Two boys, one bedroom

Ever since Mac was born, he's had his own bedroom. Which meant Bubby had his own bedroom, too.

Mac did just fine in his very own room for the past nearly two years. He enjoyed hanging out alone there...

 

He endured breathing treatments there when sick...

He moved into his big boy bed there...

 

Mac loved being in his very own room.

Until the past few weeks.

Mac recently started showing up in Mommy's bed some mornings. He'd drag his sheets with him, and when Megan told him he needed to sleep in his own bed, he'd teasingly show Megan his sheets and say, "I seep my bed. Mommy bed."

Other mornings Megan would find Mac had crawled into Bubby's bed in the night, where big brother Bubby had scootched over to give his little brother a safe spot to sleep, and the two made it through the night together.

Mac is no longer happy to sleep by himself in his own room.

After trying a variety of measures to make Mac happy in his room, all with no success, Megan proposed to Bubby a solution for Mac's bed-hopping. Megan — gingerly, nonchalantly — asked Bubby how he'd like to have Mac move into his bedroom with him, so the two brothers could sleep in the same bedroom together rather than all alone in their own rooms.

Bubby's response? "Oh, Mom!" he exclaimed. "I've been dreaming about doing that for so long!"

In the blink of an eye, Mac's furniture was moved into Bubby's room. My two grandsons now happily share one bedroom. Mac's not hopped into anyone else's bed since.

Oh, how very different the situation when their mother was a child. Megan shared a bedroom with her younger sister, Andrea, for years. "Happily" is definitely not one of the words one might have used to describe the arrangement.

Megan and Andrea shared a room from the moment little Andie was born. In fact, Megan and Andrea and Brianna all shared a bedroom when Andrea was first born. We lived in a two-bedroom townhome — the townhome where, through a bizarre twist of fate, Brianna now lives on her own. Two bedrooms plus three kids and a mom and a dad, too, meant the three kids shared a bedroom. It was a large bedroom, the master suite of the home, actually. My three little girls had good times in their shared room.

The good times didn't last once we moved to a larger home, one where Brianna, the oldest, got her own room, and Megan and Andrea had to share a room. Oh. My. Goodness. Those two were at each other non-stop. Maybe it's because there's only 19 months between the two. Maybe it's because I failed miserably at teaching them to show love and respect for their sister... and their sister's belongings. Whatever the reason, two girls in one bedroom did. not. work.

At one point, the fighting over which side of the room belonged to whom became so heated that one of the girls — I can't recall which — applied masking tape directly down the center of the room. The idea was to designate permissable boundaries for each. The idea didn't work. For starters, the door to the bedroom was on one side of the room, allowing the owner of the "other" side to trespass as she pleased. Who "owned" the closet was another glitch in the plan.

By the time Megan and Andrea were in junior high, the only solution was to remodel our house so there were three bedrooms for the girls. Three girls, three bedrooms, one each. Yes, a tad extreme, but the bitching battling had gotten so bad that it was either that or end up with one of the girls killing the other.

If you've lived with teen girls, you know that's no exaggeration. If you've been a teen girl — with a teen sister, no less — you're likely vigorously nodding your head in agreement.

I was once a teen girl. With a teen sister, and several younger ones, too. I shared a bedroom with that teen sister. She was older — and tougher — than me, so she ruled the room. It was not fun. At all. It was so unfun, in fact, that we had many knock-down, drag-out, pile on top of one another on the double bed we shared incidents, all featuring hair-pulling and doing our best to pull out each other's oh-so-fashionable hoop earrings, too — preferably with a chunk of earlobe attached.

Not fun. I tired of my sister smoking cigarettes and putting them out under the edge of the rug; she tired of my hamster that continually escaped the Habitrail cage, ending up under the covers on her side of the bed. What saved us from killing one another? She left home to get married.

