Ripple effect

One of the questions I regularly ask the Grilled Grandmas is "What do you most want to pass along to your grandchildren?". I'm continually impressed by their thoughtful answers because in considering that question myself, I find it difficult to narrow it down, to sum up in a few words what I want the sons and daughters of my daughters to have and to do and to be.

I want to pass along to my grandchildren so many things, some that I have, some that I don't, some that I wish I had mastered.

I want to pass along the traits of faithfulness and thankfulness. I want them to know they’re loved and worthy and important. I want them to have memories of incredible moments and the motivation to create more. I want to pass along a love for themselves as well as a love for others, regardless of how alike or different others may be. I want to pass along the desire — and the ability — to make the most of the gifts they have been given.

I want to pass along to my grandchildren all that and more. Ultimately, though, what I most want to pass along to my grandchildren is life and all the beauty and blessings and potential wrapped up in that. I want them — my extended family — to be and to continue to be. To continue the family line, the family tree. I cringe at the idea that everything Jim and I put into the family we’ve created could have ended with our most immediate progeny. No, I want our family tree to have strong roots and abundant shoots going forward, and for those roots and shoots to make a difference in the world.

I want the lives of my children, my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren and so on to matter and make a difference in the world, partially to better themselves, to better the world around them. But in all honesty — and in all selfish realization — I also want those things partially so my life will have mattered, to know that I made a difference.

I have no illusions that I’ve shaken the world up in any way. I do believe, though, that through my children and their children and their children, my jiggles and jerks from beginning to end have had and will continue to have a ripple effect. My words, my actions, my love have touched my children, who then have gone out into the world and touched others with their words, actions, love. Then the ripples continue as those touched in turn touch others, matter to others, make a difference to others. My ripples grow larger, wider, eternal. That won’t happen if the family doesn’t continue, if life is not passed down, again and again and again.

Yes, I want to pass along love, independence, fortitude, passion, compassion, sympathy, empathy and more. Those are the things of life, of living. For better or for worse, those are intertwined with pain, heartache, fear, longing, loss — life’s unsavory bits that make what's on the other side of the coin all the more sweet and appreciated and worth every utterance of gratitude and thanks.

So, regardless of reason, justification, or explanation, when I truly consider what I want to pass along to my grandchildren, the bottom line is this: I most want to pass down to them life and the gumption to make their fair share of ripples — possibly even a big splash now and then, too — with that life.

Photo: stock.xchng/biewoef

Today's question:

Whose ripples from the past continue to impact your present?

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?

Freeze frame

Today I head to the desert for a five-day visit with Bubby. To him, though, it will likely feel more like a five-day photo shoot -- Gramma takes lots of pictures! By the end of a few days together with Bubby, I usually have 500 or more photos. Enough to get me through until the next time we meet. Enough to last as blog graphics for a few months. Enough to mark our time together.

I'm big on photos. I see them as a record of one's own personal history. When memories of a time, an event, a life fade, the photos are there to remind.

As I get older, I realize my memories are fading fast, yet I hold few photos of my childhood to remind me. In fact, the following photos are the only photos I have of my life before the age of 10. (I have just as few of the years after age 10 -- until I got my own camera at 16 -- but I'll refrain from sharing those as my teeth became more crooked and the hairstyles more funky. Definitely not cute shots, not worth sharing.)

Sibling No. 1, Sibling No. 2, and me, Sibling No. 3.  Sibling No. 4 and me. Siblings Nos. 1-4 and a dog whose name I can't recall. Me, beautiful Bonnie, and Sibling No. 4.

Siblings Nos. 1, 3 (me) and 4 on Dad's parade float for his business. Siblings Nos. 5 & 6 (twins) and me (maybe me?).

The crooked teeth and funky hairstyles begin. Siblings Nos. 2 and 3 on one snowmobile, me with Dad on the other.

The gang of seven (siblings). Paternal grandparents and all seven of us.

Most of us in Florida. I'm second. (Minnesotans not used to sun!) Again, in Florida.

And that's it -- my only photographic reminders of early childhood. The lack of photos in my possession is not because they're in a trunk of my mom's or a stash at my dad's. Nope, that's it.

That won't be the case with my kids, my grandkids, maybe even my great-grandkids. Like I said, I take lots of pictures. I'm certain that one day they'll be thankful for all the flashing and clicking from Gramma.

And I can pretty much guarantee that despite the photos not being all that skillfully taken or perfectly composed, they will all be cute, they will all be worth sharing.

Even if their teeth are crooked and their haircuts funky.

Today's question:

What is your favorite photo of you as a child?

Ode to (birthday) joy

Twenty-seven years ago today, Frosty the Snowman played on the labor-room television while Jim and I waited for our second daughter to be born. By the time the evening news hit the screen, Megan had arrived and my life was forever enhanced, my heart forever expanded.

Because of Megan, I've learned ...

That "Silent Night" is a perfectly appropriate and effective lullabye.

That it is possible for me to laugh so hard my ribs, abs and obliques hurt ... for days.

To never give up hope.

And to take a picture with my heart.

That despite being scared as cuss while doing it, I can be the fiercest Mama Bear out there and challenge the so-called professionals in the name of doing what I know is right for my child.

That the words of a teen daughter are just that -- words -- and eventually they'll be apologized for or forgotten. And forgiven.

And that the stereotype of beautiful, blonde, cheerleader homecoming queens being mean-spirited bimbos is just that -- an inaccurate stereotype.

