Jekyll, Hyde and Bubby

Bubby's mom, Megan, was an incredibly moody and sensitive child, the most senstive of my three daughters.

Based on our latest Skype visit with Bubby, seems that Megan's finally getting paid back for all she put her parents through.

From the heights of happiness to the depths of despair, I think Bubby covered it all in our 20-minute visit. All the while. Megan just shook her head, saying, "Yep, he's two."

He's not just two, Megan. He's just like you!

Today's question:

What question would you like to see asked of Grandma's Briefs readers?

Not in Grandma's job description

Bubby's in trouble.Soon after I published the post about Bubby seeming mature beyond his two years by taking responsibility for his actions, he had a horrid day marked by, as Megan put it, "making bad choices."

In other words, he acted like a two-year-old.

Seems that Bubby pushed down a little girl he didn't want invading his personal space. He didn't balk over the subsequent time-out, he didn't apologize to his victim, and, more distressing to Megan, he didn't express any remorse over his dastardly deed.

Megan had a serious conversation with Bubby to let him know such behavior is not acceptable. "We use our hands to love, not to hurt" was the theme of her lecture. She also assigned Preston to follow through with a similar lecture when he got home from work that evening.

And she called me to ask that Gramma and PawDad mention it during our weekly Skyping session, that we stress the importance of being kind to others, making good decisions, doing the right thing. No problem, I told her. By all means, we can reinforce good behavior.

Facing the music.Then we proceeded to Skype. Jim and I started off the video conversation with questions about the incident and admonitions about being nice to others.

And it sucked. For all of us.

Bubby faced the music -- and the webcam -- with reservation and solemnity not typical of our Skype time. The happy little grin that usually fills our computer screen during our video visits was replaced with a sad, seemingly confused little boy who didn't understand how Gramma and PawDad could be so serious with him.

It was a painful moment for Bubby. It was a painful moment for me and Jim. I think it was a tad uncomfortable, possibly even painful, for Megan.

Again, it sucked. For all of us.

So we all -- most importantly, Bubby -- quickly agreed Bubby would make better choices going forward. Apology accepted. We moved on to happy talk. We read a story book. Bubby's grin appeared. It also appeared Bubby had learned his lesson.

Apology accepted!I know I certainly learned mine: Going forward, lecturing will be left to Megan and Preston. Skype time with Bubby is too precious to have it tainted by stern talk in somber voices and a sad little boy staring back at me on the computer screen.

I'm willing to have Megan's back on the reinforcing of proper behavior and such. Believe me, I understand the necessity for such. But if she wants me to do it with a heavy hand, she'll need to move closer so I can do it in person because I hereby declare I will no longer do teleconference lecturing.

Teleconference lecturing is not in the job description for long-distance grandmas. At least not in this long-distance grandma's job description.

Today's question:

When has the "This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you" adage come into play for you?

Rated M for mature

It's been one month since I last saw Bubby and in those few passing weeks, my grandson has grown by leaps and bounds. It's not so much that Bubby has grown -- he hasn't shot up several inches or moved on to a bigger size of clothing. It's more that he has matured.

To wit:

• Bubby no longer wears a diaper. Woo-hoo! Big boy underwear is the garment of choice -- adorned with trains and more -- and Pull-ups are worn only at night. Even so, the nights have been dry. (If you ask me, it was far too easy for Megan. Aren't boys supposedly much more difficult to potty train than girls?)

• Bubby is now a seasoned school boy, attending preschool five days a week.

• Thus far into his school career, Bubby has already been attacked by bullies three times. The first came in generic bully form: a tough little cuss who also serves as one of Bubby's best friends. Apparently this little kid likes to push and shove and make other bad choices when it comes to interacting with his fellow classmates. The second bully Bubby faced was strep. An antiobiotic helped him face down this particular bully. And this one did carry a silver lining: Because of the strep, Bubby was absent the day Bully-Boy pulled out the big guns -- his chompers -- which he used to chomp nearly every other two-year-old in the class. The third bully? A stomach bug. I gotta hand it to Bubby for his response to this bad guy. Despite the yuckiness that goes along with stomach bugs, my little trooper maintained status quo on potty training, with no backsliding into diapers and no messes. Well, no messes that come from the diaper end.

