The Baby

Sunday evening the grands and their parents came over for supper.  After the meal was done, the boys went outside to play with their Dad and Grampy.  Jessica tagged along to watch.  

This was the opportunity I'd been waiting for!  I scooped up the baby and asked permission to take him to our next-door neighbor Mary Ann's.  She, of course, was delighted to have a six-week-old visitor and I was in "Grammy Heaven" showing him off.  He's sooooo cute!  

We were having a blast with the little guy when Jerry arrived and told us it was time for the kids to go home.  We helped get them all strapped into their car seats and they left.

Later Jer told me that when Jessica and Brent began gathering up their things to leave - baby paraphernalia, left-overs, kids' crocks, and so on - Brent asked her, "Do we have everything? ...Have we forgotten anything?"  Jessica, whose arms were overflowing, said, "I've got OUR stuff, have YOU forgotten anything?" 

At this point, the two-year-old chimed in. "THE BABY!"

Brody, who had been quietly observing in the background said nonchalantly, "I already told them that."

Lucky Parker!  Both his older brothers have "got his back."

Baby Parker on the go

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

You be the Judge

My daughter says I write too many stories about my grandsons. I say it's a miracle I write about anything else, I'm so crazy-in-love with them.

This week when they came to visit, Grayson, the two-year-old, arrived in his full Spiderman regalia, including, but not limited to, a red nylon hat with an eye shaped mask attached.  Soon Brody and I began to feel our wardrobe choices for the day were lacking, so we decided to remedy that by taking a trip to the costume treasure chest.

Brody, in a regal mood, was busy digging through rainbows of feather boas, looking for a crown. Meanwhile, I chose the monarch butterfly wings. He picked up my twinkly Glinda (the good witch) wand, evaluating whether or not it met his royal criteria.

He looked up for a moment, saw me flapping around the room and said,
“You're beautiful.”

Too many grandson stories? I think not!

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

Mysteries

I have finally finished washing ALL our laundry, a feat so rare that I could write an entire blog about it alone.  I would too, if it weren't for those hilarious little men I call my grandsons.  They keep doing silly stuff that makes me laugh like I mean it and all I want to do is pass on the joy.  

But first, for you skeptics, here's a picture of the last toasty-warm load to come out of the dryer:

You can see from the background that it's still daytime!

Every piece of dirty laundry has now been washed and for one glorious moment, I bask in the glow of a (mundane) job well done!  Then questions creep into my mind; the kind of questions that can only pop up when every piece of clothing is clean simultaneously. 

Where's my favorite teal sweatshirt?  (Did I donate it and then forget?  Or did I leave it at that Italian restaurant?)  Why do I own eight black tee-shirts? (Am I a ninja-in-training?)  I used to have an entire bureau drawer of underwear but now I only have three pair!  What happened to the rest?  (That's the weirdest question of all.)

I'm not going to over think it.  I'm just going to go out and buy more.

* * *

Thinking of buying things brings me back to the grandson story.  I had the delicious pleasure of being with the boys at bedtime and Brody was sitting up on his mommy's bed in his superhero pj's, holding a small baby doll on his lap. How adorable is that, right?

Brody decided to feed his baby doll but he didn't have a bottle.  He solved the dilemma to his own satisfaction by stuffing the trunk of his toy elephant into her mouth.  

Pleased with himself, he looked up at his mother and said, "Where's my baby sister?"  To which Jessica responded, "You don't have a baby sister.  You have a baby brother."

Brody sat quietly for a moment, digesting this information.  Then decided he wasn't quite done with this conversation yet.  "Mommy," he said, "You need to go to the grocery store and buy me some sisters."

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

Icky Sickies!

I'm a hypochondriac.  At least I think I am.  Fortunately, Jerry enjoys excellent health and hasn't even thrown up since 1975.  Until now.  

Germs are the zucchini of the pre-school set.  There is always a bumper crop of 'em and kids give them freely to everyone they see - and there's still plenty left over at home.  We have two pre-schoolers in our extended family.  Enough said.

