phrase that accurately sums it all up).  Since we moved four years ago, the design wall has been a constantly changing and growing collection of my favorite quilt EVER.  It started with Bryce's painted handwork in the upper left hand corner.  Tyler's art is slightly covered by dancing snowmen, courtesy of Bella and Aidan.  There are rainbows and flowers and monster-somethings of the friendly sort.  Notes of love and even a favorite photo of me with a baby grandgirlie wearing a sweater that I first wore decades ago round out the blocks.

Perhaps it would be possible to represent these precious works of art in a quilt, but just as God does the best sunsets, grandboys and girlies do their art best!  If any of them becomes world renowned artists, and even if they don't, I'll always say I knew them when - and their early works are their best.  They make my heart sing!

L'eggo my Legos

 I hope whoever first invented Legos made millions!  What a great toy!  They keep mid-sized ones entertained for hours making a million things!  Actually, at least half of that time is spent trying to find the piece you want next for whatever you are building.  It is always at the bottom or the pile, no matter how many times you paw through the pile.  Or it is camouflaged by the carpet, not coming out of hiding until you step on it with bare feet - generally when least expected.

Legos haven't really changed a lot in the 2 or 3 decades since my boys played with them.  That is, the blocks themselves are still pretty much the same - some new forms to make the previously impossible commonplace, but otherwise the same. The little flat ones are still hard to separate from each other, though I just learned there is a new tool that makes that job all the easier, and might save a tooth or two.  I can't wait to see how it works once Amazon delivers.

The instruction book for each item hasn't changed either.  See how flimsy it is?  If they really meant for you to keep it for a lifetime, wouldn't they make it slightly less destructible?  Legos last FOREVER.  I'll give the booklet 3 weeks tops.

The Legos below were made by this Granma at the request of Tyler and Bella.  "Granma, make me a digger...a helicopter...a car...a house."  See how none of the colors are coordinated?  Instructions are long gone, as is the memory of what those blocks originally made.  What is left must be put together with imagination and a little luck to find pieces with potential.  My boys never cared what the original pack formed once it had been constructed once.  After that, every Lego became part of a gun or a grenade - that's what little boys do.

Now though, it seems once assembled, the kits stay together in their originally designated design.  Mind you, the thrill of finding the right piece is still there, maybe more so since the directions tell you the must-have block.  My bestie had a whole Christmas tree decorated with Legos, including an R2D2 angel on top!  She pulled it from a box fully assembled.  I was so impressed!  Though I think she might have cheated and used Kragle.


So, here's the bottom line.  It really doesn't matter if you have a box with mass of blocks or textbook perfect sculptures.  But if you just Googled "Kragle" to get it's meaning, you lost your Lego license.

Honey, where are my paaaaaants?

Take Me Out to the Ballgame!

Part of the absolute wonder of grandboys is watching them grow and develop at such a rapid rate.  It kind of reminds me of when my boys were little, but different.  Back then, I couldn't wait them to: walk, feed themselves, dress themselves, learn to read...  The list was ever changing and never ending.  Always the next thing, but not entirely for the wonder of it all.  Once they fed or dressed themselves, it meant I got to move on to something else as well.  It wasn't quite that cold and calculated - just a necessity of life with three boys three and under.

But with grandboys it's a different kind of watch and wait.  I want them to learn to walk because there is nothing cuter than a toddler taking those Herman-Munster-like steps with their Mini-Me body.  But I'm still going to pick them up and carry them around and love them up.  So the actual walking isn't the point.  It's fine with me if they can show off by putting on their own coat, but I still want to get down on their level to zip the coat, deposit tickles in the pocket and kisses on the cheeks.  And for your sake if they didn't do something new and different, you would only have adorable pictures to view here on Tuesdays - which would also be a-MAZ-ing!

So Adian, a precocious three year old, has learned all the letters and the sound of each.  (We shall ignore for the time being that some letters make more than one sound.  Or that English pronunciation rules are somewhat capricious.)  The next predictable step is to sound out words.  This necessitates finding specific words where each letter makes the sound that Aidan is expecting.  H-I-T is a possibility.  T-H-E is not.

Showing off his new prowess, Aidan was sounding out the word "sit."  You know how it goes:  "S....I....T."  Now say it faster.  "S..I..T."  Now faster.  "SIT!".  Perfect!  Same success with "hat"!  How about the letters on his jacket?  "C....U....B....S"   Then "C..U..B..S"  And finally "CUP!  Yes, please, I want a drink!"

