Grilled Grandmas: The next generation

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This week's Grilled Grandma feature highlights the mother of one of my previous Grilled Grandmas. I'm honored to have now grilled two sensational -- as well as beautiful -- generations from the same family.

(Of course, I did grill my own mother and my grandmother, but that's different.)

So here I give you Grilled Grandma: Billie and some of the interesting tidbits you'll learn about this active great-grandmother by reading her grilling:

1. As I mentioned, Billie is the mother of a previous Grilled Grandma. Any guesses as to who that former Grilled Grandma is?

2. Why were a vehicle's taillights once "the best thing" for Billie to see?

3. Who are the "outlaws" in Billie's family?

Once you're done reading of Billies' outlaws and more, take a moment to check out her website, mentioned at the bottom of her grilling.

Today's question:

Speaking of outlaws, what is one of the more unusual or interesting connections on your family tree?

My answer: Supposedly I'm somehow connected, on my dad's side of the family, to the founders of Yale University. In which case, I think I -- and my children -- should have been granted guaranteed admission with free tuition. Sounds reasonable, don't ya think?

My greatest fears as a grandma

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The role of grandma is supposed to be an easy one. Mom and Dad cover all the hard work – changing dirty diapers, teaching table etiquette, instilling a sense of right and wrong – leaving Grandma to do nothing but have fun with the little ones.

That’s how it’s supposed to be, right? But that’s not how it really is. At least not when you’re a grandma with the middle name of “Worrywart.” I worried (and continue to worry) endlessly as a mother, and you can bet your sweet bippy the fretting hasn’t let up just because I’ve moved on to motherhood’s second act.

Here for your amusement – or commiseration – are ...

My nine greatest fears as a grandma:

1. Bubby will love his other grandma more than he loves me.

2. I’ll always be a long-distance grandma, with no opportunity for my loved ones to drop in unexpectedly for dinner, to view my grandson’s sporting events or school programs, or to even be the backup plan when the little one is sick and Mom and Dad can’t wriggle out of work.

3. Something bad will befall Bubby.

4. Something bad will befall Bubby's parents.

5. Bubby will think I’m boring.

6. Bubby will think I’m weird.

7. Bubby will think I’m the greatest thing since LEGOs and garbage trucks and run away from home to live with me.

8. The one and only grandson I have now will always and forever be my one and only grandchild.

9. Bubby will be worn down – lose his vim, vigor, enthusiasm and endless curiosity – by the realities of life as he grows.

Bubby is just two years old at this point; I’m sure my fears and worries will become more concrete, more serious, more scary as he grows. For now, though, these nine are enough to keep me on my toes during the day, keep me awake on certain nights. For now, these nine frazzle me just fine.

Today's question:

How about you? Is “Worrywart” your middle name, too? What's your greatest fear -- as a grandma or otherwise?

The alien has landed ... again

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I had my tonsils out in the sixties. (That's the 1960s, not when I was in my 60s!) I remember only three things about the experience:

1. The book read to me to prepare me for the hospital visit. I recall there being brightly colored pictures of a little boy who's hospital gown didn't stay closed very well and nurses in white uniforms with the matching hats they wore back in the day. I search for that book every time I vist a used-book or antique store. I'm determined to one day find it.

2. Jello being served to me in the hospital bed afterwards.

3. Quisp. The character from the cereal. Somehow Quisp figures into my tonsil-removal experience. I think I received the stuffed Quisp doll from someone ... or maybe a lucky child in the bed next to me received the quirky alien ... or maybe I've imagined the entire thing. Imagined or not, the Quisp doll and tonsils go hand-in-hand in my mind.

(Let me stop here and say that if you are one of the young-uns who don't know what the cuss Quisp is, you can catch up by reading all about the cereal, the character and the battle with Quest right HERE.)

So last weekend, Brianna and I were out shopping for butt-toning shoes for my walks, along with a few other things. I bought my shoes, she bought two pair (not butt-toning ones) and we moved on to Target.

No, I do not fill my ceral bowl this full. Illustrative purposes only.We're toodling toward the kitchen gadgets -- or whatever the heck it was we were there to get -- and what do I happen upon but an end cap stocked to the brim with, you guessed it ... no, not Jello ... but QUISP cereal!

The quirky little pink alien smiled from the blue box, just like I remembered from 40 years ago, beckoning me to the shelf. My eyes widened, my heart leapt and phantom pains from long-gone tonsils squelched squeals of delight. So I didn't squeal, but I did smile wide, pick up a box and share my Quisp story -- or my imagined Quisp story -- with Brianna.

I also bought a box. How could I resist?

When I got home, Jim, too, squealed upon seeing Quisp. Okay, he didn't really squeal, but he was just as excited to see the little guy as I was. Which surprised me because he certainly didn't know me when I had my tonsils out and never had the good fortune of seeing my Quisp doll. And he definitely is not a fan of cereal (I've never seen him eat a bowl of cereal in our entire lives together).

"Now that's a cereal I could handle," he said. "Dry, of course." (His aversion to cold cereal has something to do with milk, I've been told. Never, ever will he eat cold cereal with milk. Dry, apparently, is another story. Especially if it's Quisp, even more so apparent.)

So I happily placed the alien cereal in the cabinet, looking forward to having a bowl or two during the week. Which I did yesterday. And it was everything I remembered: little flying saucers that hold smidgens of milk ... and float in the milk as the saucers become few. A sweet, crunchy taste much like Cap'n Crunch -- without the damaging-to-the-roof-of-the-mouth crunchiness of Cap'n Crunch. Soggy saucers if if not eaten quickly enough. And the nausea that comes soon after swallowing the last bite.

Nausea? Yeah, the stuff always made me sick to my stomach for some reason. But I loved it so much -- call it successful marketing, maybe -- that I ate it regardless of the nausea, regardless of how I'd feel afterwards.

Also regardless of the nausea: I plan to buy two more boxes of Quisp before it disappears from Target. Not because of the taste -- nausea's not as easy to ignore as it used to be -- but because <insert drum roll here> with just three proofs of purchase and $4.95 for shipping and handling, I can receive by mail an authentic Quisp T-shirt!

I am so ordering it! And I plan to forevermore proudly wear my Quisp T-shirt as I peruse used-book stores and antique shops in my hunt for the out-of-print picture book featuring a little boy's hiney peeking from his hospital gown as he visited the hospital for his very first medical procedure. A little boy who wasn't as fortunate as I to receive a Quisp doll during his visit. Or to even imagine receiving a Quisp doll, as my case very well may be.

Today's question:

What do you remember about your very first hospital visit (well, first other than being born)?