Grandma's big boy

As Megan and Preston further introduce Bubby to the concept of being a big boy—a big brother—they last week graduated him from his trike to a big boy bike. With training wheels, of course.

Luckily they purchased a helmet to go along with the bike. Bubby's still figuring out how to work the big boy brakes, and Megan reports that there certainly would have been a hospital visit over the weekend if not for the now-scuffed helmet.

In addition to working on braking, Bubby also has yet to master taking turns a little less tight. One particularly tight turn resulted in a tumble off the bike. Megan said Bubby stood up, shook it off, then climbed right back on, exclaiming, "I still learning."

Let's hope Bubby has the same determination and consideration for the learning curve when it comes to officially graduating from "one and only" to "big brother" status. Time will soon tell.

Photo courtesy of Megan.

Today's (unrelated) question:

If you could give anonymous advice to any one person, to whom would you give it and what would it be?

Pomp and certain circumstances

In recognition of graduation season, here are 9 reasons I'm glad I don't have a teen graduating from high school.

1. Been there, done that. Three times over.

2. The cost: senior pictures, announcements, class rings, yearbooks, caps and gowns, and more.

3. Aforementioned senior pictures. Not so sure how it goes with boys, but with girls there's the trauma, the drama of portraits. (Tho I must admit my girlies' senior photos were lovely ... and they kept their bodies appropriately covered, unlike some senior portraits I've seen of late.)

4. The cost, part two: graduation gifts. No cars for my kids, but there were computers for college.

5. Gah! College! Graduation from high school means college plans or at least considerations. So, so, SO glad to be done with college app fees, FAFSAs, food plans, and travel to and fro.

6. Senior prom. Enough said. If you've ever gone to one — or had a child go to one — you know what I mean.

7. Graduation night parties. Fear and trembling on the part of parents with kids who think the flip of a tassel has made them an adult and they're ready to party like one. (Kids who don't realize that adults typically party hearty in a less hearty — and more safe — manner. Usually.)

8. The summer before college. Again, fear and trembling on the part of parents with kids who think they're adults ... except when it comes to picking up their room, saving money, packing all the right stuff for college, and being considerate of parents who still expect them to come home before the crack of dawn (or at least call if they're not).

9. The next chapter: The empty nest. It's a tough one to get used to. Been there, done that, too. Am now finally used to it. And am so glad I don't ever have to go through the transition again.

All kidding aside, to those who do have lovelies marking the end of their high-school careers this graduation season, I sincerely say Congratulations! (And good luck!)

Photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What is one of the more valuable lessons you learned from high school?

Birthday redux

One of the great things about Megan having spring break this time of year is that she and Bubby get to share in the birthday festivities for PawDad ... as long as we stretch out the festivities until they're present. And this year we did, as the highlight of PawDad's 50th birthday was a family party at Chuck E Cheese — Bubby's first time there and PawDad's first birthday party there.

It was truly a memorable 50th birthday celebration!

Today's question:

What is your favorite birthday party spot, for children or adults?

Bubbyisms

Bubby will be here the end of this week and I can't wait to see him, hug him, hold him. I also can't wait to hear him, as the toddler now talks up a storm, saying things both cute and unexpected.

Here's a sampling of the Bubbyisms that made me chuckle the last time we were together:

• When I served up Gramma's homemade Mac-n-Cheese, Bubby took one bite and exclaimed, "This is my good mac-n-cheese!" (The kid has already figured out that flattery will get him everywhere with Gramma -- especially when it comes to her cooking.)

• Befitting the holiday soon following my visit, together we made Valentine cookies, made with "Ballentime num-n-nums," aka Valentine M&Ms.

• At one point, Bubby walked into the family room and saw toys on the floor he thought he'd picked up. He stopped in his tracks, put his hands on his hips and said in true puzzlement, "What in the WOOD?" (meaning "What in the world?").

• While giving me a tour of his new house, Bubby took my hand in his and said, "There's no ghosts here!" He was quite proud of that fact so I didn't question it ... and figured it was related to his fear of the "white thing" (the ceiling fan) in his old room. He clearly was convincing himself his new home -- which he had been in only one week and was still getting used to -- was far less scary than the old.

• When showing me his playroom and the wondrous mat on which he plays with his beloved cars, trucks and emergency vehicles, I was quite impressed with Bubby's language skills. Here he tells me about the route his "favorite" vehicles travel to arrive at the stadium for basketball games. They take not a road, a street, nor a highway ...

