Long-distance grandparenting: The flip side of the coin

On this blog and in real-life interactions I regularly whine, complain, hee-haw and boo-hoo about the role I've been given as a long-distance grandma. The fact my grandsons live 815 miles away is a challenge, a heartbreaker, and most definitely not the way I want things to be.

That being said, though—and clearly, perfectly, deeply understood by one and all, I hope, especially the one in charge of granting me time with my precious grandsons—the flip side of the long-distance-grandparenting coin is that I don't have to see my grandchildren on a daily basis, not even on a weekly basis.

Have to? Is that what you really meant?, I imagine some asking.

That's exactly what I meant. Because despite the visions of calm, cool, collected Grandma baking up cookies, tossing dice in another round of Chutes and Ladders, or giggling giddily as grandchildren gather at her knee for story time, playing grandma is hard work. It's exhausting, to be quite frank. And it circumvents anything and everything else this grandma—like any other grandma—has going on in her life.

When my grandsons visit, I struggle to get my work done—housework and office work. I'm fortunate that I work from home, although that does mean taking vacation days for visits with the grandchildren is impossible. So I fit in what I can, where I can, when we're together. Sure, loving on those beautiful boys is far more important than doing dishes, cleaning the cat box, vacuuming the floor and making beds. As sage advice recommends, those things can wait. Making a living, well, not so much. When there's an adorable youngster awaiting a hug, hike, dance party, story time, bath or any other activity that would surely warm my heart more than pounding out a few paragraphs, there's no doubt what wins out. Meaning having to choose between work and grandma play only every couple of months is a good thing—mostly for my bank account.

When I'm around the little ones, at my place or theirs, I also don't exercise as I should, don't read what I should, don't eat as I should. I definitely don't sleep as I should, either, because how can I waste minutes sleeping—or doing any of those other activities—when I could be savoring each and every second I have with the true loves of my life? I can't. And I don't. Another reason the long-distance thing is best for me, it seems, as it's all too easy to let anything and everything else slide while I slide, swing, sing, dance—live!—with my grandsons.

Many grandmas never have to consider such things because not all grandparents are long-distance grandparents. In fact, from my vantage point, it seems the majority are fortunate in that they have a more up-close-and-personal grandparenting experience than mine. I often hear the stories of grandparents who see their grandkids on a weekly basis, for school functions, fun visits, Saturday sleepovers, and Sunday dinners. Some serve as daycare—primary or backup—for the kiddos, spending most days of the week cooking, carpooling, catering to the grandkids. Playing and hugging and enjoying them, too, I have no doubt.

Those locally grown grandparents have different considerations, though. Or so I've heard. Things such as parents dropping by unannounced hoping Grandma and Grandpa can watch the kids for just a bit while they run errands, grocery shop, go to a movie, go to the doctor or dinner. I've also heard of local grandparents being unexpectedly expected to pitch in with childcare when a little one is sick and Mom and Dad absolutely cannot take another sick day at work—despite Grandma and Grandpa often having an outside job to attend, too. I've heard stories of simmering resentments, about lack of communication regarding boundaries, of inconsiderate connections. Sure, I'd love for my grandchildren to live locally, but such tales are ones I'm glad I don't know firsthand.

I'm also glad I don't know firsthand the challenges faced by those admirable grandparents who have taken on the role of parent, signing on to be primary caregiver of their grandchildren because of unforeseen circumstances that put them in that position, for better or for worse. They step up, they support, they discipline, they raise, and most of all, they see—and love—their grandchildren every single second of every single day.

I, on the other hand, see my grandsons about 35 days total in a year's time, broken into bite-sized visits of several days here and there every other month or so. Which amounts to basically 10 percent of my time spent in active grandma mode. That leaves 90 percent of my time spent in any other mode I choose, any and every mode unrelated to loving on little ones. I appreciate that time, appreciate that opportunity, appreciate the ability to focus on me things, me time.

Don't get me wrong: Those days that make up the 10 percent dedicated to grandparenting are the very best, the very brightest of my whole entire year. I wouldn't give them up for anything, and I continually clamor for more. I'm just thankful that not every single day, not every single week is equally shiny, for such brilliance would surely burn me out. Quickly.

And a burned-out grandma—much more so than a long-distance grandma—is a long, long way from the kind of grandma I want to be.

This post linked to Grandparents Say It Saturday.

Today's question:

What role takes up the biggest chunk of your days and what role do you wish took up the biggest chunk of your days?

