The next Grilled Grandma

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No, this is not an early April Fool's Day prank. This here is Charli. She's a stand-in for the grandchildren of this week's Grilled Grandma, Carol.

Charli is the star of Carol's blog, Charli and Me. It's a great blog, you'll want to check it out (and see Charli in her Easter bonnet and such). But what I think is especially great about Carol's blog is that it's just one of the ways this GREAT-grandma deftly uses technology to stay in touch with her loved ones. In addition to her blog, Carol uses e-mail, she texts, and she's on Facebook.

"I love Facebook because I can send messages that don’t appear on the home or profile page," she says. "When you’re a teenager it isn’t very cool to have your grandmother telling you she loves you all the time on the same page that your friends are viewing :>) "

I love that!

Read all about Carol and her love for her grandkids ... and great-grandkids ... right HERE.

If you know of a grandma ripe for grilling, you can send me her first name and e-mail address right HERE.

Today's question:

If you could have only ONE Internet goodie -- e-mail, Facebook, the web in general (but no FB), webcams -- what would you choose to keep?

My answer: I'd keep the web in general so I could keep Grandma's Briefs.

Stupid is as stupid does

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I recently received a few compliments from readers about my technical ability and Internet know-how. I was pretty surprised, as I feel rather in the dark about all things HTML related, the language that makes blogging possible. I do know a bit about the Internet and I am pretty darn good at researching this and that online. But I wouldn't say I'm savvy.

I used to think I was pretty darn savvy with the Internet. Heck, I hopped online back in the early 90s -- and had the Prodigy account to prove it! But I now keep my pride and puffery about all things online in check by remembering my biggest online faux pas ever. It involved e-mail. And a few Grandma's Briefs readers know about the horror of which I speak.

Several years ago -- during my pseudo-savvy period -- I was the manager/editor of a small editorial department at the newspaper. At the time of which I write, I was in charge of three writers and one photographer. Because our "office" was just a set of open cubicles in a sea of other open cubicles, privacy was at a minimum. So we used e-mail for many a conversation.

The e-mailed conversations were usually between myself and the three women writers; our male photographer rarely, if ever, joined our e-mailed bitching and complaining. (The IT Department, on the other hand, probably saw each and every pixel we parsed out.) Of the three women with whom I corresponded, one, whom I'll call T, was a rather young gal ... actually so young that years and years earlier, she had been in my Daisy Girl Scout troop. I was her leader, the one who taught her about honor, kindness, how to "Be Prepared" and how to make homemade fortune cookies. T was engaged to a real numbskull of a ninny posing as a man, and as the young gal was younger than my daughters, I felt rather maternal toward her -- and more than a little irritated that her parents hadn't stepped in to put the kibbutz on the relationship with the ninny.

Well, T didn't last long working at the newspaper, but once she left, she still e-mailed us all often and was occasionally privy to the daily e-mail exchange among office mates. One day T sent an e-mail to us three older and wiser former coworkers talking about plans she and her now husband had. I can't remember the details, just that it was a rather naive plan, yet T thought it proved her maturity. I was appalled at her stupidity, her misguidededness, and I immediately e-mailed a reply to the other two older/wiser women in the group to air my bewilderment at T's plan and her penchant for the dumb ass she called her husband.

Only, I didn't hit "Reply" to just the two older/wiser women; I hit "Reply All." Which meant T got my the message ... quickly. She got the message that I wasn't the nice Daisy leader she once called Miss Lisa. Instead, I was a mean and bitter old woman who said mean and bitter things to someone to whom I once served as a mentor, someone who was just young and naive and trying to make her way in the world.

I was horrified that someone as e-mail and Internet savvy as myself could commit such a basic error of online correspondence (and judgement!). What a dunce was I.

I immediately (after freaking out to my coworkers) e-mailed T, privately, to apologize for the things I said. She graciously accepted my apology ... and never e-mailed me again. Which I deserved.

The young gal whom I once taught about manners then later interview techniques taught me even greater lessons. Not only did she teach me to always, always, ALWAYS check to see which reply option I've chosen when sending an e-mail, she also taught me that I should never, ever, EVER be snippy, snotty and snarky.

Especially not in writing.*

That, my dear readers, is why I will never consider myelf savvy -- online or otherwise.

*I'm embarrassed to admit that, unfortunately, I occasionally need refresher courses in those lessons. But I'm working on it.

Today's question:

With whom did you most memorably stick your foot in your mouth ... or send an e-mail that should not have been sent?

Another one bites the dust

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Coloring Easter eggs has always been a pretty big deal in our house. Each year after the Good Friday Tenebrae service at the Lutheran church we've attended for more than 20 years, we'd head home and color eggs as a family.

Like our Halloween pumpkin-carving rituals, the egg coloring involved everyone competing for the very best design. Also like our pumpkin-carving rituals, someone usually ended up in tears or -- during the teen years -- huffing off to their room for a host of hormonal reasons having nothing to do with the design competition.

But it was fun. Really. We have lots of happy pictures and warm fuzzies to prove it.

