Back to my Roots

Clockwise: Josiah, Aidan, Tyler, Bryce & Elijah

Most of you probably realize that Tuesday comes around with great regularity.  Me, too.  But my Tuesday always starts with a Sunday evening panicked question:  what will the blog look like this week?  However, since Monday intervenes the Sunday to Tuesday sequence, I continue my day of rest...in favor of a Monday evening full panic.  Some bloggers, I understand, actually have blogs prepared ahead of time.  What a novel concept...

Sometimes between last Sunday and yesterday, I made the executive decision to go back to my roots.  We aren't talking hair, here, though I do have a haircut scheduled on Wednesday.  You are not responsible for that piece of information...  Rather, this blog started with grandboys - 5 of them.  So let's talk about that.

Tyler (6), AKA Spider Man, made an appearance on Sunday.  He is a wiry little midget, and seemingly disinterested in out growing the short label.  However, he has a totally boy way of entering the house, after calmly removing this shoes, he launches himself into my arms.  It is an endearing greeting now that I have learned to brace myself for impact.  The really amazing part is how he wraps his arms and legs around my body.  Once maximum velocity and height have been reached, he does not need me to hold him.  I, however, might need to employ the jaws of life if I need to use the facilities.

Bryce (11), on the other hand, has decided that he big enough (almost) and strong enough (almost) to pick ME up.  He will be, soon enough, but for the moment, I do not give him an assist with his efforts - except that I raise up to my tip-toes.  He isn't fooled, but then, his back is broken, either - a fair trade.

Aidan (5), employs a winning smile - between words.  He is never short of words - or topics - or energy.  I gave him a kiss the other day and asked him to pass it on to his Uncle Corey.  Aidan insisted on seven kisses - and, yes, we counted them.  I'm not sure how many of them he shared with Corey, but it made my day!

Josiah (4), oh my.  Josiah practices at ways to be silly.  Just when I reach my own personal limit and tell him to stop, he laughs - which makes me laugh - so any remote thought he had to actually heed my words and "stop" disappears into a gale of giggles.  How do you reprimand when you can't stop laughing?  Perhaps I am one of his favorite jokes.  Regardless, he wins every time.

Elijah (2), though, won the week - twice!  I showed up to watch his sisters so the rest of the family could take a train into the city to visit Uncle Corey.  I opened the door to Aidan's conversation, Josiah's giggles, and Elijah's proclamation, "I don't want to go.  I want to stay here with Granma."  How much do I love that kid!  So how did he top that?  Well, actually: he got on the train to go visit Uncle Corey.  The girls and I had a relatively quiet and very enjoyable day.

What can I say?  I love both the coming and the going!  And I love the absolute joy of being a Granma to boys!  That's my boy(s)!!!

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! 

The Public Privy

It may please you to know that the public toilet situation for (Gran)ma and (grand)boys has improved some over the past thirty plus years.  There is now this awesome invention: family restrooms.  Where were they when I was agonizing over how old is too old to bring a man-child (accent on child) into the women's restroom?  Alas, though, they are still not universally available.

And so it was that last week when grandboy #4 (who coincidentally turned 4 the same week), announced that he had to go to the bathroom - the one located in the bookstore we were frequenting - the bookstore without a family restroom.  We were exactly 12 minutes into our adventure - and 15 minutes since Josiah last used the restroom, at least by his account.  Sigh...

But I know better than to ignore the bathroom request of a four-year-old.  I was also acutely aware that we should avoid the isles with toys and children's book while en route to our destination.  Apparently, the bookstore is well aware of the power of the gauntlet.  Those things that grandboy #4 missed in his ogling were pointed out by grandboy #3.  It was tough to keep them on task - a task of the utmost importance and urgency, or so I was led to believe.

