The tunes they are a-changing

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I'm proud to say my family is musical. We dabble in playing — a guitar and piano here, a recorder and ukelele there — but it's in the listening to music that we really excel. As a whole, our hearts, minds and ears are open to myriad genres, everything from classical to Christian, country to show tunes, hard rock to soft rock and many that aren't really rock at all. We even have our family favorites in the rap genre. (I must admit, though, jazz and easy listening rarely pass notes in our homes, our cars, our iPods.)

Music plays a prodigious and powerful role in our family, which is why I'm happy to see the love of music continue with Bubby. Since he was an itsy-bitsy baby, music moved him. And like the rest of us, he's happy to sample and savor tunes from varied genres, with recent favorites ranging from "Twinkle, Twinkle" to "Baby" by Justin Bieber to "A New Hallelujah" by Michael W. Smith to "We Will Rock You" by Queen.

I'm thrilled Bubby finds such joy in music. Yet I'm saddened that many of my most-cherished memories of experiencing music — and watching my children experience music — are things he and the youngsters of today will never know, thanks to the ever-evolving face of music.

Music rituals kids of today will never experience

• The satisfaction of placing the needle in the exact desired spot on a record.

• Flipping through album, cassette, or CD bins at the music store.

• Staying up late to watch a favorite group on "The Midnight Special."

• Making and receiving the perfect mix tape.

• Waiting for hours to catch the beginning of a favorite video in order to hit "record" on the VCR in time so it can be replayed in full again and again.

• The horror of a record or CD being cracked, a cassette tape being eaten.

• The horror — and sometimes giggles — associated with scratches and subsequent skips in an album.

• Singing along with a record, perfectly including the skip without missing a beat.

• Weighing the arm of the record player with a penny to get past the skips.

• Searching for secret messages and meanings in backmasking.

• The thrill of finding a favorite song on an AM station while traveling by car, seemingly miles from civilization.

• Waiting by the radio with cassette recorder in hand to record a favorite tune when Casey Kasem announces it No. 1 for the week.

• Marveling at the artwork on an album sleeve.

• Holding the album lyrics in hand while singing along.

• Memorizing the order of an album to the point that when hearing one of the songs on its own, you automatically hum the bars to — and expect to hear — the next song on the album.

• American Bandstand.

Today's question:

What fading or long-gone musical rituals do you lament?

Shared pleasures and treasures

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As grandparents, I think it's important to not only explore and enjoy the interests of the grandchild — like the hours we recently dedicated to trucks, Bubby's favorite thing in the world — but also for grandparents to share their interests with the grandchild. Sharing such things strengthens the grandparent/grandchild bond as the youngster learns more about what makes his grandparents tick. Depending on the interest, it also can lead to a lifelong shared interest, shared joy.

One of my favorite things is books, so I shared plenty with Bubby while he was here. We read My Name is Not Alexander, Share With Brother, Amazon Alphabet and more, including Richard Scarry's Cars and Trucks and Things That Go, which killed two birds with one stone: my love for books and Bubby's love for trucks.

One of Jim's favorite things is coins. Collecting them, counting them, sharing them, and searching for them. With Bubby.

In our back yard, Jim buried handfuls of coins specifically for "treasure hunting" with Bubby — an activity they've enjoyed together since Bubby was able to walk. Bubby delights in unearthing the "treasures" and taking them home to add to his piggy bank.

SORRY! VIDEO DISAPPEARED IN BLOG REDESIGN!

Without a doubt, treasure hunting makes for a far more exciting slideshow than book reading might. Plus, there are only so many photos of me reading in my jammies first thing in the morning — sans makeup — and even fewer I'm willing to post for people to actually see.

Today's question:

What interest do you enjoy sharing with others?

Keep on truckin'

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I believe it's been well documented here that Bubby loves trucks. Garbage trucks, in particular. So when Nonnie Kelly (my mom, his great-grandma) came to visit him with a garbage truck gift — a garbage truck that makes noise and lights up, no less — Bubby was clearly in heaven.

