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.

Grandma's creepy wallpaper

I live in an unusual house. It was built in 1974 by a husband and wife who immigrated from Poland. They built the house around many features they collected from prominent local buildings and homes of the late 1800s that had been demolished for a variety of reasons. We have fireplaces, windows, staircases and more from the bank, the opera house, a doctor's home and other long-gone structures.

Overall, it's a pretty cool and interesting place to live. But there are some bizarre touches here and there, things I've gotten used to for the most part and usually no longer think too hard about them. On most days.

Yesterday was not one of those days. For some reason the wallpaper lining the hallway to the laundry room caught my interest once again and I thought you all might be able to help me solve the mystery surrounding my creepy wallpaper.

From what I understand, the wallpaper is one of the touches from the homeland of the original owners. It appears to be illustrations of cautionary tales, much like Grimm's Fairy Tales, but of a Polish bent. The illustrations are fine and good and understandable when considered as part of an old-time nursery book. We all know fairy tales and such can be, unfortunately, weird ... and violent. Which is exactly what the illustrations on my wall are. But why would such images be taken from the page and placed upon the wall?

Take a look:

Creepy, huh? That is what I see every time I do laundry, every time I use the ironing board, every time I change the litter box.

And every time I show people around my house, I have to explain the creepy wallpaper and why I don't remove it.

I don't remove the paper because it's antique. I think. If nothing else, it's unusual. And like all the other unusual features in my house, there's a story attached to this wallpaper; I just don't know what it is. I'm pretty sure it was put there by the couple from Poland, but that's it.

My biggest question about the wallpaper, though, the real mystery to me, isn't why the builders of our home put it there, but why anyone -- no matter where they lived in the world, no matter what period of time -- would think these pictures might look great on a wall, why they should qualify as print for wallpaper, why that wallpaper was ever manufactured in the first place. Did people in Poland line nursery walls with these images? Were resident children better behaved when they had these constant reminders of a horrible fate that might befall them if they misbehaved? Was such wallpaper used in places other than nurseries? Did anyone and everyone who ever saw it have nightmares?

It's a mystery I'll likely never solve.

Unless, of course, one of my dear readers has knowledge of Polish fairytales, the ones featuring drunks who fall in the lake or drag kids through the forest by their hair. If so, please enlighten me. Give me the "rest of the story" to regale the next group of visitors to my home and provide me with details on why these wacky illustrations figured so prominently in a culture that people adorned their walls with them.

Then maybe -- just maybe -- I can move on to seeking assistance with yet another mystery of my home: the one involving a discoverer of sunken treasure who has seemingly gone missing and I think just might be buried in my front yard.

Like I said, I live in a very unusual house.

Today's question: (If you read this early, yes, it was a different question. I like this one better.)

What's the creepiest feature of your house?

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!

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?

Failure analysis

I recently received in the mail an unsolicited copy of "Raising Happiness: 10 Simple Steps For More Joyful Kids And Happier Parents" by Christine Carter, Ph.D. The accompanying form letter was addressed "Dear Blogger." Such letters tucked inside of complimentary copies of books are a subtle request for a review. Which is okay ... but this is not a review.

I will eventually review Ms. Carter's book -- or at least use it for blog fodder and mention it kindly. But I've not yet been able to focus on the book innards because I've been entranced by one of the quotes on the book jacket and can't seem to move my mind and heart forward. Which is weird. And something I can't really explain. So I'm spewing forth here in hopes of expunging whatever it is that has me so emotionally invested in a silly book jacket quote.

Thing is, it's not so silly. Here's the quote, or at least the part that caught my attention: "The learning curve for all parents is in failure analysis -- where and how we went off course -- and how we can do better the next go-round." This said by Michael Riera, Ph.D. and author of "Field Guide to the American Teenager" and "Right from Wrong."

I never knew there was a technical term for figuring out how we screwed up, at least a term used for our parenting screw-ups. But "failure analysis" it must be; I guess I just failed to read the right books that would have provided me that term earlier in the parenting process. Yet I'm having a rough time wrapping my head around that term. It's so cold, so technical, so corporate and so much feels like a term used to describe a failed rocket launching in which everyone aboard perished.