When we finally arrived at the correct corridor, with empty hands (score one for Granma), Josiah headed into the first door - the one marked "MEN."  Aidan, thank you child, pointed out that Josiah was a boy, not a man and he couldn't go in that door.  Fortunately, he didn't apply the same logic when the three of us went in the door marked "WOMEN."  I take my wins were I can find them.

There was a slight delay in choosing the optimal stall - all three being empty and therefore subject to inspection.  Door number two it was.  While Josiah announced his every move, Aidan went straight to the sink.  "Look, Granma, a snowman!"  Indeed, a little melting pile of fluff rested in the palm of his hand.  Aren't automatic soap dispensers a marvelous invention?  Might be up for debate...  Next came the magic water dispensers that operate that the wave of a hand.  Followed by the similarly responding giver of paper towels - one for Aidan, one for Granma (who wasn't quite yet in need of Aidan's considerable consideration).

About this time, Josiah emerged from door number two, with Lightening McQueen encircling his slim hips, while his shorts, who would otherwise cloak the shy McQueen, circled his ankles.  "Josiah, you should pull your shorts up before coming out."  Back to the sink for another round of snowmen, magical waterfalls and Aidan's help with paper towels, this time both for Josiah and for the next person who happened into this enchanted room.  How kind...

In the end, it appears our side adventure was quite the success.  If you don't count the slight over spray from the sink, all liquids ended up in their appropriate vessels, as did the paper towels, with the exception of the one left hanging from the dispenser for convenience of the next guest. We continued on with our quest to find the perfect books for birthday boy and his brothers.

Note to self:  never believe a four year old who insists he "just went" before leaving on a quest.  "Just" is a relative term - but it's no relative of mine!  Next time, he will have to prove it!

What I Didn't Know

It has only been four years, but it feels like a lifetime.  Actually, it is a lifetime - yours, Josiah!  When you were born (Grandboys = 4, Grandgirlies = 0), I knew immediately that I loved you with my whole heart, yet oddly not diminishing in the least my love for your cousins and brother.  Love is a funny stretchy thing that way.  I was happy to be stretched!  Oh, how you have continued my education over your lifetime!

Maybe I should have suspected that you would follow your older brother around like the Pied Piper.  What is the point of older brothers if not to emulate them?  But how could I possibly foresee how you can grab onto one of his antics and take it to a whole new Josiah-level?  Anything Aidan can do, Josiah can do sillier.

Being the "older and wiser" between the two of us, I didn't know I was no match for "Josiah stubborn."  I didn't know that in a test of wills, I would always be the one to first cry "uncle" or some other such relative.  I had hoped, but really didn't think, that logic would be a deciding factor in such cases. Logic has no relevance when you lock into pure, unadulterated "you can't make me."  Thank you for your "gentile" guidance on how to compromise effectively when we are at odds.  First, seek to head off the loggerhead with humor if at all possible - it allows both of us a graceful exit.  Secondly, I will state my case firmly but eloquently to your defiant body language.  Third, I'm still bigger and stronger, and I know how to direct you to your bedroom.  Sixty to 120 seconds later, I will love you up in an effort at reconciliation.  And finally, I will allow you to decide the exact timing of the return to "situation normal," confident that our final destination will be marked with hugs and kisses.  Once again, love shows its stretchability as it covers all manner of divergent opinions.

No, you can't make me
pick up the shoe I just threw
across the room.

I think my favorite Josiah-discovery over your lifetime is your laugh.  Just when I'm about to caution you and your brothers against the slippery slope of too much silliness, you start with the belly laugh!  And it's all over!  All of us go slipping, sliding, giggling down the hill.  I know it may not end well, laughter too often ending in tears, but I cannot keep a straight face long enough to insist upon the needed decorum.

Happy brithday, Josiah!  I can't wait to see what you will teach me over the next years!  I love you bunches!

