Grandmother Diaries

Aiden and I and Sweet Potato Pie

2011-10-31T06:48:00.000-07:00

I was running late picking him up from kindergarten. I knew I only had 15 minutes to spare. Impulsively, I ran into a new grocery store, Green Something, to pick up bread and milk and added more items, you know how it is. Then I went to check out and it’s all self-checkout which I hate. The machine started screeching when I put the chicken in the plastic bag. I was running late and knew that Aiden, my little 6 year old grandson, the worrier, would think I had abandoned him. I drove a too fast down the street, shame on me, and slid into position in the pick-up kid queue at Indian Grove Elementary School. It was 11:35 am and thank God, I was safe. Aiden told me later, “Well, you know Grandma, when you are the last kid waiting they put you in the office and call your parents.” Subtle little stab in the heart.

We unloaded the groceries in my little cottage, “Grandma’s Tree House.” Milk, bread, eggs, root beer, a whole chicken, large eggs, lemons, rosemary, and bananas. Aiden and I settled down into working on a book we made together. It’s called, “Love.” I’d been noticing that his imagination was getting wild and wooly, stretching the bridge between truth and well, untruth.

We wrote the book the weekend before, and then we finished the illustrations. Aiden is really adept at computer stuff, learned how to scan the artwork into the computer in about 10 minutes. He also figured out how to take pictures and download them into the picture file, and then I showed him how to insert it into a document. Sometimes I think he would be perfectly happy having his own apartment with a computer, scanner and printer as long as he had an income stream from somewhere.

So he had dictated his self-description to me, “He is 100 feet tall” and “he has 10 fingers on each hand” and “his grandmother is the baddest Grandma in town.” When I asked how that was possible, he said, “Well, she tries to help people.” Geesh, that’s what made me bad? Anyway the book is hilarious, I did most of the illustrations, and he wrote all the words. He wants to send it to a publisher so we put it in an envelope and sent it to Scholastic, Inc. So it’s on its way to New York. While we wait for glory to come find us, I asked what he wanted to do.

“Let’s cook, Grandma.” Hmmmm. Ah, I remembered the sweet potatoes I had baked the night before. Perfect. I went into Food Network for a recipe and pulled up Emeril’s Sweet Potato Pie. I gave him my “Grandma’s Warning About Electric Mixer’s Talk” and then we began to gather the ingredients. Basically my scary talk is this, “If a child puts his fingers in the beaters he will lose his little fingers.” He’s very careful.

Aiden used the mixer to smooth out the sweet potatoes with the cup of cream, he beat up 4 eggs into the bowl, dumping in the pumpkin pie mix, cloves, salt, ginger, while I scrapped the sides with a wooden spoon. We poured it all into the cooked pie shell, and voila! Around 45 minutes later, it looked like a yummy soufflé. Aiden, sitting in his little wooden chair said, “Oh, Grandma, so delicious!” I’d never had sweet potato pie, but I think we both love it more than pumpkin. Try to make it with someone you love. The love makes it taste better.

Ingredients:

•1 egg white, lightly beaten

•1 1/2 pounds sweet potatoes

•1 tablespoon vegetable oil

•1/2 cup light brown sugar

•1/2 cup maple syrup

•2 teaspoons ground ginger

•1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

•1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg

•1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

•1/2 teaspoon salt

•1 cup heavy cream

•4 large eggs

DirectionsPreheat oven to 375 degrees F.I used a pre-made pie shell in the refrigerated section and it worked perfectly.Roll the dough out on a lightly floured surface to a 12-inch circle. Carefully transfer the dough to a 9-inch deep pie pan and ease the pastry into the bottom and sides of the pan. Press the dough into the shell and crimp the edges in a decorative pattern. Using the tines of a fork, lightly dock the base of the shell. Place the shell into the oven and bake until lightly browned, 12 to 15 minutes. Remove from the oven and brush the bottom with the egg white. Set aside until ready to use.Rub the sweet potatoes with the vegetable oil and roast in the oven for 45 to 60 minutes, until very tender. Remove and set aside to cool. Peel the potatoes and pass the flesh through a fine mesh sieve using a rubber spatula. You should have about 1 1/2 cups of smooth sweet potato puree.In a medium mixing bowl, combine the sweet potato puree with the sugar, maple syrup, ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and salt. Whisk to combine. In a separate bowl, combine the heavy cream with the eggs and whisk to combine. Add the cream and egg mixture to the sweet potato mixture and stir to blend. Pour the batter into the prepared pie shell and place the pie on a sheet pan. Bake until the center is set and the tart is golden brown, 35 to 45 minutes. Remove the tart from the oven and allow to cool for at least 20 minutes before cutting. We made whipped cream out of the leftover cream.

Occupy Berkeley

2011-10-16T22:50:00.000-07:00

Ten years ago, I was one of maybe 50 people who demonstrated on Shattuck Ave. right in front of the Berkeley downtown Bart. We were railing against the first attacks on Afghanistan; we were a small tentative group, a little fearful of others’ reactions. The bombings were Bush’s response to the 9-11 attacks in New York, so if anyone was firmly against it, then their patriotism was also in question.

Mostly people kept their mouths shut and refused to talk about it. Even my anti-war buddies bit their lips, and then changed the subject. The demonstrations eventually got bigger, and then stopped altogether when Obama was elected. We thought everything would be okay.

Driving down the hill from the tunnels, I drove into town, not positive what time the demonstration would start. I found 2 different times on websites. It began at either 12pm or 1 pm. so I figured other people had trouble with the times as well and were late. I circled MLK Park and saw nothing except the crowded weekly Farmer’s Market.

It was a gorgeous October Saturday afternoon in front of me. Trees the color of fire and copper spread out on Shattuck Avenue. Tons of students everywhere, couples strolling hand in hand, knots of kids circling outdoor tables drinking coffee at cafes, or just basking in the soft sun. And still, no demonstration to be seen or heard so far. Finally after my third go around of the park and Farmer’s Market, I heard something. I saw a few cops on motorcycles and a couple of them on bicycles wearing shorts. Looking up the street I saw them and heard them, “The citizens united Can NOT be divided.”

Being generous, I would say there were about 200 people of all ages, not too many student types, carrying sounds, and chanting. It's never a good sign when you find open parking places across from a demonstration. I drove around the block to find not one, but two parking places across the street from the large park in front of city hall. Apparently the crowd had marched on the banks in a few tight little blocks and circled back to MLK.

It was a small, but determined group. I am a big supporter of the occupy movement, but my back has me in fits lately, unable to stand very long. I parked, but decided not to cross the street. I watched for awhile, took photos, listened to the chant and wished that more people had shown up. Oakland had a great turnout so they pulled people from Berkeley.

People keep asking what they want, telling them to define themselves, and to make a list of demands. There is no shortage of advice from my generation to theirs. I made a comment to one webpage: They are not asking for our permission or advice. Quit telling them what they have to do. They’ve done more in a month than we’ve done in years. Good on them. They’ve scared Wall Street a little. Hurray!

I know what they want for all of us: true democracy and fairness, a sense of fairness and justice, good, meaningful jobs, affordable housing, competent medical care, and inexpensive excellent education, and a clean environment. No, it’s not too much to ask. It’s what we all deserve for a happy life. I’m so proud of them and all they are doing!

We don’t know how this will end, but we need not be so attached to the results for a first effort. I personally haven’t felt this hopeful in years. As noted author and essayist Chris Hedges said, this is the best antidote for despair we've seen. And that's saying a lot because I think we've been full of fear, worry, doubt, sadness, and anger for far too long.

We the People! Stand Up! Wall Street and D.C.

2011-10-05T10:33:00.000-07:00

Lafayette California Gulf War Memorial Oct. 3, 2011

I grew up believing God kept his eye on us all, He leaned on me as I pledged allegiance to the wall.”

