What I learned this week: Our voices matter

I used to sing, now I mostly whistle. For as long as I can remember, I've enjoyed accompanying music of all varieties, from big bands to little bands, from songs that rock to those that roll classically or otherwise. That accompaniment most often came by way of singing along.

Then I started losing my voice on a regular basis. Year after year — afteryearafteryearafteryear — I would get a bad cold that would quickly become laryngitis and I couldn't speak at all for days on end, much less sing. So I whistled.

Whistling came in handy when I had no voice, at least for carrying a tune. It didn't help a bit, though, when I needed to speak. For one long stretch of years, the years when I was a writer then editor at the newspaper, the loss of my voice every couple of months frustrated me to no end. I'd have interviews to conduct, people I'd have to speak to on the phone.

I'd gargle lemon juice in the morning before going to work, gargle lemon juice in the restroom at work, gargle it (or sometimes straight vinegar) before conducting an interview. The sour juices would cut through whatever rendered my vocal cords silent and and I could speak... for at least a few moments.

Sometimes, when the lack of a voice made it impossible for me to conduct my editorial business as I should, I had to ask my coworkers at times to return phone calls on important matters or I had to resort to emailing those who needed to talk to me. And this was before the days when folks checked their email on a regular basis — and long before texting was an option.

When my newspaper department was cut and my associates and I were left surviving on freelancing gigs, the loss of a voice still tripped me up now and again. I clearly recall one horrendous interview for a freelance article, a time when Froggy from Little Rascals had nothing on me and my croaking voice, yet the show, er, interview had to go on. I was so embarrassed listening to myself later as I transcribed that interview. So painful it was to hear, and so painful for my poor interviewee.

Soon after that interview, I started my blog. I've not lost my voice since.

As silly and new-agey as it may seem, I do believe in the mind-body connection, and the connection to losing my voice was this: I wasn't saying what I needed to say, the things I needed to let out, the things I wanted people to know about me and hear from me. My blog allowed me to make my voice heard. I was saying the things I needed to say, so no longer would I lose my voice.

Because I've been sick many, many times since starting my blog but have not once lost my voice, I firmly believe that through my blog I found my voice.

Through my blog others have found my voice, too. My voice seems to have resonated with the grandmas and others who have read Grandma's Briefs during the past four years. And this week I learned that my voice has resonated with others beyond grandmas, too.

See, back last year, there was a moment when I was incredibly frustrated by the manner in which I felt grandma bloggers were treated (or ignored) in the bloggy world. So I wrote a post about it, called it The Grandma in a Box. The post was so well received by the readers of Grandma's Briefs that I decided to enter it in the 2013 BlogHer Voices of the Year, which is a pretty big honor for the bloggers chosen.

And this week I learned that post of mine was named — out of the 2,600 entries — not only a Voices of the Year honoree, but the People's Choice selection in the humor category. (The other categories were Inspiration, Heart and OpEd.)

My voice... among the 100 chosen. My voice... one of four People's Choice winners. My voice... now officially a voice that mattered.

So unexpected, so humbling, so exciting.

All 100 bloggers selected in the 2013 BlogHer Voices of the Year — including several other midlife voices such as my Generation Fabulous friends Lois Alter Mark, Sandra Sallin, Janie Emaus (a Grilled Grandma!) and Shannon Bradley-Colleary — will be honored at the BlogHer conference July 26 in Chicago. The honor is a big deal, for me and for all the other bloggers named for their voices.

But the honor is a big deal for all grandparent bloggers, too, because my voice — a grandma voice — apparently mattered to folks who are not grandmas, folks who selected the Voices of the Year. Which is huge! That means grandma (and grandpa!) bloggers are finally getting noticed, finally being heard, finally, I hope, being let out of the box.

Not only does my voice matter, our voices matter. And that is what I learned this week, courtesy the 2013 BlogHer Voices of the Year.

I'm over and out for the week, but I look forward to seeing you again Monday here for the GRAND Social link party for grandparents. It's where you can share your posts — your voice — so I hope you'll join me.

