Liam's Grandma or Maggie in Real Life

Fill Those Easter Baskets!

Whether you are a parent or grandparent, you want to make the best Easter basket possible for your special child.  You guys, let me tell you, I stopped making Easter baskets for my own kids just two Easters ago and, at the time, they were 24 and 26!  Creating beautiful baskets is as much fun to make as it is to receive (do I hear a cereal commercial resonating here?).

This month, About.com is having what's known as a blog carnival where a variety of featured bloggers talk about their own Easter basket fun.  I thought I'd hop on that bunny's back and join them because, if you know me, you know I never do anything status quo.  So here are some Easter basket fun tips:

Toddlers:  Toddlers don't need candy.  In fact, if they went without it, they wouldn't know what they were missing.  And you'd save money on carpet and upholstery cleaning when they smear melted chocolate everywhere or when they projectile vomit that fourth marshmallow chick. 

If you are putting only candy in a toddler's basket, quite possibly you:  (1) are following what your own parents did and you haven't yet joined this century; (2) are following what commercial retailers tell you; or (3) love sneaking those jelly beans and chocolates yourself (in that case, go ahead - eat yourself sick, but don't let Junior eat all that sugar).

Instead, fill the basket with little wind up toys, small coloring books and washable crayons, cool slippers, an educational DVD like this or this.  Toddlers love to sing and dance.  Even when Liam and I are in the car driving, we put on a musical CD and sing at the top of our lungs. 

Toddlers are starting to "read" by now and some of Liam's favorites include, "Good Night Moon" where we search for the little mouse on every page, "Pajama Time" where we do the little pajama dance together at bed time, and "Moo, Baa, La La La," which is his all-time favorite (mostly because Nimmy enhances and emphasizes the page that says, "No, no, you say, that isn't right!  Pigs say OINK all day and night!").  By the way, if you don't get out much and you know my phone number, I can recite that entire book to you with my eyes closed.  And Liam probably could too.  And, thank you to my dear friend, Nancy, for giving him that wonderful book!

Children, Ages 5-11:  This is a fun age group where lots can be done.  Kids love cameras and taking pictures of family, friends, the neighbor's dog, their new bike, Uncle Ernie passed out on the bathroom floor, Grandma with her dress tucked into her underwear, all kinds of fascinating things!  I realize we are in a digital age, but the non-digital cameras are so affordable now that they should be handing them out as samples when you walk into the store.  And, getting a child a non-digital camera teaches him/her the art of patience rather than this generation's desire for immediate gratification.  Take the pictures, finish the roll of film, take it to the drug store and wait for them to be developed.  It's all about following through on something and being rewarded with some fabulous pictures (Note to self:  snag the photo of Grandma and Uncle Ernie before you hand them over to your child).

Other great basket stuffers for kids this age include series books like Amelia Bedelia, Boxcar Mysteries, Curious George, Encyclopedia Brown, and the Bunnicula series.  For a comprehensive listing of childrens' series stories with age levels, go here. 

This age group still enjoys writing on paper and, because they have not yet graduated to writing phone numbers on bathroom walls, give your kids a colorful card set or some stationery to write to grandparents, aunts and uncles.  It's a wonderful way for them to sit down, relax, and take some time to write.  They can even include some of their newly shot photos.  Rubber stamps and stickers, along with a book or scrapbook to put these items into are great fun as well.

Fun and exciting games that fit into a basket include UNO (card game), Yahtzee, Junior Boggle and even a regular deck of cards.  I loved learning how to play Solitaire when I was a kid.  And my grandmother and I played Rummy until my mother would peel me from the table and tell me it was time to go home and Grandma would shout a parting call, "I'll kill ya again tomorrow, kid!"  Grandma was merciless and never, ever let me win which has made me very competitive and ruthless when it comes to game playing.  NO MERCY is my motto.  Some of my Scramble friends on Facebook will attest to this. But I digress...

Pre-Teens and Teenagers. If you continue with the tradition at this age level, as I did, this group can be great fun and has much to offer in the way of ideas. 

Girls love any kind of lip gloss, fruity fragrance, body butter or fruity spray.  And they all fit into a basket.  If they like to read, that Twilight Series has been the biggest hit in years for girls and boys.  For the girls who aren't into fragrances, lip glosses, etc., she'll enjoy a fancy water bottle like these or these.  These necklaces are also great and deliver a message. 