Paul Simon

I grew up believing we were a moral country, one with a vision of fairness, of exploration and brilliant ingenuity, when something was wrong or unjust, we tried to fix it, we knew we could. We took on slavery, civil rights, women’s rights, the Vietnam War, polio, and poverty. I thought people in the Congress cared about us. When I was a kid I thought they were statesmen.

No longer. I no longer look to any of them to take good care of us, the people who put them in office. I never would have believed that in my lifetime the Supreme Court would decide that corporations have the rights of citizens to give unlimited funds to influence politicians in Citizens United. Wall Street and politicians are one in the same. Maybe some are honest, but not many.

Their voices now put me to sleep. They talk; my brain goes dull like I’ve been drugged. We no longer have any influence on them. Do you remember how many of us wrote, called, emailed, and showed up in Washington D.C. telling them and Obama not to give Wall Street the bailout money? Did they listen? Did Obama listen?I'm sick of lies and disingenuous talk aimed at keeping us under control.

We've had sustained war for 10 years and adding more deaths each day so that our treasury has been gutted and we are told we have to cut services to children, sick, and elderly people. On Christmas Eve, I took a picture of the Lafayette California Gulf War Memorial. The number of deaths on 12/24/10 was 5822. Now there are 466 more soldiers who have died in this bloody war and all those families whose lives are changed forever. How many mothers and fathers in the U.S., Iraq, and Afghanistan have watched their beloved children being buried? What is wrong with us that we go along with this merciless slaughter? We know in our hearts that it’s so wrong.

This is what people need: good jobs, safe housing, competent health care, a stimulating and profound education, and a government free from the corruption of corporations. We need corporations and rich people to pay their fair share. I don’t care what Wall Street wants. I want a free press, not a corporate press. The wars are not for our benefit or some lofty goal. Who do they serve? Oil Companies? Arms dealers? It is not for the American people. We used to have trials, now we assassinate.

I no longer want to hear what the Democrats or Republicans have to say. They want their good jobs and their influence and power. How did this happen? Ask Congress why we can't go to a doctor? Have you seen those images on TV of doctors and nurses traveling around in our country en mass to provide health care like they were visiting a banana republic, but it turned out to be Oakland? Why can't we have green and good paying jobs? Healthy food without poisons? Medicines that don’t harm? A really clean and healthy environment? Why can't we have good education? Peace?

We can have every bit of those life giving and spirit saving elements in our country and more if we all paid taxes and our representatives served OUR interests. It’s not rocket science. It just takes political will.

Starting tomorrow, Oct. 6th, gatherings will begin, the largest will be in D.C. and New York. Occupy Wall Street is the brightest beacon of hope I’ve seen in years. I’ve read a lot of criticism of the people involved in Occupy Wall Street. I say they’ve got the best cure for despair I’ve seen in 20 years. We don’t know what will happen, but we’ve got to forget about being attached to results. It’s vital to retaining our democracy to be there or support them.I grew up believing we were a moral country. I think we can be that way again, but if we let despair sink any further into our bones we won’t be able to pull ourselves out. Let’s support all who stand up and say, “No More.”

Call to Action - Oct. 6, 2011 and onward-Human Needs, Not Corporate Greed-Statement about Oct. 6th

October 2011 is the 10th anniversary of the invasion of Afghanistan and the beginning of the 2012 federal austerity budget. It is time to light the spark that sets off a true democratic, nonviolent transition to a world in which people are freed to create just and sustainable solutions.We call on people of conscience and courage—all who seek peace, economic justice, human rights and a healthy environment—to join together in Washington, D.C., beginning on Oct. 6, 2011, in nonviolent resistance similar to the Arab Spring and the Midwest awakening. www.october2011.orghttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SaCufTW9ID4 Chris Hedges Why I’ll be There

Some Unsolicited Advice for Martha Stewart

2011-09-12T09:34:00.000-07:00

Let me just say that I am a big fan and I love your show. I have daydreamed about living in your tasteful home, your prolific garden, and your gorgeous kitchen. I frequently visualize myself mixing complicated French fruit tarts in your minty green bowls.You’re so talented and very creative.

I hated that you were sent to jail, I admired your strength and internal fortitude to just do it without whining. I cheered your comeback and watch your show whenever I can. In other words, I have your back when I hear you being badmouthed.

This morning I was just fooling around, googling lots of different subjects, but I suddenly noticed all the articles about you, Martha Stewart, becoming a grandmother. Apparently last March, your 45 year old daughter, Alexis, had a baby girl by surrogate. Martha, you were on a business trip when the baby was born so you didn’t see your grandchild until the baby, Jude, was 3 days old.

I’m guessing (based on what I’ve read about their relationship) that Alexis is a little entitled. I watched the TV show Alexis had with her girlfriend where she and her friend made fun of you following your programs. It was produced by your production company so I’m assuming they had your permission. It was horrible and embarrassing, but Alexis must have made some money off of it.

I think, Martha, that your were probably not an easy mother, I get that, but I see trouble in your future so I’m offering my help. You have your area of expertise and I have mine. My area is being a grandmother. I have 4 grandchildren under 7, three girls and one boy. I even write a blog called, thegrandmotherdiaries.blogspot.com to document my experiences with my babies. As I've said, I’m an admirer and also a grandmother with some experience now; I have some advice if you would like it. Yes? Read further. No? I still love you and my feelings aren’t hurt. Well maybe a little…

1. Your daughter was going to return that big box full of embroidered baby things you gave her and buy herself something. I have a sneaking suspicion that Alexis is going to use this baby as some kind of weapon against you. Back off with buying stuff until later when your daughter settles down. It’s the way of heartbreak, honey. Don’t let her break your heart over stuff. Maybe Alexis wants some presents?

2. Martha, you said you don’t want the baby to call you ‘grandma.” Are you kidding me? First off, the baby will call you whatever she can pronounce. I was “Dama,” then ‘Bama,” and finally “Grandma.” Just wait. You can decide when she finally gives you a name. It is the baby who will probably name you.

3. In a few years, Alexis is going to want some time off. Also it may not be years, probably weeks. Just wait. Your daughter is doing this alone so she will need you. Just let her know you will be there to help.

4. Something Alexis needs to hear: Your mother and your daughter will have their own relationship that has nothing to do with you. You don’t own your child, Alexis. You do have the right to limit things, but geez, give your mother a break. Grandmas do get to spoil a little, like staying up a little later, extra ice cream. For God’s sake, lighten up a bit. Both of you.

5. Martha, let this little girl decide what you do with your time together. When she starts to walk, just follow her. She’ll adore your yard and plants, the outdoors. Make her little boats to float in rain puddles. Make simple cookies. Have some songs she likes and sing them all the time. Do bring her books like Alexis says, but you’ve always valued handmade stuff. Make some books with her. Get out your sewing machine. I made my granddaughter a revamped Barbie RV that was so fun to do. I make paper dolls and pear tarts. In other words, do stuff together if you can. It’s so fun you won’t believe it.

6. You have all the money in the world. Cut back on your work so you can spend time with this little girl while she’s still under 5. You will never regret it. I promise.

7. I think you may be a person who is really hard on herself, Martha, but this little girl will absolutely love you beyond reason and love you for just arriving on her doorstep, before you even do anything. You won’t believe how that feels. Talk about unconditional love. Even if you make mistakes. Just enjoy this baby.

8. The purity about being around small children is that it is just like meditating, you are just in the moment with them. This time is magical. Don’t miss it.

9. And Alexis, I know that it took me a long time to view my mother as another woman with needs and faults, etc. This period is really important for you, your mother, and your baby girl. Remember this: the more people who love and share their lives with your child, the better. It will only enrich her experience of the world.

So, that's it, Martha. I wish you smooth sailing as a grandmother. It's really the best thing. Except, now you have one more person to worry about, fret over, lose sleep about, and hold in your heart every day. If you need any more advice, just call.

She Wears Her Love Like Heaven

2011-07-23T20:51:00.000-07:00

Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work, which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished. ~ Mary Oliver

Allow me to spend a few minutes telling you about the youngest baby in our family, Ava. She’s 17 months old with very blond wispy hair not long enough to make ponies or use barrettes yet. Big dark blue eyes and a giggle like a stream of pure water in a bubbling brook, Ava puts her head back and laughs so you can see her latest molars.

