Meeting the Queen, plus GRAND Social No. 63

I'm back from BlogHer and have much to share. I must say, one of the high points of the conference was the warm reception I received from brand representatives I spoke to about the wants and needs of the baby boomer and grandparent readers of Grandma's Briefs. More than once I was told, "That is exactly the demographic we want to reach!" And I promise you it wasn't makers of hearing aids or walking aids saying such things, which was quite refreshing. Good things to come.

Another highlight of the conference was, of course, the Voice of the Year ceremony, hosted by Queen Latifah. There were a few disappointing glitches in the ceremony, but it was indeed rather cool to be standing next to the Queen. In the picture below, there's a woman — my friend, beautiful and talented Sandra — between the Queen and me (on Queen Latifah's right), but for one brief moment, Sandra stepped forward to give direction to the photographer, and I scooted over and stood right next to Queen Latifah. I considered fighting Sandra for the spot when she returned, but I decided to play nice and let her have her original spot back.

Group photo courtesy Ellen Gale Williams, http://www.sisterhoodofthesensiblemoms.com/

I'll share more in the coming days and weeks about other highlights of BlogHer and such, but a highlight of today is GRAND Social No. 63. Cheers to getting the show on the road!

How it works:

• All grandparent bloggers are invited to add a link. You don't have to blog specifically about grandparenting, just be a grandparent who blogs.

• To link up a post, copy the direct URL to the specific post — new or old — that you want to share, not the link to your blog's home page. Then click the blue button marked with "Add your link" below and follow the directions.

• You can add up to three posts, but no duplicates, contests, giveaways, or Etsy sites, please.

• Adding a mention such as This post linked to the GRAND Social to your linked posts is appreciated. Or, you can post the GRAND Social button anywhere on your page using the following code:

<a href="/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><img src="http://grandmasbriefs.squarespace.com/storage/GRANDsocialbutton.jpg " alt="Grandma’sBriefs.com" width="125" height="125" /></a>

• The GRAND Social linky is open for new posts through Wednesday evening, so please come back to see those added after your first visit.

• If you're not a blogger, you have the pleasure of being a reader. Bloggers who link up would be honored to have one and all — other bloggers as well as readers — visit, read and, if so moved, comment, even if just a "Hey, stopping by from the GRAND Social."

• For another grandparent linky, visit Connie's Grandparent's Say It Saturday Link Party each Saturday.

What I learned this week: Reason No. 11 why I won't live near my grandsons

As many of you know, I live more than 800 miles away from my grandsons. When my daughter and son-in-law first told my husband and me we'd be grandparents, it broke my heart. I was certain I'd not survive unless they relocated to live near me.

They never did.

Of course, there was the option of my husband and me moving to live near them. A lot of grandparents do that, but it's just not in the cards for me. I wrote about my reasons for not doing so in this article. At the time I wrote it, one big reason I noted for not moving to be near my grandsons is the fact I have a life here in the mountains — a life that includes my (yes, adult and out of the nest) oldest and youngest daughters who live in the mountains, too, despite my middle daughter and her family preferring the desert.

There are other reasons why I won't live near my grandsons, and another I hadn't originally thought of became crystal clear this week.

I like to take photos. I'm not the greatest, though I'm working on getting better. Here are two I took of nature in all its glory while looking out the sliding doors to my deck this week:

 
A butterfly enjoying the dianthus.

A squirrel relaxing in the tree.

Compare those two photos to two my daughter took of nature in all its glory around her place this week. Keep in mind that this is my daughter who, along with her husband and my two grandsons, lives in the desert. Here are the photos she texted me:

A scorpion lodged inside the honeycomb window blinds.

A lizard in the garage — just outside the door to the house.

I'd say nature in the mountains (my place) is far easier on the eyes — and nerves — than nature in the desert (their place), wouldn't you?

The bottom line/the moral of the story being that if getting to see these two adorable kids...

 

... on a regular basis means seeing those two frightening critters on a regular basis, too, I'll take being a long-distance grandma any day. I'm not proud to admit that... but it's true.