I Don't Care to Chew My Milk

Josiah wearing his dessert

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

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

Elijah attempting not to waste a drop

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

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

Bryce, the champion Granma breaker

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

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

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

Forty and Holding

I remember quite distinctly when I was thirty-something and someone asked me how old I would be if I didn't know how old I was.  I was raising 3 boys of my own at the time and I felt like the world (or my corner of it) rested on my shoulders.  My immediate answer was "40".  That, my friends, was depressing.  It was also the epitome of an exaggerated sense of self-importance.  Obviously, I took myself WAY to seriously at thirty-something.

Bryce Then

Tyler Now

Tyler Then

Bryce Now

So, now, I'm older and wiser - haha - or pretending to be.  My answer to the same question - two decades later - is still the same.  Thirty-seven plus years of marriage, 3 sons, 5 grandboys and 3 grandgirles - I'm still 40, right?  Just say, "yes," and everyone will have a nice Valentine's Day...

For the novelty of it all, I changed the wallpaper on my computer to randomly scroll through my pictures folder (seeming non-sequitur, I know).  It continues to amuse me every time I sit down at my computer.  Sometimes I actually sit and watch the changing pictures just to see what will come up next.  What can I say?  Frequently it is more entertaining than what is on TV.

Aidan Then

Aidan Now

While watching my own private picture show, I often find myself melting:  oh, I remember that! or Which kid is that? or I want to kiss those cheeks!  Somewhere the years have melted, as well, grandboys moving from flower child to pokeball fanatic - from rock hound to super turtle - from chubby-cheeked cherub to devil-may-care independence - from would-be-scholar to junior-GQ.  And with all those changes, all those loving moments, all those kisses and tears and sighs of exasperation, isn't it remarkable that I haven't aged even a day?  Well, OK.  Maybe I'll admit to 41 now, but only if I'm feigning honesty.  I just enjoy living in my own fantasy land with these grandboys.

Josiah Then

Josiah Now

BTW, Aidan guessed I was 67 the other day.  I don't hold it against him - mostly...  I might have threatened him with an early bedtime, though, if he didn't take it back...

Picture Perfect

I have this thing about pictures - though absolutely no talent personally.  When I say "pictures," I mean snapshots, which is the extent of my capability.  They always look better in my head than on my camera, but I love them anyway.  As my bestie, Merry, says, "The best camera is the one you have with you."  Thank you, Apple.

Snapshots aside, I really admire photo professionals.  I admire their artistry and persistence and anticipation - especially when photographing people - most especially small people - who do not take direction or prisoners.

We recently engaged our friend, Stacy Vitallo, to take one year pictures of Faith and Naomi.  Mind you, they passed the one year mark six months ago.  But seeing as they started life on the miniature side, the decision was made to stretch the celebration documentation a bit.  It seemed like such a great idea.  And while the bright ideas were cropping up, why not take a picture of the three brothers along with their sisters?  Indeed, why not...

Step one:  Distract Faith long enough for Mama to hide.  Otherwise we would have needed a video camera to capture Faith crawling at lightening speed to Mama to be held.

Step two:  From her hiding place, Mama found some "pearl" necklaces to use as a photo prop.  That met with some success!

Step three:  Remove pearl from brothers when their turn comes to face the camera.

Step four:  Arrange boys aesthetically for a pleasing picture.

Step five:  Repeat step four.

Step six:  Coax smiles - with varying degrees of success, and never all at the same time.

Step seven:  Go for broke!  Throw all five into the mix!

Step eight:  Buy Stacy a beer.  I think she earned it!  Actually, there were some absolutely adorable pictures of each child.  But sometimes it's all about the one that got away.  It's certainly not a still life, but it is a real life!  Thank you, Stacy!

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...

Number One or Number Two?

There are some sure-fired ways to elicit groans from mothers.  I bet you've already thought of a few.  Things that made me groan as a mother:

1. A broken TV
2. McDonald's - whether we were eating there or not
3. Snow days
4. Potty training

The list could be much longer, of course.  In general, though, Granmas don't feel the need to complain about the above - except maybe McDonald's, which is universal and ageless.  But since we aren't with the munchkins continually, most things can be tolerated and even enjoyed from our perspective.

