Make-believe Gramma

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A morning on the patio with Bubby in May.

At three years old, Bubby's imagination has blossomed. He delights in playing games of pretend, all make-believe and all played according to his rules.

One of Bubby's favorites is playing Fireman—usually with a policeman hot on the fireman's tail, for some unknown reason. When I'm visiting, I'm assigned the policeman role more often than not. In the role, according to Bubby's rules, I'm to chase Bubby the Fireman around and around while making a "police" noise dictated by Bubby, one impossible for me to replicate in writing.

Bubby also loves, loves, LOVES playing Water Monster at the Splash Pad. Some days Daddy is assigned the role of Water Monster; sometimes it's Mommy. In that game, the Water Monster chases Bubby all around the Splash Pad (or whatever water park they may be at), threatening to dump buckets of water on Bubby...who does his best to avoid the buckets yet squeals in delight when it (inevitably) happens.

This past week or so, Megan says, Bubby has devised a new game. And it stars me, or at least Megan pretending to be me. It's called The Gramma Game.

Before describing the game, here's a little background relative to the play. When I visit, Bubby and I typically start our day with some time on the patio—my only opportunity to enjoy the outdoors before the oppressive desert heat renders me housebound. I relax in a chair, cup of coffee in hand, while Bubby rides his trike around the patio, us chit-chatting back and forth all the while.

That minor yet clearly meaningful to him ritual has led to The Gramma Game. It goes like this: When Megan returns from her daily early morning run, she cools down on the patio for a few minutes. That's when Bubby joins her and proclaims "Let's play The Gramma Game. You be the Gramma and I'll be the Grandkid." He directs Megan to gaze out a pretend window and say, "I wonder where my Grandkid is. I miss him." Then when Bubby the Grandkid comes into view, she's to say "Oh, you're here, Grandkid! I missed you!"

("He's very specific about my actions, telling me what I should be doing or saying," Megan says, in explaining The Gramma Game.)

After exclaiming over how much Gramma has missed the Grandkid, Gramma gets to watch Bubby the Grandkid ride his trike—not the big-boy bike used for real rides—around and around on the patio. Just like the real Gramma does while visiting. Pretend Gramma/Megan watches enthusiastically until Bubby the Grandkid gets off his trike and asks Gramma if there's any "brefast in the pantry" because he's hungry.

Words can't describe how honored I am to have a game named after me. Nor can they describe how excited I am to soon be there to play it with Bubby. Only three more days and The Gramma Game will come to life. No more pretend, no more gazing out a window, no more missing my grandkid. Reality is so much better than the game.

In most cases.

There is one aspect of the game, though, that is indeed so much better than the reality. In The Gramma Game, Megan says, Bubby makes it clear he doesn't have to get on a plane to visit Gramma, he has only to ride his trike to reach me.

Ah, I would give anything for the reality to be as simple as the make-believe.

In reality, though, what I do give is thanks for the planes that bring Bubby to me and me to Bubby.

And for only three more days.

Today's question:

What games of make-believe do you recall from your childhood or those of your children?

BlogHer '11, Boomers, and a bang-up ending

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Ready for take-off from DIA for BlogHer '11.I’m back from BlogHer '11, and what an awesome experience it was, in so many ways. My traveling companion was great, San Diego was so much more than I remembered from a trip to Sea World years ago with the Jim and the girls, the conference was brimming with information I’ve yet to wrap my head completely around and utilize, and the people—from hotel staff to pedicab drivers to fellow conference mates to the conference leaders—were ab-so-lute-ly amazing.

This was my first BlogHer conference and I believe I accomplished my goal: To learn and to connect. I did both, in abundance.

The learning part is mostly what I’ve yet to wrap my head around. So, so, SO much information. So much good information that should make a difference for my readers, for my blog, and for—maybe down the road if I do things right—my bank account. Yes indeed, the learning was good.

The connecting was even better. For one, I met the ever-so-humorous Penny of So Humor Me. She’s a hoot in real life, just as she is online. And she’s a pretty darn good seat-saver, too. I’ve known Penny online for a while, as we visit one another’s blogs and she was a featured Grilled Grandma not too long ago. Meeting her in person was one of the many delights of the BlogHer experience.

Of the other fellow bloggers I met, I had seen many online here and there, follow a few on Twitter, and, like Penny, featured as a Grilled Grandma (that being the ever-amazing juggler named Laura). One in particular, the one who most generously offered up reams of information in a too-brief encounter during breakfast, just so happens to be a relative neighbor, living just a few hours away from me. In fact, her Twitter handle is @ColoradoMom. So close yet so far, really, and someone I’d never have met if not for BlogHer.

That amazing and giving blogger was a mommy blogger—truly incredible and inspirational, as so many of the mommy bloggers are. But a big goal of mine in attending BlogHer was to find those bloggers near my age, part of my “tribe.” To connect with and support those of my generation, in hopes our numbers online will increase. One of the true surprises of BlogHer was just how many of us were in attendance.

Swag, swag, and more swag. And this was just mine!Although clearly not the majority, Boomers were a huge presence at BlogHer. Instrumental in the whole experience, actually. And thanks to a session created specifically for the blogging Boomers, I’ve now found my tribe, connnected with them, and will be sharing lots about them in the coming days, once I get around to linking blogs to the list of participants so I can share them with you.