• One day Bubby and I got ice cream and ate it at the park, followed by playtime on the playground. When it was time to go home, Bubby said, "We gotta get home before the coyotes get us!" Coyotes aren't going to get us, I told him. "Wild pigs?" What? Wild pigs aren't going to get us! "Tigers?" he asked. I told him he's crazy and he seemed okay with that. I later learned Gramma was the crazy one who didn't know the game Bubby and his Daddy play regarding getting home before wild animals take off with them.

• Once Bubby gave up trying to engage Gramma in the wild animal game, we buckled up and headed for home. From the backseat, Bubby piped up with a clear and enthusiastic, "We had a GOOD day!" And that we did!

I look forward to several more good days with my favorite little man when he and his Mommy visit from the desert.

I also look forward to Bubby's excitement when he learns that Gramma and PawDad have an interstate, too. I expect exclamations of joy as we take it from the airport home!

Today's question:

Who most recently made you chuckle at something they said?

For this I may be killed

Jim may very well kill me for this. If there are no more posts going forward, you'll know what happened. If you know where I live, you'll know where to find my killer.

Despite the risk, I'm doing this anyway. I'm sending out birthday wishes to Jim right here, right now, wishing him a lovely FIFTIETH birthday!

I believe reaching the half-century mark warrants notice. Jim disagrees, has been hoping to keep it quiet.

Not happening, honey. At least not here on my blog. Because here I get to do what I want, and what I want to do is say Happy 50th Birthday to my handsome husband.

So here goes:

Happy 50th Birthday, Jim. I love you!

There ... that wasn't so painful. Right?

In other news, I've grilled up another grandma!

Marlene is a mucho magnifique grandma, so please read Grilled Grandma: Marlene and leave her a little love in the form of comments. You all are always so thoughtful and kind in the words you lay down for the Grilled Grandmas, and I so appreciate that. I'm sure the featured grandmas do, too.

Happy Wednesday to one and all!

Today's question:

What age has been your most memorable, for better or for worse?

Changes on the way

At the start of a new year, everyone seems to have plans for how things will change in their lives in the coming months, whether stated aloud or kept private. One person I know has the biggest changes of his life coming his way, and at this point, he's thankfully oblivious to how those changes are going to rock his world.

I'm talking, of course, about Bubby.

As many of you know, Bubby has a sibling on the way. Sure, it all sounds fine and good when told "You're going to be a big brother" and "You'll have a new baby to share your toys with" and to be given a new babydoll to practice his big-brother skills. All those things make Bubby smile. (Well, not so much the idea of sharing his toys.) But it's the sharing of Mommy and Daddy that Bubby's not yet grasped, not yet even considered. But it'll happen, like it or not, and I'm crossing my fingers he does okay with it, remains the happy, usually silly, sometimes snippy (aren't all toddlers at times?) kiddo who has a firm and forever hold of my heart.

That's change No. 1. Although there's a lot of talk about it now, the true changes won't take place until the end of May.

Change No. 2, on the other hand, is happening soon. Which makes it the very first major change in the little guy's life. It's a move to a new house ... to accommodate change No. 1.

Bubby and his family will be moving into a larger home the first of February. Which is a good thing. But it can be a scary thing, too, to have one's world packed up in boxes, turned upside down, shaken here and there, then set down reassembled in a whole new spot, a whole new design. Especially scary for a 31-month-old who has never known anything but the happy little place he, Mommy, Daddy, and Roxy currently call home.

In the new place, Bubby will again have his own room -- no need to share with his new brother. He'll get a dedicated playroom out of the deal, too, and a new backyard that faces north instead of south like it currently does, with the scorching desert sun putting the kibosh on outdoor play most of the day, most of the year.

Even with all the good things coming his way with both changes, the changes mean stress. And, as we all know, high stress levels can do a number on mind, body and soul.

Based on the Social Adjustment Rating Scale, a list rating stressful life events, a new baby and a new home puts one's stress level at the "low" point (considering no other stressful factors are involved). That's for an adult. For a little boy who's always been the one and only child, the one and only grandchild and who has always and forever lived in only one home, I'd say the 'high" point as a more appropriate score.

The answer to high stress levels, according to the experts, is to create a "stress-management plan." The answer to high stress levels for Bubby, according to this admittedly non-expert grandma, is an "extra-hugs-kisses-and-attention-from-Gramma plan."

My advice when it comes to stress-reduction plans of any sort? They're far more effective when set into motion sooner rather than later. Which is why it's a splendid coincidence that I just so happen to have an airline ticket booked for a visit to Bubby -- just four days after his move into his new home. (Thank you, Preston!)

