For want of a round tuit

Decades upon decades ago, I came across a cardboard cutout in my mom's issue of Woman's Day or Family Circle, the only two magazines she regularly treated herself to. The cutout was of a "Round Tuit"—a circle with the words ROUND TUIT written on it, for presenting to procrastinators who say such things as "I'll do X when I get around to it."

Why that goofy feature stuck in my mind for many years after, I'll never know. But not long ago I found another Round Tuit in an antique shop and was happy to offer it as a prize in my then-weekly haiku contest here on Grandma's Briefs. The tchotchke looked like this:

I now wish I had kept that Round Tuit rather than give it away, as it sure would have come in handy for all the things that we didn't get around to doing while Megan and the boys were here last week.

A Round Tuit would have been useful for:

• Carving the warty pumpkin we picked from the pumpkin patch

• A second splash in the hot tub with Bubby

• Taking Bubby over to Aunt B's to visit her kitties

• Eating the two packages of Wholly Guacamole I bought specifically for Megan then discovered at the back of the refrigerator soon after she'd left

• A treasure hunt for PawDad and Bubby using PawDad's metal detector

• Baking peanut butter cookies with Bubby

• Collecting leaves from the back yard for Bubby to take back to the desert, where the cactus and palm trees don't change in the fall

• Relaxing in the hammock with Bubby

• Assisting Megan on the sewing project she hoped to complete while here

• Printing photos of our week o' fun to place in a mini photo album for Bubby to take home with him

There's not much I can do about most of what's on the list above. Some simply won't happen, and some will be added to the agenda for when Megan and the boys—with Preston—return at Christmastime.

I will, though, eat all the guacamole myself. I also will pick some red and yellow leaves from the trees in my back yard. Then I'll place the leaves, along with printed photos of the visit, in a mini keepsake album that I'll mail to Bubby.

As soon as I get around to it a Round Tuit.

Today's question:

What would you surely accomplish, if only you had a Round Tuit?

October expedition: The North Pole

As you likely deduced if you saw yesterday's photo, our family made the highly anticipated trek to the North Pole last week. What a jolly time it was! So much to see and do, including a ride or two with Bubby down the Peppermint Candy Cane Slide I waxed once upon a time.

This slideshow was a casualty of my site makeover but you can find it in my Brag Book: NORTH POLE — 2011.

After the delightful outing, I've decided October is definitely the best time to visit the North Pole. Not only is the early autumn weather perfect for an afternoon halfway up Pikes Peak, the aspens on the hillsides all around are just beginning to change, lines for the rides are non-existent, and Santa has plenty of time for long visits plus strolls throughout the park during his breaks—which meant we ran into the Big Guy on several occasions, and each time he remembered Bubby by name.

I'm so thankful for the holiday-themed expedition with my very most favorite people. 'Twas a memorably festive occasion, indeed.

Today's question:

What percentage of your holiday shopping have you completed...or considered?

The Saturday Post: So Long, Farewell edition

Last night was Bubby's last night at Gramma's house. As he, Baby Mac, and Mommy headed up the stairs to bed, I couldn't help but think of this from the Von Trapp kiddos (ignore the glaring error in name by whomever posted this video on YouTube):

So long, farewell!

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

My favorite song from "The Sound of Music" is _______________.

What Gramma has learned so far

We're a little over halfway through the visit with Bubby, Baby Mac, and Megan, and there's quite a bit this grandma has learned in just the few days we've had together so far:

1. Amusement park rides really are not a thing of Gramma's past, as she's willing to ride anything and everything her grandson wants to go on, no matter how high or scary or rickety it may be. As long as said grandson is the right height, of course.

2. That said, three in a row is definitely Gramma's limit for rides that go round and round and round and round...riding or watching.

3. Bribery and providing dipping and covering options of any and every sort—from ketchup to chocolate to peanut butter, syrup, and more—will not make a child eat if he or she doesn't want to eat.

