9 things grandmas should never do

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1. Never disrespect the choices of your grandbaby's parents. Questionable bedtimes, meals, discipline and more? Sure, you can disagree with the choices, just do so respectfully. As long as you ...

2. Never voice your disagreement or disapproval with the parents in front of your grandchild. Mommy and Daddy are the last word. Grandchildren don't need more ammunition in their battle for getting their way, and repeating words of disagreement from Grandma would be sure-fire ammunition.

3. Never secretly break Mom and Dad's rules. If tantrums mean Junior gets a time-out, give him a time-out. If 8 p.m. is bedtime, tuck him in when the clock chimes eight times. If Mom says only one popsicle, don't you dare offer a second. What? Grandmas are meant to break rules, you say? Notice I said never secretly break the rules. The key is to do it loud and proud and let everyone know in advance the rules will likely be bent a smidgen -- possibly even smashed to pieces -- when Grandma's in charge. Simply be upfront, not underhanded.

4. Never talk bad about your grandchild's other grandparents. Even if you're clearly the very, very best grandma ever, your grandchild still loves his or her other grandma and grandpa. Accept it, deal with it, and don't act like a jealous 12-year-old girl about it.

5. Never try to buy your grandchild's love. Any kid will smile, maybe even squeal with delight, over toys, gadgets, games and other goodies. But things shouldn't make up your PDAs (primary displays of affection). It's time and attention the kiddos want -- and what they'll most love you for.

6. Never ply your grandchild for information about Mom and Dad. Maybe they're going through rough financial times, maybe the marital bliss isn't so blissful, maybe they won the lottery and don't want to share the dough. Whatever the case causing you to be Nosy Nelly, it really is none of your business. Don't recruit your grandchildren for special ops in attempts to make it your business.

7. Never think your bad habits go unnoticed. Swearing, smoking, sipping too much of the sauce, double-dipping, overeating, complaining about your looks, your size, your big butt in the mirror. Little pitchers have big ears ... and eyes ... and impressionable hearts and minds on which such things are etched, things that can be detrimental to his or her physical and psychological well-being. Yeah, even grandmas have issues; just do your best to not pass them along to your grandchildren. They'll undoubtedly have plenty of issues of their own.

8. Never forget that you're a mother, too, not just a grandmother. Love on and brag about the grandchildrens' parents any chance you get. This goes a long way in maintaining the bond with your adult children ... and increases your grandchild's ever-important pride in his or her parents.

9. Never take the time with your grandchildren for granted. Every single minute with the little ones -- whether those minutes include stinky diapers and equally stinky attitudes or giggles and grins and big squeezes around Grandma's neck -- is a gift. Graciously accept it. Sincerely appreciate it. Heartily give thanks for it.

This post is featured in the About.com: Grandparents September Blog Carnival: Grandparents and Grandparenting.

Today's question:

What would you add to the list of things grandmas should never do?

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Pink sky at night

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I've made it no secret that I don't like the desert, the place Bubby and his parents call home. It's too cuss hot, there are few -- if any -- real trees, and it's filled with creepy crawly yucky poisonous things.

I must admit, though, that it does provide gorgeous sunsets.

It's certainly not enough to persuade me to move there, but I'm happy Bubby and Megan regularly enjoy the colorful evenings.

Today's question:

Mountains, desert, oceanside, plains ... what's your favored setting for 'home'?

Off to Grandma's

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In a final fling with Southwest Airlines, I have a four-legged trip on the docket: fly to the desert; fly home with Bubby so he can spend a few days with Gramma and PawDad; fly Bubby back to the desert; then fly home alone.

The first leg went off without a hitch, with me arriving in the desert early last Thursday. After a few days of fun in the sun, er, a few days of playing in the house with Bubby because the oppressive heat prevented any living thing from being outside longer than 42 seconds at a time, Bubby and I left for the mountains yesterday morning. It was his first plane ride with Grandma -- and without Mom or Dad.

Because I didn't know how long it would take for this Grandma to get through the airport with a little boy holding one hand and a car seat in the other -- Bubby is now two and gets his own seat on the plane, thus needs to bring along his own car seat for maximum protection in the air -- we arrived with plenty of time to kill.

Which meant there was a lot of waiting. 

And waiting.

And waiting.

And still more waiting.