I'm pretty sure neither Bubby or Mac will need to settle for an ill-fated marriage in order to escape their shared bedroom. I'm also pretty sure they won't emulate the knock-down, drag-out fights my sister and I had or the tape-down-the-middle-of-the-room arrangements their mother had with their aunt. And I feel confident about saying that the two boys will never, ever consider killing one another while residing in the same bedroom.

No, I imagine the only killing going on in that one bedroom shared by those two boys will be the killer good time those kids will be having. Maybe it's the difference between boys and girls, between brothers and sisters.

All I can say about that, though, is where's the justice? I keep waiting for the payback Megan is supposed to suffer through as a parent, the fabled consequences for the trials and tribulations she put her mother through. Seems she'll get by scot-free, at least in terms of payback for her shared-bedroom years.

But then again... Megan and Preston are considering having more children eventually. I'm rooting for a set of twin girls — twin girls who have to share a bedroom.

Today's question:

What was your bedroom situation when you were growing up?

36 tips for new grandparents

I've been a grandma for about five years now. I've learned much in that time, from my own experience as well as from the amazing Grilled Grandmas.

One thing I've learned for sure is that no matter how long I've been a grandma, there's always more to learn. Which means that although these tips — culled from my heart and the Grilled Grandma archives — are intended for new grandparents, there's surely one or two even the most-seasoned grandma or grandpa can put to good use.

• Be prepared to be unreasonably crazy in love. The love for a grandchild is unlike anything you’ve felt before.

• Be gentle with Mom and Dad — even when they don’t do things your way.

• Don't be afraid of acting silly.

• Give the parents all the love and support you can muster.

• Make no comparisons, good or bad, to your other grandchildren.

• When the parents drive you nuts, smile instead of screaming, as they hold the keys to baby visits.

• Have lots of pictures taken of you with them — especially if you're typically the one behind the camera.

• Be available to the parents for advice, but never give it — or your opinion — unless asked.

• And when the parents don’t put your requested advice to use, bite your tongue.

• Get extra time with baby by volunteering to change the diapers.

• Don’t expect perfection — from the child, the parents or yourself.

• Respect the wishes and rules of the parents.

• Always let your grandchildren know you love them, in whatever fashion is comfortable for you.

• Let them know you’ll always be honest with them, too, and that they can trust you.

• Kiss them every chance you get.

• Get down on the floor and play with them.

• Remember that grandchildren are not their parents. Nor are they your children.

• Be someone the parents enjoy having around... so they'll have you around often.

• Make every effort to see and be with your grandchildren so they get to know you, always know you.

• Get advice on equipment, toys and more from other grandparents and young parents.

• Leave the parenting up to the parents.

• Don't worry about material things you are unable to give.

• Visit garage sales for toys, books, and furnishings (but never, ever for car seats, bicycle helmets, or other safety equipment).

• Don’t compare yourself to other grandmothers.

• Break your bad habits now, before the grandchildren copy you.

• Establish rules for your home when the kids are visiting, but be sure to never cross parental boundaries.

• Remember you are still a parent, not just a grandparent. Your child still wants you to consider his or her interests, concerns, achievements.

• When grandchildren visit, remember there is nothing they can break that you can’t live without.

• Don't take togetherness for granted; circumstances can change in an instant.

• When you’re the caretaker, get specifics — what the child needs, what the parent wants, and what time parents will return.

• Take the time to make the time with your grandchildren memorable.

• Be yourself and give of yourself.

• Enrich your grandchild’s life with more you, less stuff.

• Practice patience.

• Be a calm, loving, and engaged presence in your grandchild’s life.

• Love, enjoy, and appreciate every single moment.

Photo: Yes, that's me with Baby Mac (who's no longer <sniff> a baby).

Today's question:

What would you add to the list?

Happy Mother's Day

Hooray for moms!

Wherein Grandma whines and wails about not getting her way

For one bright, shining moment recently, all was right in my world as a mother and grandmother.

Brianna, my oldest, was happy with herself, happy in her job, happy with her Harley-riding boyfriend.

Andrea, my youngest, was happy with herself, in her job, and with her camera-toting boyfriend, too.