4. Driving 45 minutes and paying $.55 per pound for a warty pumpkin picked from the field really is worth it after all.

5. Gramma is willing to fork out $.50 to squish a penny and have it marked with a tourist stamp.

6. Baby GloWorms aren't just for babies.

7. When a child sneezes in the hot tub while sharing it with Gramma, said Gramma is not above using her bare hand to clear the child's face of green snot before it lands in the water, no matter how squeamish and disgusted she previously would have been by such a thing.

8. Sometimes schedules don't matter at all.

9. Sometimes a clear floor, bath tub, kitchen counter, couch, and bed don't matter at all, especially when it's boys' toys and baby stuff keeping things cluttered.

10. Sometimes stats, emails, tweets, status updates, and Klout don't matter at all, either, especially when it's boys and baby matters keeping Gramma from the computer.

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

What I've learned so far this week is ______________.

This post linked to Grandparent's Say It Saturday.

Wherein Gramma wears out her grandsons

Yesterday was the first full day of Bubby and Baby Mac's visit to Gramma and PawDad's. Travel doing what it does to folks both young and old, I didn't plan a whole lot for us to do on Monday so the boys would have plenty of time to recover and be well rested for the fun scheduled for the duration of their visit.

So we took it easy Monday...or so I thought.

After our one and only outing for the day—a trip to the mall play area where Mommy showed off her sweeties to the mother of the boys (now nearly young men) she babysat for many years—this was the condition of the little travelers in Gramma's back seat once we arrived home:

Wonder what shape the boys will be in after today's surely exhausting visit to the North Pole.

Today's question:

Are you a morning person or a night owl?

Waiting

WAITING

        Serene, I fold my hands and wait,
        Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;
        I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
        For, lo! my own shall come to me.
         
        I stay my haste, I make delays,
        For what avails this eager pace?
        I stand amid the eternal ways,
        And what is mine shall know my face.
         
        Asleep, awake, by night or day,
        The friends I seek are seeking me;
        No wind can drive my bark astray,
        Nor change the tide of destiny.
         
        What matter if I stand alone?
        I wait with joy the coming years;
        My heart shall reap where it hath sown,
        And garner up its fruit of tears.
         
        The waters know their own and draw
        The brook that springs in yonder height;
        So flows the good with equal law
        Unto the soul of pure delight.
         
        The stars come nightly to the sky;
        The tidal wave unto the sea;
        Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
        Can keep my own away from me.

                               ~ John Burroughs (1837-1921)

Bubby, Baby Mac, and Megan will be here Sunday. I can't wait.

Yet, I have no choice but to do exactly that.

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

I can't wait for __________.

Doing time at the North Pole

Brianna (back) coming down the Candy Cane Slide with her cousin Tiffany in 1987.I live in the mountains. So high up in the mountains, in fact, that I'm within a 30-minute drive of the North Pole. THE North Pole. Where Santa Clause lives.

Having lived in this area the majority of my life, work at the North Pole—Home of Santa's Workshop was a viable employment option when I was a teen. I worked at the North Pole the summer I turned 16 years old and could drive myself through its enchanting gates.

Jobs for teens at the North Pole were aplenty. Teens worked as shop attendants, ride operators, food servers, magician assistants, and Santa's assistants...more commonly known as elves, with the most sugarplum of assignments being Santa's dedicated elf, the one who hangs with Santa in his house and takes the photos of all the good little girls and boys who come to visit him.

I never got to be Santa's personal elf. In fact, I never got to be an elf at all. I wasn't perky, pretty, and personable enough in the job interview, apparently, to have the honor of being named one of Santa's sweeties. Nope, I was named a "front ride operator." Meaning I helped with the rides at the front of the amusement park.

For the duration of the summer, I covered business at the bouncy house, or took tickets and strapped kids in on the miniature car ride or the Shetland ponies walking in an endless circle. The north ride I was assigned to most often of all, though, was Santa's Candy Cane Slide.

