Love is patient ... which requires practice

Imagine the quintessential grandmother -- her dress, her personality, her mannerisms, her quirks.

Got her in mind?

Did you envision Grandma as plumpish, gray hair pulled back, dressed in comfortable clothing (sweats? jeans and a T-shirt? a house dress?), enjoying her rocking chair and knitting after just pulling the last pan of cookies from the oven?

Or did you you see a chic career woman with the latest hairstyle -- definitely not gray hair! -- picking up Chinese takeout on her way home from work, wrapping up the loose ends of a long week as she prepares for a relaxing weekend getaway?

Both visions are correct, of course. Although I'd say a combination of the two is likely a more accurate picture of what today's grandmothers look like.

Whatever your vision of "Grandma," one trait sure to be included is patience. For the quintessential grandma takes her time with her grandchildren. She doesn't rush them to get dressed. Doesn't roll her eyes at their curiosity with everything on the way out the door -- or out of the room. Doesn't tap her toes and look at the clock as scheduled activities and appointments await while those meant to be there hem and haw and take their sweet time getting. in. the. car.

No, there's none of that "hurry up" harriedness with grandmas. For grandmas are patient.

Those grandmas who live near the grandchildren, that is. Those who see their grandkids on a regular basis.

Not so much with the long-distance grandmas.

At least that's my theory ... a theory formed after spending a week with Bubby.

You see, years ago I was a fairly patient person. I was mother to three young daughters; I had no choice but be patient. You simply can't rush little kids. So rather than tap toes and grit teeth, I learned to be patient.

Then my little girls became teenagers. And I became less patient. I won't even go there, won't go into detail, because we all know what teen girls are like -- we've either had one or we've been one. And we know it does a number on a mother's patience.

Then the girls left home. And I was left being a rather impatient person.

I try. But God knows -- and Jim will certainly attest -- that I lean a bit more toward being an impatient screaming mimi than a relaxed picture of patience. Most days, most of the time.

Except for the time I spend with Bubby. During such times, my patience returns. I don't rush him to do anything. I couldn't rush him to do anything. He's on his own clock and it doesn't tick anywhere near as furiously as mine.

So I adjust mine a bit. And I do so with no qualms, no complaints. Because I love Bubby, want to spend every possible minute with him. And when I'm lucky enough to be given such minutes, there's nothing more pressing on the docket than following his schedule.

During our recent time together, we'd be on the way to get him dressed for the day and Bubby would happen upon a car -- or truck or motorcycle or dinosaur -- that needed zooming around the room. No problem! Zoom away.

We'd be packing for a trip to the park and Bubby would first want to watch for squirrels out the dining room window. No problem! "Here squirrelly squirrel."

When it was time to color, proper set up by Bubby was required first. Meaning he'd lay out each and every crayon, one next to the other, perfectly aligned before even considering opening the coloring book to choose a page. No problem! Lined-up crayons create a beautiful rainbow.

When it was time for the dogs to get a morning treat, Mickey and Lyla would sit nicely, awaiting the treat Bubby planned to award them ... after he turned each dog biscuit around and around in his hands, reciting the ABCs inscribed on the goodies. No problem! Even the dogs understood patience was the order of the day.

And when we had to go up stairs ... or down stairs ... Bubby would take one step with the right foot, then one step with the left foot, onto the same stair. Right foot again ... left foot onto the same stair. Right foot again ... left foot on the same stair. One-by-one we did double time on each stair. No problem! It simply meant I had a little bit longer to hold Bubby's hand in mine as we traversed each staircase.

I was okay with all of it. Every s-l-o-w second of it. My usual hurry-up harriedness didn't apply while with Bubby. Didn't matter while I was with Bubby. And that, I theorize, is the case with all grandmothers when they're with their grandchildren. And when they're with them often, patience becomes part of who they are, a trait they possess without question. Patience becomes permanently instilled in them.

My hope is that one day I will be a permanently patient person.

My hope is that one day I will no longer be a long-distance grandma.

Today's question:

Mine is impatience and being a control freak. What is one of your less admirable traits?

