Bikes, trikes and big boy beds

Bubby tackled two big milestones this past week: getting his first bike and moving out of the crib and into a big boy bed.

The bike, actually a trike, was a birthday gift from his paternal grandparents.

He's still getting the hang of the coordination for the pedaling, Megan said. But I have no doubt that he'll have it down in no time!

The move from the crib to the big boy bed didn't actually require a move at all, just a conversion of his crib. (Smart designing of cribs nowadays, wouldn't ya say!)

Megan said the first night went fantastic. She told Bubby it was bedtime, he crawled up in place, and he stayed there all night long! There was no crying, no waking in the night, no falling out and bonking his head.

That shouldn't be too surprising, of course, because I've probably mentioned before that Bubby is absolutely perfect!

With the exception, I should add, of the position in which he sleeps!

Today's question:

TGIF! What are your plans for the weekend?

Roller Bubby

The skater boy. (Phone photo sent to Grandma in real time!)Megan, a pre-K teacher, had her first roller skating night with her students Wednesday night.

It was also her first roller skating experience with Bubby!

Believe it or not, they make itsy-bitsy Fisher Price roller-skates for tots. And the PR woman for the local roller rink told Megan that two-year-olds actually learn to skate quicker than four- or five-year-olds. Reason being, according to the PR woman, that the little ones have shorter legs and less fear. I'm not sure why, but the 'shorter legs' part struck me as funny.

So Megan took her shorter-legged little Bubby along for the event. And he did great! It took him a bit to get used to the skates and to not be shy around the bigger kids, but Megan said he eventually got the hang of it. His lack of smiles and giggles stumped Megan a bit, though, so she asked her serious-faced little boy, "Are you having fun? Do you like it?" to which the concentrating kiddo said only, "I like it!"

All in all, Bubby fell just twice in his four times around the rink. That's four times around a big ol' rink for a little boy who's not yet two years old and not yet three feet tall. Oh, and who has shorter legs!

I find it interesting that of all the things that have changed in the past 30, 40, 50 years, that roller skating is still a hit with the kids. Consider the changes in nearly all aspects of childhood, everything from 3D ultrasounds and diaper genies to fancy-schmancy game systems and cell phones. But slapping on a pair of wheels and whizzing around a rink still appeals. Even in the disastrous economic climate of the last year or two, roller skating rinks prevail.

As a preteen, I loved roller skating night. It meant so much more than just skating. The outings weren't school-sponsored, as there was no rink in our small town, but my best friend's mom was happy to transport a group of giddy preteens "down the pass" from our mountain town to the city, to Skate City -- the old Skate City ... with all-wood floors.

Fifteen or so kids would hop in the back of Miss Leona's pickup in the late afternoon and huddle under the piles of blankets to stay warm. (Note: I would never in a million years allow my daughters to ride in the back of a pickup. But this was back in the days when people did that. Legally.) On the trip down the pass, the girls would be on one side of the truck, the boys on the other. (Yes, it was co-ed. But again, it was back in the day ... when hanky-panky between preteens wasn't even a consideration.)

Travel time was about 30 minutes, but it felt like hours as our excitement would reach fever pitch. Finally, we'd reach Skate City, spill out of the truck and into the rink, where we'd don our skates and scatter to the floor. Some of us were pros on the floor, crossing over feet at the turns, skating backwards, winning the limbo and speed contests, attracting the attention of the city kids with our prowess.

I wasn't one of those kids. I usually stayed within arm's length of the wall for the first hour or so, then eventually ventured out closer to the center. Near the end of the two-hour session I could even get up enough speed to get my long hair fluttering as I'd whiz (relatively speaking, that is) around the corners ... sometimes even managing to cross over my feet on the turns. And sometimes I'd even be asked to join hands with an equally awkward preteen boy for the slow skate.

Then the session would be over.

We'd all pile back into the truck and under the blankets for the trip back up the pass. It was far colder by that time and the huddling was a little more intimate than during the trip down. The girls' legs became entangled with the boys' and we'd all laugh and joke, keeping our heads under the blanket trying to stay warm and out of the wind.