Give that boy a (root) beer!  He's already a die hard  Cubs fan!  It runs in the family.  Here to the 2015 season.  Seems like the perfect year for a P...E...N...N...A...N...T!

Hide and Seek

I grew up in small-town Iowa.  What a great place to call home!  I remember rushing through dinner on summer nights in order to join the neighbor kids for a game or two before bedtime.  Baseball, kick-the-can, hide-and-seek…  Good times!

I remember once my brother’s friend laid down to hide in the lengthening shadow of a tree.  Apparently having enjoyed a rather large evening meal, he fell asleep.  Our seeking couldn't find him, and like all kids, our attention span is only so long.  We moved on to another game.  When he woke up and found us, he declared himself the winner.  You should have seen his bug bites!  Winning is subjective.

A couple of years ago, Bryce suggested a game of hide-and-seek.  Obviously, with a Granma's keen power of observation and vast experience with the game, a seven year old would not be a problem.  Ok – bring it on!  I hid my eyes and started to count.  How far can a child get in the count of twenty?

As I searched high and low for one very quiet and very still child (quite uncharacteristic of him, I might add), it occurred to me that the world had changed in the intervening decades since my childhood.  Bug bites aside, my son would not be amused if I delivered back one less child than was originally entrusted to me.

My search became more desperate.  “All-ie, all-ie, oxen free!”   Kids today don’t say that, or don’t recognize it as a slightly panicked Granma call – or he’s asleep somewhere.  “Bryce, you win!  We have to get your brother home for a nap!”  That worked!  The pride on his face matched the relief on mine.  Losing, it turns out, is subjective as well.

Maybe I’ll introduce him to kick-the-can instead…

Of Margles and Men

"Granma, let's play margles."  It's just that kind of talk that has me wrapped around his little finger - Tyler's that is.  So we make our way down to the designated area and the bin of Marble Works parts.  These are, in fact, the very same parts and margles that Tyler's father pulled out with anticipation and excitement some 30 years earlier.  Some toys stand the test of time and toddler, the latter being the more rigorous of the challenges.

Marble Works is an interactive toy.  Those young enough to be mesmerized by it are not generally old enough to build the expansive trails and towers needed to hold little boy attention.  After years, no decades, of experience, this Granma can now correctly match up the in's with the out's from bottom to top to ensure the proper margle thrill ride.

The problem comes when a particular bright-eyed child would like one final piece inserted - at the bottom of the raceway.  This feat requires advanced margle engineering AND childhood patience while alterations are in progress.  Do not attempt this maneuver after a short night's sleep, a glass of wine, or with a potentially cranky miniature partner.  It will not go well.

Even once the margles are descending the structure at break-neck speed, interaction is still required.  Number one, what goes up (the tower) tends to come down in a rush of sub-five enthusiasm.  And secondly, expertly constructed towers which take advantage of most if not all the pieces, tend to be taller than their intend purveyor, necessitating a step stool.  Excited grandboys climbing on step stool to deposit margles in the top of the tower tend to try to steady themselves on said tower.  See number one above.

Tyler turns four today.  "Margles" have given way to "marbles," I'm sad to say, though the rest of the challenges remain, at least for a while longer.  Someday the step stool will no longer be necessary.  But even with longer legs and a supply of marbles, this Granma will still be an integral part of the process.  Someone has to mastermind the placement of the final piece, somewhere near the bottom of the stack.

Happy Birthday, Tyler!  I love you!

Wii Are Quite the Pair

This is my eldest grandson, Bryce.  He can frequently be found in Mario World, fighting Bowser and ghosts and other creatures whose names I have banished.  If I could banish them on the screen, Bryce would be oh so much more impressed with Granma…

A few years ago, when he was just learning to navigate Mario’s world, Bryce would hand me the controller at particularly strategic times saying, “This is the hard part, Granma.  You have to help me.”  I did so love that he believed that I could!  But, alas, I have 9 thumbs and one pinkie.  How do you actually travel the maze of A, B, up, down, left and right while simultaneously watching a flickering screen in an attempt to save the lives of Mario and “Luwedgie”? 

“No, Granma, you aren’t listening!  You have to do it like this,” at which point the controller would exit my thumbs and pinkie.

He’s on to me now – he doesn’t ask for help anymore.  But he does ask if I want to watch him play with his video friends.  Any friend of Bryce’s is a friend of mine, and I watch – ad-nausium even!  But seriously, Mario and Luigi could use new, less mushroom-ish hats (green really does nothing for Luigi), and would someone please write new music to go cross-eyed by! 

I love you, Bryce!