Grandparent Babysitting 101

Lyssa Looking for Hands

2010-12-15T12:11:00.000-08:00

Lyssa Bug is a fairly astute pupil, picking up most things easily; however, she only recently discovered that Pawpaw is missing a hand. It’s somewhat fascinating to her that his hand is removable not that he wears his prosthesis, like many have found,the halter and arm uncomfortable and cumbersome so he prefers to compromise with his nub. It did elicit a tad of surprise when she found the hand—detached from the arm—lying on the edge of a small entertainment center, one day. She asked, “Neenie is this Pawpaw’s hand?”

We hadn’t realized until this past year that she didn’t notice the missing hand, which to us was unusual because most children we encounter in public are prone to telling their parents, “That man only has one hand.” Thank God, my husband isn’t sensitive about it since it happens frequently. One little girl we encountered at the local Kroger store was determined to feel sorry for my husband. She fretted a great deal about it and was still saying, “That poor man…” as her mother led her away. Most parents are very sensitive about their child noticing, in fact you might say they’re down right embarrassed over their children’s loud exclamations, “That man has one hand”…we get a kick out of it, most of the time. There is the occasional child that is rude and brutish, but most are simply curious and that’s the case with Lyssa.

The only time my husband is bothered by someone making a remark or staring is when it’s a grown individual with little enough sense to realize that Gary can see and is noticing that the observer is staring. As a rule he will explain what happened to the arm and why the hand is missing, if people are polite enough to ask in an interested manner…if they’re asking in what seems to be a mean or spiteful way, he’s apt to tell them he lost it in Vietnam, or some silly story because it’s his right as the amputee to decide the manner in which he will answer. He lost the lower portion of his left arm and hand in a motorcycle accident…nuff said.

This morning, as Lyssa flipped through my National Geographic—a habit she has developed for the same reason most of do, the beautiful pictures—she noticed a skeletal hand. She ran over to my desk to show it to me. She asked, “Neenie would Pawpaw like a hand like this one?” I told her that he would probably like one with skin on it. She nodded and went back to the Geographic’s on the table. Shortly she returned with the edition that features a robotic arm—some neat equipment, I assure you—and told me, “I think he wants one like this!” It’s easy to assume, from our conversation this morning that Lyssa Bug wants to help Pawpaw find a new hand.

Some new knitted caps for children and adults have been added.

It is Not Easy Being Two

2010-12-02T08:19:00.001-08:00

When we took the play pen down for Thanksgiving dinner and took it apart, we realized the baby could no longer play in it. It wasn’t torn yet, but it had worn badly along the rails under the pad, and until you take the things apart, you don’t really realize how much space they take up…but it cleared a big space between the living room and the dining room, so it’s down and not going back together. Soooo, there’s the downside to not having a place to contain a toddler; they run wild all over the house and get into things that the older kids have learned are definite “no-nos.”

Rissa is my baby—in the more or less I didn’t give birth, but it feels like it way. She’s been staying with me since she was 4 or 5-months-old and it feels like I gave birth to her, giving her a very special place in my heart. Giving her a very special in place in my psyche too, it hurts to punish her. It’s become the double-whammy of grandmother love and pampering her senseless versus the need to make her behave for her own safeties sake. It’s killing me to have to pop her diaper, tell her “no” that she cannot climb in my lap when I’m the one that just paddled her, etc. I’m fairly sure the process is more painful to me than it is for her.

She was allowed out of the play pen on a regular basis, but it was the safest and most kind way of disciplining her when she got unruly. Now, it’s gone and I have to be the disciplinarian that has never been a comfortable roll for me, ever. And then there is the added help of an older sister that knows better and gets the two of them in trouble, probably on purpose. They run like two scared rabbits all over the living room, raise themselves up on the edge of the wood surrounding our glass top coffee table, get way-too close to the flat screen television, and they spill constantly because they’re not watching where they put their feet. When I’m not cleaning up a spilled bowl of cereal or sippy cup of milk, I’m holding one or the other to comfort a “booboo.”

Relatively new is her penchant for unscrewing the knobs on the kitchen cabinets. Most of the time I catch her, but the odd time when I don’t, the discovery is made when I pull on a drawer or cabinet door only to have the knob come off in my hand. There is no divider between the rooms, just the bar off the kitchen…I see these young people searching for a home that has the open floor plan, and just shake my head. Walls keep toddlers in and the dangers out.

Writing has become a test of iron will against she won’t, where the grandmother works hard to remember a sentence in her head and the 2-year-old sees how many times she can make the ole woman say words that would embarrass a sailor. If we had a quarter jar in this house, I would be in arrears by several hundred dollars this week. I told a friend that I might have to become a catholic because my prayers are encompassing the hours that I need to be sleeping…sheesh, there are more “I’s” than actual words today. It must be a sign of complete indulgence or the only word that I can utter that will not be followed by a string of “T’s” or “N’s.”

Three for Thanksgiving Week

2010-12-01T08:54:00.001-08:00

There were three little rug crawlers in the house during the week of Thanksgiving, so we got done the “bare necessities” and nothing more. Jeffrey got a “Fall Break”…bet the folks in Palms Spring wished the kids would party with them during such times, and minus the alcohol, I had a spare or two I could have sent them after a couple of days. It wasn’t too bad; however, while Jeffrey is a quiet little boy, his quietness seems to evoke the inner-creature in his smaller siblings. The girls hit “toddlers gone wild” stage by Tuesday.

While “Girls gone Wild” is bad and mostly naughty, “Toddlers gone Wild” are dangerous to themselves, the house, and the grandmother with nerves not-quite made of steel. The danger generally, involves some source of pain for the oldest sibling and can become a more permanent pain for the ole woman sitting on the couch, cringing in fear, and swearing she was never like that when she was small…or was she?

This morning, as Rissa sidled up next to me with that I want something and don’t know what it is look on her face, I realized what a beautiful thing innocence was, and will never be again. It’s the only time in life when your hair can work its way in knots and curls all over your head, you don’t have to wear makeup, you’re a tad chubby, and your clothes—probably chosen by your 4-year-old sister—don’t match, but still be so precious. Rissa loves to smile and is rarely without a chuckle or grin on her face, though I dare say that at times it can be disturbing as you wonder what she is about to do or has already done. Whatever it is or whatever she’s done, it’s the innocence that tugs at your heart, melting you to pile of agreeable mush. I’m a sucker and can freely admit it even if there is no 12-step program that cures the tendency to give in when good sense would dictate otherwise.

Remarkably, by Saturday of last week I had cleaned all the fingerprints from the glass top table in the living room…as of this morning, they’re back with extras to count. Ah well…such is the life of a sucker.

Knitted and crocheted caps and booties, afghans, etc.

A Hat and Shoes

2010-11-18T06:16:00.000-08:00

We had a long day, yesterday, as Rissa didn’t feel particularly well and Lyssa Bug was a tad whinier than usual. Every female, under the age of 6, should be allowed to whine and complain to her heart’s desire, so that their husbands will be spared the miseries of a dissatisfied wife later in life.

It was not the worst day we’ve had together but it’s ranking, or was that wreaking of stench from one-too-many berries for lunch. We bought grapes the last time we did the grocery shopping and this week the girls have slowly lessened the supplied, every day, for lunch. As a consequence, Rissa had the diaper from Hades accompanied by an acidic patch on her derriere that glowed red as I wiped and she whined. Like most grandmothers, I thought that since they hadn’t affected her before they would be fine yesterday…wrong, wrong, and more wrong!

Rissa has realized that when you’re pushed or shoved, especially if you’re the baby, you can whine and tattle and the older child will get into a soup bowl of trouble. Lyssa Bug stayed in so much trouble yesterday that she ranged between vegetable soup and full-blown chili. As the older child, she knows life isn’t fair, but that doesn’t stop her from complaining about it.

The up-side of yesterday’s activities were the hat—Lyssa Bug’s—and the shoes that I crocheted for the girls. Of course, at some point, they will realize that while wearing a hat and shoes, you’re mid-section has been forgotten…not to worry, next week we will make some sweater dresses, or whatever…LOL

And I Have a Pink Jacket

2010-11-16T07:11:00.000-08:00

When the two girls wake up, they’re totally awake or possibly not, at least one can remember she has a new pink jacket. I’m fairly certain my daughter said that Alyssa’s grandma—their daddy’s mother—bought the jacket for her. Lyssa is a Barbie Princess in training while her sister will likely climb trees, ride horses, and best all the boys at basketball, football, and baseball. They are as different as night and day, or more appropriately as different as my two girls were while growing up.

Tristan, the oldest of my girls, was always about her appearance and she is/was a beautiful child and gorgeous young woman. Wendy was my little tom boy, always trying to do things that other girls and women shunned for fear of breaking a nail. Lyssa is like Tristan, very aware of her appearance and no doubt that she knows how adorable she is, and Rissa doesn’t even care if her hair is combed as long as her sippy cup is filled with milk, the cartoons are on, and there’s Coco Roos in a baggy on her table—the television tray that I put beside her play pen so that she can set her milk down to eat her cereal. There’s no letting her walk around with her bag of cereal or the house would be one big cereal box.

Until a few minutes ago, Lyssa Bug was still groggy from sleep and had only spoken three times; the first for her milk, the second to tell me that she didn’t like what she was wearing, and the third to tell me she had a new pink jacket. Rissa, on the other hand, hasn’t really said much this morning, she’s busy pacifying herself with her mouth plug—her thumb.

They’re watching Timmy Time because some bungle-headed channel manager doesn’t realize that little girls prefer to have their Umizumi time early in the morning, like it was last week. Fortunately, because we have to find new cartoons from-time-to-time, the girls like Timmy. Strawberry Shortcake has become another acceptable alternative when Diego, Dora, Kai Lan, or Umizumi are not to be had, but they really are picky about their cartoons. I don’t blame them; age should not be a determining factor for discerning taste in entertainment. If I were 2 or 4-years-old, I’d be watching Huckleberry Hound, the Road Runner, Magilla Gorilla, or some other cartoon that is considered very un-PC by today’s standards. Who amongst us could pass up the opportunity of seeing the coyote get smacked by the very bolder he had pushed off the cliff to hit the road runner? Those were the days!

It’s Tuesday, has anyone seen Friday? Seems when you go out of town the house won’t clean itself, the cat will play with the afghan you left lying on the kitchen counter, and the weekend is gone when you get home. Enjoyed you Tulsa, OK, but glad we’re back. So, as a matter of fact, are my granddaughters. They actually miss their old Neenie!

Knitted and Crocheted Items

Justice for Juliette

Facebook contact page: Monica Hall

You’re So Funny

2010-11-11T10:31:00.000-08:00

When Rissa wasn’t yelling at me today, She was telling me, “You’re so funny!” I think she means it in the nicest possible way, but I do have my doubts, at times.