And that is what I learned this week.

Well, I also learned that my daughter is far more brave than I ever thought she'd be, that little Meggie of mine who once (as a teen!) captured a spider in our family room late one night by placing a heavy bowl over it, then taping a note to the bowl asking me to take care of what was trapped inside once I awoke. Now look at her — taking photos instead of screaming and running!

(Now I hope I'll be just as brave and not be completely freaked out about icky desert things when I visit my daughter, son-in-law and grandsons in 10 days!)

Best wishes for a critter-free weekend, wherever you may be! I look forward to seeing you all again on Monday!

Today's question:

What did you learn this week?

What I learned this week: Phenomenal women rock my world

This week, courtesy of my ever-phenomenal friend Ruth from Cranium Crunches, I was introduced to another phenomenal Ruth — Ruthie Foster. Specifically, Ruth shared with me Ruthie's version of Maya Angelou's poem Phenomenal Woman. Ruthie Foster has the most, yes, phenomenal voice. Take a listen:

That rendition of Maya Angelou's poem — a musical arrangement by Amy Sky (surely another phenomenal woman) so powerfully and soulfully belted out by Ruthie Foster — piqued my curiosity about the original poem. I, surprisingly, had never read or heard it before. So I searched, found, and share it here, read by Ms. Angelou herself:

That is what I learned this week: A phenomenal poem and phenomenal song that I just had to share with the phenomenal mothers, grandmothers and others in my world.

Cheers to phenomenal women! And an extra special toast to Ruth for sharing this week's lesson that so touched my soul.

Today's question:

What did you learn this week?

Photo replay: On generosity and authenticity

My bloggy friend Barbara from The Empty Nest Mom emailed me yesterday with the following. I was so moved, I asked her permission to share her words and photo here with the Grandma's Briefs readers.

Barbara wrote:

We visited Italy recently and while in the little hill town of Assisi, stayed in an amazing 15th century hotel - old stone walls, wooden shutters that opened to a spectacular view and bells that rang from St Francis church.

One night I looked out the window and on a balcony below and across from us was a little Italian grandmother, hanging laundry by moonlight.  The scene, of course, reminded me of your blog. 

In real life. 

In Italy.

Thank you to Barbara for her generosity in sharing such a sweet, authentic depiction of Grandma's Briefs. For more about her Italy trip, read Barbara's post on walking and eating through Italy.

Best wishes to all for a warm Sunday!

Merry melee making

If you refrained from chasing shopping deals this morning, you—like I—surely missed out on merry making similar to these scenes from last year's Black Friday celebration:

If you didn't refrain and awoke early to elbow your way among the crowds, I tip my hat to you. You're a far braver shopper than I.

Curious minds want to know, though: Those of you who indulged in Black Friday shopping, did you encounter scenes like those in the video? Or did the Thanksgiving Day/Evening store openings put a dent in the Black Friday morning crowds?

Cheers—I think—to the official opening of the holiday shopping season!

Today's question:

What percentage of your holiday gift list have you completed, whether buying or making the gifts?

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!

I would do anything for love (but I won't do that)

Remember the old Meatloaf song, the over-the-top and emotionally draining "I Would Do Anything For Love (but I won't do that)." If not, feel free to take a moment and refresh your memory here.

That song has run through my head several times in the past few weeks, in response to recent news reports. For when it comes to my family and friends—my daughters in particular, in this instance—I sincerely would do anything for love. Whatever that anything may be, whether time, money, attention, affection, I will do and give to the full extent I'm able.

But, as that earworm of a song says, I won't do that. That being what some incredible and amazing mothers—grandmothers, really—have recently made the news for doing.

SO BLESSED MY GRANDSONS CAME NATURALLY.You may recall the many stories online and off about the kind and courageous—and physically fit, I must add—grandmother who served as a surrogate for her infertile daughter. The daughter was repeatedly unsuccessful in carrying a child to term, so the sixty-one-year-old mother, who had gone through menopause ten years prior, agreed to hormone supplementation and in vitro fertilization of her daughter's egg and her son-in-law's sperm. She successfully carried to term and in August, delivered via Cesarean section her daughter's biological daughter. Her own grandchild.