He also was in heaven when he got to actually touch, not just see, the trucks PawDad had shown him during past Skype sessions.

Same goes for when he gave PawDad the monster truck he picked out himself for PawDad's birthday. The monster truck he just had to give PawDad early, before the party, because he was so excited for PawDad to play with it.

Glimpses of heaven also appeared while driving a Bubby-sized monster truck at Chuck E Cheese ...

... filling a dump truck in the back yard ...

... and building a "tower truck" all by himself for driving around Gramma's dining room.

Trucks, trucks, trucks. While Bubby was here, we played trucks, talked trucks, read about trucks, and named trucks every single time we saw one on the road, in a book, or on television. There were garbage trucks, of course, plus cement trucks, ice cream trucks, dump trucks, produce trucks, and more. Each time, we recited not only the type of truck, but what each one hauls, too.

Wednesday morning, Bubby had been gone not yet one full day when I had to take Mickey to the vet. All the truck talk was still on the brain, so I had to stop myself several times from saying to Mickey — who gives not one whit about trucks — "Look at that big one!" and "Hey, there's a yellow dump truck," and "Yay! There's a brown one!"

The brown ones were especially exciting for me to see, even without Bubby by my side, because although Bubby's favorite is garbage trucks, my favorite is the brown ones, the UPS trucks. For every single time I see one now, I will always and forever recall Bubby's enthusiasm when two UPS trucks passed by the window of a diner we ate at one evening during his visit.

"Brown ones! There's two brown ones!" he shouted as the UPS trucks slowed to a stop at the traffic light visible from our table.

"And what do the brown ones bring?" Megan asked him.

With no hesitation whatsoever, Bubby excitedly shouted, "Presents!"

Makes the shipping expenses of a long-distance grandma well worth it, I say.

Today's question:

Do you now or have you in the past owned a truck? What kind and how much did you love it?

Some things just don't mix

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I love my dogs. They're pampered as can be and have full run of the place. Until Bubby arrives, that is. Once Bubby gets to Gramma's and PawDad's things change. Not just because Bubby is the star of our hearts and deserving of all the attention we have to give, but mostly because — and I hate to admit this — we can't completely trust our dogs with our grandson.

Mickey and Lyla aren't dangerous dogs, they're just not used to little boys. They're not used to little boys running and squealing and laughing and racing trucks across the floor and tabletops and arms and head of anyone or anything nearby who will put up with it. It makes them nervous. Poor, previously abused Lyla in particular. She growls and snaps when she's scared ... which is more often than we'd like when Bubby's nearby.

Mickey is a little more laid back about the whole affair, but still one we must be sure Bubby gives a wide berth. Just in case. He's part pit bull and although we know better regarding the cussed-up reputation the generally-sweet-when-raised-correctly dogs have been unjustly given, we keep Bubby away from him. Not because he's a pit bull, but because he was a damaged puppy when we got him, with broken hind legs that he's now sensitive to and doesn't want anyone touching. He's snapped at me, he's snapped at Jim when we've gotten too close to his tender feet, and we don't want to take any chances with him snapping at Bubby who just might touch the tender spots by accident and set the snapping into motion. It would have nothing to do with the fact he's part pit bull, but to anyone else -- to everyone else -- our Mickey's breed would be the culprit, not his once smashed and broken feet he still feels the need to protect.

While Bubby's here, the dogs are constant cuss to deal with a challenge. Keeping Bubby away from the dogs is a challenge. We could banish Mickey and Lyla to the basement or outside, but they're our babies ... most of the time ... and we feel bad not letting them join us in visiting with beloved Bubby. So we allow them around, we stay on constant guard, Bubby gets too close to Mickey's legs or Lyla gets too possessive of me or a toy or her space and the cuss — and cussing — begins. Mostly between me and Jim, as we argue with one another about why we let the dogs in or why we need to just relax or why one of us is partial to one dog or the other and not being realistic about the situation. We alternate between worrying we're being too cautious or not being cautious enough. But you never know. And we don't want to take any chances with our precious Bubby.

