Love is patient ... which requires practice

Imagine the quintessential grandmother -- her dress, her personality, her mannerisms, her quirks.

Got her in mind?

Did you envision Grandma as plumpish, gray hair pulled back, dressed in comfortable clothing (sweats? jeans and a T-shirt? a house dress?), enjoying her rocking chair and knitting after just pulling the last pan of cookies from the oven?

Or did you you see a chic career woman with the latest hairstyle -- definitely not gray hair! -- picking up Chinese takeout on her way home from work, wrapping up the loose ends of a long week as she prepares for a relaxing weekend getaway?

Both visions are correct, of course. Although I'd say a combination of the two is likely a more accurate picture of what today's grandmothers look like.

Whatever your vision of "Grandma," one trait sure to be included is patience. For the quintessential grandma takes her time with her grandchildren. She doesn't rush them to get dressed. Doesn't roll her eyes at their curiosity with everything on the way out the door -- or out of the room. Doesn't tap her toes and look at the clock as scheduled activities and appointments await while those meant to be there hem and haw and take their sweet time getting. in. the. car.

No, there's none of that "hurry up" harriedness with grandmas. For grandmas are patient.

Those grandmas who live near the grandchildren, that is. Those who see their grandkids on a regular basis.

Not so much with the long-distance grandmas.

At least that's my theory ... a theory formed after spending a week with Bubby.

You see, years ago I was a fairly patient person. I was mother to three young daughters; I had no choice but be patient. You simply can't rush little kids. So rather than tap toes and grit teeth, I learned to be patient.

Then my little girls became teenagers. And I became less patient. I won't even go there, won't go into detail, because we all know what teen girls are like -- we've either had one or we've been one. And we know it does a number on a mother's patience.

Then the girls left home. And I was left being a rather impatient person.

I try. But God knows -- and Jim will certainly attest -- that I lean a bit more toward being an impatient screaming mimi than a relaxed picture of patience. Most days, most of the time.

Except for the time I spend with Bubby. During such times, my patience returns. I don't rush him to do anything. I couldn't rush him to do anything. He's on his own clock and it doesn't tick anywhere near as furiously as mine.

So I adjust mine a bit. And I do so with no qualms, no complaints. Because I love Bubby, want to spend every possible minute with him. And when I'm lucky enough to be given such minutes, there's nothing more pressing on the docket than following his schedule.

During our recent time together, we'd be on the way to get him dressed for the day and Bubby would happen upon a car -- or truck or motorcycle or dinosaur -- that needed zooming around the room. No problem! Zoom away.

We'd be packing for a trip to the park and Bubby would first want to watch for squirrels out the dining room window. No problem! "Here squirrelly squirrel."

When it was time to color, proper set up by Bubby was required first. Meaning he'd lay out each and every crayon, one next to the other, perfectly aligned before even considering opening the coloring book to choose a page. No problem! Lined-up crayons create a beautiful rainbow.

When it was time for the dogs to get a morning treat, Mickey and Lyla would sit nicely, awaiting the treat Bubby planned to award them ... after he turned each dog biscuit around and around in his hands, reciting the ABCs inscribed on the goodies. No problem! Even the dogs understood patience was the order of the day.

And when we had to go up stairs ... or down stairs ... Bubby would take one step with the right foot, then one step with the left foot, onto the same stair. Right foot again ... left foot onto the same stair. Right foot again ... left foot on the same stair. One-by-one we did double time on each stair. No problem! It simply meant I had a little bit longer to hold Bubby's hand in mine as we traversed each staircase.

I was okay with all of it. Every s-l-o-w second of it. My usual hurry-up harriedness didn't apply while with Bubby. Didn't matter while I was with Bubby. And that, I theorize, is the case with all grandmothers when they're with their grandchildren. And when they're with them often, patience becomes part of who they are, a trait they possess without question. Patience becomes permanently instilled in them.

My hope is that one day I will be a permanently patient person.

My hope is that one day I will no longer be a long-distance grandma.

Today's question:

Mine is impatience and being a control freak. What is one of your less admirable traits?

9 things grandmas should never do

1. Never disrespect the choices of your grandbaby's parents. Questionable bedtimes, meals, discipline and more? Sure, you can disagree with the choices, just do so respectfully. As long as you ...

2. Never voice your disagreement or disapproval with the parents in front of your grandchild. Mommy and Daddy are the last word. Grandchildren don't need more ammunition in their battle for getting their way, and repeating words of disagreement from Grandma would be sure-fire ammunition.

3. Never secretly break Mom and Dad's rules. If tantrums mean Junior gets a time-out, give him a time-out. If 8 p.m. is bedtime, tuck him in when the clock chimes eight times. If Mom says only one popsicle, don't you dare offer a second. What? Grandmas are meant to break rules, you say? Notice I said never secretly break the rules. The key is to do it loud and proud and let everyone know in advance the rules will likely be bent a smidgen -- possibly even smashed to pieces -- when Grandma's in charge. Simply be upfront, not underhanded.

