Got it!

Bubby has entered the terrible twos, according to Megan. His favorite phrase has become "I got it, I got it, I got it!" chanted steadily to let Megan, Preston or any other adult know that they best not interfere with Bubby's attempt to get into his car seat himself, put on his shoes himself, throw away the garbage himself, spray the patio himself. Yep, Bubby's got it.

That, of course, is quickly followed by -- sometimes in the same day -- tears, whines and upheld arms accompanying the plea to Megan to "cuddle? cuddle?"

Not so terrible, if you ask me.

And not so different, I believe, from how most of us feel on any given day. I know this grandma certainly has her share of "I got it, I got it, I GOT it!" moments often followed by the need to just cuddle and let someone else take care of any business at hand. Sometimes in the same day.

Nope, not so terrible at all.

Got it?

Greeting card quandary

Today is my dad's birthday. He's 71 years old.

I always, always, always have a horrible time buying him a birthday card. Everything on the greeting card shelf is either sickeningly, cloyingly sweet while waxing moronic about "My dear father" being the rock and dispenser of lifesaving advice, or they're goofy greetings mentioning dear ol' Dad's obsession with his recliner and remote and/or his flatulance problem.

Neither type fit the kind of relationship I had (and continue to have) with my dad. So I stand in front of the racks of "For him" offerings for about 15 minutes, then move on to the musical ones but don't want to spend $5 on some silly chicken dance or "We Will Rock You" goofiness, then on to the "Funny: General" options because it's slightly easier to find a fitting one-liner than anything remotely sentimental.

I even consider the blank cards ... but that just seems so wrong.

I'd be oh-so happy if Hallmark would come up with something like:

Cover:

On your birthday, Dad, I want you to know ...

Inside:

... my childhood sucked.

But from the looks of things, it seems yours did, too.

I understand that now.

It no longer matters.

I'm so over it.

And I still love you.

Happy birthday!

I've yet to find such a card.

So I just settled on one from the "Funny" section. "General." For anyone.

And gosh, only three months 'til it's time to look for a Father's Day card. Maybe I'll start my own line of greeting cards before then -- cards for real people and real relationships!

Today's question:

Do you usually give sentimental greeting cards or humorous ones?

My answer: I used to give sentimental cards to everyone but in the past few years I've gotten to where I give humorous ones more often because the sentimental offerings are usually too mushy, gushy and unrealistic.

The sweet sounds of unemployment

This week has been a rough one because of the time change. It's made me pretty darn thankful that I don't have a full-time job to get up and ready for first thing each morning.

I've also been thankful for no full-time job this week because if I were working, I couldn't spend full-time hours playing grandma while Bubby and Megan are here. Sure, grandmas everywhere work and manage to get time off for hugging and loving on their grandbabies, but if I had recently found a new job, it's doubtful I'd have been allowed to take four vacation days this early on in my tenure.

So yes, I'm saying that I'm thankful I have no real job, no boss telling me what to do, no office gossip to listen to.

Instead, I've gotten to listen to the sweetest little voice ever. And here are some of my favorite things my little Bubby has said again and again, the things that just melt my heart each time he says them:

• "Kitty mow" (pronounced like "chow" not "meow")
• "Big stair," uttered each time he's confronted with a staircase he has to go either up or down. Yes, they're big stairs and yes, he's actually going up and down them -- holding on to someone's hand, of course -- despite my freakout post about stairs.
• "Big truck"
• "Big keeze," aka a big squeeze/hug
• "Big clock" upon hearing the grandather clock dong
• "Big slide" (Yep, everything's big to Bubby!)
• "Tired baby" when he's worn out
• "Whoa baby" when something's awesome
• "Hi Baby" when greeting his mommy
• "Oh my!"
• "Nonny Bunny" (his name for the bunny from his Great Grandma/Nonny Ann)
• "Oh no!"
• "Okay, okay," to let one and all know he survived a tumble
• And best of all, Bubby says very emphatically, "I ... love ... MOMMY!"

There's much more that Bubby says, and even more that he understands. Which is oh-so cool to grandma, who's trying to capture as much of it as possible on video. And who's very thankful she got to hear each and every word he said while visiting, instead of sitting at a desk and hearing yet another recap from coworkers on what happened on "Biggest Loser!"

