Photo replay: Grandma's favorite Things

I always swore I'd never wear a grandma sweatshirt or T-shirt. That was before seeing this one and the related shirts for Baby Mac and Bubby that Megan and Preston brought back from their conference.

I am indeed the Grandmother of all Things—well, at least two of them—and will proudly wear the title and T-shirt.

Have a magical Sunday!

The Saturday Post: Hocus pocus edition

I'm a huge fan of magic. I love the illusions of Houdini and David Blaine and even Criss Angel (the early stuff from Blaine and Angel, though, before they went commercial and stupid).

Because of my love for magic, one of the most enjoyable ways Bubby has matured since I last saw him is that he now likes to entertain me with magic tricks. His wizardry usually involves making another chair, bike, or toy appear seemingly out of nowhere. At this point, his sleight of hand is preceded by him saying, "Okay, Gramma, now you have to close your eyes until I tell you to open them" followed by "Abracadabra! Okay! You can open them now!" then endless exclamations and handclaps from Gramma.

One day, though, I imagine Bubby's prestidigitation will reach the level of what illusionist Marco Tempest shares here:

Considering the amazing (supernatural?) progression of technology, it's likely Bubby the Magician's acts will eventually surpass those of Marco Tempest. I can wait. For the time-being, the razzle and dazzle he conjures while Gramma keeps her eyes closed are magical moments I wouldn't trade for even the most spell-binding of illusions from the most masterful of magicians.

Today's question:

Who is your favorite magician/illusionist?

Grandma's ultimate challenge

I cannot lie: The last couple days caring for my grandsons around the clock has been a bit of a challenge. Why? Because Baby Mac has got to be the most strong-willed bundle of energy I have ever come across.

Baby Mac's steadfast determination to keep up with brother Bubby—who will be four years old in June, compared to Baby Mac turning one year old the same month—has kept me hopping, to say the least. He thinks he should be able to do ab-so-lute-ly everything his brother does, despite lacking not only physical ability but also the common sense to know such feats at his age are sheer lunacy. And when I prevent him from risking life and limb in pursuit of his goal, Baby Mac throws fits reminiscent of my biggest battles with my daughters during their teen years.

Every once in a while, though, Baby Mac chooses to imitate his brother in something that isn't dangerous. For example, after watching Bubby place the ball on his T-ball stand several times, Baby Mac decided to give it a try himself with his own ball. This was the result:

Baby Mac's enthusiasm and obvious pride in himself for succeeding at the task at hand is exactly how I will feel, possibly even how I will babble, once I manage my own task at hand—that of making sure the little wild child survives safe and sound while his mom and dad are away.

Today's question:

What are your challenges—and successes!—of the past week?

Grandmas are fast learners

Things I picked up on rather quickly during my current desert visit:

Today's question:

What have you learned in the last few days?

Grandma's going to the desert and in her bag she'll pack...

I leave Friday for a twelve-day visit with my grandsons—seven days of which I'll be sole caretaker of kids while Megan and Preston attend an out-of-state conference.

In campfire-game fashion, I've made a list to ensure I remember all I need for the duration of my longest desert stay yet.

Grandma's going to the desert and in her bag she'll pack...

A — Aluminum foil for trying the back yard foil river we never got around to doing last time.

B — Bandaids to share with the boys. Decorated with VeggieTale characters.

C — Coffee. Lots and lots of it. (Okay, I'm not really packing the coffee but I've made sure it's included—in bold letters—on my list of demands that Megan have on hand.)

D — DSLR camera manual. And the camera, too. In hopes I can figure out a few more fancy functions while I have super subjects for shooting.

E — Earth-friendly crafts from Green Kid Crafts. The owners of the subscription service sent me several packets o' fun to review with Bubby, including Pirate Loot, Fishbowl, Great Horned Owl Mask projects and more.

F — Frozen Planet DVD. I'm excited to share it with Bubby.

G — Glasses. And a spare pair of glasses, too. I can no longer fake my way through reading small print—sometimes not even large print—and must bring a spare just in case something happens to the first pair.

H — Humor, or a good sense of it. From what Megan says, I'm likely gonna need it as the boys have been pills of varying sorts for the past week or so.

I — Ibuprofen. I'm pretty sure I'll be needing these pills for the above-referenced pills. If they really are pills. The boys, that is, not the pain reliever.

J — Jammies that are sufficiently grandma like as I don't want to scar my grandsons for life with any unintentional over-exposure.

K — Kitchen stuff. To include vanilla candy coating, sprinkles, and my grandma apron for making Confetti Popcorn with Bubby.

L — Laptop. A telecommuting working grandma can't leave home without it.

M — Music. On my laptop, on my iPhone. Because everything's better with music...and dance parties with cute boys. Cute boys named Bubby and Baby Mac, of course. (Well, named that at least here on the blog. In real life, those cute boys go by even cuter names.)

N — Ninety-four things I'm forgetting about as of this writing. Luckily there's still time for me to remember what those ninety-four things are. I hope.

O — Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year by Anne Lamott. In-flight reading material my good friend Heather recently bought and had autographed for me. (I'll be finished by then with Lamott's excellent book about becoming a grandma, Some Assembly Required. Huge Anne Lamott fan here.)

P — Power strip for ensuring I'll have plenty of spots for plugging in my laptop, camera, and iPhone each night as I nestle into bed.

Q — Quality hugs, kisses, and grandmotherly attention to be doled out in excess.

