What Gramma has learned so far

We're a little over halfway through the visit with Bubby, Baby Mac, and Megan, and there's quite a bit this grandma has learned in just the few days we've had together so far:

1. Amusement park rides really are not a thing of Gramma's past, as she's willing to ride anything and everything her grandson wants to go on, no matter how high or scary or rickety it may be. As long as said grandson is the right height, of course.

2. That said, three in a row is definitely Gramma's limit for rides that go round and round and round and round...riding or watching.

3. Bribery and providing dipping and covering options of any and every sort—from ketchup to chocolate to peanut butter, syrup, and more—will not make a child eat if he or she doesn't want to eat.

4. Driving 45 minutes and paying $.55 per pound for a warty pumpkin picked from the field really is worth it after all.

5. Gramma is willing to fork out $.50 to squish a penny and have it marked with a tourist stamp.

6. Baby GloWorms aren't just for babies.

7. When a child sneezes in the hot tub while sharing it with Gramma, said Gramma is not above using her bare hand to clear the child's face of green snot before it lands in the water, no matter how squeamish and disgusted she previously would have been by such a thing.

8. Sometimes schedules don't matter at all.

9. Sometimes a clear floor, bath tub, kitchen counter, couch, and bed don't matter at all, especially when it's boys' toys and baby stuff keeping things cluttered.

10. Sometimes stats, emails, tweets, status updates, and Klout don't matter at all, either, especially when it's boys and baby matters keeping Gramma from the computer.

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

What I've learned so far this week is ______________.

This post linked to Grandparent's Say It Saturday.

Progress

Bubby started swimming lessons this past summer.

He has progressed from this...

and this...

during his outdoor lessons in June, to this...

and this...

during his indoor lessons in August.

Progress, for sure!

Megan and Preston hope to purchase a house with a pool in the next few months, so the swimming lessons will surely continue—swimming lessons, I'm thinking, in which Bubby is the teacher, teaching Gramma all the right moves.

I'm crossing my fingers Gramma progresses from guppy to surfer dude as quickly as her grandson has! Well, minus the "dude" part of it. And maybe the "surfer" part, too.

Today's question:

What is one new thing you learned over the summer?

Reason No. 411 grandmas come in handy

One of the most important tasks of grandmothers is to support our adult children in their choices, their rules, and their lessons when it comes to raising their kids, our grandchildren.

Sometimes the need for such support comes in unexpected ways.

Megan called one day last week, starting the conversation with the typical "What are you doing?"

"Um, just working online," I told her. "What are you doing?"

"Well, Bubby and I are having a conversation. About poop," she said in her matter-of-fact teacher voice.

Ahh...I get it. She was talking in her this-is-a-lesson voice. She was on speaker phone. Bottom line: Bubby was listening.

So I resisted my immediate "WTF? Poop?" response, following instead with the requisite lilting, "Oh, really?"

"Yes," Megan continued. "We're talking about all the different places there is to poop. Bubby poops in the potty, like a big boy. Mommy and Daddy poop in the potty, too. Baby Mac poops in his diaper. And Roxy (the dog) poops outside. But when I told Bubby that kitties—that YOUR kitties—poop in the house, Bubby didn't believe me?" She ended on a high note of incredulity at Bubby's skepticism on the matter.

I'm no dummy. My daughter needed my support and I wasn't going to let her down. I immediately launched into authoritative grandma mode.

"Oh, but they do!" I responded loud and clear for Bubby's benefit. "Abby and Isabel both go poop in the house. In their litter box."

"That's yucky," Bubby responded.

"Some people don't want their kitties to go outside to go potty because a fox might get them, so they have their kitties go potty inside in a litter box."

"We wouldn't want a fox to eat the kitties, would we?" Megan asked Bubby.

Of course Bubby said no ... but it was clear the yuck factor was still a factor, especially the idea of the stink and the mess such activity might make.

"I clean their potties each week," I told Bubby. "And Abby and Isabel have litter boxes with lids on them, so they keep the stink in their potty. It makes it a private potty for them because kitties like privacy when they go potty. Maybe next time you're here, we'll watch as Abby and Isabel go into their private potties."

"Can you believe that?" Megan asked Bubby.

Bubby's response: "I don't even believe it!" in a chipper my-eyes-have-seen-the-light tone, doing his best to convince us he gets it, that he does indeed now believe what was once truly unbelievable to him.

