Mars and scars

Bubby had an accident a couple days ago: Running out to the car with Mommy, he bit it ... on asphalt ... HOT, desert asphalt.

It was his first big owie to leave a mark. Megan wrote on her blog,* "To my horror there was blood covering his poor, no longer perfect, 21 month old knee."

Bubby was okay but he's now marred, no longer perfect.

Those of you who have been a mom a while know that although this was pretty traumatic for Megan -- and Bubby -- this owie will fade, not only on Bubby's knee, but in memory, too.

But, sorry to say, Megan, there are bigger owies to come, ones that will make Bubby's skinned knee pale (probably even disappear) in comparison. Years from now you won't recall this bloody "mess," as Bubby kept calling it. What you'll recall are the bigger owies, the ones that leave lifelong scars.

I vividly recall the first scarring incident with Brianna. She was 15 months old and running around the living room of our small apartment. (Crazy kid started walking at 9 months!) It was all fun and games, of course, until she got hurt -- falling into the corner of the coffee table, gashing open her face near her eyebrow ... and narrowly missing her eye! Blood, blood, blood! Everywhere! It was my first experience with facial cuts -- which bleed like mad -- and my first experience with a seriously wounded baby. It was pretty horrible. And it's the reason why we did without a coffee table for years and years and years. Even now, as a grandma, my coffee table is ROUND with no corners waiting to gash open little faces.

Megan's first scar came on a little less fast and furious but involved surgery. Like I've said before, Megan was always destined to be a mom. She loved kids younger than her from Day One, especially her younger cousins. She played with them, mothered them and carried them around -- and got a hernia to underscore my rants that she shouldn't be lifting the little ones when she was just a little one herself. I can't remember how old she was ... maybe 6 or so ... but my little Meggie actually had to have surgery to repair a hernia at that young age and still has the scar to prove her early mothering inclinations.

The scars with Brianna and Megan were fairly traumatic for me as a mommy, for them as kiddos. But my poor Andie had, without a doubt, the absolute worst initiation into scarring.

It started off painless enough: Andie had warts. She had warts on her hands, she had warts in a spot just below her bottom lip. They weren't huge warts, but they were getting bigger and the doctor decided my 5-year-old Andie needed them removed -- by burning them off. She'd only feel the pin prick of the shot to numb her, he promised, so we went ahead with it.

The warts on her hands were no big deal; the ones on her face required me and a nurse to hold her down for the shot right into her chin ... which obviously hurt my baby like hell. After a moment or two to let the numbing kick in, the doctor had me stand at the head of the table and firmly hold Andie's head down while he approached her face with the burning hot rod (this was before the harmless lasers). When he touched her face with it she SCREAMED! The numbing stuff hadn't numbed her as promised and my baby could feel the burning. Quickly the doctor announced we were already there and needed to go forward as Andie would never in a million years allow us to attempt such a thing again. So as I held down my little girl, with tears streaming down her face and mine and the nurse doing all she could to hold Andie's mouth closed and stifle the screams so the doctor could do his job, the warts were burned off. And that horrible scene was burned into both my memory and my baby girl's, leaving not only physical scars, but emotional ones, too.

So yeah, Megan, poor Bubby is marred. But at least this time it took only an Elmo Band-Aid to make it all better. Appreciate those little mars; with scars, it's not so easy.

*Megan's blog is called "Oh Schmidt!" and, naturally, features pictures of precious Bubby -- and uses his real name ... which is a little odd since I promised to never use his real name on Grandma's Briefs. Anyway, you're welcome to visit there, if you'd like.

Today's question:

How did you get your first scar and where is it?

My answer: My first scar was on my lip. When I was about 4 years old, I fell on the blade of one of those old-time ice cream makers that had real metal blades to scrape the insides of the can. If I use my tongue to press out my bottom lip, you can still see it. (I don't use my tongue to press out my bottom lip very often as it not only shows my scar, it makes me look like a monkey!)

Greeting card quandary

Today is my dad's birthday. He's 71 years old.

I always, always, always have a horrible time buying him a birthday card. Everything on the greeting card shelf is either sickeningly, cloyingly sweet while waxing moronic about "My dear father" being the rock and dispenser of lifesaving advice, or they're goofy greetings mentioning dear ol' Dad's obsession with his recliner and remote and/or his flatulance problem.

Neither type fit the kind of relationship I had (and continue to have) with my dad. So I stand in front of the racks of "For him" offerings for about 15 minutes, then move on to the musical ones but don't want to spend $5 on some silly chicken dance or "We Will Rock You" goofiness, then on to the "Funny: General" options because it's slightly easier to find a fitting one-liner than anything remotely sentimental.

