Cooking up memories

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

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

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?

My dreams for my grandson

These are my dreams for my grandson as he grows:

That he always shows gratitude, curiosity, strength, forgiveness.

That he exercises his body and mind in equal proportions.

That he laughs daily, with others, at himself.

That he loves himself, is proud of himself, treats himself kindly, compassionately.

That he shows kindness and compassion to others, to animals, to nature.

That he turns a deaf ear to intimidation and ignorance when it comes to thinking and doing what's good, what's right.

That he understands the value of patience, compromise, silence, restraint.

That he always loves learning ... and teaching.

That he uses his hands for hugging not hurting.

That he accepts responsibility.

That he does his part.

That he has -- and is -- a true and loyal friend.

That he makes time for silliness, pleasure, play.

That he appreciates and cultivates strong bonds with his siblings, from youth to old age.

That he embraces productivity and pursues careers that matter to him, to the world.

That always -- always -- people are more important to him than things.

That he keeps his word.

That home, family, tradition matter.

That he communicates -- in small ways, large ways and when it may not seem to matter ... but does.

That he never fails to see the beauty, the delightful, the admirable, the awesome.

That he never fails to see those less fortunate.

That he takes nothing for granted.

That his fears and nerves lead him to greatness not despair.

That he appreciates differences of opinion, culture, ideas.

That he has abundant supporters, cheering him on. When he can't hear them cheering, that he doesn't hesitate to cheer for himself.

That he finds a loving forever mate and together they create a loving forever family.

That he makes a positive difference in the world, be it as simple as a smile to a passing stranger or as complex as contributing to global change.

That he never breaks his mother's heart. Or his father's.

That he builds people up, not tear them down.

That he's slow to anger, quick to reason.

That he leads more than he follows, listens more than he speaks.

That his body, mind and soul stay strong, growing and bending but never breaking.

That he dances, sings, eats, enjoys, cries, giggles, dreams without worrying what others may think.

That he sets goals far and high and reaches them ... then goes beyond them.

That adversity makes him stronger not hopeless.

That he uses the words I will more often than I'll try or I can't.

That his heart is gentle and generous yet strong and resilient.

That he keeps an open mind.

That the words misogynist, racist, hateful, liar, addict, or bully are never used to describe him.

That he never, ever doubts he's loved.

That the love he gives in return is never in doubt.

That he travels.

That he dares.

That he excels.

That he lives.

That he depends on God's guidance, comfort, forgiveness, love always, in all ways.

That all who touch his life help make these dreams a reality.

More importantly, that he makes these dreams a reality. Plus every single dream of his own.

Holiday question of the day:

If you could give one gift that can't be wrapped -- the realization of a dream, goal, wish, trait -- to one person, what would you give and to whom would you give it?

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Fair game

Forty or so years ago, I went to the Minnesota State Fair. All I remember is that my younger sister and my dad were hurt by an errant cable that took them for an unintended and dangerous ride. To be honest, I remember the stories of the incident at the fair more than I remember the actual incident itself. Or the fair.

I've not been to a state fair since, except for when a has-been band or two (Jefferson Starship and .38 Special anyone?) headlined at the fairgrounds. I'm not sure if the horrible events of forty years ago scarred me forever, squelching my desire for fried foods at fantastically obscene prices and unregulated (or seemingly so to a paranoid such as myself) amusement rides at similarly obscene prices, or if there's some other deep-seated reason why I've never attended the state fair as an adult.

Becoming a grandma changes much, though, and one of the most recent changes has been my state fair attendance record. Yes, folks, my desert visit in October included a trip to the state fair.

I must admit, it was a far better occasion than my first fair visit, possibly because I steered clear of fried foods and flying cables. More probably, though, because I attended it with Bubby, Megan and Preston.

Being a grandma who likes to participate in my grandson's "firsts," the day was one for the history baby books as I got to ride with Bubby on his first-ever state fair ride. Here's a quick look at the fun we had at the fair:

In addition to typical fair attractions, there also was a life-size, animatronics dinosaur exhibit we enjoyed. Well, mostly enjoyed. Bubby was rather hesitant at first, but by the time we reached the end and he got to dig in the massive sandbox for fossils, I think he'd become a fan of dinosaurs. Pretty much. As long as they were nothing but bones. And didn't make noises. Or move.

It was perfect timing for introducing Bubby to the Hatch-n-Grow dinosaur egg, but, alas, the egg I carried in my Grandma Bag didn't survive the trip uncracked.

But that's okay. I have more eggs and will surely pack one in my Grandma Bag for another try during my visit at Thanksgiving. And after having the bejeezus scared out of him by the life-size T. Rex and its cousins, I'm pretty sure Bubby won't be frightened by an itsy-bitsy hatching baby dino.

Assuming, that is, that I can cushion the egg well enough in my suitcase this time to survive the wild and wacky airport baggage handlers, who are far scarier than hatching baby dino eggs. And errant amusement-ride cables, too.

Today's question:

What's most memorable about your past visits to the state fair?

The more things change ...

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?