Mom 2.0 redux

Not too long ago, I wrote a post called Mom 2.0 better than Mom 1.0 highlighting nine ways Megan (Mom 2.0) has outdone her mother (me, Mom 1.0). Well, she's gone and done it again -- taken what I've taught her and bumped it up a notch.

Consider this post reason No. 10 why Mom 2.0 is better than Mom 1.0.

As many of you know, Megan and Preston hosted our Thanksgiving gathering this year. Megan has never prepared the Thanksgiving meal and has only once cooked a turkey by herself. Yet she took it upon herself to do something I have never done, something I had previously never even heard of: Megan brined the Thanksgiving turkey.

And I must admit, it turned out to be the most delectably moist and flavorful turkey I think I've ever had.

Megan soaked the turkey in a savory solution for a day or so. Then she seasoned it well (before taking off for the Turkey Trot, I might add).

She baked it and basted it and recruited Preston for the heavy lifting of the 20-pound tom in and out of the oven.

Once roasted to golden perfection, Preston carved the bird -- his first time ever charged with Thanksgiving carving duty.

What a turkey! What a team!

Yes indeed, Mom 2.0 once again improves upon Mom 1.0. And it's only right to throw in a few props for Dad 2.0 (Preston) for doing the carving honors -- something Dad 1.0 (Jim) has yet to attempt.

In light of the savory success of Megan's turkey brining, I'm thinking about trying out the method soon myself. I just so happen to have a spare turkey in the freezer, happily waiting to be brined and baked.

And maybe -- just maybe -- Jim will be happily waiting to try out carving the bird himself once it's done.

These kids of mine continually amaze me. I thought I was the one who was supposed to be teaching them a thing or two, yet they've been pretty darn good so far at teaching me a thing or two. For starters, that soaking a turkey in salt water really does make it more moist.

And that it really is possible to run a 5k in the morning and still get Thanksgiving dinner on the table by early afternoon. Doing both while pregnant.

Did I mention that my kids continually amaze me?

Today's question:

What's something you've learned from one you're more typically in charge of teaching (a child, grandchild ... pet?)?

Wah, wah and cootchie coo

Whining and baby talk are for babies ... only!When my daughters were young, I had a crafty little sign over the doorway to the kitchen that said "No whining." Whining simply was not allowed in our house.

The girls knew early on that asking, complaining, begging, crying in a whiny tone led them nowhere. If they did that, my only response would be, "I can't understand you when you're whining."

Even as a manager in the workplace, I had a "No Whining" sign at my desk. It's incredible the number of adults who think whining will get them somewhere. With anyone. Luckily my daughters aren't one of those adults. They're not whiners. And I'm pretty sure whining now annoys them just as much as it annoys me.

One of the few things that grates on my nerves, gets my briefs in a bunch and makes me want to bop someone on the head with a Nerf bat more than whining does is baby talk.

Now, lots of grandmas engage in baby talk. I'm talking about the "Cootchie, cootchie coo" babbling that takes place over a new little one. Or the "Oh, my sweety bug, you're so precious!" kind of complimenting passed along to boys and girls alike. That's fine, I guess. To each his own -- as long as it's out of my earshot. But you'll never hear that from me. Bubby will never hear it from me. Even my dogs and cats will never hear it from me.

That doesn't mean I don't gush over cute things; I just gush in a non-baby talk manner. I love my little Bubby with all my heart and soul and I adore everyone else's little ones just as much as the next grandma. But there's something patronizing bordering on demeaning about talking in sweetsy high-pitched voices to kids. Believe me: It really is possible to let babies and others know how much you adore them without hitting the upper range of your vocal abilities and using nonsensical words. It's annoying.

More than the annoyance factor, though, I think baby talking to kids teaches them from the get-go that baby talk from them is acceptable. For, at what point do you stop the baby talk to your children or grandchildren? As they get older, they surely -- though likely subconsciously -- figure that if grandma can do it, they can do it, too. And they can't. Or at least shouldn't. And they definitely shouldn't do it in public.

I'm a site coordinator for the local children's literacy center, so I come across a lot of kids. I'm continually amazed at the number of them -- children in elementary school and older -- who talk in baby talk. To adults! It drives me nuts. I find it not only annoying, I think it's sad. The poor kids haven't been empowered to use their words to say what they mean, what they want, what they truly wish to express. Instead, they've been taught to depend on a cutesy, baby voice (or worse yet, whiney baby voice), in hopes that baby talk will get them what they want. Or soften the blow of what they're really trying to say. Or endear someone to their cutesy ways.

Which it doesn't. At least not with me ... and surely not with their teachers or other adults, I would venture to say.

So moms, grandmas -- dads, aunts, uncles, any other adults who interact with children, too -- do the kids in your life a favor and put an end to baby talk. From our mouths and the mouths of the little ones. It's annoying.

And it's just as bad as whining.

Which I can't imagine being taught as acceptable by any grandma or other adult, not just crabby non-baby-talking grandmas such as myself.

Today's question:

Which do you find more annoying -- whining or baby talk?

Rated M for mature

It's been one month since I last saw Bubby and in those few passing weeks, my grandson has grown by leaps and bounds. It's not so much that Bubby has grown -- he hasn't shot up several inches or moved on to a bigger size of clothing. It's more that he has matured.

To wit:

• Bubby no longer wears a diaper. Woo-hoo! Big boy underwear is the garment of choice -- adorned with trains and more -- and Pull-ups are worn only at night. Even so, the nights have been dry. (If you ask me, it was far too easy for Megan. Aren't boys supposedly much more difficult to potty train than girls?)

• Bubby is now a seasoned school boy, attending preschool five days a week.