She’s been on her feet since a few days before her birthday, then began running full speed. Her latest trick, while her big sister Rebecca does her version of River Dance, is to dance on her tip toes. Who knew a baby could be so clever?

When I come to the door she bangs the top of her head three times with her hand, points outside, and runs for the refrigerator. That is shorthand for, my sister is home, let’s play outside, and can we bring a Popsicle with us? As I said, Ava is very advanced. My daughter was teaching her baby sign language, but she has made up some of her own that we all understand.

There is a circular space through the kitchen, dining area, and living room where a child can run in circles for hours without hitting her head. When I come over, Ava will get her sister to run with her, she stops short in front of me so I can say, “Boo, “ which makes her scream, bend over at the waist to laugh, wriggle with delight, then run some more.

Before I had grandchildren I didn’t realize how much kids love routine, how they crave the same games, but they definitely do. When I stay for dinner, I get the pleasure of giving both the girls a bath. Sadly, my darling Rebecca is done with singing games and powder, but Ava still thinks Baby Magic lotion and Johnson’s Baby Powder are the most spectacular things. Lotion on hands, backs, baby bottoms, arms, cheeks, and powder everywhere spread around by little hands, and then topped with baby footie pajamas. She smells like heaven when I kiss her sweet cheeks and nuzzle her neck. I go home covered with powder and lotion, also, so much so I can’t stop at the store on the way home because I’m such a mess.

I still call her Baby. She’s probably my last grandchild so I keep my nose buried a little longer into her neck to kiss her, holding her a little tighter next to my heart, watching her a little longer , and savoring her sweetness while closing my eyes to remember her at just this very moment. Then I release her knowing she's off to her business of growing up. Which, of course, is how is should be.

Where Has Mary Gone?

2011-06-27T09:52:00.000-07:00

I’ve always really liked Mary. She was always easy to talk to and she was always kind. I never bought the namby pamby virgin they tried to sell to us as children. I saw her as strong, regal, a woman with her own mind, and internal power. So when she showed up in my home town a few months ago I was thrilled. Who wouldn’t want Mary to show up?

People who have been following the story of The Surfing Madonna knew it was going to happen, but still. It was shocking. She was here, then boom. Gone. Mysteriously our beautiful blue Mary showed up on the corner of Vulcan and Encinitas Boulevard a few blocks from Moonlight Beach in Encinitas on April 22 of this year and disappeared last Saturday.

Born under the Coaster train underpass, the gorgeous blue/green/golden mosaic showed up right before Holy Week and was an immediate hit. Tall, yet holding herself like the queen she is, Mary stood on the board arms extended, balanced on the surfboard, veils flapping wildly in the wind, her golden glow surrounding her with her motto to the left of the 10x10 foot mural. None of this ‘pray to me’ business for our new Guadalupe sister. It’s Save our Ocean. Her message is timely, simple, and profound.

The city council of Encinitas, the southern California beach town where I raised my kids, had a fit. They called her ‘illegal’ (kind of like her other sisters and brothers from Mexico), they called her trashy and demanded her removal. They reacted as if gang graffiti had been painted there. The city called in experts to assess how much it would cost to remove her. They even spent $2,200 of city money for an estimate.

Mary’s image captured the imagination of the community and even the nation’s news. Her beauty, the mystery of her appearance, her message of saving the ocean brought people to the corner to see and touch her. Mary even had her very own flash mob who wore long Spanish mantilla’s on their heads and held candles. St. John’s, the local Catholic Church, told the city they would welcome the mosaic on its coastal campus. Other businesses on PCH 101 offered her a sanctuary as well.It was all too much.

The artist had hoped to remain anonymous, but when they threatened to take her apart and haul her away, coastal artist Mark Patterson came forward. He had dreams about Mary for years, finally he heeded her message. Mark traveled to Italy to learn mosaic, gathered the stained glass, and created her as a gift to the city with a reminder of the ocean’s vulnerability. Patterson agreed to a fine of $500 and to pay the fee for the removal estimate. Mark’s looking for a place for Mary along Pacific Coast Highway that won’t cause a traffic hazard so he and his friends took Mary down, carefully took her apart until they can find her a new home.

I’ve been thinking lately about how important art is in our lives. It surely evokes emotional responses such as hope or horror. It has the capacity to lift us higher, make us cry or laugh, or demand it be removed from our sight. Art elevates the conversation, shows us something new about ourselves. It can give us a glimpse of our better angels or our worst destructive tendencies. Art reflects our humanity back to us so we can examine who we are.

"We are all meant to be mothers of God, for God is always needing to be born." Meister Eckhart

Quitting Smoking: Getting Over Myself

2011-05-26T16:36:00.000-07:00

I remember thinking a few years back, “What if I treated myself the way I treat my kids? What if all that love and understanding, compassion and forgiveness, unconditional kindness was directed to my own heart and head?” What a revolutionary thought! Like every good Mama, I dismissed the idea. Ridiculous. Well, I never did anything with that thought before now and I can say with certainty, it really did the trick.

My last blog was January 30th, four months ago. At that time I said I was looking for a way to transform myself in a good way. I don’t know if I’ve accomplished what I meant, but I did quit smoking and had to wait a month to be sure I had a handle on it before I came back to Open Salon. Nothing worse than a self-congratulatory hypocrite.

I did it. I kicked the habit. How did I do it, you ask? With an acute awareness of my lack of self discipline, tons of patience, and kindness to myself. I never thought I could do it. I’ve tried so many times and failed miserably. This is the first time I just took my time and learned how to do some serious and kind self-talk. Oh, and drugs. I took Chantix for 3 months.

I started to smoke at 13, buying my cigarettes at vending machines in gas stations. I seriously started smoking at 18. I grew up in a world where most of the adults smoked. In the 70’s, I smoked through 2 pregnancies without the doctor saying a word about it. It has been 43 years since I woke up without running for a smoke to go along with my first cup of coffee.

Breaking my habits one by one, I started with the first cigarette in the morning and the last one at night. I used to smoke 3 cigarettes before even took my shower. I won’t tell you that I didn’t love it. I did. Even now, probably 2 times a day I have an intense craving. But if I breathe deeply, remember what a drag tasted like, I’m fine. The moment passes.

The downside of quitting: The drug gave me terrible insomnia. I had crazy acid dreams that woke me up and I couldn’t fall back to sleep. For example, I was being told to jump in a well with a walrus. I was saying,”No, you have to tell me your plan for getting me out.” I didn’t get an answer so I didn’t jump, but I opened my eyes at 1:12 a.m. and stayed awake all night.

I would have to take an over the counter sleep pill before I went to bed to sleep enough to go to work to function, make a living. For one month after quitting the Chantix I was utterly, pathetically exhausted. That’s going away. I just realized I feel pretty good today and I’m going swimming.

The good reasons to quit: my grandchildren. I just don’t want them to remember me as the lady in the backyard by herself, margarita in one hand, cig in the other. I want to breathe and not be a sick old lady. That’s the truth of it. I was really nice to myself while I made mistakes, backslid, felt sorry for self. It worked. I waited longer each day to have one, finally realized how silly I was to have 2 a day for about 6 weeks. I just set the date and did it.

Do I miss it? Yup. Then I take a deep breath and it feels good. I am taking one day at a time. Conveniently, with an addicts’ sense of logic, I kept a pack by my bed stand with 2 cigarettes in it. I told my sister I kept them so that I didn’t feel deprived and I could have ‘em anytime I wanted. Then I realized that those words were like an alcoholic saying he can drink anytime he chooses.

I threw them out. Along with my hand lotion, mouth wash, and hand sanitizer in my front seat. Oh, and I got the new car.

I also promise if I walk by you in the street and you have a cigarette, that I won’t wave my hands and make hissing noises, with a disapproving scowl on my face. I hated that before and I hate it still. This is a beginning that I like. Cheers.