Let the board games begin

I didn't come from a game-playing family. Well, I take that back. There were a lot of head games, but definitely no board games. Or card games. And only one video game (PONG!).

As a kid, I was envious of my friends who played Monopoly and Hearts and more with their families. I felt a little cheated that I never got to be part of what seemed to be such a fantastic family activity, one that bonds, teaches fairness and encourages humor and humility. I longed for that kind of stability, that kind of learning to play by the rules. That kind of family.

Sure, I received a few games as a kid. I remember having Trouble and Operation and Mousetrap. But they were given as gifts to play with friends, not family. My family didn't do that.

At least not the family I grew up in. The family I created with Jim did play games -- and still does.

When my three daughters were little, we had Chutes and Ladders and Candyland. I have to be honest in admitting I don't remember much about playing those games with the girls. Three little ones of (basically) consecutive ages creates a bit of a haze around the early years. But we had the games, and I know we played them.

As the girls got older, our game stash grew. We had Life, Aggravation and Rummikub (a fave game for New Year's Eve for many years, thanks to Gramma Darryl). As the girls became teens then young adults, we added Outburst, Trivial Pursuit, Movie Lines and others.

When Megan married Preston, he taught us card games: Hearts and Euchre (although I hate Euchre ... and readily admit that to Preston).

Our most recent game additions include Imaginiff, Fact or Crap, MadGab and -- the newest family favorite -- Bananagrams (thanks to Grilled Grandma Susan's suggestion).

We are far from being the kind of family that has scheduled family game nights, but when we get together for longish visits, it's more likely than not that a game will be played. To my delight, we have become one of those game-playing families I once envied.

Which is why I was so thrilled that for Bubby's second birthday he received his first board game. It wasn't from me, and it wasn't the traditional toddler standby of Candyland or Chutes and Ladders. It was Goodnight Moon Game. And Bubby loves it!

Goodnight Moon Game game play for two-year-olds is pretty basic. It's a matching game focusing on learning to take turns. And everyone wins (which keeps adult players from having to patronize the little ones by pretending to suck at a game). That's good enough for now. The rules can be adjusted according to age, so Bubby will learn about fairness and strategy later.

So with Goodnight Moon Game readily available during my recent adventure with Bubby, I enjoyed my very first board game with my grandson. He was the perfect game player, happily taking turns and even assisting me when I took a bit longer than necessary in finding matches because I kept snapping pictures. He took the matching tasks quite seriously and glowed with pride upon completing the matches with Gramma.

Twice during my visit, Bubby and I played three or four rounds of Goodnight Moon Game. Because Bubby concentrated so hard in his search for matches, we didn't speak much during the game, other than his exclamations of "There it is!" or "My turn!" and "Your turn!" But even without the jovial conversation that typically accompanies playing games, my first games with Bubby will go down in my memory as some of my favorite ever.

Without a doubt, in playing our first real game together, Bubby and I both came out winners.

Today's question:

What is your favorite board or card game?

Grumbles from Grandma

Bubby, ready for take-off.Not long ago I wrote a Dear John letter to Southwest Airlines. At the time, I had no idea I'd have one final fling with them, as Bubby and I ended up having our impromptu adventure before Allegiant Air starts its service between the mountains and the desert.

Unfortunately, I have three complaints about our final trip on Southwest. The first complaint, though, has absolutely nothing to do with Southwest.

Because Bubby is now two-years-old, he gets (not for free, by any means!) his own seat on an airplane. But airplane seats are not made for 30-pound passengers, so I had to lug Bubby's carseat along with, throughout the airport, so he'd have a safe spot to sit on the plane. Megan and Preston have two carseats that certainly would have worked, but they seemed bulky and heavy and because plans were already in the works to get a third seat so Gigi -- his paternal great-grandma who gets to babysit Bubby each Friday -- would have a designated seat for her, Megan decided to just buy it for me to use a lighter version for the adventure.

So Megan and I searched and scanned and compared stats of several boxes at the store, deciding upon an Evenflo seat. We get back to the house and remove it from the box, happy as clams that this would be easier for me and a special "plane seat" for Bubby.

Our happiness vanished the very instant we saw on the manual inside the box that this particular seat was "Not Approved For Aircraft Use."