My bathroom buddy

For example, Josiah is currently proceeding through the phases of #4 above.  During this period, every mother knows where every bathroom is in every store she might even think of frequenting.  This is because the time between "I have to go," and the actual go, is approximately 30 seconds.  In the good old days of training pants (heavy cotton, but not nearly absorbent enough or leak-proof), this spelled trouble.  Pull-ups, I suspect, have lessened the panic considerably.

Thanks to a motivating sticker chart that marks and rewards successes, Josiah is doing very well!  But being no fool, he is also using his status to his advantage.  Whenever Granma is around, he finds himself in desperate need of assistance in the bathroom - Granma assistance only.  He certainly knows what he is doing and how to do it unaided.  But being the second oldest of five, he has also learned that he can get an immediate reaction and private one-on-one time in close confines just by advertising certain needs.  I am also well aware I am being manipulated, but I like one-on-one time, too.

Cute little love-bug offers me an invitation I cannot refuse and gathers me to himself by closing and locking the bathroom door.  Without the lock, younger brother, Elijah, might join in the fun, which would defeat the purpose.  Josiah drops trow and positions himself appropriately as the conversation starts.  Many conversations revolve the fact that the door must remain locked, expounding on the necessity for privacy.  Some of the talk is about either the previous or the next adventure on the other side of the door.

But my favorite one occurred just the other day.  (Remember, I raised three boys before the five grandboys came along.  I am well versed in bodily function conversations.)  "Granma, when you pee you have to wash your hands."  Indeed, and so we shall.  "When you poop you have to wash your hands, too."  Correct, again!  "But, Granma, you don't have to wash your hands when you fart."

I would say he training is coming along beautifully, And I've never enjoyed potty training so much!  

Cookie: Monsters and Minnions

Some Christmas traditions just must occur.  I might spend some time wistfully thinking how much easier the season would be without hours spent, say, wrapping gifts or decorating the tree, but I wouldn't give it up.  That makes me either a hopeless sap or obsessive compulsive.  I prefer sentimental Granma hoping to pass on a tradition or two - though OCD is pretty descriptive, too.

I am hardly the investor of the Christmas cookie baking tradition.  There are a lot of us sugar plum(p) fairies during the holidays!  As a child, my siblings and I required our Mom to make gingerbread Santas.  They were about 6" tall, frosted and an unquestioned stocking stuffer.  No one really ate them, but they were not Christmas optional, either.  Mom grew tired of making them long before we moved out of the house.  They are still required when we go home for Christmas...

About 17 years ago, (how could it be that long?) my bestie invited me to join her in making Christmas cookies.  I think the first year we had a dozen different kinds, the second year we made 13.  Each year we tried to top the previous year - until we realized we weren't that impressed with ourselves.  Six is a good number for anyone wondering, a fact that we proved again last Sunday.  We were heavy on the chocolate, which might not make for the most photogenic sugar gathering, but it sure tastes good!

Just a couple of days previous to that, Josiah and Aidan joined me in round of frosting art.  Their cookies, as you can plainly see, are a study in eye catching design.  Little to no chocolate was employed, though marshmallows were popular, as were sprinkles.  We started with more marshmallows than you see here.  Apparently, it's pretty easy to sneak those fluff balls - there is no tell-tale crunch to call attention to the guilty pleasure/party.

At one point, I caught Josiah "sprinkling" his tongue with red sugar.  Upon extracting the bottle from his mouth (and bidding it a premature farewell), I looked left to see Aidan taste-testing the blue sugar in much the same fashion.  Brothers...  It has been a few days now, and I'm starting to remember with fondness, and a giggle, two little boys with red and blue smiles.  I must remember to get more sprinkles before attempting cookies with them again.  Who knew it a whole bottle of sprinkles was a single use item?

