The ringing in my ears

I have an iPhone. It's not the latest and greatest version with all the bells and whistles and FaceTime application, but I love it just the same. A few of the iPhone features make me nuts, of course, such as the auto correct (which it apparently does others, too, sometimes in hilarious fashion). For the most part, though, I'm quite pleased with the snazzy smartphone and consider myself privileged to have it.

One of the best things about my iPhone, I think, is that I can automatically tell who's calling me. Not because I have Caller ID—which I do—but because of how each person sounds when they're trying to reach me, thanks to the ability to set ringtones and text tones for callers. I don't even have to pick up my phone to check Caller ID to screen my calls.

Which is music to my ears. Because I pretty much hate talking on the telephone. So only if it's someone in my immediate family do I usually answer right away. Unless I'm in the bathroom. But at least then I know who it is I need to call back as soon as I'm out of the shower...or whatever...without even having to look.

We are a family of texters, so the same goes for when I'm musically notified that one of them is calling without calling at all.

The really great thing about having the ability to screen calls with the iPhone is that I've attached a sound to each of my family members that audibly resembles who they are. At least to me. Sounds that make me smile—not just because one or the other wants to talk or text with me, but because the sound I've given them is so, well, them.

To show you—or, more accurately, sound to you—what I hear that gets me grinning, I'd like to introduce you to my family...by ringtone.

BRIANNA: I talk to Brianna probably more often than I talk to my other two daughters put together. Brianna likes to talk. And for the most part, I like to hear her talk. But she does indeed talk a lot, and we all like to tease her a bit about it. So I was quite pleased with myself when I found that my iPhone had a ringtone perfectly befitting my oldest daughter. When I first assigned it to her, I giggled every single time she'd call. Now I simply smile, for this is what I hear when Brianna calls. When she texts, my oldest daughter sounds like this, just because I imagine her texting as quickly as she can—and expecting me to respond as quickly as I can.

ANDREA: My youngest daughter calls me far less often than Brianna. Actually, she calls far less than Megan and Jim, too. But that's okay. She calls me just as often as she needs to and just as often as I need her to. Same with texting. But when she does either, she always makes me smile. First with the ringtone assigned to her. Or the text tone that she urged me to use—which is kind of like this one but not exactly (only because I couldn't find the exact MP3 to use for this post). The actual one is the iPhone minuet tone Andie suggested I use and imagine her dancing around each time I hear it. Which I do. Which along with some of the off-the-wall things she writes, is another of the reasons I smile when Andrea texts.

MEGAN: As the mother of my grandchildren, nearly every time my middle daughter calls or texts, there's some mention of my grandsons. Sometimes she even graciously treats me to photos and videos via text. So the ringtone and text tone for Megan require a smidgen of whimsy to match the fun (usually) found at the other end of the line when she rings in. So each time there's news of my grandsons—or my daughter herself—heading my way via a voice call, this is what I hear. The sound of a photo or video magically traveling from the desert to land in my hands in the mountains typically sounds like this.

JIM: When Jim calls to let me know he's left work and on his way home or that he's forgotten what it is I said I wanted from Taco Bell, this is what I hear. That's just the bluesy kinda guy my husband is. Of course, he'll text occasionally, too. Being the one in the family who is newest to texting and wee bit less adept at it than the rest of us, though, he doesn't know it, but he sounds just like this when he texts me. That's my Jimmy.

Bubby and Mac are clearly far too young for phones of their own. When the time comes, though, I'll likely create a special ringtone for each, something original to match the truly original personalities of each of my goofy grandsons.

That's how it is with my family. How my immediate family sounds to me.

My extended family? Well—and, Mom, don't be offended by this!—I've assigned the same ringtone to all of them, from my parents to each and every one of my siblings. When they call—which isn't often—there's typically some anxiety-inducing news they plan to share. So I warn myself in advance with a spooky little riff that sounds like this. Did you feel that as you listened? That is indeed the feeling accompanying most calls from my siblings. Best to be prepared before saying, "Hello."

My siblings and parents shouldn't be offended, though, for at least they get a special ringtone. Strangers? All they get is this generic old telephone ring. Yet even that sounds pretty darn cool coming over my iPhone—though I must admit, I ignore that specific ring nearly every time I hear it. Like I said, I hate talking on the phone; talking on the phone to strangers is something I pretty much refuse to do.

That's the beauty of screening my phone calls—made simpler by the ringing in my ears.

Today's question:

What are your favorite ringtones to assign to family, friends, and foes?

