Big whoop

After nearly nine months — an eternity to a toddler — of continual talk about the baby brother he'd soon have, the introduction to the real live thing was rather anticlimactic for Bubby.

All the gadgets in Mommy's hospital room proved far more interesting than the little bundle of joy.

Though there was a wee bit of interest.

Even more so in Mommy's bracelet, it appears.

Bubby offered one sweet pose...

...then he was off, done, ready to hit the road.

What more can you expect from a nearly three-year-old...especially one itching to head back to GiGi's, his paternal great grandma, where he received the royal spoiling treatment while Mommy and Daddy tended to baby brother delivery and duties.

Photos courtesy of Preston.

Today's question:

Who spoils you most? And whom do you most spoil?

Next time

I'm over the moon with happiness and thankfulness that Mac arrived safe and sound yesterday. But I gotta admit, there's a fair tinge of sadness attached to my joy.

As a long-distance grandma who respected the request from Megan and Preston for neither of their moms to come right away ("to make it fair"), I won't be seeing, touching, holding Mac until he's three weeks old. And I won't get to witness Bubby's first few days of getting used to his new brother, or help out my daughter and her little family as they get through the first few days or weeks of the transition from a family of three to a family of four.

And that makes me sad. Even though I'm so happy.

Next time will be different, though.

Next time, I will ignore the request not to come right around the birth date. It worked for the other grandma, who gets to hug and hold new baby Mac one day after his birth. And occupy Bubby while my daughter heals. And cook and clean for the family. And help Mommy and Daddy get the hang of having a second child.

Yep, next time will be different.

Although, now that I think of it, the next time I'm blessed with another grandchild, the grandchild just might come from a different daughter. Not from Megan in the desert, but from a daughter who lives nearby. Maybe?

Which surely would make next time different.

Seriously and sincerely, I'm absolutely not rushing or coercing or trying to convince a daughter it's time for that, as it's clearly not time for either of my two other daughters. But still. One of them just might soon find it is time and just might be the next.

Either way, next time will indeed be different.

As far as this time is concerned, though, I'll focus on finding contentment and being truly, madly, deeply thankful, grateful, and happy about my new and healthy Baby Mac.

Even though I am a little sad.

Today's question:

I know of at least one person who will "tsk" and say I'm looking at the glass half-empty; I say I'm just being honest. Do you consider yourself a glass half-empty or a glass half-full kind of person?

Grandson No. 2 born!

Baby Mac arrived at 2:10 this morning! Megan was on the phone with me barely 30 minutes later with the news. The healthy "big boy" weighed 7 pounds, 11 ounces and was 20 inches long.

Mom, baby, and Dad are doing fine ... now that their hearts have returned to resting rate after a mad-dash, usually-45-minute drive to the hospital, with Megan having contractions every two minutes and "ready to kill my husband" and Preston worrying he'd have to "play doctor." Baby Mac was delivered 30 minutes after they got to the hospital. Shew! Megan had been induced, but this was a far different scenario than the doctor described when administering the newfangled induction method yesterday afternoon.

Hooray for babies, healthy moms, and fast-driving dads! And hooray for technology allowing this long-distance grandma to get to see the baby mere minutes after he was born! (Thanks, Preston, for the photos!)

Now back to our previously scheduled programming (see previous post).

Of kids and conflicts

Will ALL my grandkids be as delightful as Bubby?Anyone who has worked with kids knows that you don't like every single one of them equally. Some of them you may not really like at all.

Or is that just me?

When I was a Girl Scout leader, there was one particular girl who, naturally because I didn't care for her, was in my troop every single year for several years. And every single year for several years she drove me nuts. She was quite spoiled and a "mean girl" and "queen bee" in the making. She interrupted. She demanded attention. She demeaned the other girls. She strove to be the star of the troop, the class, the musical performances at school. And she had no qualms about stepping on her fellow Girl Scouts and classmates in her climb to getting her own way.

Yes, out of the twenty-plus kids I worked with regularly, this one spoiled girl irked me to no end. And my daughters knew my feelings for her. Once, in the heat of the moment while arguing with the girl, Megan let fly that I didn't like the girl. So I received a phone call that evening from Ms. Spoiled Girl's mother and I had to backtrack to save face ... and supposedly the feelings of the youngster. (Although I doubt her feelings were hurt; I'm pretty sure it was simply another manipulation tactic. Yes, she was only in third grade, but trust me on this.)