Megan, my middle daughter — mother to my grandsons and a teacher, too — was happy with the prospect of the school year ending, happy with her ever-so-helpful hubby, happy with being Mommy to my grandsons.

And I, mother and grandmother, was happy not only because they all were happy, but also because Megan mentioned she and Preston had accumulated enough Southwest rewards points that Megan and my grandsons could possibly, nay, probably, visit Gramma and PawDad at the end of May.

A probable visit meant my entire family (except Preston, who would have to work) would soon be together for the first time since June of last year.

A probable visit meant we'd all get to celebrate Mac's birthday and Bubby's birthday — which are both in June — while they're here.

A probable visit would mean Megan would get to meet her sisters' boyfriends who just might one day be more than that.

And a probable visit meant Bubby and Mac would finally get to dig for treasure in our back yard again, something Bubby had wished and wished and wished for during my visit a few weeks ago. (That and to watch Gramma make popcorn in the popcorn cart again, too.)

All was right and good in my world.

For one bright and shining moment.

Alas, how quickly those bright, shining moments fade.

Megan told me this past weekend that the possible trip to the mountains had become a definite-no-question-about-it no go. With many changes on the horizon for them, she and Preston would be consumed all summer working out important details on the this and that for their family.

Plus, when not working on this and that, they'd be using their Southwest reward points to attend the wedding of Preston's cousin. With no Southwest rewards to spare, a trip to the mountains to see family was simply not going to happen. Not soon. Not in the not-so-soon either.

*Poof!* My bright, shining moment vanished, with no reappearance likely for quite some time. At least when it comes to having my entire family together. At my place, at any place.

Sure, I will likely (I hope) get to see my grandsons before the end of 2013... at their place. But they — and Megan — won't get to visit my place. Worse yet, they won't get to see PawDad, Aunt B or Aunt Andie. And PawDad, Aunt B and Aunt Andie won't get to see them.

I get that other things must take priority at the moment. I sincerely get that. But that doesn't mean I can't be disappointed. Yet the word disappointed doesn't begin to explain how it feels.

Yes, I know it could be worse, that people are dealing with devastation beyond compare to my relatively trivial complaints. And there are innumerable parents and grandparents who have it far worse than I do, parents and grandparents who get to see their loved ones far less often than I do... if at all.

Perhaps I'm being silly. Jim and I have three daughters, and we get to see two of them as often as we — or they — choose. Two out of three ain't bad... or so I'm supposed to believe.

Every once in a while, though, I want more than two out of three. I want the trifecta of daughters all at one time — plus a double dose of grandsons, too. With PawDad. At our house. More for the sake of Jim and my other two daughters than for myself, as I do get to see Megan and the boys far more than the others do. But it's important the others see them, too, for it's hard to create close ties with family if chunks of the family never see one another. I want my grandsons to have close family ties — with all the chunks of our family.

For now, though, it's not going to happen. Definitely not this summer, and for who knows how long after that.

Priorities. I get it. I do. And I don't begrudge Megan doing what she must in figuring out important matters, doing what's right for her family. I really, truly, honestly get it.

But that doesn't mean I — and PawDad, Aunt B and Aunt Andie — can't be disappointed... or whatever the word for mega-super-duper-disappointed might be.

(It also doesn't mean I'll whine and wail forever. Just for today.)

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

The last time my family was all together was _____________.

Seven days... and the language of love

Every family has a language all its own. Sure, the words may be common knowledge to those outside the family, but the manner in which some words are strung together — and, often, the tone in which they're said — have significance far beyond the basic for those privy to a special, familial meaning.

For example, how would you feel if I were to say to you any sentence containing the phrase "love pop-can chain?" Confused, I'd venture to say.

For my funky family of five, though, any mentions of "love pop-can chain" cause hearts to warm and smiles to form as we remember one long-ago camping trip.

None of us recall exactly how it started, but at some point in the weekend, we came across a small chain of pop-can tops, you know, the kind in which you pull back the ring to open your can of sugary carbonated goodness, and are left with a dangerous metal shard in your hand (yet another thing kids nowadays know nothing about).

