Know what?

/

Megan at 2 years old (Bubby's age)

When Megan was young, she had a way of keeping the attention of anyone to whom she was telling a story by saying, "And you know what?" after every few sentences.

She'd be sharing the news of a first day of school or what happened at a birthday party or why she thinks Jeremy is the handsdown cutest boy in the entire third grade, and sprinkled the whole way through would be interjections of, "And ya know what, Mom?"

Every sentence or three, she'd ask it.

Thing was, Megan wouldn't continue her story until I responded, until I said "What?"

I could be looking directly at Megan as she spoke, nodding along, but that wasn't enough. No, I had to vocalize my interest. I had to clarify with words my desire to hear more. Otherwise, she'd say it again.

"Ya know what?" she'd ask.

If I simply raised my eyebrows and leaned forward, seemingly (at least to me) begging for more, she'd respond with an impatient, "And YOU. KNOW. WHAT. MOM!?"

"WHAT!?" I'd growl at her.

Then she'd smile sweetly and continue chattering away, the magic words having appeased her ... for about four more sentences. Then she'd do it again.

"Ya know what?"

Grrr ... ! I sincerely enjoyed conversations with Megan. I loved hearing about her day and all. I appreciated that she wanted to share every last detail with me. But gee whiz! It drove me nuts!

Well ... ya know what?

Here's where you say, "What?"

Megan never stopped doing it. She still does it. I must admit, though, she's become a bit less annoying more adept at it. She uses different terminology now, such as a "Guess what happened?" or "Ya know what she said to me?" kind of thing every few steps throughout the story.

And ya know what else?

"What?" you surely are asking.

Megan recently reported that, get this, Bubby has started doing the Very. Same. Thing!

"Know what?" he asks her mid-story, then waits for her to say "What?" before proceeding with his babbling.

Again and again and again, Bubby annoys the cuss out of his mama, just as she annoyed the cuss out of her mama.

And ya know what?

"What?"

I think that's So. Darn. Funny!

Because you know what else?

"What?"

Seeing payback in action has got to be one of the very sweetest rewards of becoming a grandparent!

That's what!

Today's question:

What is one of the annoying things you, your kids, your siblings or another loved one did as a child -- and continue to do, to some degree, as an adult?

Fair game

/

Forty or so years ago, I went to the Minnesota State Fair. All I remember is that my younger sister and my dad were hurt by an errant cable that took them for an unintended and dangerous ride. To be honest, I remember the stories of the incident at the fair more than I remember the actual incident itself. Or the fair.

I've not been to a state fair since, except for when a has-been band or two (Jefferson Starship and .38 Special anyone?) headlined at the fairgrounds. I'm not sure if the horrible events of forty years ago scarred me forever, squelching my desire for fried foods at fantastically obscene prices and unregulated (or seemingly so to a paranoid such as myself) amusement rides at similarly obscene prices, or if there's some other deep-seated reason why I've never attended the state fair as an adult.

Becoming a grandma changes much, though, and one of the most recent changes has been my state fair attendance record. Yes, folks, my desert visit in October included a trip to the state fair.

I must admit, it was a far better occasion than my first fair visit, possibly because I steered clear of fried foods and flying cables. More probably, though, because I attended it with Bubby, Megan and Preston.

Being a grandma who likes to participate in my grandson's "firsts," the day was one for the history baby books as I got to ride with Bubby on his first-ever state fair ride. Here's a quick look at the fun we had at the fair:

In addition to typical fair attractions, there also was a life-size, animatronics dinosaur exhibit we enjoyed. Well, mostly enjoyed. Bubby was rather hesitant at first, but by the time we reached the end and he got to dig in the massive sandbox for fossils, I think he'd become a fan of dinosaurs. Pretty much. As long as they were nothing but bones. And didn't make noises. Or move.

It was perfect timing for introducing Bubby to the Hatch-n-Grow dinosaur egg, but, alas, the egg I carried in my Grandma Bag didn't survive the trip uncracked.

But that's okay. I have more eggs and will surely pack one in my Grandma Bag for another try during my visit at Thanksgiving. And after having the bejeezus scared out of him by the life-size T. Rex and its cousins, I'm pretty sure Bubby won't be frightened by an itsy-bitsy hatching baby dino.

Assuming, that is, that I can cushion the egg well enough in my suitcase this time to survive the wild and wacky airport baggage handlers, who are far scarier than hatching baby dino eggs. And errant amusement-ride cables, too.

Today's question:

What's most memorable about your past visits to the state fair?