4. Never talk bad about your grandchild's other grandparents. Even if you're clearly the very, very best grandma ever, your grandchild still loves his or her other grandma and grandpa. Accept it, deal with it, and don't act like a jealous 12-year-old girl about it.

5. Never try to buy your grandchild's love. Any kid will smile, maybe even squeal with delight, over toys, gadgets, games and other goodies. But things shouldn't make up your PDAs (primary displays of affection). It's time and attention the kiddos want -- and what they'll most love you for.

6. Never ply your grandchild for information about Mom and Dad. Maybe they're going through rough financial times, maybe the marital bliss isn't so blissful, maybe they won the lottery and don't want to share the dough. Whatever the case causing you to be Nosy Nelly, it really is none of your business. Don't recruit your grandchildren for special ops in attempts to make it your business.

7. Never think your bad habits go unnoticed. Swearing, smoking, sipping too much of the sauce, double-dipping, overeating, complaining about your looks, your size, your big butt in the mirror. Little pitchers have big ears ... and eyes ... and impressionable hearts and minds on which such things are etched, things that can be detrimental to his or her physical and psychological well-being. Yeah, even grandmas have issues; just do your best to not pass them along to your grandchildren. They'll undoubtedly have plenty of issues of their own.

8. Never forget that you're a mother, too, not just a grandmother. Love on and brag about the grandchildrens' parents any chance you get. This goes a long way in maintaining the bond with your adult children ... and increases your grandchild's ever-important pride in his or her parents.

9. Never take the time with your grandchildren for granted. Every single minute with the little ones -- whether those minutes include stinky diapers and equally stinky attitudes or giggles and grins and big squeezes around Grandma's neck -- is a gift. Graciously accept it. Sincerely appreciate it. Heartily give thanks for it.

This post is featured in the About.com: Grandparents September Blog Carnival: Grandparents and Grandparenting.

Today's question:

What would you add to the list of things grandmas should never do?

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Grandma's assistant baker

Not only was Bubby's visit to Grandma's the first time he rode on a plane without Mom or Dad and the first time he slept in the big boy guest room all by himself, it was his very first time to bake cookies -- chocolate-chip cookies! -- with Grandma.

 

Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm! Finger-lickin' good!

Today's question:

Chocolate-chip cookies are my signature baked good. What is yours? (If anyone wants the recipe from another commenter, say so in the comments and I'll conduct a recipe swap through e-mail. OR ... you're welcome to include your recipe with your comment to begin with!)

Lessons in hair-coloring

With all the things I had to do in preparation for Bubby's visit, I had to let something slide, and my seriously graying hair that oh-so desperately needed color was unfortunately it.

Which meant I definitely had no choice but to color it during Bubby's visit.

Let me just say that I had forgotten how difficult it is to get much done on a household -- or personal -- level when there's a two-year-old in the house. Especially taking the time to color your hair.

Wait! I never colored my hair when my daughters were toddlers. So attempting the coloring -- with its specific time allotments in which any deviation from said time may have dire consequences -- while in charge of Bubby was a new lesson for this grandma.

I'm proud to say it was a lesson I aced pretty quickly! I just set up Bubby right outside the bathroom door with a pile of cars, truck and motorcycles. While he vroomed and zoomed and lined up the vehicles, I dibbed and dabbed and darkened my roots.

 I thought I was pretty darn bright for figuring out how to successfully occupy my grandson while I catered to my vanity.

Not so bright? Taking the time to snap these photos of Bubby during the coloring process. My far-too-dark tresses and the brown ring on my face around my hairline are irrefutable proof of that.

Oh well. At least Bubby can't revert to calling me Graya anymore.

At least not during this visit.

Today's question:

What's your most regrettable hair-color (or style) experience?

Grandma's No. 1

Grandmas are bonkers for their grandkids ... usually. I know there are some grandmas who are of the sort to offer little more than a "meh" when it comes to their grandchildren. I've seen them, met them, talked to them. But I think those are the exception, the women who had the same "meh" response to their own children.

The moms whose kids were -- and likely still are -- a priority, though, those who put raising their children at the tippy top of the list of Important Things To Do in This Life, well, those are the ones who grow up to be grandmas whose hearts glow and gushings flow when it comes to their grandkids. Those are the ones deliriously bonkers for their grandbabies.

I admit I'm pretty much of the bonkers variety. Lately, though, I've worried that all the mushy-gushy love-love stuff I've got going on for Bubby makes my daughters a little jealous, a little worrisome that I love my grandson more than I love them. Deep inside we all still want to be mom's favorite, no matter how old we get, and I have a feeling my girls see my bonkered state for Bubby as proof that he's No. 1 in my eyes, in my heart. Not that they've said anything, would even consider saying anything, for they all love Bubby to bits (especially his mama, Megan, of course). Let's just call it mother's intuition.