Have a lovely weekend!

Today's question:

What did you learn this week?

Where you'll find me

In light of this week's priority being hosting long-distance family members who are in town to attend my cousin's funeral, I began looking at older posts to see what I should re-publish for today instead of straining to be creative on a very full day. Then it hit me! I have several post on other sites, musings many of you may have never seen.

So today I'm sharing with you other places where you'll find me, other articles you might enjoy. Peruse as you please...

GRANDPARENTS.COM —

What's a Grandma Worth?
Each Mother’s Day, Salary.com releases figures on what a mom is worth, the salary mothers working outside the home and within should make based on the duties she performs. Esteemed outlets from Forbes to Working Mother magazine tout the results, highlighting the ultimately priceless job mothers perform.

I think a similar study should be done on what a grandmother...Continue reading on Grandparents.com

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To Move or Not to Move (Near the Grandkids)
I'm a long-distance grandma. On occasion, I complain about the many miles between my two grandsons and me. After a recent long-winded lamentation about what I miss out on by them living so far away, I was asked, by a non-grandma, Why don't you just move closer to them?

My short answer: Sheesh! I have a life!

My long answer: I have a life. A life filled with interests...Continue reading on Grandparents.com

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Remembering Grandma
I’m a relatively new grandma, on the job for just over four years. Though a novice, it took me no time at all to consider myself THE grandma in my family — the family matriarch.

In my self-centered state, mentions of grandparenting led me to consider only my grandma experience, my state of affairs, my revered status. I’d mull the myriad ways my daughter might encourage my young grandsons to remember...Continue reading on Grandparents.com

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7 Challenges Grandmas Face at Thanksgiving
Life becomes easier once we become grandmothers. With fewer obligations to meet, there’s more fun to be had. Except, that is, when it comes to the holidays, and none more so than Thanksgiving.

To wit:

1. We have to share. We were...Continue reading on Grandparents.com

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Grandma is a Hoarder
I keep a fairly neat and tidy home. I head right from the mailbox to the recycling bin to throw out junk mail before entering the house. I make regular donations of unused clothing, books, and household items to Goodwill. I empty the fridge, cupboards, and closets without restraint.

When it comes to artwork from my grandkids, though, I simply...Continue reading on Grandparents.com

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Grandmothers Helping Others Through Activism
A popular concept of late is that of finding one’s tribe, the group with whom we fit, folks whose values and actions resonate with and reflect what’s in our hearts. Grandmother and photojournalist Paola Gianturco found her tribe in diverse women all across the globe. Then she wrote a book about them — the inspirational grandmothers facilitating...Continue reading on Grandparents.com

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HUFFINGTON POST —

Who Puts Baby in a Corner? Not This Grandma
My favorite grandma never spanked me. She also never yelled at me, reprimanded me or restricted me.

My not-so-favorite grandma? Well, she never spanked me, either. She did, though, once make me drink grape juice I didn't want. I immediately vomited up the purple stuff; grandma immediately yelled at me...Continue reading on Huffington Post (Also published on Better After 50)

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Good Riddance, 2012: An Open Letter to One of the Worst Years Yet
Dear 2012,

I had high hopes for you. After the economic mess 2007 and 2008 left us in, I had heard you'd set things right, bring us back to the normal we citizens all across the globe had grown to know and love — even though we didn't know how...Continue reading on Huffington Post

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The Perils of Pauline Multiplied: My Girly Girl Daughter Now Mothers All-Boy Boys
My grandsons live more than 800 miles away from me, so I see them only occasionally. One of the perks of being a long-distance grandma — and there are a few — is the obvious growth and maturing of my grandsons from one visit to the next.

I delight...Continue reading on Huffington Post (Also published on Better After 50)

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Becoming Grandma Too Soon: Tips for Navigating an Unplanned Pregnancy
As our children become young adults and we envision our eventual role as Grandma, we all imagine a certain scene, a certain set of events leading up to the glorious title and tasks of family matriarch. The imagined scene doesn't usually include a teen daughter — or a teen son...Continue reading on Huffington Post

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NEXT AVENUE

How to Help Your Unmarried Child Find Love
The current dating scene is a depressing place: too few suitable options and fewer still willing to commit. And far too many tears after yet another less-than-stellar first date.  