Rissa wouldn’t eat breakfast this morning, don’t know why, she just wouldn’t. She awakened in a “foul mood” and has been yelling about one thing or another ever since. I don’t mean talking in a loud voice, it’s that half scream, half whine voice a 2-year-old achieves when they’re really ticked off and probably don’t know why. Lyssa would not eat, either, until just before I fed them at 11 and then she decided to chow down on a bag of Cocoa Roos…so now, the discussion, an hour and almost a half later is; yes, you’re going to eat your lunch or Neenie will call your daddy.

We ran out of milk after their first cups this morning and the choices are; water or cranberry juice. Apparently, my granddaughters do not like cranberry juice any more than I do. The stuff tastes like a bad grape to me. The water has no taste but it is cold and the sippy cup does plug her mouth while she’s drinking, cutting back considerably on her ability to yell at me. The best answer for all three of us would be a nap; however, I would have to be delusional to believe that was a possibility.

We’re trying new cartoons today as for whatever reason channel managers have, Dora and Kai Lan have not been on since earlier this morning. One of the new cartoons has a character named “Fitch”, which when heard from a distance sounds considerably more like a word describing a female dog. Had the name not been repeated a second time, more clearly, I was thinking, “Nooo, that’s definitely not a substitute for my granddaughter’s entertainment.” I’m trying to make it through today without having to watch Tinkerbell again…I’m starting to say the character’s words with them too.

Well, it’s almost Friday…that gets one big “Woohoo” from this old grandmother. This has been a long-short week. Of course we all realize the two shortest days of the week are Saturday and Sunday…think it’s probably an unwritten rule that some sadistic person came up with to frustrate adults.

Purple Hat Anyone?

2010-11-10T07:45:00.000-08:00

In the midst of working on the pink afghan yesterday, Lyssa asked, “Neenie, is that my covers?” Oops, no they're not her covers…when I explained she was non-too happy to discover that the pink covers—she doesn’t say afghan—were not even staying at our house. Grandchildren recognize the grandparent as the person that rarely says “no” and my Lyssa Bug is no different, so she said, “What are you gonna make me?”

I knew the quickest fix—okay, approximately 6-hours of knitting—would be a cap/hat, so we found some purple thread, double-point needles, and my crochet hook and went to work. Since we didn’t have a pattern, we improvised by measuring the hat on her head ever-so-often to find the right fit. Lyssa is very visual and needed to see the progress, as well, so we took pictures to which, each and every one, she said “Ooh, I like it.”

Sadly, this morning, I realized the errors of my ways when the baby asked, “My hat??” So sometime today, we will manage a hat for the short person. She did have to try on sister’s hat because it was “there” and as I suspected, with her skin coloring and similarity to her mother at that age, she’s allergic to the wool thread. That’s the main reason I don’t like to knit with wool…I’m allergic too. I’m sure we’ll find some suitable thread to make her a hat, because I always have spare thread around…back to the pink and hopefully a finishing point.

Grape Berries and Semi-Sub Sandwiches

2010-11-09T09:42:00.000-08:00

We had a boring breakfast of bananas, again, and I almost got to eat mine before the begging looks got the better of me. The thing is, they’re small and need the calories and I’ve gained too much weight this year, so it seems fair. A lunch of grapes (they call them berries), chips, and slices of ham on a sub bun were just the ticket for these two little dolls. I’m not partaking because I honestly don’t like the same things they eat, most of the time…the bananas are an exception.

Rissa awakened at “almost” 7:30 this morning and promptly announced, “I want cartoons.” Felt like a repeat of yesterday morning except she slept in by an hour. She’s eating in her playpen now because it won’t be long before she drops in her tracks and getting the little stinker laid down without waking her is a task for fools—better she should be where she sleeps when the urge hits her. She’s eaten all of her berries, chips, and lunch meat; only time will tell if she actually eats the sub bun…usually not.

Lyssa Bug had to get up from her lunch to go potty…never know if she really needs to go or if she just wants to play in the water. My husband says she’s not washing her hands for cleanliness sake, but for the fun of splashing in the water. Maybe so, but her hands are always clean now. At any rate, she has the whole hygiene thing down pat; tinkle, wipe, and wash the hands…LOL

My joy for the day is too continue knitting on a pink afghan so that I can "get it" done. Pink is my least favorite color, however, I suspect it is one that will be a monotonous repeat in my life for another decade or so while the girls begin to develop different taste in life. This one is for a friend’s wife for Christmas making it a labor of love and torture. My next endeavor is to make afghans that I will sell…we really have enough around the house. So much so, that no one will freeze for lack of warm covers even if the heat were to go off for a couple of days. The girls have learned a good lesson from me about the needles since Lyssa decided to bounce my arm, ramming my hand into one of them and I, in turn, howled.

Well, back to life. I was just forced to get on Lyssa for wiping the coffee table with a pair of her freshly laundered panties…argggg…that table will be the death of me yet.

Justice for Juliette

Facebook contact page: Monica Hall

Early Morning Bananas

2010-11-08T08:01:00.000-08:00

Rissa was the first child to awaken this morning and all she said, “Cartoons.” I suppose when you’re 2 the most important thing is not going to bathroom or getting a drink, instead it’s entertaining your mind and eyes. We didn’t get much done on Thursday and I’ve been on the other side of well for a couple of days; mostly old age I suspect, but a lot of achy muscles and just tired.

The girls were with their dad on Friday, as has become the custom, and so I simply lay down and prepared to die…not really, but I slept like a dog for a couple days—on and off. So this morning we’re just doing a photo blog…please enjoy.

1) Tell me she doesn't like to pose:

2) It's not a chair, it's a backward step stool silly Neenie:

3) You can't play with my magnets, they're mine, all mine:

4) Bet you think it's easy being Rissa's older sister, shows what you know:

5)Yea, I had a banana, apple, and milk, and then got sent out in the cold to wait for the bush, so how's your morning going?

Bumble Bee and the Tinker Fairies

2010-11-01T09:33:00.000-07:00

Do you ever just want to cry when you see your grandchildren all dressed up and know that they cannot do, as you did, and trick or treat from door-to-door? It does me! I looked into the little faces of excited grandchildren wearing costumes and saw the faces of those years ago as we dressed for a night of trick or treat. Where did all that innocence go?

We live in a country setting outside a small town, so it’s not unusual for us to pass the Halloween night without a visit from a pint-sized spook or princess, but to know that there are larger areas with houses and street lights where children should be able to collect a bag full of candy but are unable, is a sad statement about the times in which we live. When I was a child, the worst that happened on Halloween night was when some adult tossed candy corn in your sack…now; it’s a very dangerous time for children.

The children had been to the school festivities and stopped back by the house so Neenie could get the photos of this year’s costumed grandchildren. Even Rissa was dressed as a fairy and aware that she had wings, surprisingly, she wasn't trying to tear them off. Neenie had the standard Tootsie Rolls that we keep in the apple cookie jar on the dining table and Three Musketeers that I buy for a sweet snack for my husband and I, so we had candy. “Mook…I want mook,” were Rissa’s first words as she ran into the house, wings bouncing behind her. Ah, to be so small and so happy…life’s good, but trick or treat could be better dor these little guys!

We’re Very Mad at the Television

2010-10-28T09:05:00.000-07:00

Please explain to a 2-year-old why Dora isn’t on the television when she wants to see her…please, because I have not found an acceptable way to do it yet.

Fortunately, all the Tinkerbell movies are back home where they belong. She’s watching the one with the little girl—that’s what she and Lyssa Bug call it; the title is Tinkerbell (subtitle) Great Fairy Rescue (Disney needs to pay my granddaughters advertising rates). The problem with explaining anything to Rissa is that she has a limited comprehension of what things mean. Dora isn’t on now, doesn’t registered as a fact she’s familiar with. She likes to hear and see what she wants, and she wants all things “NOW!” God, it must be great to be 2 and get things your way…anyone remember when that happened??

Lyssa Bug is asleep in Pawpaw’s chair because I lost the argument, or I gave up, same difference. She needed a nap, however, all our chairs and couches in the living/dining room are suede and we prefer—in case of potty accidents—that she sleep on the love seat, since it is the older piece. Lyssa is a bit stubborn when she’s sleepy or…well, she’s 4. She can be stubborn about a lot of things and this morning didn’t seem like the right time to argue with her.

Both girls decided to see their brother off on the bus this morning; Lyssa is asleep and Rissa will crash after lunch, hopefully. Rissa has been in the habit of getting up when she hears the cartoons that I turn on for her brother in the morning, but Lyssa usually sleeps through them and doesn’t awaken until around 9 a.m. Jeffrey doesn’t care if either of them are awake or not, his mind is on the cold wait for the bus. It’s just a couple of minutes, yet probably seems an eternity when you’re 7, it’s dark outside, and it’s cold. I always wait at the door so that I can see him until the bus comes and he’s safely on board. It’s maybe one-third of an acre from the house to the drive, but that’s enough space to worry this ole grandmother.

Anyway, we’ve had our biscuits and Lyssa is working on her nap. We’ll have sandwiches or soup shortly and then, if I’m lucky, Rissa will take her nap. She really needs it…she’s a bit crabby. The good news, the weekend is almost upon us again, and I have a house to get back in order tomorrow…right after I go do the early vote! Happy Halloween!!

We’re Up We’re Still in our Jammies

2010-10-27T08:02:00.001-07:00

Our breakfast is in the little oven, which ticked Lyssa off because she cannot see in the little oven. It’s on the counter, so being 3-feet-something is a disadvantage. She doesn’t really need to see the food to know she will get fed, I hope…that’s a joke, ha…ha. Rissa is a bad mood too but not sure what that’s all about. She wasn’t a minute ago when I had the camera to take today’s picture. Silly me!

We’re waiting on biscuits to cook. They’re preformed, pre-frozen, and probably pre-nuked at some point in their assemblage. Butter dropped biscuits, does that mean the butter was dropped or the biscuits, or does that matter? Using the three second rule, all things are clean until the 4th second or depending upon what they fell on…but that’s irrelevant since we didn’t drop them anyway.

Rissa was the first to get up. At first, she was just fussy because she had shoes on and wanted them off, then 30-minutes later she was fussy for no reason. Milk and cartoons solved that problem.

And I just learned a lesson; never listen to the husband about the wonders of the little oven. I ended up with 5 very brown, very raw biscuits. We’re waiting on biscuits, once again.

We have new cartoons this morning due to the add-in that was offered via the satellite company. Strawberry Shortcake and Fraggle Rock are now available…ha, and who said the old stuff doesn’t come back. The girls won’t watch Tom and Jerry, but they’re all about the shortcake chick. So were my girls, they loved her.

Its Wednesday…wooopeeeeee….that means one more day and the girl’s dad will get yelled at in the morning. Actually, Wednesday is a good day because I don’t have to cook tonight and that’s always a good sign, for me. We might or might not change clothes today, it’s optional.