Can he hear me now?

/

For the past month or so, Megan and I have had several conversations regarding Bubby's speech. Sometimes it seems he has a vast vocabulary; other times it seems he's regressing in his ability to pronounce words.

Bubby's preschool teacher casually mentioned to Megan that she might consider speech therapy for Bubby. When I heard that, I suggested that the first thing she should do is have his hearing checked. When Andrea was young, she had speech problems, all related to too many ear infections and an ignorant doctor who refused to put tubes in her ears, despite my insistence. (She eventually got the tubes as well as speech therapy and is now a masterful speaker.)

During my recent visit to the desert, it became clear that the fears and worries about Bubby's ability to talk appear to be unfounded. Bubby talks up a storm, all the time, about all things. He did, though, have a tendency -- especially at dinner time -- to interrupt the adult conversation with "What you say, Dad?" or "What you say, Mom?" Megan said she thinks it's more his way of having things explained to him that he didn't understand than it is a hearing problem. I agreed with her.

So other than needing work on a few vocabulary skills such as blends and digraphs -- for which I suggested activities from lessons that are part of the tutoring program I follow as a tutoring site coordinator -- Bubby's speech and hearing seem to be a non-issue.

At least it was until last Friday.

Megan called me Friday evening and said in a very serious tone, "You won't believe what your grandson has done." Of course, I imagined all kinds of deadly or dastardly deeds and feared for the physical and psychological well-being of my grandson.

The story from Megan was that she had come home from work Friday afternoon, bid goodbye to GiGi -- Bubby's paternal great-grandma who babysits him on Fridays -- then went about her usual afternoon activities. Bubby, though, was acting rather unusual. Again and again he asked Megan, "What you say?" and kept saying "What? I can't hear you" and "Turn it up, Mommy, I can't hear it" regarding his television programs.

His insistence led Megan to inspect the little guy's ears, where she found what appeared to be excess wax build-up in one ear.

So she and Preston proceeded to remove the wax. All the while Bubby insisted "It's a seed." Megan explained to him that, no, it's not a seed, it's ear wax and Daddy's gonna get it out.

Daddy skillfully removed the gunk. Only it wasn't gunk, it was indeed, as Bubby tried to convince them, a seed. A popcorn kernel, to be exact.

Instead of telling Mommy, "See, I told you it was a seed," as I imagine Megan herself would have said as a kid, Bubby simply announced of his now clear-as-a-bell audio ability, "I can hear!"

Funny thing is, Megan said she can't recall the last time they had popcorn!

Bubby later told Mommy he found kernels under the couch and proceeded to put one in his mouth and one in his ear. Why in the world he would stick a popcorn kernel in his ear is beyond any of us.

The real question, though, is how long has the darn thing been in there?

Even more so, how did all of us who have bathed Bubby in the last month -- or hugged or kissed or played with him -- miss seeing a popcorn kernel in the little dickens' ear?!

Today's question:

Because of Bubby's silliness, the song "Beans in Your Ears" ("My mommy said not to put beans in my ears ... I can't hear the teacher with beans in my ears ...") has been stuck in my head for days now. What wacky childhood song or nursery rhyme do you find gets frustratingly stuck in your head now and again?

Hungry heart

/

I mentioned earlier this week Bubby's momentary thrill upon hearing his tummy growl. "Did you hear that, Gramma?" he said to me. "The baby in my tummy went RAAAAR!" Such a sweet sound of confusion coming from my grandson who thought there was a baby in his tummy, not realizing he was just hungry.

Bubby's empty stomach was a source of amusement, not pain. Other than crying as an infant when he was hungry or simply stating "I want something," as he often does now when he wants to snack, I think it was the first time Bubby was aware of his stomach growling.

I distinctly recall the first time I knew what it felt like to be so hungry it hurt. It was the early '70s and my family was packed in the station wagon, driving from Minnesota to Florida. We were on our way to Disneyworld, the one and only time all seven kids and both parents went on a true family vacation. Across several state lines. To a place every kid dreams of going. Just like normal families do.

My dad was -- still is -- a "drive straight through" kind of traveler. So with all seven of us kids making the most of the limited space allotted each, our pale green station wagon with seating for nine ticked off the miles. "Delta Dawn" and "The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia" played on the AM radio, and visions of Mickey Mouse, Haunted Mansion and Cinderella's castle danced in our heads as we headed south, paying no heed to the national gas shortage.