Such things should matter not one whit to me, a happily married 49-year-old grandmother. But they do matter — a lot. My heart breaks every time I witness, counsel and console my oldest, never-wed daughter...Continue reading on Next Avenue

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While those above featured original content, you'll also find me and my previously published content here:

GENERATION FABULOUS

One Woman's Pleasure is Another's Worst Job Ever
I’ve been thinking a lot about jobs lately. I’m sure it has something to do with my friend Debbie’s retirement, my bloggy friend Tammy’s job search, and the quest of my former coworkers/current friends as they seek out freelance writing gigs to replace those drying up. Or it could have everything to do with the...Continue reading on Generation Fabulous

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The Curse Takes Effect — Let the Gloating Begin
For centuries, or so I hear, mothers have placed upon the heads of their daughters The Curse. I’m talking about the doom and damnation of sorts that mothers pass along to their daughters, swearing that once they have children of their own, they will surely get their due for all the drama, trauma and heartache they once put their mothers through.

The Curse is such a cliché.

Well shiver me timbers...Continue reading on Generation Fabulous

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Yep, that's where you'll find me when I'm not here on Grandma's Briefs. There are a few others, but those are the biggies. There's more coming up, too, as amidst the madness and sadness of this week, I had articles due for two of the biggies above. I'll share with you those links, too, once they're published.

Thank you for reading!

Today's question:

What are some of your favorite websites to visit (other than Grandma's Briefs, of course)?

How to write a keepsake letter to a grandchild

Considering the proliferation of techy ways grandparents can now keep in touch with grandkids, it takes — for many of us — a fair amount of intention and forethought to actually create a handwritten letter for those little ones we love so much.

It takes motivation, too, and motivations are a plenty this time of year, considering the upcoming season of special occasions. Spring and summer are filled with graduations — from kindergarten through college — as well as pending departures to college, weddings, relocations and more.

Plus, regardless of season, there are always newborn grandbabies we want to commemorate with a letter for the baby book. There also are siblings of those newborns, to whom we want to express our love as they lose their only-child status and gain big brother or big sister status, and various special accomplishments and achievements for which we want to express our pride and delight.

The reasons for writing to a grandchild are many, yet it's apparent by the high number of "How to write a letter to a grandchild" search queries that lead folks to Grandma's Briefs that many grandmothers are anxious about putting pen to paper and letting loose with their sentiments. In light of those searches, today I offer some tips to help grandmothers (and others) do exactly that.

• Choose paper that's representative of you and of fairly heavy stock. Perhaps that means a flowery stationery, maybe monogram letterhead, possibly just an ivory sheet of paper. Be sure to have a pen that glides comfortably for you, as well. (Fluorescent pink ink optional!)

• One note before beginning: If you prefer using a word-processing application when writing your thoughts, first compose your letter in the application, then print for copying by hand onto the paper you intend for the special letter.

• Consider what you most want to convey. Are you writing to welcome the babe to your world? Congratulate the child on an accomplishment? Comfort him or her during a rough time? You don't need to know exactly what you're going to say at the outset, only the reason you're reaching out and a general idea of what you wish to express.

• Start the letter with the date at the top. As the letter will likely be cherished for years to come, it's important to have a date for the child to reference later when she pulls it from a box of keepsakes or finds it pressed between the pages of her baby book.

• Choose a salutation that is you. No need to be stilted and formal. If Hey, Babycakes! is more your style than Dear Robert, stick with it. And stick with your regular handwriting, too, just write neatly. (You can opt for printing it rather than cursive, if you expect the child will read it himself.)

• Begin with a loving statement on the child's well being, something along the lines of I hope you're having a great day. Or, if the child has been ill or dealing with a challenge, pose a question about the situation, such as How are things coming along with _____? Or for a new grandchild, try a simple Welcome to our family!