What an amazing gift to give a beloved daughter. And this most recent woman is not alone, as such surrogacies have taken place countless times in the past.

I truly, madly, deeply love my three daughters. But I don't think I'm selfless enough to commit to being a surrogate for any of them.

Serving as a surrogate isn't the most recent act of selflessness on the part of a mother, a grandmother-to-be, that has made the news. Yesterday's newspaper (yes, I read the actual print paper) featured a story abouttwo Swedish women who underwent the world's first mother-to-daughter uterus transplants, in hopes they will be successful in getting pregnant and giving birth. That's two daughters with two mothers who gave up their uteruses (uteri?) for the love of their child. One daughter had her uterus removed because of cancer, the other was born without a uterus. Now, thanks to their moms, they each have one. Now the quest to bear children is on.

I honestly cannot imagine the point of desperation one must reach in order to consider, much less do such a thing. Such a heartbreaking state it must be. Regardless, if any one of my daughters came to me entertaining such a thought, suggesting such a plan, I couldn't do it. I really am not that strong, not that selfless.

And I really am not so committed to becoming a grandma that I'd birth my own grandchildren.

Although, I already am a grandma, so I can't say for sure.

I'm not judging any of the grandmothers who sacrifice in such a way, I promise. I truly think they are incredibly loving, giving women who have gone above and beyond the call of duty of a mother, of a grandmother. I'm just trying to understand the degree of cojones it takes. And why I don't have them, what I'm lacking that makes me, as a mother, unwilling to do such a thing for my own daughters, if need be.

In all honesty, because of various health issues, I'm pretty darn sure I would not be physically able to be a surrogate or offer up my uterus to be transplanted into my daughter. My oldest happened to be visiting as I wrote this, and I asked her if she'd ever consider requesting I be her surrogate or uterus donor. Her immediate response was "no," because of what the health repercussions may be to me, her mother.

I admit to being a wee bit thankful for those health issues that make me a poor candidate. They save me from having to find out for sure how deep is my love, for my girls, for my future grandchildren. At least when it comes to doing that. Because—more honesty here—I can't be one-hundred-percent certain that I wouldn't do such a thing, if it would make all the difference in a daughter's world if I did.

I pray my girls never reach the point of such desperation for children that surrogacy and transplants requiring my participation are a consideration. For any of us.

When it comes to my daughters, I really, truly, honestly would do anything for love.

But I won't do that.

I don't think.

And I hope I never have to find out for sure.

(Photography by Alison Baum. Full stories on the women mentioned can be found here and here.)

Today's question:

How about you? Would you do that?

Ten ways movies and television have warped my reality

Yesterday morning as I walked my dogs, the route was eerily quiet and desolate. Not a single deer, car, or neighbor crossed my path. Planes usually criss-crossing the sky were absent. As I walked, I couldn't help but think that maybe the apocalypse had occurred and somehow I'd not been informed.

Crazy, I know, but that's the way my mind works, thanks to watching too many movies and too much television during my formative years. Heck, during all my years, if truth be told. Not a day passes by that cinematic moments don't creep into my thoughts. To wit:

(Clicking the arrows by each movie title shows that clip on this page.)

1. Something akin to yesterday's apocalyptic fears happened once while undergoing an MRI. I hate the procedure—the closed-in space, the loud noises. But because I have MS, I've had a few done on my brain over the years. Gah! The machine clangs and bangs while I'm stuck deep within, unable to move for fear I'll screw up the expensive test. Once, the long and loud banging and clanging became so disconcerting that I reached near panic, fearing a scene from a disaster film (think Earthquake, Independence Day, Armageddon) occurred while I was in the machine, and the medical staff had dashed from the building, leaving me alone. At just the moment I planned my escape and exit, the attendant called through the intercom, "You're just about done, Lisa, just a few more minutes." Sweet relief!

