Liar or storyteller?

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Does nabbing Mommy's bag of chips and running away (with his mouth full!) make Bubby a thief, too?Megan called late Sunday afternoon.

"Guess what Bubby just told me," she said. (See, she still does the "Know What?" thing.)

"What?"

"Bubby told me PawDad was drinking beer ... at Gramma's."

"What?"

"And Bubby said Gramma was drinking beer, too."

First, the backstory for those who don't know: Bubby came to visit Gramma and PawDad in the mountains at summer's end. Without Mom or Dad. Which is why Megan wasn't too sure about what her son was telling her.

Her tone wasn't accusatory, but with a plethora of alcoholics in our extended family, I clearly picked up on an underlying WTH? in Megan's question.

"That's weird. Dad and I certainly weren't drinking any beer while Bubby was here. And I seriously doubt he saw it in the bar since he never even went near it while here. I have no idea why he'd say that."

Yes, we have a bar. And yes, it's stocked with a fair amount of beer ... and liquor. Everyone in my house is pretty responsible about drinking, so it's no big deal we indulge now and then. But Jim and I certainly didn't indulge while Bubby was here. That would not have been responsible.

Megan knows us pretty well -- we are her parents, for heaven's sake -- so she believed me and that was that. No biggie. I do understand that as a concerned parent, she had to ask. Just in case.

Then Megan put Bubby on the phone.

"Hi, Gramma!" he bubbled.

"Hi, Bubby! What are you doing?"

"We're going shopping!"

"Shopping!? What are you going shopping for?"

"COOKIES! Chocolate CHIP cookies," he shouted.

"Oh yeah? Are you having chocolate chip cookies for dinner?" (I was just kidding, just being silly, of course.)

"Yeah! Chocolate chip cookies for dinner!" he confirmed.

"Yum! You enjoy your chocolate chip cookies for dinner. I'll talk to you later, Bubby. I love you!"

"I wuh woo," he said, then gave the phone back to Megan.

"Cookies for dinner?" I asked her.

"No. He's a little liar!" she said with a chuckle. "I have no idea what he's talking about."

"Yeah, I don't know what he's talking about either. Oh well. You go enjoy your chocolate chip cookies for dinner."

"Okay. You go enjoy your beer! Talk to you later!"

End of story, end of interrogation.

So what's up with that? Is my two-and-a-half-year-old grandson a little liar, trying to get his mommy and his grandma in trouble with each other?

Or is Bubby simply a silly little storyteller, exercising his imagination and making up tales of goofiness?

I suppose either case might be okay at this point because if not, it's woefully clear that I failed miserably in teaching my daughter how to serve balanced meals to her family!

Today's question:

Do you think toddlers lie? Do you think they understand the concept of lying?

Can he hear me now?

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For the past month or so, Megan and I have had several conversations regarding Bubby's speech. Sometimes it seems he has a vast vocabulary; other times it seems he's regressing in his ability to pronounce words.

Bubby's preschool teacher casually mentioned to Megan that she might consider speech therapy for Bubby. When I heard that, I suggested that the first thing she should do is have his hearing checked. When Andrea was young, she had speech problems, all related to too many ear infections and an ignorant doctor who refused to put tubes in her ears, despite my insistence. (She eventually got the tubes as well as speech therapy and is now a masterful speaker.)

During my recent visit to the desert, it became clear that the fears and worries about Bubby's ability to talk appear to be unfounded. Bubby talks up a storm, all the time, about all things. He did, though, have a tendency -- especially at dinner time -- to interrupt the adult conversation with "What you say, Dad?" or "What you say, Mom?" Megan said she thinks it's more his way of having things explained to him that he didn't understand than it is a hearing problem. I agreed with her.

So other than needing work on a few vocabulary skills such as blends and digraphs -- for which I suggested activities from lessons that are part of the tutoring program I follow as a tutoring site coordinator -- Bubby's speech and hearing seem to be a non-issue.

At least it was until last Friday.

Megan called me Friday evening and said in a very serious tone, "You won't believe what your grandson has done." Of course, I imagined all kinds of deadly or dastardly deeds and feared for the physical and psychological well-being of my grandson.

