Photo replay: Cold turkey

After spending 10 days of 24/7 time with my grandsons, it's now been more than a week since I've seen their faces or heard their voices.
Going cold turkey stinks, to say the very least.

Bubby, Mac and Gramma at the zoo — April 26, 2013

Enjoy your Sunday!

Photo replay: Little pieces

I returned home to the mountains yesterday. Pieces of my heart, though, remain in the desert.

 

Cheers to surviving the bittersweet bits of grandparenting!

Seven days... and the language of love

Every family has a language all its own. Sure, the words may be common knowledge to those outside the family, but the manner in which some words are strung together — and, often, the tone in which they're said — have significance far beyond the basic for those privy to a special, familial meaning.

For example, how would you feel if I were to say to you any sentence containing the phrase "love pop-can chain?" Confused, I'd venture to say.

For my funky family of five, though, any mentions of "love pop-can chain" cause hearts to warm and smiles to form as we remember one long-ago camping trip.

None of us recall exactly how it started, but at some point in the weekend, we came across a small chain of pop-can tops, you know, the kind in which you pull back the ring to open your can of sugary carbonated goodness, and are left with a dangerous metal shard in your hand (yet another thing kids nowadays know nothing about).

One by one we added our pop-can tops to the chain and eventually, for reasons I can't recall and in fits of laughter that still define many of our family gatherings, we dubbed the chain our love pop-can chain. We brought home our love pop-can chain, displayed it proudly. I have it somewhere — and am now quite unsettled because I just this moment realized I can't remember where I hung the love pop-can chain when we moved to this house more than four years ago. Because I can't recall its location, I can't share a photo. But just know that it's a chain of connected pop-can tops, linked together with love and lots and lots of laughter. For reasons understood only by my family.

Another example is the phrase "in net, under monkey." That means nothing to anyone other than the five members of my family, all of us privy to the anal tendencies of Andrea. Those tendencies once proved Andie's downfall, as she chose to keep a written reminder to herself where she hid contraband from Mom and Dad — yet kept the note neatly on her bedroom desk in plain sight. Let's just say it was hard to mete out any meaningful disciplinary action when Jim and I were laughing so hard at how we discovered her hidden stash.

Those are phrases exclusive to our Carpenter clan. Others our family utters with grins and giggles are phrases millions of others have heard, possibly repeated themselves, because they're lines from movies. But they make us smile when stated with a certain tone, at appropriately perfect times.

A few family favorites:

"I'll be right back" from Scream (not "I'll be back" from Terminator!).

"What time I s'posed to be there?" from Bill Cosby: Himself. Jim says this. Often. Making the rest of us chuckle. Often.

"Time, Mr. Carter?" from Point Break.

Another related to time — funny how so many are — is "Seven days...". It's best said in a creepy whisper, and even more effective when said over the phone. Proof that such things are understood only by my immediate family came by way of a recent interaction with one of my sisters, when we were testing out a new phone system I had hooked up for our mom.

After getting all the handsets correctly set up, I called my sister from it to ensure all systems were go. "Seven days..." I whispered to her, in a creepy manner my daughters and husband would be proud of. Her response: "WHAAAT?" So I whispered it again... and got the same response again. It had nothing to do with the phone connection and everything to do with her not getting the reference.

So I groaned, then spent far longer than necessary explaining the creepy phone call from The Ring. You know, the one characters receive after watching a video (back in the days of VHS) that they so should not have watched and now had only seven days left to live, as the creepy caller so creepily informed them. She shrugged, didn't get it. (Maybe I should have just said to my sister, "Do you like scary movies?"... which is, um, from Scream.)

Yes, we find such things funny in our family. And it's the "Seven days..." phrase that ran through my head again and again yesterday as I kept telling myself "Seven days...". But yesterday's seven days carried a far less creepy connotation, because it's, yes, a mere seven days, until I finally get to see Bubby and Mac again.

Seven days... until I get to see in person my grandsons doing Harlem Shake moves that were featured in a gut-busting video Megan recently texted to me, prefaced with a strong warning that, "This is not appropriate for sharing anwhere online."

Seven days... until I get to see in person the equally inappropriate-for-posting-online Mac as he models big-boy briefs instead of diapers. Megan shared with me the other day a sweet picture of Mac posing in his new undies, accompanied by his giggle-infused comments of "I nakey!"

Seven days... until I get to spend ten days with the lights of my life, my favorite boys ever.

Thing is, because I wrote this post yesterday, the key phrase is now "Six days...".

Only six days until I get to hug my adorable and goofy grandsons.

And that is a phrase everyone reading this likely understands and appreciates — family members or not.

Today's question:

What phrases make your family giggle though others may not know why?

Picture this: A package from Grandma

I mailed a small package of Easter goodies to Bubby and Mac last week.

In return, Megan texted me photos and the comments of the happy recipients upon opening their package from Grandma:

Today's question:

What have you recently received in the mail that made you smile?

Don't speak: When silence refreshes relationship between Mom and Grandma

My daughter recently emailed me the ticket confirmation for my next visit to the desert. The trip is set for the latter part of April.

I, of course, must work to contain my excitement and anticipation as I look forward to soon spending ten days with my grandsons.

I also look forward — sans the fanfare and excitement, I admit — to the days after the trip, the days when I’ve returned home and my daughter won’t be speaking to me.

Yes, when I get back from that trip, I’m sure my daughter won’t speak to me. Which will be okay, though, for I surely won’t speak to her, either.

That may seem odd, considering I have no doubt we’ll have a delightful time in April. The first few days of the visit will be spent with my daughter, son-in-law and my precious grandsons. Then I’ll have nearly a week of serving as sole caretaker of Bubby and Mac, as Megan accompanies Preston for an out-of-state conference. Then Megan and Preston will return home, and we’ll have even more time together.

That time together is precisely why my daughter and I won’t be speaking afterward.

You see, somewhere along the line of my daughter becoming “Mommy” and me becoming “Gramma,” we fell into the habit of not calling, texting, e-mailing or connecting in pretty much any way whatsoever for a few days after extended visits with one other.

We didn’t plan such a tack; it happened naturally. It’s a natural progression of the ways our roles and connection to one another have changed. And it’s been a boon to our relationship.

My daughter and I thrive on the times the miles that typically separate us geographically are erased, and we strengthen our connection with hours upon hours of real face time. We come together with much to share about our jobs, hobbies, anxieties, accomplishments, family updates and hopes for the future. And, of course, there’s always much to discuss about her children, my grandchildren — how to care for them, grow them, love them best.

We share it all, accompanied by hugs, laughs, tears, good times. Intense times that can be exhausting — in fulfilling ways. Eventually, we've filled up the nooks and crannies of our hearts and souls, the spots that often feel empty when loved ones live far away.

Then, as luck would have it, that’s usually about the time the visit is over. So we separate. And we stop talking.

The mother/daughter relationship is one of those tangled webs we unwittingly weave. The web only grows tighter, more tangled, the more time we spend together, especially when we’re used to having our own space, our own place. It takes time to untangle, to return to our separate realities.

After a few days, we'll little by little start conversing again. By text, by phone, maybe through email. Now that I have FaceTime on my iPhone, it may just even happen in a pseudo face-to-face this time.

However it happens, it happens naturally. More importantly, it happens to work — for us and for our relationship.

Today's question:

How often do you communicate with your children — in person, by text, by phone, etcetera?