Are you sure he's related to me?

Aidan DOES love sugar

There are some things that are just the hallmark of being me.  Some of them I'm proud to mention:  grandmothering, of course, and quilting and writing and biking.  That's a solid enough list, though honestly, a bit thin.  But those are some pretty common things you might hear about me, especially judging by my Facebook page - oh, and margaritas, but that's a blog of a different title...

Elijah vs the cupcake

There are other things that are "me" through and through - I'm just not fool enough to highlight them in a blog that I hear will reside on the Internet long after my demise.  Then, again, as long as we are talking about it - or I am anyway - let's bring one of them into the light of day.  Two rounds of Weight Watchers notwithstanding, I am a sugar-a-holic.  My mom taught me to make cookies before my age of remembering.  By second grade, I would make them by myself on a whim or as a result of a dearth of appealing after school snacks.  These days, I try (some days successfully) to keep my sweet tooth in check - or exercises off the excess - as dictated daily.  However, I am well aware that there is a bakery in Sycamore (20 miles west of here) that has the BEST frosted sugar cookies!  Fortunately, you can buy them individually; I cannot be trusted with two.  And I can't easily or often make a 40 miles detour just to satisfy my sweet tooth.  This is what passes for self-control in my life.

Josiah and the object of his affection

Frozen sugar

One of my jobs as Granma - one of the ones I love the best - is making cookies with the grands.  It's not my stated job in life to doom the generation-after-next to a sugar addiction, but apparently I'm not beyond it, either.  Chocolate chips are always at the ready.  Ice cream in always in the freezer (Grampa's vice more than mine, but only by degree).  Mind you, I have never forced sugar or even the love of sugar upon the mini's; they have followed quite naturally, voluntarily and enthusiastically.  Go figure... Until the introduction of cotton candy...

First, a disclaimer:  I wasn't there and I didn't ply the three with pure spun sugar.  I mention this only because my friend, Sue Wauer, beat me to the punch.  A Granma herself (though she spells it "Yaya"), Sue was watching out for the ones I love when she saw them sitting empty handed at a baseball game.  Gaining parental permission, a considerate gesture, she bought blue cotton candy for each of the assembled three.  How sweet - and I say that with multiple meanings.

Whether or not the gift was appreciated by parent(s), it should have been destined for love by three little boys - though in reality, only two-thirds ended up singing its praises with sticky blue mouths.  The picture below graphically reveals Aidan's opinion of the the fluffy stuff, as well as that of his brothers.  This photographic evidence occurred even before the first taste, though I'm told the reaction was that much more pronounced after the first, and therefore last, bite.

While I might not be a cotton candy aficionado, it is sugar, meaning I will eat it just because.  So, really, Aidan, whose grandboy are you?  Well, sweetheart, I still love you!

Want to make some chocolate chip cookies?

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...

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 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!

Just Cuz

I was born in the same town that Radar O'Riley came from - Ottumwa, Iowa, for all you M*A*S*H fans out there.  But that is a complete non-sequitur, and you are no longer responsible for that information.  My cousins were also Midwestern, but not from the great state of Iowa.  That doesn't mean we never got together.

I remember Betzi taking on her brother Dave and all my brothers in a wrestling match - all at once.  She won.  To this day, my advice is don't mess with Betzi.  I remember my younger cousin, Mike, lamenting that it wasn't fair his parents wouldn't let him see "Jaws".  It was, after all, just a mechanical shark.  Brave words for a kid of single digits.  Wendy and Kathy were older and beautiful to my gawky junior high eyes.  I was in awe - still am.  The same year my sister was born, two other girl cousins joined our ranks: Missy and Nancy.  Triplets of sorts.   I love my cousins so much that I have even shared my grandparents with them, and I wouldn't do that for just anyone!

On the home front, the other day we got together with our boys and their families for dinner at Court and Christine's house.  I think it might be because the house is set up for kids, including a backyard that is wide open for play, but it was a wonderful cousin gathering.  And if you know what I mean, it was more of a cousin gathering than a grandboy gathering, but maybe you had to be there to know the difference.  It wasn't about them playing with Granma and Grampa, it was about them playing with each other.

There were enough adult hands to hold Elijah and protect him from stray wiffle balls.  (Not to mention it's best to take turns holding Squirmy.)  Corey was all time pitcher for the wiffle ball game and Court was in charge of tracking down foul balls and home runs - or at least lifting a child over the fence and back for their retrieval.  (BTW, I hit a home run!  I also struck out and dribbled one back to pitcher's hand.  Just call me the Babe.)  There were also bubbles in the air, along with Frisbees and soccer balls.

As the evening cooled off, the need for reviving sugar called to us.  We all trooped inside to decorate and eat sugar cookies.  Tyler has a rather interesting technique: lick the cookie, add sprinkles, repeat.  Apparently he isn't a fan of frosting, but he does love colored sugar.  Go figure.