As gatekeeper of Santa's Candy Cane Slide, my duties included not only taking tickets and handing out gunny sacks for sliding down in, I had the honorable task of waxing the spiral slide from top to bottom every single morning before the park opened. With a bar of wax, I'd crawl backward down the slide, waxing on (never off) all the whole way. Then I'd grab a gunny sack, start at the top, and shimmy my way down, shining and slicking from side to side with my gunny-sacked tush. Then I'd climb the stairs again, plop down at the top of the slide and take the first slicked-up ride of the day.

Each morning, I reported to duty in my navy blue slacks and red North Pole T-shirt. I arrived uniformed and ready to roll. No need to join the hundreds of girls in the elves' dressing room, giggling and gaining friends (and fodder for future comparisons to Santaland Diaries) as together they donned varied but equally festive jumpers, skirts, pinafores, peasant blouses, vests, jolly tights, elfin shoes and hats.

As I waxed and tore tickets and rescued kiddies freaked out midway down the peppermint spiral, the elves greeted guests with smiles and squeaky voices and frolicked festively about the grounds of the North Pole.

On breaks, I'd enter the cafeteria alone, eat alone, leave alone, while pairs and trios and more of the happy little elves nibbled their nosh together, complaining about their hard work of playing happy all day long.

The elves went home smelling like the candle shops or candy shops or whatever jolly joint they'd been assigned. I went home smelling like sweat from sitting outside the spiral slide in the sun all day long. Or like ponies.

I once was bitter. Today, though, I am bitter no more.

Bubby, Baby Mac and Megan are visiting next week, and today I added to the schedule of Fun To Be Had while they are here a visit to the North Pole. Bubby is the perfect age for hanging with the real Santa in his real off-season digs. For marveling at the reindeer roaming the place. For riding the Ferris Wheel, the Christmas Tree ride, for sliding down the Candy Cane Slide. And for giggling about all the elves happily helping out here, there, and everywhere throughout the North Pole.

When we visit, I will tell Bubby all about Gramma working there. About waxing the slide to make it as slick as can be, then getting to be the very first one to go down it each and every day, savoring the slickness no one else would know. He'll think that's pretty darn cool, I'm sure.

Bubby would not think it's cool, I'm sure, if I told him I were once an elf at the North Pole. For if I once were an elf, why would I no longer be an elf? Slide operators grow up, move on, become Grammas who no longer live at the North Pole. But elves? Once an elf, always an elf. Or that's how it should be. What disgrace would I possibly have brought upon myself to be kicked out of the elf kingdom and made to live in a regular house as regular folk instead of with Santa?

Sharing news I once was an elf surely would get my oh-so-bright Bubby wondering how that could be. Gramma's not an elf now, so how could she ever have been? Is it all just made up? Is the whole Santa story simply a sham? Like I said, Bubby's at the perfect age for marveling at the magic, for visions of sugarplums and candy canes and dancing reindeer and all things great about the story of Santa, the North Pole. I would hate to be the one to ruin that for him.

So if having once been an elf might ruin the magic for Bubby, I'm all for proudly owning up to having been a north ride operator instead. A ticket taker, a slide slicker. There's no shame in that...and may even hold an "ooh" or an "aah" at the nifty job Gramma once had.

So, yeah, I wasn't an elf. Today I've decided that's okay. Today I've come face to face yet again with proof that things—regardless of the disgruntlement they may cause at the time—really do happen for a reason.

Preserving the magic for Bubby is reason enough for me.

Today's question:

What summer jobs did you have as a teen?

Grandma and the haboob

The recent earthquakes and the hurricane news reminded me that I forgot to share with you all my haboob story.

As many of you likely know, a haboob is an Arabic word for a violent dust storm or sandstorm. Arizona has seen a few of them this summer, with a particularly violent one shaking things up on July 5. (HuffPo documented it well HERE.)

Another took place last week as I was trying to escape the <cuss> heat of the desert fly home. I'd gotten to the airport just fine but as I settled into my seat to await boarding, Megan called to ask if I was okay and how long of a delay I was facing. I had no idea what she was talking about; my flight wasn't delayed, all was fine and on schedule.

Five minutes later that all changed as every flight out of the airport was halted and delayed. The haboob had hit Sky Harbor.

