Cooking up memories

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For many people, regardless of age, their memories of Grandma have her firmly positioned in the kitchen, cooking and baking up goodies that will forever hold a place in the hearts and tastebuds of her grandchildren.

I don't have such memories. I don't recall a single dish made by either of my grandmothers. I'm certain they cooked and baked and canned and did all those other culinary things grandmas do, but I don't remember any of it. I don't remember the taste, the aroma, the aprons worn, the utensils stirring, the old-fashioned appliances whirring.

My one and only food-related memory of a grandmother is the billions of blueberries my siblings and cousins and I would pick for my grandma on my dad's side, handfuls of them dropped into plastic ice cream pails alternated with handfuls of berry goodness popped into my mouth when I thought no one was looking. I clearly recall the buckets upon buckets of berries, yet I remember not a single instance of eating any blueberry goodies once the buckets were turned over to Grandma.

I want things to be different for my grandchildren. I want Bubby -- and Birdy and all others to come -- to have cherished memories of my cooking, my baking, my physical manifestations of love and adoration served up every time we were together.

I want my grandchildren to think of Gramma each time they smell cookies baking in the oven, each time they spread their peanut-butter sandwiches with jelly, each time they order macaroni-and-cheese from their favorite diner.

Bubby is not yet three years old. In those few years, we've been fortunate to share food and fun in the kitchen. I've had him help me bake chocolate-chip cookies. I've gifted him with my Christmas Spritz. I've treated him to jars of my homemade pomegranate jelly. And together we made dinner mints for Thanksgiving.

Thankfully, there's more to come soon. In exactly two weeks I'll be spending five days in the desert with Bubby. While there, I plan to bake for him my version of his current favorite dish: a super-easy, extra-cheesy macaroni and cheese.

For the visit, I've purchased a special grandma apron to throw into my Grandma Bag, and I'm mentally compiling a list of other goodies from my reportoire Bubby might enjoy while I'm there.

As a grandma who remembers very little of her own grandmothers, I say it's never too soon to start cooking up some memories.

Consider the cooking begun.

Today's question:

What food do you most associate with your grandmother?

5 signs you're a long-distance grandma

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Behind every long-distance grandma is a long-distance grandchild.

1. You have a web camera and Skype access, and you're not afraid to use 'em. [2020 update: Let’s make that FACETIME and other mobile connecting options!] And use them you do, as often as your grandchild's parents allow. (In secret, you eagerly await the day it's no longer necessary to have a parent on the other end to work the webcam for your grandchild, the day when he or she can Skype with Grandma without Mom or Dad.)

2. You have online accounts at USPS.com and UPS.com, with your grandchild's address "saved" ... and used often. Plus, you know that USPS.com is best for shipping small packages to the grandkiddos, UPS.com for large.

3. Your guest room -- the one decorated and furnished exclusively for the grandkids -- must be dusted more often than the regular guest room as it hosts guests rarely. Same goes for the toys in the guest room as they're played with rarely.

4. You have subscriptions to the e-mail newsletters of every airline that flies from your hometown to the hometown of your grandchildren. And you're prepared to book a flight on a moment's notice when an outrageously good deal comes to your in-box ... even if you just returned from a visit, even if you already have one planned in the not-too-distant future. You can never have too many scheduled visits on the calendar.

Last but not least ...

5. You're a liar. What? Huh? To wit: You reply to inquiries of "How are the grandkids?" first with a heavy sigh and downcast eyes -- nearly imperceptible to the untrained eye, though -- followed quickly by typical grandma delight and brag-book sharing. The heavy sigh is because your first immediate and honest response to such an inquiry is always, always, "Too far away." But that's too depressing to share with those just asking out of politeness, so you become quite adept at hiding the truth -- in other words, at being a liar.

Today's question:

What is one good thing about living far away from a loved one?

A bird in the hand

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Our family had a bit of a scare this week: Megan, in her 19th week of pregnancy, experienced some funky business with Bubby's brother-to-be. So her doctor ordered an ultrasound.

Thankfully, all turned out well. Baby is alive and kicking and nestled firmly in (the right) place. And Megan and Preston were once again treated to an inside look at their second son ... which they then kindly shared with the family and I now share with you:

Bubby got a kick out of his baby brother's peek-a-boo stance and joyfully played a game of the same with PawDad and me during our Tuesday night Skype session, giggling and demonstrating how he and his brother will soon play.

The baby does indeed look like he's playing peek-a-boo in the photos. He also looks, to me, like a little bird, his wings still tiny and frail but soon to be strengthened then stretched as he learns to fly and eventually soar.