• Now it's time for the meat of the letter. Start off by flat-out stating why you're writing the letter: I'm writing today to tell you how proud I am of you. Or, I'm sending you this letter so you always have my words to look back on as you begin this new adventure. Maybe, I wanted to put down on paper some stories of your family, so you know the history of those who love you. You know why you want to write the letter, so that is where you start.

• From there, expand on the why. Write from the heart, from a place of love and caring for the grandchild. Don't edit yourself too much, and don't worry about saying things right and perfect and grammatically correct. Simply be yourself, and be conversational, as if you're talking in person to the grandchild. Sometimes we write better than we talk, and if that's the case, try imagining a conversation you might have with the child if you spoke the way you wish you could... then put that down on the paper.

• There's no ideal letter length, so go short, go long, go whatever length allows you to say what you wanted to say. Once you've done that, wrap it up with a loving statement or two. No need to apologize for ending, no need to say, "Well, I better go!" Simply mention how thankful you are for the opportunity to let your grandchild know what's in your heart and how much you love and care about him or her.

• Close with another loving statement: I love you. I'm thinking of you. You're in Grandma's thoughts. I'm praying for you. Again, just be you. Now might even be a great time to end with a phrase you want to be a special one between you and your grandchild. Hasta la vista, Baby! may not be the sentiment to share, but then again, if it's you, go for it.

• Now sign — as your grandchild knows you. Grandchildren will forever hold dear Grandma's signature, so make it clear but make it you.

Congratulations! You did it! You completed a handwritten letter to your grandchild.

Now deliver it! And don't forget that regardless of your grandchild's age, an age-appropriate sticker on the envelope is sure to bring a smile — even if the recipient is a soon-to-be college graduate!

Today's question:

When did you last handwrite a letter, to a child or otherwise?

What I learned this week: My prerogative

I've been working with words my entire adult life, whether as a part-time freelancer while juggling a non-word day job, or as a full-time word slinger of one degree or another.

I'm also a pretty heavy-duty reader. I may not read as much as I used to, at least not books, but I do read and read and read... and read and read some more. I read all sorts of things online, in magazines, in the newspaper — plus, yes, books now and then, too.

With all my reading and wordy pursuits and professions, you'd think I'd be a pretty good speller, pretty good at knowing how to pronounce a fairly wide range of words. You'd think that.

But... don't think that, for it's not true. And this week, I learned that once again.

This week I realized there's yet another word I've spelled incorrectly, pronounced incorrectly for a very long time.

The word? The word is prerogative.

And, yes, that is the correct spelling.

I used the word prerogative in my post yesterday. Only, I thought for sure it was spelled perogative, pronounced per-og-a-tive. That's what I've thought forever. Well, at least as long as I've known the word.

What I learned this week is that I've been wrong forever, at least when it comes to prerogative.

That word — meaning, according to Merriam-Webster, an exclusive or special right, power or privilege — is spelled p r e r o g a t i v e. And that word is pronounced, again according to Merriam-Webster, pri-ˈrä-gə-tiv.

I did not know that. Now I do.

Oh, what a crazy language we speak. And write. And read.

 That, dear friends, is what I learned this week.

Today's question:

What did you learn this week? And for bonus points: Did you know that is how prerogative is spelled and pronounced?

Reheated comfort food

As is the case with many flu- and bug-stricken folks around the country, the last few weeks have been a battle for me as I struggle with super bugs of dizzying sorts that I just can't seem to lick.

Yesterday, though, I felt a bit better than I have been. At least enough to actually cook dinner, compared to the frozen foods and fast foods Jim and I have been feasting on for far too many meals.

Considering I was still feeling fairly cruddy, it should be no surprise that I chose to make one of my favorite comfort foods: biscuits and gravy.

While I stirred the gravy, sausage bits swirling around the spoon as I waited for the milky goodness to get thick and creamy, I considered how much I love biscuits and gravy, how much comfort it provides when I feel not quite myself, physically or otherwise.

Yet I wouldn't give biscuits and gravy top billing on my list of favorite comfort foods, for that belongs to another dish.