Bunches o' birthdays

In the past month, my family and I have celebrated four birthdays. Mac and Bubby each have a birthday at the beginning of June, which we celebrated with a patio party—including water balloons and hot dogs—during their recent visit. Then my birthday took place at the end of June while my grandsons were still here, and Andrea's birthday was this past Monday.

Because we were doing a combo celebration of Mac's and Bubby's birthdays—they had celebrated with individual birthday parties at home—I created a combo cake. Both boys, like their PawDad, love, love, love M&Ms, so an M&M cake it had to be. I topped the M&M bedecked cake with a celebratory banner that said "Happy Birthday, <Bubby's real name>!" on one side and "Happy Birthday, <Mac's real name>!" on the other. Then I stuck in the appropriate numeral candle for each, and it did the double duty I had hoped, honoring them both and giving each their own candle to blow out from their own side of the cake.

Brianna did the honors supplying the cake for the other two celebrations—a delicious candy-topped ice cream cake for my big day, and homemade Sour Patch cupcakes, per Andrea's request, for Andie's birthday. I'm considering cake ideas to return the favor to Brianna when her birthday rolls around mid August.

All in all, our month filled with bunches o' birthdays was bunches o' fun.

Today's question:

What season has the most birthdays in your family?

This post has been linked to Mosaic Monday.

Sports and my efforts to be a fan

Sharing a love for sports, watching a game (or round or match or any other term for an organized competetion) together seems to be the ultimate bonding experience.

I'm a loser when it comes to such a bonding experience, for I really stink at watching sports. I try. But something always grabs my attention far more easily than the action on the field or court or whatever.

I wanted to be a football fan. I even bought a Tebow jersey last season when Tim Tebow seemed to be the savior of the Broncos (of course, real fans would have plenty to say about that statement). I did enthusiastically watch the televised games in which Tebow played. But I must admit that more so than his throwing game—or lack thereof—I continually found myself entranced by that yellow line that magically appeared on the field to show where the ball is...or should go for there to be a first down...or something like that. I marveled again and again, much to the chagrin of Jim and Brianna who really did want to watch the game not bond with my babbling self, about the money surely made by the guy who came up with that magical line on the field, the marking that's not really on the field but visible only to those watching from home. Forget post-game interviews with game MVPs and winners and losers—I want to hear from the genius that invented that line.

Basketball distractions are similar. Sort of. It's not really anything magical or technical that distracts me when watching the tall and tattooed (and, honestly, rather thug like) players dart from end to end, passing and shooting, though. It's the squeaking that distracts me. Yes, squeaking. That incessant squeaking of their darn athletic shoes catching on the shiny court floor. Makes. Me. Nuts. So nuts, in fact, that I can't concentrate. So nuts that I usually won't watch. If I end up with no choice but to watch, I'm not really watching, I'm thinking about those squeaks and shoes. Or thinking about something completely different as I try to not think about those <cuss> squeaks.

Thinking about something totally different is typically my default game while watching baseball, too. I try, I really do try to keep up with an inning, from beginning to end. But I can't. I'll watch one hit, maybe two. Or possibly a few strikes or balls or whatever else takes place. But then I realize everyone around me is cheering—or booing—and I have no idea why. Because I'm lost. Not by way of misunderstanding the game, but by simply being lost in thought about something monumental and important. Like how much it might cost for the advertising signs lining the ballpark fence. Or how hot the mascot might be in his or her costume. Or how often birds must duck and dodge foul balls.

I'm just not meant to be a sports fan, I think.

Jim, on the other hand—like most normal folks—seems to manage just fine, despite not being one of those heavy hitter widow makers who watches any and all sports on television, season in and season out. Yet his first question to Brianna about a guy she recently went on a date with was, "What kind of sports does he like?" Which, of course, created a moment of bonding between Jim and Brianna.

Sports are undoubtedly important to men. And many women, too. My longtime friend Debbie is a top-notch Rockies and Broncos fan, rivaled in her dedication to the orange and blue of the Broncos only by my diehard, forever fan Carol. Most of my sisters? Football fans. Brianna and Andrea? Well, they're fans of most sports, too.

Fortunately my middle daughter, Megan, is much like me when it comes to sports. At least baseball. Which was quite fortunate the evening my entire family spent at a Sky Sox game (that's the local AA team, for those readers as unsporty as I am). Megan and I chatted, roamed the place with Mac and Bubby. As others bonded while watching the game, Megan and I bonded while not watching the game...but still at the game, giving the illusion we were just as much sports-bonding fans as the next guy. Or gal.

While at the stadium, Mac made it abundantly clear he's more like his grandma and his mom in his inability to concentrate on the game, as he required lots of distraction by lots of different family members. Of course, he just recently turned one, so what else might we expect. Odds are it won't be long before Mac's right there in the thick of spectating along with all the other sporty folk with whom I can't quite relate.