Today's question:

Other than music, what is one of your favorite sounds?

My answer: Other than the voices of my loved ones, I love the song of the mourning dove ... and small, tinkly windchimes (not the big ones) as they're softly blown by a gentle breeze ... and the purring of a cat.

With this kiss, I thee wed

Jim and I will celebrate our Kiss Anniversary tomorrow. We used to call it our First Kiss Anniversary but we got lazy at about our 15th and it's now known by the slightly shorter name. This is our 29th year celebrating it, usually with just a card ... and a kiss.

I'm not a mushy gushy kind of person. I don't watch Lifetime television, I'm not a fan of Nicholas Sparks, and my musical preferences lean more toward hard rock than ... gosh, I don't even know the name of mushy gushy love-song singers. Oh, wait. That's probably Celine Dion or someone along those lines. That kind of music does bring a tear to my eye, but it's usually because I'm trying to control the waves of nausea that come over me when I hear anything from that genre.

That being said, I've always recalled the date of our first kiss ... but only because it was the date of my older brother's birthday. My brother wasn't there for that chaste but fateful kiss; it just happened to take place on his birthday.

It was Jim -- who's a little more mushy gushy than I -- who started the tradition of celebrating the moment that changed our lives. Only that first celebration wasn't all that fun. In fact, it scared the hell out of me and, for a few moments, I was pretty sure I wouldn't live to see another day, much less another celebration of any sort.

Jim had an apartment of his own and I lived a few blocks away with my mom and sisters. We lived in an old house that had only a bathtub, no shower. And I hated taking only a bath. Jim had a shower, and I regularly drove the few blocks to take a shower at his place.

This one particular day, the date of our first kiss anniversary (although I didn't consider it any big deal) Jim was leaving for work as I was arriving to use his shower. Like I said, we kissed hello, kissed goodbye, he headed to work, I headed for the shower.

As I got out of the shower, I heard noises. In the apartment. An apartment that wasn't in the best part of town and had creepy weird guys living upstairs. I froze and listened. Yep, there was someone in the tiny apartment, moving stuff around, going through Jim's record collection.

What do I do? I searched the cabinets for a weapon and found nothing more than a brush and a Bic shaver. I held my ear to the door. Still there was shuffling. I couldn't open the door -- my clothes were in the bedroom and I refused to be seen naked by some killer. I couldn't climb out the window for the very same reason ... plus, I'd already checked it and there was no way I'd be able to reach the opening far above my head.

I sat on the toilet lid and started to cry, as silently as possible so the killer wouldn't realize there was some frightened naked girl hiding out in the bathroom.

Then music started playing. The killer had put on a record. A Led Zeppelin record ... one of the more mellow songs. Well, if he's playing "Thank You" or something similarly sweet from Zeppelin, he can't be that mean and horrible of a killer ... but a killer just the same.

I once again assessed my situation. No weapon, no way out, no clothes. And no choice. I had to get out of there.

I slowly, quietly turned the door handle ... and cracked open the door, trying to survey the tiny bit of the living room I could see. I heard music, but saw no one. I wrapped the towel tighter around myself and crept into the hallway. Peeking around each corner, it became obvious that the killer had left.

But wait! The killer had left something on the table. I scooted closer and closer ... and found a Hostess Ding Dong on a saucer, one lit candle in its center. And a greeting card next to it.

"Freakin' crazy," I thought to myself as I opened the card, imagining serial killer scenarios involving wooing the victim into eating Ding Dongs and listening to Zeppelin as the killer stealthily dropped from the ceiling brandishing a long, sharp blade of some sort.

No serial killer dropped. And my heart swelled as I read the card: "Happy 1st Kiss Anniversary. Love, Jim."

While I showered, Jim had dashed to the store, grabbed the celebratory goods, arranged them on the table and turned on our version of a love song. Yep, this was the guy for me, the guy I'd spend the rest of my life with.

And the guy who almost made a scared, naked me crawl through a tiny opening in the bathroom in hopes of escaping some wacko Ding Dong-obsessed, Zeppelin-lovin' killer.

Now that I think of it, maybe it's that, the manner in which the first anniversary of our first kiss was recognized, that makes it a date impossible to forget. It really has nothing to do with it being my brother's birthday after all.

