She came in through the (bedroom) window

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I write picture books. I've yet to have one published. Thanks to a particularly challenging last week or so as it relates to such things, picture books have been on my mind lately. A lot. And not just as they relate to kids.

As a mom, I had a favorite picture book I regularly read, regularly cried to, regularly gave as a baby shower gift to moms-to-be.

As a grandma, I learned the error of my ways—at least as far as giving that favorite picture book to new mothers.

The book of which I speak is Love You Forever by Robert Munsch. It's not a literary classic by any means, but it resonated with me. For those of you who don't know the story—is there really a mom who doesn't?—it's about a mom and her beloved baby boy whom she loves tirelessly throughout the years. Her son begins as an infant, and, as baby boys are wont to do, grows into a man. Through each phase of his life, his Mommy rocks him and tells him...

I'll love you forever,

I'll like you for always,

As long as I'm living

my baby you'll be.

In the story, Mommy grows older, too. And bolder. At one point, once her beloved boy is a man with home of his own, Mommy drives across town in the middle of the night, leans a ladder up to her son's bedroom window, and climbs the darn thing. She goes through the window into the bedroom, where she cuddles and rocks her sound-asleep man-sized boy.

Ladder-climbing Mommy continues to get older...and older and older, and eventually it's the adult boy's turn to rock his Mommy, singing basically the same song.

So sweet. To me, at least.

So creepy, though, to Megan. Megan, my daughter. Megan, mother to my grandsons. Megan, recipient of what I thought was a love-it-forever baby shower gift—a hardback copy of Love You Forever. Not long ago I learned Megan didn't find the gift sweet, that she actually hated it. Always has, she eventually admitted. Mostly because a mom climbing through the bedroom window to express her love to her grown child hits the high point on the creep-o-meter. At least for Megan.

Creepy never crossed my mind when reading and crying over Love You Forever. It just seemed a sweet tale of never-ending loyalty and love between mommy and son.

Now it seems it's yet another way I show my age.

Like so many other things related to parenting, reading and loving Love You Forever is apparently outdated, not how the current generation of parents does things. Nor how they want things. Like picture books. No, kids nowadays—meaning adult kids nowadays, parents themselves—eschew the sweet, the sentimental, opting instead, it seems, for all things practical, pragmatic.

A friend of mine who is a bit younger than I and clearly not of the sweet and sentimental sort (at least not before having kids; motherhood, though, has softened her significantly) received from me for her baby shower a couple books from the Baby Be of Use series: Baby, Mix Me a Drink and Baby Do My Banking. They were given in jest, obviously not to be taken seriously.

That was several years ago. One of the current top books for giving new parents—parents who understandably likely already or will soon want to scream the title to their kid—is Go the F**K to Sleep. Fortunately I don't currently know any moms-to-be, because though I like to give picture books as baby shower gifts, I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around giving the particular popular picture book. I've considered buying a copy for myself, for the novelty of it and the chuckles it will surely elicit. (I'm not that much of an old fogey.) But when it comes to baby showers, Go the F**K to Sleep is surely not this grandma's cuppa tea. (Okay, maybe I am that much of an old fogey.)

Maybe like everything else, though, the picture book pendulum will swing back to the sweet, the sentimental. Just like what happens with parenting rules—such as recommendations for placing a sleeping baby on his back...or stomach...or side...or whatever is the current wisdom—what was once old will eventually be new again.

In the meantime, while I wait for that pendulum to swing back my way, I'll just go read Love You Forever another time or two.

And cry.

And consider the logistics of lugging a ladder to the desert for my next visit to Megan. (Mostly just to creep her out.)

Today's question:

What picture book has creeped out you, your children, or your grandchildren?

The Saturday Post: Tap Pups wannabe edition

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In my next life, I want to be a tap dancer.

Actually, forget the next life—I want to learn to tap dance in the second half of this life! And I want to be part of something just like this in order to do that:

Not gonna happen though, as Tap Pups classes take place in a land far, far away. Meaning, Pennsylvania. But, that high-energy, toe-tapping woman does sell videos. So I'm seriously considering buying one...and maybe the portable tap floor, too. (Or I may just ask for both—and tap shoes!—for my next birthday. Take note, Jim...daughters...grandsons.)

