Teachable moments

With a mom who's a teacher and a grandma who's always wanting to see how darn smart the kid is, Bubby spends a lot of time singing his ABCs, identifying the sounds of animals, discussing new words, and counting.

Sometimes he gets tired of it.

Sometimes he does it his own way -- regardless of what Mommy and Gramma want him to do.

Little stinker. Seems he used his wit, charm and burgeoning sense of humor to teach Mommy and Gramma a thing or two about laying off the teaching now and then.

(And, yes, his cough is atrocious. Strep, flu, crud all around for the always cheerful little trooper.)

Today's question:

What is the most recent thing you taught someone -- a co-worker, family member, child, friend, animal?

Ode to (birthday) joy

Twenty-seven years ago today, Frosty the Snowman played on the labor-room television while Jim and I waited for our second daughter to be born. By the time the evening news hit the screen, Megan had arrived and my life was forever enhanced, my heart forever expanded.

Because of Megan, I've learned ...

That "Silent Night" is a perfectly appropriate and effective lullabye.

That it is possible for me to laugh so hard my ribs, abs and obliques hurt ... for days.

To never give up hope.

And to take a picture with my heart.

That despite being scared as cuss while doing it, I can be the fiercest Mama Bear out there and challenge the so-called professionals in the name of doing what I know is right for my child.

That the words of a teen daughter are just that -- words -- and eventually they'll be apologized for or forgotten. And forgiven.

And that the stereotype of beautiful, blonde, cheerleader homecoming queens being mean-spirited bimbos is just that -- an inaccurate stereotype.

That courage looks like a young lady with braids in her hair, hands in her pockets and tears welling in her eyes as she walks to her first college campus meeting while Mom and Dad pull out of the parking lot, heading for home seven hours away.

That I can wholeheartedly love and adore someone whose political leanings -- and movie preferences -- are so different from mine.

That faith is a badge to wear loud and proud.

That bestowing the title of "Grandma" upon someone is one of the greatest honors one can give. And receive.

That there's something mesmerizing and magical in watching a child become an adult quite different -- and exceedingly better -- than the person I thought she might be.

And, most importantly, that it is indeed possible to survive with huge chunks of my heart living 819 miles away. Infinitely more lonely, but possible.

Happy 27th birthday to my goofy middle girl who will always be, no matter the number of years, my little Meggie Beggie Booger Buns!

Holiday question of the day:

What's the most magical thing to ever happen to you in December?

Can you see the real me?

I want to be authentic here. When you visit Grandma's Briefs, I want you to feel like you know me, like I'm showing you my true self. And I am. To a certain degree.

Some of the blogs I read bare all, laying out the most intimate, the most heart-wrenching, the most (in my mind) embarrassing details of one's life in order to connect with readers.

Other bloggers I read write of sunshine and flowers and thanks for the bountiful blessings and, as another blogger succinctly put it, regularly "shit rainbows" instead of being down and dirty (read: "true").

Both tacks are fine ... for them.

For me, though, my level of self-revelation in my blog posts is somewhere in between. My goal is to allow you into my life to see the blessings, the many good times that warm my heart and put a smile on my face, in hopes that it'll do the same for you. I also want to share with you the challenges I face, the darker times, the moments that knock me and my heart for a loop, in hopes that you'll see you're not alone.

It's those darker times that I share less often. Mostly because I refuse to host a pity party and I abhor whining and complaining, which such posts sometimes come across as. But also because I want you to feel good about your visits here, not click away with a heavy heart, questioning whether it's worth your time to visit a dark and depressing place.

Yet, because I've not yet mentioned the dark cloud surrounding me right now -- the result of myriad crises swirling about me and my family -- I'm feeling inauthentic. Possibly like I'm deceiving you. And like those who know me in real life might be thinking I'm perpetuating a "Grandma's Briefs" persona that doesn't accurately reflect my reality, my struggles, my heartache.

Thing is, the sources of the many crises currently clogging up my heart and requiring constant prayer are not my direct story. Although the crises color my every waking moment, I'm in the periphery not the eye of the storm ... thank God. Because of that, because the stories aren't MY stories, I don't feel right sharing them, sharing the details, sharing the cuss that right now is irreversibly cussing up the lives of those around me.

And I've struggled with that. I want to share. I want to ask for prayers. I want to be authentic.

So I will compromise. I will tell you that all about me and my family is turmoil, trying times and tears. But because the unabridged stories are not mine to tell, I will share only to an extent that doesn't betray confidences or privacy.

Here's what I can share:

• The loved one of one of my very closest loved ones attempted suicide in a horrid manner last week. The person didn't succeed and is now in limbo physically, spiritually, psychologically. That limbo -- and whatever direction the person's life takes after the scale of survival eventually tips -- will have a forever impact on my loved one. And there's nothing I can do about it. And that sucks.

• Another loved one has been diagnosed with a brain tumor. Not as fatal as most brain tumors, I'm told, as it was found on the pituitary gland and is potentially removable ... once it shrinks. In the meantime, spots of suspicion have now been found on this loved one's liver. And that sucks ... on both counts.

• Another loved one had half a leg amputated just before Thanksgiving. This is the least heart-wrenching of the current crises as at least the pain is gone ... and there are prosthetics. But still, the challenges ahead and the mourning what was lost matter. A lot. And that sucks.

Those are the biggies. Of course, like everyone, there are smaller challenges all the time, challenges that assault the heart but are overcome, slowly but surely. Most pale in comparison to those above. Thankfully.

There you have it: The real me, as of right now. I've shared as much as I can share without offending those who own the rights to the stories. In all honesty, I feel better, a little lighter for having shared even that little bit.