Shew! Gramma successfully came through on the unexpected and unusual call for support.

After a bit more chit chat, the conversation wound down.

"You guys go now," I told them. "And maybe you should continue your discussion, maybe talk about where fish go potty."

As Megan said "goodbye," I heard Bubby in the background clearly inquire, "Where DO fish go poop, Mom?"

"Thanks, Mom," Megan added as she hung up the phone. Only I wasn't too clear on her tone. Was it one of sincere thanks for the support? Or one dripping with sarcasm at my suggestion for continuing the poop lesson?

It didn't matter. My grandchild's mind had been expanded. My daughter's lesson had been supported.

My grandma work was done for the day.

(My paparazzi work, on the other hand, continues, as I stalk Abby and Isabel with camera in hand in hopes of snapping them entering their private potties. I figure photos would be great reinforcement of the lesson for Bubby.)

Today's question:

What are your thoughts on cats? Where fish—or other animals—go potty, and life lessons learned? (Really, what question might you expect in relation to such a post?)

16 things I learned from my daughters

Megan and Bubby will be here this weekend, which means lots of time with not only my grandson but my entire family, including my lovely girls who have taught me so much.

16 things I learned from my daughters

1. The answers can't always be found in books.

2. Trust my gut. Most times. Other times, ignore it because it's not really my gut trying to tell me something but the ravings of a paranoid, overprotective mother with an overactive imagination.

3. That brined turkey is the best turkey. And that it's not difficult to do.

4. Eminem can be worth listening to. DMX not so much. Actually, not at all. Still.

5. Jumping without a net often reaps the biggest rewards.

6. Yes, sometimes I am just like my mother. But also that, yes, sometimes, they are just like theirs.

7. An awesome, heartfelt wedding is possible on a shoestring budget.

8. Let go and let God. Or at least let someone else now and then.

9. Those who love me will wait while I work my way through a verklempt state. And that they will laugh when they realize they've inherited the very same verklempt gene.

10. Agreeing to disagree is sometimes the best we can do. And that's okay.

11. My babies can survive -- even thrive -- miles away and with no direction from me.

12. I can survive -- even thrive -- with my babies miles away. Even though it's not what I wanted.

13. "Sorry" is indeed the hardest word, but one of the most important.

14. An empty nest doesn't have to be lonely. And is full of possibility ... and plenty of space for return visits.

15. Laughing so hard it hurts is so worth the pain.

16. Most importantly, that despite all Jim and I lacked from the outset, we did indeed teach our children well ... and they took what we taught them, ran with it, improved and added to it, then returned with wisdom beyond our expectations.

Today's question:

What is one lesson you are thankful for having learned?

Teachable moments

With a mom who's a teacher and a grandma who's always wanting to see how darn smart the kid is, Bubby spends a lot of time singing his ABCs, identifying the sounds of animals, discussing new words, and counting.

Sometimes he gets tired of it.

Sometimes he does it his own way -- regardless of what Mommy and Gramma want him to do.

Little stinker. Seems he used his wit, charm and burgeoning sense of humor to teach Mommy and Gramma a thing or two about laying off the teaching now and then.

(And, yes, his cough is atrocious. Strep, flu, crud all around for the always cheerful little trooper.)

Today's question:

What is the most recent thing you taught someone -- a co-worker, family member, child, friend, animal?

Ode to (birthday) joy

Twenty-seven years ago today, Frosty the Snowman played on the labor-room television while Jim and I waited for our second daughter to be born. By the time the evening news hit the screen, Megan had arrived and my life was forever enhanced, my heart forever expanded.

Because of Megan, I've learned ...

That "Silent Night" is a perfectly appropriate and effective lullabye.

That it is possible for me to laugh so hard my ribs, abs and obliques hurt ... for days.

To never give up hope.

And to take a picture with my heart.

That despite being scared as cuss while doing it, I can be the fiercest Mama Bear out there and challenge the so-called professionals in the name of doing what I know is right for my child.

That the words of a teen daughter are just that -- words -- and eventually they'll be apologized for or forgotten. And forgiven.

And that the stereotype of beautiful, blonde, cheerleader homecoming queens being mean-spirited bimbos is just that -- an inaccurate stereotype.

That courage looks like a young lady with braids in her hair, hands in her pockets and tears welling in her eyes as she walks to her first college campus meeting while Mom and Dad pull out of the parking lot, heading for home seven hours away.

