Calendar girl

Yesterday I copied all the birthdays and anniversaries from my 2010 calendar onto my 2011 calendar then added the old calendar to my stack of those I've saved for years -- every year since 1997, to be exact.

I abhor packrats and do my best not to be one, so holding onto reminders of dentist appointments and "No School" dates of years past may seem in opposition to my cause. But the old calendars are so much more than appointment reminders: They are time in a bottle. Snapshots of the hustle and bustle of a once busy household. A record of the good, the bad, the scary, the sweet -- an organic record that didn't require me to journal or scrapbook or keep a diary or update a blog to maintain it.

Most of the markings on the grids of daily happenings are in my handwriting. Others are in the handwriting of one or another of the girls, applied in painstakingly perfect penmanship befitting an occasion important enough to be included on the family calendar for all to consider in their schedule.

Each notation holds much more than just a record of where we had to be and what time we had to be there, though. They hold stories, stories that bring mostly grins (birthday parties and school sporting events) and groans (dentist appointments and work schedules). Others cause my eyes to well up, my heart to grow a little cold, and a lump to form in my throat. Those are the notations of occasions that serve as poignant reminders of our challenges, the growing pains that strengthened our family fabric and made it the resilient, tight-knit one it is today.

As I skim the calendars before placing them back on the shelf for another year, here are some of the scribbles that touch my heart:

April 28, 1997: "Closing" - This is the date we officially bought the house we rented for 10 years before finally getting up the nerve -- and the income -- to ask our landlords if we could buy it. It's the house that became the childhood home of our three girls, the place we raised them all, from kindergarten through college.

July 21-25, 1997: "Brianna in Texas" - Brianna went to Work Camp; we remodeled our new house to add a fourth bedroom while she was gone. Andrea and Megan rejoiced at no longer having to share a room, no longer having to divide the space with duct tape down the center. Jim and I rejoiced that the bickering would end.

May 25, 1998: "Andie leaves" - Andrea spent a week at Sea Camp in San Diego and to this day still dreams of working with dolphins. Somewhere. Somehow. Which is a tad challenging considering she lives in the Rocky Mountains.

March 22, 1999: "5:30 a.m. Brianna skiing" - Clinches the heart a bit as Brianna will likely never ski again after the damage done to her back when her (stopped) car was rear-ended at a stoplight by a landscaping truck.

April 24-25, 1999: "Retaining wall" - One of the many "huh?" markings on the calendars, important at the time but now completely forgotten.

October 15, 1999: "UNC College Day" - Our first visit to check out a college for our first-born.

July 18, 2000: "Test w/HR 2:30" - The beginning of my newspaper career.

July 28-29, 2000: "American Co-ed Pageant" - Megan needed college funds and left no stone unturned. She won no pageant money but we both received an unexpected -- and unpleasant -- introduction to pageantry and "pageant moms." Believe me when I say Little Miss Sunshine resonates.

October 25-27, 2001: "Seward" - Our first visit with Megan to what would become her college town. And eventually Andrea's college town.

June 22-27, 2002: "Disney World" - Our last vacation as a family. <sniff>

June 29, 2002: "Marked words: Brianna will NOT be with Eric at this time next year!" - Too funny now. What's not funny is that marking one's words doesn't make things magically come true ... or eliminate the need to keep marking them.

May 25, 2003: "Andie's Graduation Party" - My baby, my last daughter, graduated and soon off to college.

June 27, 2003: "I'm old" - Any guess as to whose birthday this was?

July 22, 2006: "Meg's wedding!"

June 18, 2008: "BUBBY!" - Okay, it doesn't really say "Bubby," it says his real name. An all-caps pronouncement of joy just the same.

December 5, 2008: "D-Day!" - This was the day my layoff was scheduled ... and occurred. The end of my stint as a special sections editor. The end of my newspaper career.

Sprinkled throughout the calendar pages, amidst notes about the girls going on mission trips, attending prom, graduating from high school and college, are red-letter dates of concerts and performances that Jim and I were to attend: Pearl Jam, Live, Tommy, Black Crowes, Rent, Counting Crows and more. Memorable occasions all. But my pile of ticket stubs serves as a better reminder of those particular dates. And, yes, serves as another large stack of paper this non-packrat refuses to get rid of.

On second thought, maybe I am a packrat after all. A sentimental packrat with lots of memories worth holding on to.

Today's question:

What do you do with your old calendars?

Megan's Christmas kitty

Bubby loves Alice, Aunt B's kitty -- March 15, 2010

Megan got a kitten for Christmas. She didn't ask for it, and she doesn't really care to have it around. It was cute at first, but the little guy very quickly became annoying.