WHAT? They couldn't put that on the box? One simple line amidst the kajillion other lines of text on the three-feet-tall by two-feet-wide box? I was livid. Megan was livid. Preston said "Take it back."

But time was of the essence so we didn't take it back. The seat would work for Gigi, so I just prepared to lug the heavier -- aircraft approved! -- version from Preston's car on the flight. Then I immediately e-mailed a scathing complaint to Evenflo, cussing about the inconvenience that could have been avoided with one simple line of text on the box, the line of text they underhandedly included only in the manual inside the box. How many people actually read those cuss instruction manuals anyway?

That's complaint No. 1.

Complaint No. 2 is directed at Southwest Airlines ... although I bet it applies to each and every airline out there.

As mentioned above, a carseat is necessary for little ones who must have their own purchased seat on a plane but aren't provided proper safety in that seat by the airline. (Can you imagine if we all -- each and every adult passenger -- had to provide our own seatbelts for flights? It's pretty much the same thing!)

Anyway ... So I lugged the seat through the airport and onto the plane. With little to no assistance from the flight attendants, I got the seat positioned in a window seat. (Being told "You do know that must go in a window seat?" is, in fact, the only help I did get from the flight attendant on the first leg of the trip.) Yes, I had it in place near the window; it needed only to be buckled in, tight as can be. But the cussing belt to be used to secure the seat latches On. The. Window. Side! And the seat makes it Nearly. Impossible. To. See. Much. Less. SECURE. The. Belt!

GAH!

I struggled with the cuss belt and the cussing seat for as many minutes as I had before a charming passenger needed to sit in the third seat of the row with me and Bubby. I got it fastened -- but surely not as tightly as I would have liked. There was a little give, and I just crossed my fingers turbulence would be minimal.

(And I lied a little when the attendant smashed shut all the upper bins and as she passed asked me, "Is that fastened securely?" I wanted to snarl "Uh, no, cuss! Since none of you would help me out, I'm pretty darn sure my precious grandson will be smacking the ceiling if there's a bump of even middling magnitude!" But I didn't. I just nodded. I figure it's not a lie if I didn't verbalize the response.)

Anyway, this complaint isn't about the lack of assistance, it's about the lack of functional carseat latches in the airplane. I understand -- although don't get why -- the airlines don't supply carseats for kids under a certain weight limit. But why the cuss can't they provide some latches on the wall? Or on the back of the seat? Or somewhere so the securing of self-provided seats is actually secure? And possible. And relatively simple. And not requiring the parent or grandparent to scrunch into contortions even Flat Stanley couldn't manage?

A simple hook similar to those required in automobiles for attaching car seats is all it would take. That's all I ask.

Well, that and a line of text on the Evenflo boxes.

GAH, again!

Complaint No. 3? Well, I've already gone past my self-imposed word limit here, so I won't bore you further with details of the third complaint. Suffice it to say it had to do with the airlines requiring, no, demanding that a certified copy of Bubby's birth certificate accompany his boarding pass as identification in order for him to fly. Yet not a single person -- anywhere, any time, any leg of the flight -- so much as glanced at the birth certificate when we checked in or went through security or boarded the plane. Except one young security guy who said "You should put that away for safe-keeping, ma'am" like I'm an idiot who flashes my grandson's birth certificate as often as I do his latest photo in my brag book.

Sheesh! I could have been kidnapping the kid, for all they knew.

Although ... airline personnel probably know darn well that no kidnapper is actually nuts enough to voluntarily take a toddler on an airplane.

Mostly because the kidnapper surely would never be able to figure out how to cussing secure the toddler's carseat in place in the cuss window seat!

Today's question:

What's your biggest complaint about air travel?

The best ideas are shared ideas

This blog has made me a better grandma. Not because of anything I've done, but what the readers of Grandma's Briefs have done for me.

One of the biggest courtesies of the grandmas who visit my site has been the wonderful ideas they share so freely, through their comments, the Grilled Grandma feature and on their very own blogs.

It's a few of those great ideas that made my recent adventure with Bubby all the more fun, all the more memorable.