I say forget laughter being the best medicine, it's hugs from Grandma that are going to do the trick this time. And as I've been a little stressed out myself lately, I suspect my hugs-and-kisses-stress-management plan designed especially for Bubby is going to do us both a heap of good.

Photo by Megan's friend Alison.

Today's question:

What is your favorite stress reliever?

Calendar girl

Yesterday I copied all the birthdays and anniversaries from my 2010 calendar onto my 2011 calendar then added the old calendar to my stack of those I've saved for years -- every year since 1997, to be exact.

I abhor packrats and do my best not to be one, so holding onto reminders of dentist appointments and "No School" dates of years past may seem in opposition to my cause. But the old calendars are so much more than appointment reminders: They are time in a bottle. Snapshots of the hustle and bustle of a once busy household. A record of the good, the bad, the scary, the sweet -- an organic record that didn't require me to journal or scrapbook or keep a diary or update a blog to maintain it.

Most of the markings on the grids of daily happenings are in my handwriting. Others are in the handwriting of one or another of the girls, applied in painstakingly perfect penmanship befitting an occasion important enough to be included on the family calendar for all to consider in their schedule.

Each notation holds much more than just a record of where we had to be and what time we had to be there, though. They hold stories, stories that bring mostly grins (birthday parties and school sporting events) and groans (dentist appointments and work schedules). Others cause my eyes to well up, my heart to grow a little cold, and a lump to form in my throat. Those are the notations of occasions that serve as poignant reminders of our challenges, the growing pains that strengthened our family fabric and made it the resilient, tight-knit one it is today.

As I skim the calendars before placing them back on the shelf for another year, here are some of the scribbles that touch my heart:

April 28, 1997: "Closing" - This is the date we officially bought the house we rented for 10 years before finally getting up the nerve -- and the income -- to ask our landlords if we could buy it. It's the house that became the childhood home of our three girls, the place we raised them all, from kindergarten through college.

July 21-25, 1997: "Brianna in Texas" - Brianna went to Work Camp; we remodeled our new house to add a fourth bedroom while she was gone. Andrea and Megan rejoiced at no longer having to share a room, no longer having to divide the space with duct tape down the center. Jim and I rejoiced that the bickering would end.

May 25, 1998: "Andie leaves" - Andrea spent a week at Sea Camp in San Diego and to this day still dreams of working with dolphins. Somewhere. Somehow. Which is a tad challenging considering she lives in the Rocky Mountains.

March 22, 1999: "5:30 a.m. Brianna skiing" - Clinches the heart a bit as Brianna will likely never ski again after the damage done to her back when her (stopped) car was rear-ended at a stoplight by a landscaping truck.

April 24-25, 1999: "Retaining wall" - One of the many "huh?" markings on the calendars, important at the time but now completely forgotten.

October 15, 1999: "UNC College Day" - Our first visit to check out a college for our first-born.

July 18, 2000: "Test w/HR 2:30" - The beginning of my newspaper career.

July 28-29, 2000: "American Co-ed Pageant" - Megan needed college funds and left no stone unturned. She won no pageant money but we both received an unexpected -- and unpleasant -- introduction to pageantry and "pageant moms." Believe me when I say Little Miss Sunshine resonates.

October 25-27, 2001: "Seward" - Our first visit with Megan to what would become her college town. And eventually Andrea's college town.

June 22-27, 2002: "Disney World" - Our last vacation as a family. <sniff>

June 29, 2002: "Marked words: Brianna will NOT be with Eric at this time next year!" - Too funny now. What's not funny is that marking one's words doesn't make things magically come true ... or eliminate the need to keep marking them.

May 25, 2003: "Andie's Graduation Party" - My baby, my last daughter, graduated and soon off to college.

June 27, 2003: "I'm old" - Any guess as to whose birthday this was?

July 22, 2006: "Meg's wedding!"

June 18, 2008: "BUBBY!" - Okay, it doesn't really say "Bubby," it says his real name. An all-caps pronouncement of joy just the same.

December 5, 2008: "D-Day!" - This was the day my layoff was scheduled ... and occurred. The end of my stint as a special sections editor. The end of my newspaper career.

Sprinkled throughout the calendar pages, amidst notes about the girls going on mission trips, attending prom, graduating from high school and college, are red-letter dates of concerts and performances that Jim and I were to attend: Pearl Jam, Live, Tommy, Black Crowes, Rent, Counting Crows and more. Memorable occasions all. But my pile of ticket stubs serves as a better reminder of those particular dates. And, yes, serves as another large stack of paper this non-packrat refuses to get rid of.