Restaurant stops were few and far between, due equally to the desire to knock out miles as well as my parents dreading the logistics of seating nine -- and paying for nine -- in a dining establishment. At one point, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, I recall waking from having dozed off in the backseat. My arm on which I'd slept was drenched in drool, my stomach clenched and uncomfortable. When I complained about the sensation and voiced worries that I was going to throw up, my sister snarled that it's nothing, that I was just hungry, to be quiet.

So I was quiet. And waited. And marveled that this, my aching gut, was what all those hungry kids in Africa must feel and why they'd be happy to have the food my siblings and I often picked at instead of eating.

Eventually a restaurant appeared on the horizon and all was soon right with the world in general and my growling stomach in particular.

I was blessed to not know true hunger, to not feel such pangs and worse on a regular basis. I was fortunate that the discomfort of not having enough food was so rare that I can recall one specific incident, not a childhood marked by it. I was lucky that the lack of food was due to traveling -- going to Disneyworld, for heaven's sake -- not poverty.

The same goes for Bubby. He's fortunate that the only reason the baby in his tummy "raaaared" was because he had refused to eat what he'd been given for lunch. A lunch that included many options from which to choose, many morsels to fill his tiny tummy. He had made a conscious choice to not partake.

Not all children are as lucky as Bubby is. Or I was. Not all children giggle at the noises from their tummies; many cry as their tummies gurgle and groan.

Thoughts of those gurgles and groans make my heart hurt.

Today's question:

With the holidays -- and requests for holiday donations -- bearing down upon us, what charities do you typically help out this time of year?

The more things change ...

/

In the two months between seeing Bubby in August and visiting him last week, the little dude has grown, matured, and mastered a few skills.

The biggest change is that Bubby now attends preschool. He eats out of a lunchbox with his classmates, participates in recess, lines up for class and washes his hands all by himself.

He's also learned to drink from a cup ... "with TWO hands, Gramma!"

He can pedal his trike ... sometimes even making it from one end of the patio to the other, to which he proudly exclaims, "I did it! I did it, Gramma!"

He no longer wears a diaper and wears Pull-Ups only at night; in the morning, they're still dry.

He used to adamantly avoid face dunks in the bathtub. Now he enjoys putting his face in the bath water and blowing bubbles.

He talks ... and talks ... and talks. Most of the time, it's in full sentences. Two of my favorites from last week: "I want to go to PawDad's house. I miss him." And, "Did you hear that, Gramma? The baby in my tummy went RAAAAR!" (The little guy understands the concept of babies in the tummy more than he does hunger pangs!)

He's no longer content to just walk, he runs ... "really fast":

He cried when dropping off Gramma at the airport -- not because he didn't want to get back into his carseat after hugging me goodbye, which is usually the case, but because he didn't want me to leave without him.

Those are just a smidgen of the many ways my beautiful Bubby has grown ever bigger between visits.

Even with all the growing and changing, though, several things remain the same.

Bubby still loves Elmo.

He still wriggles his fingers under the bathroom door when I'm in there, giggling and saying, "Gramma, come out!"

He still loves to read.

And to be held.

And hugged.

He still loves to dance, especially "the pumpkin dance" to show off his pumpkin stickers:

He still is a finicky eater. Now, though, he readily lets you know exactly what on his plate he doesn't like, which includes but isn't limited to anything brown, green, too hot, too cold, with "something in it" (such as spices or seeds), eggs, potatoes, turkey and "keeni" (meaning zucchini, of course).

He still loves tractors.

Roxy is still his best buddy.

And Mommy and Daddy are still his very favorite people in the whole entire world.

Today's question:

Speaking of things changing ... or staying the same ... did you do mail-in voting or did/will you vote in person today?

This is the end

/

For Bubby's first Halloween, Megan dressed her precious little Bubby, then just over four months old, as the most huggable of elephants:

For Bubby's second Halloween, Megan dressed her still precious little Bubby as the most adorable of ducks:

For Bubby's third Halloween, yesterday, Megan wanted to continue with the theme of cute little animals. Bubby (and Preston) had a different idea -- and a little more input this year.

So, despite Megan's wish for continued cute and cuddly costumes, the still precious Bubby dressed instead as a ...

... tough little boxer, complete with sneers of "Ya wanna fight?!" accompanied by hits of the mits together!

So much for cuddly. Although, if you ask this grandma, the growing-too-quickly boy is still pretty darn cute.

Such is parenting, Megan. All good things surely must come to an end.

Fortunately, good things of another sort are always right there, just waiting to take its place.

Today's question:

It's the first of November -- what do you most look forward to this month? What do you least look forward to?