• As the ties of friendship between Bubby and Bully-Boy remain strong despite Bully-Boy's treatment of Bubby, Bubby has participated in making some not so great decisions. He's not been busted by the teacher for his infractions, though. Only his buddy has. Yet after witnessing Bully-Boy complete a time-out handed down by the teacher for an unnamed act, Bubby confronted the teacher, told her he needed a time-out for something he'd done, and proceeded to take his turn in the time-out chair. After a minute or so, Bubby told the teacher "All done" then merrily went on his way, satisfied that he'd done his time ... for a crime the teacher didn't even know he'd committed.

• Bubby has mastered the art of conversation ... and how to cut it short when a Chatty Cathy invades his space. Megan told of a recent day after school, with Bubby chilling in his car seat in the back while Megan drove them home. Questions from Megan of "How was your day?" and "What did you do in school?" were met with brief answers from Bubby followed by, "Stop talking, Mommy. No more talking." End of story, end of conversation. He needed to regroup after hours of interaction with toddlers, and he had no difficulty whatsoever letting Mommy know the time for talking was over.

• Bubby also is mastering the art of golf, the swinging of the club in particular. By watching Mommy and Daddy practice golf on the Wii, Bubby has picked up a masterful technique he practices with his toy clubs and ball in the backyard. Just like Mommy and Daddy, he lines up the ball, grabs hold of the club, pulls the club back and ... swings! And just like Mommy and Daddy, when Bubby misses the ball or it goes in an unintended direction, he lets out an unmistakeable "Dammit!" (With this one, Mommy and Daddy learned a quick lesson themselves in finding more appropriate ways of expressing frustration with sloppy golf swings!)

Yessiree, my Bubby is maturing at a mind-blowing rate. What more will he master before I see him again? He's already figured out one of the most important lessons in life: the need to accept responsibility for your actions, your poor choices. Proved by giving himself a time-out for something the teacher didn't even see him do, my mature little Bubby already understands that regardless of whether anyone has witnessed it or not, if you do the crime, you do the time. It's as simple as that.

The real question: Will it remain as simple as that as Bubby's toddler years all-too-quickly become his teen years?

Today's question:

What lesson, action or experience (first child? first house? first divorce?) made you feel like you had matured and officially become an adult?

My greatest fears as a grandma

The role of grandma is supposed to be an easy one. Mom and Dad cover all the hard work – changing dirty diapers, teaching table etiquette, instilling a sense of right and wrong – leaving Grandma to do nothing but have fun with the little ones.

That’s how it’s supposed to be, right? But that’s not how it really is. At least not when you’re a grandma with the middle name of “Worrywart.” I worried (and continue to worry) endlessly as a mother, and you can bet your sweet bippy the fretting hasn’t let up just because I’ve moved on to motherhood’s second act.

Here for your amusement – or commiseration – are ...

My nine greatest fears as a grandma:

1. Bubby will love his other grandma more than he loves me.

2. I’ll always be a long-distance grandma, with no opportunity for my loved ones to drop in unexpectedly for dinner, to view my grandson’s sporting events or school programs, or to even be the backup plan when the little one is sick and Mom and Dad can’t wriggle out of work.

3. Something bad will befall Bubby.

4. Something bad will befall Bubby's parents.

5. Bubby will think I’m boring.

6. Bubby will think I’m weird.

7. Bubby will think I’m the greatest thing since LEGOs and garbage trucks and run away from home to live with me.

8. The one and only grandson I have now will always and forever be my one and only grandchild.

9. Bubby will be worn down – lose his vim, vigor, enthusiasm and endless curiosity – by the realities of life as he grows.

Bubby is just two years old at this point; I’m sure my fears and worries will become more concrete, more serious, more scary as he grows. For now, though, these nine are enough to keep me on my toes during the day, keep me awake on certain nights. For now, these nine frazzle me just fine.

Today's question:

How about you? Is “Worrywart” your middle name, too? What's your greatest fear -- as a grandma or otherwise?

