Bunches o' birthdays

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In the past month, my family and I have celebrated four birthdays. Mac and Bubby each have a birthday at the beginning of June, which we celebrated with a patio party—including water balloons and hot dogs—during their recent visit. Then my birthday took place at the end of June while my grandsons were still here, and Andrea's birthday was this past Monday.

Because we were doing a combo celebration of Mac's and Bubby's birthdays—they had celebrated with individual birthday parties at home—I created a combo cake. Both boys, like their PawDad, love, love, love M&Ms, so an M&M cake it had to be. I topped the M&M bedecked cake with a celebratory banner that said "Happy Birthday, <Bubby's real name>!" on one side and "Happy Birthday, <Mac's real name>!" on the other. Then I stuck in the appropriate numeral candle for each, and it did the double duty I had hoped, honoring them both and giving each their own candle to blow out from their own side of the cake.

Brianna did the honors supplying the cake for the other two celebrations—a delicious candy-topped ice cream cake for my big day, and homemade Sour Patch cupcakes, per Andrea's request, for Andie's birthday. I'm considering cake ideas to return the favor to Brianna when her birthday rolls around mid August.

All in all, our month filled with bunches o' birthdays was bunches o' fun.

Today's question:

What season has the most birthdays in your family?

This post has been linked to Mosaic Monday.

Brotherly love

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In my family, there's not much of a tradition of close, loving, secret-sharing relationships between the female siblings. I read in books, see in movies, even observe in some of my friends and their sisters the ideal sisterly state. In the real world, though, in my real world that's flush with far more females than males, it just hasn't been. Not for those sisters who came before me nor for those who've come after.

My mom and her two sisters clearly love one another, but I'd venture to say calling each other best friends would be pushing it. My sisters and I? Well, we did—and do—love one another, but in a group of five females, you can imagine the competitions, the cat fights. Or maybe you can't, if you're one of the fortunate ones who indeed calls your sister your best friend.

Even my own daughters—whom I have no doubt whatsoever love and cherish one other dearly—aren't now and never have been a tight-knit trio. Nor is there even an exclusive duo among the three, leaving a third wheel to roll on her own. (Which, truth be told, I accept, for having one child continually left out and heartbroken would be an even more difficult situation than the overall arms length at which they all seem to keep one another.)

It saddens me that somehow, somewhere, the sisters-as-best-friends gene seems to have skipped generation after generation after generation in my family. I envy those sisters for whom the sappy adages cross-stitched on pillows and emblazoned across coffee mugs ring true. I wanted that. I wanted that for my daughters.

When it comes to my grandsons, though, they do have that. And what a heartwarming delight it is to see. Bubby and Mac are unabashedly best buds, best friends who love and cherish, adore and idolize one another. Countless times during their visit I witnessed one reaching out to the other just to cuddle or kiss, share a toy or a moment. Sometimes I'd see one little hand pat a shoulder, an arm, a cheek as if they simply needed assurance their best buddy was still there.

Just as many times, I watched one hop on the other as though a bell audible to only them had been rung, signaling the start of a wrestling match. They'd giggle and roll and squeal in delight. Then just as quickly, the match would be over and they'd move on to another activity, together or solo, secure in knowing their brother, their best friend, was nearby if the urge to wrestle and wrangle struck once again.

 

Of course Bubby and Mac argue, compete for attention, clamor for the very same toys and don't hold back physically or vocally in challenging one another for what they feel is rightfully theirs. But once the victor is declared—by virtue of who's most determined to get their way or by virtue of Mommy or another adult breaking up the bickering—they're right back to lovin' on one another. No grudges, no resentment.

I'm not sure how it happened. I don't know whether Megan subconsciously—or consciously—did something absolutely perfectly right in creating the connection between the boys, instilled something that eluded me when raising my girls, or if it's just luck of the draw and she came up with the winning and perfectly matched pair.

Whatever the reason, whatever the cause, I'd say that Bubby and Mac are the true winners. I hope their winning streak continues. They'll always be brothers, of course. I'm crossing my fingers and saying my prayers that they'll always—and in all ways—be best friends, as well.

