Introducing my real grandsons

When I first bandied about the idea of blogging about being a grandma in 2009, my one and only grandson was one year old. As he'd be the star of the show, I asked my middle daughter — Megan, mother to my grandboy — if I could post photos of him and stories about him... as long as I didn't use his real name, didn't reveal where he lived. For safety reasons.

Megan not only gave me permission to share stories and such about my grandson with the world, she allowed me to use his nickname, too, in place of his real name. Thus Bubby made his debut on Gramma's blog, on Grandma's Briefs.

Three years later came grandson No. 2. I initially dubbed him Birdya nickname Megan hated and had no qualms about telling me so. Just call him Mac because it's kinda sorta like his name, she urged. Mac it was!

Three years after Mac came another grandson. I nicknamed him Jak. Which had absolutely nothing to do with his real name, but it rolled off the tongue (and blog posts) when naming the three boys: Bubby, Mac, and Jak.

I've been quite diligent about using those nicknames for my grandsons. At times I'd have to scurry to the computer hours after a post had been published when upon rereading, I'd notice I screwed up and used one or more boys' real name and needed to quickly correct it. If photos of the boys included a name on a T-shirt, artwork, awards, gift tags or such, I blurred them out with photo editing software of some sort.

I was determined to never reveal the reality of my grandsons' long deliberated over names. Adorable one carefully chosen according to Megan's parameters that demanded her kids' names have two syllables, like Mom's and Dad's names, and ended with the same sound, like Mom's and Dad's names. (Which will make sense once you see their names.)

A few weeks ago I was contacted by a writer for Upworthy.com. She wanted to interview me about how I stay connected with my long-distance dearies using techy sorts of stuff. And she wanted to use the real names of those dearies with whom I connect in the article.

Names I'd never shared online. Gah!

I asked Megan if that might be okay. It was more than okay, she expressed. In fact, Preston couldn't stand the nicknames I used for his sons, she revealed, and would be pleased as punch if I'd just use their real names in everything published about them. Including my blog posts.

So I provided the real names for that article. Which you can read by clicking the title below — after reading the rest of this post, of course:

One grandmother has found a way to help her daughter out from miles away

Upworthy article on grandmother

Well, now that the real names...

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My MS anniversary

My MS anniversary

Twenty-five years ago today, on April 24, 1992, my daughters' elementary school held its annual school carnival. While the girls — Brianna in fourth grade, Megan second, and Andrea first — visited booths with their friends, Jim and I manned the cake walk.

It was a good night…

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Funeral finery

Funeral finery

My dad's funeral service was held last Friday. The Sangre de Cristo mountain range towering over Westcliffe and adjacent Silver Cliff — Dad's official town of residence — dressed in its most impressive best for the occasion.

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My dad's obituary and the difference between big newspapers and small

My dad passed away Sunday evening. I got the call from my sister Debbie 20 seconds before the Kansas City Chiefs beat the Denver Broncos in Sunday's overtime game. I missed the field goal that put the win in the Chiefs' column.

Priorities.

daughter and dying father
My last photo with Dad, October 27, 2016

My dad was unexpectedly diagnosed with a relatively obscure cancer — myelodysplastic syndrome — the very same week last January that my dog Lyla was diagnosed with her brain tumor. Lyla passed a month later. It took my dad 10 months longer.

Witnessing Dad's steady decline from a hearty, humor-loving 76-year-old to a shrinking (yet still humor-loving) 77-year-old sucked for family. Even more sucky for him, as he was fully cognizant, fully aware of his wasting away, especially as the wasting accelerated to runaway train speed near the end.

I'm filled with sorrow at Dad's death. But that's unexpectedly balanced by my joy he's out of pain and distress. I have no doubt he's in heaven. I'm especially thankful he had no doubt that's where he'd end up, once again loving on his beloved...

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