Maybe. Maybe it's not mother's intuition at all. It very well could be my own overzealous and usually unfounded guilty conscience kicking in because of all the verbal backflips and whoop-dee-doos I perform when it comes to talking about my grandson. And because I don't want my girls to think they figure any less prominently in my heart since Bubby came along.

The thing is, when it comes to grandkids -- and any grandma knows this, so I'm pretty much talking to the non-grandmas here -- it's such a fresh, new, overwhelming love that it's hard to not gush and glow over it. New mothers feel the very same world-shaking love for their newborn, for their little ones as they grow, for the one, two or eighteen lights of their lives.

The difference, though, is what happens in the years between a baby's birth and that newborn's entry into young adulthood. For those years from newborn to adulthood are filled not only with knee-weakening love and adoration, but struggles and strife and, if we're all honest here, a lot of screaming and crying and heartbreak as the child tugs this way and mom tugs that way, all in the name of growth, independence, maturity and just plain ol' life.

Sadly, those struggles lessen a mom's enthusiasm a tad, diminish the mushing and the gushing. But they never, ever, ever lessen the love and adoration mom has for a child. At least not for this mom; probably not for most moms. Despite -- or maybe because of -- the battles, a mother's love for her child matures as the child matures. It grows into a more quiet love, one no longer eliciting butterflies and balloons and all-out blasting of horns to announce the bliss.

But it once did. With every child. And grandchildren bring all that back -- the butterflies, the bliss and more. Which is why grandmas act so goofy, so obsessed, so gosh-darn twitterpated. Much to their delight, they're getting a second opportunity to relish the fully-enveloping motherly love for a child.

And relish it we do.

Just like we did when our first child was born. And the second. And the third. And more.

Just like we did and do and will with each and every grandchild to come along.

It doesn't mean we love our original little ones any less. It just means we're keeping the enthusiasm in check. For the adult child's sake, of course. Because we understand how much the mushy-gushy PDAs from mom embarrass the oh-so grown-up kids, whether they're 13 or 30.

And we know kisses on the lips and big ol' noogies on the head no longer make children-turned-adults giggle in delight. So we bestow them on our grandkids and eat up the giggles they gurgle out as if they were Godiva chocolates.

But any adult child of mine is more than welcome to a noogie, a liplock, a great big bear hug any time they ask for it. Sometimes even if they don't ask for it.

Because although I don't say it nearly enough, the love, the bliss, the being bonkers for my babies is still there, still burning hot in my head, in my heart.

And cuss the numbers, the ranking systems, the logic; mothers and grandmothers don't believe in such things. What we do believe in, though, illogical as it may seem, is that each and every one of our babies, of our grandbabies, is truly No. 1 in our eyes, truly No. 1 in our hearts.

Today's question:

Other than relationships, in what would you most like to be considered No. 1?

My answer: I'd like to be ranked No. 1 on the bestseller list ... for children's books.

Green-eyed Grandma

Contrary to the title of today's post, I have blue eyes. But today my eyes are tinged with green.

Well, they're more than tinged; I'd say they're pretty much glow-in-the-dark, iridescent, color-of-a-leprechaun's-hat green.

More specifically, my eyes are green with envy.

Why the drama? Because Bubby's paternal grandma and grandpa get to see him. Again. In less than a week. And they just saw him less than a month ago. And they get to spend seven days in the desert with Bubby and his mom and dad. And they will be back for more with Bubby in July.

And I want that to be me!

Wah, wah, wah! Yeah, grandmas can still be big ol' cry-baby green-eyed monsters. And today that's most certainly what I am.

I'm not so much worried that Bubby will love his other grandma more than he loves me; it's more that I worry he'll remember her more because he's had these huge chunks of time with her and all he's gotten with me lately are bits of Skyping here and there.

Bubby's "other" grandparents are long-distance grandparents, too, but they're educators, which means they have summers free to spend a week with their grandchild whenever they please. Jim and I, on the other hand, will get just three days in June ... and getting those three days was a bit of a challenge because Jim has a new job and no vacation days.

Yes, I should be happy with even those three days. Yes, I should rejoice that I get to see Bubby at all. Yes, I should be pleased as punch that I can Skype and that Megan and I talk on the phone every single day and I get to hear Bubby chattering in the background or I listen closely and respond accordingly as he shares a few select words with me when Mom hands him the phone.

I am thankful for all those things.

But today I just want to complain.

And see the world through green-colored glasses.

Now if you'll please excuse me, I need to go use the Visine. The red in my eyes from crying mixed with the green of jealousy makes for a very unattractive look.

Today's question:

Who are you jealous or envious of today?