On second thought, maybe I am a packrat after all. A sentimental packrat with lots of memories worth holding on to.

Today's question:

What do you do with your old calendars?

Megan's Christmas kitty

Bubby loves Alice, Aunt B's kitty -- March 15, 2010

Megan got a kitten for Christmas. She didn't ask for it, and she doesn't really care to have it around. It was cute at first, but the little guy very quickly became annoying.

It's not that Megan's a cat-hater, it's that the cat isn't really a cat. It's Bubby ... who decided just before Christmas that he's no longer a boy, he's a cat. And his primary form of communication is meowing. Like a kitty. At home. And out in public.

Don't get me wrong: Megan loves Bubby. And hearing Bubby meow around the house is precious and cute, especially when his imagination takes over during playtime with his Mommy Kitty and Baby Kitty stuffed animals -- the only other cats in residence. But when the 30-month-old who was formerly mature in the face of friends, family and strangers responds to Mommy's fellow shoppers or coworkers asking "How are you today" with mewling, yowling, and meowing -- or all three -- the cute factor is decreased by 100 percent. Megan's been mortified more often than not when out in public the last week or so, wondering where-oh-where did her big Bubby go.

Sunday evening Megan told me about the trip she, Preston and Bubby made that afternoon to a retailer to do some exchanging of Christmas gifts. On the way, the car stereo was cranked and the family was singing along. All three of them. Impressed that Bubby seemed to be joining in the fun, Megan told Preston, "Listen, Bubby's singing, too." So they both quieted their own tunes and bent their ears to the backseat to hear Bubby's contribution to the merriment. Only the merriment fell flat when they noticed that his cheerful song was only one word, over and over: "meow, meow, meow, meow."

I've not yet heard the kitty talk from Bubby as Megan warns him as he comes to the phone wanting to talk to Gramma that kitties don't talk to grandmas, only big boys do. After several attempts at getting his way with a mewl or two, he realizes Mommy means business and finally responds with "I'm a big boy" and commences a quick conversation with me, telling me about his new trucks and Roxy's bone and offering a rushed "Buh-bye, I love you!"... then he's off the phone and back to meowing.

I would think it more likely for Bubby to pretend to be a dog, romping and "ruff"-ing with his dog, Roxy. Being a kitty has me a bit perplexed. One might imagine odd behavior coming from a kid dealing with stress and trauma and drama in his environment, but other than a new brother on the way, Bubby's life is pretty stress-free ... if not downright boring, Megan might say.

Tay Hohoff famously noted that, "There are few things in life more heartwarming than to be welcomed by a cat," but this cat has worn out its welcome from Megan and Preston. With one more week remaining of holiday vacation from school -- where Bubby would likely speak "normal" in the face of peer pressure -- I'm wondering if Bubby's parents ... and Bubby ... will make it through the kitty phase unscathed.

"It could be worse," I tried to console Megan. "He could be pretending he has an imaginary friend, which would scare the cuss out of you, thinking he was seeing ghosts."

She readily agreed. But that doesn't mean she's okay with the meowing. And my attempts to Google some assistance or, at the very least, an explanation, have provided neither.

My suggestion? I think Megan needs to play into the kitty behavior ... by offering up a nice can of salmon-and-cheese Friskies for Bubby's next meal because that's what kitties eat. Being the finicky eater he is, Bubby will surely return to big-boy status immediately if faced with the stinky pate.

On the other hand, he may shock the cuss out of Megan and simply do like my finicky felines do: yowl for the Friskies turkey giblet flavor instead.

In that case, Megan may as well pick up a cat collar and some cat nip while stocking up on the Friskies, for if picky-eater Bubby readily nibbles cat nosh, that's a sure sign the Bubby Kitty is here to stay. Whether Megan wants a kitty or not.

Today's question:

What kind of imaginary friend -- or persona -- did you, your kids or your grandkids have as a child?

Bells will be ringin'

Guess who had his first Christmas program ever?

Why, Bubby, of course.

As part of a preschool class of two-year-olds, Bubby didn't have to memorize lines or sing songs for last week's Christmas program. His part -- and the part of all the two-year-olds -- was to play bell accompaniment to the older students who had the singing parts.

And shake his bells, he did, Megan reported. Considering the attention span of toddlers, it was no surprise most of the kids shook a jingle or two then spent the remainder of the gig gazing at the sights and sounds around them. Not little Mr. Focus, aka Bubby, who, Megan says, shook and shook straight through to the end, all the while wearing a look of determination in doing the job right and to completion.