So who won the cookie cook-off of 2016?  Well, for looks, I have to give it to the mini monsters.  They beat the besties with color and creativity!  However, for general public consumption of a more sanitary nature, I recommend the chocolate.  Seventeen years of practice has to show up somewhere - besides our hips...

Merry Christmas!!!

Christmas Magic

There are some special "grands" Christmas memories.

Last year was one of them.  Holding two precious baby girles, home from the hospital, but still tethered to oxygen.  How sweet that was!  This year, holding them is much more difficult - they want to be down and moving, especially Faith.  She gyrates in your arms, demanding the freedom of the floor.  What a wonderful, miraculous, welcome change!

Bella's first Christmas with us was last year, too.  She arrived walking and talking, of course.  She and I made ornaments to decorate the tree, dancing snowmen and gingerbread men and women.  We started out following the directions.  We ended up with a whole village of our creations - no two the same.

A dozen Christmases ago, was Bryce's first, all six weeks old of him.  I was still trying on the name 'Granma,' and hadn't settled on the spelling yet.  But I certainly had settled on Bryce!  He has sparkled on Christmas every year since.  I'm looking forward to some boardgames with him this Christmas.


Tyler was almost a year old by the time his first Christmas arrived.  Older and wiser, he enjoyed all the gifts, especially the wrapping and bows.  I love to watch the world through his eyes, which haven't lost the wonder of expectation.

Elijah slept through much of his first Christmas, a mistake he won't make again, I'm sure!  Being grandboy number five at the time, the pack-and-play was a safe location for him, while the rest of the world spun out of control with laughter and bits of colorful confetti raining down.

But my favorite grandboy Christmas memory is the year Aidan learned to blow out the Christmas tree!  He walked into the house, straight up to the tree and started blowing.  The behavior seemed a bit odd, quite frankly, two-year-old adorable, but odd.  Court and Christine let us know that we should stand at the ready by the light switch that controlled the outlet to the tree lights.  We were a quick study.  The lights went off (or back on) with each watery blow from his lips.

My next favorite memory is too intertwined to be a separate memory, though it happened two years later.  Aidan was then in control of the light switch for two-year-old Josiah.  His younger brother would giggle with delight that started at his toes.  Aidan, sharing in the joy, joined a duet with the shear joy of toddler laughter!

I can't wait for Christmas!  I wait expectantly with the joy of a toddler for the gathering of the red and green grands!  Merry Christmas, everyone!  And merry memories in the making!

One, Two, Four, Five, Six...

Angelic looks can be deceiving

Family gatherings are always an adventure, regardless of the location.  The most recent occurred at our house.  We are fairly child-proof here, or at least the adults are not so severely outnumbered by the munchkins that it has been a problem.  The biggest rule is to keep the basement door closed.  We do not want the twins exploring the stairs.  This, of course, means that the door is slammed multiple times throughout the gathering, though we barely notice among the other bedlam.  Some toys are housed upstairs where they are available to the mini grandgirlies.  But the ones of more interest to larger grands are in the basement.

Last week, after turning down an invitation to join them in play, those between the ages of 2 and 11 made their way down to the toys.  I am experienced enough to eliminate the "toys" that should not be available.  Their toy room is also my toy room, so sharp quilting items are put away and the sewing machine is unplugged.  There is something about that on/off switch that is a grandboy magnet.  Eliminating the lights that flash helps immensely.  All involved are well aware of the doors that may be opened and those that offer nothing for their playing pleasure.

Shortly after the crew descended, the eldest three among them, made their way back upstairs.  (Tattling is always more fun in groups.)  "Granma, Josiah is being bad.  He's going into the wrong rooms."  I joined them in their lair, where I found Josiah (3) in the gift closet.  So close to Christmas, this is not a good thing.  "And he's turning on and off you sewing machine."