Regardless, I'm glad to still be celebrating Kiss Anniversaries with Ding Dong-obsessed, Zeppelin-loving Jim.

I'm even more glad I didn't smash out that bathroom window and shimmy through the shards of broken glass to save my naked butt from an imaginary killer. I'm pretty sure Jim wouldn't have stuck around to celebrate a second kiss anniversary if that had been the end result of his sweet gesture.

Today's question:

What's one non-traditional celebration you share with your loved ones?

My answer: In addition to the Kiss Anniversary, we had family-only Period Parties when each of the girls had their first period. The honoree received a box of sanitary pads, we ate Black Forest cake (ya know, the cherries and all), and we blasted Urge Overkill's version of "Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon." It was a tongue-in-cheek way to mark a major milestone in the lives of our little women.

Fave photo of the week

'Twas a happy birthday for Jim!

Brianna, Jim and Andrea

Today's question:

What expression do you normally have on your face?

My answer: Concentration. I have to occasionally remind myself to stop furrowing my brow and open my eyes in wide surprise to reverse the big ol' wrinkle thinking too hard creates between my eyes. My mind is always going 631 miles an hour -- and not necessarily on anything of any importance.

Time marches on

Today is Jim's birthday ... the 29th birthday of his that we've celebrated together.

Like many long-time wives, I spend far more time complaining about my husband than I do complimenting him. So today, for his birthday, I'd like to do something a little different.

My top 10 reasons why I love my husband:

1. He makes the bed every morning and helps with the dinner dishes every night.

2. He loves independent and subtitled films as much as I do.

3. Bubby's the cheese on his pizza, too, even though he'd never put it that way (and said I sounded really weird when I wrote that post).

4. He has unflagging faith in my ability to make a living as a freelance writer, even to the point of encouraging me to not apply for jobs and not accept ones I'm offered -- despite our dwindling savings.

5. He sings loud and proud and can sound just like Johnny Cash, Jeff Keith, Randy Travis, Brent Smith, Bobby Darin and Vusi Mahlasela from the South African township of Mamelodi ... to name just a few.

6. He willingly buys tampons for me when I ask -- and gladly purchased the Black Forest cakes for the "period parties" we threw when each of the girls had their first period.

7. The more grey he gets, the more handsome he becomes. 

8. He loves Lyla, Isabel and Abby even though he tries to pretend Mickey is the one and only animal for him.

9. He's given me shots, changed my catheter bag and literally carried me to the doctor when I couldn't walk. And would do it again in a heartbeat, if need be.

10. He's my forever partner in parenting, grandparenting ... and home repair.

Happy birthday, Jim. I kinda think you are the cheese on my pizza, too!

Today's question:

What was your best birthday celebration ever?

My answer: The year Megan scared the hell out of me surprised me on my birthday by flying home to be at the house when I got home from work. (And Jim kept the secret for months!)

Care and keys

Bubby's "cared" face.Bubby has learned a new word. More importantly, he's learned how to use that word to identify an emotion -- which is pretty high-level stuff, if you ask me ... even though it was the low-level "Yo Gabba Gabba" that initiated his intellectual leap.

Here's the story, according to Megan: Bubby and his friend Ro-Ro were recently watching the Nick Jr. show "Yo Gabba Gabba," something Bubby hadn't seen much of but Ro-Ro was a dedicated fan. At one point, Ro-Ro pointed out to Bubby how scary one of the characters is. "Scare, scare" he said again and again to Bubby, using his vocabulary that's nearly as limited as Bubby's to make it perfectly clear the character wasn't one he or Bubby should ever want to share their Teddy Grahams with.

Fast forward to naptime the next day. Bubby slept for a bit, then Megan heard him singing and playing and happily entertaining himself in his crib afterward. Being the psycho playful mommy she is, Megan decided to surprise Bubby by quickly swinging open his bedroom door to enthusiastically welcome him back to the land of the awake.

Instead, she scared the hell out of the poor kid. And he now, thanks to Ro-Ro and "Yo Gabba Gabba," knew how to express his fear with something more than a scream. Wide-eyed and staring at his crazy mommy, Bubby sadly uttered, "care ... care, Mommy." He was scared -- and he knew how to use the word "scare" to identify that.