From Megan's vantage point at home, this is what she saw on the news:

From my vantage point inside the airport, this is what I saw out the window: 

Megan texted a few times to make sure I was away from windows and safe. Bubby was concerned after hearing on the news that "the haboob swallowed the airport" and needed direct confirmation that Gramma was okay.

I confirmed that I was indeed fine, albeit feeling a bit claustrophobic with all windows showing nothing but a dust cloud:

Within less than an hour, things cleared around the airport and flights began taking off. About that same time, Megan sent this picture of the house across the street from her as the storm arrived in her neighborhood: 

At least she got a mini rainbow.

All I got was a delayed flight as the plane I was to board had been diverted to Vegas to avoid the haboob. Once it arrived and we boarded, there was another delay because of mechanical problems. We de-boarded, took way too long to board another, then finally, nearly six hours later than scheduled, we took to the now-friendly skies, headed for the mountains.

Having little to do with the haboob and much to do with the incompetence of certain airline staff, it ended up taking me longer to get from Megan's door in the desert to my door in the mountains by plane than if I had driven the entire distance by car.

Which is exactly what I plan to do the next time I visit the desert.

Seriously.

Today's fill in the blank:

My most frustrating travel story was the time _______________.

Imagine that

Life in the desert—where Bubby and Baby Mac live—is a wee bit different from life in the mountains—where I live and where Bubby and Baby Mac's mommy grew up. For one thing, it's often too hot in the desert in the summer time for kiddos to play outside. Seriously too hot. As in Extreme Heat Warnings from the National Weather Service hot.

That certainly doesn't mean, though, that there's no fun to be had.

When temps get too hot and high in the desert, folks simply take the fun indoors. They forego sizzling playgrounds and descend upon indoor play areas instead. Air-conditioned play areas.

One of Bubby's favorite indoor play centers is called Imagination Avenue. We visited last week, and he certainly exercised his imagination while there.

He imagined himself as a policeman, a fireman, a doctor, a grocery shopper.  

He also baked cookies and cupcakes, worked puzzles, played school. And he built houses and boxes and a tunnel for taking a break from the workout.

With so much to do and the myriad imaginative options to explore, the fact we couldn't play outside no longer mattered one single bit. Not to Bubby, not to Megan, not to me.

Not even to Baby Mac.

Imagine that!

Today's question:

What is your favorite indoor activity on hot summer days?

Tall tales and tag clouds

I started Grandma's Briefs more than two years ago primarily to share all things Bubby. What he is, what he does, and what he says. If you take a look at the sidebar to the right, you'll see in the "I write about" tag cloud near the bottom that the largest word there—meaning the word that gets the most play, gets tagged most often here on the blog—is, of course, Bubby.

Grandma's Briefs was all about Bubby because Bubby was my only grandchild.

Then along came Baby Mac. And because I'm now just as enamored with him as I was (and continue to be) with Bubby, there's a whole lot of catching up to do to get the size of Mac's name in the Grandma's Briefs tag cloud anywhere near the size of Bubby's.

To do that, I need to, just as I did with Bubby, write many a post on all he is, all he does, and all he says.

"You can write all about what he is and what he does," you may be thinking, "but Baby Mac, at two-and-a-half-months old, surely isn't saying anything yet."

And that right there is where I'd have to stop you and say, "Au contraire, dear readers and think-out-louders. For my little Baby Mac is indeed saying a whole lot more than most might imagine."

In fact, Baby Mac is quite the story teller. Just listen to this tale of happiness—sprinkled with a wee bit of woe—he dished out just for his captivated Gramma:

See what I mean? With so much to say, it won't take long for Baby Mac's name to inch closer and closer to the size of Bubby's. Sure, Bubby will naturally always be larger; it's one of the perks of being my firstborn grandchild, I suppose.

But I can imagine Mac will soon outsize grandparenting—and he'll be giving Grilled Grandmas a run for their money in no time.

Today's question:

If you were to share the story of your weekend, would it be a tale of adventure, woe, happiness, serendipity, or sloth?