Running the Tough Grand Mudder

There is a hardcore obstacle course event my daughters, my son-in-law, and many of Jim's and my nephews—and thousands of other unrelated but equally crazy competitive athletic sorts—hope to one day run. The Tough Mudder adventure series bills itself as "probably the toughest event on the planet" and it looks like this:

Last week I ran my own Tough Mudder of sorts. I call it the Tough Grand Mudder. It was a test of stamina, strength, grit, grace, and ultimate grandma skills as Bubby and Baby Mac, along with their parents, traveled over the river, through the woods, out of the desert and up to the mountains to spend the Christmas holiday at Gramma's house. Those who run the Tough Mudder have their strength and stamina tested in one day; this grandma's event ran pert near six days. (Take that, Tough Mudders!)

For much of the Tough Grand Mudder I was merely a secondary team member for when Megan was around, she served as Ultimate Champion and I her wingman. There were, though, many events I ran alone, as Megan and Preston took Gramma up on offers to babysit while they participated elsewhere in shopping, dining, happy-houring, and movie-going events. Whether running solo or accompanying Megan, fact remains that for nearly six days I braved not mud but harrowing liquids of another sort spewed, spilled and squirted from a three-and-a-half-year-old and a seven-month-old, in addition to braving obstacles and challenges sure to trip up even the most built and most brave of the Tough Mudder competitors.

A small sampling of my Tough Grand Mudder challenges:

• The solo event of spooning pureed bananas into the mouth of the youngest grandson while the other called from the bathroom, "Gramma, I'm done, I need wiped" then dashing to do the wiping, washing hands, and racing back to the child left alone in the highchair in record time.

• Tag-team bath time of two kiddos in the tub, Mommy doing the scrubbing and shampooing while Gramma photographed the session, then the hand off of Mommy taking youngest, Grammy taking oldest, then getting both dried, lotioned, dressed while the desert-bred babes shivered. (One run-through featured more liquid than inticipated—due not to the bath water but to a delay in diapering.)

• Another solo event requiring Gramma to entertain oldest grandson while changing a disgustingly stinky diaper on the baby then dash up a flight of stairs, out the front door, off to the garbage can to dispose of the disgustingly stinky diaper outside as it reeked far too much to keep inside then race back with mind-blowing speed in hopes of getting down the stairs before Baby Speedy Gonzalez entered unsafe zones of the family room. (Yes, baby could have been toted for the trip outdoors but with temps below freezing, that wouldn't be a wise route to take.)

• A family event in which all but baby sit down for dinner in the dining room and take turns taking a bite then quickly dropping utensils and jumping up to move baby away from the Christmas tree in the adjacent living room. Bonus points went to Gramma, Daddy, and Aunt B for being the only ones to actively participate in this event.

• Another solo event of attempting to make breakfast while oldest grandson requested every pot and pan (plus a few bowls) along with magical mixing utensils for banging then proceeded to set up a baking-and-banging shop for himself and his brother at Gramma's feet in the kitchen.

• Cleaning up after holiday meals while dodging a three-and-a-half-year-old racing through the living room, dining room, and kitchen while pushing his monster truck in the noisiest Monster Truck Race of the Century. Required consistent "Ready...Set...Go!" starting-line shouts from Gramma (and others) as well as appropriate cheers and awarding of trophies at the finish line...again and again and again.

• Feeding the baby a bottle while, for the three-and-a-half-year-old, making popcorn in Gramma's old-timey popcorn machine, serving it up in festive popcorn cups, and getting a sufficiently attention-grabbing flick going on the big screen. Another solo event—one in which feeding the baby his bottle was put on hold far more often than he appreciated.

• Non-stop chasing and non-stop redirecting of the quickest seven-month-old non-stop crawler, non-stop climber, non-stop curiosity seeker this grandma—probably this entire country—has ever seen.

I did all those events. And more. Maybe not with the best time, maybe not with the greatest of grace and ease, but I did them. I admit there were a few major events outlined in the original course that I couldn't fit in—making a snowman with Bubby, taking him to the PJB restaurant and to the soda shop, to name a few—but I completed the majority of the course as originally set. And—something I'm sure Tough Mudders cannot lay claim to—I even managed to get a blog post published each and every day during the event.

Competitors who complete the Tough Mudder likely get a T-shirt, possibly a medal, and they surely leave exhausted but with an immense sense of incredible accomplishment. I was handed no T-shirt, no medal for completing the Tough Grand Mudder. My rewards were far better—hugs and kisses, "I love you"s and "Thank you"s and giggles and grins galore. Plus photos, lots and lots of photos. And I, like the Tough Mudders, was utterly exhausted at the end but felt an immense sense of incredible accomplishment.