The thought of him being a little bird immediately brought a song to my heart ... and an earworm to my head. This is the song, the earworm, the empowering "Little Bird" the ultrasound pics bring to mind:

SORRY! VIDEO DISAPPEARED IN BLOG REDESIGN

(Annie Lennox - Little Bird found on YouClubVideo)

In light of the way I see the little guy in the pictures and the gotta-dance-about-it song he's lodged in my head and heart -- and despite Megan and Preston not yet settling 100 percent on the baby's name, despite the cute monikers offered up when I asked for suggestions on Facebook -- I've officially chosen a name to call Bubby's brother here on the blog. Well, more accurately, a name has been chosen for me, for the baby.

So without further adieu, dear Grandma's Briefs readers, I hereby dub thee, my newest grandbaby ... Birdy!

Stay tuned for the further adventures -- and peek-a-boo games! -- of Birdy and Bubby.

(PS: Just for kicks, take a look at Birdy's mouth and nose in the first ultrasound picture, then scroll down to the picture of Bubby in the "Changes on the way" post from two days ago. Do they not look alike already?)

Today's question:

When did you last have a "shew!" experience, a moment of relief when you -- literally or figuratively -- wipe your brow, sigh "shew!" and feel like everything's going to be okay?

Changes on the way

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At the start of a new year, everyone seems to have plans for how things will change in their lives in the coming months, whether stated aloud or kept private. One person I know has the biggest changes of his life coming his way, and at this point, he's thankfully oblivious to how those changes are going to rock his world.

I'm talking, of course, about Bubby.

As many of you know, Bubby has a sibling on the way. Sure, it all sounds fine and good when told "You're going to be a big brother" and "You'll have a new baby to share your toys with" and to be given a new babydoll to practice his big-brother skills. All those things make Bubby smile. (Well, not so much the idea of sharing his toys.) But it's the sharing of Mommy and Daddy that Bubby's not yet grasped, not yet even considered. But it'll happen, like it or not, and I'm crossing my fingers he does okay with it, remains the happy, usually silly, sometimes snippy (aren't all toddlers at times?) kiddo who has a firm and forever hold of my heart.

That's change No. 1. Although there's a lot of talk about it now, the true changes won't take place until the end of May.

Change No. 2, on the other hand, is happening soon. Which makes it the very first major change in the little guy's life. It's a move to a new house ... to accommodate change No. 1.

Bubby and his family will be moving into a larger home the first of February. Which is a good thing. But it can be a scary thing, too, to have one's world packed up in boxes, turned upside down, shaken here and there, then set down reassembled in a whole new spot, a whole new design. Especially scary for a 31-month-old who has never known anything but the happy little place he, Mommy, Daddy, and Roxy currently call home.

In the new place, Bubby will again have his own room -- no need to share with his new brother. He'll get a dedicated playroom out of the deal, too, and a new backyard that faces north instead of south like it currently does, with the scorching desert sun putting the kibosh on outdoor play most of the day, most of the year.

Even with all the good things coming his way with both changes, the changes mean stress. And, as we all know, high stress levels can do a number on mind, body and soul.

Based on the Social Adjustment Rating Scale, a list rating stressful life events, a new baby and a new home puts one's stress level at the "low" point (considering no other stressful factors are involved). That's for an adult. For a little boy who's always been the one and only child, the one and only grandchild and who has always and forever lived in only one home, I'd say the 'high" point as a more appropriate score.

The answer to high stress levels, according to the experts, is to create a "stress-management plan." The answer to high stress levels for Bubby, according to this admittedly non-expert grandma, is an "extra-hugs-kisses-and-attention-from-Gramma plan."

My advice when it comes to stress-reduction plans of any sort? They're far more effective when set into motion sooner rather than later. Which is why it's a splendid coincidence that I just so happen to have an airline ticket booked for a visit to Bubby -- just four days after his move into his new home. (Thank you, Preston!)

I say forget laughter being the best medicine, it's hugs from Grandma that are going to do the trick this time. And as I've been a little stressed out myself lately, I suspect my hugs-and-kisses-stress-management plan designed especially for Bubby is going to do us both a heap of good.

Photo by Megan's friend Alison.

Today's question:

What is your favorite stress reliever?

Top smiles of 2010

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The end of a year begs for lists, so despite sharing a list with you yesterday, I'm here with another today. This time it's ... 

My top 9 smile-inducers of 2010

Bubby. Always. In all ways!

Jim's support, with comments such as, "You really shouldn't try to get a job. Keep writing. I have a feeling things are going to take off for you this year."

Brianna moving into her own first home ... which was the first home Jim and I owned ... which was a weensy bit weird ... yet wonderful.