So then Mickey and Lyla are banished outside or to the basement and we all feel bad about the incident. But we later try it again. With the same result.

Yes, I love my dogs. But truth be told, I'd rather them be the ones living long-distance and my Bubby being the one living nearby. Or, in an ideal world, if my Bubby lived nearby, visited more often and he and the dogs became used to one another, we wouldn't have this challenge to begin with. But things aren't ideal. So we deal the best we can.

Bottom line is this: Once Mickey and Lyla head off to the big dog park in the sky, we will never again own large dogs with difficult psychological issues. And we won't have two dogs, we'll have only one. One no larger than a Jack Russell terrier.

And the bottom bottom line? You won't see here any cute photos of Bubby playing with Lyla and Mickey. Because most of the time, it's not cute. And the rest of the time, Lyla and Mickey are banished from the fun. Because, unfortunately, some things just don't mix.

Today's question:

How do your animals behave around children?

Birthday redux

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One of the great things about Megan having spring break this time of year is that she and Bubby get to share in the birthday festivities for PawDad ... as long as we stretch out the festivities until they're present. And this year we did, as the highlight of PawDad's 50th birthday was a family party at Chuck E Cheese — Bubby's first time there and PawDad's first birthday party there.

It was truly a memorable 50th birthday celebration!

Today's question:

What is your favorite birthday party spot, for children or adults?

Bubbyisms

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Bubby will be here the end of this week and I can't wait to see him, hug him, hold him. I also can't wait to hear him, as the toddler now talks up a storm, saying things both cute and unexpected.

Here's a sampling of the Bubbyisms that made me chuckle the last time we were together:

• When I served up Gramma's homemade Mac-n-Cheese, Bubby took one bite and exclaimed, "This is my good mac-n-cheese!" (The kid has already figured out that flattery will get him everywhere with Gramma -- especially when it comes to her cooking.)

• Befitting the holiday soon following my visit, together we made Valentine cookies, made with "Ballentime num-n-nums," aka Valentine M&Ms.

• At one point, Bubby walked into the family room and saw toys on the floor he thought he'd picked up. He stopped in his tracks, put his hands on his hips and said in true puzzlement, "What in the WOOD?" (meaning "What in the world?").

• While giving me a tour of his new house, Bubby took my hand in his and said, "There's no ghosts here!" He was quite proud of that fact so I didn't question it ... and figured it was related to his fear of the "white thing" (the ceiling fan) in his old room. He clearly was convincing himself his new home -- which he had been in only one week and was still getting used to -- was far less scary than the old.

• When showing me his playroom and the wondrous mat on which he plays with his beloved cars, trucks and emergency vehicles, I was quite impressed with Bubby's language skills. Here he tells me about the route his "favorite" vehicles travel to arrive at the stadium for basketball games. They take not a road, a street, nor a highway ...

• One day Bubby and I got ice cream and ate it at the park, followed by playtime on the playground. When it was time to go home, Bubby said, "We gotta get home before the coyotes get us!" Coyotes aren't going to get us, I told him. "Wild pigs?" What? Wild pigs aren't going to get us! "Tigers?" he asked. I told him he's crazy and he seemed okay with that. I later learned Gramma was the crazy one who didn't know the game Bubby and his Daddy play regarding getting home before wild animals take off with them.

• Once Bubby gave up trying to engage Gramma in the wild animal game, we buckled up and headed for home. From the backseat, Bubby piped up with a clear and enthusiastic, "We had a GOOD day!" And that we did!

I look forward to several more good days with my favorite little man when he and his Mommy visit from the desert.

I also look forward to Bubby's excitement when he learns that Gramma and PawDad have an interstate, too. I expect exclamations of joy as we take it from the airport home!

Today's question:

Who most recently made you chuckle at something they said?