I wrote about that particular dish — my very most favorite of all comfort foods — for Victoria magazine nearly 15 years ago. (Well, it was actually for the "Friends of Victoria" reader newsletter, which is neither here nor there, though, as I was paid just the same.)

Because my brain is still rather foggy and creative juices haven't been flowing well of late, I decided that today I'd simply share with you that little story of my favorite comfort food, word for word as published by Victoria magazine.

It goes like this:

A Taste of the Past

Simple pleasures are the best

I remember days from my childhood walking home from school for lunch through the frozen Minnesota landscape. Snow covered the ground and a thin crust of ice formed across the top. As I balanced each step, I tried to guess how long I could stay atop the snow before the crunchy crust gave way.

After trudging through the cold, I was greeted by an unexpected welcome. Inside our old farmhouse, bowls of warm macaroni and tomato sauce awaited my brothers, sisters, and me. Perfectly cooked, perfectly plain elbow macaroni bathed in brilliant red tomato sauce straight from the can, with just a sprinkling of salt.

What Mom prepared for us those winter days was love pure and simple, no extras added. In my memory, those simple lunches must have been right around Christmas, because I remember the contrast of the red sauce and the white of winter making a lasting impression.

Ever since then, I've turned to macaroni and tomato sauce whenever I'm in need of comfort. My high-school boyfriend and I used to enjoy it as an after-school snack, although his mother tried to convince me to add a little butter to my simple recipe. The butter makes it creamier and better, she explained, but to me, it no longer tasted like Mom's.

When I was pregnant with my first daughter, there were times I felt scared about my future role as a mother. Many days were comforted by the simple taste of home and those early memories of Mom boiling up a pot of elbow macaroni.

Now that I have three daughters and a slightly more sophisticated approach to cooking than I did in my first few years of marriage, I rarely make macaroni with tomato sauce. Our tastebuds prefer a bit of basil, a hit of garlic, or a sprinking of cheese — and elbow macaroni is rarely the pasta of choice these days.

But there are days when the kids are in school and I'm home from work that my husband comes home for lunch. If either of us feels under the weather, we satisfy our craving for comfort by cooking something simple. The first thing we reach for is the macaroni and tomato sauce — always kept on hand for just such emergencies. The soothing smell seems to curb some of life's worries and I find great satisfaction in knowing that my husband's enthusiasm for my lunch of choice is as strong as mine.

It is then I am completely reassured that I've made the right choices — in meals and in men.

— Lisa Carpenter, December 1998

Today's question:

What's at the top of your list of comfort foods?

From Huff/Post50: Who puts baby in a corner? Not this grandma

This post, sans the photos, was originally published on Huff/Post50, my first post as an official Huffington Post blogger.

Different grandmas, different styles

My favorite grandma never spanked me. She also never yelled at me, reprimanded me, restricted me.

My not-so-favorite grandma? Well, she never spanked me, either. She did, though, once make me drink grape juice I didn’t want. I immediately vomited up the purple stuff; Grandma immediately yelled at me for doing so. From that moment on, my “Favorite Grandma” title went to my other grandma—and my “Least Favorite Juice” designation went to grape.

When it came to being disciplined by my grandmothers, things could have been far worse. Back in the day—yes, that day—it was common for grandparents, heck, even neighbors and strangers, not to spare the rod when they deemed necessary, even when it came to children not their own.

I got lucky. Not in that I was a child above reproach and reprimand, but that my grandmothers pretty much left such things to my parents. Except when it came to drinking one’s juice.

Now that I’m a grandma, I consider those grandparenting styles, the disciplinary actions of my grandmothers, as well as the way the grandparents to my own children—my parents, my in-laws—conducted themselves with their grandkids.

The (step) patriarch of my husband’s family regularly swatted upside the heads those grandkids who committed minor infractions. I often wondered as a new member of my husband’s family if his step-dad’s popping kids for this and that was how he became known as “Pop” to the family.