One of my favorite blogging photographers, Pat of Mille Fiori Favoriti, unable to attend BlogHer herself, asked this of me: "Please do all of us grandmas a favor and represent us among all the mommies and young singles that seem to dominate blogs and blog advertisers!  Let them know that being 50 doesn't mean we are dead...lol...and we are still consumers and have lots worth saying!" I feel confident saying I did just that.

Better yet, after BlogHer '11, I simply feel confident. Period. With my blogging. That I surmounted the hurdle of shyness I feared would hold me back. That I know where this blog is headed and the difference it can make and be.

Bottom line: I feel more confident about me. That, I think, is what BlogHer really should be all about. That, I know, is what BlogHer was all about for me.

Immediately after the final keynote, my co-BlogHer buddy, Heather, and I ran (literally...and I am not a runner, folks) to the water's edge, hopped on a ferry, and spent our few final hours in California visiting the enchanting Coronado Island. As the evening neared its end, without notice and completely unrelated to the conference, this is what happened:

A bang-up ending to an exhilerating—and yes, exhausting—experience. One I hope to share with all you other Boomer/non-Boomer, grandma/non-grandma bloggers next year, when BlogHer heads to New York City in August of 2012.

Feel free to start your planning now. I certainly am!

Note: If parts of this post make no sense,if there are spelling or grammatical errors I've overlooked, please forgive me. I got home just a few hours ago, it's past midnight Sunday, I'm tired, and I am oh-so ready to crawl into my bed. Thank you. And good night.

Today's question:

How much arm-twisting would it take to get you to BlogHer '12 in New York City?

The Saturday Post: Dear Photograph edition

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Not long ago we discussed profundity for our New Word Wednesday word.

The website Dear Photograph is pure profundity.

In pictures.

"Take a picture of a picture from the past in the present."

Visit it.

Enjoy it.

Maybe even contribute to it.

Photo: Screen shot of Dear Photograph website

Today's question:

If you could go back and take one picture of someplace from the past, where would it be?

A second serving of pizza

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I'm away at BlogHer but still want to razzle and dazzle you with my brilliant posts. Or at least post something, anything. So I'm serving up an oldie but goodie. Well, one I thought was a goodie. Jim just thought it made me sound like I'm crazy and obsessed with my grandson.

I wrote the following post nearly a year and a half ago. Since then, Baby Mac has arrived. So when reading this, do note that I now have double cheese on my pizza, as Bubby and Baby Mac now both serve as the ooey and the gooey cheese on my pizza.  —Lisa

The cheese on my pizza (originally published February 8, 2010)

When I first learned I'd be a grandma, I knew my new grandbaby would take possession of huge chunks of my heart. 

I also knew the baby would command my reserves of physical energy -- for hugging and rocking and playing and dancing and ... Well, you get the picture.

What I didn't know was how much of my mind the grandbaby would take over, how much of my thought process would be consumed by the little one. But since Bubby's arrival in the summer of 2008, I think about him all the time.

I never expected this. I was never told by other grandmas about the mind-jacking the little munchkins perform. I never read about it in any books of grandmother tips/advice/lore I consulted.

But Bubby is always on my mind. Always.

When I hear a song on the radio, I imagine bopping around with Bubby. When I cook up some sweets or try out a new recipe, I wonder if Bubby would like it. When I'm at the craft store, I seek out crafty things he might want to do. When I'm out and about, I see things I'd like to point out to him: the deer, fox, squirrels, dogs in the neighborhood; the great big truck (he loves trucks!) that just drove by; the loud airplane overhead; the sweet and squishy Valentines Day stuffed animals in the stores.

I think of him all the time.

I'm not crazy. Honest. I do think of other things. I work, I read, I sing, I write, I engage in a few not-so-grandmotherly activities (I'm talking shots and such here, folks -- get your mind out of the gutter). I do have room in my little peabrain for thoughts other than those of Bubby.

But, like I said, Bubby is always on my mind -- just not always top of mind. He's always right there, sometimes just below the surface of more pressing thoughts, waving and saying "Hey Grandma (or Graya)! I'll just be over here, smiling and dancing and playing my harmonica while I wait for you to come out and play."

(Okay, I admit, I do sound a little crazy.)

I've tried to think of an analogy for the way Bubby has taken up residence in my mind. A way to express how he's sometimes the only thing I'm thinking about; other times he just makes whatever else I'm thinking about more interesting ... or at least more manageable. But I suck at analogies -- and metaphors and similes and all those other "writerly" things that a writer should know -- and the only thing I could come up with is cheesy. Literally.

Here's my analogy: Bubby is the cheese on my pizza. Sometimes he's the only thing, the most important thing, the tastiest thing on my mind and in my life. My cheese pizza.

Other times I have a topping or two -- an idea or two, an experience or two ... say, a ham and pineapple sort of life, enhanced by the cheese. I love the ham, I love the pineapple, but it's made even better by the cheese on top of it.

And during the very best of times, I have a meat-lovers supreme pizza with extra onion and green pepper (hold the mushrooms). Lots of flavor, lots of good things going on. Mmmm. mmmm, mmmm. But most important of all, those supreme pizzas demand extra cheese. The topping that tops all others. The special addition that makes it the best pizza ever. Loads of ooey, gooey cheese.

Now that's what I'm talking about!

Yep, silly analogy or not, Bubby -- who makes everything more palatable, more enjoyable, more knock-me-down-filled-to-the-brim-with-love -- is definitely the cheese on my pizza!

Today's question:

If you were to order pizza right now, what would you want on it and where would you order it from?