I have to admit that it scares me to look back on my parenting and analyze where I failed. Overall I'm a success -- my girls are grown, living on their own, paying their own bills, and semi-sorta-kinda succeeding in their relationships -- but I know I've failed in many, many ways. I never deluded myself into thinking otherwise. In fact, I've felt like a failure more often than a success. But isn't that how all parents feel: like they certainly could have done better? We give it our all but are pretty darn sure that somewhere, somehow we could have done just a little bit more, been at least a smidgen better.

So I don't know ... I'm hesitant to crack the cover of "Raising Happiness" because it'll likely point out all the ways I really, truly failed to raise happy girls. And it just might be in the areas in which I thought I did okay.

I guess it comes down to this: I'm not ready to perform failure analysis on my parenting skills. My little ones so recently flew the nest that I think I need to take a bit of a break before dissecting and analyzing.

Especially because, despite the second half of that quote, the part about "how we can do better the next go-round," there is no next go-round. I don't get another chance. What's done is done and I definitely will not be throwing out my first set of kids as if they were the cussed up first waffles that didn't form correctly and now I can cook up a batch that comes out better.

Or is that what grandchildren are supposed to be? The second batch?

I guess I should start reading "Raising Happiness" sooner rather than later, just in case. Because Bubby just may be my "next go-round."

And I sure don't want to dread the failure analysis with my grandchildren to the degree that I am with my kids.

*Stay tuned for an eventual review of "Raising Happiness" by Christine Carter.

Today's question:

Forget the "failure analysis," what's one really good/successful thing you've done in your life?

My answer: I've remained an optimist.

Another one bites the dust

Coloring Easter eggs has always been a pretty big deal in our house. Each year after the Good Friday Tenebrae service at the Lutheran church we've attended for more than 20 years, we'd head home and color eggs as a family.

Like our Halloween pumpkin-carving rituals, the egg coloring involved everyone competing for the very best design. Also like our pumpkin-carving rituals, someone usually ended up in tears or -- during the teen years -- huffing off to their room for a host of hormonal reasons having nothing to do with the design competition.

But it was fun. Really. We have lots of happy pictures and warm fuzzies to prove it.

This year for the first time ever, we won't be coloring Easter eggs. All the girls live on their own and our only grandson lives too far away to come over for a dip in the dye with Grandma and Grandpa. And I really can't see egg coloring as a couple on the Good Friday agenda for me and Jim.

So we'll go eggless this year.

There's a domino effect to the decision to not color eggs. Having no colored eggs impacts our Easter morning breakfast, as we've always eaten our colored eggs on Easter morning, along with blueberry muffins and sausage links. It made for an easy holiday breakfast before the family dashed out the door for church service in our new Easter outfits.

Oh, that's another thing: We're not buying new Easter outfits this year. There's really no reason to as we have plenty of dressy duds and really shouldn't spend the money this year.

With the delivery of Easter Bunny baskets having ceased delivery last year (although the girls will always get SOMEthing from E.B. but don't tell them that), it seems the last vestiges of our old-time Easter celebrations have bit the dust. The children are grown; the traditions of childhood are no longer relevant.

I should be sad about the change, as I've always worked quite hard to create memorable holiday traditions for the girls. But that's the key and the reason I'm not too broken up about this Easter's empty nest: It's always been work ... a lot of work ... done mostly by Mom.

So  I'm kind of glad that this year I don't have to color eggs or go shopping for outfits (especially when the girls -- and I -- often preferred black to the pinks and yellows and greens typical of Easter finery) or stay up waiting for kids to fall asleep just so I can fill a few baskets or help three little girls crack and peel and wash their colored eggs for breakfast.

Nope, we're having an adult-only Easter celebration for the first time. First up: A breakfast menu of Lemon Ricotta Pancakes with Lemon Curd and Fresh Raspberries. Then Easter service, with our oldest and youngest daughters joining us.

After that, it's anyone's guess. We're all grown-ups now and I no longer need to set the day's agenda in advance.

Except for one thing, that is: I need to ensure time for a Skyping session with Bubby. I want to see my handsome grandson dressed in his new Easter outfit as he tells Grandma all about his basket of goodies from the Easter Bunny and the colored eggs Mommy peeled for him for breakfast, all before he, Mommy and Daddy dashed out the door for Easter service.

Knowing the beloved family traditions that once defined Easter in our house are continuing with the next generation make it much easier for this generation to bid them farewell and move on.

Today's question:

What's your favorite Easter tradition?

My answer: Breakfast as a family. Family dinners have always been a given in our house, but family breakfasts happened rarely ... usually only on Christmas and Easter.