Then finally ... we got to get on the plane ...

... and head for the mountains.

Nothing but clear skies, happy talk from Bubby, and -- most thankfully -- no poopy diapers mid-flight.

Once we landed, there was nothing but grins all around when we met up with PawDad and his surprise companions welcoming Bubby to the mountains: Auntie Andie ...

... and Aunt B! 

Now the real fun begins!

Today's question:

What's one summer-like thing you've not yet done or accomplished this summer that you are determined to do before fall arrives?

Grandma's No. 1

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Grandmas are bonkers for their grandkids ... usually. I know there are some grandmas who are of the sort to offer little more than a "meh" when it comes to their grandchildren. I've seen them, met them, talked to them. But I think those are the exception, the women who had the same "meh" response to their own children.

The moms whose kids were -- and likely still are -- a priority, though, those who put raising their children at the tippy top of the list of Important Things To Do in This Life, well, those are the ones who grow up to be grandmas whose hearts glow and gushings flow when it comes to their grandkids. Those are the ones deliriously bonkers for their grandbabies.

I admit I'm pretty much of the bonkers variety. Lately, though, I've worried that all the mushy-gushy love-love stuff I've got going on for Bubby makes my daughters a little jealous, a little worrisome that I love my grandson more than I love them. Deep inside we all still want to be mom's favorite, no matter how old we get, and I have a feeling my girls see my bonkered state for Bubby as proof that he's No. 1 in my eyes, in my heart. Not that they've said anything, would even consider saying anything, for they all love Bubby to bits (especially his mama, Megan, of course). Let's just call it mother's intuition.

Maybe. Maybe it's not mother's intuition at all. It very well could be my own overzealous and usually unfounded guilty conscience kicking in because of all the verbal backflips and whoop-dee-doos I perform when it comes to talking about my grandson. And because I don't want my girls to think they figure any less prominently in my heart since Bubby came along.

The thing is, when it comes to grandkids -- and any grandma knows this, so I'm pretty much talking to the non-grandmas here -- it's such a fresh, new, overwhelming love that it's hard to not gush and glow over it. New mothers feel the very same world-shaking love for their newborn, for their little ones as they grow, for the one, two or eighteen lights of their lives.

The difference, though, is what happens in the years between a baby's birth and that newborn's entry into young adulthood. For those years from newborn to adulthood are filled not only with knee-weakening love and adoration, but struggles and strife and, if we're all honest here, a lot of screaming and crying and heartbreak as the child tugs this way and mom tugs that way, all in the name of growth, independence, maturity and just plain ol' life.

Sadly, those struggles lessen a mom's enthusiasm a tad, diminish the mushing and the gushing. But they never, ever, ever lessen the love and adoration mom has for a child. At least not for this mom; probably not for most moms. Despite -- or maybe because of -- the battles, a mother's love for her child matures as the child matures. It grows into a more quiet love, one no longer eliciting butterflies and balloons and all-out blasting of horns to announce the bliss.

But it once did. With every child. And grandchildren bring all that back -- the butterflies, the bliss and more. Which is why grandmas act so goofy, so obsessed, so gosh-darn twitterpated. Much to their delight, they're getting a second opportunity to relish the fully-enveloping motherly love for a child.

And relish it we do.

Just like we did when our first child was born. And the second. And the third. And more.

Just like we did and do and will with each and every grandchild to come along.

It doesn't mean we love our original little ones any less. It just means we're keeping the enthusiasm in check. For the adult child's sake, of course. Because we understand how much the mushy-gushy PDAs from mom embarrass the oh-so grown-up kids, whether they're 13 or 30.

And we know kisses on the lips and big ol' noogies on the head no longer make children-turned-adults giggle in delight. So we bestow them on our grandkids and eat up the giggles they gurgle out as if they were Godiva chocolates.

But any adult child of mine is more than welcome to a noogie, a liplock, a great big bear hug any time they ask for it. Sometimes even if they don't ask for it.

Because although I don't say it nearly enough, the love, the bliss, the being bonkers for my babies is still there, still burning hot in my head, in my heart.

And cuss the numbers, the ranking systems, the logic; mothers and grandmothers don't believe in such things. What we do believe in, though, illogical as it may seem, is that each and every one of our babies, of our grandbabies, is truly No. 1 in our eyes, truly No. 1 in our hearts.