Sunday we visited the Grands.  Grayson had been barfing earlier in the day, but he's a one-and-a-half year old; they barf all the time. We really didn't pay any attention to it.  He rallied just as we arrived and he seemed fine.  Later, while Jerry was holding him, he let loose again and blew chunks all over his Grampy.  Ewwww!!!  (I get nauseated when I think of it.  That's just who I am.)

The next evening, a friend from Michigan and her little girl were visiting our daughter's family.  We all met at a local pizza place and enjoyed catching up.  Brody, who was sitting on Grampy's lap, looked glassy eyed.  

Sure enough, during the night he, too, threw up.  So did his father.  Jerry spent a sleepless night himself, but vomiting was not his problem.  

Tuesday morning Jerry texted me to tell me he'd just hurled in a customer's parking lot.  Being a guy, he did not come home immediately.  He said he felt better (remember Grayson's rallying?) and decided to power through the day. Although he made a heroic effort, he was halfway through a meeting when he had to excuse himself and make a hasty exit. 

He dragged in around three p.m. and as he  opened the garage door he yelled at me to vacate the area, which I was happy to do - but not before I saw he was carrying a black bucket.  Later though, I did notice that our bathroom smelled heavily of bleach.  

Jerry spent the night praying to the porcelain god while I slept on the couch.  "You've already been exposed to these germs," he said.  I agreed that we'd already been introduced, but I didn't feel the need to become intimately acquainted with them.

The next morning, Jessica called and said her friend was "lying on my laundry room floor."

It was a solid twenty-four hour bug and everyone is recovering nicely.  

Me?  I never caught it, but I was sick all week.

    

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

Time

Yesterday morning, the grands were quietly playing with Jerry's phone and one of them, unbeknownst to any us, stealthily changed the clock to "world time."  Who even knows what that means?

The day turned into night and we all retired for the evening.  When Jerry's alarm rang today, he was groggy but dragged himself out of bed just like every other day.  He threw himself into the shower to help wake up, dressed and then went to the kitchen to get a tea.  (Iced, sweet.)

It was as he was chugging down his pre-dawn caffeine fix that he chanced to glance at the clock on the stove.  At first, he thought the power must have gone out in the night.  He went into the living room, just to check.  It was 3:30.

When it dawned upon him what had happened, he went back to bed.  He struggled to get back to sleep but eventually he drifted off.  He must have finally entered that deep-sleep phase when his alarm rang because he says he didn't even hear it.  He woke up a half-an-hour later than normal and rushed around like a Tasmanian Devil.  He departed the house mere minutes after awakening.  Being "on time" is very important to Jerry and he was on time, even today.  As a matter of fact, he arrived early.

To review, he got up thirty minutes later than usual and was still able to arrive early to work.  To me that would be a green light to sleeping 30 minutes later every day.  To him it's just a good story.  As long as I live, I swear, I will never understand the workings of the male mind.

Stages

One of my favorite guest stars on the stage of my life is my grandson Brody, who just turned three.

THREE is FUN!!!

It's fun to listen to what he has to say and imagine what goes on at his house behind closed doors.  The best comments began occurring a few months after his little brother Grayson appeared on the scene.

During a visit when the baby was about three months old, Brody admonished me (time and time again) to "Be nice!" (I was.)  

Six months later, he had a new, more interesting phrase.  "Don't bite me, Grammy!"  (I didn't.)

This visit Brody delivered my favorite line so far and he did it with great conviction, right after I suggested he complete a task he obviously had no intention of doing:

"Nooooo, Grammy!!!  TIME OUT." 

I knew officers in the Air Force that hadn't mastered the art of commanding as well as this three-year-old.  Obviously, he's a genius.  Maybe he's even destined for a high-level career in the military.  

Until then, he can just order me around.  Clearly, I take directions well.

Peanut Butter

Some stories don't need words.

See what I mean?

Winter Hats

My grandson Brody has a royal blue coat. After Christmas I found yarn the exact same shade and decided to make him a hat.  Now I feel like Goldilocks.

The first hat was too big:

Daddy modeling the first attempt

The second hat was too little:



Baby brother models the second try

But the third hat was ... just right!

