Never too old to learn: 11 lessons Gramma wants to take

I've been a huge fan of this season's The Voice, which ends tonight (go, Juliet!). Since the very first episode, the coaches—Blake Shelton, Christina Aguilera, CeeLo Green and Adam Levine—have regularly commented about singers being "pitchy."

Well, I don't really know for certain what pitchy means, but I'm pretty sure I'm exactly that (and probably worse) when I sing. Years of chronic laryngitis and resorting to whistling have left my singing ability with much to be desired.

As I sang at church Sunday—from my pew, not in the choir!—I thought about my probable pitchiness. And how much I'd like to take voice lessons to overcome that. Not because I want to audition for The Voice, but because I like to sing and want to be better at it than I am.

Which then made me think about all the other things I like to do but would like to be better at. Which led to the following list.

11 lessons I want to take

1. The above-referenced voice lessons. Not for opera or classical or anything grand in any way. Just regular ol' singing lessons that teach me how to use my voice effectively and appropriately. And how to not be pitchy.

2. Photography lessons. Using my DSLR camera. To make the most of my DSLR camera.

3. Photoshop lessons. To make the most of my photos after I've done the most I can while taking them. And to remove wrinkles and pounds and crooked teeth and gray hair from all the photos that someone else might take of me. (Just kidding. Sort of.)

4. Tap dancing lessons. Like these.

5. Other dancing lessons. Ones where Jim and I could swoosh across the floor with the greatest of ease. (Okay, okay. We tried this before, and I couldn't help but lead. Which screwed us all up. Maybe I need to take a few control-issue lessons beforehand.)

6. Swimming lessons. Again. Because I've not gone swimming in a while and am now scared again to go in the deep end, because the previous three times I took lessons apparently didn't stick.

7. Knitting lessons. Grandmas are supposed to knit, aren't they? I don't. And would like to.

8. Bird identification lessons. How cool would it be to see or hear a bird, instantly know which bird it is, and be able to rattle off cool facts about the little guys? Pretty cool, in my opinion.

9. Spice-specific culinary lessons. I'm a pretty good cook but I'm not pretty good at knowing which spices to use and which ones to combine for the most awesome of dishes...unless a recipe tells me. I want to know off the top of my head and be able to concoct menus that are magically delicious.

10. Piano lessons. Again. A financial crunch led to me needing to quit taking lessons. A time crunch led to me not practicing regularly. Now I need to start all over, for the most part. <klunk, klunk> (That's me banging my head—not the piano keys—for not keeping up with practicing on my own.)

11. Personal essay writing lessons. I'd like one-on-one classes with a pro on writing personal essays. Someone like Anne Lamott. Or David Sedaris. Or Connie Schultz. Sure, I dabble in a little of that by blogging, but I want to be awesome. And (maybe?) critiqued by those who make a living doing it so I can improve and eventually make a living doing it, too.

photo: MS Office clipart

Today's fill-in-the-blank?

I'd like to take lessons in ________________.

Lesson learned

Not long ago, I wrote in this post of Bubby's utter and undisguised disappointment in the gift I sent him for Valentine's Day. He made it perfectly clear then that little boys want toys not something practical in the gifts they open from their grandma.

So when looking for small gifts to mail to Bubby and Baby Mac for Easter, I thought long and hard about my choices, hoping to hit the mark on two counts: 1) they were toys, and 2) they were toys my grandsons would like.

For Bubby the Batman fanatic, I found a set of action figures that featured Batman, Robin, and a motorcycle. For Baby Mac—who truly wants for nothing because Bubby has it all and shares it all—I opted for a stuffed Mickey Mouse. According to Megan, he loves Mickey and Bubby never did, so there were no Mickeys in the house.

The day the package arrived, Megan texted me the following photos of the boys upon first opening their Easter gifts from Gramma. 

I think Gramma did okay this time.

Lesson learned.

Today's question:

What was the highlight of your Easter/Passover holiday?

Lesson from Grandma: Address earworm

Last time I visited Bubby, he and Megan shared with me a recent lesson he'd learned.

"What do you do when there's an emergency?" Megan asked my 3.75-year-old grandson.

"Call 911," he proudly responded, showing Gramma exactly what numbers to press on Mommy's cell phone.

I was indeed proud of Bubby. I was concerned, though, when I later asked him what he'd tell the 911 operators if they asked him where he lived and he didn't have an answer.