The story from Megan was that she had come home from work Friday afternoon, bid goodbye to GiGi -- Bubby's paternal great-grandma who babysits him on Fridays -- then went about her usual afternoon activities. Bubby, though, was acting rather unusual. Again and again he asked Megan, "What you say?" and kept saying "What? I can't hear you" and "Turn it up, Mommy, I can't hear it" regarding his television programs.

His insistence led Megan to inspect the little guy's ears, where she found what appeared to be excess wax build-up in one ear.

So she and Preston proceeded to remove the wax. All the while Bubby insisted "It's a seed." Megan explained to him that, no, it's not a seed, it's ear wax and Daddy's gonna get it out.

Daddy skillfully removed the gunk. Only it wasn't gunk, it was indeed, as Bubby tried to convince them, a seed. A popcorn kernel, to be exact.

Instead of telling Mommy, "See, I told you it was a seed," as I imagine Megan herself would have said as a kid, Bubby simply announced of his now clear-as-a-bell audio ability, "I can hear!"

Funny thing is, Megan said she can't recall the last time they had popcorn!

Bubby later told Mommy he found kernels under the couch and proceeded to put one in his mouth and one in his ear. Why in the world he would stick a popcorn kernel in his ear is beyond any of us.

The real question, though, is how long has the darn thing been in there?

Even more so, how did all of us who have bathed Bubby in the last month -- or hugged or kissed or played with him -- miss seeing a popcorn kernel in the little dickens' ear?!

Today's question:

Because of Bubby's silliness, the song "Beans in Your Ears" ("My mommy said not to put beans in my ears ... I can't hear the teacher with beans in my ears ...") has been stuck in my head for days now. What wacky childhood song or nursery rhyme do you find gets frustratingly stuck in your head now and again?

The more things change ...

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In the two months between seeing Bubby in August and visiting him last week, the little dude has grown, matured, and mastered a few skills.

The biggest change is that Bubby now attends preschool. He eats out of a lunchbox with his classmates, participates in recess, lines up for class and washes his hands all by himself.

He's also learned to drink from a cup ... "with TWO hands, Gramma!"

He can pedal his trike ... sometimes even making it from one end of the patio to the other, to which he proudly exclaims, "I did it! I did it, Gramma!"

He no longer wears a diaper and wears Pull-Ups only at night; in the morning, they're still dry.

He used to adamantly avoid face dunks in the bathtub. Now he enjoys putting his face in the bath water and blowing bubbles.

He talks ... and talks ... and talks. Most of the time, it's in full sentences. Two of my favorites from last week: "I want to go to PawDad's house. I miss him." And, "Did you hear that, Gramma? The baby in my tummy went RAAAAR!" (The little guy understands the concept of babies in the tummy more than he does hunger pangs!)

He's no longer content to just walk, he runs ... "really fast":

He cried when dropping off Gramma at the airport -- not because he didn't want to get back into his carseat after hugging me goodbye, which is usually the case, but because he didn't want me to leave without him.

Those are just a smidgen of the many ways my beautiful Bubby has grown ever bigger between visits.

Even with all the growing and changing, though, several things remain the same.

Bubby still loves Elmo.

He still wriggles his fingers under the bathroom door when I'm in there, giggling and saying, "Gramma, come out!"

He still loves to read.

And to be held.

And hugged.

He still loves to dance, especially "the pumpkin dance" to show off his pumpkin stickers:

He still is a finicky eater. Now, though, he readily lets you know exactly what on his plate he doesn't like, which includes but isn't limited to anything brown, green, too hot, too cold, with "something in it" (such as spices or seeds), eggs, potatoes, turkey and "keeni" (meaning zucchini, of course).

He still loves tractors.

Roxy is still his best buddy.

And Mommy and Daddy are still his very favorite people in the whole entire world.

Today's question:

Speaking of things changing ... or staying the same ... did you do mail-in voting or did/will you vote in person today?

Gramma's my name, being intentional's my game

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Seems the latest buzzword for grandparenting is intentional. Everywhere I look for info on grandparenting, I find books and articles about being intentional.

What the cuss does it mean to indulge in intentional grandparenting, you ask?

The definition of intentional, according to Miriam Webster, is "done by intention or design; intended."

With that definition in mind, I'd first like to say that I had absolutely nothing to do with becoming a grandma; there was no intention whatsoever about getting the position. A position, I'll add, I was thrilled to accept.