• Thus far into his school career, Bubby has already been attacked by bullies three times. The first came in generic bully form: a tough little cuss who also serves as one of Bubby's best friends. Apparently this little kid likes to push and shove and make other bad choices when it comes to interacting with his fellow classmates. The second bully Bubby faced was strep. An antiobiotic helped him face down this particular bully. And this one did carry a silver lining: Because of the strep, Bubby was absent the day Bully-Boy pulled out the big guns -- his chompers -- which he used to chomp nearly every other two-year-old in the class. The third bully? A stomach bug. I gotta hand it to Bubby for his response to this bad guy. Despite the yuckiness that goes along with stomach bugs, my little trooper maintained status quo on potty training, with no backsliding into diapers and no messes. Well, no messes that come from the diaper end.

• As the ties of friendship between Bubby and Bully-Boy remain strong despite Bully-Boy's treatment of Bubby, Bubby has participated in making some not so great decisions. He's not been busted by the teacher for his infractions, though. Only his buddy has. Yet after witnessing Bully-Boy complete a time-out handed down by the teacher for an unnamed act, Bubby confronted the teacher, told her he needed a time-out for something he'd done, and proceeded to take his turn in the time-out chair. After a minute or so, Bubby told the teacher "All done" then merrily went on his way, satisfied that he'd done his time ... for a crime the teacher didn't even know he'd committed.

• Bubby has mastered the art of conversation ... and how to cut it short when a Chatty Cathy invades his space. Megan told of a recent day after school, with Bubby chilling in his car seat in the back while Megan drove them home. Questions from Megan of "How was your day?" and "What did you do in school?" were met with brief answers from Bubby followed by, "Stop talking, Mommy. No more talking." End of story, end of conversation. He needed to regroup after hours of interaction with toddlers, and he had no difficulty whatsoever letting Mommy know the time for talking was over.

• Bubby also is mastering the art of golf, the swinging of the club in particular. By watching Mommy and Daddy practice golf on the Wii, Bubby has picked up a masterful technique he practices with his toy clubs and ball in the backyard. Just like Mommy and Daddy, he lines up the ball, grabs hold of the club, pulls the club back and ... swings! And just like Mommy and Daddy, when Bubby misses the ball or it goes in an unintended direction, he lets out an unmistakeable "Dammit!" (With this one, Mommy and Daddy learned a quick lesson themselves in finding more appropriate ways of expressing frustration with sloppy golf swings!)

Yessiree, my Bubby is maturing at a mind-blowing rate. What more will he master before I see him again? He's already figured out one of the most important lessons in life: the need to accept responsibility for your actions, your poor choices. Proved by giving himself a time-out for something the teacher didn't even see him do, my mature little Bubby already understands that regardless of whether anyone has witnessed it or not, if you do the crime, you do the time. It's as simple as that.

The real question: Will it remain as simple as that as Bubby's toddler years all-too-quickly become his teen years?

Today's question:

What lesson, action or experience (first child? first house? first divorce?) made you feel like you had matured and officially become an adult?

Lessons from Bubby

During my recent tour of babysitting duty, I taught Bubby a few things, such as how to do a puzzle.

And that peanut butter play dough is an incredible, edible art medium. And the wonders of Baskin Robbins.

In return, Bubby taught me lots of things ... things I probably used to know but have forgotten along the way to grandmahood.

Here are a few of the lessons I learned while babysitting my Bubby:

Garbage trucks are the coolest thing in the whole entire world -- except for bunnies who live outside the bedroom window ... and bubbles.

BFFs come in a variety of shapes,  sizes and colors.

A pile of books beats out a pile of toys any day of the week.

Daily creative expression is good for the soul. As are regular haircuts and impromptu jam sessions.

Several days of rain and being stuck inside the house make the sun's return all the more glorious.

Macaroni and cheese and chocolate pudding are THE very best culinary creations EVER!

And that diversions make saying "goodbye" to loved ones a little bit easier to handle.

This post is my diversion.

Today's question from the "Loaded Questions" board game:

What one thing that you do can you genuinely admit is not that cool?

I recently bought a dorky pair of sweat pants that are designed to look -- from far away -- like a pair of jeans. I would never, ever wear them in public, but they are oh-so comfortable to wear around the house. Jim and Brianna have made it clear how very UNcool my comfy "jeans" are ... but I don't care.

Take a picture -- it lasts longer

As a parent, you'll occasionally have moments when all is right with the world, at least within the confines of your own little world. Everyone in the family is getting along, the sun is shining in your hearts, the love is flowing, the future looks bright.

That's when you need to pull out the camera. Even if there's no major event, no happy holiday, no striking of a pose, no magical reason to record the moment, I urge you to take a picture.

Really. Take a picture. Because that moment won't last.

All of a sudden, with no warning whatsoever, the dark clouds will roll in and the ground will shift then crumble beneath your feet.

I know. I've been there. Several times. In fact, I offer that advice as Jim and I sit atop a pile of rubble, looking at each other, shaking our heads, asking "How did we get here?"

We'd been down this road before, thought the lessons had been learned, thought we'd never have to pass this way again.

Yet here we sit, dumbfounded, asking "WTF?"

And our daughter just shrugs her shoulders and waves from her pseudo-solid ground, oblivious to the way she's knocked our world off its axis.

So we pick ourselves up. We dust ourselves off. We start all over again.

And out of the blue, as we go through the motions of daily life, one of us mutters, "This sucks. This really, really sucks!"

"Yeah," the other responds, "this sucks."

We don't know what else to say.

Mere days ago we had a brief moment when all was right with our world.

I wish I had taken a picture.

('Nuff said.)

Today's question from "If...(Questions for the Game of Life)":

If you had to cancel one hour of the day, every day, which hour would you eliminate?

I'd eliminate 5 a.m. That's the time I usually glance over at the clock on the night stand and realize I have only one more hour to sleep.