Though your destination is not clear

You can trust the promise of this opening;

Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning. john o donohue~

Aiden and I and MLK: A 5 Year Old's View of History

2011-01-21T08:29:00.000-08:00

My grandson, Aiden, and I spent the school holiday together. He is beautiful with reddish blond hair, light blue eyes, and even has one big dimple when he smiles. I picked him up at 3:00 p.m. to drive him to my little cottage, or "my tree house" Aiden calls it. We make up songs on the way to my place and sing "Puff," "This Land is Your Land," though we only know one verse of each. Once we arrive, we have a plan.

Always one to initiate cooking projects, Aiden told me that he wanted to make a cherry pie. He began kindergarten last September so he is starting to understand or at least be aware of some historical events. Here is a recap of our conversation:

A: Grandma, today is Martin King's birthday.

Me: Oh yes, I know, Aiden. He was a good man.

A: He was shot dead. Then he died.

Me: I remember when it happened. It was very sad.

A: Did you know he was in JAIL, Granma?

Me: Yes. I did.

A: Why was he in jail, Grandma? (his auntie is a sheriff who works in the jails so he fascinated by the notion.)

Me: He broke a law, but it was a very bad law. Do you know what an unjust law is , Aiden? Some white people thought they were better than black people so they wouldn't let them eat in restaurants or drink from the same water fountains...there were terrible mean laws just for black people. He went to jail to change the laws so that they said we are all the same.

A: What's dead mean? Is Martin in heaven, Grandma?

Round and round we went trying to make sense of a good man, trying to change bad laws, arrested, sent to jail, shot dead, and ending up in heaven.

And then we made pie. It was a good day.

Holy Sparks for the New Year: Repairing the World

2010-12-31T08:40:00.000-08:00

“Don’t do to others, that which is abhorrent to you. That is the law.

All else is commentary.”

The Talmud

I had a teaching colleague who confided in a mutual friend about me, “The trouble with her is when she sees a problem, she thinks she supposed to fix it.” It kind of blew me away. I thought that was what everyone did.

When my sister Sandy was alive, sometimes when I would call her, she could tell just from the sound of my voice. She would ask me, “Are you having trouble with the cruelty and stupidity of the world again?” The answer was almost always “yes.” We’d talk things over, so in a short while I usually could get back to my hopeful and optimistic self.

What if there was a way to repair the world? How are we going to fix this deeply flawed world? Is it something that is our work to do? The problems are so big, our power so small. But is it really? How can we make things better for each other and ourselves? I have an idea that might work, at least a little to alleviate the horrible troubles we are going through right now.

One idea I’ve picked up along the way is the idea of Holy Sparks. This is from Jewish Midrash (a story) that explains our obligation of performing acts of kindness and help. We can repair what’s broken in the world and restore the world to wholeness and peace by correct action. These actions are called “tikun olam,” or “repairing the world.”

The actions can be as simple as showing kindness, prayer, feeding people who are hungry, listening to a distraught friend, lending money, sitting with a person who has lost someone, visiting the sick and imprisoned, reconciling with a family member, etc. The belief stems from the understanding that sparks of Divine light are in all matter.

Imagine this: Every time we perform actions to help someone, the sparks are released exploding into the sky so that the Divine’s goodness is revealed to the world. See the sparks like fireworks. If we miss an opportunity to do any of these things put before us, that spark is trapped forever. You only get one chance for each action. If we release enough holy sparks the world will be transformed.

Last year I was driving my grandson, Aiden, home from preschool. He was 4 at the time. I pulled up to a red light. On the median divider stood a homeless man, as sad and bedraggled as any person I had ever seen. He was holding a cardboard sign asking for help. I reached in my purse, found a $5 bill, looked him in the eye, and handed it to him. The man smiled and I smiled then I drove on. After a few minutes, Aiden asked, “Why did you do that, Grandma?” I said, “Well, I just believe we need to help each other if we can.” When we got back to Aiden’s house, he ran in his room, rustled around for awhile, then came out, hugged me, then handed me $5 of play money from his toy cash register. It was such a reminder of how kids watch us to see how to act. His action made me cry .

The imagery of holy (whole) sparks speaks to my heart. When we get it right, we help, we nurture, we share, and WOW. A golden spark lights up the sky. The New Year is an opportunity for starting out on a different foot, to forgive, to get out of our own heads and troubles, to be the face of good in the world. What we need more than anything is hope that things will get better. Isn’t it worth a try?

I am speaking to myself as much as putting this idea out in the world, but I just think that if enough of us try it, it’s a beginning.

What if 1/3 of us did it? Or 1/2 of us? Would the world look like a different place?

Mama's Christmas Carrot Cookies and Family Cookbook

2010-12-06T20:22:00.000-08:00

In my family, we had tea every day at 4:00 p.m. My mom always had homemade cookies, muffins, or date nut bread to go with the tea. She was a wonderful cook and her house always smelled like heaven. She died about 15 year s ago and I still miss her every day.

A few years after my mother died, I discovered that I didn’t have all of her recipes. I had a few favorites, but was missing many more. I felt kind of panicky because I had lost something extremely valuable. I began to email my sisters and nieces hoping to find the rest. Much to my relief, the replies came quickly with so many recipes that I began to compile them into categories. That gave me an idea so I emailed again, this time asking for everyone’s favorite memories of my mom. When those rolled in I knew I had the makings of a family cookbook. While reading everyone’s stories, I understood that my mom made everyone feel special and loved. It also made me cry more than I had in years.

Everyone who has lost an important person in their life knows that grief comes in waves. It hits you hard, and then goes away. I could be driving down the street feeling fine, hear a song on the radio like “It’s a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong (her absolute favorite), then I’d burst into tears. Having the cookbook to put together gave me a mission that year and it helped me to get through the holidays.

At the time I didn’t have a digital camera, so I drew and painted pictures of the food by memory. I cut out and glued the paintings on each recipe to put together one master copy. Next I color copied each page and I made 12 copies. I let Kinko’s put a clear plastic cover and back page and they bound them in plastic, also. The cover showed through nicely. I made a copy for each sister and for all nine of our children, put them all in large envelopes and mailed them off several days before the holiday. The carrot cookies were only made for Christmas Eve so I wanted them to arrive in time.

Mama’s Christmas Carrot Cookies

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Cream the first 3 ingredients below:

½ cup softened butter

½ cup shortening

1 1/8 cup white sugar

Add 2 eggs

1 ½ cup carrots

(cook until soft, then put through the food processor or blender)

In a different bowl:

Sift all 3 items below through a metal strainer:

3 cups flour

2 tsp. baking powder

1 tsp. salt

Mix all the dry and wet ingredients together.

Put parchment paper on a cookie sheet.

Make rounded tablespoon size drops for the cookies-I use a medium sized melon baller.

Bake for around 12 -15 minutes- They don't get brown just check to see that they are firm, but watch for the bottom burning.

Orange Icing

1 package confectioner’s sugar

2 oranges grated

Juice the oranges

½ stick of butter, softened

Add the sugar and butter then mix. Use as much orange juice from the 2 oranges as needed but don't make it too runny, then add in the grated orange rind.

When the cookies are cool, spoon as much icing as you want over the cookies.

Cut maraschino cherries in half, blot on a paper towel, and then place one on each cookie after icing. Delicious- not too sweet, but the flavor of carrots and oranges together is so wonderful.

Here's what my niece Cindy wrote in her memory of my mom for the cookbook: "The joy of walking up the stairs to her home after a long, long trip-tea every day-how wonderful it was for the whole family to be together-date squares, carrot cookies, reading on the back porch, having her put her large knitted afghan over me for a nap, sweet peas growing in her yard, decorating Christmas cookies at her house with all the cousins, watching her bring plates of food to neighbors who were alone or sick. She was so loving." If you ever have the opportunity to put together a family cookbook I know you will find it an exercise in love.