Brody, the dinosaur

It was ugly but my husband Jerry pointed out that measuring Brody's head and adjusting the gauge of the knit might have helped me in doing the project right the first time.

 Maybe I should have paid more attention to those story problems in eighth grade math.  Perhaps, just perhaps, there may be practical application for mathematical skills after all. 



Happy New Year everyone!

Travels

Tuesday I left Michigan for S.C.  My original flight ended up being delayed so I was re-booked ... on a direct flight!  I got to spend an extra two hours, not flying to Washington D.C., but with my grandsons.  It was like a kiss from God!

Getting the proper paperwork and actually boarding was a drama, but the plane ride itself was big fun.  I, being practically a midget, am the perfect person to sit in the middle seat.  I need zero leg room and if I want to stand up, I won't even hit my head.  The six-foot guy next to me was a bit more cramped, but at least he had the aisle sea.  He can actually look into the overhead bins though, I'll give him that.  I can't even reach them.

I couldn't have chosen more interesting seatmates.  He was a retired Army officer whose job translated well into the civilian world.  She was a nurse who took time out to raise her kids.  He regaled us with tales of his world travels, best and worst.   (Winner:  Germany.  Loser:  Texarkana.) She told us about her upcoming ten-day motorcycle trip through the Dakotas.  (Now, I know it costs eleven bucks to ship something as light as a feather from South Carolina to California, so I can only imagine what the price tag is to ship your motorcycle from Florida to North Dakota.  $$$$ ...) 

Toward the end of the flight, the stewardess came on the intercom and said she had a surprise for us.  How exciting!  I just knew she was going to burst out into song and the Army man beside me was hoping for a lingerie show. We both were let-down when we realized that we were merely a captive audience, trapped in an infomercial for a branded credit card.  If we sign up today, right now. we could earn -- after only one purchase of a pack of gum -- a free round-trip ticket. I was sorely tempted.  Thank God I don't chew gum.

It's great to be home.

Sleep

Yesterday morning, shortly before five in the a.m., the whole household was jarred awake by the crashing and banging of a dramatic thunderstorm.  Then, just as fast as it arrived, it departed.  Sweet silence was restored to our world.  Everyone here over the age of two was excited by the idea of going back to sleep.  The under two crowd was just plain excited.  We stayed up.

Asleep!

Awake!

One of my earliest childhood memories is of being livid because I was forced to take a nap.  Times change.  Now I am in love with nap time - for the grandsons.  Brody is an excellent napper but Baby Grayson has an iron will and he's not crazy about napping.  Luckily, I discovered a trick on Wikipedia.  He was yelling his angriest cry at top volume when I wheeled out the vacuum cleaner and turned it on.  In seconds he was not only quiet, he was out like a light.  The magic of white noise!

I mentioned this to one of Jessica's friends today and she said, "You better be careful.  We burned up our vacuum motor doing that!"

I wonder if there's a white noise app for the iPhone?

 

Airplane Rides

I don't like creepy airplane noises.  When the bell dings twice and the cabin stewards run up the aisle to the cockpit, intellectually I know that the captain probably only wants a cup of coffee, but I still get nervous.

My first airplane trip took place when I was eighteen years old. I was flying from Michigan to Texas and my parents were so worried about the transfer in Chicago that my father flew with me to O'Hare Airport then flew back home after he'd escorted me onto the proper flight.

From the start I have been a skittish passenger, but some years ago I found myself on a cross-country flight that was the scariest, most turbulent trip of my life. The plane was pitching and roiling and my stomach was churning. Every time we lurched, I got more frightened.  And then things deteriorated.  It was at that time I promised God that if he could only see his way clear to get me safely home to my babies, I would never fly again.  Never!  And I meant it, too. 

Time passed.  The kids grew up, our son moved out west, our daughter had our first grandchild up north and we moved down south.  Suddenly, not only am I flying, but I'm flying on tickets paid for by frequent flier miles.  Don't get me wrong, I still don't like creepy airplane noises and turbulence still makes me crazy scared, but when I get to choose between thirteen hours riding in the car and an hour and a half gliding through the sky, well, I'll pick the airplane every time.