I've heard—and have seen in my daughters—that participating in running events and athletic challenges can be addicting. I now understand the addiction, the attraction. There's another Tough Grand Mudder event scheduled for the end of January, this time in the desert. My battle cry? Sign me up! I'm one tough grandmudder and I'm ready for more!

Today's question:

What was your biggest challenge over the holidays?

15 things you may not know about today's grandparents

• The majority of today’s grandparents—53% of grandmothers and 54% of grandfathers—are Baby Boomers under age 65.

• The average age of becoming a grandparent in the United States is 48.

• There were an estimated 65 million grandmothers and grandfathers in 2010. By 2020, they are projected to reach 80 million, at which time they will be nearly one-in-three adults.

• The number of grandparents is growing at twice the overall population growth rate.

• A majority of those with grandchildren are women, in part because on average women age 45+ live approximately seven years longer than men. At the time the 2010 Census was conducted, there were about 124 grandmothers for every 100 grandfathers.

• Today’s grandparents are more likely to be college graduates (37%) and fully employed than at any time in the past.

• The grandparent-age share of the nation's income is 60%.

• The mean annual income of grandparent-age households was $68,500—about $500 above the mean income for all U.S. households. Among all grandparent-age households, about one-in-four had an annual income of $90,000 or more.

• They spend$52 billion a year on their grandkids.

• There are an estimated 4.5 million grandparentheaded households that include one or more of their grandchildren. That means approximately one in every nine (11%) grandparent households includes at least one grandchild.

• Three-quarters of grandparents are online. Forty-five percent are on social networks, and six percent have started a blog.

• 70 percent of grandparents see their grandchildren at least once a week.

• Forty-three percent exercise or play sports.

• Thirty-eight percent report having sex at least twice a week.

• Ten percent have a tattoo.

Sources: US Census Bureau, MetLife Mature Market Institute, Grandparents.com

Today's question:

What on the list surprises you...and what would you like to add?

This post also published as a guest post on Family Home and Life.

Doing time at the North Pole

Brianna (back) coming down the Candy Cane Slide with her cousin Tiffany in 1987.I live in the mountains. So high up in the mountains, in fact, that I'm within a 30-minute drive of the North Pole. THE North Pole. Where Santa Clause lives.

Having lived in this area the majority of my life, work at the North Pole—Home of Santa's Workshop was a viable employment option when I was a teen. I worked at the North Pole the summer I turned 16 years old and could drive myself through its enchanting gates.

Jobs for teens at the North Pole were aplenty. Teens worked as shop attendants, ride operators, food servers, magician assistants, and Santa's assistants...more commonly known as elves, with the most sugarplum of assignments being Santa's dedicated elf, the one who hangs with Santa in his house and takes the photos of all the good little girls and boys who come to visit him.

I never got to be Santa's personal elf. In fact, I never got to be an elf at all. I wasn't perky, pretty, and personable enough in the job interview, apparently, to have the honor of being named one of Santa's sweeties. Nope, I was named a "front ride operator." Meaning I helped with the rides at the front of the amusement park.

For the duration of the summer, I covered business at the bouncy house, or took tickets and strapped kids in on the miniature car ride or the Shetland ponies walking in an endless circle. The north ride I was assigned to most often of all, though, was Santa's Candy Cane Slide.

As gatekeeper of Santa's Candy Cane Slide, my duties included not only taking tickets and handing out gunny sacks for sliding down in, I had the honorable task of waxing the spiral slide from top to bottom every single morning before the park opened. With a bar of wax, I'd crawl backward down the slide, waxing on (never off) all the whole way. Then I'd grab a gunny sack, start at the top, and shimmy my way down, shining and slicking from side to side with my gunny-sacked tush. Then I'd climb the stairs again, plop down at the top of the slide and take the first slicked-up ride of the day.

Each morning, I reported to duty in my navy blue slacks and red North Pole T-shirt. I arrived uniformed and ready to roll. No need to join the hundreds of girls in the elves' dressing room, giggling and gaining friends (and fodder for future comparisons to Santaland Diaries) as together they donned varied but equally festive jumpers, skirts, pinafores, peasant blouses, vests, jolly tights, elfin shoes and hats.

As I waxed and tore tickets and rescued kiddies freaked out midway down the peppermint spiral, the elves greeted guests with smiles and squeaky voices and frolicked festively about the grounds of the North Pole.

On breaks, I'd enter the cafeteria alone, eat alone, leave alone, while pairs and trios and more of the happy little elves nibbled their nosh together, complaining about their hard work of playing happy all day long.