I hope my sharing won't lead you to click away with a heavy heart.

And I hope you won't be disappointed to learn that I don't have Technicolor BMs. But if that's what you're looking for, e-mail me -- I have links for plenty of other bloggers who do, and I'd be more than happy to share those with you, too.

Photo credit: stock.xchng

Holiday question of the day:

What holiday movie would you most like to live in, even if just for a while?

Mom 2.0 redux

Not too long ago, I wrote a post called Mom 2.0 better than Mom 1.0 highlighting nine ways Megan (Mom 2.0) has outdone her mother (me, Mom 1.0). Well, she's gone and done it again -- taken what I've taught her and bumped it up a notch.

Consider this post reason No. 10 why Mom 2.0 is better than Mom 1.0.

As many of you know, Megan and Preston hosted our Thanksgiving gathering this year. Megan has never prepared the Thanksgiving meal and has only once cooked a turkey by herself. Yet she took it upon herself to do something I have never done, something I had previously never even heard of: Megan brined the Thanksgiving turkey.

And I must admit, it turned out to be the most delectably moist and flavorful turkey I think I've ever had.

Megan soaked the turkey in a savory solution for a day or so. Then she seasoned it well (before taking off for the Turkey Trot, I might add).

She baked it and basted it and recruited Preston for the heavy lifting of the 20-pound tom in and out of the oven.

Once roasted to golden perfection, Preston carved the bird -- his first time ever charged with Thanksgiving carving duty.

What a turkey! What a team!

Yes indeed, Mom 2.0 once again improves upon Mom 1.0. And it's only right to throw in a few props for Dad 2.0 (Preston) for doing the carving honors -- something Dad 1.0 (Jim) has yet to attempt.

In light of the savory success of Megan's turkey brining, I'm thinking about trying out the method soon myself. I just so happen to have a spare turkey in the freezer, happily waiting to be brined and baked.

And maybe -- just maybe -- Jim will be happily waiting to try out carving the bird himself once it's done.

These kids of mine continually amaze me. I thought I was the one who was supposed to be teaching them a thing or two, yet they've been pretty darn good so far at teaching me a thing or two. For starters, that soaking a turkey in salt water really does make it more moist.

And that it really is possible to run a 5k in the morning and still get Thanksgiving dinner on the table by early afternoon. Doing both while pregnant.

Did I mention that my kids continually amaze me?

Today's question:

What's something you've learned from one you're more typically in charge of teaching (a child, grandchild ... pet?)?

Can he hear me now?

For the past month or so, Megan and I have had several conversations regarding Bubby's speech. Sometimes it seems he has a vast vocabulary; other times it seems he's regressing in his ability to pronounce words.

Bubby's preschool teacher casually mentioned to Megan that she might consider speech therapy for Bubby. When I heard that, I suggested that the first thing she should do is have his hearing checked. When Andrea was young, she had speech problems, all related to too many ear infections and an ignorant doctor who refused to put tubes in her ears, despite my insistence. (She eventually got the tubes as well as speech therapy and is now a masterful speaker.)

During my recent visit to the desert, it became clear that the fears and worries about Bubby's ability to talk appear to be unfounded. Bubby talks up a storm, all the time, about all things. He did, though, have a tendency -- especially at dinner time -- to interrupt the adult conversation with "What you say, Dad?" or "What you say, Mom?" Megan said she thinks it's more his way of having things explained to him that he didn't understand than it is a hearing problem. I agreed with her.

So other than needing work on a few vocabulary skills such as blends and digraphs -- for which I suggested activities from lessons that are part of the tutoring program I follow as a tutoring site coordinator -- Bubby's speech and hearing seem to be a non-issue.

At least it was until last Friday.

Megan called me Friday evening and said in a very serious tone, "You won't believe what your grandson has done." Of course, I imagined all kinds of deadly or dastardly deeds and feared for the physical and psychological well-being of my grandson.

The story from Megan was that she had come home from work Friday afternoon, bid goodbye to GiGi -- Bubby's paternal great-grandma who babysits him on Fridays -- then went about her usual afternoon activities. Bubby, though, was acting rather unusual. Again and again he asked Megan, "What you say?" and kept saying "What? I can't hear you" and "Turn it up, Mommy, I can't hear it" regarding his television programs.

His insistence led Megan to inspect the little guy's ears, where she found what appeared to be excess wax build-up in one ear.

So she and Preston proceeded to remove the wax. All the while Bubby insisted "It's a seed." Megan explained to him that, no, it's not a seed, it's ear wax and Daddy's gonna get it out.

Daddy skillfully removed the gunk. Only it wasn't gunk, it was indeed, as Bubby tried to convince them, a seed. A popcorn kernel, to be exact.

Instead of telling Mommy, "See, I told you it was a seed," as I imagine Megan herself would have said as a kid, Bubby simply announced of his now clear-as-a-bell audio ability, "I can hear!"

Funny thing is, Megan said she can't recall the last time they had popcorn!

Bubby later told Mommy he found kernels under the couch and proceeded to put one in his mouth and one in his ear. Why in the world he would stick a popcorn kernel in his ear is beyond any of us.

The real question, though, is how long has the darn thing been in there?

Even more so, how did all of us who have bathed Bubby in the last month -- or hugged or kissed or played with him -- miss seeing a popcorn kernel in the little dickens' ear?!

Today's question:

Because of Bubby's silliness, the song "Beans in Your Ears" ("My mommy said not to put beans in my ears ... I can't hear the teacher with beans in my ears ...") has been stuck in my head for days now. What wacky childhood song or nursery rhyme do you find gets frustratingly stuck in your head now and again?