Odds are even higher, though, that Mac won't be one of those watching sports but will be one of those out on the field playing, especially considering his early prowess at ball play.

I look forward to such games. They may be just the ticket to making me a fan, as I have no doubt I'll be fully engaged in watching Mac—or Bubby or any other grandchild in the future—from the first whistle to the last.

I may not be a sports fan, but I'm definitely a fan of my grandchildren—even if they choose to be one of those squeaky kids on the basketball court.

Today's question:

What organized sports to your grandkids and/or kids play?

GRAND Social — Grandparent linky — July 9

As I wrote the date for today's GRAND Social linky event in the title above, I couldn't help but smile. July 9 is the day my life forever changed, the day the dynamics of my family forever changed, the day twenty-seven years ago my Andrea entered the world and made it a much brighter, much more interesting place to be. Happy birthday to my littlest of girls who is now the tallest of all. I love you, Andie, and hope your day is filled with joy and laughter, as well as a few oh-so-worth-it calories, too.

July 9—this July 9—is also, of course, time for another GRAND Social. If past link-ups here are any indication, our day, too, will be filled with joy and laughter (and more!) as together we read one another's linked posts. Please join me!

How it works:

• All grandparent bloggers are invited to add a link. You don't have to blog specifically about grandparenting, but you must be a grandparent who blogs.

• Posts shared can be an old one or a recent one, your choice. I like to link up to older posts that current readers likely haven't seen.

• To link up, copy the direct link to the specific post you want to share, not the link to your blog's home page. Then click the blue "Click here to enter" text below and follow the directions to add your post to the list.

• You can add up to three posts, but no duplicates, please, and none you have promoted on a previous GRAND Social linky.

• No contests, giveaways, or Etsy sites.

• Adding a mention at the bottom of your linked posts, such as This post has been linked to the GRAND Social blogging event, is appreciated. Or, you can post the GRAND Social button using the following code:

<a href="/" target="_blank"><img src="http://grandmasbriefs.squarespace.com/storage/GRANDsocialbutton.jpg " alt="Grandma’sBriefs.com" width="125" height="125" /></a>

• The GRAND Social linky is open for new posts through Wednesday evening, so please come back to see those added after your first visit.

• Looking for another grandparent linky? Be sure to visit Connie's Grandparent's Say It Saturday Link Party each Saturday (open to links through Monday nights).

• If you're not a blogger, you have the pleasure of being a reader. All bloggers who link up would be honored to have you click, visit, read and comment.
  

READERS and PARTICIPATING BLOGGERS: Please visit the posts others have linked to by clicking on the thumbnail photos. Comments are always appreciated by the bloggers whose links you visit, even if it's simply "Hey, stopping by from GRAND Social."

Thank you for participating in the GRAND Social grandparent linky!

Brotherly love

In my family, there's not much of a tradition of close, loving, secret-sharing relationships between the female siblings. I read in books, see in movies, even observe in some of my friends and their sisters the ideal sisterly state. In the real world, though, in my real world that's flush with far more females than males, it just hasn't been. Not for those sisters who came before me nor for those who've come after.

My mom and her two sisters clearly love one another, but I'd venture to say calling each other best friends would be pushing it. My sisters and I? Well, we did—and do—love one another, but in a group of five females, you can imagine the competitions, the cat fights. Or maybe you can't, if you're one of the fortunate ones who indeed calls your sister your best friend.

Even my own daughters—whom I have no doubt whatsoever love and cherish one other dearly—aren't now and never have been a tight-knit trio. Nor is there even an exclusive duo among the three, leaving a third wheel to roll on her own. (Which, truth be told, I accept, for having one child continually left out and heartbroken would be an even more difficult situation than the overall arms length at which they all seem to keep one another.)

It saddens me that somehow, somewhere, the sisters-as-best-friends gene seems to have skipped generation after generation after generation in my family. I envy those sisters for whom the sappy adages cross-stitched on pillows and emblazoned across coffee mugs ring true. I wanted that. I wanted that for my daughters.

When it comes to my grandsons, though, they do have that. And what a heartwarming delight it is to see. Bubby and Mac are unabashedly best buds, best friends who love and cherish, adore and idolize one another. Countless times during their visit I witnessed one reaching out to the other just to cuddle or kiss, share a toy or a moment. Sometimes I'd see one little hand pat a shoulder, an arm, a cheek as if they simply needed assurance their best buddy was still there.