Socks, flipflops, pajama t-shirts, hair ties and phone cards all work for your older girl.  If she is into sports, find things based on that theme - mugs with a team photo on it and filled with healthy treats is a great idea.  Go to seehere.com for ways to put your photo onto gifts. 

For the guys, many of them are at that awkward time in their lives where they are experimenting with things like colognes and after shave.  Find one that you know they'll like.  My son loved (and still loves) Fahrenheit and Nautica Blue. 

Talking keychains, roll-up drum kit, mini camcorders, and the ultimate survivor in a bottle are all great gifts that fit into most baskets. 

Finally, pre-teens and teens are ecstatic to receive a Borders gift card or a gift card to their favorite clothing store.  Other popular gift cards are from sports stores like Dick's or REI, and electronic stores like Best Buy, CompUSA or Circuit City.  Movie theaters offer gift packages as well.  And these fit fabulously into your child's basket.

Of course, we all know that a basket without some sort of treat just wouldn't be a complete basket.  Healthy alternatives always work and there are some healthy snacks out there that even kids love.  And I know that some of you are just going to go the way of the Sour Patch Kids or Marshmallow Peeps but, in an effort to avoid nasty emails about the fourteen new cavities that Johnny has or the newly sprung pimples on Melody's face RIGHT BEFORE PROM, I'll leave that part up to you.

Most of all, enjoy the wonder in your child's or grandchild's eyes as he or she paws greedy little hands through the basket, flinging each gift over the shoulder as they plunge those grubby hands back into the grass for the next gift.  After they've annihilated the basket, believe me, they'll thank you for your thoughtfulness, but only after they realize they just flung the last gift into the cat's litter box.

This post is part of the All About Parenting Easter Blog carnival where you can find more great information by clicking right here!

Copyright 2010 liamsgrandma

HEALTH CARE REFORM

I was trying to think what I could write in my blog that would adequately say what I felt about health care reform.  This blog pretty much says it all.  While my husband and I have coverage, excellent coverage, through his employer, our daughter has none.  She has a pre-existing condition (see this blog again). 

It's not perfect, but it's an excellent start. EXCELLENT.  And, by the way, I absolutely despise the tactics by the other party that include fear, hate-mongering and the promise of death if this bill were to pass.   Is this for real?  The promotion of fear, lies, etc.?  Sadly, it is.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Unless you have a two year old, or any child who naps in your household, you have no comprehension of the stress involved when noise is made during those naps.  It's the kind of stress akin to running from a bomber plane aiming a huge machine gun at you with bullets bouncing at your feet.  It's the kind of stress that happens when you go to chase a 120 pound rottweiler out of your yard and, after he turns to run, stops, sizes you up and realizes he weighs as much as you.  And he has muscle.  And big teeth.  And he takes off running at speeds that would break Mach 1 - twice - and you're running for the door keeping your hips thrust in front of you at least 3 feet because you know he's going for your butt and there's nothing else on your mind but getting in that door, both cheeks intact.

When a child naps, it's the only time we have to relax.  When I say relax, I mean I get to clean the bathtub without the house midget leaning over me, asking 50 questions and trying to touch the green cleanser, which always ends up in his hair, on his face and all over me.  

The mornings that Liam sleeps in, I quietly rise, make the coffee and sit on the couch in the dark to meditate, pray, and think about what I'm going to make for dinner.

This morning was one of those mornings when he slept in and I, instead of bouncing out of bed and making the coffee, thought I'd just lay there awhile and doze.  I got up, went to the bathroom, tiptoed back toward the bed and saw that Druck had flung the covers off of himself.  "He's not up yet," I say.  "I'm gonna lay down for a few more minutes." 

"But I need to get going," says the frumpy mass on the bed, rubbing his eyes and looking pathetic.

When this occurs, what I would like to do is put my hands on my hips and SCREAM, "Then go make the damned coffee YOURSELF, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!"

