The Saturday Post

My good friend Debbie had her retirement party last night. Shew ... 25 years at the same job! She's part of a dying breed, I believe, as people just don't do that anymore. Huge, huge kudos to Debbie for sticking it out!

This song is for her. Although her daughter did a bang-up karaoke job of it last night, I want to dedicate this version to her.

So here's to you, Debbie. (And don't you dare touch that to-do list yet! Take a break -- you more than earned it ... and probably need it after all those chocolate cake shots last night!)

(SORRY... THIS VIDEO LOST IN BLOG MAKEOVER)

Today's question:

What's the longest you've ever worked at one job?

I worked at the newspaper for a little over eight years. Before that, it was four years at the job where I met Debbie. I'm obviously not much of a long-term career person.

True colors

Bubby was an absolute angel over the weekend while I babysat him. He played alone fantastically, and just as cheerfully brought toys and books to me so we could play and read together.

He jumped at the opportunity to take baths and brush his teeth, with nary a grumble.

He even happily trotted to his changing table when it was time to change his diaper and gladly nestled into my arms when I told him it was bedtime.

Like I said, he was an absolute angel.

  

Well, there were a few times when little Booger Bubby showed his face:

                    

But such times generally related to frustration with a puzzle piece not fitting in place or a toy working against him in one way or another. Frustration, not brattiness.

Then Mommy and Daddy got home.

And the brattiness arrived along with them.

As soon as Megan and Preston got home, Bubby alternated between the little angel I'd seen for three full days and the little monster Mommy had been afraid might scare Grandma. He whined, cried, gave dirty looks and refused to eat all of his meals.

I've been in the "Mommy" position, with friends, family, school teachers and others telling me how absolutely angelic my girls are, that they're model students and kind little team players who kiss the teacher's butt cheefully help without prompting.

Then we'd get home. And they'd be monsters -- whining, crying, giving dirty looks and refusing to eat their dinner.

And these were the teen years!

Okay, not really. (The teen years were far, far worse ... but those are stories for other days.)

When the girls were young, they were polite, well-behaved and did the right thing around others. It was only with me and Jim that they felt comfortable enough to voice their true opinions, true feelings, true frustrations and upsets. They knew our love was completely unconditional, that they could be as horrible as they wanted to be, and we would still love them. Completely, totally, unconditionally.

That's what Bubby was doing with Megan and Preston. With me, he was an angel; with them, he could be as upset as he wanted to be. (And very likely the upset stemmed from it being the first time they left him for more than a day. He felt the need to punish them just a smidgen for having the audacity to enjoy a little grownup time, I believe.)

I love that Bubby was so sweet and kind, wonderful and well-behaved during my time with him.

But I hope that one day, Bubby will be comfortable enough with me to show his true colors any time they want to bleed through. That he will know that no matter how boogerish he gets with me, I'll still love him -- completely, totally, unconditionally.

Today's question:

If you could call any living person to ask for advice, who would you call?

I would call the very smartest, most qualified doctor at Mayo Clinic -- to get some answers for my hubby.

Lessons from Bubby

During my recent tour of babysitting duty, I taught Bubby a few things, such as how to do a puzzle.

And that peanut butter play dough is an incredible, edible art medium. And the wonders of Baskin Robbins.

In return, Bubby taught me lots of things ... things I probably used to know but have forgotten along the way to grandmahood.

Here are a few of the lessons I learned while babysitting my Bubby:

Garbage trucks are the coolest thing in the whole entire world -- except for bunnies who live outside the bedroom window ... and bubbles.

BFFs come in a variety of shapes,  sizes and colors.

A pile of books beats out a pile of toys any day of the week.

Daily creative expression is good for the soul. As are regular haircuts and impromptu jam sessions.

Several days of rain and being stuck inside the house make the sun's return all the more glorious.

Macaroni and cheese and chocolate pudding are THE very best culinary creations EVER!

And that diversions make saying "goodbye" to loved ones a little bit easier to handle.

This post is my diversion.

Today's question from the "Loaded Questions" board game:

What one thing that you do can you genuinely admit is not that cool?

I recently bought a dorky pair of sweat pants that are designed to look -- from far away -- like a pair of jeans. I would never, ever wear them in public, but they are oh-so comfortable to wear around the house. Jim and Brianna have made it clear how very UNcool my comfy "jeans" are ... but I don't care.

Fave photo of the week

"Mmmmm ... ketchup! I'll eat ANYthing that has ketchup on it -- even plates! I loooove ketchup!"

Today's question from "If...(Questions for the Game of Life)":

If you could change one of your personality traits, what would it be?

I would like to not worry! I fret over bizarre things happening to my loved ones and worry about chaos and calamities that will never be (I hope!) and it just zaps my brain more than brains were ever meant to be zapped.

The Saturday Post

I'm in the desert with Bubby today and you can bet I'm singing the following song to him.