Update on 2010-09-13 14:05 by Lisa Carpenter

This post is now featured as a guest post on my bloggy grandma friend Nina's site, Grandma Ideas.

Love is patient ... which requires practice

Imagine the quintessential grandmother -- her dress, her personality, her mannerisms, her quirks.

Got her in mind?

Did you envision Grandma as plumpish, gray hair pulled back, dressed in comfortable clothing (sweats? jeans and a T-shirt? a house dress?), enjoying her rocking chair and knitting after just pulling the last pan of cookies from the oven?

Or did you you see a chic career woman with the latest hairstyle -- definitely not gray hair! -- picking up Chinese takeout on her way home from work, wrapping up the loose ends of a long week as she prepares for a relaxing weekend getaway?

Both visions are correct, of course. Although I'd say a combination of the two is likely a more accurate picture of what today's grandmothers look like.

Whatever your vision of "Grandma," one trait sure to be included is patience. For the quintessential grandma takes her time with her grandchildren. She doesn't rush them to get dressed. Doesn't roll her eyes at their curiosity with everything on the way out the door -- or out of the room. Doesn't tap her toes and look at the clock as scheduled activities and appointments await while those meant to be there hem and haw and take their sweet time getting. in. the. car.

No, there's none of that "hurry up" harriedness with grandmas. For grandmas are patient.

Those grandmas who live near the grandchildren, that is. Those who see their grandkids on a regular basis.

Not so much with the long-distance grandmas.

At least that's my theory ... a theory formed after spending a week with Bubby.

You see, years ago I was a fairly patient person. I was mother to three young daughters; I had no choice but be patient. You simply can't rush little kids. So rather than tap toes and grit teeth, I learned to be patient.

Then my little girls became teenagers. And I became less patient. I won't even go there, won't go into detail, because we all know what teen girls are like -- we've either had one or we've been one. And we know it does a number on a mother's patience.

Then the girls left home. And I was left being a rather impatient person.

I try. But God knows -- and Jim will certainly attest -- that I lean a bit more toward being an impatient screaming mimi than a relaxed picture of patience. Most days, most of the time.

Except for the time I spend with Bubby. During such times, my patience returns. I don't rush him to do anything. I couldn't rush him to do anything. He's on his own clock and it doesn't tick anywhere near as furiously as mine.

So I adjust mine a bit. And I do so with no qualms, no complaints. Because I love Bubby, want to spend every possible minute with him. And when I'm lucky enough to be given such minutes, there's nothing more pressing on the docket than following his schedule.

During our recent time together, we'd be on the way to get him dressed for the day and Bubby would happen upon a car -- or truck or motorcycle or dinosaur -- that needed zooming around the room. No problem! Zoom away.

We'd be packing for a trip to the park and Bubby would first want to watch for squirrels out the dining room window. No problem! "Here squirrelly squirrel."

When it was time to color, proper set up by Bubby was required first. Meaning he'd lay out each and every crayon, one next to the other, perfectly aligned before even considering opening the coloring book to choose a page. No problem! Lined-up crayons create a beautiful rainbow.

When it was time for the dogs to get a morning treat, Mickey and Lyla would sit nicely, awaiting the treat Bubby planned to award them ... after he turned each dog biscuit around and around in his hands, reciting the ABCs inscribed on the goodies. No problem! Even the dogs understood patience was the order of the day.

And when we had to go up stairs ... or down stairs ... Bubby would take one step with the right foot, then one step with the left foot, onto the same stair. Right foot again ... left foot onto the same stair. Right foot again ... left foot on the same stair. One-by-one we did double time on each stair. No problem! It simply meant I had a little bit longer to hold Bubby's hand in mine as we traversed each staircase.

I was okay with all of it. Every s-l-o-w second of it. My usual hurry-up harriedness didn't apply while with Bubby. Didn't matter while I was with Bubby. And that, I theorize, is the case with all grandmothers when they're with their grandchildren. And when they're with them often, patience becomes part of who they are, a trait they possess without question. Patience becomes permanently instilled in them.

My hope is that one day I will be a permanently patient person.

My hope is that one day I will no longer be a long-distance grandma.

Today's question:

Mine is impatience and being a control freak. What is one of your less admirable traits?