Gramma's wake-up call

When I visit Bubby, he loves to wake me in the morning. I'm supposed to stay in my bed until he creeps in and tells me "Good morning, Gramma!" Then he usually crawls into bed with me and we chat for a few minutes before heading downstairs for breakfast.

If Bubby happens to sleep late and I get up before he does, he chastises me with, "I was supposed to wake you up, Gramma!" I then either return to my bed and we go through the motions of how things were supposed to go down, or we agree that I'll stay in bed the following morning until my wake-up call from Bubby.

Bubby's alarms of choice include simply whispering "Good morning, Gramma," shaking a jingle-bell adorned dog collar, or blowing his harmonica. The first is a sweet way to start the day; the second two are mildly alarming. One morning this past week, though, there was this—at about quadruple the decibels of this video (or so it seemed):

Although not the way I typically rise and shine, I can handle bells and I can handle harmonicas rousing me from a deep sleep. A psycho hip-hop reindeer rocking the house—and my brain—right outta the REM stage not so much.

Actually—and this is no joke or exaggeration, folks—I thought I was having a heart attack. Honest. I didn't remember the psycho reindeer from previous trips so hearing it go off at 6:03 in the morning was the trippiest experience I've had in quite some time. And the scariest. And the closest I've come to my heart going into overload and exploding right there on the spot.

Bubby didn't know to what degree he freaked out Gramma because instead of screeching my instinctive response of "What the <cuss>? <Cussing> stop that <cussing> <cusser> <cussing> NOW!", I simply said, "Turn that off now, Bubby. It's morning and that's too loud for Gramma."

Then I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to calm my thunderous heart.

An hour later I was still trying to get my heart rate back to normal. And wondering what's up with the near heart attack. Then wondering if I'm getting too old for this grandma gig. Followed by wondering if "too old to be a grandma" is an oxymoron of some sort.

It didn't matter because my racing heart likely just means this grandma is simply way outta shape.

And way not into the hip-hop reindeer thing.

Especially as a morning wake-up call.

Today's question:

What serves as your morning wake-up call? (Bonus points to those who say whether or not they use the "snooze" function.)

Make-believe Gramma

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?

Bull***t! I'm the grandma!

As I've grown older, I've become convinced that I've earned a few things, that because I've lived relatively long and fought relatively hard, I now deserve to do what I want, when I want, for whatever reason I want.

Bottom line in my mind: I've learned and earned empowerment, in any and all areas of my life.

Except when it comes to being a grandma, that is.

Yes, I'm the older, the wiser, the more experienced in the crowd known as my family. And yes, I deserve a little respect in that position. But in my short time wearing the grandma hat, I've quickly learned — through my own misplays and mistakes and watching those of others — that empowerment and getting my own way should take backseat to doing what's right for my child, for my grandchildren.

Time and again I've wanted to throw down the gauntlet and say, "Bulls***t! I'm the grandma!" I have, in fact, done exactly that ... only to be quickly put in my place. If not by others, then by my conscience.

Now when tempted to steamroll others with my status, I forcefully remind myself of what consequences may follow uttering the BS refrain:

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and I refuse to mince my words regarding the idiotic names under consideration for my grandchild! Yeah, and you'll make the parents more determined to name their child exactly that just to spite you, because that's what kids — even adult kids — do.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and I will be in the delivery room when my grandaby is born, regardless of who has asked me to stay out! Yeah, and you'll forever be responsible and remembered for the dark cloud looming over one of your child's most memorable moments.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and I will be there to help out when Mom and baby come home from the hospital, regardless of her wishes. Yeah, and you'll create a resentment that's hard to erase.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and that grandbaby of mine needs to be circumsized (or NOT circumsized) and those silly kids darn well better listen to me! Yeah, and you'll soon be told — or should be told — that it's darn well none of your business.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and I'll put that baby on its stomach (or give a pacifier, or not give a pacifier, or feed water, or demand toilet training, or keep the kid in diapers) any time I'm the one babysitting that little one! Yeah, and you'll soon no longer be asked to babysit that little one.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma, this is my house, and I'll smoke (or drink or swear or make racist comments) in my own home regardless of who is here. If they don't like it, they don't need to visit. Yeah, and soon they won't.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and I'll give my grandbaby all the gifts I can afford. Yeah, and those gifts will soon not be appreciated — or they'll be put away by Mom and Dad for reasonable rationing.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and that kid is going to learn not to talk back or he's getting a thunk upside the head! Yeah, and thunks upside the head will be what you're remembered for.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and if my grandbaby is hungry, he's gonna get all the snacks he wants! Yeah, and will you be footing the bill — emotional and monetary — related to him eventually being obese and/or ostracized?

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and if I want to give noisy toys that make Mommy and Daddy go bonkers, no one's gonna stop me.Yeah, and those toys will end up mysteriously broken ... or at your house.

Bull***t! I'm the grandma and if the other grandma gets to do that, then I'm doing it, too ... and better! Yeah, and winning — or even engaging in — the grandma-one-upmanship battle leaves only your child and grandchild as the losers.

I've cringed watching other grandmas commit some of the above. And I readily (and shamefully) admit to committing a few myself. In my defense, I'm fairly new to the grandma jig and have not yet gotten the dance down completely. Maybe I never will, as I have no doubt there are many missteps to come.

But I have learned one thing for sure, which is that when it comes to being a grandma, relinquishing my power is one of the most empowering things I can do. For I am the grandma, and as the grandma, I'd much rather be known for my grace than for my grit.

And that is no bull***t.

Photo: From Megan's Facebook page.

Today's question:

Which of the above have you done, seen done, had done to you, cringed over? Any others to add?

Grandma performance review

As a former employee and supervisor, I’ve received and given many a performance review in my day. Because I’m no longer employed in a full-time job, I’ve done neither in quite a while.

Time for that to change.

Today I work both ends of the review process — giving and receiving a review for myself in the highly coveted position of Grandma, using the performance evaluation document of a former employer as my guide.

Performance Recognition and Planning Guide

Name: Lisa

Position: Gramma to Bubby

Date of hire: 6/2008

Date of this review: 2/2011

Rating Scale:

5Exceptional

4Exceeds Standards

3Meets Standards

2Needs Improvement

1Unsatisfactory

Achievements — Lisa is efficient in the position, regularly researching ways to forge a strong relationship with Bubby despite the miles between them. She’s arranged many visits to the desert, even in light of a dwindling bank account. She’s also learned to Skype, use Picasa, blog with abandon, use USPS and UPS to her advantage. In addition, she depends on regular telephone communication with her daughter and grandson despite hating the telephone. Rating: 4

Ownership — Lisa takes full ownership of her position as Gramma, never shirking the name or duties involved. She takes pride in the position, sometimes to the extreme, not wanting to share the title with others. Rating: 4

Results — Bubby has no doubt who Gramma is and delights in his time with her. During Skype sessions, Bubby most wants to view toys, cars, and trucks PawDad shares with him instead of the picture books Lisa shares, making it clear more enjoyable books need to be chosen or Lisa needs to steal the cars and truck from PawDad and show them to Bubby herself. Rating: 3

Teamwork — Lisa works well with PawDad, her partner in grandparenting. Excepting, of course, her desire to steal Matchbox emergency vehicles during Skype sessions. Rating: 3

Communication — See “Achievements.” Rating: 4

Initiative — Lisa is proactive in problem solving when it comes to finding new ways to engage Bubby, in person or long-distance. Rating: 4

Skills — Lisa demonstrates a high-level of long-distance ability, regularly making use of ideas and activities offered up by fellow grandparent bloggers. She needs (and desires) more face time with Bubby in order to improve her skills and efficiency in one-on-one situations with the grandchild. Rating: 4

Dependability — Regardless of day, distance or dollars involved, Lisa will do anything and everything for Bubby. Rating: 4

Overall Rating = 3.75 Meets/Nearly Exceeds Standards

A supervisor once told me that although I was doing an excellent job, corporate policy prevented her from granting me a 5 on the scale as that would mean I’m as good as can be, leaving no room to strive for improvement. At the time, I considered it a bunch of hooey from tight-fisted executives who didn’t want to pay the higher salary due those rating at the top in reviews.