See, Megan and the family had just moved into a new house mere days before my visit. It was Bubby's third home since being born, and he recalls each as "Old House No. 1," "Old House No. 2," and "New House." While living in Old House Nos. 1 and 2, there was really no need for Bubby to be able to recite his address. With New House, though, he should—for lots of reasons, including the outside chance he may one day need to call 911.

Many folks think a call into the 911 system will automatically log a person's location, so technically there's no longer concerns that a child know how to tell responders his address. That's not necessarily true when it comes to cell phones, as it depends on the cell phone provider, the tower a call goes through and more. Leaving location tracking to a cell phone in an emergency can lead to disastrous results, in some cases. I don't want my grandson—or any of my loved ones—to be one of those cases.

So I set to teaching Bubby his address for New House. By song.

I made up a simple tune to go with the simple words of, "I live at XXXX <full street name>, XXXX <full street name>". Then I sang it to and eventually with Bubby off and on during the time I babysat the boys while Megan and Preston were away. Much to their dismay, I continued singing it now and again once Megan and Preston returned home, too. It became such an invasive earworm that Megan eventually groaned each time I started up.

I'm telling ya, though, I know the tune came in handy not only for Bubby, but for Megan, too. Having just moved to a new home, she didn't know the address off the top of her head. Thanks to my song, though, she had it down in no time.

It also came in handy for Preston. One day while Megan and the boys and I were having lunch at the kitchen table, Preston phoned from work. "What is our new address again?" he asked, needing the new info for something at work. Having heard him myself, I chuckled and started up the song. Megan shot me a don't-even-start-that-again look then easily recited the new address for her husband. Thanks to my little ditty, I'm sure.

When I returned home, I shared that ditty with my other daughters and with Jim. They'll surely need to know it for sending mail to our desert-dwelling family members. I'm pretty sure they'll be singing it next time they address a letter to Megan.

I certainly do. Each time I prepare a package or letter for Bubby or his family, I sing the unforgettable tune—sometimes in my head, sometimes out loud. Then I text Megan to say, "I just put a package in the mail...and guess what's now stuck in my head?" Her response? "Don't even...!"

I like to drive my family nuts by providing ever-so-annoying earworms. More so, though, I like helping my grandsons in concrete ways that make a difference, things that go beyond just having fun together. Teaching Bubby his address for New House covered all bases surprisingly well.

Of course, I don't want that lesson to be tested by Bubby needing to recite it for 911 operators in the event of a real emergency. No, groans from Mommy as Bubby sings out his address for her again and again will be more than enough proof that Gramma's lesson had its intended effect.

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

The last thing I learned or taught through song was _______________.

What grandmas really want

Last week I wrote about what every grandma needs for stocking her home to be adequately prepared when having grandchildren about the place. This post is along the same lines, only it's not what grandmothers want for nurturing their grandkids, it's what grandmas want for themselves—from their grandchildren, from the parents of those grandchildren. 

• Pictures. Regularly. Even text-messaged photos will do. Of course, occasional nice shots appreciated, too, ones suitable for framing.

• Dedicated communication with the grandchildren by phone, Skype, text, email, snail mail.

• Regular updates on health and daily doings. It's not being nosy—it's called caring.

• More updates! Clothing size updates. Interest and infatuation updates. Gift idea updates. Grandmas are always on the lookout for things to give and share with and introduce to their grandchildren.

• "Thank you"s for gifts given, acknowledgement of packages received.

• Realization that Grandma can't read minds. If you want her to do or say or be something, you need to ask her. If you want her to back off, you need to tell her.

• Permission to make unhealthy—but oh-so yummy—food for the little ones. At least occasionally.

• Hugs

• Appreciation for the fact Grandma does indeed have a life and job outside of grandparenting.

• Consideration and kindness when Grandma says "no" to a request from Mom or Dad.

• Meaningful duties to perform when asking, "Is there anything I can do?"

• Understanding of the love grandmas have for their animals even when grandchildren are visiting.

• Invitations to school activities, sporting functions, special gatherings. Even when it's assumed and understood Grandma won't make it to the event.

• Permission to break rules now and then. And understanding if/when Grandma occasionally lives by the motto "It's easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to get permission."

• Understanding when Grandma is jealous of the other grandma(s) in her grandchild's life.

