Grandma guilt

Too-cool Bubby in an outfit NOT chosen by Grandma.I went shopping with my mom and my sister yesterday, to one of those warehouse clubs with 10-pound packages of peanut M&Ms sold alongside tires and cappuccino makers. Of course, they sell clothing, too, and we ended up at the racks for little boys.

"Oooh, look at this!" Mom said ... of a little pants outfit that included a (hot!) lined vest that would cause Bubby to suffer heatstroke if he wore it in their 100-plus-degree weather -- or even their way-too-warm winter weather. She also pointed out plaid cotton onesie short outfits (aack, Megan!) and a few more non-Bubby-looking garments. I politely smiled at each of her choices, never gushing over any or throwing them in the cart.

Then my sister -- who's childless and never plans to have kids or grandkids -- got in on the action. "What size does he wear?" she asked enthusiastically. Her choices included "Nemo" and "Bob the Builder" outfits.

"Yeah, those are cute," I said, moving on to others.

I'm sure my lack of enthusiasm made them wonder at my grandparenting abilities.

"Don't you send him packages of stuff all the time?" my sister asked.

Well, no, I told her. We see each other (or did) on a pretty regular basis, so I just give him stuff when I see him.

But I don't give Bubby clothes. And maybe that makes me a bad grandma.

When Bubby was first born, I bought little sleepers and T-shirts and onesies and such. But as he's gotten older, it's become quite clear that Megan is as picky about his clothes as she always was -- and still is -- about hers. Shopping for clothes with her has been hell from about the time she was 4 years old. And shopping with her for clothes for Bubby has turned out to be just the same.

Megan lives near an outlet mall, so most of Bubby's clothes come from Gap or Gymboree. I tend to be more of a JCPenney and Target shopper. But even when I'm looking at clothes at the upscale retailers with her, the things I pick out make her snarl her nose and say, "Ahhh ... No!"

So just as I did when we shopped together for her as a teen (which we rarely did as it was not a good experience for either of us), I stand back and keep my mouth shut, pretending to be interested in the racks of socks and such, while she chooses Bubby's clothes. She only asks my opinion after she's made up her mind what she wants. And, of course, my "opinion" is a glowing review of whatever it is she's chosen.

But all that's a long story to explain to my mom and sister as we're going through the racks at the warehouse store. And I may seem harsh and un-grandma-like to them when I don't gush over the little outfits I want to buy Bubby, loading the cart up with this cute one and that cute one. So I just kind of brushed it off and we moved on to the five-ton canisters of Country Time Lemonade.

I'm thinking this morning, though, that maybe I'll head back to the store this afternoon and check out some jammies for Bubby. I can't go wrong with jammies, right? If Megan hates them and thinks they're really not cool enough for Bubby to wear in public, that's okay; jammies aren't meant to be worn in public. And as long as they're comfy and they're chosen with love by Grandma, what else matters?

Right?

This post linked to Grandparent's Say It Saturday.

One ringy-dingy

Readers under the age of 40 likely don't get the reference in today's subject line.* And kids under the age of 2 likely won't know what ringy-dingy means or what telephones really sound like (or at least used to). To toddlers, the phone is something Mom carries in her purse,  she types on it, and every once in a while it plays a funky tune then Mom holds it up to her ear and talks.

No brrring, brrring or ringy-dingy sounds for little Bubby and his playmates. Phones just don't do that anymore. Kids nowadays (geez, as if THAT doesn't make me sound old!) don't have the old-fashioned pleasure of hearing a house phone go brrring, then seeing that the common response is to pick it up and say "hello." There's no more mimicking that when they play with their pull-toy telephone from Fisher-Price ... although I bet those toy phones aren't even made anymore and are probably considered collectibles on e-Bay.

The lack of land lines stinks for long-distance grandmas. The phone could be a wonderful tool for those of us who live a long distance from our beloved grandbabies. But each time I'm on the (cell)phone with Megan and say, "Hey, can I talk to Bubby?", she hands him the phone and he instantly starts pressing buttons (is he trying to text just like Mom and Dad?). I'll be on my end shouting, "Bubby! Hey, Bubby, it's GRANDMA! Say 'hi' to Grandma! How's my Bubby? I love you!" He'll be on his end grunting and groaning as he struggles with Mom as she tries to keep him from hanging up on me ... which he does every time despite her efforts.

What about as Bubby gets a bit older and isn't compelled to push all the buttons? There's no house phone that I can call and he can pick up, pleasantly surprising me when I was trying to reach Megan. Andthere will be no cute photos of him struggling with the bulky receiver of a wall phone.

And at what age are kids getting their own cell phones nowadays anyway? It seems that with no house phone, each person in the house needs a cell phone of their own. Yeah, that'll be cool when Bubby has his own phone and we can call each other any time, but at his current age, no land line and limited cell phone skills are really limiting my ability to converse with my Bubby.

Thank God for Skype, I guess. Now Megan just needs to get that web camera hooked up to their brand-new computer (that web camera I bought as soon as Bubby was born, the one that crashed each time we tried to Skype because Megan's computer -- and internet bandwidth -- wasn't up to the requirements). We'll give the Jetson's-style telephoning another chance soon. Getting to see and hear Bubby in real-time should make the non-existent landline a moot point, and all my complaints about modern-day telephone communication will end.

And from what I remember about Skype, an old-fashioned BRRRINGing sound notifies users of an incoming call. Maybe Bubby won't be so gyped after all.

