9 things I've kept 'for the grandkids'

My daughters have been grown and gone for quite some time now, but there are a few useful things from their childhood that I just can't throw away.

I'm pretty sure -- or at least I'm bound and determined -- that these items will one day come in handy, that they'll one day provide fun and frivolity for Bubby and his future siblings and cousins.

9 THINGS I'VE KEPT 'FOR THE GRANDKIDS'

1. VHS tapes of children's movies and shows.Space Jam, Fluke, Casper and more. I can't see throwing away tapes I know kids love, but I sure don't plan on replacing them with DVDs or Blu-Ray discs (except for the Disney and Pixar ones, of course). Show time at Grandma's will be comparable to projector films back in the day, right? As long as I hold onto a VCR, too!

2. Craft supplies and instructions. Stickers and papers and paints, oh my! Plus a gazillion craft ideas torn from magazine pages ... most of which I never got around to doing with my daughters.

3. The keyboard. I have a piano now -- and never really played the keyboard anyway -- but the grandkids will love the electronic version that still bears the note stickers that helped the girls learn a tune or two. I still have the Disney songbooks, too, from which those stickers came.

4. Jell-O egg mold. It makes full-size Jell-O eggs for Easter! So cool! So colorful! And so nearly never used with my daughters. I just might have a Halloween-bat mold hidden away somewhere, too.

5. Halloween costumes. Witches, devils, monster masks. I got rid of the French maid costume, which was a bad idea the first time around. Kept the sari, though.

6. Puzzles. We -- okay, I -- like to do puzzles, and one day I just may pull out an old one to share with a new companion who's not yet grown bored with Mom/Grandma's 1500-piece challenges.

7. Sleeping bags. No doubt there will be slumber parties at Grandma's, with passels of kids lining the floor. I can dream, right? Sleeping bags are for those dreams.

8. Children's books. Does this one count? Does anyone get rid of books anyway? Not in this house! In fact, I keep adding to this collection ... for the grandkids.

9. Records. I still have the vinyl (!) recordings of children's music the girls listened to as youngsters -- Mousercise and more! -- plus a few 45s of pop tunes they played again and again as preteens. And yes, I do still have the record player ... and sometimes even still use it.

Today's question:

What have you held onto that you no longer use, simply because it just might come in handy one day?

This post linked to Grandparent's Say It Saturday.

Master plans

As I recently mentioned a time or two, Andrea turned 25 last week. With that milestone, she swears she's having a "quarter-life crisis."

"I've not accomplished any of the things I planned to accomplish," she cried to me over the phone.

"Luckily you still have plenty of time left to do those things," I told her.

"But I'm TWENTY FIVE! I'm getting old!" she whined.

My response? "Don't give me any of that bull cuss," I roared back at her said in my sweet, understanding-mama voice. "Telling me you're too old to accomplish a few goals is insane. I'm nearly twice your age and I have lots of things I still plan to do, so don't even tell me you're too old to accomplish your goals."

My freakout kind and gentle manner shut her up ... sort of. I think she just figured I'm old and crotchety and don't know what I'm talking about, being at such an advanced age and all. That or she figured she'd caught me on one of those days when that menopause thing was lurking around the corner.

Well, just for the record, I do still have lots of goals.

For starters, here's my list of skills I've learned a teensy bit about and plan to improve immensely upon in the next 50 or so years (don't want to put too tight of a deadline on it, of course):

• picture-book writing and publishing
• photography
• swimming
• Photoshop
• piano playing
• gardening
• bird identification
• pizza dough spinning

I've dabbled a bit in all of the above. My plan is to master each and every one of those, not just check the "tried this" or "done that" box next to each.