This year for the first time ever, we won't be coloring Easter eggs. All the girls live on their own and our only grandson lives too far away to come over for a dip in the dye with Grandma and Grandpa. And I really can't see egg coloring as a couple on the Good Friday agenda for me and Jim.

So we'll go eggless this year.

There's a domino effect to the decision to not color eggs. Having no colored eggs impacts our Easter morning breakfast, as we've always eaten our colored eggs on Easter morning, along with blueberry muffins and sausage links. It made for an easy holiday breakfast before the family dashed out the door for church service in our new Easter outfits.

Oh, that's another thing: We're not buying new Easter outfits this year. There's really no reason to as we have plenty of dressy duds and really shouldn't spend the money this year.

With the delivery of Easter Bunny baskets having ceased delivery last year (although the girls will always get SOMEthing from E.B. but don't tell them that), it seems the last vestiges of our old-time Easter celebrations have bit the dust. The children are grown; the traditions of childhood are no longer relevant.

I should be sad about the change, as I've always worked quite hard to create memorable holiday traditions for the girls. But that's the key and the reason I'm not too broken up about this Easter's empty nest: It's always been work ... a lot of work ... done mostly by Mom.

So  I'm kind of glad that this year I don't have to color eggs or go shopping for outfits (especially when the girls -- and I -- often preferred black to the pinks and yellows and greens typical of Easter finery) or stay up waiting for kids to fall asleep just so I can fill a few baskets or help three little girls crack and peel and wash their colored eggs for breakfast.

Nope, we're having an adult-only Easter celebration for the first time. First up: A breakfast menu of Lemon Ricotta Pancakes with Lemon Curd and Fresh Raspberries. Then Easter service, with our oldest and youngest daughters joining us.

After that, it's anyone's guess. We're all grown-ups now and I no longer need to set the day's agenda in advance.

Except for one thing, that is: I need to ensure time for a Skyping session with Bubby. I want to see my handsome grandson dressed in his new Easter outfit as he tells Grandma all about his basket of goodies from the Easter Bunny and the colored eggs Mommy peeled for him for breakfast, all before he, Mommy and Daddy dashed out the door for Easter service.

Knowing the beloved family traditions that once defined Easter in our house are continuing with the next generation make it much easier for this generation to bid them farewell and move on.

Today's question:

What's your favorite Easter tradition?

My answer: Breakfast as a family. Family dinners have always been a given in our house, but family breakfasts happened rarely ... usually only on Christmas and Easter.

Fave photo of the week

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Related Posts with Thumbnails

Aunts galore!

Bubby and Megan with the great-aunts, aunts and Nonny-Grandma.

Today's question:

How many siblings do you have?

My answer: Above on the couch with Megan and Bubby are three of my four sisters. I also have two brothers. All seven of us are immediate siblings -- no step. (Although there are a couple step on both sides but they don't really count because we were all adults by that time and we never have contact with one another.)

New Brag Book photos!

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I just added (finally!) a new gallery to my Brag Book -- "Visiting Grandma & Grandpa - March 2010." Check it out for two full pages of pics of Bubby's recent visit to the mountains.

The slideshow photos are oddly small and I'm trying to figure out why. For now, the thumbnails are actually larger than the full photos but I'm hoping I'll get it fixed and the BIG photos will be there soon.

Enjoy!

Tube talk

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Jim and I recently started watching the new television series Parenthood, the one by Ron Howard et al., based on the old(er) movie of the same name.

We like it so far. Which doesn't bode well for the show. It'll likely be canceled now that I've given it my stamp of approval.

For whatever reason, Jim and I have never been big TV watchers and -- despite a few attempts -- we never seem to home in on the shows that seem to be most popular with all the other TV watchers in the country. We don't watch the CSI or Law and Order shows. We definitely don't watch reality shows. And, much to the surprise of a few friends, we've never seen an entire episode of The Simpsons.

During our early years of marriage, our favorite shows were Soap, Quantum Leap, St. Elsewhere and MASH reruns. We grew to love Beauty and the Beast and Fame, as well as -- when we could afford cable -- The Hitchhiker and It's the Garry Shandling Show (just typing that one made me smile).

Then the 90s came and we were too busy to watch TV ... or the girls commandeered the only television set we had and Jim and I joined them for precious few shows. (We were willing to sit through Buffy the Vampire Slayer; not so much Saved by the Bell or, later, Dawson's Creek.) When we did watch on our own, it was usually 20/20, 48 Hours, Dateline or some other news show that kept us constantly worried about the safety of our children.

As the girls got older and ownership of the TV returned to us, Jim and I started watching more and more on the tube. Here are a few we watched regularly in the last, say, five years:

  • Six Feet Under (HBO)

  • Rome (HBO) -- Jim

  • 24 -- Jim

  • Felicity -- me

  • Gilmore Girls

  • Medium (although her waking-up-in-a-gasp schtick has grown tiresome and we no longer watch)

  • Brothers & Sisters (the silly drama has grown tiresome and we're about done)

  • Grey's Anatomy (ditto)

  • Men of a Certain Age

  • True Blood (we'll be watching this upcoming season at Brianna's, as we've canceled HBO)

  • Glee (!)

