Hop, Skip and a Jump

Christopher Robin with brother Bruce and me. Circa 1964

Some things, they say, skip a generation.  Twins are an often sited example of that phenomenon.  That being the case, I don't expect to live to see my great, great grandtwins, so I'll just have to continue to enjoy the little girlies now!  What an odd thought that someday they might play with grandtwins of their own...

In my family, quilting skipped two generations.  Neither my mother nor my grandmothers were quilters, but my great grandmother was!  I have a couple of her quilts and I cherish them.  I hope the next generation of quilters in the family will still look on them with love and honor for a woman they never met (I never met her either).  And, not so secretly, I hope it won't skip a generation.  I would love to see the birth of a quilter in my lifetime.  Time will tell.

Other things skip a generation, all within one lifetime.  I think that is the joy of being Granma - happily skipping back past parenting to being a kid again.  Some might call that jumping back, or even reverting.  Be that as it may, I did and then I didn't and now I do again.  And if a generation is 20 years (more or less), then mathematically, I did indeed skip a generation within my own lifetime.

For example, I have fond memories of playing London Bridges and Ring Around the Rosy on the playground with my friends.  When you got caught in the "take the key and lock them up" phase, you might be tossed around like a towel in a washing machine - and there is no place you would rather be!  I don't specifically remember singing those action songs with my sons.  However, I love the recent memory of playing them with my grandboys (no girlies present at that time).  I made a pretty good bridge, holding hands with a five-year old.  We caught and shook up a couple other grandboys, with giggles all around.  Fortunately, no pictures exist of my turn to be caught by the bridge of four and five year old extended and interlocked fingers!  And my knees thanked me for carpeting.  We won't even talk about Ring Around the Rosy, except to say that the ground is a lot further down than it used to be.  And the up is further yet, especially after a couple of dizzy rounds.

Of course, some of the very best stuff doesn't skip a generation: bedtime stories and ice cream snacking (not necessarily in that order), soccer games and t-ball, sillies and snuggles.  That is awesome stuff that no generation should miss out on.  But whether it's really skipping a generation or just hopping back, there is nothing liking sharing a world of discovery with little eyes and hands and hearts.  Much love to my fellow adventurers.

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!

Christmas Recap

Naomi enjoying second breakfast

Christmas preparations take months!  All the planning and buying and wrapping and baking and, and, and...  and then it's over in the blink of an eye.  In truth, Christmas Day in the Harris household was one LONG blink that started abound 9 am and ended 10 hours later.

We started with stockings and Butter Braids - gooey sugary goodness wrapped around a cinnamon center.  Yum!  We moved on to gifts.  I can't give you a list of items received. My vision was hampered by flying wrapping paper. But I did see smiles all around.

Joyfully Josiah

Next came dishes for some of us, games for others and then a feeble attempt at gingerbread houses. Granma was losing steam by then. Somewhere in the afternoon there were several rounds of naps: by the very youngest and by several of the parents. The eldest of us relied on caffeine to prepare the next round if eating.  There was a salad assist (thank you, Corey) and potatoes mashing (thank you, Colin).  Dinner arrived more or less as scheduled and as planned.  One salad spent a lonely Christmas, forgotten in the basement frig. The dishwasher, on the other hand,

did not get a holiday, either the mechanical or the human variety.

We ended the day with the most beautiful dessert ever, courtesy of Christine.  And it tasted better than it looked. Bella loved the rum sauce; she was allowed an entire thimbleful.  It was quite rummy!

The best way to sum up the day came from Elijah aka Zeke aka Nugget (he answers to them all). With perfect 2 year old diction he intoned, "Ho, ho, ho!  Mer-wee Crit-with!!!"  And it was, sweet one!  It absolutely was.

Nuggets of wisdom - Mer-wee Crit-with!

Rite of Passage

There are just some things that girls do for no other reason than their chromosome make up.  Actually, make up is one of those things.  Another is giggling uncontrollably for no apparent reason at inappropriate times.  Once Ginger, my sister, and I were sitting in the balcony of the church watching our father perform his minister-ly duties.  We started giggle over the great vantage point we had of the bald spot forming in the back of his head.  Nothing could stop us - not the looks of those sitting beside us or the pointed glance of our father.  Not even the tears running down our faces.  What finally stopped us was the benediction.  Once we didn't have to stifle our laughter, it dissipated.  Girls.  Back to the train of thought at hand.

Another thing girls do is showers: bridal and baby, generally.  In modern times the groom is also extended an invitation to bridal showers.  Poor guy.  The lone bastion of testosterone in an otherwise giggly, made-up room.  It's not exactly like he could refuse the invitation.  So he makes the best of it with a room full of women - one of his former fantasies come to think of it.