But that's not all. No, no, no. As I reach the likely mid-point of my life, I plan to give a few new pursuits a spin as well, things I want to learn simply for my own edification -- and to dazzle the diapers and denims off all my grandchildren to come! Here's just a small sampling from that list:

• juggling
• bird calls
• skipping stones across the lake (This one will require regular access to water -- a scarce commodity up here in the mountains -- but I'll figure that part out.)
• grow a Venus fly trap ... and watch it eat a snack
• peel an apple in one continuous peel
• fold nifty origami animals from dollar bills and regularly leave them as tips for restaurant waitstaff

See? I have plans, baby! Master plans!

Now I just need to master a few time-management skills. That or maybe I'll simply learn to write a picture book about juggling apples as I peel them before tossing the continuous peels to my Venus fly trap in order to free up my hands for skipping stones on the lake I just swam across while identifying birds and mimicking their calls on the piano that stands in my garden filled with peonies and origami woodland animals, all of which I will photograph and perfect with Photoshop for publication in a picture book.

Then I'll nix the dough-spinning goal and just go out for pizza. Sometimes a gal -- even an old gal like myself -- must admit her limitations.

Today's question:

What skills do you plan to master in upcoming years?

Three cheers for my third child

Today my baby is 25 years old. Get that? TWENTY-FIVE! My baby! Who's no longer a baby! (And who wishes I'd get that through my thick head!)

Andrea was born 25 years ago today, forever changing the makeup of our family, the makeup of my heart. She's my wild child -- and readily admits it! -- my child who dares to be different and manages to make different look so good.

Not long ago I wrote a post for the soon-to-be-defunct Rocky Mountain Moms Blog about the challenges -- and charms -- of the third child. In honor of my Andie, this is that post:

Three's a charm ... and a challenge

A friend recently had her second child and when I went to meet the little guy, one of the topics of conversation was how integrating the new baby into the family hasn't been as difficult as she thought it might be. No, the second baby isn't all that hard, I told her. It's the third child that completely upsets the family balance.

I've told many people this throughout the years. As a mother of three girls, all born in relatively quick succession, I learned 24 years ago when baby No. 3 arrived on the scene that going from one to two babies, while initially a juggling act, was doable without any major trauma or drama, but the transition from two babies to three was -- and continues to be -- one of my greatest challenges as a mom.

"But you already had two," people marvel. "How could it be that much more difficult to add one more to the fold?"

It's a matter of logistics, I counter. Mom has two hands, which is one short when there are three babies. In a home with two parents, there are exactly that: two parents. If all kids are in need of attention, who gets left out? Mom can take care of one, Dad can take care of another, and the third has to hold that thought and wait until Mom or Dad is free and ready to offer belated comfort.

Dinner tables are best suited to an even number of chairs, most typically four. When baby No. 3 comes along, a bigger table needs to be purchased, a table that seats five. But tables aren't made for an odd number, so a table for six is required.

Same goes for the family vehicle. Two kids work just fine in the backseat of nearly any car. But transporting three kids requires a larger vehicle.

And don't even get me started on visiting play areas or, in the later years, amusement parks. Rides at amusement parks are typically made for two; Mom can sit with one child, Dad with another. Which leaves one kiddo -- or one parent -- riding alone or watching from the gate.

Travel by plane presents a similar problem.

So yeah, having the third child requires a bit more thought, planning, and cost.

But the payoff makes up for that.

Siblings argue, that's all there is to it. Having a third kiddo in the group means that if two are arguing, there's always another playmate waiting in the wings.

Another advantage of three kids: easy lessons in the democratic process. Majority rules and an uneven number in the group makes it very clear early on that every vote counts and can change the outcome of family votes, be it for vacation places, what to watch on television or what to have for dessert.

But one of the best things about having three children? The realization that three truly is a crowd -- which makes for the absolute best-ever group hugs, as six arms squeezing one Mommy are so much better than four.

When it comes to kids, yes, three's a challenge. But more importantly, three is forever a charm.

  ~ Originally posted on Rocky Mountain Moms Blog March 21, 2010

Yep, Andrea was the third, the challenge, the good luck charm. She remains all three.

She continues to be the one to raise eyebrows, to rock boats, to make me laugh the loudest, cry the hardest, worry the most.

