9 things I now understand about grandmas

When I was young, my grandmas were strange yet beloved creatures. As I grew older, I realized it wasn't just my grandmas, but that most grandmas seemed to be strange creatures, all with interesting, amusing, sometimes even downright baffling quirks and mannerisms.

Well, in the short time since joining the ranks of the strange creatures known as grandmas, I've learned they're not so strange after all. While some quirks and mannerisms still remain a mystery, here are ...

9 THINGS I NOW UNDERSTAND ABOUT GRANDMAS

1. I now understand why grandmas wear their eyeglasses on chains around their necks. With six pair of glasses strategically placed around the house, I definitely see the value of wearing them around the neck. I don't do it (yet), but I now understand it.

2. I now understand why grandmas always have the best snacks ever in their kitchens. It's not because their cabinets are always filled with such goodies (Grandma -- and Grandpa -- would weigh 10 tons each if that were the case). It's because they stock up before the little ones visit, ensuring no culinary craving of a grandchild goes unsatisfied.

3. I now understand why grandmas are such excellent cooks ... and/or bakers. They've had years of experience, so what else might one expect? More importantly, though, all their kitchen concoctions include heaping helpings of love, which makes all the difference in the world.

4. I now understand why grandmas are in their jammies by 8 p.m. As it's no longer likely someone will stop by for a visit that "late," why not get comfortable. And even if some night owl did stop by for a visit, grandmas no longer really give a hoot what someone may think of them being in their jammies by 8 p.m. -- or any other time.

5. I now understand why grandmas back in the day wore dresses more often than not. Gosh! It took me years to realize dresses are soooo much more comfortable than pants ... especially jeans. Luckily the house dresses of old are no longer the only casual dress options for grandmas.

6. I now understand why grandmas place protective coverings over the "good furniture." Although I first saw the light on this one in terms of keeping cat hair off certain chairs, I quickly realized how handy it could be for easy cleanup of baby spit-up, leaking diapers or little hands covered in popcorn butter while enjoying a flick with Grandma and Grandpa.

7. I now understand why grandmas spout so many sage (and sometimes silly) words of advice. After years and years of collecting witticisms and adages it's hard not to pass them along to those little pitchers with big ears -- or big pitchers who should use those big ears more often.

8. I now understand why grandmas squeeze their grandchildren so tightly when they hug them. It's because they love the kiddos so darn much they just want to eat them up. Eating them wouldbe rather bizarre though (not to mention illegal), so grandmas simply squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until the impulse to nibble passes ... or until the grandchildren wriggle away.

9. I now understand why grandmas have non-stop smiles on their faces when with their grandkids. The reason? Because nothing -- absolutely nothing -- fills up grandmas and makes them quite as happy as the moments they spend with their grandchildren. (That, or they've just gotten lazy in their old age and are following their own advice regarding it taking 43 muscles to frown yet only a mere 17 to smile.)

Photo courtesy Flickr/freeparking

Today's question:

What do you find amusing, interesting, baffling or bizarre about grandmas -- yours or others' (or even yourself)?

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?

Let the board games begin

I didn't come from a game-playing family. Well, I take that back. There were a lot of head games, but definitely no board games. Or card games. And only one video game (PONG!).

As a kid, I was envious of my friends who played Monopoly and Hearts and more with their families. I felt a little cheated that I never got to be part of what seemed to be such a fantastic family activity, one that bonds, teaches fairness and encourages humor and humility. I longed for that kind of stability, that kind of learning to play by the rules. That kind of family.

Sure, I received a few games as a kid. I remember having Trouble and Operation and Mousetrap. But they were given as gifts to play with friends, not family. My family didn't do that.

At least not the family I grew up in. The family I created with Jim did play games -- and still does.

When my three daughters were little, we had Chutes and Ladders and Candyland. I have to be honest in admitting I don't remember much about playing those games with the girls. Three little ones of (basically) consecutive ages creates a bit of a haze around the early years. But we had the games, and I know we played them.

As the girls got older, our game stash grew. We had Life, Aggravation and Rummikub (a fave game for New Year's Eve for many years, thanks to Gramma Darryl). As the girls became teens then young adults, we added Outburst, Trivial Pursuit, Movie Lines and others.

When Megan married Preston, he taught us card games: Hearts and Euchre (although I hate Euchre ... and readily admit that to Preston).

Our most recent game additions include Imaginiff, Fact or Crap, MadGab and -- the newest family favorite -- Bananagrams (thanks to Grilled Grandma Susan's suggestion).

We are far from being the kind of family that has scheduled family game nights, but when we get together for longish visits, it's more likely than not that a game will be played. To my delight, we have become one of those game-playing families I once envied.

Which is why I was so thrilled that for Bubby's second birthday he received his first board game. It wasn't from me, and it wasn't the traditional toddler standby of Candyland or Chutes and Ladders. It was Goodnight Moon Game. And Bubby loves it!

Goodnight Moon Game game play for two-year-olds is pretty basic. It's a matching game focusing on learning to take turns. And everyone wins (which keeps adult players from having to patronize the little ones by pretending to suck at a game). That's good enough for now. The rules can be adjusted according to age, so Bubby will learn about fairness and strategy later.

So with Goodnight Moon Game readily available during my recent adventure with Bubby, I enjoyed my very first board game with my grandson. He was the perfect game player, happily taking turns and even assisting me when I took a bit longer than necessary in finding matches because I kept snapping pictures. He took the matching tasks quite seriously and glowed with pride upon completing the matches with Gramma.