Instead, because he is the main bread winner and has enough stress in his life to fill the Rose Bowl x 4, I sigh quietly, march to my bathrobe, fling it on and, with an annoyed huff, quietly slip out to the kitchen to QUIETLY make the coffee. And, like clockwork, when the coffee stops gurgling, working man emerges and gets his pre-dawn elixir. 

This morning, like the other rare mornings when he sees his wife sitting peacefully on the couch, in the dark, and there is no angelic chatter going on in stereo around us, he rummages through the cupboard as if there were but one coffee cup amidst 5,000 plates.  "What the HELL is going on out there?" I say in an increasingly loud whisper.  Working man says nothing and closes the cupboard.  Loudly.  As if the latch is on the other side of the wall and the only way to close it is to get a running start, leap through the air and ram his shoulder into it. 

Throwing my hands up in the air and rolling my head from side to side, I throw out a loud "Tch!  Tch!" which sounds like a less than amused cricket giving its prey a pre-murderous warning. 

When Druck walks past, hair plastered to the back of his head and not even glancing my way, I say, "I wonder how many years I'll get if they can't find you."  Which is followed by a quiet close of the bedroom door as I sit there.  Annoyed.

And now the little darling is down for his nap.  And despite the fact that no one, absolutely no one, called me or rang my doorbell when he was walking, talking and singing, now that it's naptime, the mother of the neighbor lady who is visiting from out of state has come by, rung the doorbell, talked my ear off in a loud voice because she can't hear, and I am all but sweating adrenaline because I just need some time, ok?  And her rambling about the dentist is killing me, making me want my own root canal NOW.  And the UPS guy, who normally drops off any kind of packages at 5:30 pm, has already been here by 3 pm, and, of course, rang the bell and left faster than I could open the door and yell, WHY ARE YOU HERE THIS EARLY, so loudly that he will never ever need dermabrasion NO MATTER WHAT.

The phone hasn't rung since yesterday afternoon (at naptime) but now it's gone off 3 times.  And those blasted trains, that usually only come by once an hour, have come by three times in 40 minutes, blaring their warning signal non-stop.

Trains, helicopters, UPS men, neighbors, politicians, pollsters, long distance reps, scientists and cable guys are apparently required to take a prerequisite before being hired:  IDIOTS 101 (Ignoring Daytime Importance of Toddlers Sleeping).  I'll dedicate the reference to the Idiot UPS guy to KSP, who knows who he is.  Scientists, you ask?  What do they have to do with IDIOTS 101?  Ahem.  I'm married to the scientist.

As for that rottweiler story (you thought I'd leave that one hanging?),  he never got a taste of my butt, but instead, as my young children (at the time) looked on, I took those 36" legs and leapt from the ground to the top of the porch (five steps, I'll have you know) in one bound.  As I scurried inside the door, he came to a screeching halt and slammed into the steps, apparently unable to hurl that large mass up five steps, even though he thought he could.  Maggie: 1.  Rottweiler:  0.   

Copyright 2010 liamsgrandma

Me Talk Crazy One Day

Awhile back, I wrote about some kookiness in my family.  NO!  Yes!  NO!!  YES!!!  Believe it.  It's true.  I am the descendant of nut jobs!

In that blog, I spoke specifically about my uncle's quirks.  But there are others in this family with QUIRKS.  My grandmother had them too.  To some degree, I would have to say that my mom had some milder ones and I'll just stop there - to save myself from potential lawsuits.  Those mentioned have already passed on and I am guessing that, at this point in their existence, whatever that is, if they haven't gotten a sense of humor by now, they never will.  And if it's the latter, I may be sleeping with the lights on for a very long time. 

The more I talk about family idiosyncracies to others, I realize that almost every person I know has some sort of craziness in their family.  Recently, while speaking with my son's fiancee, she told me about her uncle who is now confined to a home where he can be monitored.  Occasionally, he visits the family.  Emily mentioned the banter in her grandmother's garage one day last summer when he was visiting, which consisted of him sitting in the garage shrieking, "ONLY HITLER WILL SURVIVE!"  I have a feelilng that Emily will feel right at home with our family.*  

When my uncle was caring for my grandmother as she aged, he made a daily call to "the lady" a/k/a The Blessed Virgin a/k/a Mary, Mother of Jesus.  He'd go out to the phone while Grandma eagerly sat on the edge of the couch, hands clasped, as he dialed.