• Original artwork for her refrigerator door and desktop.

• That use be made of the gifts Grandma gives—or at least exchange them for something that will be used.

• Respect and consideration, including when it comes to not all grandmas wanting typical grandma gear such as T-shirts, sweatshirts, and bumper stickers obnoxiously emblazoned with "Best Grandma Ever!"

• Occasional appreciation—possibly even public recognition—for her wisdom and assistance. Unadulterated flattery does wonders for a grandma's ego.

• To see their children succeed at parenting.

• To know their grandchildren—and their children—will overcome inevitable challenges and lead meaningful, contented lives filled with inspiration, enthusiasm, and love.

Today's question:

What else do you grandmas want? What else do you non-grandmas like to give?

Savor the moments

Jim and I had three daughters in a short period of time. There are 16 months between the oldest and the middle daughters, 19 months between the middle and the youngest. Which means, obviously, our daughters are very close in age. In fact, for one month out of each year—roughly mid July to mid August—the girls' ages are consecutive.

Which also means, obviously, I was one very busy mama while raising them. I felt hurried and harried much of the time, and I rarely stopped to savor the sweetest and simplest of moments with my three girls, from their toddler to their teen years.

I'm trying to not make the same mistake as a grandma.

Things are pretty clear cut with Baby Mac because as an eight-month-old, what he wants, he pretty much needs...and gets. With three-and-a-half-year-old Bubby, though, it's different. His needs are met; his wants are up for negotiation. That's where my tack as a grandmother differs from the tack I took as a mother. When Bubby requests my participation, my attention, I do my best to stop the busy work and savor the moment. As long as his requests are reasonable, that is. And most reasonable he proved to be during my recent visit to the desert.

For example, "Gramma, can you play train with me?" was a reasonable request. So, despite not being one for typically enjoying sitting on the floor—and Baby Mac needing some attention, too—I busied Mac with some blocks, plopped down next to Bubby, and followed his lead of "You be Henry, Gramma, and I'll be Thomas." Moment savored.

Another instance: Bubby's bedtime routine typically features one bedtime story read. One night we finished the chosen book, and I stood from his bed to tuck him in, kiss him goodnight, and head out the door. "Can we please read this one, too?" Bubby pleaded, holding up a book. "It's soooo funny!" So I did, all the while savoring his snickers at "There Was A Cold Lady Who Swallowed Some Snow," savoring his sense of humor, savoring the moment.

When Bubby asked, "Gramma, can we build a fort?" I didn't hem and haw about the mess it would make. Instead, Bubby and I together built the fort to beat all forts, with tunnels and secret passages and cardboard boxes blocking out the light. Moment savored...and video captured of Bubby and Baby Mac savoring the fort again and again and again, with giggles galore as they chased one another through tunnels and more.

At snack time, Bubby wanted his snack in the fort. At naptime, he wanted the bedtime story read—to both him and Baby Mac—in the fort. Both requests filled. Easily. Both moments savored. Surely.

At the park, Bubby asked if I'd climb up the play structure and "play pirate" with him. Baby Mac slept in his stroller, within viewing distance, of course, as Bubby and I climbed and slid and shouted "Look out, Captain! They're after us!" again and again. Moment savored.

Most mornings of my visit, Bubby woke me with a gentle nudge on my knee—except for the first morning when he slammed open my bedroom door and shouted, "GRAMMA! It's morning time!" (My freakout at his announcement led to knee nudges going forward, I'm sure.) One day when I woke before him, Bubby watched me from the open bathroom door and said, "Gramma, after you're done brushing your teeth, will you start your day with me?" Request easily filled as that was my intent anyway. The sweet moment of his request, though, especially savored.

Requests of "Will you jump with me, Gramma?" brought leaps and bounds of joy each and every time we giggled and wiggled and waggled about on the trampoline—which was pretty much each and every time Bubby asked me to do so. And my request to him one night to lie quietly on the trampoline and look at the stars together was enthusiastically met with a resounding "Yes!" That grandson of mine, he truly gives as good as he gets. Moments savored—by both of us.

One of Bubby's favorite cartoons is Olivia, which begins with the inflation of a pirate ship bouncy house. Once, a discussion of bouncy houses ensued after the program began, and Bubby gushed about the most awesome of parties he was scheduled to soon attend. "It's gonna be so cool! There's gonna be a bouncy house and pizza!" he raved. "Do you want to come, Gramma? Maybe you can ask PawDad if you can come!"