Now in my position as Grandma, I understand the policy of not earning a 5. I’m not as good as it gets and I surely want to continue to improve. Not in hopes of earning a bigger paycheck but with the goal of improving my performance in one of the most important positions I’ve held yet — Gramma to Bubby ... plus soon to be Birdy and countless other grandchildren to come.

Today’s question:

Using the numbered Ratings Scale above, how do you rate your performance in one of your current positions, personal or professional?

OUT: e-mail, IN: Grandma mail

This time last year, crafty grandmas were posting photos and directions for the festive little Valentine's Day mailboxes they'd created for their grandchildren. The marvy mailboxes posted by Nina and Kathy were exactly what I needed for Bubby -- a Grandma Mail box for all the goodies to come from his long-distance grandma year-round, not just for Valentine's Day.

But I was late to the crafty grandma game. I searched high and low for the little white tin boxes. At Michaels, Joann's, Hobby Lobby, and the dollar bin at Target (where others mentioned finding theirs). No little white boxes anywhere.

So I purchased one of the sturdy formed-paper ones from Hobby Lobby, along with cute stickers of things of interest to Bubby, and I made my own Grandma Mail box just for Bubby. It turned out cute -- despite it feeling a teensy bit to me like the Grandma Mail box version of Eddie Murphy's 'house burgers'. One good thing about my version was that it was larger than the little white boxes the on-top-of-things grandmas had used, which would be ideal for the larger envelopes and small packages I planned to send to Megan to pass along to Bubby, lifting the little red flag to announce mail from Gramma had arrived.

Bubby, though, found the larger size perfect for packing the thing full with his cars and trucks and carrying it around the house. And because he loved doing so so much, Megan let him. And the Grandma Mail box -- being made of "sturdy" paper -- turned out not to be so sturdy after all. So much for that.

Well, it just so happened I was in Target the other day and -- glory be! -- the dollar bins beckoned, as they were filled to the brim with the little white tin boxes with red plastic flags, red ones, too. I wouldn't miss out this year! Halleluiah!

I brought it home, adorned it for Bubby, and this, friends and fellow grandmas, was included in the Grandma Bag I toted to the desert with me this week: 

It's adorned inside and out with stickers of things near and dear to Bubby's heart: trucks and emergency vehicles! There's his name on the other side, "Love, Gramma" on the bottom, and the little red flag to announce when mail has arrived from Gramma (placed there by Megan, of course; when the mail is too large, Bubby will find a "Notification of Package" form directing him to see Mommy to pick up the real thing).

This year I was prepared. I thought ahead. And when I say I thought ahead, I mean I really thought ahead: I wanted Birdy to have a Grandma Mail box, too, so I bought one for him, to be decorated later.

But I didn't stop there. Determined to not be caught without a box again, I bought several -- so each and every one of my grandkids to come will have a Grandma Mail box:

Eight should be enough. Megan and Preston plan to have three or four kids and the rest should cover Brianna and Andrea's kiddos. Forget that Brianna is nowhere near ready to have children yet and that Andrea swears she never will have children. Ya just never know.

As a former Girl Scout leader, the motto I once drilled into the heads of my little Daisies and Brownies has now become my Grandma Motto: Be Prepared!

I'm pretty sure I am prepared now. At least when it comes to Grandma Mail boxes!

Today's question:

What's the best thing you recently received in the mail -- USPS mail, not e-mail?