Rule No. 3

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When my daughters were teenagers, if they wanted their own car, they had to have an after-school job to cover the cost of gas and insurance. Those were the rules.

All three wanted their own car, so all three worked.

Which led to other rules, primarily:

1. Grades must remain satisfactory.

2. No working at fast-food restaurants.

3. Absolutely no working on Sundays.

Rule No. 1 is pretty much self-explanatory.

Rule No. 2 was due to our high expectations of the girls. There's nothing wrong with working at fast-food joints. Heck, Jim and I started dating when he was my manager at a Sonic Drive-In. But we knew our girls could do better, expected them to do better. And they did.

Rule No. 3 was enforced because Sunday was family day, no ifs, ands or "but I have to works." We went to church as a family, and nearly just as important, we shared Sunday dinner as a family. Which prohibited morning or evening shifts on the job. Luckily their employers respected and abided by Rule No. 3, mostly because the girls were good workers they didn't want to lose.

Rule No. 3 extended to more than work situations, though -- it also applied to any outings the girls wanted to attend with friends. (Exceptions were made for special events and occasions. I'm not that mean of a mom.)

On Rule No. 3, Jim and I stood firm. The girls were required to go to church with the family, required to have Sunday dinner with the family. Some things are worth fighting for, worth demanding. To us, Rule No. 3 was one of those things.

In accordance with Rule No. 3 was yet another rule -- this one for myself and Jim: No lecturing at the dinner table.

Because of our rules regarding dinner with the family, some of our most-cherished family memories are of times around the dinner table. Throughout the years, dinnertime -- and not just on Sundays -- meant catching up, sharing jokes, quelling fears, answering questions. We'd talk about movies, family, sports, friends, work, politics, music. We'd laugh. We'd snort. We'd cry. We'd lament. We'd sometimes even sing.

Then the girls grew up.

And moved away.

And the dinner table was empty. During the week and, most noticeably, on Sundays.

This past Sunday, Andrea drove from Denver, Brianna drove from across town, and we enjoyed Sunday together as a family. I can't recall the last time we had Sunday dinner together; it was surely sometime before the holidays.

It felt like a special occasion. It was a special occasion. We laughed, we remembered, we talked about movies, friends, work, sports, music. It was just like old times.

The only thing missing was Megan.

And the requirement that the girls be there.

Which made it all the more special -- and me all the more thankful -- that they were.

Photo: Flickr/Beverly & Pack

Today's question:

What is your usual Sunday dinner routine?

Moving in the right direction

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Since I very first became a grandma and since I very first started this blog, I've bemoaned the fact that I'm a long-distance grandma. That Bubby lives 819 miles away. Has since the day he was born.

This past weekend, though, that's all changed.

I'm happy to announce that over the weekend, Bubby -- and Megan and Preston, of course -- moved. Closer. They no longer live 819 miles away, no siree. My beloved desert dwellers now live only, get this, 815 miles away.

That means Bubby now lives a full -- according to Google Maps -- FOUR MILES CLOSER to me.

Yes, they moved just across town. Yes, they still live in the same zip code. And yes, at this point, 815 miles might as well be 1,000, just as 819 miles may as well have been 1,000.

But on the other hand, being a glass-half-full kinda gal, I figure closer is closer.

Say what you will, but we long-distance grandmas take solace wherever we can find it. And right now, my solace is found in the fact that my grandson -- and my middle daughter, her husband and my soon to hatch Birdy -- live four miles closer to me than they did just days ago.

That, my friends, is clearly a move in the right direction.

Today's question:

What's the longest distance you've ever driven to visit a loved one?

The Saturday Post: Time flies edition

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Believe it or not, January will soon come to a close. Already. Time does indeed fly.

This video beautifully shows the passage of time. One year to be exact. In less than 90 seconds. Yet it's not frenetic and harried. It's surprisingly peaceful and relaxing. And I just love the little kids in the snow at the end.

Today's question:

If you were magically given a full BONUS day this coming week to do with whatever you choose, what would you do with your day?

National Hugging Day

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Megan passes along my hugs to Bubby.When I pose questions to the subjects of my Grilled Grandma feature, one of the questions always included is, "How do you maintain the bond between yourself and your grandchildren between visits?" I ask that question partially for selfish reasons: Because I want ideas to add to my list of ways to maintain a strong bond between Bubby and myself despite the 819 miles between us.

One of the things on my list that I do as often as possible -- although admittedly not as consistently as I'd like -- is to mark unusual holidays and dates of recognition with Bubby by sending him a toy, a book or some other inexpensive goodie related to the day. This works especially well in months when there is no major holiday, no scheduled cause for celebration or connection.

So here we are at January 21, and it just so happens to be National Hugging Day. And what better way to recognize National Hugging Day than with a hug? Right?

Well, considering that I'm in the mountains and Bubby's in the desert, a real, live, lovin'-touchin'-squeezin' kind of hug unfortunately isn't possible. But there are virtual hugs to be shared. Not quite as satisfying, of course, but we long-distance grandmas -- and long-distance grandkids -- have no choice but to get our hugs (and even a minimal bit of satisfaction) any way we can.

So I'm sending Bubby a hug. Via e-mail. Luckily American Greetings has some perfectly appropriate hugging cards, so I'm zapping one off to Bubby care of his Mommy's e-mail address.

One good thing about this kind of hug is that he'll have it to open again and again, any time he needs a hug from Gramma, even though she's way far away in the mountains. And that'll do for now, at least until he gets the real thing from me in thirteen days!

Coincidentally, just as I reached this point in writing this post Thursday afternoon, Megan called. Bubby got on the phone to tell me how very sad he is because "all my toys are packed" for the move to their new house this weekend. He woefully explained that he has only "one truck" to play with (which Megan refuted, saying he has a cold and is being a drama king). I went along with the drama and after he told me the truck is red and black and yellow, Bubby said he's so sad and needs ... you got it ... a hug! So immediately after hanging up the phone, I went ahead and sent my National Hugging Day card a day early, just so Bubby would have a hug in his time of need. Like I said, being a virtual hug in an e-card, he could have his hug early then still have hugs from Gramma any time he needs them, including on the actual National Hugging Day.

In recognition of National Hugging Day, I urge you to go out and give somebody a hug today -- virtual or otherwise. Just like I did with Bubby, you may find yourself extending your arms at exactly the time someone needs them.

And from me to you, happy National Hugging Day!

Today's question:

Some people give so-so hugs, others give super-duper satisfying bear hugs. Who in your life gives the very best hugs ever?