"Josiah, Granma's machine is not a toy."  He acknowledged my authority with a slap to the previously unplugged machine.  Sigh.

"And he hid the TV controller behind the TV."  Easily remedied.

Josiah and I made our way upstairs, where he decided the most desirable toy available was in his sister's hands.  A short discussion ensued before his father directed Josiah to a special bench designed just for thinking.

Bryce commented at dinner that Josiah was being really bad that day, which gave me a chance to offer him some sage parental advice that he will not be able to use for another decade or two.  But for those of you who might need the help sooner, here it is.  Avoid three year olds at all cost.  Terrible twos are not that bad, and three becomes four in a year's time.  But if at all possible, skip three.

There.  Now if you figure out how to do that, let me know.  Until then, I'll just have to love him anyway.  I do love you, Josiah, and I'm looking forward to your birthday...

Can You Hear Me Now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't Let the Bed Bugs Bite...

When I was growing up, so many, many moons ago, groups of girls used to gather for sleepovers.  The more bodies you could talk your parents into, the better - never an easy sell  I suspect the parents on the other end of the equation were happy for the night off, though.  Not having raised any girls, I'm not 100% certain of that.  Boys had sleepovers, too, which involved much pizza, soda, belching, and shouting that generally had to be corralled when it oozes into hear-shot of the neighbors.  But that's another story all together.

I remember on certain sleepover at Polly's house.  We were in the basement, two stories away from others hoping for some sleep.  Monika fell asleep first, which is never a good thing.  Better to stay up all night.  Anyway, someone got the bright idea to wake her up while shining two flashlights in her eyes and yelling "truck!"  She had nightmares the rest of the night.  Apparently girl sleepovers are as squirrely as boy sleepovers, minus the belching.  Sorry, Monika...

Saturday night, I took part in another sleepover.  We slept in the basement, well, some of us did, and the exact number of souls sleeping there changed over the course of the night.  Aidan (5), Josiah (3), and Elijah (2) started the adventure.  Trying to be considerate, I plugged in a night light.  However, the shadows it cast were scarier than the darkness - a problem easily solved.  Having spend a napless afternoon keeping up with his brothers, Elijah was the first to fall asleep.  I protected him from even the slightest suggestion of a flashlight, and waited for his brothers to join him in slumber before finding a bed of my own.

My motherhood ears did not let me down, alerting me to a coughing child in the middle of the night.  I spend a very long half hour or so sitting in bed holding a weezy child until he drained properly.  Gratefully, he settled into a peaceful slumber.  Just as I was about to join him, Josiah announced his presence to the neighborhood, He was never able to articulate between his sobs just why he was crying.  But eventually, he settled down to sleep.  The sudden silence prompted Aidan to turn to me and ask "what's that sound?"  2:00 am is not a good time to explain a water softener.  Fortunately, he wasn't really that interested in the answer.

Back to bed next to a two year old, who was blissfully and animatedly sleeping.  That made one of us.  I spent much of the rest of the wee hours removing toddler hands and feet from various parts of my body.  6:30 arrived WAY ahead of schedule, ushered in by our barking dogs.  The little boy eyes laying next to me popped open.  I know this, because I'm not sure mine ever closed entirely the whole night.

What a great, exhausting, incoheriently comical night it turned out to be.  By 7:30 everyone was happily munching on Pop Tarts (breakfast of champions) and making plans for the rest of the morning.  Their mom and dad arrived in the early afternoon, refreshed after a quiet, restorative night together. 

By 2:00 pm, all the toys (and boys) had been returned to their designated locations.  I took a nap to ward off the feeling of having been hit by a truck, sans flashlights.  And just like sleepovers of old, I can't shake the feeling that I want to do it again!  Sleep tight, grandboys of mine!

Friends and Countrymen, Lend Me Your Ears!