My own mother, grandma to my three daughters, didn’t pop grandkids upside the head, but she often spanked on the rears the children of my younger sisters, regularly made them sit in the corner for misbehaving.

My sister-in-law and my sisters were okay with Pop and Grandma coming down hard on their kids. Both grandparents played a prominent role in helping the single moms raise the kiddos, so that may be why they were given more authority. It worked for their families. To each his own.

I, though, wasn’t okay with such disciplining of my own.

Not that my children were perfect by any means, or that they didn’t deserve to be disciplined upon breaking bad. But if the discipline necessary went beyond a stern look or word, perhaps a slight swat upon a diapered bottom for safety’s sake, we had an unspoken “hands off” policy. Nobody puts my babies in a corner—except for their dad and me.

Yet my husband and I didn’t put our kids in the corner. Nor did we pop them on the head now and then. We did, though, hand out some fairly strict disciplinary action when our daughters needed it. We sent them to their rooms, and we took away privileges. On occasion, we even spanked them.

When it comes to my grandsons, though—ages four-and-a-half and one-and-a-half— spanking, shaming, popping upside one’s head just isn’t my style. I know some grandmas do it, but I won’t. I simply cannot imagine inflicting the slightest bit of pain upon my grandsons.

That doesn’t mean I’ve not inflicted emotional pain, though. Unintentionally, I assure you, just as my not-so-favorite grandma did with the grape juice.

Case in point: As a long-distance grandma, I pack a pretty hefty lot of luggage when I visit my grandsons. In that luggage is always what we call my “Grandma Bag,” filled with crafts, books, and fun to fill the time with the boys. The rule is that my grandsons must wait until I share treasures from my bag, not go into it themselves.

Also in my luggage—as surely applies to many a grandparent—is medication. Pills and more that should never, ever be touched by little ones and one of the reasons my grandsons are not allowed in “Gramma’s room” unless I’m with them.

Most can likely guess what happened: I entered my room one morning to find my oldest grandson sitting on the floor, happily going through the goodies in my Grandma Bag, the bag that had been in my suitcase, right beside those other things he was to never, ever, touch. He peered up at me with a grin over all the fun Gramma had in store—then immediately realized the mistake he’d made. He burst into tears, I calmly reminded him that he’s to never, ever touch Gramma’s things without first asking.

After lots of tears from him and lots of lecturing from me, my grandson apologized for the bad choice he’d made. I, of course, forgave him. The question is, did he forgive me? I know firsthand that grudges toward grandmas can run deep, and I didn’t want my grandson to forever hold against me the Grandma Bag incident.

Regardless of whether my grandson forever revokes from me the “Favorite Grandma” designation or not, I hope he will eventually realize my response could have been far different, could have included a spanking.

With the holidays upon us, what other grandmas might do may be tested. Families will gather, kids will act up. Some grandparents will spank or send kids into corners, some parents will bristle. Or not. To each his own.

I just know that when it comes to my own, nobody puts my grandbabies in a corner—except, maybe, their own mom and dad.

Today's question:

What is your experience with grandparents disciplining your children or you disciplining your own grandchildren?

To my 20-year-old self

I'm fortunate to be part of a Facebook group of midlife women bloggers, called GenFab (Generation Fabulous). This week we have our first blog hop, posting on "What would you tell your 20-year-old self?" Here is my response, followed by links to the moving posts from my GenFab friends.

Dear 20-year-old Lisa,

You became a mom when still just a child yourself. As you suspect, the age at which you have your three precious daughters (yep, that babe in your belly right now is a girl, too) will affect everything you do and are throughout your life.

That can be a good thing, though—if you allow it.

In hopes you will indeed allow it, I have some advice for you. Despite you being stubborn in ways many have yet to realize, I do hope you'll take my advice to heart, act on it.

My advice is this:

Stop being so scared. You're scared about what's to come, what people think of you, what your girls—hell, what you—will grow up to do and be. You're scared of the other, older moms who seem to know and have and be so much more than you. You're scared of not knowing enough, not having enough, not being enough.