It's not that Megan's a cat-hater, it's that the cat isn't really a cat. It's Bubby ... who decided just before Christmas that he's no longer a boy, he's a cat. And his primary form of communication is meowing. Like a kitty. At home. And out in public.

Don't get me wrong: Megan loves Bubby. And hearing Bubby meow around the house is precious and cute, especially when his imagination takes over during playtime with his Mommy Kitty and Baby Kitty stuffed animals -- the only other cats in residence. But when the 30-month-old who was formerly mature in the face of friends, family and strangers responds to Mommy's fellow shoppers or coworkers asking "How are you today" with mewling, yowling, and meowing -- or all three -- the cute factor is decreased by 100 percent. Megan's been mortified more often than not when out in public the last week or so, wondering where-oh-where did her big Bubby go.

Sunday evening Megan told me about the trip she, Preston and Bubby made that afternoon to a retailer to do some exchanging of Christmas gifts. On the way, the car stereo was cranked and the family was singing along. All three of them. Impressed that Bubby seemed to be joining in the fun, Megan told Preston, "Listen, Bubby's singing, too." So they both quieted their own tunes and bent their ears to the backseat to hear Bubby's contribution to the merriment. Only the merriment fell flat when they noticed that his cheerful song was only one word, over and over: "meow, meow, meow, meow."

I've not yet heard the kitty talk from Bubby as Megan warns him as he comes to the phone wanting to talk to Gramma that kitties don't talk to grandmas, only big boys do. After several attempts at getting his way with a mewl or two, he realizes Mommy means business and finally responds with "I'm a big boy" and commences a quick conversation with me, telling me about his new trucks and Roxy's bone and offering a rushed "Buh-bye, I love you!"... then he's off the phone and back to meowing.

I would think it more likely for Bubby to pretend to be a dog, romping and "ruff"-ing with his dog, Roxy. Being a kitty has me a bit perplexed. One might imagine odd behavior coming from a kid dealing with stress and trauma and drama in his environment, but other than a new brother on the way, Bubby's life is pretty stress-free ... if not downright boring, Megan might say.

Tay Hohoff famously noted that, "There are few things in life more heartwarming than to be welcomed by a cat," but this cat has worn out its welcome from Megan and Preston. With one more week remaining of holiday vacation from school -- where Bubby would likely speak "normal" in the face of peer pressure -- I'm wondering if Bubby's parents ... and Bubby ... will make it through the kitty phase unscathed.

"It could be worse," I tried to console Megan. "He could be pretending he has an imaginary friend, which would scare the cuss out of you, thinking he was seeing ghosts."

She readily agreed. But that doesn't mean she's okay with the meowing. And my attempts to Google some assistance or, at the very least, an explanation, have provided neither.

My suggestion? I think Megan needs to play into the kitty behavior ... by offering up a nice can of salmon-and-cheese Friskies for Bubby's next meal because that's what kitties eat. Being the finicky eater he is, Bubby will surely return to big-boy status immediately if faced with the stinky pate.

On the other hand, he may shock the cuss out of Megan and simply do like my finicky felines do: yowl for the Friskies turkey giblet flavor instead.

In that case, Megan may as well pick up a cat collar and some cat nip while stocking up on the Friskies, for if picky-eater Bubby readily nibbles cat nosh, that's a sure sign the Bubby Kitty is here to stay. Whether Megan wants a kitty or not.

Today's question:

What kind of imaginary friend -- or persona -- did you, your kids or your grandkids have as a child?

Bells will be ringin'

Guess who had his first Christmas program ever?

Why, Bubby, of course.

As part of a preschool class of two-year-olds, Bubby didn't have to memorize lines or sing songs for last week's Christmas program. His part -- and the part of all the two-year-olds -- was to play bell accompaniment to the older students who had the singing parts.

And shake his bells, he did, Megan reported. Considering the attention span of toddlers, it was no surprise most of the kids shook a jingle or two then spent the remainder of the gig gazing at the sights and sounds around them. Not little Mr. Focus, aka Bubby, who, Megan says, shook and shook straight through to the end, all the while wearing a look of determination in doing the job right and to completion.

Amidst the bustle of prepping for the show -- especially considering Megan's class of students was performing as well -- Megan and Preston inadvertently left the camera at home, so there are no photos of Bubby jinglin' the bells. Luckily fabulous friend and photographer Alison (the fabulous applying to both her friend status and her photo skills) got this shot of Bubby with his bells and classmate Ro-Ro, Bubby's best buddy and Alison's son.