I even consider the blank cards ... but that just seems so wrong.

I'd be oh-so happy if Hallmark would come up with something like:

Cover:

On your birthday, Dad, I want you to know ...

Inside:

... my childhood sucked.

But from the looks of things, it seems yours did, too.

I understand that now.

It no longer matters.

I'm so over it.

And I still love you.

Happy birthday!

I've yet to find such a card.

So I just settled on one from the "Funny" section. "General." For anyone.

And gosh, only three months 'til it's time to look for a Father's Day card. Maybe I'll start my own line of greeting cards before then -- cards for real people and real relationships!

Today's question:

Do you usually give sentimental greeting cards or humorous ones?

My answer: I used to give sentimental cards to everyone but in the past few years I've gotten to where I give humorous ones more often because the sentimental offerings are usually too mushy, gushy and unrealistic.

Surprise!

On Saturday, I had what felt like a million chores to do, in preparation for Megan and Bubby's arrival on Sunday.

My list on the fridge:

• color my hair (in hopes of Bubby coming up with a new name for me, to replace Graya)
• mop the floors
• dust
• prepare the guest room, including setting up the Pack 'n' Play for Bubby
• do the catbox
• finish the laundry
• nag at Jim to get all his chores done

The only one I was getting very far on was the nagging at Jim. By noon I'd only knocked out the floors, had passed off the catbox chore to Jim and was getting ready to color my hair then hop in the shower.

I washed the gray right out of my hair and as soon as I stepped out of the shower, Jim was at the bathroom door, letting me know Brianna had stopped by.

"Great," I thought. Now I'll never get my chores done.

Then I heard banging on the piano. Jim likes to bang on play the piano sometimes, even though it's really my instrument while the guitar is his. But sheesh, this time he was banging and banging and banging.

I head out to the living room, where Brianna was standing in the doorway. I couldn't yet see the piano. I gave her the "WTF?", then whispered, "Is he trying to break it?"

I walked around the corner, ready to let loose on Jim for screwing around on my old upright ... then I saw Andrea sitting on the couch, grinning from ear to ear. I was a little confused, but figured she'd come to visit on her day off. Then I looked over at the piano ... and it wasn't Jim. It was BUBBY! Banging away on the ivories! With Megan standing over him, laughing away!

Surprise!

Megan and Bubby had arrived a day earlier than I expected! The entire family had been in on the surprise for months, doing their best to catch Mom off guard.

And they succeeded! Here I was, fresh out of the shower, chores not done, nothing planned for a family dinner that night, the Pack 'n' Play not even out of the closet yet. Completely unprepared (and I like being prepared.)

But makeup and dusting and made-up beds didn't matter. My Bubby was here! My Megan was here! I'd have one more glorious day than I expected with my babies.

I love surprises! And I love my family -- whom I often think of as completely incapable of keeping a secret, yet they're getting so darn good at keeping secrets and surprising me.

Yay for the extra day! The dusting truly can -- and will -- have to wait.

Today's question:

What's one time you were genuinely surprised?

My answer: In addition to this time and last time Megan arrived unannounced, I was very surprised by Jim's gift to me one Christmas. It was a book from the 1800s called "Eloping Angels" and I'd been looking for it for a few years. And Jim miraculously found it, bought it, surprised me with it! Yep, I love surprises!

T minus six days

Megan and Bubby are coming to visit on Sunday -- for five full days! Which means it's time to babyproof the place.

It's not like Bubby's never been here before, but each time he's visited Grandma's, he's been relatively immobile. Now he gets around ... a lot. And my house has stairs ... a lot.

The other day on the phone, Megan gingerly brought up the topic of our zillions of stairs.

Megan: "Ummm, have you thought about your stairs, Mom?"

Me: "Yes, Megan, I've thought about the stairs." (How could I not? There's at least one step into and out of every room in our house, plus massive staircases from one level to the next.)

Megan: "Well, Bubby climbs stairs now."

Me: "I know. I remember you telling me that. But we have baby gates. Lots and lots of baby gates."

Megan: "No. That's why I'm saying this, Mom. Bubby doesn't need baby gates. He does stairs now."

Me: "Uh, I don't think so, Megan. Not our stairs."

Megan: "He does fine, Mom. Really. He's a big boy. He's allowed to go up and down stairs."

Me: "I'm not comfortable with that. Nope, not comfortable with that."

Megan: "I kinda figured as much, which is why I'm mentioning it now, Mom. Just think about it."