Despite bed time calling, to Granma anyway, we made our way down to the basement to build a Playmobile castle.  It was quite the sweet disaster area, punctuated at times by the whines of the younger generation refusing to admit their need for slumber.

Just as Bryce proposed a trade:  Josiah for Tyler, or Squirmy for Tyler, the party broke up. There were rounds of slobbery kisses and boy hugs of various dimensions. (Boy hugs come in a variety of squishing abilities and locations: legs, necks, ankles and midsection.  Beware the midsection.  It means the grandboy is now tall enough and strong enough to knock the wind right out of you during his loving embrace.)  Tyler was seat belted into the car, as was his brother.  Better luck with the swap next time, Bryce.

Cousins, the original playmates, being established in the next generation.  I wonder what memories they will take with them.

Rock a bye Baby

Is there anything better than a wee one nestled in your arms, snuggled down and drinking a bottle of nutrition in a vivid shade of white?  Peach fuzz over drooping eyelids topping a full belly - so peaceful, so innocent, so blessed!  A little burp complete with a bit of a tip for the server - also in white liquid form.  The stuff of a perfect day - or 30 minutes minimum.

The other night I babysat for grandboys three - another one of those perfect day (or when Momma and Daddy return - whichever comes first).  Elijah at six months gave me some of those perfect minutes of baby snuggling, albeit with 2 and 3 year old brothers vying for attention the whole time.  It is possible to cuddle and discuss Thomas the train and referee pillow sharing all at the same time.  It helps, of course, when you are cuddling a number three child.  He has never really understood undivided attention so doesn't miss it or demand its implementation.

So after Elijah, now safe from the threat of an up-close vision of Thomas, opted for a visit from the sandman, my odds improved.  Never one to leave dead air wanting, Aidan was engaging me in an active but one-sided conversation about Legos.  Josiah, almost two, was topping off his own nighttime reserves and nearing the end of the contents, which makes for more difficult wandering owing to the angle of the bottle.  Being a little shy on the Grandma cuddling scale, I picked him up and rocked him, kissing toddler curls for good measure.  As he finished his bottle, older brother Aidan ran to get his sippy cup and announced that he, too, wanted to be rocked like a baby.  Does my heart good - though my back wasn't as sure.

Just a couple of weeks earlier, I had been dining in a fast food establishment with Tyler (4) and Bryce.  As luck would have it, "House of the Rising Sun" was playing in the background as Tyler, meal complete, sat on my lap.  It's not quite Rock-a-bye-baby, but it will do, so I rocked a momentarily non-squirmy little boy as I sang about a house in New Orleans.  We were both smiling, though I didn't get a good look at the guests at the next table.  My apologies to them...  The song ended and squirmy returned as anticipated.

Unexpectedly, though, a certain nine-year-old brother had a request, "Rock me, Granma.  Sing to me."  So there, in Culvers, my original grandboy sat on my lap, my arms wrapped around him, as neighboring guests heard me sing about that Southern house at sun rise.  The background music was not keeping time or key or wording with me.  But Bryce and I swayed and smiled and went back to our roots, sans bottle.

There is nothing better than a grandboy nestled in my arms.  No matter how old that grandboy gets, he's still my baby.  And so far, he still knows it.  Love and cuddles to all my grandboys!

Sharing

Last weekend we attended the wedding of a dear friend.  Jordan and my son, Court, were best friends from toddlerhood through high school before life pulled them in different directions.  It’s an odd thing to watch a once wide-eyed, rabbit-catching, big-idea-spouting little boy turn into a wide-eyed, wonder-filled, love-overflowing groom.  And who can blame him!  His chosen was (and is) radiant - absolutely a show stopper!  I know because I glanced her direction many times.  However, there was another angel in the room that had my more undivided attention:  Elijah. (Sorry, Kay!  I have Granma eyes!)

Not wanting to appear too anxious, I decided to wait until we were seated in the church to grab the baby.  I’m working on being a grown up, you know.  Who knew that a certain friend, who shall remain Wendy, would grab Elijah before I could even get into the pew!  This despite the evil eye I was giving her.  (She saw it – and laughed!)  It wasn’t until the service finally started that she handed the child over to his rightful Granma!  And only then because she didn’t want to be responsible if he started crying in the middle of the service.  Humph.

Fast forward to the reception, where once again, I had to pry my baby-blue from the hands of said Wendy!  I seriously think she should respect her elders – and I am that, chronologically – and proud of it!  Through our joint efforts, though, Court and Christine got a kind of date night (mostly) without children, albeit with parents.  Holding hands, dinner, dancing, Champaign and no bill at the end!  And I learned to share – about as willingly as a toddler, maybe.  But I did it!

Oh, and Wendy, guess who came to dinner last night?  I didn’t have to share him with anyone…