R — Realm for Women by Erox perfume. I really stink at accessorizing, but I always wear a (light!) squirt of an understated perfume. I like to smell good. And I like to think my grandsons will always remember that Gramma smells good. (Not that my Realm was purchased with them in mind. It was actually a gift from Jim—who always remembers that I like to smell good.)

S — Stickers! Race Cars Sticker Fun for Bubby.

T — Treasure. Also known as coins. PawDad always gives me treasure I'm supposed to pass along to the grandsons. Most times I do; sometimes I forget. (Just kidding, PawDad.)

U — Underwear. Because I had nothing else that started with a U. Well, because they're a necessity, too, but you know what I mean. Umbrella is the typical U word in such lists, but it's not likely I'll need one as the forecast's for triple digit heat while I'm there. (Maybe undertaker would have been more appropriate as the heat just might do me in.)

V — VeggieTales: Robin Good and His Not-So-Merry Men DVD.

W — Water balloons and the nifty gadget that makes them easy to fill. Will be So. Much. Fun. Especially on the trampoline.

X — X-tra patience. "See H — Humor" above.

Y — Yellow crayons...and every other color of crayon, too, to be used with the coloring book I'm packing.

Z — Zoris. I received a pair of Neat Zori sandals for review, but Colorado weather is not yet conducive to sandal wear. Days in the desert, though, are a perfect opportunity to see how the shoes stand up to days upon days of active fun in the sun.

photo: stock.xchng/bb_matt

Today's question:

Any recommendations of things I should add to my bag?

Snickers, smiles, and laughing out loud

I'm not one to laugh out loud a whole heck of a lot. I'm a fairly happy person, I've got a pretty active funny bone, but I tend to snicker or chuckle or just plain smile at things that might make others literally LOL.

Except, of course, when it comes to my kids and grandkids.

My daughters make me laugh out loud. Often. Once, when Megan and Andrea (my youngest two) were away at college, they came home for the weekend. The Monday they left, I spent a good while trying to figure out why I had such pains in my ribs, as we'd definitely not done a whole lot of physical activity while they were home. We did, though, laugh and laugh and laugh, and I eventually realized my ribs hurt so much because I'd been laughing so hard all weekend long.

My grandsons make me laugh out loud, too. I think grandchildren make most grandparents laugh out loud on a fairly regular basis. Which is why I ask the Grilled Grandmas, "Describe a recent time that one (or more) of your grandchildren made you laugh out loud." I love the stories the grandmas relate.

Because my grandsons live so far away and I only see them every couple months, my grandchild-induced LOLing happens only every couple months as well.

For the most part.

A few days ago, despite the 815 miles between us, my grandsons made me laugh. Out loud. By myself. And then again as I shared the story with Jim.

Megan texted me pictures of Baby Mac and Bubby on Monday, each preceded by her caption for the photo. The first two were certainly cute. It was the third, though, that elicited the elusive LOL from Gramma.

FIRST TIME IN A POOL

BRING YOUR SWIMSUIT!

THEIR REACTION TO ME IN MY SWIMSUIT

Baby Mac seems to have gotten quite a kick out of Mommy's poolside fashion. Such a silly, silly boy.

Turns out, though, it was Mommy who was silly. Megan admitted in a later phone call that her attire wasn't really the reason Baby Mac was laughing so hard; she just thought it would make a cute caption.

And it did.

And it made me laugh.

Out loud.

Like I said, my grandsons and my daughters are the ones most capable of making me laugh out loud.

Even if one particular daughter is a big ol' liar.

(Or maybe just a mom who would rather be considered a liar than a swimsuit-clad laughing stock to her sons.)

Today's question:

Who makes you laugh out loud the most often?

Bad grandma

I've always fancied myself a pretty darn good grandma, one who goes out of her way to spread love and joy and special acts of kindness and self-sacrifice all for the sake of her grandsons.

A conversation I had with Megan over the weekend made it clear my delusions of grandmotherly grandeur and goodness may be exactly that—delusions. I'm not all that good. And not all that self-sacrificing. At least not all the time.

I'm scheduled to soon babysit Bubby and Baby Mac for the longest duration I have yet. It's a stint of nearly 10 days on my own—no Megan, no Preston, just me and the boys at their place. Such a stint feeds into my "I'm a good grandma" belief.

Well, Megan and I were discussing this and that over the weekend, and she just so happened to mention that Bubby has started pooping his pants. On a fairly regular basis. This is a kid who's been potty trained for, gosh, well over a year.

Sure, potty-training regression is to be expected when there's been a big change in a little one's life. But Bubby's big change happened nearly a year ago when Baby Mac came along. And several months ago when they moved into a new house. No poopy pants at the time of either of those events.

Now, though, Megan reports that at least once a day Bubby will traipse off to a corner where he thinks he's hidden and do the dirty deed in his big boy undies...then wait quite some time before telling Mommy about it.

Megan's perplexed. And I'm concerned only for myself.

"Yuck! You sure as heck better have that all figured out before I get there," was my instant, unfiltered response. "That's definitely not something I want to deal with."

Yep, I'm a bad grandma. A bad grandma who has no problem whatsoever changing poopy diapers of newborns, infants, even young toddlers who've not yet been potty trained. But big butts of big boys who have fairly big poops is, like I said, definitely not something I want to deal with.

Megan's researched solutions and is working fervently to bring success.

I'm crossing my fingers that success comes sooner rather than later. Only 16 days til I head to the desert. And only 17 days til I get really unhappy if I have to clean up poopy pants on a boy who's nearly four years old.

Today's question:

When did you last change a poopy kid—diapered or otherwise?