She and I -- so very much alike in so many ways, so very much Cancers -- butt heads ferociously ... yet love each other fiercely.

She's my favorite third child, my sweet baby Andie, my strong, independent woman.

She's my friend. She's my birthday girl. She's the one for whom I wish the very, very happiest of birthdays ever!

Megan's magical method

One of the highlights of my visit to the desert was seeing that Megan's college education is truly paying off—at home.

You see, Megan has this amazing technique for keeping Bubby in line and all I can figure is that it was part of her early childhood education curriculum because it sure isn't something she gleaned from me.

What is Megan's Magical Method? She offers Bubby the opportunity "to make good choices." We're talking a two-year-old here. A two-year-old who understands the ultimatum and usually—happily! without coercion!—makes a good choice.

Bizarre, if you ask me, but it works.

For example, Bubby will be eating breakfast and after two bites he'll decide to drop his fruit, waffles, whatever onto the floor so Roxie, the dog, will eat it. Megan/Mom will warn him not to do it again, but Bubby will scrunch up his face into a "yeah, just watch this" smirk and continue dropping goodies to the dog.

So Megan whips out the big guns. In her calm but firm teacher voice she says, "Looks to me like someone's making bad choices. Are you making bad choices, Bubby? We like good choices, don't we?" Instantly, and I mean INSTANTLY, Bubby grins from ear to ear, says "Yes!" and plops the piece of food into his mouth instead of over the edge of his highchair tray.

When Bubby would obviously need to hit the sack and teetered on the edge of a tantrum, Megan went through the same "good choices versus bad choices" spiel. Right away, Bubby would grin and trot off to put on his pajamas, oh-so proud of himself for making a good choice.

Sheer magic! And I don't understand why it works. With a two-year-old. Yet it works again and again. Again and again I would watch in amazement, trying unsuccessfully to catch the sleight of hand.

How does she do it?

Now some of you may worry what happens when a bad choice by Bubby prevails, that maybe that's why it works—because Bubby is scared to death of Mom's reaction when he makes a bad choice. Does Megan yell and scream? Spank his diaper-padded bottom? Bind him with duct tape and toss him out as a super-size snack for the desert-roaming javelinas?

None of the above. When Bubby makes a bad choice, Megan simply does what every other normal, non-magical mom does: She puts Bubby in time out.

I actually witnessed Bubby's refusal to make a good choice once and the time out that followed. It broke my heart -- and the heart of GiGi, his paternal great-grandma, and his great aunt Katie—because, get this, it was smack dab in the middle of Bubby eating his birthday cake.

At one point soon after the "Happy Birthday" song, Bubby started being a little cuss, wouldn't choose the "good choice" option and ended up being whisked away to his timeout spot in the hallway, away from the action. He cried as Megan hauled him to the hallway while Gigi, Katie and I all stared at each other and worked to restrain our own tears. There Bubby sat ... for less than one minute. Then he gave in, told Mommy he was ready to make good choices and cheerfully danced his way back to his highchair to finish his cake.

Like I said, it's bizarre. Even if that's the only thing to come from Megan's four years at an expensive private college (and the massive PLUS loan Jim and I still make payments on), I say it was well worth it. Because we moms all know how difficult it is to get our kids to make good choices, to do what's right, to not follow the crowd of little cussers and be left with lifelong consequences. We know that all the time and money in the world matters not one whit when it comes to teaching our kiddos to make good choices, always and forever.

Jim and I joked again and again about how long the "good choices" tactic will work. Will a teenaged Bubby one day call from the tattoo parlor to warn Mom and Dad before showing up at home with a tat emblazoned across his shoulder, neck or shaved head?

Not likely. Megan's already working on nipping that possibility in the bud. When Brianna visited the week before Jim and I, Megan was quick to point out to Bubby the various (mostly discreet) tattoos Brianna has, telling him, "Aunt B made some bad choices, didn't she? Tattoos are a bad choice and we like good choices, don't we Bubby?"

