Family fibber

My phone rang earlier than usual yesterday morning. Caller ID showed it was Megan.

"Hey there," I answered, a strong What's up? in my tone.

"Hi Gramma," was the response.

"Bubby? Is this Bubby?" I asked. "Did you go trick-or-treating last night?"

"Yeah," he replied rather unenthusiastically. "I called to tell you something, Gramma."

I sat back in my chair, listening closely for his tale of trick-or-treating to come.

"I called to <mumble, mumble, indecipherable mumble> breakfast in bed," my grandson warbled.

"What, Bubby? I couldn't hear you. Say that again."

"I didn't have breakfast in bed, Gramma. I'm sorry I lied to you."


Seems the conversation on which yesterday's post was based was all a bunch of baloney, for Bubby had come clean (surely at Mommy's urging): He never had breakfast in bed on his birthday and made up the story he'd told Gramma.

"I'm sorry, Gramma," he offered again.

"Okay, Bubby," I said. "You should never tell stories like that to Gramma."

I wasn't really sure how to respond. Megan made it clear in the past that I'm never to say That's okay when Bubby apologizes for something that is not okay. Simply forgive and move on, is her suggested response—which I'm supposed to follow, as she's the mom in charge.

After a fumbling forgiveness from Gramma, Bubby cut the conversation short with a quick I love you then put Mommy Megan on the phone.

"Sorry, Mom. It never happened," Megan said. "As I read your post, I was thinking What in the world? Then I realized Bubby had lied to you. He did choose Reese's cereal for breakfast—last year for his three-year-old birthday—but not this year. And he never had breakfast in bed."

So it seems we have a little fibber in the family.

Megan and I agreed that such things are pretty common with a four-year-old and no big deal, and that in Bubby's imagination such a marvelous thing did indeed happen, so he was happy to share the exciting (albeit untrue) event with Gramma.

Kind of an eye-opener for Gramma, I must admit. But, lesson learned.

Bubby learned lying to Gramma about the simplest of things isn't a good idea.

Gramma learned writing a post about a conversation with Bubby without first confirming the truth of the tale with Mommy isn't a good idea either.

Today's question:

What's your experience with children telling untrue tales?

Scoring points and breakfast in bed

One of the things I'm really enjoying about Bubby as he gets older is the conversations we have. His conversational skills improve by leaps and bounds in between each and every visit I have with him. I love the unique expressions he uses, as well as those that make it clear he's mimicking Mommy or Daddy without really knowing what the phrases mean.

One example of the latter was when Bubby mentioned that he couldn't eat a particular food—I can't recall what food or even what the conversation involved—and told me that it wasn't a good food choice because it had "thirty-fifty-hundred points" in it. Seems Mommy's attention to points associated with food, per the Weight Watchers plan she's kept an eye on since having Mac, has left quite the impression on Bubby.

Not that our conversations always featured food, but there was another time Bubby impressed me with his conversational skills...and his memory. At breakfast one morning, Bubby took a bite of his peanut-butter toast which he'd topped with a piece of the Count Chocula cereal Gramma had bought him as a treat.

" tastes just like my birthday cereal," he said.

Seems one of the birthday rituals for Bubby is that he gets to choose his breakfast cereal. It's a treat because Bubby doesn't usually get to eat the sugary cereals (like the Count Chocula Gramma bought him), and he had chosen Reese's cereal for his birthday breakfast in June.

"Mommy and Daddy brought it to me in my room," he continued with the story of his birthday breakfast.

"You had breakfast in bed on your birthday?" I asked him.

"Yeah! I got to eat in my room!" he enthusiastically shared, the memory of the happy meal glimmering in his eyes.

I asked him if Mommy and Daddy stayed or if he ate alone in his room. "No! Roxy [his dog] stayed with me," he said, "but I didn't give her any food."

"That's pretty awesome," I told him.

But I didn't really think so. At least not for me. I don't like breakfast in bed. While it's supposed to be a relaxing treat—and my daughter obviously thinks so, as she treated her son to it for his birthday and he thoroughly enjoyed it—I disagree.

I happily accept meals prepared for me any time of the day, any day of the year. But I don't want to eat them in bed. Alone. For one thing, it's hard to eat in bed—even with a nifty tray Jim purchased for that one occasion. Secondly, it's lonely when it's only the one being honored nibbling on her toast and worrying about spilling her coffee in the covers, all alone, with no one to talk to (and not even room to spread out the morning paper to read while eating).

Nope...breakfast in bed is no treat for me.

But it was for Bubby. And hearing about his awesome Reese's cereal in bed that he didn't share with anyone, not even Roxy, made me smile.

As does most everything Bubby says.

Well, except for all those comments he recently made about my age. The art of polite conversation is a skill Bubby has yet to master.

I'm assuming mastering polite conversation won't be difficult for Bubby, though, as he easily picked up the complex concept of avoiding foods with a high number of points. Especially those with thirty-fifty-hundred points.

Today's question:

How do you feel about being served breakfast in bed?

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 _____________________.