Naomi - with room to grow

Faith - Pretty in Pink

With all good intentions, I promise this will be the last Disney post.  Meaning - I will not be held responsible if sentence #1 turns out to be an outright lie...  But this post is a must, cuz there is much cuteness to be displayed!

Before leaving to Florida, I spent some time mulling over what gift to bring Illinois bound grandbabies from the land of Mickey.  The possibilities are endless, of course, in the land of the world's largest souvenir stand:  t-shirts, toys, stuffed animals, to name the most conventional.  The mouse, of course, doesn't stop there, but I did - until...  Merry suggested bringing back ears for all the mini-folk!  Perfect!

Bella - My Bell!

Aidan - Lightening McQueen

So between Space Mountain and Soarin' we four travelers embarked on the great ear hunt.  Finding ears was not the problem - they were EVERYWHERE, including the heads of most of our new best friends and mouseketeers.  Total non-sequitur: while trying to figure out how to spell mouseketeers it occurred to my typing fingers that it could be "mouse-cat-ears" - a shout out to Tom and Jerry, I suppose.

Anyway, mouse ears come with glitz and glitter and in Army drab.  There are bride and groom ears, princess ears, Star Wars ears, Winnie-the-Pooh ears (which kind of defied imagination),  Lightening McQueen ears, under the sea ears...  You get the drift.

Tyler - Scorcerer

Josiah - Goofy

Not feeling the need to start collections of our own, Merry and I brought our "vintage" ears from a previous trip and paraded them around.  Bryce chose the R2D2 ears for himself and Ava's ears lit up - and flashed in time to the music at various attractions as well as being timed to the fireworks.

But really, how adorable are the Illinois mouseketeers!  It would have been nice to get all those ears in one picture.  It was suggested.  However, we all know how mice tend to scatter when you try to catch them.  I would say that Mickey has that affect on the mini ones.  In truth, it's also the nature of grandbabies.  I am settling for assembling them in this blog.  It's the easiest way to get them to sit still!

Elijah - Mickey!

Thank you to Mickey for the additional set of ears each.  I'm sure it will have a great affect on their listening skills, too!  As long as they can hear "I love you" - that's all that really matters!

As they see the World!

When I was in high school - back in the day of horse and buggy - I excelled at math and English and music.  At least that's the credits I give myself looking back.  However, I took the weeniest science courses I could to skate by with the minimum.  When I got to college and discovered I had to take two lab science classes, I did not deviate from my previous strategy, taking Weather/Climate and Astronomy.  I never cared for science.  That gene, apparently, went to my elder brother who became a doctor.  So far, this has nothing to do with grandbabies, but trust me, it will...

Aidan (4) and Josiah (3) are precociously starting with their homeschooling!  Guess who their science teacher is!!!  Yep, the science superstar - Granma!  Fear not, their medical or rocket science futures are intact, as long as I switch subjects before their knowledge of quarks and leptons surpasses mine.  Of course, my knowledge only extends as far as spelling.  Let's not talk about my spelling prowess...

So I've been teaching the boys about how the earth rotates and how the moon reflects the sun.  We are making progress with experiments involving a mirror and a flashlight, taking turns being either the sun or the moon (or the director of the experiment - resulting in being "blinded by the light").  From week to week, I'm always so thrilled when something appears to have "stuck."  (What's that word, Josiah? - "Rotate"!)  How long does it take the Earth to rotate, Aidan?  One day!  Good answers!

So just when I'm starting to think maybe I missed my calling...  Reality comes calling.

So, Aidan, where is the sun?

It's up in space.  (Check!)

Where is the moon?

It's up in space, too.  (On a roll!)  Hey, Granma, where is the Earth?

This the Earth.  We are standing on it.

No, Granma, that's the grass.  The Earth is round and it's up in space.

Oh, my. 

Aidan, do you know what Q-U-A-R-K spells?