"Hello, is this the lady?  Well, hello!  How are things?  Yes.  Yes.  I'm wondering, if you aren't too busy to tell me...how will mom's day go today?  Really?  That's great.  Thank you, dear lady.  Yes.  Thank you!"

"WHAT'D SHE SAY, PADDY??" Grandma would shout.

"Well, mom, the lady says your day is going to be perfect, with many blessings."

"She did?"

"Yes, mom, she did."

"Well, hot spit!"

Anyone who has families like mine understands the art of speaking a different language.  Not French, not German, not Hebrew.  It's the special universal language of C.R.A.Z.Y.  Creative Reasoning Amidst Zany Yahoos.  It's a special art that is learned through years of experience with those "Zany Yahoos." 

As a teenager, I spent a great deal of time at the home of my uncle and grandmother.  In fact, I was there pretty much everyday because we lived in the same town.  And I  consider that a huge blessing because I love them deeply and they gave me the incredible gift of writing.  A gift that was born from the knowledge that if it wasn't written down, even I wouldn't believe later.

The art of C.R.A.Z.Y. has come in handy.  Learning the language endears you to the one who is spewing all kinds of kookiness.  As I matured in the art and graduated to the next level, I was favored in their eyes.  As a teenager, I'd revel in seeing what avenues I could take the conversation down and, let me tell you, getting that conversation to a boulevard level or an entire heated, excitable esplanade was, well, EXCITING.  I would leave there feeling triumphant in the world that I had created and which they so enjoyed.  I was able to do something for them that others couldn't - speak their language and become one of them.  Speaking that language goes way deeper than just being family.

I mean no disrespect in any of this.  It brought my uncle and my grandmother great pleasure when they had someone other than themselves to talk to about THE WIRE TAPPING IN THE HOUSE THAT WAS ALL EASTMAN KODAK'S FAULT AND THE VERY REASON WE COULDN'T TALK ABOUT PHOTO PROCESSING!!

My husband, having witnessed my expertise in the language over the years, has told me that if I ever get that way, I mean, seriously get that way, he will not entertain me.  He thinks the best way to end it would be to tell me I'm talking crazy and to tell me the reality of the situation.

"Why wouldn't you just humor me?" I say.

"Why should I do that?  Wouldn't you want to be put back on track?"

"Not if I'm talking crazy.  If I'm talking C.R.A.Z.Y., just go with it, will you?"

"No."

I've gotten a little less polished in the "language," but my ears still perk up when I hear someone say, "I hear voices," or "That song reminds me of my first husband's pretend dog," or a sweet little girl, about to enter the circle of a very strange family tells me about her uncle's ramblings and I yearn to one day meet the man and surprise him when I open my mouth and speak his language.

*Note:  This does not in any way mean we, any of us in this crazy family, have any empathy or sympathy regarding Hitler.  That is not the case at all.

Copyright 2010 liamsgrandma

Conversations with Druck

I often think that Druck and I should have our own reality show.  Except that no one would believe it.  "Surely," the viewers would say, "this is all contrived.  I mean, who in their right mind would even begin to believe that that woman had been hit by a bicyclist and also by a motor vehiclist during one of her pregnancies and that she and the child survived?  With no brain damage?  Oh, wait a minute..."

So the other evening, as Druck prepared for bed, he sat on the edge of that bed, flipping through bills.  I sat beside him and glanced at the back of his neck.  A neck that is absolutely gorgeous.  His hairline is the sexiest I have ever seen and I love the back of that neck.  Except for that mole.  He's had that mole ever since I've known him.  Which would be since 1979.  And the mole has such a presence that it could have its own mailing address.  

Anyway, I noticed that the mole, which was once brown, was now pink. 

"I don't like that," I said.

"Like what?" Druck replied in an accusatory tone.

"That mole.  It's pink.  It used to be brown."

"So what."

"So, they say when there are changes like that, you should report it to the doctor."

Unflinching, and swiping his hand to his ear in telephone holding position, he bellowed:

"Hello?  I'd like to report a mole.  Yes, that's right - a mole.  No, no, I'd rather not leave my name."

I hope I don't have to say, "I told you so" someday.

Copyright 2010 liamsgrandma