Two-Year-Olds Don’t Need Logic

2010-10-26T09:12:00.001-07:00

A logical person, having been told 15-times that they were going back in the play pen, would naturally believe and correct their behavior, but NO! Rissa does not need to be logical, she’s 2, and those are the years that remind us of the politicians leading this nation; they’re stubborn, determined they’re right, and not willing to compromise. She should run for public office.

I know which side of the play pen she got up on, but I’m not sure of the precise location in there that makes her a most disagreeable toddler. It’s in there somewhere and if I can find it, I’m making an invisible barrier around it.

The one thing I can say, without fear of contradiction, is that it would be a bad mistake to turn her loose on a Banana Plantation. She would be so plugged up that Rotor Rooter couldn’t fix it. She has eaten one banana, one orange and a handful—mine not hers—of Cocoa Crispies (Wally World’s brand), and is still insisting the last banana is hers. Apparently, those Kai Lan math toons are doing the trick and she can count; she had two yesterday and is certain that one and two are not the same.

So far this morning, she’s thrown the telephone book down because it did something, not sure what, and banged her sister’s head on the air vent while taking the Spidey chair away from her. We’re not 3-hours into wakefulness and she’s already damaged a sibling…what next? A smart woman would not ask that but I lost all hope of common sense an hour ago and I’m just working off pure eye power now.

Lyssa Bug is a tad whiney today, probably because she awakened to realize that life is still not fair. She takes turns at being “Neenie’s big helper girl” and “Neenie’s lap baby.” This morning, we’ve seen a little bit of both. The ant movie, whatever its title is, is only moderately satisfying and the girl’s mom is on my list because we’re back down to 2-Tinkerbell movies. The other one, the one that has the little girl in it, is still at their house…not where it’s supposed to be!!!

At this rate, by noon, my brain will have a permanent bleed and the only cure is curling up on the couch and whining along with the girls…or not. None of us could wait to turn 21, what were we thinking? Being a grown up is one big pain in the kiester!!

Well, great! I forgot to put the lid back on the milk and Lyssa Bug just told me about it. Arggg, this sucker is doomed. Doomed, I tell you, doomed!

PMS and Mondays

2010-10-25T08:19:00.000-07:00

It must be a human quirk to seek out stress and bad humor through ventures in Monday-isms, otherwise we would all stay in bed on Monday morning and try to start our week out, on better terms, on Tuesday. As a rule, by noon on any given Monday, I’ve had more than one encounter, occurrence, or situation that indicates it would have been more profitable to stay the day in bed and wonder what is going on around me, instead of rising with hope only to have it squashed by one or another family member’s PMS. Putting up with Monday Stuff is a form of mental disorder not directly effecting any particular sex or age. This morning, PMS, is the order of the day for those around me…every little one, included.

This morning my husband has PMS because of the postal service in our area, Rissa has PMS because it’s the first disorder all humans, large and small, develop, and Lyssa Bug…well, she just has PMS and probably does not have a clue why. I may be the only one in my household that doesn’t need Midol or Pamperin to make it through the day, albeit for 2 and 4-year-olds the medication comes in the form of a sippy cup filled with milk, or Neenie’s stash of Tootsie Rolls.

Menopause trumps PMS and leads to thoughts of a bottle of rum, a well-loved book, and a week in the bed…but that’s the dream and not the reality. The reality is that Rissa will lay that pretty little head down, in a bit, and get the rest of her much-needed and my longed for nap taken care of, while Lyssa will get quieter as her sister enjoys REM sleep. My husband, at last account, is embroiled in a matter of discussion about what midnight “is” with the post office and not likely to kick the PMS in it’s much deserved buttocks.

There’s bound to be a word in the English language…maybe even a baby blurb, which more appropriately describes and should be used in place of the word “Monday.” Any and all suggestions welcomed! My own word for today may well be something along the line of Rumplestilskin and twice as difficult to spell. Ha, just discovered that Microsoft Word doesn’t have a spelling for the little man that caused the spinning wheel to damage the fair lady’s finger…doesn’t that just figure, for a Monday that is?

No Means No, It Does Not Matter How Cute You Are!!

2010-10-22T08:55:00.000-07:00

Ah, in the world of a 2-year-old the word “no” is only understood when she is saying it, not when Neenie is insisting she not do whatever the thing is that she is going to do anyway. “No, you can’t hit your sister…” or “No, quit playing in the kitty litter...” or “Just NO!!” These are things that Rissa does not understand, and when enforcing this with a stern reminder that I am still the adult, she looks at me with angel-eyes and kNOws that I’m sunk.

God gave babies and toddlers angel-eyes to insure that they were not turned into an angel prematurely, of that I’m certain. The cat, on the other hand, has not realized that his eyes don’t have quite the same effect on the average adult. He doesn’t like the word “no” either, and he stays in trouble not understanding why the pooh-pooh face will not work for him. Lyssa Bug understands “no” but she has a problem with “pick up your mess” and kNOws that I have a problem with the enforcement of such orders.

I’m a wimp, I admit it. Between the husband, the kids, our cats, and the grandchildren, I’ve been reduced to doing things that I would not have done when my children were small. The husband is my #1 brat, and realizes what a push-over I am. The kids know how to manipulate me and make me feel bad—it’s called guilt trip, not that I have anything to feel guilty about until they have found a way to make it happen. This is where God had another plan, he lowers your hormones and gives you the patience of Jobe, so that no matter what happens you either pretend you didn’t hear something, or you say “yes, whatever” or “would you please just go away and leave me to have my nervous breakdown in private.”

The 2-year-old is right, it’s best to pretend you don’t understand what is said and just smile really big!!

When Tinkerbell Takes Over

2010-10-20T06:37:00.000-07:00

Lyssa Bug was playing with the magnets on the fridge and Rissa was watching Tinkerbell when I recognized what sounded like an echo coming from the television. Words repeated from the script of the movie, word for word, but not in perfect voice. I turned to see which child was repeating the lines only to realize that Rissa, with a somewhat limited vocabulary, repeated like a parrot what she was hearing. She did this for over 5-minutes along with the movie.

Is it remarkable? Yes it is, given that a 2-year-old has the attention span of a hyperactive flea. Of course it is, given that most 2-year-olds don’t understand and cannot repeat most words—there is the occasional curse word but those are the reprimand for errant parents—much less recite whole passages of such words. I was amused, in awe, and amazed that the same little tot that couldn’t remember the word for something she wanted so desperately that she would cry, could remember lines from a movie. Granted, we watch the thing every day at least once and sometimes two or three times…but to remember all the character’s lines??

All three of my youngest daughter’s children are smart, happy, funny, and inevitably obnoxious, at times, and yet the baby is topping the list of the under-age over-IQ-ed set. Rissa is an adequate mimic of her older sister; she dances, she sings but most of the time her voice and words are indecipherable from the baby-blurbs…this was not one of those times. I’ve come to realize that at the rate she is progressing, I will be able to let her read the morning news to me in a couple of years.

Lyssa’s new thing yesterday was not quite as amusing. For whatever reason, my husband demanding that they close the door while attending to the calls of nature or just that little privacy issue most humans develop, Lyssa has started closing the door when she visits her toad potty. A closed door and a 4-year-old are frightening enough without the added sound of running water, which thankfully, as it turned out was Lyssa washing her hands. Great habit, but hanging off the cabinet while doing so is not nearly as comforting. Happily, we found a foot stool substitute; the cat’s carpet-covered hiding house. Why not, the cat doesn’t use it; he has the table cloth in the living room under which he hides approximately 5 to 6 hours a day. That would be the time he spends behaving and not scaring the be-Jesus out of Lyssa.

Suffice to say, either Rissa and Lyssa running, jumping, screaming, or fighting will eventually become more than this old heart can handle, or I might live to the ripe old age of “no more babysitting the grands.” If Lyssa did not enjoy playing with the buttons on the phone, I would teach her how to dial 911…the emergency services should thank me for not having done so already.

Lyssa Bug’s Toilet Lesson

2010-10-19T12:15:00.001-07:00

It’s that toilet experience we all dread, especially with small children in the process of learning to wipe properly. Most trainers use half the roll of toilet paper for fear of getting their hands and fingers in exactly the same stuff we fear getting on ourselves; fecal matter to put it nicely. Well, the kicker is that we all know that you cannot flush half a roll of paper down the toilet or it will explode all over the floor. After yesterday’s bathroom experience, Lyssa knows this too…poor little thing.

I knew something was amiss when she yelled, “Neenie, you better come here!”

Yep, I heard those bells and whistle that signal that there is trouble in the offing. Strangely, because we have those water-saving plungers in the tank that measure the amount of liquid that can be released, the toilet had not overflowed. It hadn’t… until I stuck the plunger in the toilet, which was the straw that broke the camel’s back. The water whooshed out over the sides with Lyssa jumping back and yelling, “Neenie, look what you did.” And boy was she right. The floor around the toilet became a pool of murky brown and paper strewn stinky water. Not a pleasant affair, and somewhat surprising to the little girl that hadn’t realized the power of the plunger.

I had that sudden feeling that wells up through the esophagus, which in turn has to be stifled back down to the stomach where it’s not welcomed gracefully. “Lyssa Bug…” I hesitated, “your grandmother has just made one truly grand mess, hasn’t she?” She chuckled.

Mops are a girl’s best friend in such circumstances; so needless to say, the bathroom floor is clean now.

My husband, of course, had suggestions that he felt were valid while dealing with the watery grave of residual ham sandwich lunches, but he has yet to clean up the poopy side of these granddaughters. The half roll had not nearly done the job on Lyssa’s backside, so we had two situations and one grandmother to deal with it. There was no way I was cleaning bowel movement off the living room furniture while waiting for the water to recede in the toilet…my choice was the best choice. The bathroom floor needed mopping anyway…wink, wink.

Fridays are Free-days

2010-10-15T09:24:00.000-07:00

Originally, I kept the girls 5-days a week; however, that situation has changed so that they stay with their dad on Fridays. I still put Jeffrey on the bus and he stays with me in the afternoons until his mom comes for him, otherwise I have the whole day to myself. I call them “Free-days”…

They are also the days of the week when nothing gets done around here. I’m not much of a planner because plans are too easy to make and then not follow through upon. Today has been no different.

I wanted to finish my afghan and there are only 17 or so-more rows to knit…but that can even becomes an optional activity when it’s a free-day.

Spaghetti for Supper:

1-pound ground beef
1-small onion chopped
3 to 4-tablespoons of mixed bell peppers (orange, green or red, and yellow)
1 & 1/2 teaspoons cumin
1 & 1/2 teaspoons paprika
1 & 1/2 teaspoons celantro
2 teaspoons garlic powder
2-cubes chicken bullion
1- small can tomato paste
1-small can tomato sauce
1 (16 oz.) can Diced tomatoes

In large (4-qt) pan, brown ground beef, onion, and peppers. When brown, drain beef mixture, add back to pan and stir in remaining spices, holding back bullion cubes. Mix tomato paste evenly with meat and spice mixture, let cook for 2 to 3 minutes. Add tomato sauce, using empty can add 1-can water. Add diced tomatoes and do the same with that can so that the water equals to the two cans(sauce and diced tomato cans). Add bullion, let cook 30 to 45 minutes on medium high, covered, stirring occasionally.