This past weekend, we had a shower for Colin (eldest son of mine) and his intended, Emma.  (We can't wait to hear the I do's in July!!!  Awesome choice, son!)  It entailed all the requisite shower material: flowers, food and festivities, giggles, gifts and gabbing.  (I'm a fan of alliteration, can you tell?)  But more to the point, all three of my grandgirlies were in attendance!  That is Bella on the left helping her mom with the gifts.  Christine is standing behind holding Faith, and I am seated with Naomi.  Could be the other way around - Christine with Naomi and me with Faith.  Hard to tell from here.  (Colin looks a bit unfamiliar with the protocol, doesn't he?  It's enough to make me giggle, again!)

Regardless, this is a sign post of an era, I think:  the adult-ish ME doing something with my female relatives of younger generations!  Ah, pink!  To gather with so many women that I love with every fiber of my being - five are with me in this picture alone!

Here's to a new era of showers and the women who attend.  Much love to each and every one!

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!

Urban Farming - the Pink Factor

This week I took Bella to the pumpkin farm, though, in fact, I didn't see any pumpkins.  Different farm, but largely the same.  Let's get question number one out of the way - yes, there was a corn maze.  I know that because I saw it on several signs. Not all Granma's are as gullible than they look - or maybe we are just a bit smarter than expected.  No more mazes for me!  I also brought along another adult, just in case I might be tempted into a corn encrusted labyrinth again.  It turns out my brother, Jim, didn't need to lead me either through or away from the tall corn - a relief for the assembled three.

As we stood in line for the privilege of playing at an urban farm, Bella announced she would like to go apple picking instead - which was handily just across the street.  That was enough to make this chick(en) cross the road and for good un-mazed reason.  (I just used up my quota of bad puns.  You should now be safe to the end of the blog.)

Apple picking is not what it used to be.  First, you stand in line for half an hour the right to pay $10/head to pick apples.  The $10 buys you a paper bag that you will eventually be able to fill with apples.  As you can see, eight straight boys (sons and grandboys) have left me at a deficit when it comes to the grandgirlie thing.  These are best earrings I could come up with - and they did kill nearly 5 minutes of the 30 - a Granma success by all standards.

After the accessorizing and before the picking, comes the "hay" ride out into the orchard.  I remember hayrides from my childhood.  Back in the day, the tractor went slowly, and you were allowed to jump (or fall) off and jump (or be pulled) back on.  It was part of the "charm" of the event.  Apparently urban farms have more respect for OSHA than tradition.  It was not possible to either jump or fall off that slow moving vehicle.  I could forgive them for that.  Having tripled or quadrupled my age since my last hayride, I'll give a nod to safety.  However, who ever heard of a hayride without HAY?  Seriously!  It was more like a cattle mover than a hay ride.  At least the midget among us did not object.  Then again, she didn't object to the earrings, either.  Hmmmmm.

Bella is quite the experienced apple picker.  Do not pull the apples from the trees.  Instead, lift and twist and the reward will fall into your hand.  We were also encouraged to eat all the apples we wanted, as long as we ate the whole apple.  We obliged, though were careful to leave room for warm apple cider donuts.  Oh, YUM!!  In case I give the impression that I'm always pining for the good old days (how Granma of me), Kuiper's warm apple cider cinnamon-sugar covered donuts are some of the best things I've ever eaten!  Sorry, Iowa.  Urban farms excel at sugary fried dough!

So, Miss Bella, my love, thank you for teaching me the finer points of girl Granma-ing.  Thank you for humoring me and correcting me kindly when I forget you wear pink.  Thank you for loving me and thank you for letting me love you!  I'll work on harder the earring thing...

Pink to Red and all Shades Inbetween

I got married at 19 (which might explain why by the age of "39" I now have 8 grandbabies, one of whom will be 10 in a couple of months).  My first son was born when I was 20, the second at 21, and the third when I was a matronly 24.  We moved during my first pregnancy, and actually during the second one, too.  As a result, my belly was never the object of a baby shower - and who gives a shower for a third child, especially when he makes three of a kind?  It was never a deep longing of my heart, just one of those little known oddities that contributes to my...  You know what I mean.

Last week, my bestie, Merry, had a Granma shower for me - a PINK shower, to be exact!  She reasoned that after 3 sons and 5 grandboys, there was not a stitch of pink, nor a doll or princess item in the house.  She knows me well!  I wore my one pink item, which, true to form, borders on fuchsia.  Pastel is a very new addition to my vocabulary, and still a foreign one.  The card from a fellow quilter, was soft and sweet and advised me to keep and use it as a pastel guide in the future.  Thanks, Nancy, it will certainly come in handy!