The elves went home smelling like the candle shops or candy shops or whatever jolly joint they'd been assigned. I went home smelling like sweat from sitting outside the spiral slide in the sun all day long. Or like ponies.

I once was bitter. Today, though, I am bitter no more.

Bubby, Baby Mac and Megan are visiting next week, and today I added to the schedule of Fun To Be Had while they are here a visit to the North Pole. Bubby is the perfect age for hanging with the real Santa in his real off-season digs. For marveling at the reindeer roaming the place. For riding the Ferris Wheel, the Christmas Tree ride, for sliding down the Candy Cane Slide. And for giggling about all the elves happily helping out here, there, and everywhere throughout the North Pole.

When we visit, I will tell Bubby all about Gramma working there. About waxing the slide to make it as slick as can be, then getting to be the very first one to go down it each and every day, savoring the slickness no one else would know. He'll think that's pretty darn cool, I'm sure.

Bubby would not think it's cool, I'm sure, if I told him I were once an elf at the North Pole. For if I once were an elf, why would I no longer be an elf? Slide operators grow up, move on, become Grammas who no longer live at the North Pole. But elves? Once an elf, always an elf. Or that's how it should be. What disgrace would I possibly have brought upon myself to be kicked out of the elf kingdom and made to live in a regular house as regular folk instead of with Santa?

Sharing news I once was an elf surely would get my oh-so-bright Bubby wondering how that could be. Gramma's not an elf now, so how could she ever have been? Is it all just made up? Is the whole Santa story simply a sham? Like I said, Bubby's at the perfect age for marveling at the magic, for visions of sugarplums and candy canes and dancing reindeer and all things great about the story of Santa, the North Pole. I would hate to be the one to ruin that for him.

So if having once been an elf might ruin the magic for Bubby, I'm all for proudly owning up to having been a north ride operator instead. A ticket taker, a slide slicker. There's no shame in that...and may even hold an "ooh" or an "aah" at the nifty job Gramma once had.

So, yeah, I wasn't an elf. Today I've decided that's okay. Today I've come face to face yet again with proof that things—regardless of the disgruntlement they may cause at the time—really do happen for a reason.

Preserving the magic for Bubby is reason enough for me.

Today's question:

What summer jobs did you have as a teen?

The Grandma Bag demystified

As some of you may know—because I've written about it here and here—I get a kick out of looking at the search terms that lead folks to Grandma's Briefs. Nearly every time I check those queries, there's one variation or another of the question, "What's a grandma bag?"

To answer that, dear inquiring minds and those who didn't read about it the first time, I offer you The Grandma Bag demystified...at least as it applies to my Grandma Bag.

My grandma didn't have a Grandma Bag, only a purse. Same for the grandmas of my children, my mother and mother-in-law. So I had never heard of a Grandma Bag until right after Bubby was born, when Megan, a teacher, mentioned how sweet it was to hear one of her students tell about the magical tote "Grammie" brought along on her visits.

If I remember correctly, seems that particular Grammie visited her granddaughter's class at one point and explained to Megan exactly what her ever-enchanting Grandma Bag was. The story was that Grammie's Grandma Bag was a tote filled with fun things to do with her grandchildren during her visits. Everything in the bag arrived with Grammie...and went home with Grammie when she left. Because of the short period available for enjoying them, all the activities inside maintained their magic and charm from one visit to the next.

The granddaughter's delight in her Grammie's Grandma Bag appealed to Megan, and she mentioned it to me in that offhand kind of way that carries the not-so-subtle idea that "You really oughta do this, Mom." So I did. I searched through my pile of purses, backpacks, and such that I can't seem to part with and found a floral bag I used way back in the day to tote travel goodies in the car while trekking here and there with Jim and the girls. It did indeed look like a Grandma Bag, if ever I'd seen one (which I hadn't, but you get the idea).

Then I started gathering things to pack in my Grandma Bag for its inaugural visit to Bubby. He was around two-years-old when I decided he was likely mature enough to marvel at the items within my Grandma Bag. My Grandma Bag—then and now—always features the following items to share while visiting, then pack back into my bag to take home with me:

• Picture books, of course.

• Craft activity ideas, and the supplies for execution.

• Movies. Mostly Disney movies I'm sure Bubby hasn't seen.

• Color crayons and color books.

• Construction paper, scissors, glue stick.

• Long, brightly colored pipe cleaners. (A recent addition, thanks to a suggestion from Grandma Lizzie.)

In addition to those standards, I always throw in a few unexpected goodies—changing with Bubby's age and interests—such as:

• Play-Doh activities.