That was years ago. I currently work with a passel of kids again in my tutoring site coordinator stint. They're all pretty darn good kids. Thankfully, none are as annoying as Ms. Spoiled Girl, but I definitely don't adore each and every one of them.

Which has set me to wondering: As a grandma of lots and lots of grandchildren (which I hope to eventually be), will I like each and every one of them? I will surely love them all to their very core, but will I like them all? Will I get along with them all?

I clearly, truly, and deeply love and adore each and every one of my daughters. Equally but differently. And I sincerely like each one of them. Yes, there's often one of them doing something to annoy me, but the role of annoying daughter consistently changes. Never have any of the three reached the point that I can say I dislike them. But it might be different with children compared to grandchildren. My daughters are mine, I made them who they are. To a certain degree, at least.

With grandchildren, I'm not in charge of molding and shaping their character, thus not responsible for how they turn out (thankfully). So I'm not entirely sure they'll turn out flawless ... or at least free of annoying traits that rub me the wrong way.

I've not seen Bubby in nearly two months, but Megan reports that his "terrible twos" have hit full stride just as he's reaching the end of his second year. As any toddler does, he argues, he resists discipline. Heck, it sounds like he pretty much resists everything. Although he does know better than to continually say "No!" so he opts instead for saying "I don't want to." Equally frustrating for Megan and Preston as a "no" would be, I'm sure.

But as I said, Bubby is two. Nearly three. Nearly through the phase highlighted by battles of will. There will be more to come, I have no doubt, some likely even with me at some point through the years. I can't imagine, though, that Bubby will ever annoy me regularly, be considered a kiddo I'd rather not be around. I simply don't foresee such a scenario with my only grandchild. At all. Ever.

What worries me is that Bubby won't always and forever be my only grandchild. In fact, it's only a few more weeks before Mac makes an appearance. What worries me more is that I know myself, and, as I mentioned above, I know I'm not enamored with every single kid I come in contact with. What worries me the very most of all about that is the possibility that one of the kids I'm not enamored with may turn out to be one of my grandchildren.

Is that possible?

Today's question:

Have you had personality conflicts with other people's children? What about with your own grandchildren?

Wherein Birdy is shot down

This is NOT an injured bird, just a baby bird.As many of you know, I call my soon-to-be-born second grandson, brother to Bubby, Birdy. At least here on my blog.

Megan called Friday to chit-chat and, after a bit, she told me that Bubby had chosen a new name for his baby brother. All morning long, she said, Bubby had been calling the baby, for some unknown reason, "Wacky Mac."

"So I was thinking, that's what you could call the baby on your blog, Mom," she said, "instead of Birdy."

"Wacky Mac?" I asked.

"No, you can't call him Wacky Mac. But I was thinking Mac. Since Bubby picked out that name. Instead of Birdy."

I told Megan I couldn't call the baby Mac because I have an Uncle Mac, so that name is already taken. In my mind, at least.

To which my formerly-hesitant-to-hurt-anyone's-feelings-with-her-words-but-now-never-minces-them-ever daughter replied: "But we hate Birdy, Mom! We detest Birdy! Even <friend who reads this blog> asked 'What's up with Birdy?'"

Okay. I get it. Megan hates, no, detests the name Birdy. And because I don't want to write about my grandson in a manner that his mother detests, I hereby cave. Going forward, my second grandson's name — for blogging purposes, at least — will be Mac.

To Megan: Consider it done.

To Uncle Mac: I'm sorry, but you're now in second place in my mind when thinking of Mac. Baby Mac he'll likely be for a while. But still, you're no longer the No. 1 Mac. I'm sorry.

To Birdy: I'm sorry to you, too, for you will no longer be known as Birdy. You will be Mac. Except in secret. A secret we'll keep between us. So if I ever accidentally let the name Birdy slip from my lips to your ears, Baby Mac, please, whatever you do, do not tell your mother. Like I said, it'll be our secret. And it will be the one and only time I ask you to keep a secret from your mom. I promise, Baby Birdy, er, I mean Baby Mac.

Gah! I'll get used to it. I promise.

And I'll love him regardless of name. I promise.

Photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What is your favorite macaroni dish? (Sorry, Meg, had to do it just once!)