I received preemie sized clothes, bibs, blankets, toys, books, flowers, candles, bath items, and more - all in various shades of pink!  There was nary a spot of blue to be found.  Even the margaritas we shared were pink!

Some things became evident regarding showers from the other side of the wrapping paper.  First, it's kind of like Christmas, sans the red and green (especially the green) - except that no one else was opening gifts.  I might surmise that all of my friends were on Santa's naughty list.  However, it is not even remotely possible that we would be on opposite sides of that divide, so skip the Christmas reference.  (Lower right corner of the picture is a pink flask, especially designed for a long day of Granma-ing.  Though it will never hold any liquid stronger than milk, it is proof positive that we definitely stick together on the naughty/nice split.)

Secondly, even besides the obvious color difference, grandgirlies' necessities are very different from grandboy fodder.  I'm kind of curious to see how the latter plays with a cuddly pink piggy, or what adventures they can think up for Barbie.  I am equally curious to see how the girls will play with them.  Bella will have to demonstrate.

Finally, the best gift of all:  my friends!!!  With greater frequency than I care to admit, I wonder if I'm good enough, worthy enough, likable enough.  Granma that I am, I'm little more than an insecure teenager - though we have established that I left that decade "at least" 20 years ago...  Maybe that's why I love being a Granma so much:  the midgets don't even question if I'm "all that"!  I'm big enough, strong enough, smart enough, sucker enough, childish enough to be their hero, their playmate, their champion.  Oh how I would love for them never to see the real me: insecure, fumbling, doubting - and even on occasion exhausted and frustrated by their antics.

But my friends see with adult eyes:  my shortcomings, flaws and over-extension, but also my hope, my love and my desires.

Pink entered through the door - overwhelmingly so!  But when friends gather to celebrate PINK, it's really all about RED - the same color as LOVE!  I love all of you, too!!  You are the best!

Perfect in Pink

There are a several words I would use to describe myself besides Granma.  There is wife and mother, of course, but also biker (of the pedal variety), blogger and quilter.  There are also words I don't use, like cook, gardener and golfer.  Fortunately I married someone who is really good at those, but that's material for a blog of a different name.

I have made quilts for each of my grandboys when they were born.  There were woodland critters and circus animals, monsters and farm animals, bugs and more.  Besides the fact that I seem to be fixated on creepy crawly things, all the quilts had a good blue representation in them.  That's kind of funny since my quilting friends will tell you I don't like blue - or some specific shades of blue, anyway.  My quilting friends know me long and well.

Generally when I make a quilt, I shop first in my stash.  It's cheaper that way.  The first picture is of the majority of my stash.  See that bit of pink in the upper left corner - the stuff mixed in with the red and orange?  That's it.  There has been little call for pink heretofore.  And those pinks tend to be of the florescent variety, not soft and sweet and baby girlish.  Still, I thought I would find something there, kind of like a sour dough starter - something for a beginning inspiration.  Yeah - no...

So it was off to the quilt store for me to walk among all the colors and feel them vibrate in my hands and heart.  I am a fabroholic and proud of it!  I knew the colors I was looking for:  pink, of course, and aqua, Faith and Naomi's Mama's favorite color.  I found the perfect fabric with an aqua background!  I thought long and hard about including it, covered as it was with really adorable monsters.  Sigh...I put it back.  And there was one that had a rainbow of colors that would have tied the aquas and pinks together.  It had crocodiles on it.  This was turning out to be much more difficult than I first suspected!

In the end, I had to discipline myself to look at a whole different section of the fabric store.  I didn't quite end up with soft and sweet, but it is aqua and pink.  Oh, the other thing  my quilt friends will tell you is I don't do pastel. This is also true, if you use the most common understanding of the word "pastel".

These are going to be wonderfully girly, pastel-ish quilts, stitched together with immeasurable love!

Maybe they will fade after a washing - or 50.

GRANDGIRL UPDATE:  Faith and Naomi are holding their own for being such bitty bits.  (The quilts are California king sized plus to their perfect and tiny little bodies.)  They are three weeks old today and back up to roughly their birth weights.  Please pray for their continued health and development.  And please pray for their parents, Court and Christine.  The road is long and hard, but it is there is no other road they would rather be on.  Such is the dichotomy when your heart beats outside your own body.

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.

What I Learned from a Mouse

Two years ago, I went to Disney World for the very first time - EVER!  I never really understood the hype.  In truth, my head probably still doesn't understand - but my heart does!!!  It was a best friend/daughter affair.  Being short on the daughter, I came along as best friend.  Merry and I have many stories that we would be happy to share, though not on Granma time.