Author tags:

10 Ways to Nurture Your Child's Spirituality

2010-12-04T08:19:00.000-08:00

As the holidays approach, I worry about the influence our material culture has on kids. At a young age, children are being taught to believe that if you just have the perfect toy or electronic gadget, their lives will be perfect. Being adults we know the truth. It makes us feel better for a little while, then we want something else.

A meditation teacher once told me that joy was the natural state of humans. He said in the beginning it's like our hearts are bright, shiny-clean mirrors. Then, once negative things in life happen, the mirror becomes covered by feelings of worry, fear, anger, jealousy, etc. There are some conditions in our environment that we can control that have the potential to continuously wipe the mirror clean for our children and ourselves.

Maybe you've watched as magical, happy small children you know turn into not-so-charming materialistic kids who have lost their spark of individuality and joyfulness. Wanting more and more stuff stifles all the good qualities the child originally possessed. Make no mistake, the cultural norms promote and take over a large part of your child's life. If you go to a really good church or temple, that can counteract some the cult of ownership, but I think mostly it’s building a breathing space for your kids just to be.

Materialism isn't the only cultural problem. Chronic rushing and busyness, loud music and TV, insane competitiveness, overfilled schedules, force kids to grow up too early, robbing them of their innate spirituality. My grandson, who is 5, has only been to two movies and has limited PBS Sprout exposure. On Saturday, Aiden went to see Toy Story 3. So yesterday I took him to Safeway where we walked the aisles. Little pictures of Woody, the cowboy, jumped out at him from every turn. Cereal boxes, cookies, videos, called out to him, making him want all of it. We bought a box of Rice Crispies with Woody's picture only because we were making marshmallow treats. Apparently there was supposed to be something Toy Story related in the box, but we never found it, leaving Aiden disappointed. As much as you try to keep children from being influenced by our cultural materialism, it's designed to strike home.

Here are some ideas to help you create a space that allows your child to grow spiritually and develop a rich interior life.

1. Let them know there is something bigger than themselves, it can be called God, or it can be certain ideals your hold like Truth, Social Justice, Kindness, or Honesty. Something has to be bigger than them. You can use any word you like; Spirit, Creator, just don't let your child be the center of the universe.

2. Let them see you helping others in your community. Assisting family and neighbors when they are sick or in trouble, and showing kindness is great modeling. Especially let them see you giving without expecting anything back.

3. Give your children the time to dream. It's a gift to allow them periods of silence. Some quiet and solitude-don’t keep them constantly involved in competition, sports, TV, video games, etc. It robs them of their ability to think freely, to breathe, and to relax. Contrary to the popular belief that being alone occasionally is problematic, it's important for them to learn how to think and dream. When I taught high school, the principal told the whole faculty, "Watch out for loners and report them to us." I laughed out loud, thinking it was a joke. There has to be a middle way: alone all the time bad, never alone, equally detrimental.

4. Show and teach gratitude- for everything from food on the table to a warm bed, beautiful flowers growing in the yard, to being grateful for a kindness from a stranger. You can say grace before dinner, use any words you like, but start saying it or ask the kids to say it.

5. Encourage their imagination in as many ways as possible. A chance to use their imagination-give them lots of art supplies, wood blocks to build, don’t tell them what to do, don’t praise the art or project, say instead, “Tell me about your picture.” They will.

6.Take them to Yosemite instead of Disneyland. Okay, you can take them to Disney a few times, but mostly take them out into nature and to appreciate beauty. Have your kids seen the way stars look when you are in the mountains or the desert? A full moon rise? Appreciation for the miracles around them encourages wonder and awe in yourself and your kids. Get them outside, growing vegetables, go camping, look at plants, and point out the intricate beauty of frogs, bugs, and the flight of a hawk.

7. Exhibit peace and respect for others. Watch what you say and do in front of your kids-screaming at other drivers, calling people names are noticed. When you show respect, politeness to others, when you let people go ahead of you on the freeway and in the supermarket, your kids see it. Everything you say and do is noticed. If you don't want to hear it coming out of your 5 year old's mouth, don't say it.

8. Storytelling, books, and family ritual-Children learn from storytelling, both family and otherwise, borrow great books from the library, develop family rituals. This helps kids feel connected to you, their world, and the child's ancestors. There isn't any culture in the world, except maybe ours, where the ancestors are not called upon to help them or remember them to bring them into community with their lives. Family rituals can be as simple as praying together over meals or just setting healing intentions for others

9. Be careful with TV, movies, video games, etc. Children have their own inborn temperaments to be sure, but if they are exposed to scary or adult movies or games it harms them. Especially watch out for oversexualized or violent images have a terrible impact.

10. Be convinced of your child's innate sense of the sacred and their own spiritual centers. Children have moments of shocking awareness that are periods of grace. Don't underestimate their intuitive, soulful knowledge.

A few minutes ago, I went outside to clear my head and finish my coffee. Two small deer walked into the yard not 20 feet away from me. I could feel my heart jump a bit, lifting me up, cleaning the mirror again. I went to theology school, but I don't know everything about what we are doing here on this planet at this moment. I just know children's and our own spiritual lives need nourishing and a sacred space to grow freely. It's the best gift you can give them.

Thanksgiving Feast: The Cheese Stands Alone

2010-11-23T08:38:00.000-08:00

First thing I noticed was the kids were wearing turkey hats they had crafted. The hats, with construction paper feathers glued on, were eerily similar to Native American headdresses, but no matter. Trying not to offend, the teachers had opted for turkeys. No pilgrims kitsch either.

I was invited to Rebecca’s class for the Thanksgiving feast. I was supposed to volunteer, however there wasn’t much to do. I tied a few boys’ shoelaces, broke up a fight over a puzzle, went out to recess with them and took photos. All the food was arranged on a buffet table: popcorn, ambrosia, pretzels, little cupcakes with orange and yellow frosting, red peppers cut in strips, and cranberry juice.

When we returned to the classroom, the teacher asked me to read a book to the circle of children. It was called Pip and Squeak, which was a pretty drab book, so I added my own commentary as I read on.

When the families arrived, moms and grandmothers mostly, one dad, the teacher had the children sing Farmer in the Dell, Over the River and Through the Woods, and another one I didn’t recognize at all.

The children were told to sit down next to the placemats they made with strict instructions not to eat before everyone had been served. I like that the teacher talked about manners.

The big question was asked: What are you grateful for?

With answers that were all similar like the world, their moms, and my little grand girl however, said, “I’m grateful for my Grandma.”

Feeling bad for the dad who made it all, I tried to make myself useful by spooning the ambrosia onto kids’ plates, “See little marshmallows?” Not many takers. The kids ate their food, sang one more song and it was over.

Rebecca came over to give me fast kiss goodbye, so excited because she was going to the after school program for a few hours. “It’s movie day!” I asked her to stand still and put on her turkey hat so I could take a picture.

Her response was, “No Grandma, I have to hurry. I gotta go, my friends are waiting.”

By the time I snapped the picture I just got the back of her, hair flying, her turkey hat in her hand, jacket slung over her shoulder, and her backpack bouncing. I was kind of stunned. So soon?

As I drove home, I thought of the old Malvina Reynolds’ song, “Turn around.” The lyrics go something like, “Turn around and she’s two, turn around and she’s four, turn around and she’s a young girl going out of the door.”

That night as I told my daughter what happened, she said, “And that’s the difference between a 5 year old and a 6 year old.” Right on schedule, but damn it. I’m just not ready yet.

Thanksgiving Feast: The Cheese Stands Alone

2010-11-22T09:22:00.000-08:00

First thing I noticed was that the kids were wearing turkey hats they had crafted out of construction paper. Each hat had multiple paper feathers decorated with crayons and glued onto a head band. These were eerily similar to Native American headdresses, but no matter. Trying not to offend any affinity group, the teachers had opted for a turkey motif. No pilgrims kitsch either.