It was joyous, innocent fun, those nights at the roller skating rink. And I'm thrilled to know the roller skating rituals continue, that Bubby will experience the wind in his own wheels. Starting at such a young age, I can only assume he'll be one of those preteens who can skate backward, win the limbo, dominate the speed contests. That's just a guess, of course.

But all guessing aside, I can pretty much guarantee that Bubby will never, ever, ever get to the rink by riding in the back of a pickup truck. That part of roller-skate nights has definitely changed.

Some changes of the last 30, 40, 50 years are for darn good reason!

Today's question:

When was the last time you roller skated?

My answer: Probably 20 years ago, when helping the girls around the rink during their first roller skating nights in elementary school. Gah! Get me to a rink quick, before I get too old!

Reason #37 why distance matters

Bubby LOVED his 1st Birthday cake!Bubby will soon be turning two years old. Very cool, very exciting ... and very frustrating because he's so darn far away.

Although there are still weeks between now and the big day, mere weeks means time is ticking away for those of us wanting to book a ticket to fly in for the festivities. Meaning many of the conversations of late with Bubby's aunts revolve around "Are you going?" Meaning: "Can you afford to pay to fly in for cake and ice cream this year? And will this be the plan every year? Will you forever going forward be able to fork out funds -- and vacation days -- to sing Happy Birthday to our precious Bubby?"

Jim and I will go. Definitely. Each and every year. Probably. But Andrea and Brianna may not be able to fly to the desert to celebrate Bubby's birthday each and every year. Especially once they're entrenched in their own families -- or even long-term relationships -- because then there's the question of "Does the whole family go?"

Yes, I know that not all families gather 'round for each and every birthday. But my family likes to, as much as possible.

And it's not as if Megan's planning some huge shebang for Bubby, like the festivities for his first birthday. And she clearly understands that cost is a major hindrance to attending even the smallest of affairs. She's attached no obligation, no hard feelings for those who can't make it.

But the thing is, we all want to make it. We all want to celebrate the major milestones of Bubby's life. But all the cuss miles between us make that difficult. And frustrating. And reason to lament, once again, that Megan and Preston live in the desert while the rest of us live in the mountains.

Guess it's easier -- and more reasonable -- to lament that than to lament that we've not yet won Powerball or Publishers Clearing House (or a ridiculously lucrative book contract), which would make the miles between us irrelevant. For if we were rich, we wouldn't have to consider dollars. Or days off work.

Or distance.

Today's question:

If money were no consideration, to where would you most want to book a plane ticket?

Got it!

Bubby has entered the terrible twos, according to Megan. His favorite phrase has become "I got it, I got it, I got it!" chanted steadily to let Megan, Preston or any other adult know that they best not interfere with Bubby's attempt to get into his car seat himself, put on his shoes himself, throw away the garbage himself, spray the patio himself. Yep, Bubby's got it.

That, of course, is quickly followed by -- sometimes in the same day -- tears, whines and upheld arms accompanying the plea to Megan to "cuddle? cuddle?"

Not so terrible, if you ask me.

And not so different, I believe, from how most of us feel on any given day. I know this grandma certainly has her share of "I got it, I got it, I GOT it!" moments often followed by the need to just cuddle and let someone else take care of any business at hand. Sometimes in the same day.

Nope, not so terrible at all.

Got it?

Greeting card quandary

Today is my dad's birthday. He's 71 years old.

I always, always, always have a horrible time buying him a birthday card. Everything on the greeting card shelf is either sickeningly, cloyingly sweet while waxing moronic about "My dear father" being the rock and dispenser of lifesaving advice, or they're goofy greetings mentioning dear ol' Dad's obsession with his recliner and remote and/or his flatulance problem.

