Small talk with my grandson

Bubby, at nearly four years old, has reached the age where we can easily converse about this and that. I understand all he says; he understands most of what I say. When he doesn't understand, he's quick to request clarification with a blunt, "What do you MEAN, Gramma?"

I've never been good at small talk, but when it's with Bubby, I'm easily engaged and entertained as long for as he's willing to keep up the chatter. I love to hear his thoughts, his interesting view on the world around him and the people near and dear to him. It usually ends up being not such small talk after all.

Here's a sampling of the delightful mind nuggets my grandson shared during our time together last week:

Out of nowhere and completely unrelated to anything that came before, Bubby asked, "Have you ever holded a fish? Wouldn't that be so cute? Maybe if they're sad, you could do that. I've always wanted to do that but Mommy never lets me."

"Gramma, do you wanna play the hip-hop scotch game?" (Meaning hopscotch, I assure you, not a rowsing drinking game of sorts.)

One evening as we settled onto the couch for storytime before bed, I had Baby Mac on my lap, Bubby at my side. Bubby, who was to hold the book and be the designated page turner, kept staring at his brother instead of getting on with his job. "Why do you keep looking at him?" I asked. Bubby's response: "<Baby Mac's> head is getting so cute, don't you think?"

"I love your muddy buddies, Gramma! maybe one time you can save a little bit of these for a dessert because mommy never ever has these kind of candy."

Bubby and I had been talking about horses and I told him about the day PawDad, Aunt B (Brianna), and I rode horses at my sister's ranch. "Gramma, horses don't like RANCH!" he said. "Ranch is for carrots. It's white. It's not for horses!"

Bubby: "You look so pretty in that dress, Gramma."
Gramma: "Why thank you, Bubby. That's so sweet."
Bubby (seeming a little sad and confused that the conversation ended there): "Every time I tell my mommy she looks pretty, she gives me a hug."
Needless to say, Bubby got his hug.

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

A memorable comment I recently heard from a child was _____________________.

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?

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?

The well-stocked grandma: What grandmas need

The other day I stood before my postage scale, weighing a package I'd put together to mail off to Bubby and Baby Mac—Batman jammies for Bubby, a cute short set for Baby Mac, and a special toy for each—when I thought, "Here is yet another thing I've purchased, yet another thing I needed as a grandma."

It's not the Batman jammies I considered a grandma necessity—though considering Bubby's Batman infatuation, purchasing the set when I saw it in Target did indeed feel urgent and necessary. No, it's the postage scale that was a true and necessary addition to my house since becoming a grandma. I mail a lot of packages, and it's so much easier to do it all without leaving home (or standing in long post office lines) thanks to a scale, a USPS.com account, and a friendly neighborhood mailman willing to pick up from my doorstep.

Maybe only long-distance grandmas need a postage scale, but there's no doubt every grandma has had to stock up on myriad goods and gadgets to make the grandparenting gig run a lot more smoothly when the grandkids visit.

Below is a list of things I found to be must-haves and life-savers when I happily host my grandsons. Most I've accumulated little by little—which is really a lot considering I've only been at this less than four years—and a few remain on my wishlist. New grandmas and grandmas-to-be may want to print and post the list in a prominent place, then plead with family and friends to help stock the house with the grandma necessities.

Grandma necessities:

• portable crib or play pen

• sheets and receiving blankets

• baby monitor

• baby bottles and baby utensils—for babies, of course

• toddler feeding sets—bowls, plates, and utensils for those who feed themselves

• sippy cups

• baby gates

• child-proofing gadgets for outlets, doorknobs, cabinets, toilet seats

• bulb syringe—just in case Mom forgets to pack it

• baby bathtub and bathing supplies (mini towels and washcloths plus shampoos, lotions, etc.)

• bathtub ring (the ones with suctions cups) to keep safe those too big for the baby tub but not yet stable in the real bath tub

• non-skid appliques for the bathtub bottom

• nightlight for guest room

• booster seat for feeding at the table (or heck, spring for a real highchair)

• potty chair

• step stool to access the real potty

• age-appropriate toys (for indoor and out), art & activity supplies, books, movies, and music

• car seat for transporting (especially handy for grandmas who help out regularly with daycare, or when traveling to and from the airport with long-distance lovies)

• the aforementioned postage scale for long-distance grandmas

• a web camera—not just for long-distance grandmas

• Bubby's favorite: Gloworms for bedtime (this grandma's saved from when Bubby's mom was little)

• And, of course, a rocking chair

I must say that with all that's necessary when stocking Grandma's house, I'm baffled as to why baby showers for grandmas-to-be have not become a trend among today's extra-involved and uber-attentive generation of grandparents.

baby in bucket photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What other necessities should be found in a well-stocked grandma's house?

Can't help but grin

Baby Mac didn't feel well during most of my recent visit, thanks to teething, a cold, and what turned out to be an ear infection.