Is this a crazy conversation or what? I thought new mothers were supposed to be hyper vigilant, chastising Grandma again and again about all the dangers lurking in her home and how to babyproof those dangers away.

But here's my daughter telling me I don't need baby gates in my house of 10,000 stairs? With a 21-month-old toddler on his way? For five days? And with me so proud of myself that I have SIX baby gates in my possession for ensuring his safety during his visit?

Apparently that's six too many.

At least Megan knows me well enough to not spring such things on me at the last moment. She knows I need time to deliberate, time to think things through.

So I've thought this through. And -- call me crazy -- but we will be using baby gates while Bubby's here.

At least five two of the six I have on hand.

Now, is there anything else I need to be sure to not babyproof before Bubby gets here? Any suggestions would be appreciated, as I've clearly not yet figured out this whole grandma thing.

Today's question:

What's the worst accident that's befallen you or another in your own home?

My answer: I fell off the top of a ladder while Jim and I were remodeling our previous house and was quite bruised and battered by the fall and subsequent entanglement with the ladder that fell with me.

The girls and the boys

Jim and I have three daughters. To us, they've always been "the girls."

From this ...

to this ...

... they've always been and always will be "the girls." My girls. Our girls.

Megan lives in a different world. She has "the boys."

 

More and more often, Megan's conversations are sprinkled with references to "the boys" or "my boys."

 

She thrives on the maleness of her little clan. Which I find interesting because Megan was always our girly girl, the one I thought would anxiously await a daughter to dress cute, talk with, shop with.

But no, when she was pregnant, she made it very clear that she wanted a boy. And she got all boy in Bubby.

With that, she now has her boys.

And I can almost hear the sound of her heart expanding with pride each time she says "my boys" over the phone.

Megan and Preston hope to give Bubby a sibling in the next year or two. My question: What if it's a girl? Having raised only one gender, I'm not exactly sure how that works.

Today's question:

What's the makeup of your birth family? All girls or were there boys in the mix? And how did that work?

My answer: I have six siblings. There are five girls and two boys. As kids, it wasn't a gender issue, it was more of the "big kids" versus the "little kids." Poor Jennifer, the middle child, was the "lig," much to her dismay.

Past predictions

2009 - What a year!

When the girls were in high school, we started a new tradition: When we took down the Christmas tree, we all wrote predictions for the coming year. The plan was that each person would write their prediction for each family member and we'd seal the predictions -- without anyone reading anyone else's -- and open the envelope when it came time to put up the tree the following Christmas.

We did this for eight years, starting with 1999. Here are a few of my favorite predictions from the past:

Predictions for 1999:

"I predict that technology will be more advanced because everyone is scared that the world is going to end in 2000. I also predict that I will get in shape." ~ Megan (Okay, so it was the first year and my overachieving, overthinking middle daughter didn't really get the idea of the new tradition.)

For 2000:

I cannot find the envelope for this year. I've searched high and low and in all the "Year 2000" memorabilia we have saved and can't find it.

For 2001:

"Dad will own [his former employer] or at least be number two, unless someone kills him because he won't quit talking about the election!" ~ Brianna

For 2002:

"Megan will love Concordia [her college] and never want to come home. She will meet some of the greatest friends she ever had and possibly the love of her life." ~ Brianna (Megan DID meet the love of her life there!)

For 2003:

"Brianna will leave Eric's ass, finally recovering her brain." ~ Lisa (Thank God this prediction came true!)

For 2004:

"Jim will drive us all crazy with his political rants and raves!" ~ Lisa (Yep, this came true, too!)

For 2005:

"Megan: Preston will have proposed. She will be deciding where to live with the P-ster!" ~ Andrea (This one came true, too! Good call, Andie!)

For 2006 (the year Preston joined us in the tradition):

"Preston will be happily married to the most beautiful wife ever: Megan." ~ Preston

Then the tradition ended; the logistics of getting everyone's prediction in the same envelope and sealing it up to open together the next year no longer worked. It was fun while it lasted.

Now my prediction for 2010: It will be better than 2009! Can't go wrong there (I hope ... maybe I've just jinxed all of us!).

Today's question from "If ... (Questions for the Game of Life)":

If you could only keep one of your five senses, which would you save and why?

I'd keep my vision because I cannot imagine not seeing my beautiful children, grandchildren, husband ever again. And I can't imagine never reading again. I can do without loud, screeching noises (although missing out on music will be horribly difficult); I am okay with not tasting or smelling things; not being able to feel/touch stuff would be hard. But overall, I need to see, so that's what I choose.