5 signs you're a long-distance grandma

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Behind every long-distance grandma is a long-distance grandchild.

1. You have a web camera and Skype access, and you're not afraid to use 'em. [2020 update: Let’s make that FACETIME and other mobile connecting options!] And use them you do, as often as your grandchild's parents allow. (In secret, you eagerly await the day it's no longer necessary to have a parent on the other end to work the webcam for your grandchild, the day when he or she can Skype with Grandma without Mom or Dad.)

2. You have online accounts at USPS.com and UPS.com, with your grandchild's address "saved" ... and used often. Plus, you know that USPS.com is best for shipping small packages to the grandkiddos, UPS.com for large.

3. Your guest room -- the one decorated and furnished exclusively for the grandkids -- must be dusted more often than the regular guest room as it hosts guests rarely. Same goes for the toys in the guest room as they're played with rarely.

4. You have subscriptions to the e-mail newsletters of every airline that flies from your hometown to the hometown of your grandchildren. And you're prepared to book a flight on a moment's notice when an outrageously good deal comes to your in-box ... even if you just returned from a visit, even if you already have one planned in the not-too-distant future. You can never have too many scheduled visits on the calendar.

Last but not least ...

5. You're a liar. What? Huh? To wit: You reply to inquiries of "How are the grandkids?" first with a heavy sigh and downcast eyes -- nearly imperceptible to the untrained eye, though -- followed quickly by typical grandma delight and brag-book sharing. The heavy sigh is because your first immediate and honest response to such an inquiry is always, always, "Too far away." But that's too depressing to share with those just asking out of politeness, so you become quite adept at hiding the truth -- in other words, at being a liar.

Today's question:

What is one good thing about living far away from a loved one?

Changes on the way

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At the start of a new year, everyone seems to have plans for how things will change in their lives in the coming months, whether stated aloud or kept private. One person I know has the biggest changes of his life coming his way, and at this point, he's thankfully oblivious to how those changes are going to rock his world.

I'm talking, of course, about Bubby.

As many of you know, Bubby has a sibling on the way. Sure, it all sounds fine and good when told "You're going to be a big brother" and "You'll have a new baby to share your toys with" and to be given a new babydoll to practice his big-brother skills. All those things make Bubby smile. (Well, not so much the idea of sharing his toys.) But it's the sharing of Mommy and Daddy that Bubby's not yet grasped, not yet even considered. But it'll happen, like it or not, and I'm crossing my fingers he does okay with it, remains the happy, usually silly, sometimes snippy (aren't all toddlers at times?) kiddo who has a firm and forever hold of my heart.

That's change No. 1. Although there's a lot of talk about it now, the true changes won't take place until the end of May.

Change No. 2, on the other hand, is happening soon. Which makes it the very first major change in the little guy's life. It's a move to a new house ... to accommodate change No. 1.

Bubby and his family will be moving into a larger home the first of February. Which is a good thing. But it can be a scary thing, too, to have one's world packed up in boxes, turned upside down, shaken here and there, then set down reassembled in a whole new spot, a whole new design. Especially scary for a 31-month-old who has never known anything but the happy little place he, Mommy, Daddy, and Roxy currently call home.

In the new place, Bubby will again have his own room -- no need to share with his new brother. He'll get a dedicated playroom out of the deal, too, and a new backyard that faces north instead of south like it currently does, with the scorching desert sun putting the kibosh on outdoor play most of the day, most of the year.

Even with all the good things coming his way with both changes, the changes mean stress. And, as we all know, high stress levels can do a number on mind, body and soul.

Based on the Social Adjustment Rating Scale, a list rating stressful life events, a new baby and a new home puts one's stress level at the "low" point (considering no other stressful factors are involved). That's for an adult. For a little boy who's always been the one and only child, the one and only grandchild and who has always and forever lived in only one home, I'd say the 'high" point as a more appropriate score.

The answer to high stress levels, according to the experts, is to create a "stress-management plan." The answer to high stress levels for Bubby, according to this admittedly non-expert grandma, is an "extra-hugs-kisses-and-attention-from-Gramma plan."

My advice when it comes to stress-reduction plans of any sort? They're far more effective when set into motion sooner rather than later. Which is why it's a splendid coincidence that I just so happen to have an airline ticket booked for a visit to Bubby -- just four days after his move into his new home. (Thank you, Preston!)

I say forget laughter being the best medicine, it's hugs from Grandma that are going to do the trick this time. And as I've been a little stressed out myself lately, I suspect my hugs-and-kisses-stress-management plan designed especially for Bubby is going to do us both a heap of good.

Photo by Megan's friend Alison.

Today's question:

What is your favorite stress reliever?

Megan's Christmas kitty

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Bubby loves Alice, Aunt B's kitty -- March 15, 2010

Megan got a kitten for Christmas. She didn't ask for it, and she doesn't really care to have it around. It was cute at first, but the little guy very quickly became annoying.