This was one of Bubby's few unreasonable requests. Not because I wouldn't be in town at the time of the party or because I'm sure the guest of honor wasn't expecting grandmas to join in. No, I thought it unreasonable—and, more so, surprising—that Bubby naturally assumed I had to ask PawDad's permission to go to the party. My I-am-woman-hear-me-roar sensibilities wanted me to explain to Bubby that I don't need PawDad's permission to go to the party, that I didn't need his permission to do anything. Women, I considered telling my grandson, don't need permission from a man to do anything—we can do anything we choose.

What I chose to do, though, was to not tell Bubby those things. There's plenty of time for him to learn such lessons—and woefully little time that a precious boy earnestly and enthusiastically extends to his grandma invitations to birthday parties with pizza and bouncy houses.

What I chose to do was savor that fleeting moment instead.

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

A moment I recently savored with my grandchildren or children was ___________.

Counting sticks

I didn't mean to lie to you, dear readers, but I did. In this post right here. Today, though, I plan to set the record straight.

You see, in that post about filling my grandma bag for my trip to the desert, I mentioned an activity that used straws and pony beads for a nifty little activity to encourage counting and fine motor skills. I intended to pack those items in my grandma bag but hadn't yet done so. And once I purchased the straws and attempted sliding a few pony beads on them just to see how easy it would be for Bubby, the cussing and straw-scrunching that ensued made it clear the <cussing> beads didn't fit on the <cussing> straws and Gramma would need to make some adjustments to the craft.

So I did. And here's the skinny on the crafty counting sticks Bubby enjoyed making and counting with—and that garnered high praise from Megan, an early childhood educator who thought the idea was quite creative and useful for even a classroom of kiddos.

What you'll need:

10 extra-long pipecleaners (I used 10 as I figured counting to 10 would be reasonable practice for Bubby, who's three and a half. You could go higher, if desired.)

pony beads

1 or 2 index cards cut into squares an inch or so in size and neatly numbered 1 through 10

clear tape

What you'll do:

Fold up about an 1/8-inch on the end of each pipe cleaner and twist around itself so there's no pokey parts to stab little fingers. On one end of each pipe cleaner, tape a numbered square; laying the pipe cleaner across the back of the number and securing with a single strip of tape works just fine.

Your work is done!

Now give your child the pipe cleaners and a bowl of pony beads with instructions to add as many beads as the number on each end.

Bubby thoroughly enjoyed adding beads—picking out "special" ones—then counting them over and over on their sticks, just to be sure it was right. I enjoyed watching his intense concentration as he threaded beads then carefully counted.

Once all pipe cleaners were filled, we pulled off the beads and started all over again. In fact, these photos were from Bubby's second day of playing with the sticks (just after waking, I might add, hence the jammies and adorable bedhead hairstyle).

There! Record set straight: Straws don't work; pipe cleaners do.

Today's question:

Did you—or your children—use an abacus to help master counting?

The Saturday Post: Just-a-Little-Heart-Attack edition

On the plane ride home Thursday night, a relatively young woman seated behind me was telling her seatmate, a stranger, about having recently survived a heart attack.

When my plane landed and I turned on my phone to text Jim that I'd arrived, my e-mail automatically downloaded to my phone, and one was an e-mail from Jim's brother-in-law requesting prayers for Jim's sister, who had gone to the hospital because of heart pains.

Then, yesterday morning I received an e-mail from Klout that I had earned a special "perk"—a director's cut of a video starring and directed by Emmy-nominated Elizabeth Banks, made for the American Heart Association's Go Red for Women movement.

I'm not incredibly superstitious, but I think three's a sign...that I'm supposed to share this with the women in my life:

For more information about women and heart disease—which, as mentioned in the video, kills more women than all forms of cancer combined—visit GoRedForWomen.org.

Have a heart-happy day!

Today's question:

How has heart disease affected you or the women in your family?

The Saturday Post: Third-act edition

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?

11 things I learned last year

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?

Road tripping (or, Why one should never ever drive through New Mexico)

Middle daughter Megan and her hubby Preston moved to the Arizona desert right after they got married in 2006. Jim and I have visited them—and our subsequent grandsons—several times since then. Always by air, though, never by car.