Other spices that may be added are bay leaves and oregano (1 &1/2 teaspoons ea.).

Peace and Quiet: It’s temporary

2010-10-14T07:25:00.000-07:00

The mother, or in my case the grandmother, of a toddler can tell you what peace and quiet is; it’s that portion of the day when you know the little ones are tucked safely and sleeping soundly in their beds. In my house, it’s the couch and the play pen, but same difference. All toddlers sleep the same no matter what part of the world they inhabit; they’re laid out like they just received a punch from a welter-weight and have fallen backward. Sometimes they snore and some even carry on whole conversation with whatever inhabits their dream state.

They do dream, because they experience the under the eyelid rapid movements that are known to be REM sleep. But, and this has always puzzled me, how does a child without words, or with limited words, dream? Baby blurbs are fascinating to the adults around a toddler, but do babies hear adult blurbs? Do they hear noises that to their mind indicate speech, or do they hear the fully formed words that would sound like the foreign language we, as adults, hear when they speak? It’s fascinating to think about and until someone figures out how to hook thoughts to computers, we can only surmise what happens when they dream.

Shortly, we will go from the “still of the evening” to “wake up sleepy jean” and cartoons, but for now, it’s quiet. The only noises I’ve heard since 7:05 a.m. were the cat batting around an ornamental apple and the keys of my computer being used. The refrigerator humming in the background is only broken by the high-pitched electrical noise in my ears…maybe that’s the trash truck or a large farm tractor outside; however, they’re tiny noises compared to the squeaky 4-year-old that talks incessantly about the world around her, or the more boisterous voice of the 2-year-old as she demands the world bend to her will. Actually, sometimes, those are the only voices of sanity in a world moving faster than these two little girls are growing.

What is Fingawich?

2010-10-13T07:19:00.001-07:00

What is fingawich…I have no idea. It’s not a finger, as was my first suspicion, and it’s not a sandwich, so I’m lost. The best guess is that it has something to do with shoes, don’t ask me how? If it exists in the English language, it will be listed under “baby-blurb” indicating it is a thing that they want but don’t know how to ask for, and you’re not going to understand it anyway.

Rissa has been up since her brother got on the bus and she is in the process of making sure that Lyssa is awake, as I type this. Fingawich was not the first misunderstood word this morning, but the other one was so garbled that it is with a fair amount of certainty that I can attest that it was not a real word either. Whatever it was milk solved the need. Well, that and Chugginton.

For the moment, all is quiet, but that will last maybe another 15-minutes when Lyssa is fully awake and realizes that she wants her milk and breakfast. They’re watching Special Agent Oso. He looks like a panda bear, for those that have not experienced Disney’s Oso, and he helps children do things. There’s a good idea; give kids the impression that a stuff teddy bear has all the answers.

If I wanted to make them scream, cry, and run in circles, I could find an episode of Sponge Bob Square Pants. No, that’s not my usual rant against Sponge Bob, it’s a fact. Lyssa comes unglued when the Sponge Bob theme song starts playing. It’s not the character, himself, it’s that one episode when he got a splinter in his thumb and pulled his body off that caused Lyssa to dislike the cartoon so much. Now, she screams every time the cartoon comes on.

Rissa doesn’t care what she’s watching as long as it’s Tinkerbell or Disney. They’re not watching the television now anyway; they’re in the kitchen playing with the fridge magnets their mom got them. It’s a set that Wendy bought through the school “sell-a-thon” and there’s half a million pieces to it. I’m waiting for the fridge to topple from the weight but in the meantime, they’re happy and not fighting.

I’m thinking of making a Baby-Blurb dictionary, however, it would be a rather small volume since no one except another baby ever understands what they mean…it would be “words” without definitions that, at some point in time, we may have all uttered or not.

Self-Expression: What do you mean this hat doesn’t go with my dress?

2010-10-12T07:14:00.000-07:00

Rissa is sort of the toddler-equivalent of Lady Gaga; she has no fashion sense and is apt to dress herself in the most outrageous combination of clothing known to baby-hood. A diaper, no shirt, and size 6 &1/2 adult tinny runners are the perfect outfit for a day in front of the television set. Sweats, her brother’s jacket, and Neenie’s watch are another preferred outfit in her fashion world. But the couture de jour is a ski hat capping off the velveteen dress and iron-man sliders. She’s the cat’s meow in her favorite combination and no amount of coaxing from an adult would change her mind or her clothing.

While Lyssa tends to be more predictable, Rissa is flexible. Rissa’s waking moments are the only predictable portion of her day… like her Pawpaw she awakens in a “mood.” She’s fussy, to put it nicely, and calms only when the television is turned on, the sippy cup is full, and her favorite cereal is bagged and at hand for her pleasure. This morning was no exception as she clung to my leg making disgruntled noises and wanting something that in baby language meant something, but in big people talk has no decipherable equivalent.

She will eat almost anything a first time if you sell it to her right, “Num, num, it’s so good Rissa. You’re going to love this…” and for a few seconds it works. She liked bananas on Friday, but not on Monday. She loves pop tarts; just don’t expect that to be her choice when it’s all you have. She despises Apple Jacks, no arguing or coaxing; the flying baggie will hit the floor faster than Speedy Gonzales can run. She loves, loves, loves milk and there is no substitution.

Lyssa is not flexible, she despises dry cereal, won’t eat pop tarts unless it’s all there is and then she eats them under protest. She prefers scrambled eggs and biscuits, don’t we all? She drinks milk but will drink almost anything that can be enhanced by sugar especially Dr. Peppers, which are limited to her because she doesn’t need the caffeine and the walls aren’t made of rubber. Her mornings start very pleasantly with a “good morning Neenie” and “where’s my sippy cup?” She is pleasantly predictable and it makes caring for her much easier.

Lyssa is more of the Paris Hilton of the toddler-crowd, she’s a princess. Pink is her favorite color. Ruffles, lace, and a flowing skirt her preferred stock clothing item, and her hair…well, she does like to comb it but it suffers from the little girl cow-lick. She doesn’t have to have shoes but if they are required, she prefers they are dress-appropriate.

They’re both dancers with favorite daytime viewing that is reminiscent of Mickey Mousketeers; corny songs that only a child could love and dancing that requires much booty shaking and jumping. Our mornings are never dull and by mid-afternoon what started out as a din of noise has become a wild roar of singing, fussing, jumping, running, falling, and screeching shouting matches between two little girls that could not be more different if they had been born countries and worlds apart.

Welcome to my world, Xanax is required!

Rissa Rou Finds the Terrible Twos

2010-10-11T12:28:00.001-07:00

We had to take some time off because the baby was going through stages of development and changing so fast that we were running to catch up, but now…we hit the terrible twos. That’s a full-stop with a 90-degree turn in the wrong direction. Marissa (better known to one and all as Rissa Rou) has discovered two words that she likes particularly well. One is the word “no,” and it covers everything from “no, I don’t like that” to “No, you can’t tell me that.” The other word is “want” and she has a pot full of wants every day. She “wants” Tinkerbell, “wants” cookies, “wants” whatever her sister has, and she also knows “want” covers the other end of the spectrum, “No, I won’t!” She doesn’t know they’re spelled differently and for all intents and purposes mean two different things, but she either “wants” or “won’t” do most things all day long.

Alyssa (known to all as Lyssa Lou) has calmed down since her brother went back to school and it could be said she has become a tad “whiney” but it’s merited most days. It’s difficult to be happy and playful when your baby sister spends a good portion of the day trying to find out what hurts the most and uses you as her target for pain. Last week Rissa wanted to know how it felt to get hit over the head with a Dr. Seuss book—never let anyone tell you that one of these books won’t hurt your child. Lyssa ended up in tears before I could get the book away from her sister. The list of things that can and will be used as a weapon, grows daily, and is put away quickly to avoid injury to the older child.

Lyssa Lou has also learned that the potty is how a princess keeps her clothes dry…yea! We’ve finally achieved potty training 101, thank God. She’s also discovered that #2 can be quite messy while wiping, if you don’t get the toilet paper “just right.” Needless to say, on these occasions, the only answer is “bend over and touch your toes.” I won’t go into the list of places that #2 might end up when the toilet paper gets away from her, but it’s a 30-minute clean up as you calm her down and reassure her that it happens to everyone. The only thing messier is Rissa feeding herself…okay, that’s a picture that speaks volumes about the “whys” that led to eating utensils.

The most important thing is that they are growing and healthy, and most of the time happy. While I, on the other hand, have aged grievously through the training, the walking, running, and learning words—some of which should not be spoken by a child of 2-years of age.

Poops the Word: What did she eat?

2010-04-20T07:53:00.001-07:00

The baby was, in a word, reeking of stench when I went to get her out of the play pen this morning. She smelled like the air over our septic tank on a hot summer day. Alyssa was clenching her nose the smell was so bad, and I was wiping the baby’s backside with tears in my eyes. I don’t know what that child ate for supper, but it’s certain that the Food Detectives missed something. ‘Whew,’ that’s about all anyone can think after changing such a nasty diaper.

Alyssa is drawing instructions, again this morning. The baby is drinking from a regulation sippy cup because the dishes did not get washed last night. They made it to the dishwasher, but it’s not full so we’re in the “wait” cycle until this evening’s supper has been consumed. In fact, “the wait cycle” pretty well describes the whole house this week. We have flower beds that need weeding—okay some of it just needs a hoeing to clean them properly—a cat box that’s broken, enough dust to cover the Sahara, and the only thing that is “caught up” is the laundry. A new clothes washer keeps things moving smoothly, though it’s about 6-months old now.

It has not been an uneventful week, because Wendy—the children’s mom—went to ER yesterday morning. Turns out that a sinus infection can almost kill you due to medications that disagree with your system; she had a reaction to Prednisone—a steroid. My husband is walking around with knee braces because he twisted both knees, and my oldest daughter is waiting to see what’s wrong with her remaining kidney. The baby is on antibiotics and it’s crossed my mind that it would not be unwarranted for Alyssa, Jeffrey, and I to wear crosses to ward off evil spirits. Of course, when you’re Jeffrey’s age and non-too-pleased with the interruption of school in your young life, you might wish to get some sickness that would cause you to stay home from classes.

Um, well…Alyssa is acting like a “bonafide” 3-year-old and has taken it upon herself to get cookies. Whoopee, the day has begun.

April 14th : A date forgotten

2010-04-14T20:37:00.000-07:00

When my daughter arrived to pick up the kids today, we were sitting in my bedroom talking about the nightmares that I had…strangely enough; I rarely have nightmares unless I have fever. It’s possible that I do, but the strangest thing is that I hadn’t looked at the date, which happened to be the 14th of April. The day my second husband died. It’s a weird quirk of the human mind that we have a subliminal side that acts unbidden.