That I can wholeheartedly love and adore someone whose political leanings -- and movie preferences -- are so different from mine.

That faith is a badge to wear loud and proud.

That bestowing the title of "Grandma" upon someone is one of the greatest honors one can give. And receive.

That there's something mesmerizing and magical in watching a child become an adult quite different -- and exceedingly better -- than the person I thought she might be.

And, most importantly, that it is indeed possible to survive with huge chunks of my heart living 819 miles away. Infinitely more lonely, but possible.

Happy 27th birthday to my goofy middle girl who will always be, no matter the number of years, my little Meggie Beggie Booger Buns!

Holiday question of the day:

What's the most magical thing to ever happen to you in December?

Can you see the real me?

I want to be authentic here. When you visit Grandma's Briefs, I want you to feel like you know me, like I'm showing you my true self. And I am. To a certain degree.

Some of the blogs I read bare all, laying out the most intimate, the most heart-wrenching, the most (in my mind) embarrassing details of one's life in order to connect with readers.

Other bloggers I read write of sunshine and flowers and thanks for the bountiful blessings and, as another blogger succinctly put it, regularly "shit rainbows" instead of being down and dirty (read: "true").

Both tacks are fine ... for them.

For me, though, my level of self-revelation in my blog posts is somewhere in between. My goal is to allow you into my life to see the blessings, the many good times that warm my heart and put a smile on my face, in hopes that it'll do the same for you. I also want to share with you the challenges I face, the darker times, the moments that knock me and my heart for a loop, in hopes that you'll see you're not alone.

It's those darker times that I share less often. Mostly because I refuse to host a pity party and I abhor whining and complaining, which such posts sometimes come across as. But also because I want you to feel good about your visits here, not click away with a heavy heart, questioning whether it's worth your time to visit a dark and depressing place.

Yet, because I've not yet mentioned the dark cloud surrounding me right now -- the result of myriad crises swirling about me and my family -- I'm feeling inauthentic. Possibly like I'm deceiving you. And like those who know me in real life might be thinking I'm perpetuating a "Grandma's Briefs" persona that doesn't accurately reflect my reality, my struggles, my heartache.

Thing is, the sources of the many crises currently clogging up my heart and requiring constant prayer are not my direct story. Although the crises color my every waking moment, I'm in the periphery not the eye of the storm ... thank God. Because of that, because the stories aren't MY stories, I don't feel right sharing them, sharing the details, sharing the cuss that right now is irreversibly cussing up the lives of those around me.

And I've struggled with that. I want to share. I want to ask for prayers. I want to be authentic.

So I will compromise. I will tell you that all about me and my family is turmoil, trying times and tears. But because the unabridged stories are not mine to tell, I will share only to an extent that doesn't betray confidences or privacy.

Here's what I can share:

• The loved one of one of my very closest loved ones attempted suicide in a horrid manner last week. The person didn't succeed and is now in limbo physically, spiritually, psychologically. That limbo -- and whatever direction the person's life takes after the scale of survival eventually tips -- will have a forever impact on my loved one. And there's nothing I can do about it. And that sucks.

• Another loved one has been diagnosed with a brain tumor. Not as fatal as most brain tumors, I'm told, as it was found on the pituitary gland and is potentially removable ... once it shrinks. In the meantime, spots of suspicion have now been found on this loved one's liver. And that sucks ... on both counts.

• Another loved one had half a leg amputated just before Thanksgiving. This is the least heart-wrenching of the current crises as at least the pain is gone ... and there are prosthetics. But still, the challenges ahead and the mourning what was lost matter. A lot. And that sucks.

Those are the biggies. Of course, like everyone, there are smaller challenges all the time, challenges that assault the heart but are overcome, slowly but surely. Most pale in comparison to those above. Thankfully.

There you have it: The real me, as of right now. I've shared as much as I can share without offending those who own the rights to the stories. In all honesty, I feel better, a little lighter for having shared even that little bit.

I hope my sharing won't lead you to click away with a heavy heart.

And I hope you won't be disappointed to learn that I don't have Technicolor BMs. But if that's what you're looking for, e-mail me -- I have links for plenty of other bloggers who do, and I'd be more than happy to share those with you, too.

Photo credit: stock.xchng

Holiday question of the day:

What holiday movie would you most like to live in, even if just for a while?