Today's question:

Do you tap dance? And whether you do or not, what kind of dancing do you enjoy most?

First crushes

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It saddened me to find out Davey Jones had passed away. He was the first star I ever had a real crush on. (Though Tom Jones was a close second, I must admit.) Unfortunately, I have no posters from the past to remember him by. In all honesty, I don't think I was even old enough to have posters on my bedroom wall at the time that I swooned over Davey.

While Davey may have been my first celebrity crush, my first forever crush was on someone else. I do, thankfully, have a poster of him:

That is my own personal rock star.

That is Jim.

Husband to me. Dad to my amazing daughters. PawDad to my awesome grandsons.

That's Jim as he looked 31 years ago, when I very first crushed on him.

The groovy colors weren't part of the original photo, of course.

I added those yesterday.

Because I still have a crush on him.

And crushes make you do crazy things.

And because I wanted a groovy photo to add to his birthday post.

Today is Jim's birthday.

Thirty-one years later, Jim is still my rock star.

Thirty-one years later, Jim is still my one and only forever crush.

Happy birthday, Jim.

The voting continues: If you liked this post—or Grandma's Briefs in general—please vote for Grandma's Briefs in the About.com Favorite Grandparent Blog poll. Vote once per day through March 21. Thank you!

Today's question:

What posters or pictures did you have on your bedroom wall as a teen?

The Saturday Post: Third-act edition

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This video, at just over 11 minutes, is longer than I typically like to share. But it's well worth it, especially inspiring for those of us who are aging. And isn't that all of us?

Today's question:

What would you most like to do in your third act?

Friday (the 13th!) feel-good: Soulful inspiration

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Some of you may already know all about her, but I only recently learned of Mavis Staples, an amazing singer and civil rights activist who has been singing, inspiring, and making a difference far longer than I've been alive. And she's still going at it. Strong.

As her recent collaborator Jeff Tweedy of Wilco is quoted as saying, "Mavis is the walking embodiment of undaunted spirit and courage. She’s an ever-forward looking, positive example for all human beings."

You can quote me as saying Mavis seems far more energetic than the Energizer Bunny, and her positive energy level along with her soulful sounds make her a true inspiration. I can only hope and strive to be even half as positive and vibrant as she is when I reach her age. Heck, I want to be as positive and vibrant as her at my current age!

The following video of Staples and Tweedy covering a Creedence Clearwater Revival song—which also is on her latest album—is one of my favorites from the 72-year-old powerhouse. Love, love, love this woman! (And Tweedy's pretty darn cool himself, too, I must say.)

 

You can see, hear, and learn more about Mavis Staples on her website or on Wikipedia.

Today's question:

Who inspires you?

11 things I learned last year

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No. 6: Two grandsons are better than one.

1. How to make salmon, cut mango, appreciate the delights of a boldly flavored balsamic vinegar.

2. Every once in a while hype is well warranted. Case in point: Adele.

3. The older I get, the more unbidden kindness and consideration matters, makes a difference.

4. My black thumb is apparently permanently tattooed that color and will never transform into green. (Though I'll surely give transformation yet another attempt this year.)

5. Despite the complaints and bad press, I'm unashamed to admit I love Netflix. Especially instant streaming for without it, I'd never know the thrills, chills, and chuckles of Friday Night Lights, Sons of Anarchy, Nativity!.

6. Two grandsons are indeed double the fun, double the pleasure of one and two of my life's greatest pleasures day in, day out, whether I see them or not.

7. Although decades removed from the drama and trauma of the teen years, mid-life friendships are still fickle affairs. Some flounder and fade for reasons unclear, while others grow and glow brighter than ever—also for reasons unclear yet much appreciated.

8. Committing yourself to fulfilling your heart's desire is worth far more than money. Most of the time.

9. Less really isn't more, it's still less—especially when it comes to having. But it's manageable, survivable, easier than previously believed.

10. There are benefits to having less, though: It highlights the abundance of blessings remaining for which to be endlessly grateful: a loving family, a welcoming home, continued co-pay assistance.

11. Those things that go bump in the night at my house really are just my boogedy boiler. (Or so I keep telling myself...and my houseguests.)

Today's question:

What did you learn last year?