Wendy is my “straight to the point, level-headed, sarcastic little image of me,” while her sister is more the “drama queen, sort of flighty at times, and more rooted in make-up than reality.” The girls make an equitable pair, and then there is my third daughter that is somewhat like each of the other girls. All of the girls are very responsible, very caring, and mostly sweet-natured…oh they have tempers, but they’re female. Wendy has the 3-children that I watch daily, Tristan has 2-boys and her boyfriend (that never sounds right to say about a grown man) has a son and a daughter, and Becky has 1-girl. It would be senseless to debate with me that my grandchildren are the most beautiful children in the world. I’m their grandmother and it goes without saying.

There are 8-grandchildren between my husband and I, and none is identical in appearance and certainly not in temperament. Marissa is the youngest but she doesn’t think that makes much difference. Marissa mimics everything that the older children or adults do and say, to include snapping her fingers; something that her brother and sister have not mastered, as yet. Robert, their dad, is a firm/strict disciplinarian and when he demands they pay attention, he snaps his fingers at them. Marissa has picked up on this and often does it as a way to stress her spoken points (although we do not always know what she’s saying, we are very much aware it is important). I get tickled at Wendy because Marissa will snap her fingers, and her mom will tell her not to snap at her. It’s all very innocent, but adorable coming from a little person barely tall enough to see over the foot of our bed. I’m thoroughly enjoying Marissa because I feel that she will be the baby until our grandchildren have grandchildren. Not sure I will be around then, but I’d love to see them. Billy did not live to see Alyssa, Marissa, or Peyton, but I’m sure he would have found them to be delightful little beings.

Nightmares and Neenie: Bad combination

2010-04-14T12:12:00.000-07:00

My second husband plagues my sleep, often, probably because he died of cancer in 2006 and I guess parts of my mind have still not accepted it. Last night, when I finally got to sleep, he was in my dream/nightmare chasing me around trying to make me understand that I belonged to him. I kept trying to tell him that I was married to someone else and he had to go away…at some point, during this nightmare, my husband rescued me and was taking me home when somehow we ended up in a house with endless amounts of doors and rooms and poor little puppies dying, everywhere I turned I saw puppies dying of poisoning. How one thing led to another I don’t know, because my second husband died of cancer and the only puppies that we had that were poisoned were poisoned by a neighbor, years ago. The neighbor, unfortunately, got away with it and it killed two of the dogs, the third would not drink from anything plastic afterwards. Strange that you make connections from one traumatic event to another in your sleep, but it happens. The problem is that I did not sleep well, at all.

So the kids are being careful what they say and do today…I’m a bit short tempered, and prone to yell when I haven’t had enough sleep. As a result; however, Alyssa has learned a new phrase today, “It needs fine tuning.” She doesn’t know what it means, but she has heard it several times while bringing her drawings to me. She is drawing “instructions” for something, not sure what but they’re circles of different colors.

The baby, who apparently didn’t sleep well last night either, is taking a nap and whoever the dolt was that changed up the cartoon schedules has yet to refine them back to the original line up. Ben 10, Spiderman, and Super Hero Squad, are sorely missing from the lineup; making for a most uncomfortable combination for the children. Even a 7-year-old gets ticked when the cartoons he likes to watch are missing…argg…what is up with television today? I had moments an hours of Huckleberry Hound, Magilla Gorilla, and Woody Woodpecker, anytime I wanted as long as it was on Saturday morning…lol

Ah, the age of electronics!

Jeffrey and the Booboo Factory: Shiners are us

2010-04-12T07:58:00.001-07:00

My poor grandchildren have inherited my inability to watch where they are going. Yesterday, while attending his cousin’s birthday party, Jeffrey walked into a guitar. When he told me this morning I was like, “o…kay.” My mind suddenly rushed to one thought that has puzzled me for decade, ‘why don’t we see things before we hit them?’

In my case, my eyes are straight in front of me and not looking down, thus I trip over everything, bang my toes into furniture and electronic devices meant to help around the house, and over the stupid speed bumps in parking lots. I’m the person that may be seen looking around to see if anyone else noticed that I just tripped over a fleck of dust. And now, for reasons unknown to me, my grandchildren through genetic-mishap, too much time spent in my care, or just dumb luck, have inherited my clumsiness. Jeffrey has a shiner, the poor little guy. Week before last, it was a suction incident, this week a guitar…maybe he will make it through next week without any damage, though I rarely go a whole week without bruising or mangling some portion of my body.

Alyssa has hit full-complaint mode, because some idiots that own, run, or whatever cartoon stations, have changed up the line-up and she is not getting her fair viewing-time worth of Kai Lan. Try to explain to a child her age that you have no control over what they air on cartoon stations, please try to explain. She’s not listening, no-way and no-how, because she believes that grandmothers can make anything possible. I can scramble an egg, change a diaper, make bread into toast, fix Ramen Soup, and manage to find the proper remoter for the operation needed to be done, but I cannot make cartoons appear when they are not listed. That said, even when some cartoons are listed, they are not properly listed and then she gets mad at me because the one she wanted to see is not airing at the moment. To whit, I say, “Cartoon schedulers get your schnapps together and quit torturing me.”

Marissa is in little piggy Heaven, this morning, in view of the fact that that old woman she only knows as Neenie has the right kind of cereal again. God knows what that baby thinks of all the people around her. She’s the sweetest natured little thing I’ve ever seen, and so extremely smart for all of her 19-months, but she does look at me ever-so-often as if to ask, “Woman, are you daft?”

All is good, and now, it’s time for a movie…let’s see Tinkerbelle again…no, please no….

Are you sleeping brother John: Alyssa can sing bi-lingual

2010-04-09T07:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was one of those days when you think the day will never end, and when it does you’re too tense and too tired to go to sleep. Since my dad died, I’ve had trouble sleeping; thoughts rambling around, things that he would like for us to do for him, etc. However, that was made more difficult when my head hit the pillow because I was worn out. Some of it had to do with Alyssa, but those are only aggravating and never maddening, and rarely lead to a lack of sleep.

Alyssa and Marissa awakened around 8 a.m., both in fairly good moods, and both hungry, thirsty and neither willing to wait as the other’s whims were satisfied. Marissa gets milk, Alyssa kool-aid, and they both share the cereal that is on the baby’s jumper, dry, we don’t do wet cereal unless it’s oatmeal. They settled into their regular routine watching Diego, Dora, and then Max and Ruby…by this time the baby was sleepy and I put her down for her nap. In the distance Marissa sat talking to her babies, Alyssa was singing with Dora, and suddenly, for no apparent reason, she began singing, “Are you sleeping, are you sleeping, brother John, brother John, morning bells are ringing, morning bells are ringing, ding, ding, dong,” and some form of the following, “Sont vous dormant, sont vous dormant, John de frère, John de frère, les cloches de matin sonnent, les cloches de matin sonnent, ding, ding, le dông.” The latter is the French version of the same song…I know because I had to look it up and have freetranslation.com do the work for me. It is not; however, the exact wording as we were taught the Cajun-French version of the song and there are distinct differences. You get the gist though, Alyssa is also singing in a fourth language that resembles something we were taught. It’s doubtful that she will learn very much French, because; 1) I cannot write what I know of the Cajun-French, and 2 ) I’m limited too “sit down and shut up,” “pardon me”, and “Holy Sh*?” and the one song. Very limited indeed, just enough to make me realize I could not even order a hamburger on the streets of Paris.

At any rate, when the singing stopped, the baby was done playing with her babies and had decided against a nap. We put Tinkerbelle in the DVD player, cut up some hot dogs (never give a baby a whole hot dog unless you enjoy cleaning up pink regurgitated goo), and had settled in when the baby started throwing a fit. She had finished her hot dog and wanted a drink. The afternoon went pretty much like that for several hours, the baby wanting to take a nap, Alyssa singing and the baby changing her mind hearing her sister sing. Finally, around 2 p.m. the baby went to sleep, so grumpy by this time that she was no longer in a good mood and had begun to whine--a trick she has learned from her sister.

My husband, being the sensitive and sweet man that he is, suggested he would bring home pizza and by the time he and the pizza arrived and Robert picked up the kids, my mind was exhausted. I sat down at the computer daring it to give me a problem. “Not to day, you really don’t want to go there today.” We should be allotted social security numbers because an old computer will test you, and a new computer will confound you, a similarity it bares with dependent children and grandchildren.

Peace and Quiet: Nighttime relief

2010-04-07T19:46:00.001-07:00

It’s quiet, the grandchildren left around 5 this evening and my husband is bowling. It’s during this time that I find my true voice, unhampered by worries of taking care of the little guys. No matter how many children you have cared for or raised, you worry constantly when little ones are in your charge. There are so many things that can happen that adults have no, or little control over, and it causes stiff muscles, headaches, stomachaches…and neurotic nightmares. Now, in the quiet that has consumed my home, I can hear the cat snore, the voices on the television, and the peace that I find each night as the calm washes over me.

In my twenties, I don’t remember having these fears; that’s the reason that God gives children to younger adults with nerves of steel. It’s so easy to love and fear for your grandchildren, all in the same moment. The fears that all the things we had/have will not be available for our grandchildren, the fear that some stranger might grab one or another of them, the fear that things have become so violent that our grandchildren will never again know the freedom that we felt as children.

When my children were young, it was still possible for them to “Trick or Treat” around the neighborhood; that’s gone now. Spiderman, Batman, and G. I. Joe, were just cartoons that carried no particular message. Sesame Street was there favorite, and their favorite character on the show was Mr. Snuffleluffgus; don’t even know if he is still on the show? There were no political or sexual undertones, and the kids grew up fairly unbiased about most things pertaining to social acceptance and interaction. Now, God help us, I don’t know where the world is headed and I worry about those things for my children and grandchildren.

I’m spending my days in intense worry for the little ones, and my nights in a very complacent mood. Does that make me bi-polar? I’m laughing now because that is a joke, it makes me human and serves as a reminder that my daughters are extremely brave young women. They’re great ladies and my hat is off to them for having the courage to give me the most beautiful, intelligent, and charming grandchildren that any grandmother would love to have. No, I’m not biased, I’m a grandmother!

Animal Crackers: Doggie biscuits for children

2010-04-07T06:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was one of the longest days of my life because it is possible for 3-year-old female children to have PMS. PMS by another name is “Putting up with Me Schnapps” or it’s equivalent. Apparently Alyssa found it difficult to do anything that did not require whining, yelling, or wetting her pants…pretty accurately describes the adult female with PMS, doesn’t it?

When Alyssa is unhappy, it does not necessarily follow that her younger sister will be unhappy, but it is very likely that she will. Jeffrey left with a scowl, because he obviously told me that he loved me under his breath, and my lack of hearing coupled with Alyssa’s mood was enough to make me repeat that I loved him, to which…he gave a dismissive wave of the hand, and repeated, “I already told you that I love you.” I could have sworn that he mumbled something similar too “is she stupid or what” as he walked down the sidewalk.