Just as many times, I watched one hop on the other as though a bell audible to only them had been rung, signaling the start of a wrestling match. They'd giggle and roll and squeal in delight. Then just as quickly, the match would be over and they'd move on to another activity, together or solo, secure in knowing their brother, their best friend, was nearby if the urge to wrestle and wrangle struck once again.

 

Of course Bubby and Mac argue, compete for attention, clamor for the very same toys and don't hold back physically or vocally in challenging one another for what they feel is rightfully theirs. But once the victor is declared—by virtue of who's most determined to get their way or by virtue of Mommy or another adult breaking up the bickering—they're right back to lovin' on one another. No grudges, no resentment.

I'm not sure how it happened. I don't know whether Megan subconsciously—or consciously—did something absolutely perfectly right in creating the connection between the boys, instilled something that eluded me when raising my girls, or if it's just luck of the draw and she came up with the winning and perfectly matched pair.

Whatever the reason, whatever the cause, I'd say that Bubby and Mac are the true winners. I hope their winning streak continues. They'll always be brothers, of course. I'm crossing my fingers and saying my prayers that they'll always—and in all ways—be best friends, as well.

Today's question:

Which of your siblings did you consider your best friend as children?

Happy Father's Day

Wishing dads of all ages and stages a great day!

To see a larger, legible version, click image then click again.

The Evolution of The Dad via H&R Block

To each his own

 

Saturday is Baby Mac's first birthday party. You know, the party I won't be going to. Well, yesterday I mailed the birthday gift from PawDad and me to our youngest grandson. Megan called while I was preparing the package for mailing, and I felt compelled to tell her that I was not including something for Bubby in the box.

I realized it was an issue we'd not yet addressed, the even-steven-if-one-gets-something-the-other-gets-something-too conversation, because Bubby had been the one and only child up until his little brother came along nearly a year ago.

"The package is only for Baby Mac," I said. "It's his birthday, not Bubby's, and I won't be including a small gift for Bubby just because Baby Mac gets something."

"That's fine, Mom," she assured me. "That's not how our family rolls."

I was glad to hear that, as that's not the way our family ever rolled, either, when my daughters—Megan included—were young. As is often the case when a young family and new parents (like Megan and Preston) figure out what traditions and practices they will and will not use from their childhood when raising their own kids, I didn't want to assume Megan would do as we did, not as Preston's family did.

I don't know that Preston's family followed the even-steven-amongst-siblings rule. I'm guessing they didn't. But Megan and Preston may have a different philosophy than either of their families of origin, and I thought it important to let Megan know this grandma still doesn't roll that way and doesn't plan on reversing her rolling motion, regardless.

Baby Mac's birthday will be the first occasion that he receives gifts and Bubby doesn't—unlike Christmas and Valentine's Day and Easter. As Megan says, the event "will be interesting" as Bubby gets an important lesson in not being center stage, not being the primary recipient of all the spoils.

Though some might think it harsh, I wasn't willing to give Bubby any spoils on Baby Mac's birthday. Hence the sole gift in the package to the desert family being just for Baby Mac.

Bubby is usually an empathetic little boy, and Baby Mac's party will be his opportunity to realize that empathy includes not only when you feel bad for another, but when you feel good for them, too. Just as I wanted my daughters to empathize with others—especially their sisters—during good times and bad, I want my grandson to learn the same. I want him to be happy for others when good fortune comes their way, to delight in good things happening to those he loves, even when it's something he would oh-so-much love to happen to himself, too.

Jealousy, bitterness, envy, schadenfreude are all such easily learned feelings, attitudes, behaviors. They come naturally, it seems. No one has to teach little boys and girls such concepts, they just simply happen—even if those boys and girls don't know how to define them, what word to attach to them (or how to spell those words, such as schadenfreude, which I still have to look up).

The opposite of such things, though, seemingly must be taught, require lessons. Things such as compassion, goodwill, and sincere delight in another's good fortune.

Sometimes those lessons are learned the hard way.

Sometimes those lessons are learned the easy way—at least incrementally.

And sometimes those lessons are learned by not receiving a gift from Gramma or anyone else when your brother gets one.

It's a new lesson for Bubby, one I hope he accepts, appreciates, and takes to heart without making things too "interesting" for Megan.

I have faith in Bubby and expect it to not be too difficult a lesson for him. Because at his core, Bubby is a kind-hearted kiddo who usually does consider the feelings of others and willingly takes a backseat when necessary.

And because his birthday is just a couple weeks after Baby Mac's. He'll surely take comfort in knowing that Baby Mac will soon get that very same lesson—and at a far younger age than Bubby did.

Today's question:

Was the even-steven-amongst-siblings rule practiced in your family when you were young? What about with your own children? With your grandchildren?