It's not that Megan's a cat-hater, it's that the cat isn't really a cat. It's Bubby ... who decided just before Christmas that he's no longer a boy, he's a cat. And his primary form of communication is meowing. Like a kitty. At home. And out in public.

Don't get me wrong: Megan loves Bubby. And hearing Bubby meow around the house is precious and cute, especially when his imagination takes over during playtime with his Mommy Kitty and Baby Kitty stuffed animals -- the only other cats in residence. But when the 30-month-old who was formerly mature in the face of friends, family and strangers responds to Mommy's fellow shoppers or coworkers asking "How are you today" with mewling, yowling, and meowing -- or all three -- the cute factor is decreased by 100 percent. Megan's been mortified more often than not when out in public the last week or so, wondering where-oh-where did her big Bubby go.

Sunday evening Megan told me about the trip she, Preston and Bubby made that afternoon to a retailer to do some exchanging of Christmas gifts. On the way, the car stereo was cranked and the family was singing along. All three of them. Impressed that Bubby seemed to be joining in the fun, Megan told Preston, "Listen, Bubby's singing, too." So they both quieted their own tunes and bent their ears to the backseat to hear Bubby's contribution to the merriment. Only the merriment fell flat when they noticed that his cheerful song was only one word, over and over: "meow, meow, meow, meow."

I've not yet heard the kitty talk from Bubby as Megan warns him as he comes to the phone wanting to talk to Gramma that kitties don't talk to grandmas, only big boys do. After several attempts at getting his way with a mewl or two, he realizes Mommy means business and finally responds with "I'm a big boy" and commences a quick conversation with me, telling me about his new trucks and Roxy's bone and offering a rushed "Buh-bye, I love you!"... then he's off the phone and back to meowing.

I would think it more likely for Bubby to pretend to be a dog, romping and "ruff"-ing with his dog, Roxy. Being a kitty has me a bit perplexed. One might imagine odd behavior coming from a kid dealing with stress and trauma and drama in his environment, but other than a new brother on the way, Bubby's life is pretty stress-free ... if not downright boring, Megan might say.

Tay Hohoff famously noted that, "There are few things in life more heartwarming than to be welcomed by a cat," but this cat has worn out its welcome from Megan and Preston. With one more week remaining of holiday vacation from school -- where Bubby would likely speak "normal" in the face of peer pressure -- I'm wondering if Bubby's parents ... and Bubby ... will make it through the kitty phase unscathed.

"It could be worse," I tried to console Megan. "He could be pretending he has an imaginary friend, which would scare the cuss out of you, thinking he was seeing ghosts."

She readily agreed. But that doesn't mean she's okay with the meowing. And my attempts to Google some assistance or, at the very least, an explanation, have provided neither.

My suggestion? I think Megan needs to play into the kitty behavior ... by offering up a nice can of salmon-and-cheese Friskies for Bubby's next meal because that's what kitties eat. Being the finicky eater he is, Bubby will surely return to big-boy status immediately if faced with the stinky pate.

On the other hand, he may shock the cuss out of Megan and simply do like my finicky felines do: yowl for the Friskies turkey giblet flavor instead.

In that case, Megan may as well pick up a cat collar and some cat nip while stocking up on the Friskies, for if picky-eater Bubby readily nibbles cat nosh, that's a sure sign the Bubby Kitty is here to stay. Whether Megan wants a kitty or not.

Today's question:

What kind of imaginary friend -- or persona -- did you, your kids or your grandkids have as a child?

Bells will be ringin'

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Guess who had his first Christmas program ever?

Why, Bubby, of course.

As part of a preschool class of two-year-olds, Bubby didn't have to memorize lines or sing songs for last week's Christmas program. His part -- and the part of all the two-year-olds -- was to play bell accompaniment to the older students who had the singing parts.

And shake his bells, he did, Megan reported. Considering the attention span of toddlers, it was no surprise most of the kids shook a jingle or two then spent the remainder of the gig gazing at the sights and sounds around them. Not little Mr. Focus, aka Bubby, who, Megan says, shook and shook straight through to the end, all the while wearing a look of determination in doing the job right and to completion.

Amidst the bustle of prepping for the show -- especially considering Megan's class of students was performing as well -- Megan and Preston inadvertently left the camera at home, so there are no photos of Bubby jinglin' the bells. Luckily fabulous friend and photographer Alison (the fabulous applying to both her friend status and her photo skills) got this shot of Bubby with his bells and classmate Ro-Ro, Bubby's best buddy and Alison's son.

Another first, another milestone.

And another reason I'm so thankful for Megan and technology -- and photographer Alison -- for keeping me up to date on all things Bubby, despite the miles between us.

Holiday question of the day:

If you were to be part of a Christmas program, what song would you like to sing? And would you prefer a solo performance or being part of an ensemble?

Telephone line, give me some time

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Wednesday night I had my first real telephone conversation with Bubby. I say real because although I've talked to Bubby on the phone many times in the past, this was the first time he asked to talk to me on the phone, the first time he requested the phone from Mommy so he could talk to Gramma. And the first time we maintained a steady volley of remarks back and forth, just like real conversations work.