One by one we added our pop-can tops to the chain and eventually, for reasons I can't recall and in fits of laughter that still define many of our family gatherings, we dubbed the chain our love pop-can chain. We brought home our love pop-can chain, displayed it proudly. I have it somewhere — and am now quite unsettled because I just this moment realized I can't remember where I hung the love pop-can chain when we moved to this house more than four years ago. Because I can't recall its location, I can't share a photo. But just know that it's a chain of connected pop-can tops, linked together with love and lots and lots of laughter. For reasons understood only by my family.

Another example is the phrase "in net, under monkey." That means nothing to anyone other than the five members of my family, all of us privy to the anal tendencies of Andrea. Those tendencies once proved Andie's downfall, as she chose to keep a written reminder to herself where she hid contraband from Mom and Dad — yet kept the note neatly on her bedroom desk in plain sight. Let's just say it was hard to mete out any meaningful disciplinary action when Jim and I were laughing so hard at how we discovered her hidden stash.

Those are phrases exclusive to our Carpenter clan. Others our family utters with grins and giggles are phrases millions of others have heard, possibly repeated themselves, because they're lines from movies. But they make us smile when stated with a certain tone, at appropriately perfect times.

A few family favorites:

"I'll be right back" from Scream (not "I'll be back" from Terminator!).

"What time I s'posed to be there?" from Bill Cosby: Himself. Jim says this. Often. Making the rest of us chuckle. Often.

"Time, Mr. Carter?" from Point Break.

Another related to time — funny how so many are — is "Seven days...". It's best said in a creepy whisper, and even more effective when said over the phone. Proof that such things are understood only by my immediate family came by way of a recent interaction with one of my sisters, when we were testing out a new phone system I had hooked up for our mom.

After getting all the handsets correctly set up, I called my sister from it to ensure all systems were go. "Seven days..." I whispered to her, in a creepy manner my daughters and husband would be proud of. Her response: "WHAAAT?" So I whispered it again... and got the same response again. It had nothing to do with the phone connection and everything to do with her not getting the reference.

So I groaned, then spent far longer than necessary explaining the creepy phone call from The Ring. You know, the one characters receive after watching a video (back in the days of VHS) that they so should not have watched and now had only seven days left to live, as the creepy caller so creepily informed them. She shrugged, didn't get it. (Maybe I should have just said to my sister, "Do you like scary movies?"... which is, um, from Scream.)

Yes, we find such things funny in our family. And it's the "Seven days..." phrase that ran through my head again and again yesterday as I kept telling myself "Seven days...". But yesterday's seven days carried a far less creepy connotation, because it's, yes, a mere seven days, until I finally get to see Bubby and Mac again.

Seven days... until I get to see in person my grandsons doing Harlem Shake moves that were featured in a gut-busting video Megan recently texted to me, prefaced with a strong warning that, "This is not appropriate for sharing anwhere online."

Seven days... until I get to see in person the equally inappropriate-for-posting-online Mac as he models big-boy briefs instead of diapers. Megan shared with me the other day a sweet picture of Mac posing in his new undies, accompanied by his giggle-infused comments of "I nakey!"

Seven days... until I get to spend ten days with the lights of my life, my favorite boys ever.

Thing is, because I wrote this post yesterday, the key phrase is now "Six days...".

Only six days until I get to hug my adorable and goofy grandsons.

And that is a phrase everyone reading this likely understands and appreciates — family members or not.

Today's question:

What phrases make your family giggle though others may not know why?

20 ways grandparents can model a healthy relationship

My husband and I celebrated our thirty-second First Kiss Anniversary on Sunday. Yes, thirty-two years ago, PawDad and I smooched for the very first time, sealing forever our fate as parents, grandparents and more.

We've always marked the day in a small but special way. This year it was simply skipping church to go out to breakfast together.