Well knock it off! There's no reason to be scared. Well, there is reason sometimes. But there will soon be an advertising tagline that says, Feel the fear and do it anyway. Do exactly that—always, in all ways.

Question authority. That principal who tells you it's okay to send your barely five-year-old daughter to kindergarten? Question that. That doctor who tells you tubes in a child's ears are a thing of the past? Question that. That same doctor, who tells you your daughter has an infection when it turns out to be a <cuss> hernia? Question that. When you're assured a negative amortization loan is okay, question it. And when an editor rejects your work, question that—then send it to other editors and never. ever. give. up.

Don't take the job. A few years from now, you'll be offered a job by someone you consider worldly and wise. Don't take it. The damage to your self-esteem, marriage and more because of "friends" you make there is so not worth it. Trust me. Yes, your household desperately needs the money, but Just say NO! (another slogan that will soon be a pop culture hit).

Brace yourself. I know you, I know you'll ignore the advice above. So brace yourself. The stress caused by the consequences of that bad choice will wreak havoc on your health in ways that will affect you each and every day for the rest of your life. Seriously. But know this: It's not as bad as doctors first tell you. You will walk again. You will see again. In fact, your neurologist will one day tell you you're a miracle. Trust that doctor. And trust that you will be okay.

Brace yourself, part two. Those little girls you hold in your arms today and the tiny one in your womb? Well, they're going to hate you. They will love you at first, of course. But when they're teens, they will hate you. Or at least think they hate you and make you think they really do. Because you'll be a mean mom and won't allow them to do much of what their friends do. Yet you won't be able to stop the typical teen stuff your girls manage to do anyway. And your disapproval, restrictions, and determination that they respect themselves and their parents—and that they just plain stay alive through the trauma-filled teen years!—will have them screaming, crying, resisting, and swearing they hate you because you are such a mean mom.

Be mean anyway. Regardless of their freakouts and your heartbreak and self doubt, be mean. It's what those girls—what many children—need. One day they will thank you, I swear. In fact, one night 28 years from now, that tiny bundle in your belly, the baby whom you've not yet met, will send you a text (something you'll learn to do decades from now) that says this:

Your baby girl's text—along with similar gratitude from her older sisters, once grown—confirm being mean was one of the most right things you'll do.

Have no doubt, the years ahead will definitely suck at times. But those sucky times will make you stronger, smarter, bring into breathtaking focus the brilliance of the many non-sucky times. Ultimately, you, your marriage (which does last, by the way, despite the challenges, stats, and naysayers), your babies, your eventual grandbabies, your life will turn out far better than you ever imagined.

Even if you don't listen to my advice.

Which I know you won't. Because you've always been far more stubborn than most people realize.

I love you anyway.

~ Your far older and a wee bit wiser self

Today's question:

What would you tell your 20-year-old self?

Please enjoy the heartfelt posts from my GenFab friends. Warning: Tissue alert for most!

The grandma in a box

This post was named People's Choice in the humor category in the 2013 BlogHer Voices of the Year.

A STORY:

Once upon a time there was a woman.

Who had a husband.

And three daughters.

Plus one house, two cats, two dogs, and an addiction to collecting books and pictures of people she loved.

And she had a writing job that had nothing—yet everything—to do with all of the above that she loved.

She liked rock music, independent films, and playing games with her friends—which was usually paired with a wee bit of drinking, too, whiskey or beer but never, ever umbrella drinks of any sort.

The woman also liked learning new things, especially when it came to computers, cameras, cooking and cantatas.

(She also really liked alliteration, so cantatas worked far better in that sentence than piano.)

The woman loved her mom, her dad, her brothers and sisters. She loved Jesus and America, too—as well as stories and songs that turned her heart inside out.

The woman liked the things most women do. No matter what their age.

Eventually the woman’s daughters grew up and flew away. One got married and had two sons.

Which made the woman a grandma. Yet another thing she loved.

So the woman added to her writing job, writing about those grandsons. Writing about them online—along with lots of other things she'd write about—on a blog.

Which was confusing to some.