We decided to make our most recent trip there by car. "We gotta do it at least once," Jim said. So we did. And here are some of my ever-so-deep thoughts and observations about our road trip from the mountains to the desert and back again:

• Other states (and even the nether regions of my own state) are home to some pretty awesome wildlife, according to road signage. My fave previously unseen caricatures posted along the Interstate: elk featuring impossibly massive racks and bear resembling bumbling buds of Yogi.

• New Mexico has an unbelievable number of crosses along the Interstate, memorializing loved ones who had lost their lives along the way. Really, an unbelievable number. Like 50 or more just on the route we traveled. Jim says it's because New Mexico drivers are the very worst <cussing> <cussing> drivers in the nation. I think it's more because of the high Hispanic culture in that area, folks who are likely Catholic and more likely to honor the departed with the tributes. (I kind of liked my explanation but apparently Jim is correct. According to the NHTSA: New Mexico's crash and fatality rates are consistently higher than the national average. But, I must add, it's not because NM drivers are the worst but because it has become a heavily traveled "bridge" for travelers and freight.)

• Traveling through New Mexico will always and forever remind me of the first time Jim and I did so together. With the girls, we headed to Carlsbad Cavern and spent many hours of the drive looking for roadrunners. Roadrunners that looked like THE Road Runner, because we were young and naive...and hadn't traveled much...and certainly had never seen a roadrunner. Imagine our embarassment—which we kept to ourselves, of course—when we saw postcards in a tourist spot of the real roadrunners that speed along the New Mexico highways and byways.

• "Safety corridor"? What the heck is a "Safety Corridor" along the Interstate. Signs told us when we were entering one. Signs told us when we were leaving one. But never did we see a sign that told us what the heck it was. Were we supposed to duck? Lock the doors? A sign did tell us to turn on our lights for safety...which made no sense in the middle of the day in the desert, but we turned them on anyway. Much to our surprise, we got through safely...and were never transported to another time or dimension. (Well, I just researched the term for this post and gave thanks we made it out alive. The areas are named such by the DOT because of their high numbers of fatalities. I would think a more appropriate name would be a NOT-Safe Corridor. That's the government for you, I guess.)

• Being stuck for three freakin' hours between miles and miles of semis on an Interstate brought to a standstill by an accident sucks. Really. If you follow Grandma's Briefs on Facebook or Twitter you found out in real time on Tuesday how much I thought it sucked. Because of posted photos such as these:

• I'd always driven the highways and byways with the notion that when it comes to road ettiquette and challenges between semis and smaller vehicles, the semis always win. That's not always the case, I now know. When two semis tussle and tangle, neither wins, evidenced by the disastrous (and surely deadly) accident that caused the aforementioned traffic jam.

• Listening to Tina Fey reading "Bossypants" by Tina Fey is an enjoyable way to pass the time while on the road. Jim and I both agree.

• Listening to Kirsten Kairos reading "The Darkest Evening of the Year" by Dean Koontz is not. Jim and I both agree. (But we finished it anyway since we had hours and hours to go before we could sleep...or stop. And because I'd not gotten around to putting "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay" by Michael Chabon on the iPod.)

• When driving 15 miles per hour over the speed limit at night, what scares me most is the possibility of one of those wild and wacky animals mentioned above—or deer or skunk or fox or Road Runner with Wile E. Coyote on his tail—running out in front of me. Even more so than signs declaring icy bridges and falling rock. (Although not quite as much as becoming one of those crosses. Well, on second thought, hitting an animal while going 90 miles an hour just might result in exactly that, so yeah, the animals are still scariest.)

• Roads? Where we're going we don't need roads...at least not anymore. At least not for visits to the desert. Because we'll be flying next time. And every time forever going forward. Yeah, I know, life is a journey not a destination and all that blah, blah, blah. But when my grandchildren are the destination, I'll take that over the journey any day.

(Plus, now that I've researched Safety Corridors and New Mexico traffic fatality statistics for this post, I can guarantee you we will never, ever drive that route again. Nor will I ever encourage friends and family—or strangers—to take a road trip that way. Take the plane, folks. It's safer—and I can provide statistics to prove it, if you need them.)

(One more thing: If you live in New Mexico, get out! Now! Run for your lives! Better yet, take a plane...it's safer. Again, I can provide statistics to prove it, if you need them.)

Today's question:

How do you pass the time when on road trips?