Today's question:

Which of your siblings did you consider your best friend as children?

To each his own

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Saturday is Baby Mac's first birthday party. You know, the party I won't be going to. Well, yesterday I mailed the birthday gift from PawDad and me to our youngest grandson. Megan called while I was preparing the package for mailing, and I felt compelled to tell her that I was not including something for Bubby in the box.

I realized it was an issue we'd not yet addressed, the even-steven-if-one-gets-something-the-other-gets-something-too conversation, because Bubby had been the one and only child up until his little brother came along nearly a year ago.

"The package is only for Baby Mac," I said. "It's his birthday, not Bubby's, and I won't be including a small gift for Bubby just because Baby Mac gets something."

"That's fine, Mom," she assured me. "That's not how our family rolls."

I was glad to hear that, as that's not the way our family ever rolled, either, when my daughters—Megan included—were young. As is often the case when a young family and new parents (like Megan and Preston) figure out what traditions and practices they will and will not use from their childhood when raising their own kids, I didn't want to assume Megan would do as we did, not as Preston's family did.

I don't know that Preston's family followed the even-steven-amongst-siblings rule. I'm guessing they didn't. But Megan and Preston may have a different philosophy than either of their families of origin, and I thought it important to let Megan know this grandma still doesn't roll that way and doesn't plan on reversing her rolling motion, regardless.

Baby Mac's birthday will be the first occasion that he receives gifts and Bubby doesn't—unlike Christmas and Valentine's Day and Easter. As Megan says, the event "will be interesting" as Bubby gets an important lesson in not being center stage, not being the primary recipient of all the spoils.

Though some might think it harsh, I wasn't willing to give Bubby any spoils on Baby Mac's birthday. Hence the sole gift in the package to the desert family being just for Baby Mac.

Bubby is usually an empathetic little boy, and Baby Mac's party will be his opportunity to realize that empathy includes not only when you feel bad for another, but when you feel good for them, too. Just as I wanted my daughters to empathize with others—especially their sisters—during good times and bad, I want my grandson to learn the same. I want him to be happy for others when good fortune comes their way, to delight in good things happening to those he loves, even when it's something he would oh-so-much love to happen to himself, too.

Jealousy, bitterness, envy, schadenfreude are all such easily learned feelings, attitudes, behaviors. They come naturally, it seems. No one has to teach little boys and girls such concepts, they just simply happen—even if those boys and girls don't know how to define them, what word to attach to them (or how to spell those words, such as schadenfreude, which I still have to look up).

The opposite of such things, though, seemingly must be taught, require lessons. Things such as compassion, goodwill, and sincere delight in another's good fortune.

Sometimes those lessons are learned the hard way.

Sometimes those lessons are learned the easy way—at least incrementally.

And sometimes those lessons are learned by not receiving a gift from Gramma or anyone else when your brother gets one.

It's a new lesson for Bubby, one I hope he accepts, appreciates, and takes to heart without making things too "interesting" for Megan.

I have faith in Bubby and expect it to not be too difficult a lesson for him. Because at his core, Bubby is a kind-hearted kiddo who usually does consider the feelings of others and willingly takes a backseat when necessary.

And because his birthday is just a couple weeks after Baby Mac's. He'll surely take comfort in knowing that Baby Mac will soon get that very same lesson—and at a far younger age than Bubby did.

Today's question:

Was the even-steven-amongst-siblings rule practiced in your family when you were young? What about with your own children? With your grandchildren?

Photo replay: Tux time

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Baby Mac and Bubby are slated to star in the wedding of their Aunt Megan (Preston's sister) in June. They recently got their tuxes, and my Megan texted photos of the boys trying on their finery, pre-tailoring.

(Yeah, Bubby's a tad pale but, meh, it's a photo from a phone. Still cute.)

Today's fill in the blank:

The last wedding I attended was _____________.

Grandma's ultimate challenge

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I cannot lie: The last couple days caring for my grandsons around the clock has been a bit of a challenge. Why? Because Baby Mac has got to be the most strong-willed bundle of energy I have ever come across.