Neither type fit the kind of relationship I had (and continue to have) with my dad. So I stand in front of the racks of "For him" offerings for about 15 minutes, then move on to the musical ones but don't want to spend $5 on some silly chicken dance or "We Will Rock You" goofiness, then on to the "Funny: General" options because it's slightly easier to find a fitting one-liner than anything remotely sentimental.

I even consider the blank cards ... but that just seems so wrong.

I'd be oh-so happy if Hallmark would come up with something like:

Cover:

On your birthday, Dad, I want you to know ...

Inside:

... my childhood sucked.

But from the looks of things, it seems yours did, too.

I understand that now.

It no longer matters.

I'm so over it.

And I still love you.

Happy birthday!

I've yet to find such a card.

So I just settled on one from the "Funny" section. "General." For anyone.

And gosh, only three months 'til it's time to look for a Father's Day card. Maybe I'll start my own line of greeting cards before then -- cards for real people and real relationships!

Today's question:

Do you usually give sentimental greeting cards or humorous ones?

My answer: I used to give sentimental cards to everyone but in the past few years I've gotten to where I give humorous ones more often because the sentimental offerings are usually too mushy, gushy and unrealistic.

The sweet sounds of unemployment

This week has been a rough one because of the time change. It's made me pretty darn thankful that I don't have a full-time job to get up and ready for first thing each morning.

I've also been thankful for no full-time job this week because if I were working, I couldn't spend full-time hours playing grandma while Bubby and Megan are here. Sure, grandmas everywhere work and manage to get time off for hugging and loving on their grandbabies, but if I had recently found a new job, it's doubtful I'd have been allowed to take four vacation days this early on in my tenure.

So yes, I'm saying that I'm thankful I have no real job, no boss telling me what to do, no office gossip to listen to.

Instead, I've gotten to listen to the sweetest little voice ever. And here are some of my favorite things my little Bubby has said again and again, the things that just melt my heart each time he says them:

• "Kitty mow" (pronounced like "chow" not "meow")
• "Big stair," uttered each time he's confronted with a staircase he has to go either up or down. Yes, they're big stairs and yes, he's actually going up and down them -- holding on to someone's hand, of course -- despite my freakout post about stairs.
• "Big truck"
• "Big keeze," aka a big squeeze/hug
• "Big clock" upon hearing the grandather clock dong
• "Big slide" (Yep, everything's big to Bubby!)
• "Tired baby" when he's worn out
• "Whoa baby" when something's awesome
• "Hi Baby" when greeting his mommy
• "Oh my!"
• "Nonny Bunny" (his name for the bunny from his Great Grandma/Nonny Ann)
• "Oh no!"
• "Okay, okay," to let one and all know he survived a tumble
• And best of all, Bubby says very emphatically, "I ... love ... MOMMY!"

There's much more that Bubby says, and even more that he understands. Which is oh-so cool to grandma, who's trying to capture as much of it as possible on video. And who's very thankful she got to hear each and every word he said while visiting, instead of sitting at a desk and hearing yet another recap from coworkers on what happened on "Biggest Loser!"

Today's question:

Other than music, what is one of your favorite sounds?

My answer: Other than the voices of my loved ones, I love the song of the mourning dove ... and small, tinkly windchimes (not the big ones) as they're softly blown by a gentle breeze ... and the purring of a cat.

With this kiss, I thee wed

Jim and I will celebrate our Kiss Anniversary tomorrow. We used to call it our First Kiss Anniversary but we got lazy at about our 15th and it's now known by the slightly shorter name. This is our 29th year celebrating it, usually with just a card ... and a kiss.

I'm not a mushy gushy kind of person. I don't watch Lifetime television, I'm not a fan of Nicholas Sparks, and my musical preferences lean more toward hard rock than ... gosh, I don't even know the name of mushy gushy love-song singers. Oh, wait. That's probably Celine Dion or someone along those lines. That kind of music does bring a tear to my eye, but it's usually because I'm trying to control the waves of nausea that come over me when I hear anything from that genre.

That being said, I've always recalled the date of our first kiss ... but only because it was the date of my older brother's birthday. My brother wasn't there for that chaste but fateful kiss; it just happened to take place on his birthday.