2. When I first started my job at the newspaper, I envisioned my workdays would be similar to scenes from Lou Grant or Mary Tyler Moore. So not the case. I knew I wasn't alone in my illusions of newsrooms and the impact of cinema, though, when a goofy deejay from a local radio station whom I escorted through the department after an interview turned to the sea of reporters' desks and faux cried out, "You gotta tell 'em! Soylent green is people!!"

3. Meeting new acquaintances can be awkward when I'm introduced to someone named Ben, as I immediately think of the boy and his rat buddy in Ben. Or when the person is named Charlie and I can't help but imagine Eric Roberts crying to Mickey Rourke about his thumb being nabbed in The Pope of Greenwich Village. At least I never forget the name of Ben or Charlie, though, even long after meeting them.

4. My first thought when my sister told me there is a (perfectly legal) family burial ground on her property was of Pet Sematary.

5. I can't hear Beethoven's Fifth without thinking of Saturday Night Fever.

6. Used to be when I'd consider tightie-whities—which I assure you isn't often!—Tom Cruise in Risky Business would come to mind. Now I can't shake the image of Bryan Cranston in Breaking Bad.

7. Similarly, pea soup makes me think of Linda Blair and The Exorcist; excessive flies on a window elicit visions of James Brolin and Amityville Horror; and wax museums remind me of Vincent Price and House of Wax.

8. I've never looked out a plane window at the wing without thinking of gremlins upon it, á la The Twilight Zone. Nor have I ever not considered Fearless with Jeff Bridges when unexpected turbulence mid-flight elicits exclamations of various sorts from fellow passengers (and myself, I admit).

9. I try not to, but I can't help but think of Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan each time I use an air dryer in a public restroom.

10. I also can't help but think of The Waltons every single time we have overnight house guests and everyone heads off to bed. I just wait for the "Goodnight, John Boy"...which usually comes by way of Jim, for he's warped in much the same fashion as I.

There are more—far more—I promise you. I'll stop there, though, lest you think of Sally Field from Sybil each time you consider Lisa from Grandma's Briefs.

photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What movies or television shows have warped your reality?

A full nest once more

No, my daughters haven't moved home. And, no, my grandsons aren't visiting.

Still, the nest is full. Literally. The nest right outside my window, the one nearest my desk, where I spend much of my day.

Mourning doves usually inhabit the nest each season. Which doesn't always turn out so well. A couple weeks ago, though, this is what I noticed:  

A robin, settled in and protecting what I assumed were eggs.

I've checked in on her now and again, passed her on my way to get the morning newspaper, warned visitors to not disturb the head-height branch when walking by.

Mama Robin has always been protective of her home and what it held, but I could never see anything within it, even when I climbed atop a stool to better peer out my window and into her nest.

Until yesterday. I saw activity, grabbed my camera, and throughout the day captured the following.

 

Maybe not a big deal to some, but after a particularly long run of crappy days and crappy news, the full and thriving nest—and the fact it was right outside my window—was significant to me, brought tears to my eyes.

The momentum has shifted.

Today's question:

How has nature recently brightened your outlook—or at least your day?

What is a grandma?

My website stats show that folks often arrive at Grandma's Briefs by way of the search query, "What is a grandma?" As we grandmas darn well know, defining who and what we are isn't as simple as penning a few sentences similar to a dictionary entry.

That said, the Grilled Grandmas are experts in the field, so I figured combining their answers to the grilling question of "What one word do you hope your grandkids think of when they think of you?" would provide a pretty darn accurate answer of what a grandma is, or at least what one should strive to be.

So I did it. I went through all the Grilled Grandmas—from the very first to the one featured last week—collected their answers to that question, and input them into Wordle, using each word only one time (some, such as love, fun, and caring, were mentioned numerous times).

And here, my friends, is the result: The ultimate answer to the ever-burning question of ...

What is a grandma?

Bottom line? Looks to me like the best way to put it is that grandmas are just plain awesome!

Today's question:

What other words do you think should be added?