When I first learned I'd be a grandma, I knew my new grandbaby would take possession of huge chunks of my heart. 

I also knew the baby would command my reserves of physical energy -- for hugging and rocking and playing and dancing and ... Well, you get the picture.

What I didn't know was how much of my mind the grandbaby would take over, how much of my thought process would be consumed by the little one. But since Bubby's arrival in the summer of 2008, I think about him all the time.

I never expected this. I was never told by other grandmas about the mind-jacking the little munchkins perform. I never read about it in any books of grandmother tips/advice/lore I consulted.

But Bubby is always on my mind. Always.

When I hear a song on the radio, I imagine bopping around with Bubby. When I cook up some sweets or try out a new recipe, I wonder if Bubby would like it. When I'm at the craft store, I seek out crafty things he might want to do. When I'm out and about, I see things I'd like to point out to him: the deer, fox, squirrels, dogs in the neighborhood; the great big truck (he loves trucks!) that just drove by; the loud airplane overhead; the sweet and squishy Valentines Day stuffed animals in the stores.

I think of him all the time.

I'm not crazy. Honest. I do think of other things. I work, I read, I sing, I write, I engage in a few not-so-grandmotherly activities (I'm talking shots and such here, folks -- get your mind out of the gutter). I do have room in my little peabrain for thoughts other than those of Bubby.

But, like I said, Bubby is always on my mind -- just not always top of mind. He's always right there, sometimes just below the surface of more pressing thoughts, waving and saying "Hey Grandma (or Graya)! I'll just be over here, smiling and dancing and playing my harmonica while I wait for you to come out and play."

(Okay, I admit, I do sound a little crazy.)

I've tried to think of an analogy for the way Bubby has taken up residence in my mind. A way to express how he's sometimes the only thing I'm thinking about; other times he just makes whatever else I'm thinking about more interesting ... or at least more manageable. But I suck at analogies -- and metaphors and similes and all those other "writerly" things that a writer should know -- and the only thing I could come up with is cheesy. Literally.

Here's my analogy: Bubby is the cheese on my pizza. Sometimes he's the only thing, the most important thing, the tastiest thing on my mind and in my life. My cheese pizza.

Other times I have a topping or two -- an idea or two, an experience or two ... say, a ham and pineapple sort of life, enhanced by the cheese. I love the ham, I love the pineapple, but it's made even better by the cheese on top of it.

And during the very best of times, I have a meat-lovers supreme pizza with extra onion and green pepper (hold the mushrooms). Lots of flavor, lots of good things going on. Mmmm. mmmm, mmmm. But most important of all, those supreme pizzas demand extra cheese. The topping that tops all others. The special addition that makes it the best pizza ever. Loads of ooey, gooey cheese.

Now that's what I'm talking about!

Yep, silly analogy or not, Bubby -- who makes everything more palatable, more enjoyable, more knock-me-down-filled-to-the-brim-with-love -- is definitely the cheese on my pizza!

Today's question:

What's YOUR favorite kind of pizza?