Peggy Edwards, in her book Intentional Grandparenting: A Boomer's Guide, calls intentional grandparenting "a process for planning ahead and taking deliberate action to be the kind of grandparent you want to be."

That definition could apply to everyone -- not just grandparents -- because it seems a good idea to strive to be intentional in all relationships. That said, because I'm a grandma and because I'm a grandma blogger, this here little blog post focuses only on intentional grandparenting. And how I succeed -- and fail -- at it.

There apparently are several tenets of the intentional grandparent game, many which just sound like common sense to me, but here are the rules, according to Grandparents.com:

Intentional grandparents ...

1. Plan special times together.

2. Ask the parents to stay away!

3. Take advantage of the resources around you.

4. The simplest pleasures are often the best.

5. Make a plan, but be flexible.

6. See things through the kids' eyes.

7. Give them your undivided attention.

See what I mean? Common sense. (And if you're confused about the "Ask the parents to stay away!" rule, it just means to spend time specifically with the grandchildren without the parents around.)

So I have most of those down pretty well. As a long-distance grandparent, No. 1 comes pretty easily; I have no choice but to plan the cuss out of our visits. I fully intend to be at his place or fully intend to have him be at my place.

But the one I do best? I'd have to say it's No. 7, "Give them your undivided attention." When I'm with Bubby, he is the full focus of everything I say, do, think. He has my undivided attention. Maybe that's where being a long-distance grandma comes in handy, because if he lived nearby, I swear I'd get nothing done. Every second would be dedicated to him. At least until grandbaby No. 2 comes along. (How do you grandmas of many do it?)

The rule of intentional grandparenting at which I fail? In my mind, there's no doubt it's No. 6, "Seeing things through the kids' eyes." I'm not very good at seeing things through Bubby's eyes. I want to show him life through MY eyes because my eyes have been around a lot longer, have seen a lot more, have learned to filter out that which doesn't really matter.

Thing is, I'm starting to realize that the things that don't really matter to me aren't necessarily the things that don't matter to others. In this case, Bubby. While I'm rushing to show him the cool things at the park or in the backyard or in a book we're reading, he's dawdling and heading toward what most interests his little eyes: the balance beam at the park that he surely can't balance on but that makes a great spot for lining up some rocks; the vines that cling to the trees, walks and walls of the backyard require touching and tugging before we finally reach the rustic metal dinosaur legs sprouting from Gramma's garden; the miniature secondary illustrations framing the page of a picture book are much more interesting than the big ol' drawings that depict exactly what's going on in the story.

I need to follow Bubby's lead a little lot more in such things and work at seeing the world through his eyes. I may see what I think matters; Bubby sees what is magical.

My plan is to work on marveling at the magical, seeing things the way Bubby sees them.

My plan is to work at becoming a fully intentional grandma.

Sometimes even the common-sensical can use a little intentional attention.

This post has been linked to:

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Today's question:

Applying the rules of intentional grandparenting to any relationship, which do you think you are most and/or least successful at?

Rated M for mature

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Related Posts with ThumbnailsIt's been one month since I last saw Bubby and in those few passing weeks, my grandson has grown by leaps and bounds. It's not so much that Bubby has grown -- he hasn't shot up several inches or moved on to a bigger size of clothing. It's more that he has matured.

To wit:

  • Bubby no longer wears a diaper. Woo-hoo! Big boy underwear is the garment of choice -- adorned with trains and more -- and Pull-ups are worn only at night. Even so, the nights have been dry. (If you ask me, it was far too easy for Megan. Aren't boys supposedly much more difficult to potty train than girls?)
  • Bubby is now a seasoned school boy, attending preschool five days a week.
  • Thus far into his school career, Bubby has already been attacked by bullies three times. The first came in generic bully form: a tough little cuss who also serves as one of Bubby's best friends. Apparently this little kid likes to push and shove and make other bad choices when it comes to interacting with his fellow classmates. The second bully Bubby faced was strep. An antiobiotic helped him face down this particular bully. And this one did carry a silver lining: Because of the strep, Bubby was absent the day Bully-Boy pulled out the big guns -- his chompers -- which he used to chomp nearly every other two-year-old in the class. The third bully? A stomach bug. I gotta hand it to Bubby for his response to this bad guy. Despite the yuckiness that goes along with stomach bugs, my little trooper maintained status quo on potty training, with no backsliding into diapers and no messes. Well, no messes that come from the diaper end.
  • As the ties of friendship between Bubby and Bully-Boy remain strong despite Bully-Boy's treatment of Bubby, Bubby has participated in making some not so great decisions. He's not been busted by the teacher for his infractions, though. Only his buddy has. Yet after witnessing Bully-Boy complete a time-out handed down by the teacher for an unnamed act, Bubby confronted the teacher, told her he needed a time-out for something he'd done, and proceeded to take his turn in the time-out chair. After a minute or so, Bubby told the teacher "All done" then merrily went on his way, satisfied that he'd done his time ... for a crime the teacher didn't even know he'd committed.
  • Bubby has mastered the art of conversation ... and how to cut it short when a Chatty Cathy invades his space. Megan told of a recent day after school, with Bubby chilling in his car seat in the back while Megan drove them home. Questions from Megan of "How was your day?" and "What did you do in school?" were met with brief answers from Bubby followed by, "Stop talking, Mommy. No more talking." End of story, end of conversation. He needed to regroup after hours of interaction with toddlers, and he had no difficulty whatsoever letting Mommy know the time for talking was over.
  • Bubby also is mastering the art of golf, the swinging of the club in particular. By watching Mommy and Daddy practice golf on the Wii, Bubby has picked up a masterful technique he practices with his toy clubs and ball in the backyard. Just like Mommy and Daddy, he lines up the ball, grabs hold of the club, pulls the club back and ... swings! And just like Mommy and Daddy, when Bubby misses the ball or it goes in an unintended direction, he lets out an unmistakeable "Dammit!" (With this one, Mommy and Daddy learned a quick lesson themselves in finding more appropriate ways of expressing frustration with sloppy golf swings!)

Yessiree, my Bubby is maturing at a mind-blowing rate. What more will he master before I see him again? He's already figured out one of the most important lessons in life: the need to accept responsibility for your actions, your poor choices. Proved by giving himself a time-out for something the teacher didn't even see him do, my mature little Bubby already understands that regardless of whether anyone has witnessed it or not, if you do the crime, you do the time. It's as simple as that.

The real question: Will it remain as simple as that as Bubby's toddler years all-too-quickly become his teen years?

 

Today's question:

What lesson, action or experience (first child? first house? first divorce?) made you feel like you had matured and officially become an adult?

My greatest fears as a grandma

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The role of grandma is supposed to be an easy one. Mom and Dad cover all the hard work – changing dirty diapers, teaching table etiquette, instilling a sense of right and wrong – leaving Grandma to do nothing but have fun with the little ones.

That’s how it’s supposed to be, right? But that’s not how it really is. At least not when you’re a grandma with the middle name of “Worrywart.” I worried (and continue to worry) endlessly as a mother, and you can bet your sweet bippy the fretting hasn’t let up just because I’ve moved on to motherhood’s second act.

Here for your amusement – or commiseration – are ...

My nine greatest fears as a grandma:

1. Bubby will love his other grandma more than he loves me.

2. I’ll always be a long-distance grandma, with no opportunity for my loved ones to drop in unexpectedly for dinner, to view my grandson’s sporting events or school programs, or to even be the backup plan when the little one is sick and Mom and Dad can’t wriggle out of work.

3. Something bad will befall Bubby.

4. Something bad will befall Bubby's parents.

5. Bubby will think I’m boring.

6. Bubby will think I’m weird.

7. Bubby will think I’m the greatest thing since LEGOs and garbage trucks and run away from home to live with me.

8. The one and only grandson I have now will always and forever be my one and only grandchild.

9. Bubby will be worn down – lose his vim, vigor, enthusiasm and endless curiosity – by the realities of life as he grows.

Bubby is just two years old at this point; I’m sure my fears and worries will become more concrete, more serious, more scary as he grows. For now, though, these nine are enough to keep me on my toes during the day, keep me awake on certain nights. For now, these nine frazzle me just fine.

Today's question:

How about you? Is “Worrywart” your middle name, too? What's your greatest fear -- as a grandma or otherwise?