Today's question:

Other than relationships, in what would you most like to be considered No. 1?

My answer: I'd like to be ranked No. 1 on the bestseller list ... for children's books.

A thank you and a beer

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We're a pretty communicative family, no doubt about it. Not only do my girls e-mail and text and call on the phone with chitter-chatter and pseudo tweets, they also mail me goodies. Real mail, snail mail, via the United States Postal Service.

Just last week I received a couple postcards -- not something I typically find in my mailbox.

First up was a precious thank-you card from Bubby. Megan's teaching the boy right and made him put pen to paper to thank Gramma and PawDad for his recent birthday gifts.

Bubby decorated the front of the card with stickers and special words. Megan translated, with Bubby's best comment of all -- for whatever reason -- being "Big banana. Eat it."

The back of the card was Megan's words because although at two-years-old Bubby obviously has the motivation, he's not yet mastered the fine art of thank-you-card protocol.

Coming in from the opposite end of the grandparenting/parenting spectrum was the postcard I received from Andrea last week. I'll let it speak for itself.

Front:

And back:

In her defense, Andrea did send a Thank You card last week, too, expressing her gratitude for the birthday gifts we gave her.

But it's the beer tour postcard that made me smile most because, c'mon, how many 25-year-olds share their drinking adventures with their parents? And think of dear ol' Mom and Dad while downing a pint or two at the pub? And actually fill out a postcard for them while there?

Like I said, we're a pretty communicative family.

Today's question:

When did you last send a postcard? Where did you send it from and to whom?

My answer: I actually sent a postcard just last week. It was part of my friend Amber's campaign to end breed-specific legislation in Denver (the legislation that bans pit bulls, like my Mickey).

Tweeting without Twitter

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I never thought in a million years I'd say this, but I use Twitter. Daily. Sometimes hourly.

After several years of saying how stupid the social networking site seemed to me, I'm now a tweeter. Which is kind of like a tweaker, as it is rather addictive, but it costs far less. In fact, being on Twitter pays me -- in the form of new followers and friends. Some of you reading this may have even followed me here from Twitter. (Welcome, SITSGirls!)

Anyway, so I tweet. No big deal.

Apparently it is a big deal to my daughters, though. A laughable big deal.

My daughters don't tweet; they think it's silly (like mother, like daughter, I suppose). They text, they're on Facebook, one even has a blog. But "I'd never tweet on Twitter!" is pretty much the common refrain from all three, incredulous that their mother -- a grandma, even, and someone they thought was intelligent ... on most days -- would actually participate in such drivel.

Funny thing is, my daughters do tweet. All the cussing time! Just not on Twitter. They send me little chirps and shoutouts via 140-character-or-less texts and 140-word-or-less phone calls and voicemails all day long. Which, in my opinion, puts them firmly in the "tweet" category.

The girls call or text to tweet about their trip home from work, the weather, what temperature you preheat the oven to for banana bread and on, and on, and on.

Don't get me wrong; I love their pseudo-tweeting. I truly do. I love that my daughters are comfortable calling and texting any time, any day, any night, for any reason whatsoever, however inane that reason may be.

Here is a small sampling of the pseudo-tweets I've received from my daughters just in the last two days:

"I finally feel like I have friends again!"

"What do I do if the power goes out?"

"Have you accessed my bank account for any reason?"

"Yay! I signed a lease!"

"I've never hated a job as much as I hate this one."

See what I mean? Those are tweet-worthy texts and telephone calls. More like Twitter direct messages, but Twitter talk just the same.

The one serious difference between tweets from my girls and tweets from my Twitter pals? No matter how often they tweet, no matter how often they bug the cuss out of me with the chirping, I can't unfollow the girls. There's definitely no "unfollow" button when it comes to my lovely offspring. And in all honesty, I don't want there to be. (Some folks on Twitter? Well, that's a different story. And I do use the unfollow button.)

Oh, and another big difference: Retweeting certain tweets from the girls is bad. Very, very bad. And may result in a total lockout of the service.

Which means this post will likely get me a big 'ol #mymomdoesntknowwhentokeephermouthshut mention.

If only the girls knew what that means.

And how to do it.

But they don't.

Because they're not on Twitter.

Ha!

Today's question:

Do you find it easier to form new friendships online or in real life? Why?