And, of course, Bubby grinned from ear to ear and agreed. Because that's what boys who make good choices do—they listen to their mommy, agree with their mommy. At least for now. At least while he's two.

At least as long as Megan's Magical Method continues to work.

Today's question:

What is one of your more memorable GOOD choices or BAD choices?

My answer:  Bad choice -- using green food coloring (that's FOOD coloring) to color my hair for a Halloween party when I was 17. My green hair finally faded right about Christmas time!

One less worry?

Now that my girls are grown, I've found there are fewer things to worry about. One of the biggies, which struck me just this morning, is that if I were to die, I don't have to worry about the guardianship of my daughters.

The morbid thought crossed my mind as I read a news article about Elizabeth Edwards doing all she can to keep her slimy, soon-to-be-ex husband's mistress from becoming step-mother and co-guardian of her young children, ages 12 and 10, once she dies. Seems poor Elizabeth's health has taken a slight turn for the worse so she's scrambling for legal ways to protect her kids, even going so far as to consider having her 28-year-old daughter raise the younger ones.

That's a pretty heavy load to lay on the 28-year-old. I couldn't imagine doing the same to Brianna, who's basically the same age. But with my kids all consecutive ages, that was never a consideration. No, I worried about who'd take in the trio -- who I would want to take in the trio -- if tragedy took me and Jim at the same time, leaving my girlies as orphans.

We did write up legal documents naming the person several years ago. It was about 15 years ago, just before Jim and I went skydiving. Although we rode in separate planes and jumped at separate times, being an overprotective crazy mama with an overactive imagination, I wasn't willing to take any chances. So we wrote up a will, primarily addressing the guardianship of our pre-teen daughters.

It was an unbelievably difficult choice to make. Jim and I have lots of family, lots of potential guardians to choose from. But some had very different parenting techniques that we didn't want to subject the girls to, others had such limited means and overwhelming stressors already that we didn't want to add three little girls to the mix. We eventually chose, but luckily it's now a moot point. Jim and I survived to see the girls become self-sufficient. We don't need to name anyone to care for our kids upon our death.

Whew! One less thing to worry about.

But wait -- now there's Bubby. Have Megan and Preston made a final decision on who will take care of him if tragedy were to strike? I know they've talked about it, gone back and forth on it, worried about it. But are there legal documents to guarantee their wishes will be honored? That I worry about.

And what about Brianna's kids? She'll likely get married soon, likely have kids soon after that. What will she and her husband choose to do?

And what about Andrea? Yeah, she's not even dating anyone right now. And, yeah, she's flat out told me she doesn't want kids. But you never know. She probably oughta start considering such things. Just in case.

Yes, I'm a worrier. I admit it. And now that I've thought it out, written it down, I guess there really isn't less to worry about as a I get older, there are just different things to worry about. The worry about my own children has now been replaced with worrying about my grandchildren ... and my granchildren-to-be.

There is indeed one less worry, though. At least I don't have to worry that my slimy, soon-to-be-ex husband's mistress will become step-mother and co-guardian of my young children.

It's unfortunate that Elizabeth Edwards, who has so many other worries at this time, wasn't afforded that same consideration.

Today's question:

What's one thing you used to worry about that you no longer do?

Metamorphosis

My current house is not the family home, the home in which my daughters were raised. We moved into this house two and a half years ago, from the home we lived in for 19 years, the childhood home the girls remember.

Megan has never lived with us in this house. Andrea lived here less than a year, Brianna a little more than two. So few marks were ever made on the place to remind us of our once hustling, bustling childrearing years watching the girls grow from toddlers to teens to young adults.

But there were a few. And yesterday I removed the very last one.

When we moved into this house, Brianna adorned one of her bedroom walls with the rub-on quotes that are popular home decor of late. Yesterday I removed those letters, one by one peeling away the final trace of any other family members in residence, any occupants other than Jim and myself.