Amidst the bustle of prepping for the show -- especially considering Megan's class of students was performing as well -- Megan and Preston inadvertently left the camera at home, so there are no photos of Bubby jinglin' the bells. Luckily fabulous friend and photographer Alison (the fabulous applying to both her friend status and her photo skills) got this shot of Bubby with his bells and classmate Ro-Ro, Bubby's best buddy and Alison's son.

Another first, another milestone.

And another reason I'm so thankful for Megan and technology -- and photographer Alison -- for keeping me up to date on all things Bubby, despite the miles between us.

Holiday question of the day:

If you were to be part of a Christmas program, what song would you like to sing? And would you prefer a solo performance or being part of an ensemble?

Telephone line, give me some time

Wednesday night I had my first real telephone conversation with Bubby. I say real because although I've talked to Bubby on the phone many times in the past, this was the first time he asked to talk to me on the phone, the first time he requested the phone from Mommy so he could talk to Gramma. And the first time we maintained a steady volley of remarks back and forth, just like real conversations work.

After getting the phone from Mommy, Bubby kicked off our conversation with a drum solo just for me, played on the kitchen garbage can, aka his "big drum." After applause and praise from Gramma, we discussed Mommy's birthday on Tuesday, the Christmas presents under the tree, his Elf on the Shelf (whom he named Jackson), and Santa Claus.

"Sometimes ... sometimes ... sometimes ... SOMEtimes," Bubby said, very carefully considering what came next, "sometimes ... sometimes Santa takes my presents away."

He shared the truth as he knew it, no tattling involved, just a tinge of remorse over the state of his current standing with Santa. Present removal is Megan's method for keeping an obstinate toddler from "losing his mind" throughout the day. When Bubby acts up, he's given the warning that if he doesn't start making good choices, presents will be removed from under the tree, to be replaced only when Bubby displays proper behavior. It seems to be working, for the most part.

I mentioned to Bubby that if he makes good choices, all the presents will stay under the tree. He responded by saying, "I can't close my eyes" and that he's "scared" of "something white up there" above his bed.

Of course, being a fan of Ghost Hunters and a believer in scary white things since I have scary things that happen occasionally in my own house, I worried that Bubby might be seeing ghosts. But according to Megan, at this point in the conversation, Bubby held the phone up for me to "see" the scary white thing in his bedroom. The scary white thing that is his smoke detector. It has a blinking light that scares him at night when he's been told to "close your eyes and go to sleep." Which he has trouble doing, no matter the number of nightlights and books that accompany him to bed.

Because Megan hadn't yet explained the inability to close his eyes in the face of scary white things, I attempted a diversion tactic by talking to Bubby about what Santa may be bringing him, which he says is "lots of cars and trucks." So with visions of cars and trucks dancing in his head, Bubby said, "I gotta play. Buh-bye, Gramma! Love you!" and the phone went back to Megan.

Throughout this first real telephone conversation, Megan told me, Bubby walked around the living room while chatting away, the phone to his ear as he stopped in front of the Christmas tree, headed over to gaze out the window, then off to his room to discuss the scary white thing. I can just imagine his big-boy attitude while on the phone, doing exactly as he did during a conversation with Mommy on the phone while we visited during Thanksgiving (of which the post photos are from).

It warms my heart to see that, like everything else with my grandson, the phone conversations are progressing, becoming more mature. It used to be that Megan would hold the phone to his ear for me to babble to baby Bubby, just so he'd know my voice. Then he started babbling back while Mommy held the phone for him. Soon he wanted to hold the phone himself each time, enjoying the notes of pressed buttons more than the sound of Gramma telling him how much she loves him -- which often resulted in disconnected calls. Now Bubby holds the phone himself and walks around, just like Mommy does while deep in conversation with Gramma.

I look forward to the next step in the progression of Bubby's telephone skills: when he picks up the phone and calls me himself -- on speed dial, of course -- to tell me about anything that scares him, excites him, or makes his day. And to babble the sweetest long-distance babbling this grandma's heart has ever heard, including somewhere along the line, an "I love you, Gramma!"

All prefaced, of course, with a drum solo performed just for Gramma on Bubby's "big drum."

(Curious about the post title? Here's the song it's from, an old fave of mine.)

Holiday question of the day:

If you could write a sequel to be produced for any holiday movie or program, which one would you choose and what would the plot highlights be?