I was invited to Rebecca’s class for the Thanksgiving feast. I was supposed to volunteer, however there wasn’t much to do. I tied a few boys’ shoelaces, broke up a fight over a puzzle, went out to recess with them and took photos. All the food was arranged on a buffet table: popcorn, fruit ambrosia, pretzels, little cupcakes with orange and yellow frosting, red peppers cut in strips, and cranberry juice.

When we returned to the classroom, the teacher asked me to read a book to the circle of children. It was called "Pip and Squeak", which was a pretty uninspired book, so I added my own clever commentary as I read on.

When the families arrived, moms and grandmothers mostly, only one dad, the teacher had the children sing Farmer in the Dell, Over the River and Through the Woods, and another one I didn’t recognize at all.

The children were told to sit down next to the placemats they made with strict instructions not to eat before everyone had been served. I like that the teacher talked about manners.

The big question was asked by the teacher: What are you grateful for? With answers that were all similar, like the world, their moms, and my little grand girl, however, piped up by announcing, “I’m grateful for my Grandma.” When Rebecca gets nervous, she has a tendency to speak too loudly, so everyone heard her proclaim her devotion. Nice.

Feeling bad for the dad who made the unappreciated sweet fruit salad, I tried to make myself useful by spooning the ambrosia onto kids’ plates, “See little marshmallows?” Not many takers. The kids ate their food, sang one more song and it was over.

Rebecca came over to give me a quick kiss goodbye, so excited because she was going to the after school program for a few hours. “It’s movie day!, ” she told me. I asked her to stand still and put on her turkey hat so I could take a picture.

Her response was, “No Grandma, I have to hurry. I gotta go, my friends are waiting.”

By the time I snapped the picture I just got the back of her, running with her turkey hat in her hand, jacket slung over her shoulder, and her backpack bouncing. I was kind of stunned. So soon?

That night as I told my daughter what happened, she said, “And that’s the difference between a 5 year old and a 6 year old.” Right on schedule, but God, I'm just not ready yet.

Hearts Wide Open

2010-11-20T08:31:00.000-08:00

I'd been invited to

the kindergarten Thanksgiving Feast

walking in to get my volunteer badge

A male teacher, leading his kids on

a purple paint line

towards recess,

turns to shush the kids

who stay the course

but five little boys at the very end

do some kind of insane

heart dancing

arms and legs flying

heads bent down like jazz musicians

feeling it

music in their feet

like Aborigines

Following their song line.

For Rebecca: Now That She is Six

2010-11-05T19:48:00.000-07:00

Is she too much?

Or too loud? Or difficult?

Not at all, she’s not.

She’s joy walking

it is said

of the pony-tailed kind.

Vanessa Siejo

Rebecca is a joyful and fearless tree climber. She reaches for the sky; I lift up my arms to tether her back to earth. Not because I want to because I would love to see her climb as high as she craves, but I just understand how vulnerable her little body is to a fall. Sometimes I think, “Maybe if she wore her pink bicycle helmet and scooter pads on her elbows?” Then I realize, “nah.” Still too dangerous. What she needs is a big big net…

She’s a hula hooper, an apple cruncher and bubble gum lover. She has her own little stash of it in the rear of my Nissan, near her booster seat. My sister was horrified. I said, “For God’s sake. It’s not heroin. It’s Bubble Yum.” I know I am a bit indulgent.

Rebecca, the new 6 year old, has been annoyed me with lately. Her 8 month old baby sister, Ava, has begun to crawl, then stand against anything that will hold her. When I watch them in the afternoons after Rebecca comes home from kindergarten, I have to focus on the baby because everything in the house is a hazard to her. Ava puts every little fuzzy or piece of plastic thing into her mouth.

Rebecca is cranky and kind of snarky with me because of the diverted attention. I ask her to help pick up a dropped sippy cup, run get a diaper, a paper towel. Well, she’s naturally upset because she was the only star in my universe. She shouts, “no” at me, defiant and hurt. “I’m tired. Don’t ask me anymore.” I promise her 100 million dollars, a pony, and a big surprise for her help. She laughs and still says no. Then she sighs, big and dramatic, with arms flapping, but she relents.

This girl is at once heartbreakingly compliant and occasionally kind of naughty. An avid soccer player, a delicate ballet dancer, a singer of musicals, a lover of all things physical. Now that she is a beginning reader, adults cannot spell secrets around her any longer. Her hands are torn and calloused from learning how to swing on the rings at school. Just last week, she hurt her stomach muscles practicing the hula hoop for hours on end to master the skill.

Already, she’s lost her two top and bottom teeth. Luckily, her two top teeth have come in big, straight, and white. When I look at her, I see my oldest sister, Sandy’s school picture, from 4th grade. Her looks and smile have changed so that I can begin to see the young woman she will become.

There is a big girl tenderness in her smile that is new. Compassion for homeless people led her to ask to run a lemonade stand to raise money and wants to know the details in everything.

Because we both love music, I told her an old musical is being revived in San Francisco called West Side Story. She asks about the music. I said, “”Have you heard “I Feel Pretty?” Her face brightens, “Yes.” She has and asks about the other songs and wants to know the story. I tell her it’s kind of too old for her, but it’s about two people who love each other. but other people want to stop it. She wants to know what happens and I deliberately get vague.

Rebecca is the daughter of my daughter. I was in the delivery room when she was born six years ago this week. I was so happy that my daughter now had her own girl. The green clothed nurse, put her on Beth’s belly for a couple of minutes, then put her in a warming tray to clean her up. The baby began screaming hard.After washing out Rebecca’s eyes and scrubbing the blood off of her face and torso, the nurse wrapped her in a white with pink and blue striped receiving blanket. All the suction had formed the baby’s tiny head into a cone head so the nurse wrapped her head like a little Muslim girl to cover it. Rebecca had stopped crying and the nurse posed her upright for photos.

I took in her small presence, but I feel immediately that she has been around the wheel more than a few times. Her deep, dark blue eyes tell me so. I love her thousands of times more than that day, but still, I loved her then. Since she began to talk, she has called me “Bama” and “Dama” and now finally, “Grandma.”

I now know in my mind and heart, something I didn’t know when I was so young having my own children; children are who they are. We can try to steer them certain ways attempting to keep them safe from everything bad, but children have their own inborn temperaments and gifts, and more precisely, their own journeys to make. We just get to be their companions riding in the sidecar while they steer the motorcycle. Grandparents are powerless and we know it. I just want to stay close enough to breathe in her joie de vivre and to whisper in her ear, " I love you more than the stars in the sky."

When I was five,

I was just alive.

But now I am six,

I'm as clever as clever.

So I think I'll be six

now and forever.

A.A. Milne

Grandma Martha's Caramel Corn

2010-10-21T22:58:00.000-07:00

My granddaughter Rebecca, who is 5 ½, came to spend the night last Friday. The day before she arrived I asked her what she wanted to do. Here are her replies:

1. Dinner? Mac and Cheese and Hot dogs

2. Movie? Ice Age

3. Activities? Movie, reading, painting, and cooking

4. Snack? Grandma Martha's Caramel Corn

5. Breakfast? Blueberry Pancakes

6. Book? The Land of the Big Red Apple (Laura Ingels Wilder's continuing series, Little House, about her marriage and her own little girl, Rose.) It's a chapter book we’ve been in the process of reading for several months.

The caramel corn takes 1 hour to cook, so we did the prep work before dinner. My mother used to make a big bowl of this when we had family parties. It’s delicious, easy, fool proof, and cheap.

While I popped two bags of popcorn, I thought about my mom and how much I miss her and how she would have loved this little girl and that I made her recipe with my granddaughter.