As I picked away at the corner of each letter, prying up an edge of the sticker-backed text then carefully pulling it up and away, I thought again and again about the phrase Brianna so carefully chose to express her frame of mind as she moved into adulthood.

"Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly," it said. And here I was, working from right to left, removing the letters, erasing the sentiment.

As the words disappeared from the wall, they became written upon my heart. With that final purging of the past, I embraced the words, appreciated their significance as well as the significance of my removing them from our home: One by one my babies had become the butterfly, one by one they had moved on.

Now it's my turn to do the same.

Remnants of what once was no longer decorate my cocoon, and I look forward to moving on.

I look forward to the butterfly I will become.

Today's question:

What upcoming change in your life do you look forward to?

Enunciate the love

Bubby has no problem showing his best bud Ro-Ro how much he loves him!I recently read "Just Let Me Lie Down: Necessary Terms For The Half-Insane Working Mom" by Kristin van Ogtrop, which I received free for participation in the SV Moms Group Book Club. (SV Moms Group is the umbrella group under which I write for the Rocky Mountain Moms Group occasionally.)

Kristin van Ogtrop is the editor of Real Simple magazine, which means she's a high-power working gal. In her book, she has lots to say about balancing work and life issues, or at least coming to terms with the fact that balance is an elusive thing for most working mothers. A lot of what she has to say is interesting, most of it's witty, tiny bits of it left me scratching my head.

One tiny bit that stood out as a head-scratcher for me is a comment van Ogtrop made about saying "I love you." The context is that it's a chapter in which she talks about the strangeness of realizing she may possibly love a coworker. Love as in motherly love, friendly love, not some sordid office romance type of love. First she confesses, "I am not a big 'I love you' person," then a few paragraphs later she says this:

"Many people who rise to leadership positions do so in part because they can control their emotions (see Emotional tourniquet, p. 63). Sometimes I think the only reason I have been hired to run a magazine is because I'm able to remember to keep a box of tissues in my office and I can usually remain dry-eyed while others around me burst into tears. I'm sure there are individuals I work with who pity my children, raised as they are by a woman who appears to have no emotions but the occasional flash of anger. To those colleagues: I assure you, I do tell my children and my husband that I love them. At least every once in a while."

It's those last couple sentences that caught my attention. I'm sure van Ogtrop isn't dead serious about the "every once in a while" part, but it made me consider how often the "I love you"s are thrown around in my family.

I come from a family where "I love you" was rarely said; my dad still says it only in third person ("Your dad loves ya"). I wanted things to be different in the family Jim and I created, and it is. We say "I love you" all the time, possibly so often that it has lost its oomph.

It started off when the girls were little that after bedtime prayers there'd be "Goodnight, I love you." Then, when they left the house it'd be "Have fun. Be safe. I love you!" Now it's the last thing we say at the end of telephone calls: "I love you. Bye!"

Even Bubby -- who, as a typical 22-month-old, still has a relatively limited word reportoire -- has learned the phrase. As we wrapped up our most recent Skyping conversation, he said "Bye!" followed by a mumbled "ahwhuhwhoo." Translation from Megan: "That's his 'I love you.'"

"Ahwhuhwhoo"s notwithstanding, most of our family phone calls are now end with what sounds much like "love-ya-bye!" as we all lead busy lives and rush to get off the phone so we can move along to the other dire matters that fill our days.

And I don't like that. Sure, the sentiment is still there, but this is an instance in which it's not just the thought that counts. It's the saying it like you mean it that counts.

So going forward (gotta love that corporate phrase left over from corporate days) I plan to enunciate, to say it like I mean it. Because I do mean it. More than anything else in my life. I love my girls, my husband, my Bubby.

And my readers.

I love you!

Bye!

Extra special bonus because I love you guys: I received two copies of "Just Let Me Lie Down" by Kristin van Ogtrop to give away. Enter to win one in the Back Room.

Today's question:

In an average day, how many times do you say "I love you"?

My answer: Probably five or six times.