First off was a suggestion from Grandma Nina, blogger at Grandma Ideas. A week or so before the whirlwind back-and-forth visit with Bubby, Nina featured the coolest of cool gadgets on her site: a Water-Balloon Factory. The moment I saw it, I had to have it. So I ordered it. And, luckily, it arrived just in time for the family to enjoy a few smashing and splashing sessions on the patio with Bubby.

 

It truly was one of the highlights for Bubby.

The second fab idea came by way of Grandma Shelley of Grandma's Little Pearls, who featured a post on her blog not too long ago about an ideal way to entertain grandsons: take them to a construction site to watch the heavy equipment dig, dump and demolish ... or build. Well, it just so happens I have a construction site right across the road from my house, where my crazy new neighbors are building the biggest of big shopping-center replica homes.

Bubby took every opportunity to hang out in the front yard or peer out the front windows in hopes of getting his fill of the "big truck" and "dump truck" action.

After all the fun was done and Bubby safely returned to his home, I decided to delve into a project recommended by Grandma Karen in her Grilled Grandma feature: I'm making a scrapbook of our ambitious adventure. Bubby can peruse the pages at leisure, recalling all the good times we had during his first-ever solo trip to Gramma and PawDad's, sandwiched between visits from Gramma at his house.

Here are a few of the special moments that scrapbook will feature:

As the success of the visit sinks in with Megan and Preston -- and they fondly recall the vacation it allowed them, as well -- I'm hoping to make the most of one more idea shared by nearly all the grandmas I've met through this blog: arranging annual trips for Bubby to visit Gramma and PawDad on his own!

I've got my fingers crossed as I look forward to next summer's adventure!

Today's question:

If money were no consideration, what one fun activity/event would you choose to do each and every summer?

Pink sky at night

I've made it no secret that I don't like the desert, the place Bubby and his parents call home. It's too cuss hot, there are few -- if any -- real trees, and it's filled with creepy crawly yucky poisonous things.

I must admit, though, that it does provide gorgeous sunsets.

It's certainly not enough to persuade me to move there, but I'm happy Bubby and Megan regularly enjoy the colorful evenings.

Today's question:

Mountains, desert, oceanside, plains ... what's your favored setting for 'home'?

Grandma's assistant baker

Not only was Bubby's visit to Grandma's the first time he rode on a plane without Mom or Dad and the first time he slept in the big boy guest room all by himself, it was his very first time to bake cookies -- chocolate-chip cookies! -- with Grandma.

 

Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm! Finger-lickin' good!

Today's question:

Chocolate-chip cookies are my signature baked good. What is yours? (If anyone wants the recipe from another commenter, say so in the comments and I'll conduct a recipe swap through e-mail. OR ... you're welcome to include your recipe with your comment to begin with!)

Off to Grandma's

In a final fling with Southwest Airlines, I have a four-legged trip on the docket: fly to the desert; fly home with Bubby so he can spend a few days with Gramma and PawDad; fly Bubby back to the desert; then fly home alone.

The first leg went off without a hitch, with me arriving in the desert early last Thursday. After a few days of fun in the sun, er, a few days of playing in the house with Bubby because the oppressive heat prevented any living thing from being outside longer than 42 seconds at a time, Bubby and I left for the mountains yesterday morning. It was his first plane ride with Grandma -- and without Mom or Dad.

Because I didn't know how long it would take for this Grandma to get through the airport with a little boy holding one hand and a car seat in the other -- Bubby is now two and gets his own seat on the plane, thus needs to bring along his own car seat for maximum protection in the air -- we arrived with plenty of time to kill.

Which meant there was a lot of waiting. 

And waiting.

And waiting.

And still more waiting.

Then finally ... we got to get on the plane ...

... and head for the mountains.

Nothing but clear skies, happy talk from Bubby, and -- most thankfully -- no poopy diapers mid-flight.

Once we landed, there was nothing but grins all around when we met up with PawDad and his surprise companions welcoming Bubby to the mountains: Auntie Andie ...

... and Aunt B! 

Now the real fun begins!

Today's question:

What's one summer-like thing you've not yet done or accomplished this summer that you are determined to do before fall arrives?