Of course Megan felt awful and apologized again and again to her frightened little boy. But he was more than frightened -- he was empathetic to Megan's discomfort at startling her baby so he sweetly smiled at her as if to say "It's okay, Mommy." Then he held out his little arms and said, "keeze," which in the Bubby household means "squeeze," the condensed version of "let's hug and make everything all better."

Sounds like a simple exchange between mommy and son, but it speaks volumes about Bubby's development.

My only question: Why in the world is there such a creepy character on a kids' show that it teaches them how to identify their feelings of fright? Or is that just how kids learn such things nowadays?

I guess learning from creepy TV characters is better than being able to do nothing more than scream and cry when Psycho Mommy bursts into your bedroom unannounced.

Today's question:

What television show do you remember being scared by as a kid?

My answer: "The Twilight Zone" (the original one) -- specifically the episode where the main character keeps seeing changes in a painting on the wall, where a grave is being dug deeper, and deeper and deeper. Scary stuff!

Gimme an "M"

During my visit with Bubby, he made it quite clear that he'd aced the child development stage related to object permanance: He knows an object exists even though he can't see it.

And when it comes to some of his favorite objects, Bubby dramatically expresses his sadness that his beloved this or that is existing somewhere other than right there by his side. Be it a toy, animal or loved one, Bubby lowers his head, scrunches his eyes ever so slightly and in the saddest of voices says "buh-bye."

For example, when he misses his best buddy, it's "Ro Ro buh-bye."

When the bunny outside his window decides to hippity hop behind the bush, it's "Bunny buh-bye."

After the garbage truck empties the curbside cans and heads on its way, it's "Truck buh-bye."

And when Megan and Preston left for their trip and Bubby was left with Grandma, it was "Mommy buh-bye. Daddy buh-bye."

All said in a sad tone, all sounding like the poor kid has had his heart broken.

Bubby was sleeping when I kissed him goodbye at the airport, so there wasn't true closure at our departure. One minute I was there, then I was gone. Megan told me that once home, Bubby clearly felt my absence and let everyone know, using his typical, sad "buh-bye." Even his daycare provider told Megan that the next day, Bubby moped around and when asked what was bothering him, he let her know in no uncertain terms that he missed his grandma.

So what did Bubby say to Mommy and his babysitter as he lamented my absence? He told them again and again, "Graya buh-bye."

Uh, what?

"Looks like your name is Graya," Megan told me, with what I thought was a more enthusiastic laugh than was called for. She knows I've been waiting to find out what special name Bubby has for me, the grandma moniker that belongs to only me, separating me from all the other women in his life that have the grandma label attached.

Now that he's talking more and more, it looks like Bubby's come up with that name.

And what do I get?

"Graya."

Yes, I hadn't colored my hair before visiting Bubby and my gray roots were pretty evident, but I didn't think a 19-month-old would notice.

Okay, yeah, I know it has nothing to do with my hair and everything to do with Bubby's inability to fully enunciate yet. But I really don't want to be called "Graya." It doesn't have the warm and cozy ring of something like Nonny or G-ma or Grammy. I want something sweet and loving and special.

If nothing else, I want at least an M in his version of the word "Grandma." I'll settle for being called just plain ol' "Grandma" or "Gramma" over "Graya" any day. Either would be sweet and loving and special coming from my Bubby.

Bubby's vocabulary skills still have much room for improvement, so I'm pretty sure he'll get down the "M" in "Grandma." And if that's who I'll be to him for ever and ever going forward, that's okay with me. Because more important than what he calls me, Bubby makes it clear already, at this young age, that he loves me. And when I'm not there, he misses me.

At least as much as he misses the garbage truck after it empties the neighborhood trash cans and toodles on down the road.

What more could a grandma ask for?

Today's question from the "Would You Rather..." board game:

Would you rather age only from the neck up -- OR -- age only from the neck down?

Assuming that "from the neck up" doesn't involve the actual brain and mental functions, I'll say I'd rather age only from the neck up. I'm starting to get a tad arthritic in my knees and am finding I'd much rather have my body work correctly than have a wrinkle-free face and neck.