My beautiful grandma

I recently sent my aunt in North Carolina the link to the post I wrote about my grandma. I haven't seen my aunt or my grandma since the early '90s and I thought my aunt -- who lives near the nursing home where my grandma has resided for the last 11 years -- might appreciate the post.

She did. And I appreciate all the wonderful, detailed news she sent in return.

My sweet aunt updated me on cousins who are now adults and have children of their own -- cousins I haven't seen since their pre-teen years. She filled me in on precious moments she and my uncle create and share with all those grandchildren they now have. They truly are the epitome of grandma and grandpa (Mema and Papa), the kind of grandparents Jim and I aspire to be.

And most touching of all: My aunt sent me a recent picture of my grandma. As I mentioned, I've not seen Grandma in years, and the image I carry in my heart is the decades-old version of Grandma Wiggins. The photo my aunt sent via text message shocked me a bit at first as it's a wigless shot and I've never seen Grandma without her wig.

But once I forwarded the photo to my computer and looked at the full-size picture, there was no denying this is my beloved grandma. Despite failing hearing, sight, and body -- not mind though, my aunt assured me; "She's still sharp as a tack!" -- there's a healthy, humor-loving glow coming from this soon-to-be-98-years-old spitfire.

Isn't she beautiful?

Two men and a toddler (haircut)

Bubby's hair grows like mad, so in an effort to save on the Kiddie Cutters bills, Megan and Preston bought a pair of hair clippers with plans to cut Bubby's locks themselves.

The first hair-trimming session was quite traumatic -- for Megan. Preston started trimming away while Megan cried ... and cried. Her baby was becoming a little boy with every snip. And with Preston never having cut hair before, the snips weren't as perfect as Megan hoped. So Preston would snip again, trying to improve the one that had his wife so upset. Bubby's hair kept getting shorter and shorter as Megan sniffled and Preston snipped.

Bubby, on the other hand, was oblivious to the trauma his parents were going through. He was entranced by his favorite Elmo movie on TV. (Mom and Dad were pretty smart to use that distraction tactic!)

It's been a month since that first cut, and this past weekend, Bubby was in need of another. Even he thought so:

'LOOK AT THIS MESS!" Bubby wails about his hair. (Not really, but he sure looks like that's the problem.)Time to pull out the clippers for another round. This time, Preston enlisted his buddy Scott to help out with the trimming duties. It's a guy thing, so Megan just stood back with the camera (cracking up instead of crying).

The guys prep the customer:

Scott tests the waters:

Scott snips while Preston holds Bubby still (keeping him from getting the Van Gogh special!):

The final touches:

And TA-DAH! The new and improved Bubby, ready for some swinging!

Who needs Kiddie Cutters when you have Preston and Scott manning the clippers?

Bubby fever

Bubby singing and swinging, the day before Grandma last saw him.In just a few hours it'll be exactly 21 days since I've seen, held, squeezed, smelled Bubby. It's killing me.

I think I've been incredibly fortunate in my life up until this point because being the (semi) old fart I am, I've honestly never experienced a true physical longing for another human the way I am with Bubby.

I was never separated from my girls long enough to miss their hugs so much my body ached. As babies and little kids, they were never away from me due to extended visits with relatives or hospital stays. As they got older and did stay at Granny's for a few weeks or go on trips with their youth group (luckily no hospital stays!), I missed them, of course, but we were past the point of lots of hugging and snuggling so my body didn't ache for them while they were away. When they headed to college then moved out of the house, it was sad and I knew I'd miss them, but it seemed natural.

In the same vein, Jim and I have spent very few nights apart in our nearly 30 years together, so I don't know what it's like to be the lonely wife longing to reunite with her hubby.

But Bubby changed all that. When I first met him, just a few days after his birth, I got to spend hours and hours hugging and holding and rocking the precious burrito-wrapped bundle. We had only a few days together, but he'd become an integral part of who I am. He made me complete. He made me a grandma.

Being a long-distance grandma, though, I had to get on the plane without him -- and I immediately felt an emptiness I'd never felt before. It lasted for days and I kept marveling to Jim that I don't understand how other grandmas all over the world seem to be okay with this feeling. They must be okay, I figured, because I knew a few long-distance grandmas and they didn't have agonized looks on their faces that mirrored the way I was feeling inside.

Slowly I realized that long-distance grandmas have no choice, really, and that the searing pain eventually fades to just a low-level burn.

Each time I'm blessed with a few days with Bubby, I go through a similar withdrawal when it's time to part. It's never as painful (and shocking) as the first time, but it's there, assuaged only by the fact that Megan and I have planned the next visit before the current one is over. We agreed at Bubby's birth that visits would be about every other month, with either them coming to us in the mountains or us going to them in the desert, so Grandma and Grandpa would get to know Bubby and he would get to know them. We've been surprisingly good about sticking to that schedule; a few times we've had mere weeks between visits.

Not so this time. Bubby, Megan and Preston all got on the plane to head home this time with there being no plans, no purchased plane tickets, no formal agreement on when I'd next get to hug my Bubby. Finances are tight on both sides, and plane tickets seemed a luxury neither of us could afford.

Until today, I've decided. Forget the tight finances. Some things are oh-so much more important than having a security blanket of funds in the bank. Getting to hug Bubby isn't a luxury or a frivolous want -- it's a need. And as soon as I close this post, I'm filling that need by heading to USAirways.com.

So get ready for some loving, touching and squeezing, Bubby! Grandma and Grandpa are coming to visit!