It wasn't the writing on the blog that confused some, it was the being a grandma. Grandmas are old and know nothing about being online. Or anything interesting at all, for that matter. Grandmas rock in rocking chairs, they hug and kiss their grandkids, they pull up their gray hair into buns. Maybe they crochet. But that's pretty much it.

At least that's what it seemed some non-grandma bloggers thought of grandma bloggers. They’re only grandmas. They’re old. They’re boring. And they’re invisible if there's the G-word in their name, the G-word in their game.

Once a grandma,only a grandma, they thought.

Some unenlightened brands, bloggy networks, and PR folks seemed to think the same thing, too.

If they even thought of grandmas at all.

Other grandmas understood. Other grandma bloggers really understood—even those who didn’t write specifically about their grandchildren, about being a grandma.

The other grandmas understood because all of the grandmas, online and off, were put in the very same box. Were trying to get out of the same box. Together were saying, HEY, you meanies who squished us up into this uncomfortable GRANDMA box: We want out! We love our grandkids way beyond words, but they’re not all we love. Can’t you see we are so much more than grandmas? Can’t you see we are all that we were before? Can't you see that we are now all that AND a bag of potato chips, er, grandmas!

But the non-grandmas didn’t see any of that. They didn't see the woman and her fellow grandmas pounding on the box. All they saw was the word GRANDMA. And the box.

If they saw anything at all.

Every once in a while, someone did see something at all. Mostly it was just the word GRANDMA, though, and they thought the boxed-up grandmas would be happy as clams to talk about canes and assisted living centers and denture cream and gadgets that help them when they’ve fallen and can’t get up.

Those non-grandmas didn’t realize grandmas can and do get up. On their own. And they get down, too. That they're still vibrant and relevant. That they still love music. Still have jobs that have nothing to do with being a grandma, yet love the job of being a grandma, too. They still have spouses and daughters and sons and parents and brothers and sisters and animals and friends and interests.

And that they do all the very same things they did before they became grandmas.

They even—gasp!—still have S-E-X.

And they still talk about and write about things that matter, with people and for people who matter.

So that woman who was now a grandma but still had a husband and three daughters and still really loved all sorts of things non-grandmas think grandmas shouldn't or couldn't like decided to write about being stuck in the GRANDMA box.

In hopes others might see her and her grandma friends in there and let them out.

Or…perhaps they might do nothing at all.

But at least that grandma who loves, loves, loves being a grandma yet is so much more than a grandma would have her say.

Then she ended her plea for release from the GRANDMA box with an oh-so cute photo of her grandsons. Simply because she could.

And to further confuse those non-grandmas who Just. Don't. Get. It. 

THE END

Today's question:

Anyone second that emotion?

Story time: Good Day, Bad Day

Open communication with your grandkids matters immensely and is always worth encouraging any way you can. Here is a brief story I wrote, for you to share with the little ones in your life to initiate conversations about their days.

Good Day, Bad Day

 

Watching the clouds, imagining shapes,
Visiting the zoo and acting like apes.
Bad day?
Good day!

Falling at school, getting scratched up and bruised,
Having mud splashed on your favorite new shoes.
Good day?
Bad day!

Being picked leader for the day in your class,
Finding a ladybug deep in the grass.
Bad day?
Good day!

Riding your bike when the tire goes flat,
Then the wind blows away your favorite hat.
Good day?
Bad day!

Presents from Grandma that came in the mail,
Watching the boat you made take off and sail.
Bad day?
Good day!

Losing a fight with your older brother,
Tearing the picture you colored for Mother.
Good day?
Bad day!

Getting a shot and feeling no pain,
Seeing a rainbow after the rain.
Bad day?
Good day!

Days can be happy and days can be sad.
Good day or bad day—which have you had?

©Lisa Carpenter/art: Microsoft images

Today's question:

Good days or bad? Which have you most recently had?

The Saturday Post: Budapest edition

From Billy Collins, former US Poet Laureate (2001-2003):

Considering trading in my keyboard for a fountain pen!

Today's question:

When did you last write any form of poetry?