Alyssa had had as much sleep as I had, and our attitudes were running a ragged edge that leads to silly, childish statements like, “don’t look at me, and really don’t talk to me.” Of course, as a grandmother I’m entitled to have an off day. The baby though was in a “hold me, I’m ticked off” mood and she didn’t take a long nap, which tends to upset the cat because that puts her in the living room--his play area. However, she felt like cuddling her babies and spent a bit of the day in her play pen babbling to the stuffed toys.

When my mother-in-law called last night, she asked about the cat and what he was doing. He was asleep because he had a good deal of time during the day to terrorize Alyssa and had worn himself out from his mission. What I need is a trick for the cat such as the one that I use for Marissa and Jeffrey, something similar to animal crackers that have the same effect on cats. When I give these two children animal crackers they are quiet and content until the crackers run out…unfortunately, Alyssa is more like Max, there are days when nothing makes her happy. Put a big red “X” on April 6th and remember it, because I plan to miss that date next year and have 2/5ths (I‘m not saying it will be Jack Daniels, but you get the idea), and wait patiently for the 7th.

Mondays and Rainy Days: Silver linings

2010-04-05T09:41:00.001-07:00

My mother-in-law, God bless her, sent home a Tinkerbelle party set for Alyssa. Great-grandmothers have excellent memories and she knew that Alyssa loves Tinkerbelle, so now…actually, for almost an hour, Alyssa has been playing with the party set. Someone, in their right mind, made the confetti that goes with the set out of thin cardboard and made the pieces much larger than the twinkling glitter that gets all over the furniture, in the kids hair, and is ill-disposed to clean up easily. So, thank you Shirley! The gift was perfect.

Not that we need any more rain, but it’s overcast and the Cannes that we wanted to clear away so that new growth could bloom are still dead fall. That was supposed to be Sunday’s project, but it’s been overcast since early Sunday morning.

Jeffrey was disappointed to find out he would have to go to school this morning. He really has little concept of the adult’s arrangement for holidays and expected Easter to last much longer than the 3 days that are the accepted tradition. He moped around and tried to go back to sleep, but in the end--as most children will--he gave in, in time to meet the bus.

Marissa, though she would much rather play with sister’s new stuff, is quietly playing with the barking puppy and talking Sylvester cat. Her interest in the animal cookies and Team Umizumi ran out about the same time, and she was restless…wanting her babies--1 stuffed rabbit, 1-stuffed bear, 1-small barking puppy, 1-talking Sylvester, and 2-Hulk gloves. She likes to put the gloves on and then cuddle her other toys in them. It’s cute.

The silver lining to this overcast day is that all is quiet, for the moment; however, children just like Texas weather, are subject to change on a moment’s notice.

What is a Butt-Monkey: Does Webster’s define that

2010-04-02T08:56:00.001-07:00

This morning as I sat at my computer, hammering away at the keys and trying to concentrate on the task at hand, my Lyssa Bug came to my side complaining that her brother had called her a “butt-monkey.” Okay, I give, what is that? I got tickled, as anyone would under the given set of circumstances and peering into the face of a child that looks like an angel, done wrong. Through giggles and snorts, she was told that she was no such thing and I called her brother to admonish him for having hurt her feelings. The whole task was impossible, since I was having difficulty stifling laughs.

Naturally, he denied calling her a “butt-monkey” and insisted that he called her a “monkey.” Yea, and my uncle wears stilletos…not to be bothered by the fact that the only remaining uncle I have is well on his way to obese and could not see his toes. Some facts are better left unexplained. Jeffrey was told--my hand was covering my mouth at this point--to go back and watch cartoons without anymore name-calling episodes.

Lyssa Bug is asleep now, Jeffrey is drawing pictures for me, and the baby…well, she is in her jumper, repeating words that I’m equally well assured do not exist in the pages of Webster’s Dictionary. For all I know, she may be calling me a “butt-monkey.” Whatever that is, it does evoke visions that no adult should have and is a disturbing turn of phrase. However, when it comes out of the mouth of a 3 and a half-year-old, it’s just funny, too funny!!

Back Pain: A pillow solves everything

2010-04-01T08:08:00.000-07:00

Wednesday morning was a horrible wake up call for the aging clumsy fool that walks into a high-boy dresser and jerks her shoulder muscle “so-hard” that it causes spasms; I was in pain. When you roll off the bed because you cannot push yourself up using both arms, you know it’s bad, and sure enough it was bad. I stumbled around for a while thinking the pain would subside and my shoulder would be “good as new/old” in a bit…that didn’t happen.

You have to understand that my husband will never be accused of killing me, because my children are very much aware that I am the most dangerous thing in my house; often walking into, falling over, or falling into things. Black and blue are normal descriptions of the phases that body goes through each day, week, month, but hopefully not extending to a year. The wonder is that I haven’t managed to kill myself yet; but the day is always young and opportunities are available. Gary and I often tell one another, “Take care my baby,” and he utters these words tentatively knowing that I need a full-6 inches of padding and a lot of luck to avoid mangling myself before he returns home.

So yesterday morning I sat down to watch cartoons with the girls because the only comfortable position that could be found was in the recliner. My little ‘Lyssa bug brought me a pillow and insisted that it would help. She was adorable as she patted my leg and asked, “Neenie, what’s wrong?” The obvious answer was to explain to her that her grandmother lacked the brains God promised a Billy-goat, but she would not have understood that analogy. I explained that my back hurt and she continued insisting that a pillow would help…I’m guessing that is what her mom uses when she hurts her back. She is, after all, my child and Wendy does have back problems.

We were all watching cartoons when Kai Lan came on and Alyssa got excited, knocking her chair over and hitting her head on the table next to the couch. Did I mention that my granddaughters don’t look like me, but they are awfully clumsy? She survived, my husband made it home from Austin and put some muscle rub on my back and this morning, well, we have a whole new day to injure our bodies…let’s hope for the best.

2010-03-30T05:05:00.000-07:00

Alyssa was happy to see me Monday morning, and it’s probably because she is 3 and a half-years-old and can wear on the nerves of any human, given enough time with them. She’s really a good little girl, for her age, but she discovered the terrible 2s, just a few months ago, and has been determined to make up for lost time ever since.

Wendy--her mother--discovered, as have I, that most of what she says that you cannot understand is because she is saying words in Spanish and Chinese, and they have no resemblance to the English language. Alyssa is amongst a group of young children that are becoming bi-lingual by choice…amazing, our government could only wish that it would happen so easily with the adults. What is even more amazing is her attention span and learning ability, as she watches the cartoons that are teaching her a multitude of ideas and languages. Fortunately, at present, the cartoons that she watches are not riddle with an underlying current of political aberrations. She is just learning to identify things, and understand the basics of decent human behavior. Would that Hollywood could get that through their thick-skulled bejeweled ideology...but that’s another kettle of fish, isn’t it?

Marissa has her favorite cartoons, as well. She loves Go Diego Go, and has the cutest way of saying it. She says in her baby voice, “Go Dego..” and it’s done with enthusiasm. Her mom couldn’t understand the way that she had begun to attempt jumping, and to be honest, neither could I. We were watching Ni Hao Kai Lan, week before last, when it hit me why she jumps like she does. She’s imitating Kai Lan’s jump. It’s cute.

Jeffrey has a new “boo-boo” from sucking on a plastic egg. He had it in his mouth and sucked the air out of it until it sucked up neatly to his lower lip, leaving red rings around his mouth. It’s kind of funny, but at his age any distinguishing marks can become a thing to cause taunts…bless his little heart.

Well it’s off to meet the bus, and get a nap before the girls are awake again…

Tendonitis: A family affliction

2010-03-24T08:24:00.000-07:00

Tuesday morning Wendy called to tell me that she had to go to the doctor and would be keeping the kids with her, so I messed around yesterday…vacuum the floor, made supper, etc. Around 3 p.m. Wendy called again, “Thanks Mom,” were the words I heard when answering the phone. “For what?” I asked.

Let me set the record straight here; I inherited the genes that cause tendonitis so it’s unlikely that I could take full responsibility for any genes passed down the pike. Wendy found out that what is wrong with her wrist is the same affliction that has existed in my shoulder for more than 20-years. When I had to get dentures, it was due to another genetic quirk, and my kidneys suffered the same fatal flaws from yet another genetic quirk, so genetically speaking, and lacking any familial inbreeding, we just got a set of those genes that tends to allow it’s inheritors to have a good many afflictions. Personally, considering what many families have that they pass from generation to generation, we should feel rather lucky.

So it’s Wednesday and I won’t be watching the kids this week, because the doctor recommended that Wendy stay home from work the next 3-days. After years of tendonitis, I no longer go to the doctor when mine flares up. You can get used to so many things, that the body sometimes wonders if you’re even aware it needs attention. Aside from leaky bladder, COPD, Epileptic seizures, dentures, kidneys that sometimes work properly, I’m in great shape…lol. I’m an insurers nightmare…lol

Seriously though, I’m grateful to have the genetic flaws that come from our inherited genes, because there is no heart condition, diabetes, neurological disorders (except the Epilepsy), and the like. Any morning you can awaken to discover that your brain is awake but your legs haven’t gotten the message, and even if you fall flat of your face, be very grateful for what you have. It could be much, much worse.

Monday: Full of schnapps

2010-03-23T07:01:00.000-07:00

For reasons that most grandparents would understand, I do not use my favorite explicative in front of my 3-year-old granddaughter. Instead, I tell her that she is “full of schnapps.” Alyssa’s grasp of the English language is growing, but it falls short of what some words mean and she probably thinks that I’m telling her that she is funny, which, coincidentally, she is. She’s hilarious from her explanations of why her brother’s shirt sleeves are too long on her, to her protestations over the frog potty. There are times when it’s clear that she is almost too cute to get in trouble, but at those times I take a deep breath, chastise her, and then turn away so that she cannot see me laughing about whatever has taken place between us.

As cute as Alyssa can be, her older brother and his 7-year-old’s logic just floors me. The snow, this weekend, had the added effect of keeping my husband off the job because everything at the plant was either covered in snow or still soaking from the powder that fell on it. Sooo, when Jeffrey got in from school yesterday he asked if he could have a Dr. Pepper (yes, we’re grandparents, we can spoil them). My husband jokingly told him that he didn’t want Dr. Pepper because it would run out the hole left from his front baby tooth. Jeffrey got wide-eyed, and a subtle twinkle could be seen, as he retorted, “Pawpaw, it won’t run out my tooth.” Naturally, I could not help myself and asked, “But how do you know it won’t run out the hole?” He answered, “Because my brain watches it.”

We actually had not realized that Jeffrey was becoming aware that the human body has hidden parts. Adults are aware that children know they have noses, eyes, ears, arms, and legs, but its a bit of a revelation that they sense there is a governing aspect known as a brain.