Twice during my visit, Bubby and I played three or four rounds of Goodnight Moon Game. Because Bubby concentrated so hard in his search for matches, we didn't speak much during the game, other than his exclamations of "There it is!" or "My turn!" and "Your turn!" But even without the jovial conversation that typically accompanies playing games, my first games with Bubby will go down in my memory as some of my favorite ever.

Without a doubt, in playing our first real game together, Bubby and I both came out winners.

Today's question:

What is your favorite board or card game?

And I would walk 10,000 steps

So ... I bought a pedometer. I've had one before but I don't think it told me the truth. All I had to do was jiggle my hips a bit and it would try to flatter me with sky-high numbers.

My new pedometer doesn't lie to me, doesn't try to butter me up with untruths. And it has nifty options that tell me not only how many steps I've taken, but how those steps convert to miles, how many calories I've burned, and how many of the steps were in the "moderate walking" range. Oh, and it keeps each days' numbers in memory for seven days.

"Seven days ..." (Couldn't resist.)

Anyway ... I need a pedometer because I want to know how close I get to the "10,000 steps a day" health advice.

I've never been much on exercising. I don't lead an active lifestyle. I do walk Mickey and Lyla daily. But since starting Grandma's Briefs, I've definitely noticed I'm getting blogger's butt ... and a blogger's belly to match ... big time.

Bottom line: I need to get moving. And I want to make sure I'm moving as much as necessary to have the desired effect. Hence the pedometer.

Surprisingly, the first day I wore the pedometer, I came pretty darn close to 10,000 steps. My daily walk clocks in at nearly 3,000 steps. And it scores in the "moderate walking" range because I don't just walk it, I march it. To a military-style marching song. With words.

At risk of making you all think I'm a wacko -- if you don't already -- here's my daily march:

"I don't know but I've been told. (I don't know but I've been told.)

Mickey and Lyla are gonna get old. (Mickey and Lyla are gonna get old.)

I don't think that it will be. (I don't think that it will be.)

Cuz they go on daily walks with me. (They go on daily walks with me.)

Stay young. (Stay young.)

Not old. (Not old.)

All the way home. (All the way home.)

Five, four, three, two, one ... We're done!

All at a fast, four-count beat. Shouted. In my head. (I'm not THAT wacko, to be marching and shouting out loud all around the neighborhood. Although Jim's convinced if I did it aloud, the dogs may fall in and we'd be quite the spectacle. Maybe even end up on YouTube. To which I say: Uh, no. I'll keep my marching song to myself, thank you very much.)

So my marching walk gets me about 3,000 steps. I fit in the other 7,000 the first day by doing my daily doings -- adding a few quick jogs in place along the way to amp up the count, much to Jim's amusement. (I told him "Thank God we've been married nearly 30 years! I could NOT do such things with a new mate!" One of the perks of longtime marriage, I readily admit.)

The first day, I hit 10,307. By 9 p.m. Which was good because I'd told Jim I would not be going to bed until I hit 10,000.

Converted by my nifty new pedometer, 10,000 steps is four miles, at my average stride. If 10,000 steps (four miles for me) supposedly maintains one's weight, my goal now is to walk FIVE miles a day in order to lose the blogger's butt and belly. Which means I gotta add about 2,500 more steps to my day.

The second day I had my pedometer, I didn't wear it. I knew in advance that most of my day would be spent sitting in the car driving to my mom's then sitting at the table eating the Coldstone Creamery cupcakes I bought her and my sister in honor of their birthdays. (Happy birthday, Mom and Debbie!) No use wearing the pedometer for such limited activity.

The third day (the day I'm writing this) I marched a little farther with Mickey and Lyla, traipsed up and down the billions of stairs in the house and yard a little more than usual. I figure one or two whirls around the yard each day (it's a big yard,) and I'll be at my goal.

Now I just need to get some of those groovy New Balance shoes that work the butt and thighs while you walk. (Not the funky "rolling, rolling, rolling" Skecher ones.) My blogger butt and belly will be gone in no time!

Question is: How well can I march while donning butt-working -- and balance-threatening -- workout shoes?

I'm crossing my fingers that the answer isn't that I can't, that I actually end up falling and busting not only my butt, but a leg or two in the process.

For if that happens, I certainly won't have much use for my nifty new pedometer.

Today's question:

How many steps or miles do you think you walk each day?

Introducing the Munchkin-speaking grandma

I recently visited a blog called The Raisin Chronicles. The "About Me" went as follows:

"Dedicated to the proposition that as we get older, we turn into raisins -- a little darker, a little more wrinkled, and, one hopes, a little sweeter. And that anything that looks like a raisin should be covered -- preferably in a good, dark chocolate."

I knew right then and there, this woman had to be grilled. Thus, this week's Grilled Grandma: Jeanne.

Read Jeanne's grilling to find out:

1. What's up with the Munchkin reference? And re-enactments of The Wizard of Oz ... using Pez dispensers?

2. Which cardinal rule of grandparenting does Jeanne admittedly "stink" at?

3. In what way was Jeanne partially responsible for the water hazard at the museum?

Jeanne's a nut and one I'm sure you'll enjoy reading about in Grilled Grandma: Jeanne. But don't stop there -- you'll get an even bigger kick out of her blog. Be sure not to miss it!

Today's question:

For obvious reasons, mentioning Jeanne's blog has me craving Raisinettes. What is your favorite movie theater snack?