It was Jim -- who's a little more mushy gushy than I -- who started the tradition of celebrating the moment that changed our lives. Only that first celebration wasn't all that fun. In fact, it scared the hell out of me and, for a few moments, I was pretty sure I wouldn't live to see another day, much less another celebration of any sort.

Jim had an apartment of his own and I lived a few blocks away with my mom and sisters. We lived in an old house that had only a bathtub, no shower. And I hated taking only a bath. Jim had a shower, and I regularly drove the few blocks to take a shower at his place.

This one particular day, the date of our first kiss anniversary (although I didn't consider it any big deal) Jim was leaving for work as I was arriving to use his shower. Like I said, we kissed hello, kissed goodbye, he headed to work, I headed for the shower.

As I got out of the shower, I heard noises. In the apartment. An apartment that wasn't in the best part of town and had creepy weird guys living upstairs. I froze and listened. Yep, there was someone in the tiny apartment, moving stuff around, going through Jim's record collection.

What do I do? I searched the cabinets for a weapon and found nothing more than a brush and a Bic shaver. I held my ear to the door. Still there was shuffling. I couldn't open the door -- my clothes were in the bedroom and I refused to be seen naked by some killer. I couldn't climb out the window for the very same reason ... plus, I'd already checked it and there was no way I'd be able to reach the opening far above my head.

I sat on the toilet lid and started to cry, as silently as possible so the killer wouldn't realize there was some frightened naked girl hiding out in the bathroom.

Then music started playing. The killer had put on a record. A Led Zeppelin record ... one of the more mellow songs. Well, if he's playing "Thank You" or something similarly sweet from Zeppelin, he can't be that mean and horrible of a killer ... but a killer just the same.

I once again assessed my situation. No weapon, no way out, no clothes. And no choice. I had to get out of there.

I slowly, quietly turned the door handle ... and cracked open the door, trying to survey the tiny bit of the living room I could see. I heard music, but saw no one. I wrapped the towel tighter around myself and crept into the hallway. Peeking around each corner, it became obvious that the killer had left.

But wait! The killer had left something on the table. I scooted closer and closer ... and found a Hostess Ding Dong on a saucer, one lit candle in its center. And a greeting card next to it.

"Freakin' crazy," I thought to myself as I opened the card, imagining serial killer scenarios involving wooing the victim into eating Ding Dongs and listening to Zeppelin as the killer stealthily dropped from the ceiling brandishing a long, sharp blade of some sort.

No serial killer dropped. And my heart swelled as I read the card: "Happy 1st Kiss Anniversary. Love, Jim."

While I showered, Jim had dashed to the store, grabbed the celebratory goods, arranged them on the table and turned on our version of a love song. Yep, this was the guy for me, the guy I'd spend the rest of my life with.

And the guy who almost made a scared, naked me crawl through a tiny opening in the bathroom in hopes of escaping some wacko Ding Dong-obsessed, Zeppelin-lovin' killer.

Now that I think of it, maybe it's that, the manner in which the first anniversary of our first kiss was recognized, that makes it a date impossible to forget. It really has nothing to do with it being my brother's birthday after all.

Regardless, I'm glad to still be celebrating Kiss Anniversaries with Ding Dong-obsessed, Zeppelin-loving Jim.

I'm even more glad I didn't smash out that bathroom window and shimmy through the shards of broken glass to save my naked butt from an imaginary killer. I'm pretty sure Jim wouldn't have stuck around to celebrate a second kiss anniversary if that had been the end result of his sweet gesture.

Today's question:

What's one non-traditional celebration you share with your loved ones?

My answer: In addition to the Kiss Anniversary, we had family-only Period Parties when each of the girls had their first period. The honoree received a box of sanitary pads, we ate Black Forest cake (ya know, the cherries and all), and we blasted Urge Overkill's version of "Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon." It was a tongue-in-cheek way to mark a major milestone in the lives of our little women.