We also discovered something else yesterday, our cell phone can talk to our home line. The oldest daughter called on the home line and was going on about not understanding her computer and that she needed to talk to her baby sister about helping her learn how to do things on it, when her baby sister called on the cell phone. Both phones have the advantage of speaker phone, so we turned on the speaker on the cell phone and sat laughingly amused at the phones talking to one another. Finally, due to frustration of not getting her sister to shut up, the baby sister hung up on the cell and called her sister on her phone. Then they called us, because Wendy is the only one that knows how to do 3-way calling…it’s a family disability towards cell phone use. It got all-the-more funny when my husband called the middle daughter and the phones began speaking to one another again.

What can I say; sometimes adults get bored and it takes little to amuse us.

Ah, Saturdays: Nope, no empty nest syndrome here

2010-03-20T08:30:00.001-07:00

Woohoo, it’s raining and cold but so very, very quiet this morning. After a half pot of coffee, and Island paradise--my little Facebook fetish--it seemed appropriate to blog about the realities; 1: empty nest syndrome is underrated, it should get a full 10-stars from those of us who enjoy it, and 2: there is a time to shop and a time to “not” shop. I’m waiting out the rain so that the trip to the grocery won’t end with my hair in it’s favorite “Borneo” style, and 12-bags of wet, soaking groceries. The 12-count is me being optimistic.

The rain put a damper on my spirits but I’ll get over it and staying up until 2 this morning probably didn’t help either--my eyes are a bit foggy. Don’t ask what JavaScript and a healthy dose of coffee has to do with a 53-year-old woman not sleeping, it’s not worth it. It’s probably because I got the books on Thursday but couldn’t understand what I was reading until the house got quiet last night. I did attempt to read one of the books, but Alyssa and her little “I can help you read” thing got the better of me and took over any possibility that more than two words would soak into my thick skull.

It was a long week and the thought of summer coming up is now more frightening than ever. Jeffrey is a little doll. He’s quiet, well-mannered, a tad of a pest, but give him cartoons, dry cereal, and the occasional drink, and he’s perfect. However, all that becomes “null and void” the moment he and his 3-year-old sister are in the same house for more than a half hour. She’s an instigator although she is very easy on the nerves when it’s just she and her sister, and no one to share the television with or make alternate cartoon choices. Her main dig is getting back at her brother by feigning an injury that she will say he caused. The fact that she is more dangerous to herself than anyone else has the potential for, should not escape the astute grandmother’s mental capacity. It’s one of those, “Yea right, go play.” I ended up telling them yesterday that if they were going to kill each other, to please do it quietly because my nerves were shot.

So, here I am on Saturday morning wondering if anyone truly suffers from “Empty Nest Syndrome?” ENS might cause some to act in irrational ways, but it’s certain that it is the freedom aspect and not the doom and despair that are causing middle-aged people to hang from the rafters, jump on beds, and declare the weekday to be “just one more reason to sleep late, put off doing the laundry, let the dishes stack up in the dishwasher (that one is legitimate due to lack of dishes to fill the thing), return calls from promotion companies, answer pollsters, and aggravate plumbers.”

Calm Down: Is it really possible

2010-03-19T10:32:00.000-07:00

“Calm down,” the two words that I have repeated time-and-again this morning seem to have little if any effect on the children they are uttered towards. Alyssa would not know how to “calm down” if her life depended upon, and Jeffrey…hm, thinking he is suffering “freedom-itus”--a little diagnosed but well-known disease, found frequently in school-aged children during the summer months. Marissa is just going with the flow, after all why should she abide by the rules of conduct when her elder examples will not?

It’s unclear how parents that believe in “time-out” retain their sanity as small children are unlikely to sit quietly in a corner without further threats of bodily harm. Counting to 1 backward from 10 has never worked to calm down an adult, but it is certain to give notice to a child that the person “in-charge” is about to lose it. I tried counting backward once, got to 8 and screamed.

There is one time that adults can count on children calming down, and it’s now as they sit eating their lunch. Although that could be a premature judgment call on my part, because volcanoes erupt without warning and small children don’t always sit quietly with their mouths full. Take Alyssa, please…um, totally different thought, but she never stays completely still even when her eyes are closed. That’s why she was such a bargain, she was born with a broken “still” button, and Marissa can and does scream in her sleep. Nightmares maybe, or just practice for hours when those beautiful little eyes are open.

When asked to define my disciplinary skills, one word comes to mind “yelling.” I yell because spankings were never my forte, and of course people my age have since been told that “spankings damaged our psyche.” That came as an odd revelation to me, I always thought that dad was spanking my behind and the damage came in the form of not being able to sit down for a few minutes…but that is off-course, isn’t it? Anyway, my skills as a parent are par for the days, in which, we raised our children. I’m lenient when others say I shouldn’t be, I yell rather than swat behinds, and the only thing that has been a certainty in all the years that small children have stayed/lived with me is that they will always survive and that I might not.

The gray matter in my brain has hit the mush stage and the children are up and running, once again, so it’s time to get back to real life.

Spring Break: Is it clear to 7-year-old males

2010-03-17T09:35:00.000-07:00

Males are born with the sickness gene, not the one that determines if they will get sick or not, but the one that tells them “if” they get sick to milk it for all it’s worth. To the point, my grandson awakened with an ear ache (that was legitimate) and then began to complain that his stomach hurt--there were suspicions about the stomach pains.

We doctored the ear with those drops that “once” they’re in the bottle won’t come out, but we managed to squeeze the 4 drops in and all was well for 2 seconds. Then he began to moan about his stomach, at which point I suggested he get very still and watch cartoons. He lay still for a few minutes and then sat up, “Neenie, you think with my stomach hurting I probably shouldn’t oughta go to school?”

“Ha, you don’t have to go to school…you don‘t have to go back to school until next Monday” and the mysterious stomachache disappeared as soon as it had come on. It became apparent that children don’t understand the concept of spring break and have no idea that a week is 7-days.

That was yesterday. This morning there were no ear aches, no stomachache, only the complaints that he was not about to watch Dora…okay, I can go with that one, but his sister was not about to miss Dora either. In fact, I’m not sure why the television is on because neither “rug rat” is watching it and there’s a cartoon on the thing that I haven’t seen before, soooooo???

And then we come to Marissa whose particular complaint this morning was “Da boo ga …” I don’t know what she wanted, but she is playing with her babies in the play pen, so all is well.

Spring Vacation: One more to drink, eat, and be unhappy

2010-03-15T06:09:00.000-07:00

Yes it is ladies and gentlemen, its that time of year when college sophomores wind up on a beach down south vowing they will never drink again; its Spring Vacation. Hm, strangely enough there is one more in the house this morning to get milk, breakfast, and cartoons that will inevitably lead to a fight later in the day. Jeffrey is in little “piggy” heaven this morning as he sits intently staring at Lilo and Stitch with his 3-year-old sister. Both, at the moment, are happy with my choice of cartoon because the alternative is a lame, poorly illustrated cartoon; My Life as a Teenage Robot--probably intended for pre-teens and teens.

The baby is still asleep. She screamed once this morning and I went to check only to find her sound asleep. Guess it was a bad dream…babies dreams are a thing of mystery and wonder to those of us who have an actual spoken language.

The cat and the kid have already butted heads while getting milk, because the cat objects totally to the presence of the 7-year-old who's not frightened of him and won’t run away screaming. Max hissed, Jeffrey stomped his foot, Max hissed, etc. Alyssa, on the other hand, screamed because she was sitting on the edge of my bed when the cat (also on the bed) hissed at her. Two screams and no damage, can’t beat those odds.

Ah, and for grandmothers, mothers, and little girls that love Tinker Bell, there’s a new movie coming to DVD shortly. Needless to say, Alyssa is elated and I’m happy because it means that we will have a choice of Tinker Bell movies possibly sparing the need to find and purchase a new Tinker Bell and the Lost Treasure movie when the one we have wears out from over-use.

Okay, the first argument has started because Dora the Explorer is not on Jeffrey’s “must see” list. What to do, wait it out…something will come on that he likes and Alyssa will be ticked, or if I’m totally lucky, Marissa will whine for a cartoon that has a name she does not have a “comprehensible” word to describe.

Grandmothers across the country are repeating to themselves, “There’s only 5-days in a week, you can do ole girl!”

Brain Farts and Dirty Diapers: Scripting my life away

2010-03-11T10:05:00.000-08:00

Tuesday ended with Marissa attempting to get into the baby-walker that has gone unused since she discovered her legs; it was a botched attempt that hopefully she won’t try a second time. That said, it’s best to remember that a toddler has short-term memory dilapidation…she will, if we don’t catch her first.

There was no writing yesterday with the exception of “scripting.” No, it’s not the next Oscar-winning movie script, and no plays will come of it, but perhaps--that’s the largest “perhaps” in the history of time--some day I will totally understand Visual Basic and be able to produce something useable. However, visual basic is a syntax and not unlike my skills with the English language, there’s the tendency to add or omit such things as commas, semi-colons, and inaccurate punctuations of varying degrees. Debug, are you kidding? Debug is the choice that makes the program produce--hopefully--what you have labored to mess up…or is that just me (rhetorical of course)?

Needless to say, Princess Alyssa was busy re-bugging (probably not a word) me in ways that can only be described as the worst sort of pestering a child might do; sleeve yanking, in-the-face shoving of objects (not to be mistaken with the programming type), and yelling to her heart’s content. The owners of channels that serve up the “all-day” cartoons got together yesterday and conspired with my 3-year-old granddaughter to totally disrupt any progress that might have been possible on the scripting front; they had the nerve to change up their schedules. The only fortunate thing, for me, is that Alyssa has not learned the phrase “I’ve already seen this one” since Dora the Explorer is on 6 times a day and the morning cartoons are repeated for the afternoon edition; however, that’s not enough according to the children viewing the episodes. It’s hard for me to decipher, since it takes less than 15-minutes of Dora to put me into a coma.

The baby didn’t sleep yesterday. No…to the contrary because Alyssa sat about waking her up as often as possible. Is it possible for a 3-year-old to face charges for “Adult abuse?” Just wondering really.

The problem with learning and understanding visual basic is not all Alyssa’s fault, because I have attempted it before and given up due to lack of understanding such things as macros, objects, models, etc. However, it’s all making more sense when I have a bit of quiet, and before as now, the house was filled with children, kids, teens, vermin, and the like. Though in those days it was difficult to distinguish the animals from the teenagers, and at some point those animals went outside to do their business while the teenagers just left the mess wherever it hit.

Little White Lies and PMS: A combination to sink the believing grandparent

2010-03-09T09:14:00.001-08:00

Approximately 11 a.m. and all is not well, the baby is crying and screaming, the 3-year-old is supposed to be watching cartoons, and I’m wondering how the morning got “so-far” gone and there’s little done as proof of the passing hours. The fact that I would love to climb in the play pen with the baby and throw my version of a “hissy fit” should come as no surprise to anyone, especially the homemaking mother of a toddler.