In light of our celebration, I considered that one of the best things grandparents can do for grandchildren — and parents can do for their children, regardless of the child's age — is to model a positive personal relationship with their partners.

How can grandmothers do that, though, when time with grandkids is typically focused on the kids?

Here are 20 ways you can do both — be a fun and interesting grandma to the kids while nurturing your relationship with their grandpa. At the same time. Together.

1. Make breakfast together — Grandma, Grandpa and the grandkids.

2. Play an outdoor game that requires teams — Grandma and Grandpa on one team, grandkids on another.

3. Play a board game using the same team approach.

4. Take a family bike ride.

5. Spread a blanket in the yard for some night-time stargazing as a family.

6. Wear matching No. 1 Grandpa and No. 1 Grandma T-shirts on the same day. (Okay, I must admit that this one might make me — and Jim ... and our adult kids — gag. But some grandparents do get into this. Which is cute.)

7. Hold hands while taking a walk around the block — or through the mall — with the grandkids.

8. Play Wii games together.

9. Go ice skating.

10. Or roller skating.

11. Have a dance party in the living room, playing songs you enjoyed when first dating. Don't hold back on showing the kids your best dance moves.

12. Create a video together to email or text to long-distance grandchildren.

13. Roast marshmallows by the outdoor fire pit or indoor fireplace.

14. Perform a musical number for the kids, playing instruments, singing or both. Kids love performing for Grandma and Grandpa; this gives them a turn at being in the audience.

15. Take a break from pushing swings and such at the park to hang out together on a blanket while the kids play.

16. Share photo albums from the early years.

17. Better yet, share your wedding album.

18. And if it's your thing, take the kids to church with you…and sit by Grandpa.

19. Have a movie night featuring Grandma and Grandpa’s favorite movie — and your favorite movie snacks.

20. Create a fort for the grandkids then surprise them when they arrive.

Today's question:

What memories do you have of your grandparents expressing love for each other?

Like mother, like daughter?

How are your kids like you?

My friend Lisa from Grown and Flown wrote an excellent piece on exactly that question this past week. Long after reading Lisa's thought-provoking post, I pondered again and again just how my daughters might be like me. I considered just how different they are from me, too.

Brianna, my eldest, is quite similar to me in many ways. From the time she was quite young, my younger daughters — and sometimes Jim, too — called Brianna "Mom 2" because she was a bossy little thing and always stepped in to control her sisters and unsavory situations if I didn't. Occasionally even when I did, to be honest. Brianna enjoys the same books and movies as I do. She has many other similar likes and dislikes, and many of my same mannerisms, too.

Megan, my middle daughter, is the least like me of all my girls. We're quite opposite in the most fundamental of likes and dislikes. She likes to shop; I don't. She likes to talk on the phone; I don't. She runs marathons, and I feel like I'm doing pretty well if I manage to walk the dogs around the neighborhood. The one area she is very much like me, though — which she may or may not willingly agree — is in our approach to motherhood and the parenting principles we hold dear. Since being a mom has been my most important role so far, I guess that in the end, Megan may be the daughter most like me after all.

Andrea, my youngest ... well, Andrea is a nut. The biggest nut of all my daughters. And the one that is probably most like me in many ways. Many ways that make us butt heads yet still consider the other among our most loved and loyal fans. We're both born under the astrological sign of Cancer, so perhaps that's part of it. Of my favorite resemblences: Andrea and I enjoy the same kind of music. The mix CDs she would send me from college are some of my most treasured possessions — and not just because I loved the music.

That's just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to our similarities and differences. I'm continually impressed by the ways my daughters are different from me, always pleased by the ways they mimic me — even when they balk at the thought they, heaven forbid, do and say things just like their mother at times.

In their words and their actions, it's fairly easy to see how my daughters take after me. Physically, though, is a different story. I'll leave it to you to decide which daughter looks most like her mother. If you ask me, there's not a bit of resemblance between any of us.

Like mother like daughter? From the top: Brianna, Megan, Andrea

Today's question:

In what ways do your kids resemble you, physically or otherwise?