  • Ghost Hunters (thanks, Tammy!)

But here's the kicker. Here are our favorites of the past few years, favorites that apparently very few others favored because they were lured away by Biggest Loser, American Idol, So You Think You Can Dance or any other reality show we simply couldn't stomach. These gems were canceled far too soon for our unpopular taste, which made us question the intelligence of the average TV watcher very sad: Joan of Arcadia, The Riches, Related, Six Degrees, Life on Mars, Eli Stone, Pushing Daisies (thanks for the reminder, Pam!), Flight of the Conchords and Saving Grace (the upcoming season is the final season).

What's up, people?

A friend recently gave us the first season of Lost -- and we love it so far! It'll take us quite some time to get through the seven seasons, but at least we know this series can't be canceled on us.

I wish I could say the same for Parenthood.

Today's question:

What's one of your all-time favorite TV shows?

My answer: I really loved St. Elsewhere ... and Quantum Leap. But that may just be nostalgia talking.

Mars and scars

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Bubby had an accident a couple days ago: Running out to the car with Mommy, he bit it ... on asphalt ... HOT, desert asphalt.

It was his first big owie to leave a mark. Megan wrote on her blog,* "To my horror there was blood covering his poor, no longer perfect, 21 month old knee."

Bubby was okay but he's now marred, no longer perfect.

Those of you who have been a mom a while know that although this was pretty traumatic for Megan -- and Bubby -- this owie will fade, not only on Bubby's knee, but in memory, too.

But, sorry to say, Megan, there are bigger owies to come, ones that will make Bubby's skinned knee pale (probably even disappear) in comparison. Years from now you won't recall this bloody "mess," as Bubby kept calling it. What you'll recall are the bigger owies, the ones that leave lifelong scars.

I vividly recall the first scarring incident with Brianna. She was 15 months old and running around the living room of our small apartment. (Crazy kid started walking at 9 months!) It was all fun and games, of course, until she got hurt -- falling into the corner of the coffee table, gashing open her face near her eyebrow ... and narrowly missing her eye! Blood, blood, blood! Everywhere! It was my first experience with facial cuts -- which bleed like mad -- and my first experience with a seriously wounded baby. It was pretty horrible. And it's the reason why we did without a coffee table for years and years and years. Even now, as a grandma, my coffee table is ROUND with no corners waiting to gash open little faces.

Megan's first scar came on a little less fast and furious but involved surgery. Like I've said before, Megan was always destined to be a mom. She loved kids younger than her from Day One, especially her younger cousins. She played with them, mothered them and carried them around -- and got a hernia to underscore my rants that she shouldn't be lifting the little ones when she was just a little one herself. I can't remember how old she was ... maybe 6 or so ... but my little Meggie actually had to have surgery to repair a hernia at that young age and still has the scar to prove her early mothering inclinations.

The scars with Brianna and Megan were fairly traumatic for me as a mommy, for them as kiddos. But my poor Andie had, without a doubt, the absolute worst initiation into scarring.

It started off painless enough: Andie had warts. She had warts on her hands, she had warts in a spot just below her bottom lip. They weren't huge warts, but they were getting bigger and the doctor decided my 5-year-old Andie needed them removed -- by burning them off. She'd only feel the pin prick of the shot to numb her, he promised, so we went ahead with it.

The warts on her hands were no big deal; the ones on her face required me and a nurse to hold her down for the shot right into her chin ... which obviously hurt my baby like hell. After a moment or two to let the numbing kick in, the doctor had me stand at the head of the table and firmly hold Andie's head down while he approached her face with the burning hot rod (this was before the harmless lasers). When he touched her face with it she SCREAMED! The numbing stuff hadn't numbed her as promised and my baby could feel the burning. Quickly the doctor announced we were already there and needed to go forward as Andie would never in a million years allow us to attempt such a thing again. So as I held down my little girl, with tears streaming down her face and mine and the nurse doing all she could to hold Andie's mouth closed and stifle the screams so the doctor could do his job, the warts were burned off. And that horrible scene was burned into both my memory and my baby girl's, leaving not only physical scars, but emotional ones, too.

So yeah, Megan, poor Bubby is marred. But at least this time it took only an Elmo Band-Aid to make it all better. Appreciate those little mars; with scars, it's not so easy.

*Megan's blog is called "Oh Schmidt!" and, naturally, features pictures of precious Bubby -- and uses his real name ... which is a little odd since I promised to never use his real name on Grandma's Briefs. Anyway, you're welcome to visit there, if you'd like.

Today's question:

How did you get your first scar and where is it?

My answer: My first scar was on my lip. When I was about 4 years old, I fell on the blade of one of those old-time ice cream makers that had real metal blades to scrape the insides of the can. If I use my tongue to press out my bottom lip, you can still see it. (I don't use my tongue to press out my bottom lip very often as it not only shows my scar, it makes me look like a monkey!)