• Snow...which Bubby never sees in the desert. Not real snow, but the artificial awesomeness known as Snow in Seconds. (Which, believe it or not, has never caused a ruckus of even the slightest sort with the TSA.)

• My apron so we can each wear our kitchen coverings when baking or cooking up the recipes I also included in my bag.

• CDs for a dance party.

• Dinosaur eggs.

One key to the Grandma Bag is to add far more than you think you'll ever get around to using during a visit. Just like packing far more clothes than you'll wear, the idea is to have options.

The Grammie who first introduced me, by way of Megan, to the Grandma Bag supposedly didn't leave any of the goodies from her bag with the kids when she returned home. I go against that Grandma Bag rule and do leave something, sometimes a couple things, especially when it's an item I'm sure Bubby will have outgrown by the next time I see him. Or if it's an edible treat of some sort. Or a Matchbox car he'll adore. Okay, so I always have something in my Grandma Bag that I know will be left with my grandson.

That's the great thing about the Grandma Bag, though: It contains whatever you want it to, used in whatever way will delight your grandchildren. I can assure you if your grandkids are like Bubby, that anything and everything you pull from your Grandma Bag will be a crowd pleaser.

I say crowd because even though I currently have only one grandson who gives a hoot about what's in my Grandma Bag, as Baby Mac is far too small for it to matter at this point, others in the crowd—meaning me—are pleased as can be at Bubby's smiles and anticipation each and every time he and I prepare to pull another item, another activity from Grandma's Bag.

I once was told by a supervisor that the best ideas are stolen ideas, tweaked to become our very own. Right or wrong as that may be, I must admit that stealing the idea of a Grandma Bag is one of the best ideas I've ever nabbed, then made my own.

I encourage you to do the same: Steal this idea! Then go for the grandma gusto and make it your very own.

Today's question:

What did your grandma share with you—from a Grandma Bag or not—when she visited?

And marked it with a B

Grandparents Day was last Sunday, as I mentioned here. Recognizing the day has not yet caught on for many, it seems, possibly because it smacks ever-so-slightly of commercial gimmickry, despite its authentic origins.

I have to own up to having a smidgen of cynicism about the whole affair myself. That is, until Jim and I received our first "Happy Grandparents Day" care package from Bubby and Baby Mac last week.

When the actual day came and went last Sunday with no phone call from Megan and the boys, I gave it a minor "Meh..." and moved on, figuring it's not that big of a deal.

Then, in the next day's mail came this:

Megan had worked with Bubby and Baby Mac to create a special Grandparents Day gift package for Gramma and PawDad. Bubby couldn't decide between chocolate chip cookies or cookies with sprinkles so they combined the two for a delicious delight. They also crafted a flower made of hand and feet imprints—which now has a place of honor on the refrigerator door—and included a Grandparent's Day greeting card, marked especially sweet with a B, which Bubby has been practicing to master. (Note: Although Bubby's real name may not be Bubby, it does indeed begin with a B.)

I can now attest my "Meh..." about Grandparents Day has been replaced with "Mmm..." and topped off with a generous dollop of "Awwww!"

Today's question:

When it comes to holidays and other special days, which are you most cynical about?

Please read

Please read. Not just this post, but in general: Please read.

I'm a site coordinator for the local children's literacy center. I've spent the last two weeks struggling to match far too few—yet much appreciated—volunteer reading tutors with far too many students in overwhelming, unbelievable need.

Perhaps there wouldn't be such a need, may not be so many children lagging behind in the very most basic, very most important of skills, if more people would please be a model...if more people would please take the lead...if more people would please read.

Please read with your grandchildren, children, nieces, nephews, with any child in need.

Please read to youngsters and with youngsters, no matter their age.

Please read story books, chapter books, comics, graphic novels. Please read novels, poems, riddles, jokes.

Please read road signs and maps and plaques on the places you go.

Please read recipes, cereal boxes, soda cans, milk cartons. Please read chip bags, price tags and labels throughout the grocery store, throughout any store.

Please read television shows—turn the closed-captioning on then read. Together.

Please read movies, too—subtitled movies!

Please read calendars, and websites, and text messages. Please read gift cards, bulletin boards, ads, and restaurant menus.

Please read game directions, game boards, game controllers. Please read instructions for building, instructions for creating, instructions for taking apart.

Please read newspapers, magazines, e-mail, real mail, junk mail, mailboxes.

Please read programs...from school, from plays, from church, from sporting events.

Please read rosters, billboards, scoreboards.

Please read. Anything. Everything. Together.

Please read.

Today's question:

Other than this post, what have you most recently read, by yourself or with another?