That didn't stop my youngest grandson from giggling and grinning more often than not, though, even when feeling his very worst.

Yeah, I still have some work to do in mastering that new camera of mine. But you get the picture...for the most (precious) part.

Today's question:

When and why did you most recently laugh out loud (for real; no "LOL" funny business)?

Savor the moments

Jim and I had three daughters in a short period of time. There are 16 months between the oldest and the middle daughters, 19 months between the middle and the youngest. Which means, obviously, our daughters are very close in age. In fact, for one month out of each year—roughly mid July to mid August—the girls' ages are consecutive.

Which also means, obviously, I was one very busy mama while raising them. I felt hurried and harried much of the time, and I rarely stopped to savor the sweetest and simplest of moments with my three girls, from their toddler to their teen years.

I'm trying to not make the same mistake as a grandma.

Things are pretty clear cut with Baby Mac because as an eight-month-old, what he wants, he pretty much needs...and gets. With three-and-a-half-year-old Bubby, though, it's different. His needs are met; his wants are up for negotiation. That's where my tack as a grandmother differs from the tack I took as a mother. When Bubby requests my participation, my attention, I do my best to stop the busy work and savor the moment. As long as his requests are reasonable, that is. And most reasonable he proved to be during my recent visit to the desert.

For example, "Gramma, can you play train with me?" was a reasonable request. So, despite not being one for typically enjoying sitting on the floor—and Baby Mac needing some attention, too—I busied Mac with some blocks, plopped down next to Bubby, and followed his lead of "You be Henry, Gramma, and I'll be Thomas." Moment savored.

Another instance: Bubby's bedtime routine typically features one bedtime story read. One night we finished the chosen book, and I stood from his bed to tuck him in, kiss him goodnight, and head out the door. "Can we please read this one, too?" Bubby pleaded, holding up a book. "It's soooo funny!" So I did, all the while savoring his snickers at "There Was A Cold Lady Who Swallowed Some Snow," savoring his sense of humor, savoring the moment.

When Bubby asked, "Gramma, can we build a fort?" I didn't hem and haw about the mess it would make. Instead, Bubby and I together built the fort to beat all forts, with tunnels and secret passages and cardboard boxes blocking out the light. Moment savored...and video captured of Bubby and Baby Mac savoring the fort again and again and again, with giggles galore as they chased one another through tunnels and more.

At snack time, Bubby wanted his snack in the fort. At naptime, he wanted the bedtime story read—to both him and Baby Mac—in the fort. Both requests filled. Easily. Both moments savored. Surely.

At the park, Bubby asked if I'd climb up the play structure and "play pirate" with him. Baby Mac slept in his stroller, within viewing distance, of course, as Bubby and I climbed and slid and shouted "Look out, Captain! They're after us!" again and again. Moment savored.

Most mornings of my visit, Bubby woke me with a gentle nudge on my knee—except for the first morning when he slammed open my bedroom door and shouted, "GRAMMA! It's morning time!" (My freakout at his announcement led to knee nudges going forward, I'm sure.) One day when I woke before him, Bubby watched me from the open bathroom door and said, "Gramma, after you're done brushing your teeth, will you start your day with me?" Request easily filled as that was my intent anyway. The sweet moment of his request, though, especially savored.

Requests of "Will you jump with me, Gramma?" brought leaps and bounds of joy each and every time we giggled and wiggled and waggled about on the trampoline—which was pretty much each and every time Bubby asked me to do so. And my request to him one night to lie quietly on the trampoline and look at the stars together was enthusiastically met with a resounding "Yes!" That grandson of mine, he truly gives as good as he gets. Moments savored—by both of us.

One of Bubby's favorite cartoons is Olivia, which begins with the inflation of a pirate ship bouncy house. Once, a discussion of bouncy houses ensued after the program began, and Bubby gushed about the most awesome of parties he was scheduled to soon attend. "It's gonna be so cool! There's gonna be a bouncy house and pizza!" he raved. "Do you want to come, Gramma? Maybe you can ask PawDad if you can come!"

This was one of Bubby's few unreasonable requests. Not because I wouldn't be in town at the time of the party or because I'm sure the guest of honor wasn't expecting grandmas to join in. No, I thought it unreasonable—and, more so, surprising—that Bubby naturally assumed I had to ask PawDad's permission to go to the party. My I-am-woman-hear-me-roar sensibilities wanted me to explain to Bubby that I don't need PawDad's permission to go to the party, that I didn't need his permission to do anything. Women, I considered telling my grandson, don't need permission from a man to do anything—we can do anything we choose.

What I chose to do, though, was to not tell Bubby those things. There's plenty of time for him to learn such lessons—and woefully little time that a precious boy earnestly and enthusiastically extends to his grandma invitations to birthday parties with pizza and bouncy houses.

What I chose to do was savor that fleeting moment instead.

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

A moment I recently savored with my grandchildren or children was ___________.