After getting the phone from Mommy, Bubby kicked off our conversation with a drum solo just for me, played on the kitchen garbage can, aka his "big drum." After applause and praise from Gramma, we discussed Mommy's birthday on Tuesday, the Christmas presents under the tree, his Elf on the Shelf (whom he named Jackson), and Santa Claus.

"Sometimes ... sometimes ... sometimes ... SOMEtimes," Bubby said, very carefully considering what came next, "sometimes ... sometimes Santa takes my presents away."

He shared the truth as he knew it, no tattling involved, just a tinge of remorse over the state of his current standing with Santa. Present removal is Megan's method for keeping an obstinate toddler from "losing his mind" throughout the day. When Bubby acts up, he's given the warning that if he doesn't start making good choices, presents will be removed from under the tree, to be replaced only when Bubby displays proper behavior. It seems to be working, for the most part.

I mentioned to Bubby that if he makes good choices, all the presents will stay under the tree. He responded by saying, "I can't close my eyes" and that he's "scared" of "something white up there" above his bed.

Of course, being a fan of Ghost Hunters and a believer in scary white things since I have scary things that happen occasionally in my own house, I worried that Bubby might be seeing ghosts. But according to Megan, at this point in the conversation, Bubby held the phone up for me to "see" the scary white thing in his bedroom. The scary white thing that is his smoke detector. It has a blinking light that scares him at night when he's been told to "close your eyes and go to sleep." Which he has trouble doing, no matter the number of nightlights and books that accompany him to bed.

Because Megan hadn't yet explained the inability to close his eyes in the face of scary white things, I attempted a diversion tactic by talking to Bubby about what Santa may be bringing him, which he says is "lots of cars and trucks." So with visions of cars and trucks dancing in his head, Bubby said, "I gotta play. Buh-bye, Gramma! Love you!" and the phone went back to Megan.

Throughout this first real telephone conversation, Megan told me, Bubby walked around the living room while chatting away, the phone to his ear as he stopped in front of the Christmas tree, headed over to gaze out the window, then off to his room to discuss the scary white thing. I can just imagine his big-boy attitude while on the phone, doing exactly as he did during a conversation with Mommy on the phone while we visited during Thanksgiving (of which the post photos are from).

It warms my heart to see that, like everything else with my grandson, the phone conversations are progressing, becoming more mature. It used to be that Megan would hold the phone to his ear for me to babble to baby Bubby, just so he'd know my voice. Then he started babbling back while Mommy held the phone for him. Soon he wanted to hold the phone himself each time, enjoying the notes of pressed buttons more than the sound of Gramma telling him how much she loves him -- which often resulted in disconnected calls. Now Bubby holds the phone himself and walks around, just like Mommy does while deep in conversation with Gramma.

I look forward to the next step in the progression of Bubby's telephone skills: when he picks up the phone and calls me himself -- on speed dial, of course -- to tell me about anything that scares him, excites him, or makes his day. And to babble the sweetest long-distance babbling this grandma's heart has ever heard, including somewhere along the line, an "I love you, Gramma!"

All prefaced, of course, with a drum solo performed just for Gramma on Bubby's "big drum."

(Curious about the post title? Here's the song it's from, an old fave of mine.)

Holiday question of the day:

If you could write a sequel to be produced for any holiday movie or program, which one would you choose and what would the plot highlights be?

Would you like fries with that?

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I understand that when potty training a little one, stress and a busy schedule can cause regression to varying degrees. Bubby, who's in the potty training phase of wearing big boy undies all day and Pull-Ups at night, had a pretty busy schedule last week.

There was the Christmas parade.

Meeting Santa.

Checking out holiday lights.

And a performance of Yo Gabba Gabba Live.

With so many things happening in just a few days' time, no one could fault the tired little two-and-a-half-year-old if he backslid a bit in his potty training and had a few accidents.

Thing is, Bubby didn't. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Despite the crazy holiday schedule, this week Bubby had his very first dry night wearing big boy undies to bed!

Hooray for Bubby! Give that boy a hand!

Megan called Tuesday to tell me of the fantastic feat.

Can I talk to him? I asked.

"Sure!" and handed the phone to Bubby. "Hi, Gramma!" he said.

Hey, Bubby! Did you have a dry night last night?

"Yeah ... my underwear was DRY!"

What a big boy you are! I'm so proud of you!

"Yeah, I'm eating fries."

Ummm ... Okay ... I love you, Bubby! Great job!

"Love you. Buh bye!"

Fries? Did I hear him right?

"We're celebrating his dry night with a Happy Meal," Megan explained. "For being such a big boy, Bubby got a Happy Meal for lunch."

Ah, now I get it. Forget giving the boy a hand, he got a Happy Meal instead!

Yay for dry undies! Yay for Happy Meals! Yay for fries!

Most of all, a double yay for my big boy Bubby!

Holiday question of the day:

What are the ingredients of your favorite holiday beverage?