Here's the recipe:

Grandma Martha's Caramel Corn

1. Pop 3 1/2 quarts of popcorn

2. Pour it into a deep turkey pan or some a deep disposable pan that is at least 4 or 5 inches deep and large.

3. On the stove, in a saucepan put 1 cup brown sugar, 1/4 cup corn syrup, 1/2 tsp salt. Mix together.

4. Cook on medium heat until bubbly-cook for 5 minutes (low to medium heat)

5. Take off the stove.

6. Put in 1/2 tsp baking soda, mix it in (it will rise up to the top-this is very dramatic, like a science fair volcano)

7. Pour the mixture all over the popcorn, mix it around with wooden spoon (it's really hot so be careful).

8. Place in 200 degree oven for 60 minutes (set the timer for 30 minutes at first and turn it all over again)

9. Take out of oven, stir into a large bowl, and mix again, breaking up the big pieces. Let it cool.

10. Put it in an airtight container to store.

I let Rebecca mix the butter, salt, syrup, and brown sugar. The rest is just too hot for a child to handle.

Ice Age, the movie, was really good. When the viewer thinks Diego, the saber-toothed tiger, is dead, Rebecca's eyes got all teary and her mouth turned downward. I told her, "Don't worry, darling. The movie has a really happy ending or I wouldn't show it to you." She loved the baby in the movie just as much as I did.

Together we watched the end of Ice Age and ate some caramel corn and drank lemonade. After the movie, we continue to read 1 or 2 chapters after she gets into pajamas, brushes her teeth, and gets under the covers. I read it out loud to her.

She fell asleep listening to me read Little House on the Prairie book at 8:15 p.m. which is a record. Usually she drags bedtime out until it' s 10 or 11 p.m. and we are both bleary eyed in the morning. She fights me and tests me a little bit each time she comes. She wants to see how far she can push it. Mostly I’m a pushover and she knows it.

This morning we ate blueberry pancakes and drew pictures and painted with my watercolors. I particularly liked the drawing she made of herself, little sister, and cousins wearing bright red clothing. I brought her home at 11:30 a.m.

As I write this on Saturday night, my house seems really still and empty-missing her presence, but needing to rest up for work the next morning.

Everything is Satisfactual

2010-10-09T11:01:00.000-07:00

The intense summer heat is gone. There is softness in the air, the October light has changed the quality of our days, and there is usually a breeze which makes Ava take notice. She squints and looks around, holds her face up, freezing for a moment at the way it feels on her eyes. I watch my granddaughters, Rebecca and Ava, three afternoons a week. Rebecca is turning 6 in one month and Ava is 7 months old. I stay for dinner and help out with dinner, bath time, and clean up.

We drift through these autumn afternoons by being quiet, but we sing, too. I’ve been teaching them Zippity Doo Dah. Mr. Bluebird on my shoulder. It’s the truth, my oh my, what a wonderful day! Rebecca and I sing. Ava listens.

Ava is sitting up, then overnight she has learned how to crawl. She does something like a pushup and stiffens her legs trying to stand. Her baby neck is thinner; she is beginning to look like a little girl rather than a baby. She has chubby sturdy legs to kiss and blow on. Ava’s head is covered with white blond hair that looks red in the sun. I have to stop myself from rubbing it all the time it is so soft.

On these warm afternoons, I take the girls out to the front yard. Rebecca either climbs the small elm or swings from the knotted rope suspended from a limb, while I sit on the grass with the baby. Ava loves the feel and sound of dried leaves, crinkly, rubbing them between her hands, she goes to eat them, and in one swift motion I uncurl her little hands, brushing the leaves back to the earth. We both watch Rebecca swing from her rope like Tarzan. I try to teach her the yell, but I can’t do it right.

I hold Ava under her arms and bounce her up and down while she does a little baby dance, feet doing a jig. Rebecca and I let her join us in a game of kickball. I swing the baby brushing her feet against the ball so she actually kicks it to her older sister. Ava takes it all in seriously like she wants to do a good job. Her eyes are dark blue marbles, her cheeks pink, her mouth holds two bottom teeth that are barely visible.

I marvel at Rebecca’s strength. Her hands are covered with healed over blisters from mastering the rings at school. Her big top teeth have come in. Her face is sweaty from the exertion, making her look like a Renaissance painting with blond curls that encircle her face, dark blue eyes, pink tiny mouth. Sometimes she climbs too high and it scares me. I love that she climbs trees and appears fearless. I wish she would come down, too, but I don’t say that. I just urge her to come down a little bit.

We have serious bath time discussions. Rebecca tells me that she doesn’t want me to spend any time with anyone but her. I tell her I understand and still, “Would she like it if I didn’t like her little sister?” Just something to think about, I tell her. I understand about jealousy I say. Then I tell her how when I read something someone has written that is very popular sometimes I feel a little jealous. I want my writing to be liked a whole lot, too. Love me best. Please.

I try to tell her how love doesn’t run out, there’s always enough, how you love people in different ways. I search for the words in a continuous inner dialog, something to put into print and illustrate how deep my love for her runs. “I’ve known you for almost 6 years. I’ve only known Ava for 7 months. Do you see how that might be different?” She is not convinced.

I try to take a mental snapshot of the soft light, Rebecca’s strong arms holding herself swinging in the air, the baby pulling grass, then smiling up at me to show me her hands full of green tufts and I wish it to go on forever.

You Have to Suffer to be Beautiful

2010-09-30T10:35:00.000-07:00

My mother's words. Sometimes said in annoyance through tight lips holding a bobby pin between her teeth, sometimes in jest. I'm also quite sure that she was repeating her own mother's words. Mostly she said them as she attached tight little circles of hair close to my scalp while I yelped from the scraping of my head if she grabbed a pin without the rubber tips. God that hurt.

The year is 1953 and I am four years old. It's Saturday night and we are preparing for church tomorrow morning at Christ the King Catholic Church in Auburndale, Massachusetts. Early on Sunday morning my mother brushes out my sunbleached blond hair into bouncy curls that surround my head. Standing over me, my mother pulls my starched and ironed pale yellow dress over my head and my petticoats.

The petticoats make a swishing noise when I purposefully wiggle my hips. I slip on my black patent leather Mary Janes over white socks. My shoes make a delicious sound when I skip around in circles on the hard wood floors. I had shined them the day before by wiping Vaseline over them with a soft white cloth.

My stomach is empty and growling, but we aren't allowed to eat breakfast before church. My mother and older sisters have to fast before Holy Communion and even though I am too young to go up, I still wasn't offered food and I wouldn't have asked.

My sisters, also curled and ironed and swishing, follow my mother into a pew then kneel down to say our prayers before Mass begins. The priest enters, swinging a censure, with Frankincense and Myrrh on fire, smoke swirling up to the ceiling, sending our prayers directly up to heaven. Tinkling bells ring and my stomach continues to growl. We stand up, kneel down. I copy the big people, taking my right fist beating my heart three times. Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa. Suffering is good. It makes us beautiful.

Last night I was brushing Rebecca's hair after I washed and put creme rinse it. She is my oldest granddaughter and at 5 1/2, has blond hair that is very thick and luxurious, but really a pain to comb out. I try to be gentle and still I end up hurting her trying to get the tangles out. It's become a battle between us. Turning to my daughter, I said, half jokingly say, "Shall I tell her Grandma's saying?" She shook her head. I don't want to put those words in Rebecca's consciousness either. I did tell my daughter the saying, but I really hope she knows I was kidding, but still language matters.

The truth is my sisters and I would have been beautiful without all that suffering. Pictures of us as kids bear it out. We were strong, blond, cute, tanned girls with bright blue eyes, big white straight teeth. We were all beautiful already. My oldest sister, Sandy caught polio when she was 12. Every family picture of her after that, right before it was taken, my mother would quietly slip in taking Sandy's crutches away. There aren't any photos of her with crutches as a girl or young adult.

In our family, the woman have spent a lot of time, money, dieting, shaving, plucking, and surgery trying to be beautiful. It's funny how words stick, sayings permeate thought, and how language really does have the power to move us in ways we don't always examine. Even now after most of my estrogen is gone, sometimes I look in the rear view mirror at a stop light, feeling good about myself, then I see it. In the bright sunlight, a couple of long gray hairs on my chin. Geesh.