From both sides now

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Even several years into it, an empty nest can be hard to get used to. Especially during the holidays. No longer do I have play-by-play announcements from the family room of who's up next in the Thanksgiving parade as I prep the turkey in the kitchen. No longer must I search high and low for a favorite Christmas CD that's been nabbed from the holiday-music tin by a teen who wants to play it in her room or car. Nor do I have youngsters—or teenagers—waking up early as can be on Christmas morning, excitedly serving as the alarm that time had come for celebrations to begin. 

I miss all that and more—even the pilfered music—that was part and parcel of a full nest. Every now and then I indulge in pity parties, bemoaning the occasional sadness Jim and I now share since our daughters have grown up, moved on.

In my self-centered, self-pitying mindset, I often, no, I pretty much always forget that my daughters face their own sadness and challenges in the growing up, the moving on. Especially during the holidays. My youngest daughter, Andrea, recently—unintentionally—reminded me of exactly that.

Andrea was scheduled to work on Thanksgiving and wouldn't be able to spend the day with the family. As a counselor in a residential treatment facility for troubled adolescent girls, staff is required to be on-site 24/7, and Andrea's regular hours include Thursdays, which, of course, Thanksgiving was. Which meant she had no choice but to cover that shift. It was to be her first Thanksgiving absent from our table, so she and some friends who also had to work that day—plus a few who simply couldn't make it to their own family homes for the holiday—planned a holiday gathering of friends for later in the evening, after the workday was done.

The idea Andie couldn't be home for Thanksgiving—that now two of my three daughters wouldn't be around for the day—saddened me. But in these crazy economic times a job must come first, so I accepted it. I didn't accept as easily, though, the seemingly nonchalant attitude from Andrea each time we discussed it. I never voiced it to her, but in all honesty, there were a few times I thought my youngest might just be asserting her independence and actually pretending to me that she had to work but in fact was planning a full day of holiday fun and frivolity with her friends instead of her family.

How wrong I was. Turns out Andrea was just doing her best to stay strong in the face of reality, of growing up, of being an adult, of needing to stay employed. Her tough facade crumbled Thanksgiving evening. On her way home from the gathering, Andrea called me in tears. The celebration with friends had been fine, the food was good, she assured me, but it simply wasn't Thanksgiving at home, and it broke her heart to feel so far away from family during a holiday for the very first time.

"I'm 26 years old," she said through her tears, "I'm just being stupid and a big baby, but I missed being home. It was just...so...hard!"

I realized at that moment how rarely I take into account what my girls have gone through, continue to go through, on the road to adulthood and independence from their parents. I focus only on what I'm missing, what I've lost.

I don't consider often enough Andrea's steadfast determination to continue traditions instilled in her childhood, everything from green eggs and ham on Saint Patrick's Day to pumpkin-carving competitions for Halloween. Or a holiday turkey dinner with friends that may be fine...but oh-so hard to get through without crying.

I don't consider often enough the role reversal for my middle daughter, Megan, who as a child definitely enjoyed the giving but wholeheartedly preferred and relished the receiving at Christmas. She'd happily pose with her piles of presents, giddy with the prospect of opening them. Once her picture was taken, she'd dive right in with unbridled joy, not worrying one whit what went on around her. Now as wife/Mommy/grown-up, Megan must care plenty of whits, as she plays supervisor of the family giving and receiving, making sure celebrations run smoothly, successfully. In other words, putting everyone else first. Which can be hard, is hard.

I don't consider often enough that my oldest daughter, Brianna, leads a solitary home life yet still does her darnedest to make her home a happy space filled with holiday joy to enjoy on her own. Just last week she decorated her tree, by herself, with no one to help string the lights, hang the ornaments, place the angel on top. "You have no idea how difficult it can be doing it all by yourself," she later told me.

And I don't know. Because I have a husband to help. And because after Brianna finished her own tree, decorating her own place, she hopped in the car and drove over to help Jim and me decorate our tree, our place.

"I had to come," she said when I thanked her for doing so. "With Megan gone now and Andrea not able to help this year, I didn't want you and Dad to be sad doing it alone. We have to ween you off such things slowly, Mom. I know it's hard."

She's right. It is indeed hard—for all of us. I need to consider that, I need to remember that. Especially during the holidays. 

Today's question:

What did you miss most about holidays at home when you first left the nest?

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