Signing with an agent. A real NYC agent. (Stay tuned for the miles o' smiles when she gets my work accepted for publication!)

My splendiferous end-of-summer adventure with Bubby.

Andrea getting an awesome new position that makes the most of her people skills and winning ways.

 Megan and Preston announcing that baby No. 2 -- grandson No. 2! -- is on his way. Hip-hip-hooray!

Celebrating Thanksgiving with my entire immediate family for the first time in several years.

Grandma's Briefs readers. Grandma's Briefs Facebook friends. Grandma's Briefs Twitter followers. That's you ... and you ... and YOU!

I can't wait to see what calls forth all the sure-to-come smiles in 2011. Whatever they may be, I look forward to sharing them with you.

Happy New Year! Best wishes for peace, prosperity, love -- and lots of smiles -- for all in 2011!

Today's question:

What brought you smiles in 2010?

Megan's Christmas kitty

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Bubby loves Alice, Aunt B's kitty -- March 15, 2010

Megan got a kitten for Christmas. She didn't ask for it, and she doesn't really care to have it around. It was cute at first, but the little guy very quickly became annoying.

It's not that Megan's a cat-hater, it's that the cat isn't really a cat. It's Bubby ... who decided just before Christmas that he's no longer a boy, he's a cat. And his primary form of communication is meowing. Like a kitty. At home. And out in public.

Don't get me wrong: Megan loves Bubby. And hearing Bubby meow around the house is precious and cute, especially when his imagination takes over during playtime with his Mommy Kitty and Baby Kitty stuffed animals -- the only other cats in residence. But when the 30-month-old who was formerly mature in the face of friends, family and strangers responds to Mommy's fellow shoppers or coworkers asking "How are you today" with mewling, yowling, and meowing -- or all three -- the cute factor is decreased by 100 percent. Megan's been mortified more often than not when out in public the last week or so, wondering where-oh-where did her big Bubby go.

Sunday evening Megan told me about the trip she, Preston and Bubby made that afternoon to a retailer to do some exchanging of Christmas gifts. On the way, the car stereo was cranked and the family was singing along. All three of them. Impressed that Bubby seemed to be joining in the fun, Megan told Preston, "Listen, Bubby's singing, too." So they both quieted their own tunes and bent their ears to the backseat to hear Bubby's contribution to the merriment. Only the merriment fell flat when they noticed that his cheerful song was only one word, over and over: "meow, meow, meow, meow."

I've not yet heard the kitty talk from Bubby as Megan warns him as he comes to the phone wanting to talk to Gramma that kitties don't talk to grandmas, only big boys do. After several attempts at getting his way with a mewl or two, he realizes Mommy means business and finally responds with "I'm a big boy" and commences a quick conversation with me, telling me about his new trucks and Roxy's bone and offering a rushed "Buh-bye, I love you!"... then he's off the phone and back to meowing.

I would think it more likely for Bubby to pretend to be a dog, romping and "ruff"-ing with his dog, Roxy. Being a kitty has me a bit perplexed. One might imagine odd behavior coming from a kid dealing with stress and trauma and drama in his environment, but other than a new brother on the way, Bubby's life is pretty stress-free ... if not downright boring, Megan might say.

Tay Hohoff famously noted that, "There are few things in life more heartwarming than to be welcomed by a cat," but this cat has worn out its welcome from Megan and Preston. With one more week remaining of holiday vacation from school -- where Bubby would likely speak "normal" in the face of peer pressure -- I'm wondering if Bubby's parents ... and Bubby ... will make it through the kitty phase unscathed.

"It could be worse," I tried to console Megan. "He could be pretending he has an imaginary friend, which would scare the cuss out of you, thinking he was seeing ghosts."

She readily agreed. But that doesn't mean she's okay with the meowing. And my attempts to Google some assistance or, at the very least, an explanation, have provided neither.

My suggestion? I think Megan needs to play into the kitty behavior ... by offering up a nice can of salmon-and-cheese Friskies for Bubby's next meal because that's what kitties eat. Being the finicky eater he is, Bubby will surely return to big-boy status immediately if faced with the stinky pate.

On the other hand, he may shock the cuss out of Megan and simply do like my finicky felines do: yowl for the Friskies turkey giblet flavor instead.

In that case, Megan may as well pick up a cat collar and some cat nip while stocking up on the Friskies, for if picky-eater Bubby readily nibbles cat nosh, that's a sure sign the Bubby Kitty is here to stay. Whether Megan wants a kitty or not.

Today's question:

What kind of imaginary friend -- or persona -- did you, your kids or your grandkids have as a child?