The first time I met newborn Bubby, I brought with me a CD on which I'd burned this song (from iTunes -- no copyright infringement!). Bubby's real name -- which I never reveal on this blog, per my promise to Megan when I started Grandma's Briefs -- fits perfectly in the "Sweet Baby James" part of the song, and I wanted it to be played often as Grandma's lullaby for my first grandchild.

Have a listen ... and think of me rockin' and singing with my own "Sweet Baby James."

(SORRY... THIS VIDEO LOST IN BLOG MAKEOVER)

Today's question from the "Loaded Questions" board game:

What television show have you surprisingly never seen?

I've never seen "Lost," not even a single snippet of a single episode. And I'm pretty sure I'd like it, so I don't know why I've not yet Netflixed it.

Take a picture -- it lasts longer

As a parent, you'll occasionally have moments when all is right with the world, at least within the confines of your own little world. Everyone in the family is getting along, the sun is shining in your hearts, the love is flowing, the future looks bright.

That's when you need to pull out the camera. Even if there's no major event, no happy holiday, no striking of a pose, no magical reason to record the moment, I urge you to take a picture.

Really. Take a picture. Because that moment won't last.

All of a sudden, with no warning whatsoever, the dark clouds will roll in and the ground will shift then crumble beneath your feet.

I know. I've been there. Several times. In fact, I offer that advice as Jim and I sit atop a pile of rubble, looking at each other, shaking our heads, asking "How did we get here?"

We'd been down this road before, thought the lessons had been learned, thought we'd never have to pass this way again.

Yet here we sit, dumbfounded, asking "WTF?"

And our daughter just shrugs her shoulders and waves from her pseudo-solid ground, oblivious to the way she's knocked our world off its axis.

So we pick ourselves up. We dust ourselves off. We start all over again.

And out of the blue, as we go through the motions of daily life, one of us mutters, "This sucks. This really, really sucks!"

"Yeah," the other responds, "this sucks."

We don't know what else to say.

Mere days ago we had a brief moment when all was right with our world.

I wish I had taken a picture.

('Nuff said.)

Today's question from "If...(Questions for the Game of Life)":

If you had to cancel one hour of the day, every day, which hour would you eliminate?

I'd eliminate 5 a.m. That's the time I usually glance over at the clock on the night stand and realize I have only one more hour to sleep.

Charmed, I'm sure

On Saturday, Jim and I had to go to Walmart, one of my least favorite places in the world. I can't stand the bungled mess of a parking lot or the even more-bungled aisles. And the carts scare me: All the disinfectant wipes in the world can't get rid of the copious amounts of germs on them, and I'm finding as I get older, copious amounts of germs creep me out.

But Walmart is closer to my house than Target, and the place does have some pretty good deals. Still, it was a shopping excursion I wasn't looking forward to.

As we walked the 2.3 miles from where we had to park, I saw a penny (heads up!) and picked it up. Then Jim found one within a foot of that. He picked his up, too (even though it was heads down). With two good luck pennies in our pockets, I figured it would be a successful and survivable trip into hell.

It wasn't. Which isn't surprising, as I think it'll take a whole lot more than good luck charms to make Walmart a place I enjoy visiting.

But those unhelpful pennies reminded me of something I hadn't thought about in years: rabbit's feet, the go-to good-luck producers of the past.

Decades ago, rabbit foot keychains were everywhere. It was quite common to see a pink, green, purple or yellow foot dangling from a gal's purse or a guy's blue jeans, announcing to the world what a lucky chap or chapette they were -- or hoped to be.

I never had a rabbit's foot when I was a kid, but many of my friends did. I was partial to the non-Technicolor ones, the rabbit's feet that looked like the real thing. They were the creme de la creme of good luck charms, in my opinion, and my friend who was special enough to have one often let me hold her precious white rabbit's foot. I'd stroke the soft fur, hold it up to my cheek, feel around the tip of the foot for that little bunny toenail I knew was there.

I coveted that keychain and wished I were the kind of kid who could steal from a friend with a clear conscience. But I figured that even if I did manage to pocket the paw with no problems, the luck associated with the charm would disappear if I acquired it under less than scrupulous circumstances.

Now that I'm older and could afford a rabbit's foot if I really really wanted one, I no longer want one ... and haven't for about 35 years. They're actually kind of a gross little trinket to give a kid. I imagine many a bunny limped around with only one paw or, worse yet, had their tootsies removed just before being skinned and thrown into the pot for some hillbilly's wabbit stew.

So is that why rabbit's feet are no longer popular? Did PETA step in and educate the country on the true horrors associated with them?

And what has replaced them? Do kids even believe in good luck charms anymore? Is there a new version of the rabbit's foot, maybe a kinder, gentler charm?

I'm pretty sure kids aren't picking up pennies they find on the ground, happily picking it up and grinning at their good fortune as they stick it in their pocket, because even a kid -- maybe especially a kid -- knows that a penny doesn't get you very far nowadays.

Not even at Walmart.

Today's question:

What personal item do you have that you consider a good luck charm?