I can almost hear God laughing.

Hats, hats and more hats...and with pictures!

Several people had questions about last week's post, so here's the clarification you requested.  The headgear that Jerry's wearing (no, it's not a shower cap) is a feathered headband and was worn during a New Year's Eve that we celebrated with our friends and former neighbors, the Grayelettis.  The beautiful - but unhappy- baby is our own sweet Brody on the occasion of his first birthday.  He obviously doesn't like hats as well as his grandpa.

Brody's Uncle Josh loves a good hat, too.

Josh has quite a collection of hats and in that, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.  I have enough pictures of my husband in goofy hats that I could wallpaper the dining room with them....but I don't and perhaps that's why we're still married after all these years.  However, I am not above including one in this blog occasionally, especially if I think I can get a laugh out of it. I thought the feather hat would do it, but didn't count on people not being able to recognize what it was. 

Enchanting!

Precious

Now that I think about it, it's not just the guys in our family that love wearing hats for all occasions, it's just that they look the funniest in them.  We gals look cute in velvet witches hats or adorable in homemade birthday hats but people don't usually laugh out loud at us. 

The men, for some reason, are funnier than we are when they put on hats.  I don't know why but I do know on a gut level that this picture of Jerry from the 1970s will make some people laugh out loud. 

"Chris, look what I found in the basement!"

And, finally, here are a few pictures from the Zimmerman tiara collection. If this isn't enough to land me in divorce court, I think this marriage will probably last a lifetime.

Tiara and wig - jackpot!

Mine has an understated elegance

Little Kate

"Oh!  What kind of family have I
gotten myself into?"

Sweet, Sweet Cereal

Brody (the most perfect grandson in the world) is visiting us and is a most mellow, gentle little man.  In addition to being "Mister Congeniality," he must be having a growth spurt because he has been a little Cheerios pig the past couple of days.  He has developed a cute two-fisted eating style and has ploughed through almost the entire box of cereal and not the snack-pack size, either.

The word "snack-pack" sucks me back through time and deposits me smack in the middle of a tour of Kellogg's of Battle Creek.  In my youth our family lived about a half an hour away, so I toured that plant plenty - from annual spring field trips to family vacations, with tours thrown in whenever we had out-of-town guests as well.  Yep I - and most kids who lived in the area - became well-versed in the fast and furious world of funnels filling endless boxes with sugary goodness.

What I remember vividly about the event was that there was a yellow stripe painted on the cement floor with signs everywhere saying, "For your protection, stay to the right of the stripe" which you can bet your Apple Jacks I did and did obsessively too.  Never did one saddle-shoed toe even graze that yellow danger zone, no sirree Bob.  I prided myself on being a model student and model students did what they were told, end of story. The plant was loud and scary and I did my level best to focus all my attention on getting out of there alive - which I clearly succeeded at, I might add.

It did not escape my attention though that the man who was leading the tour was wearing a hardhat but I was not, which seemed like a kind of shabby way to treat a guest in my elementary-school-sized mind.  It was noisy in there, hot and icky but there was an up side to it too which made all the drama worthwhile.  At the end of each and every tour we were ushered to a cafeteria where we received not only a snack pack containing two of my favorite cereals of all time - Sugar Smacks and Sugar Pops - but a scoop of vanilla ice cream with Froot Loops sprinkled all over the top.  Whoever thought of that glorious finishing touch was a genius and it was the highlight of my personal tour every single time I took it, including the last time when I was an adult and took my own son to see cereal being made. 

My daughters never experienced the pleasure of the tour though because somewhere along the way Kellogg's stopped giving it, citing "industrial espionage" as the reason.  Really?  I can understand why  spies wouldn't stoop to asking random kids in the area their nefarious cereal questions because most adults (even spies) aren't that comfortable conversing with children.  In truth, they probably didn't even think of it.  But why the spies didn't take all the pictures they needed in the decades that we all were encouraged to visit, I can't say.  Maybe they were just too busy munching Sugar Pops from their free snack packs to bother.