The Final Countdown to THREE

Tomorrow it will be official:  Josiah will turn three.  Three is my least favorite age ever.  I prefer thirteen to three - though there are similarities between them - squirrelly and prone to temper tantrums to name two.  But I'll say this for Josiah - he is absolutely my favorite three year old, so he has that going for him.

In January of last year, I did a blog titled "Stuck in the Middle with You" - featuring tomorrow's birthday boy.  That was when he was the second of three.  Now, as the second oldest of five, life has changed.  Now he is one of the "big" kids.  And as a big kid, he gets to go to school when Granma arrives to teach science (oh, there will be future blogs on THAT!).

Then there are days like Sunday when we had a family dinner to celebrate Grampa and Josiah's birthdays.  Josiah decided to flaunt his youth with just a "touch" of blue icing lipstick.  Granma is totally useless at telling him to stop when she, herself, can't stop laughing.  His unnatural smile kept growing until Mama grabbed the wet wipes.  After all, someone had to be the adult, and I was doing a poor job of it.  In fact, I was thinking of blue lips myself.  Thank you, Christine, for saving me from myself...

Josiah has two modes - absolute-goof-ball and nothing-you-do-will-make-me smile.  But look at those eyes!  Coppery hazel!  They bewitch me and apparently they go very well with blue - he might be on to something.  He also has two voices - toddler-what-is-he-saying? and billy-goat-beats-me-what-he's-saying.  Seriously, he should think about opera - no one has a vibrato like that kid!  Fortunately, Aidan is really good at interpreting.  Actually, sometimes Aidan just shrugs when asked what his brother is saying.  He might actually understand, but it is an older brother prerogative to feign ignorance.

Josiah, I love you dearly, just the way you are!  You are a love bug of epic-ly three-year-old proportion!  I'll love you next year, too, when you are (relieved sigh) four...  Happy Birthday!

Regretfully Saying Goodbye to the Terrible Twos

This little cutie will turn three next month.  He has always been known as the "good son," a title that I fear he will have to forego for the next year.  I have never been sure why the twos got the bad rap.  I'm pretty sure it was by first time parents who just hadn't experienced threes yet, or they would know that the terrible twos are just a warm up to treacherous threes (which admittedly doesn't have the same ring to it).  Josiah, being a bit precocious, just got there a little early.

"Granma, come really fast!  Josiah did it!"  The lamp was reclining, it's broken light bulb glittering the carpet - it was a floor lamp after all.  For his part, Josiah looked pretty satisfied.

"I want Aidan's water."  And just to demonstrate it was not empty, Josiah turned the glass over.  Giggling the whole time.  I, on the other hand, did not exude laughter.

Blessed bedtime was just around the corner.  Holding the all-but-three-year-old hand while saying prayers, he began to cry.  "No, Granma, I want your other hand."  Arms crossed in front of me to accommodate the request, we continued.

When I turned out the light, Josiah started to scream.  I know for a fact that I cannot outlast his screaming, but it is a personal challenge to try.  "Josiah, why are you crying?"  The reply did not vary from the original.  With a shrug, I went downstairs to listen from a safe distance.  Yes, he beat me again.  Eventually, I went back upstairs and repeated my question.  Unable to answer for himself, Aidan did the talking, "he wants his blanket."  Turning the hall light back on, I soothed the crying child from the doorway, "Josiah, you are holding your blanket in your hands."  Something magical happened.  In one continuous motion, he looked down, closed his mouth, rolled over and closed his eyes.

This will be my seventh round of the threes - my own sons and three grandboys to date have navigated the year and lived to tell - as have I.  My advice:  hold your breath until they turn four, which does happen eventually.  Thirteen months from now, Josiah will turn four - and there will still be four months of solace before it's Elijah's turn...

They Don't Call Me Granma for Nothing!

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

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

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

playgrounds

ice cream

bubbles

children's books

pizza

The Lego Movie

squirt guns

echos in a stairwell

play doh

cuddles

tickles

and even birthdays!

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