You might notice from the picture that I am the shortest one in the group - meaning I met the five foot-something designation to join the frivolity.  I assure you, the vertically challenged were EVERYWHERE, except attached to our hands.  That is the way to discover the Wonderful World of Disney - height restriction strictly enforced!  I would, however, like to take my grandboys there - one at a time and only once they meet the aforementioned requirement.  Bryce is first up!  Maybe next year?!

At any rate, a mouse named Mickey invited me on an extensive tour of his home, which was incredibility hospitable of him.  He provided fireworks every night and shopping opportunities every 3.7 feet.  He even offered to schlep our purchases back to our hotel.  What an accommodating whiskered quadruped - and I'm not all that fond of rodents as a rule.  Mickey is an exception.

Last weekend was Bella's birthday party.  Bella has no aversions to rodents - or reptiles, for that matter, though that is a blog for another time.  There is the princess now!  I realize the picture is blurry, but I'm sure you will understand why shortly.  Knowing that Florida in June might be on the warm and humid side, Bella decided to party with a different mouse - named Charles - his friends call him Chuck.

Mr. Cheese, as I shall call him is a very distant relative to Mickey.  There are some similarities:  whiskers, ears, and tail.  Shopping opportunities abound every 1.9 feet, but you may only shop with specific currency that must be acquired from specially designed ATM machines that eat green paper and spit out gold coins. Grandboys never tire of THAT trick.

Being a rather brave (read: fool-hardy) Granma, I volunteered to bring Aidan and Josiah to the festivities.  They loved the gold coins and caught on quickly enough what to do with them.  They wanted to explore each and every coin slot - one to the left and the other to the right.  Granma was in the middle looking a bit like Elasta-Girl, or a failed version of said superhero.

 I consider myself a pretty quick learner.  And long before we exited the house of Mr. Charles "Chuck" E. Cheese, I had acquired several valuable pieces of information.  Granmas do not want to be friends with all 7' tall rodents.  Mr. Cheese's residence also has a height requirement, that being UNDER five foot tall.  Regardless of how much I shrink over time, I will always lay claim to my tallest, leaving me ineligible for a return visit.  That last sentence makes this Granma smile just thinking about it!

There is only one thing that will EVER get me back to the house of Mr. Cheese.  And that is: another birthday party for a grandboy or grandgirlie.  And I am extremely grateful that those don't roll around on a weekly basis.

Happy Birthday, Bella.  May number 6 be an awesome year for you!

The Pink Asterisk

Over 34 years ago my first son was born.  Seven pounds eight ounces of baby boy - beautiful beyond belief!  A little over nine months ago, another baby joined the family - number eight in a string of bundles of blue.  He was oh so himself and equally beautiful!

I have over three decades of blue to my credit - and by that I frequently mean black and blue.  Boys are a different beast.  Oh heck, boys are frequently beasts - cute, yes!  But beasty, too - rough and rugged and smelly and fuzzy-cuddly, too.  It's a boy thing - and if you have been around enough of them (which may be defined as only one), you know what I mean.  Just this weekend, Tyler (4) nibbled his grilled cheeses into the shape of a gun and shot at me across the table.  I'm not sure I've ever been attacked by American cheese before, but it felt so normal that maybe I have and just repressed the memory.

I had kind of expected a life time full of make-shift guns and best friend who double as punching bags.  In decades past, I would spend days being mad at my son's friend for a slight, while my son headed over to the offenders house 15 minutes later to play soccer.  Boys are just different!  But it's a different to which I have grown accustomed.

Until...

Meet Isabella!  Her face isn't always so purple.  In fact, just lately I've seen it in shades of pink and white with rabbit whiskers radiating from her nose and across her cheeks.  (When boys have their faces painted, they turn into Spider Man or Ninja Turtles or something - NO pink or purple.)  Bella is the daughter of Emma, girlfriend of Colin.

From the first time we met Bella, we just wanted to admit her to the family (Emma as well, mind you) - and not just because her favorite color is pink.  She radiates five year old confidence and love that is absolutely infectious!  But Saturday, for the first time, she called me Granma!  Be still my heart!  But listen closely, my ears!  Sweet, sweet music!!!

Oh, and just in case you missed the rest of the news, Bella has a huge job ahead of her!  She has to teach us how to treat little girls.  Apparently you should not turn girl toddlers upside down and spin them around and pretend to drop them only to catch them again.  And you should not jump out from behind doors and yell "BOO" and make them jump (and probably cry).  And you should have baby dolls and miscellaneous pink fluffy stuff for cuddling.  All of this education will come in very handy in October when the twin baby GIRLIES are born to Court and Christine!

Yep, yep!  There will be a total of three girls added to the Harris family by the end of the year!  So - do I change the name of the blog?  I think not.  But there is a huge pink asterisk in the title.  Well, actually, it's white, but maybe I can get someone more technologically savvy than I to change its color.

Make way for the pink revolution!