That courage looks like a young lady with braids in her hair, hands in her pockets and tears welling in her eyes as she walks to her first college campus meeting while Mom and Dad pull out of the parking lot, heading for home seven hours away.

That I can wholeheartedly love and adore someone whose political leanings -- and movie preferences -- are so different from mine.

That faith is a badge to wear loud and proud.

That bestowing the title of "Grandma" upon someone is one of the greatest honors one can give. And receive.

That there's something mesmerizing and magical in watching a child become an adult quite different -- and exceedingly better -- than the person I thought she might be.

And, most importantly, that it is indeed possible to survive with huge chunks of my heart living 819 miles away. Infinitely more lonely, but possible.

Happy 27th birthday to my goofy middle girl who will always be, no matter the number of years, my little Meggie Beggie Booger Buns!

Holiday question of the day:

What's the most magical thing to ever happen to you in December?

Tradition, tradition!

In the box of papers, pictures, and greeting cards Granny saved that Jim and I took home after cleaning out the last of her possessions was a manilla envelope. Inside the envelope were original copies -- entire newspaper sections -- of the first articles I ever published. Nestled neatly among my first (Mosh-pit mom, Oct. 1994), second (Get this: Confessions of an online addict, Oct. 1995), and third (Stranger in our midst, 1997) published articles was a publication not bearing my words, but the published work of my then fifth-grade daughter, Megan.

The booklet treasured by Granny the past 16 years was a staple-bound school creation called Author Share: A journal for aspiring authors grades K-5 that Megan had sent her. In the "Traditions" chapter of this special "Holiday Issue 1994" was the following tidbit:

Traditions always have been, always will be an important part of our family.

An even more important part is Granny. Although no longer capable of rushing to the car to help with luggage, no longer able to participate in holiday celebrations at all, Granny continues to loom large in our hearts, ever so prominent in our Thanksgiving memories.

Today's question:

If you could magically have one special guest join your Thanksgiving festivities -- someone not already participating in this year's celebration -- whom would it be?

Three things I blame on technology

Little kids no longer learn that telephones go brrrrring. 

Because phones no longer ring, they sing ... or scream or crow or play themes from horror flicks or annoying comedy shows.

Coworkers no longer gather around the water cooler to discuss last night's cliffhanger episode of their favorite television series.

Because everyone records shows, to watch on different dates, at different times. Or they catch it on Hulu or iTunes -- alone -- and can't say anything until they're sure others have seen it. By then the thrill, the urgency, the excitement is gone.

Dogs are no longer taught to fetch the newspaper.

Because the news is all read online. Or not at all.

I really shouldn't complain, though, because:

1. I hate talking on the phone.

2. I no longer work in an office so I never engage in chit chat with coworkers about favorite televsion shows.

3. My dogs don't fetch the paper -- which I actually do still read in print -- because some days, fetching the paper myself is about the only exercise I get because I spend much of my time sitting on my cuss blogging. Yet another thing I blame on technology. (Which is more acceptable than blaming it on lack of willpower and motivation, wouldn't you say?)

Photo credits: Click photos for source.

Today's question:

What do you blame on advances in technology?

Know what?

Megan at 2 years old (Bubby's age)

When Megan was young, she had a way of keeping the attention of anyone to whom she was telling a story by saying, "And you know what?" after every few sentences.

She'd be sharing the news of a first day of school or what happened at a birthday party or why she thinks Jeremy is the handsdown cutest boy in the entire third grade, and sprinkled the whole way through would be interjections of, "And ya know what, Mom?"

Every sentence or three, she'd ask it.

Thing was, Megan wouldn't continue her story until I responded, until I said "What?"

I could be looking directly at Megan as she spoke, nodding along, but that wasn't enough. No, I had to vocalize my interest. I had to clarify with words my desire to hear more. Otherwise, she'd say it again.

"Ya know what?" she'd ask.

If I simply raised my eyebrows and leaned forward, seemingly (at least to me) begging for more, she'd respond with an impatient, "And YOU. KNOW. WHAT. MOM!?"

"WHAT!?" I'd growl at her.

Then she'd smile sweetly and continue chattering away, the magic words having appeased her ... for about four more sentences. Then she'd do it again.

"Ya know what?"

Grrr ... ! I sincerely enjoyed conversations with Megan. I loved hearing about her day and all. I appreciated that she wanted to share every last detail with me. But gee whiz! It drove me nuts!

Well ... ya know what?

Here's where you say, "What?"

Megan never stopped doing it. She still does it. I must admit, though, she's become a bit less annoying more adept at it. She uses different terminology now, such as a "Guess what happened?" or "Ya know what she said to me?" kind of thing every few steps throughout the story.

And ya know what else?

"What?" you surely are asking.

Megan recently reported that, get this, Bubby has started doing the Very. Same. Thing!

"Know what?" he asks her mid-story, then waits for her to say "What?" before proceeding with his babbling.

Again and again and again, Bubby annoys the cuss out of his mama, just as she annoyed the cuss out of her mama.

And ya know what?

"What?"

I think that's So. Darn. Funny!

Because you know what else?

"What?"

Seeing payback in action has got to be one of the very sweetest rewards of becoming a grandparent!

That's what!

Today's question:

What is one of the annoying things you, your kids, your siblings or another loved one did as a child -- and continue to do, to some degree, as an adult?