Moving in the right direction

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?

National Hugging Day

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?

A bird in the hand

Our family had a bit of a scare this week: Megan, in her 19th week of pregnancy, experienced some funky business with Bubby's brother-to-be. So her doctor ordered an ultrasound.

Thankfully, all turned out well. Baby is alive and kicking and nestled firmly in (the right) place. And Megan and Preston were once again treated to an inside look at their second son ... which they then kindly shared with the family and I now share with you:

Bubby got a kick out of his baby brother's peek-a-boo stance and joyfully played a game of the same with PawDad and me during our Tuesday night Skype session, giggling and demonstrating how he and his brother will soon play.

The baby does indeed look like he's playing peek-a-boo in the photos. He also looks, to me, like a little bird, his wings still tiny and frail but soon to be strengthened then stretched as he learns to fly and eventually soar.

The thought of him being a little bird immediately brought a song to my heart ... and an earworm to my head. This is the song, the earworm, the empowering "Little Bird" the ultrasound pics bring to mind:

SORRY! VIDEO DISAPPEARED IN BLOG REDESIGN

(Annie Lennox - Little Bird found on YouClubVideo)

In light of the way I see the little guy in the pictures and the gotta-dance-about-it song he's lodged in my head and heart -- and despite Megan and Preston not yet settling 100 percent on the baby's name, despite the cute monikers offered up when I asked for suggestions on Facebook -- I've officially chosen a name to call Bubby's brother here on the blog. Well, more accurately, a name has been chosen for me, for the baby.

So without further adieu, dear Grandma's Briefs readers, I hereby dub thee, my newest grandbaby ... Birdy!

Stay tuned for the further adventures -- and peek-a-boo games! -- of Birdy and Bubby.

(PS: Just for kicks, take a look at Birdy's mouth and nose in the first ultrasound picture, then scroll down to the picture of Bubby in the "Changes on the way" post from two days ago. Do they not look alike already?)

Today's question:

When did you last have a "shew!" experience, a moment of relief when you -- literally or figuratively -- wipe your brow, sigh "shew!" and feel like everything's going to be okay?

Megan's Christmas kitty

Bubby loves Alice, Aunt B's kitty -- March 15, 2010

Megan got a kitten for Christmas. She didn't ask for it, and she doesn't really care to have it around. It was cute at first, but the little guy very quickly became annoying.

It's not that Megan's a cat-hater, it's that the cat isn't really a cat. It's Bubby ... who decided just before Christmas that he's no longer a boy, he's a cat. And his primary form of communication is meowing. Like a kitty. At home. And out in public.

Don't get me wrong: Megan loves Bubby. And hearing Bubby meow around the house is precious and cute, especially when his imagination takes over during playtime with his Mommy Kitty and Baby Kitty stuffed animals -- the only other cats in residence. But when the 30-month-old who was formerly mature in the face of friends, family and strangers responds to Mommy's fellow shoppers or coworkers asking "How are you today" with mewling, yowling, and meowing -- or all three -- the cute factor is decreased by 100 percent. Megan's been mortified more often than not when out in public the last week or so, wondering where-oh-where did her big Bubby go.

Sunday evening Megan told me about the trip she, Preston and Bubby made that afternoon to a retailer to do some exchanging of Christmas gifts. On the way, the car stereo was cranked and the family was singing along. All three of them. Impressed that Bubby seemed to be joining in the fun, Megan told Preston, "Listen, Bubby's singing, too." So they both quieted their own tunes and bent their ears to the backseat to hear Bubby's contribution to the merriment. Only the merriment fell flat when they noticed that his cheerful song was only one word, over and over: "meow, meow, meow, meow."

I've not yet heard the kitty talk from Bubby as Megan warns him as he comes to the phone wanting to talk to Gramma that kitties don't talk to grandmas, only big boys do. After several attempts at getting his way with a mewl or two, he realizes Mommy means business and finally responds with "I'm a big boy" and commences a quick conversation with me, telling me about his new trucks and Roxy's bone and offering a rushed "Buh-bye, I love you!"... then he's off the phone and back to meowing.

I would think it more likely for Bubby to pretend to be a dog, romping and "ruff"-ing with his dog, Roxy. Being a kitty has me a bit perplexed. One might imagine odd behavior coming from a kid dealing with stress and trauma and drama in his environment, but other than a new brother on the way, Bubby's life is pretty stress-free ... if not downright boring, Megan might say.

Tay Hohoff famously noted that, "There are few things in life more heartwarming than to be welcomed by a cat," but this cat has worn out its welcome from Megan and Preston. With one more week remaining of holiday vacation from school -- where Bubby would likely speak "normal" in the face of peer pressure -- I'm wondering if Bubby's parents ... and Bubby ... will make it through the kitty phase unscathed.

"It could be worse," I tried to console Megan. "He could be pretending he has an imaginary friend, which would scare the cuss out of you, thinking he was seeing ghosts."

She readily agreed. But that doesn't mean she's okay with the meowing. And my attempts to Google some assistance or, at the very least, an explanation, have provided neither.

My suggestion? I think Megan needs to play into the kitty behavior ... by offering up a nice can of salmon-and-cheese Friskies for Bubby's next meal because that's what kitties eat. Being the finicky eater he is, Bubby will surely return to big-boy status immediately if faced with the stinky pate.

On the other hand, he may shock the cuss out of Megan and simply do like my finicky felines do: yowl for the Friskies turkey giblet flavor instead.

In that case, Megan may as well pick up a cat collar and some cat nip while stocking up on the Friskies, for if picky-eater Bubby readily nibbles cat nosh, that's a sure sign the Bubby Kitty is here to stay. Whether Megan wants a kitty or not.

Today's question:

What kind of imaginary friend -- or persona -- did you, your kids or your grandkids have as a child?

Ode to (birthday) joy

Twenty-seven years ago today, Frosty the Snowman played on the labor-room television while Jim and I waited for our second daughter to be born. By the time the evening news hit the screen, Megan had arrived and my life was forever enhanced, my heart forever expanded.

Because of Megan, I've learned ...

That "Silent Night" is a perfectly appropriate and effective lullabye.

That it is possible for me to laugh so hard my ribs, abs and obliques hurt ... for days.

To never give up hope.

And to take a picture with my heart.

That despite being scared as cuss while doing it, I can be the fiercest Mama Bear out there and challenge the so-called professionals in the name of doing what I know is right for my child.

That the words of a teen daughter are just that -- words -- and eventually they'll be apologized for or forgotten. And forgiven.

And that the stereotype of beautiful, blonde, cheerleader homecoming queens being mean-spirited bimbos is just that -- an inaccurate stereotype.

That courage looks like a young lady with braids in her hair, hands in her pockets and tears welling in her eyes as she walks to her first college campus meeting while Mom and Dad pull out of the parking lot, heading for home seven hours away.

That I can wholeheartedly love and adore someone whose political leanings -- and movie preferences -- are so different from mine.

That faith is a badge to wear loud and proud.

That bestowing the title of "Grandma" upon someone is one of the greatest honors one can give. And receive.

That there's something mesmerizing and magical in watching a child become an adult quite different -- and exceedingly better -- than the person I thought she might be.

And, most importantly, that it is indeed possible to survive with huge chunks of my heart living 819 miles away. Infinitely more lonely, but possible.

Happy 27th birthday to my goofy middle girl who will always be, no matter the number of years, my little Meggie Beggie Booger Buns!

Holiday question of the day:

What's the most magical thing to ever happen to you in December?