Alyssa awakened around 7:30 this morning and she wasn’t smiling. There was no “good morning Neenie” in that sweet passive voice she has learned to use to lull adults into a false sense of wonder. It was more like a train wreck with more injured than dead and she was howling at the sun. My definition of Alyssa as a human being is that she is the cutest, sweetest little thing, until she’s not. When she’s not, that’s when the world would do well to avoid her as the years have proven that “a whine is as good as a smile” to gain the attention of adults.

Marissa followed suit, as babies are want to do, and awakened howling at her special interest of the morning; an empty sippy cup. She did eat most of her pop tart and cereal, and she sat for a bit watching Tinker Bell, or as she says, “Bell, bell” and in the end, just before she got carted off to the play pen, she unhinged the swing and my nerves in one failed swoop.

We could go into what Max, our aging not-so loveable cat, did. It’s still on the rug and I’ll get to that right after I change yet another wonderfully odiferous poopy pull up. Wowzers, could the day get any better…shh, knock on wood.

I would cry but it’s not worth it, and at some point today, it’s likely that someone will be yelling…funny how you never recognize your own voice when it exceeds the specifications for engine noise of a Lear jet in full flight. We still have three quarters of a bottle of Nyquil, so it’s all good.

I did pull a sneaky one today on Alyssa. She’s an avid cartoon aficionado and knows that people may have x-ray vision, so now she believes that I do too. Of course, she’s 3 and will have forgotten all about my exceptional gift by this afternoon when I will be forced to tell another “little white lie.” St. Peter is just loving the effect my grandchildren have on me…sheesh, I’m doomed.

Don’t count on animal crackers: What was I thinking

2010-03-08T07:38:00.000-08:00

Sundays are great days until midnight and then it’s Monday. Does anyone really like Monday? Did the cavemen have Mondays? God worked for six days and then rested, but the bible doesn’t say whether or not he started a new week after the seventh day, so who decided that work days would be a 5-count and then we could have 2 days in which to lull ourselves into some false hope that we might actually get everything done in that short span of time? Not that any of this has anything what-so-ever to do with animal crackers, it’s just what I’m sitting here contemplating while eating sour cream and onion Pringles. My eating habits are like the days of the week, who decided that snack food was only for in-between meals? Knowing that the only questions that get answers are those that follow a dollar sign it’s easy to assume that these questions will go unanswered until the end of time and rightly so.

Friday of last week, Marissa wanted animal crackers and cereal for breakfast and did not want her sippy cup of milk. This morning Marissa wanted her sippy cup but no animal crackers and only a few bites of cereal…why not? Alyssa, on the other hand, wanted a few animal crackers, milk, and now she is eating Pringles, so it is easy to see that animal crackers are just not all they are cracked up--no pun intended--to be. Sure, sure, I know you’re not supposed to allow children to eat anything they want at any hour of the day, but you argue with them because I’m too old to engage in such stupidity.

This whole movement toward making children, especially small children, eat healthy was some kind of a masochistic idea invented to throw the parents of toddlers into a tail-spin. The only veggie that has the potential to take on another veggie’s flavor is the potato, although you can disguise broccoli in enough cheese to make a half-dozen grilled cheese sandwiches but there are no guarantees that the child will eat it. Like it’s meat-counterpart liver, the stalk of asparagus that nature lovingly tended for a great length of time has become the most hated vegetable to ever meet with the disapproval of a child. It’s an expensive vegetable that only the seasoned adult has the good sense to appreciate, yet when given to a child they’re capable of making the worst faces, noises, and some even producing a pile of not-too well chewed food that has the distinctive odor of stomach acid…it’s so not worth it. And here’s the kicker, it’s not my job to torture my grandchildren by insisting they eat only the healthiest of foods, that blissful duty belongs to my children.

The Wind Down: Shoes, cookies, and a broken swing

2010-03-06T06:23:00.000-08:00

When babies come into this world they hate to wear clothes, even changing a diaper can be a fight with some little ones. Then they begin to walk, run, fall, slip, and wear shoes 6-sizes too big, and that was the reason for the fight between “they’re mine” and “no”. They’re mine was Alyssa insisting her sister quit wearing her pink boots, and no…well, that was Marissa dragging 1 boot--half on, half off--and yelling, “NO!” The fight has been a constant for 2 weeks, but it escalated yesterday afternoon because Alyssa has been in a PMS mood all week long.

On Wednesday we made paper hats--the pirate looking things that all kids think are cool--for all 3 children and all the hats survived the romping, boisterous play until yesterday. Alyssa could not find hers and had scam her brothers, Marissa found her’s and managed to get it on cross-way of her head, and Jeffrey sat numb to the world watching Teen Super Heroes until the two older children realized that Marissa had gotten their mouths (I call it a bendy-bendy, but we all made them growing up in school). The mouths were folded from a slick-paper and grocery store ad, and weren’t meant to last more than the half-hour that I anticipated the kids playing with them. By the time that little skirmish was finished the bendy-bendies were folded in half, one hat had been thrown away, Alyssa was crying and pointing fingers at her brother, and Marissa was wandering, once again, in her sister’s boots.

Their mom arrived sometime between 4:30 and 5 with a bag of big cookies, so each child naturally gravitated toward the pretty red bag of sugar and trouble to get their share. Since Marissa has learned that you don’t always have to do what adults say, her mother put her in the swing that doubles as a tv tray/cage to eat her cookies. The swing, having been used as a launching pad for Alyssa’s Tarzan antics, is broken and the flip latch comes open so that it is necessary to secure the baby with the nylon seat belt. Failure to secure the baby would no doubt net her a bump on the noggin from tossing her little body from the swing; we belt her in and she cringes. It was “all-of” two bites and she was ready to give up her cookies and gain freedom.

My daughter gathered up the child safety seats that she and her significant other share--due to cost--and headed out the door to put them in the car. Alyssa started crying because she thought her mother was leaving without her, Marissa stood in the kitchen thinking the same thing and waving bye-bye, and Jeffrey was so moored in his cartoons that he didn’t know anything was happening. Apparently the baby did not care if her mother left her or not, and Jeffrey…you have to turn off the television to get his attention and that was what it took to get him to realize that he was going home.

It’s Saturday morning and all is quiet at our house because the children are with their parents who are wondering how 48-hours can be such a long time. Bear in mind that these are really good children, which makes me wonder how many parents out there are waiting with anticipation for Monday morning.

Lighter Fluid and Paint Thinners: Some things don’t wash off

2010-03-05T08:31:00.000-08:00

As you age your senses dull and you find yourself in the unenviable position of having to wear glasses, and asking people to repeat themselves. Your legs are unaware that you’re awake and often will not propel you from the bed as they once did; however, your sense of smell is not one of the senses that becomes effected, unless…is it possible that your sense of smell becomes stronger?

Case in point; the 3-year-old will not attend the frog potty that waits with longing black eyes and green body to aid her in her moments of need. Simply put; she poops her pants! I do read the ingredients on the back of packaged goods, and nowhere does it mention that any of the things used to produce the product has the ability to become nuclear waste once cycled through the body of a small child. Thank God that pull ups don’t fall apart.

Alyssa and I started the morning with the same ole rhetoric; mine. “Quit running, stop jumping off things, and quit screaming because you’re going to wake up your baby sister.” She did stop jumping, and it’s possible that her legs will not move unless in “full-trot” mode, but she didn’t stop screaming…cartoons have that effect on small children, and she did wake up the baby. So, at this point, I had one toddler with a backside that smelled like a dumpster and a baby with nothing more in mind than to eat half the cereal tub. One had food in full-cycle while the other was intent upon filling her fair-share of diapers later in the day. Which gets priority? I could not have opened the cereal tub after I had removed the diaper for fear that my fully-cycled food might help itself out the topside, so I fed the baby first.

When I ripped the side of the pull up, my mind went into over-drive with fears that I might not survive the experience. For the 1999th time, I wished that I had never smelled the sweet odors of a rose, or the wafting deliciousness of a home cooked meal, because there was no way that those two things could easily be associated with the stench emitting from the pull up. The baby is eating cereal for breakfast and soup for lunch, neither of which will be so appalling that her mother will find her sitting among flies when she comes to retrieve the little darlings. There are reason that our forefathers invented the toilet, and all can be found in the pull up of a 3-year-old.

I’m only hoping, at this point, that her mother did not feed her something that has the ability to refill osmotically (not at all sure that is a word, but it works).

2010-03-04T08:26:00.000-08:00

Progress: Potty Training and Kindergarten

Marissa is 18-months-old; the world is her oyster. She’s quick-witted, cute as a button, a little snippish, and has a scream that could wake the dead though this is untested since there are no cemeteries near our home. She walks, she talks, she has the grasp of dance and song, and the grandmother whose misfortune it is to be within foot’s reach learns quickly that she kicks (really, really hard).

Alyssa--ah the little princess--is 3-years and 6-months old. She’s prissy, pretty, and loves cartoons and movies. Her favorite cartoons are Dora the Explorer and Ni Hao Kai Lan while her movies are Tinker Bell, Madagascar II, Shrek I, II, and II, and Over the Hedge. R. J. (OTH) the raccoon is one of her particular favorites; although for different reasons than those of grown women who know that the voice of the character is performed by Bruce Willis. She’s a hug-a-bug, kissy-face, most charmingly alarming toddler. Not unlike her sister, she’s quick-witted, knows a tad of Spanish and Chinese and delights in the fact that she knows the names of both Dora and Kai Lan’s sidekicks.

While Alyssa is my receiver, Marissa is my tailback (football terms apply for small children and pets) and each plays their specific role in household chores and events. Grandmothers who hear the call of nature soon realize that toilets are a household event as their little tailback will allow no privacy in the privet. As I gently slid my britches down to do my business Marissa straddled the frog potty and Alyssa--she has an allergy to potty training--propped up in the stands that more easily passes for the ledge on the garden tub. As the mother of more children and stepchildren than it is possible to count on one hand, I’m accustomed to the lack of privacy; however, there is something just a little unsettling about the grandkid’s attending to your less-graceful moments.

So, now that you’re asking why is she relating all this and what does any of it have to do with kindergarten? Well there’s Jeffrey, our own little Booman, of the ripe old age of 7-years. Jeffrey attends kindergarten for the second year in a row and his report card/progress report came home with him today. On those rare days in a 7-year-old’s life that nothing else has gone awry, the teacher sneaks in the bomb, the nightmare, the last chance for solvency in a day, and it was not a thing of relief for this little redhead with big blue eyes and a sweet smile. Bless his little heart--he has ADD and you could drop a bomb on his head while he’s watching cartoons and he would not know it. Which, coincidentally, was pretty much the complaint his teacher had regarding his attention in class.

What Neenie--their name for this grandmother--learned today was that Marissa will be potty-trained before Alyssa, and Alyssa will make it to 1st grade ahead of Jeffrey. Fortunately for Neenie, she was not privy to the rants and raves that she’s sure Jeffrey received once his dad saw his progress report; the grandchildren go home around 5 p.m.