Another first, another milestone.

And another reason I'm so thankful for Megan and technology -- and photographer Alison -- for keeping me up to date on all things Bubby, despite the miles between us.

Holiday question of the day:

If you were to be part of a Christmas program, what song would you like to sing? And would you prefer a solo performance or being part of an ensemble?

Telephone line, give me some time

Wednesday night I had my first real telephone conversation with Bubby. I say real because although I've talked to Bubby on the phone many times in the past, this was the first time he asked to talk to me on the phone, the first time he requested the phone from Mommy so he could talk to Gramma. And the first time we maintained a steady volley of remarks back and forth, just like real conversations work.

After getting the phone from Mommy, Bubby kicked off our conversation with a drum solo just for me, played on the kitchen garbage can, aka his "big drum." After applause and praise from Gramma, we discussed Mommy's birthday on Tuesday, the Christmas presents under the tree, his Elf on the Shelf (whom he named Jackson), and Santa Claus.

"Sometimes ... sometimes ... sometimes ... SOMEtimes," Bubby said, very carefully considering what came next, "sometimes ... sometimes Santa takes my presents away."

He shared the truth as he knew it, no tattling involved, just a tinge of remorse over the state of his current standing with Santa. Present removal is Megan's method for keeping an obstinate toddler from "losing his mind" throughout the day. When Bubby acts up, he's given the warning that if he doesn't start making good choices, presents will be removed from under the tree, to be replaced only when Bubby displays proper behavior. It seems to be working, for the most part.

I mentioned to Bubby that if he makes good choices, all the presents will stay under the tree. He responded by saying, "I can't close my eyes" and that he's "scared" of "something white up there" above his bed.

Of course, being a fan of Ghost Hunters and a believer in scary white things since I have scary things that happen occasionally in my own house, I worried that Bubby might be seeing ghosts. But according to Megan, at this point in the conversation, Bubby held the phone up for me to "see" the scary white thing in his bedroom. The scary white thing that is his smoke detector. It has a blinking light that scares him at night when he's been told to "close your eyes and go to sleep." Which he has trouble doing, no matter the number of nightlights and books that accompany him to bed.

Because Megan hadn't yet explained the inability to close his eyes in the face of scary white things, I attempted a diversion tactic by talking to Bubby about what Santa may be bringing him, which he says is "lots of cars and trucks." So with visions of cars and trucks dancing in his head, Bubby said, "I gotta play. Buh-bye, Gramma! Love you!" and the phone went back to Megan.

Throughout this first real telephone conversation, Megan told me, Bubby walked around the living room while chatting away, the phone to his ear as he stopped in front of the Christmas tree, headed over to gaze out the window, then off to his room to discuss the scary white thing. I can just imagine his big-boy attitude while on the phone, doing exactly as he did during a conversation with Mommy on the phone while we visited during Thanksgiving (of which the post photos are from).

It warms my heart to see that, like everything else with my grandson, the phone conversations are progressing, becoming more mature. It used to be that Megan would hold the phone to his ear for me to babble to baby Bubby, just so he'd know my voice. Then he started babbling back while Mommy held the phone for him. Soon he wanted to hold the phone himself each time, enjoying the notes of pressed buttons more than the sound of Gramma telling him how much she loves him -- which often resulted in disconnected calls. Now Bubby holds the phone himself and walks around, just like Mommy does while deep in conversation with Gramma.

I look forward to the next step in the progression of Bubby's telephone skills: when he picks up the phone and calls me himself -- on speed dial, of course -- to tell me about anything that scares him, excites him, or makes his day. And to babble the sweetest long-distance babbling this grandma's heart has ever heard, including somewhere along the line, an "I love you, Gramma!"

All prefaced, of course, with a drum solo performed just for Gramma on Bubby's "big drum."

(Curious about the post title? Here's the song it's from, an old fave of mine.)

Holiday question of the day:

If you could write a sequel to be produced for any holiday movie or program, which one would you choose and what would the plot highlights be?

Would you like fries with that?

I understand that when potty training a little one, stress and a busy schedule can cause regression to varying degrees. Bubby, who's in the potty training phase of wearing big boy undies all day and Pull-Ups at night, had a pretty busy schedule last week.

There was the Christmas parade.

Meeting Santa.

Checking out holiday lights.

And a performance of Yo Gabba Gabba Live.

With so many things happening in just a few days' time, no one could fault the tired little two-and-a-half-year-old if he backslid a bit in his potty training and had a few accidents.