Baby Mac's steadfast determination to keep up with brother Bubby—who will be four years old in June, compared to Baby Mac turning one year old the same month—has kept me hopping, to say the least. He thinks he should be able to do ab-so-lute-ly everything his brother does, despite lacking not only physical ability but also the common sense to know such feats at his age are sheer lunacy. And when I prevent him from risking life and limb in pursuit of his goal, Baby Mac throws fits reminiscent of my biggest battles with my daughters during their teen years.

Every once in a while, though, Baby Mac chooses to imitate his brother in something that isn't dangerous. For example, after watching Bubby place the ball on his T-ball stand several times, Baby Mac decided to give it a try himself with his own ball. This was the result:

Baby Mac's enthusiasm and obvious pride in himself for succeeding at the task at hand is exactly how I will feel, possibly even how I will babble, once I manage my own task at hand—that of making sure the little wild child survives safe and sound while his mom and dad are away.

Today's question:

What are your challenges—and successes!—of the past week?

Photo replay: Keep on truckin'

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Remember that big orange dump truck Bubby reviewed nearly two years ago? The one he loved to drive really fast around the house?

Well look who gets a turn at it now:

I hope your Sunday's as much fun as a big orange dump truck!

(In the interest of full disclosure—and because Megan will call me out on it in the most embarrassing of manners if I don't admit it first—YES, Baby Mac's shirt is on backwards. And YES, I was babysitting that day and am the one who dressed him. And YES, I thought it was weird the word NIKE would be emblazoned on the back of a baby's shirt, but it seemed logical the buttons would go in the front. That logic got this grandma nowhere but with hundreds of photos of her grandson looking rather silly with his NIKE shirt on backwards. Go ahead...you guys have all the fun you want with that one.)

Give Grandma a sign

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My 8-month-old grandson is a genius. Sort of.

With Bubby ahead of him by almost exactly three years, Baby Mac does his darnedest to keep up with his brother, to reach major baby milestones in record time. And he's succeeding, for the most part.

I showed you not long ago that Baby Mac already nearly walks, sort of, and will surely soon be in full-fledged, fully upright, forward motion soon.

Baby Mac already talks, too. Sort of. With baby sign language, at least.

I always thought the baby sign language trend was a heap o' hooey. Until, that is, I saw it in action with Baby Mac.

To bring you up to speed on what I'm babbling about, here are a few basic baby sign language signs:

Megan taught Baby Mac how to sign all done, and he now signs it often—and adamantly. He lets one and all know when he's all done with his food, all done with being held, all done with his nap, all done with staying where he's supposed to be staying in the bathtub, playroom, any room.

Baby Mac has all done down so well, he actually has started saying it. Verbally. Literally. When he feels his sign method isn't getting the desired action, Baby Mac babbles "ah dah, ah dah, AH DAH!" Baby Mac leaves no doubt when he's all done—with anything. Chalk it up to signing.

Megan's working on more with him, too. Not just more phrases, but the actual word "more", mostly in reference to more food of some sort, so Baby Mac can make it clear that his lack of attention to what's on the spoon held in front of his face has nothing to do with satiety and everything to do with wanting to watch anything and everything that's going on around him at all times. He understands "more" but has yet to actually sign it. Considering his level of genius, though, I'm sure that reflects purely on Baby Mac's lack of fine motor skills, not his mental acuity.

There are plenty of other words and phrases, too, that would benefit Baby Mac—and his family—such as hungry, brother, mommy, daddy, change diaper, and I-seriously-need-attention-paid-to-me-and-only-me-right-now-at-this-very-moment. Oh, wait. He has that last one down already and holds back not one bit in expressing it loud and clear, sans hand signals of any sort.

I personally am pushing for Baby Mac to start using the grandma sign. I get to visit my grandsons again in April. When I do, if I'm greeted by Baby Mac with smiles and the sign for "grandma," that is when I'll know for sure that little butterball of a baby boy is a true genius. Or, at the very least, that he adores his grandma.

Which, of course, is more than enough to qualify him as a genius in this grandma's book.

Today's question:

What is your experience with sign language, baby or otherwise?