Thing is, Bubby didn't. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Despite the crazy holiday schedule, this week Bubby had his very first dry night wearing big boy undies to bed!

Hooray for Bubby! Give that boy a hand!

Megan called Tuesday to tell me of the fantastic feat.

Can I talk to him? I asked.

"Sure!" and handed the phone to Bubby. "Hi, Gramma!" he said.

Hey, Bubby! Did you have a dry night last night?

"Yeah ... my underwear was DRY!"

What a big boy you are! I'm so proud of you!

"Yeah, I'm eating fries."

Ummm ... Okay ... I love you, Bubby! Great job!

"Love you. Buh bye!"

Fries? Did I hear him right?

"We're celebrating his dry night with a Happy Meal," Megan explained. "For being such a big boy, Bubby got a Happy Meal for lunch."

Ah, now I get it. Forget giving the boy a hand, he got a Happy Meal instead!

Yay for dry undies! Yay for Happy Meals! Yay for fries!

Most of all, a double yay for my big boy Bubby!

Holiday question of the day:

What are the ingredients of your favorite holiday beverage?

Uncharted waters

We did it. Jim and I made it through our first time decorating the Christmas tree as empty-nesters. Meaning, we did it alone. Just the two of us.

After 28 years of tree-trimming being a loud, festive, family event, this year there were no little ones hanging eight ornaments in a space meant for three. No kiddos closing their eyes and holding out their hands awaiting presentation of the annual new ornament from Mom. No more jokes about the carrot, the pickle, the Russian Santa. No more surly teens swearing under their breath at one another as I ask if they could please just get along so we can get the tree done without someone crying. And no more girls home from college for the holiday and savoring the family time they'd missed while away.

This year, the ornaments are evenly spaced, there was no surliness, and there was no swearing. There were, though, a few tears. From me.

This is a huge milestone and not one I hoped to reach so soon. In fact, I hoped to never reach it at all. I hoped that even once my girls were grown and gone, there would be tree-trimming parties. That I'd have my daughters, their partners, my grandchildren running all about as Christmas music played and they clamored for this ornament or that. All the while we'd be sharing memories of holidays and tree-trimmings past.

But it wasn't to be. Not even close.

Maybe next year things will be different.

Or maybe next year will be the same. But at least having been through it this year, it won't feel so darn empty and strange.

Holiday question of the day:

What is your favorite ornament on your Christmas tree?

The more things change ...

In the two months between seeing Bubby in August and visiting him last week, the little dude has grown, matured, and mastered a few skills.

The biggest change is that Bubby now attends preschool. He eats out of a lunchbox with his classmates, participates in recess, lines up for class and washes his hands all by himself.

He's also learned to drink from a cup ... "with TWO hands, Gramma!"

He can pedal his trike ... sometimes even making it from one end of the patio to the other, to which he proudly exclaims, "I did it! I did it, Gramma!"

He no longer wears a diaper and wears Pull-Ups only at night; in the morning, they're still dry.

He used to adamantly avoid face dunks in the bathtub. Now he enjoys putting his face in the bath water and blowing bubbles.

He talks ... and talks ... and talks. Most of the time, it's in full sentences. Two of my favorites from last week: "I want to go to PawDad's house. I miss him." And, "Did you hear that, Gramma? The baby in my tummy went RAAAAR!" (The little guy understands the concept of babies in the tummy more than he does hunger pangs!)

He's no longer content to just walk, he runs ... "really fast":

He cried when dropping off Gramma at the airport -- not because he didn't want to get back into his carseat after hugging me goodbye, which is usually the case, but because he didn't want me to leave without him.

Those are just a smidgen of the many ways my beautiful Bubby has grown ever bigger between visits.

Even with all the growing and changing, though, several things remain the same.

Bubby still loves Elmo.

He still wriggles his fingers under the bathroom door when I'm in there, giggling and saying, "Gramma, come out!"

He still loves to read.

And to be held.

And hugged.

He still loves to dance, especially "the pumpkin dance" to show off his pumpkin stickers:

He still is a finicky eater. Now, though, he readily lets you know exactly what on his plate he doesn't like, which includes but isn't limited to anything brown, green, too hot, too cold, with "something in it" (such as spices or seeds), eggs, potatoes, turkey and "keeni" (meaning zucchini, of course).

He still loves tractors.

Roxy is still his best buddy.

And Mommy and Daddy are still his very favorite people in the whole entire world.

Today's question:

Speaking of things changing ... or staying the same ... did you do mail-in voting or did/will you vote in person today?