I once heard someone say that he hoped God was a big smiling Italian grandmother, tomato sauce splashed on her flowered apron, arms outstretched, saying, "Mangia! Mangia!" I'm hoping for a God who looks at all of us like I look at my granddaughter. Realistic, but also with total love and acceptance, seeing our inner and outer beauty and goodness, and rooting for us to see it, too.

YOU WANNA PIECE OF ME?

2010-09-24T11:58:00.000-07:00

We have our routine. When my grandchildren, Rebecca 5, and Aiden 4, come to visit me in my little cottage, after they settle down to relax, they both will begin to inspect my living space. What are they looking for? They are making sure I am keeping some key items in my home in the same condition and space as their last visit.

If I had one of their colorful paintings on my refrigerator held up by magnets, then they want to make sure it's still there. Of utmost importance to both Aiden and Rebecca, are what I keep on my window sills, the significant religious and pagan items I love. Sea shells and stars I've collected, beach rocks, hawk feathers, a silver Cobra with ruby eyes, pieces of drift wood, statues of Mary and Guadalupe, turquoise candles, and pink quartz and tiny amethyst crystals surround my window sills.

The latest development in the last year has been that both Rebecca and Aiden always want to take home a small memento of me and my home, back to their own houses. It reassures them in a way I can't quite explain.

For Aiden, he always wants to take home MAG-A-NETS that I made several years ago. I created small paintings of fruit, color copied them, pasted them on periwinkle blue card stock, then laminated them. I glued the strongest magnets I could find to the back. On the way out the door, he asks me, "Grandma, can I take some mag-a-nets? I really need some. We don't have enough. " I always say yes. He's taken maybe a dozen home, and I've yet to see them on his own fridge. Perhaps, like a little squirrel, he's saving them in a tucked away space somewhere in his room. Who knows? The times we make cookies together, it seems to satisfy his need by taking home some. This week it was lemon frosted cookies in a paper bag.

Last week Rebecca spent the night. Right off she made sure that the little pink, bejeweled notebook she gave me last Christmas was sitting on my computer desk. She picked it up, flipped through the pages, then set it back in the same spot. Touched my little silver bell music box, turned it upside down, twisted the winder, listened to "Silver Bells" for a minute and then put it back. Rebecca gets on her knees on my bed, then methodically touches my Abalone shells, my gold framed picture of myself and my sisters, tiny rosaries, every little thing.

This time Rebecca focused on a 5 inch high statue of Mary in her red dress, blue robes, standing on top of the world, bare left foot crushing a snake. "Can I take it home, Grandma?" I thought about it and decided, yes, she could. I asked if she would take good care of it. Rebecca nodded. "Okay then. You should put something around her so she won't break on the way to your house, " I told her.

She got out my scotch tape and reached up on the kitchen counter for paper towels. Rebecca, in deep concentration, reverently rolled the paper towels over and over Mary's small frame. She spent several more minutes and the rest of the roll, taping it all in place. Finally, she nestled Mary into her tiger skin purse for the ride home.

Children love repetition, and a ritual is repetition over and over again. Ritual gives all of us a sense of security, comfort, and familiarity so very important for our well-being. It is especially potent when ritual is personal so that it speaks to us when we don't have the language to explain. I'm not positive what it all means, just that we do the same dance each time, and it all has an edge of mystery to it. All I know is they want part of me to keep and it makes me really happy.

What Aidan Learned in Kindergarten

2010-09-09T17:22:00.000-07:00

If you've read my previous blog about my two grandchildren starting kindergarten a couple of weeks ago, you'll know that it was heart wrenching for me to see them flung into the big world. They seemed so small, so vulnerable. Well, I'm here to report that they are doing well and negotiating their new environments with all the sharply honed skills of CIA operatives in training. Especially Aiden for whom I was most concerned. He has been observing his peers, learning the subculture of school, and figuring out how to crack the system all in his first week.

Aiden has an October birthday so he is still 4 years old. He's a little smaller than the other kids, but has charm and intelligence, a winning smile with a gorgeous dimple, and beautiful, light blue eyes. I know he can get anything he wants out of me. The first day of school all went well. Aiden went to the after-school program for a few hours, found the bathroom, ate his lunch, made friends with a beauty named Ella.

The second day, however, his lunch disappeared. He had enough guts to tell the teacher, he didn't suffer in silence, which is good. He spoke up for himself. The adults went into protective mode. He was personally walked down to the cafeteria, an account was set up, and not only that. The cafeteria lady said with a smile, "Honey, would you like regular or chocolate milk?"

Aiden was in heaven. Why only his Grandma had given him chocolate milk! Mac and cheese, pizza, corn dogs, CHOCOLATE milk, for crying out loud. A whole new world opened up for him. He went home and told his parents, "Do you know they have a restaurant for kids at the school?"

Day three. Aiden has his lunch with him, but he's thinking to himself, "How do I get back to that wonderful place?" So what he did was: he ate his lunch and his snack at the morning snack time. Again he was walked down to the cafeteria, ordered lunch AND chocolate milk and put it on his parents tab.

His explanation was that he had to do it. His lunch was gone already. The good news is this: he is still innocent enough to confess, but it won't work a second time. I think he's going to be just fine.

One Minute Unexpected Beauty...

2010-09-06T11:00:00.000-07:00

Labor Day. It's a beautiful morning, slightly warm with a little breeze. I'm itching to write since it's been a week or so. I was sitting outside drinking my coffee thinking about what I wanted to write about, when out of nowhere, plop! I was hit by a flurry of bird poop on my shorts, shirt, and hands. Not just any poop, but deep purple wet stuff like someone had squished a bunch of blueberries and thrown them overhanded at me. Fresh out the shower, I haven't looked at my clean hair yet. How unfair is that? I was minding my own business thinking happy thoughts.

Two days before, on Saturday, same lovely weather, again thinking happy thoughts with a cup of coffee in my hand, when a big spotted Cooper's hawk landed on the post on my small deck not 3 feet away from me. I was so startled and excited that I called to my granddaughter, Rebecca, "Come look. A hawk! My yelling upset the big bird, who took off in flight before Rebecca could see it. Still, how fun is that?

You can see where I'm going with this. Both great metaphors for how life can treat you: one minute unexpected beauty, the next, bird poop all over you.

After the hawk left, Rebecca and I packed up to go swimming at our local high school. We left the house with matching Trader Joe's bags for bathing suits, goggles, and towels. I try to swim everyday and on Saturdays, Rebecca is my swimming buddy. A little reluctant to take her into the deep pool they've moved the lap swimmers into, I just decided to take her, but I'd stay right next to her to grab her if need be. We paddled around for 30 minutes, lost 2 kick boards over the edge of the pool, had races, laughed and enjoyed ourselves.

While in the pool, I took a close look at Rebecca. At 5 1/2, she has lost her front two top and bottom baby teeth. On the top, one top big tooth is almost all the way down and straight, big and white. Her looks have changed from baby to toddler to little girl. Her hair, cut to her shoulders for kindergarten, is very blond in front from the sun and swimming, her eyelashes are long and have darkened along with her eyebrows. For a flash of a second, I could see what the grown up girl will look like. With the sun on her face, she looked so happy, so radiant.

Even though life can throw anything at you, including a shower of purple bird poop, it's those moments of time slowing down, noticing unexpected beauty, that I notice more and more with my grandchildren.

1st Day of Kindergarten

2010-08-25T18:23:00.000-07:00

Thirty four years ago this week, my son began kindergarten. The sweet old ex-nun teacher smiled and introduced herself to Randy who was hiding behind my legs. Then she said, "I would never tear a child away from his mother." Immediately he clung to me like I was his life raft. He cried and threw himself on the ground. I had to go home to turn off the coffee pot, but I returned and spent most of the morning with him sitting on my lap. I worried that he was too attached and young for his age.

Three years later I brought my daughter to the same teacher and kindergarten room. I bent down to kiss her goodbye and she skipped off into the room while giving me a little backwards wave. That time I was the one who got in my car, turned the corner from Cardiff-by-the-Sea Elementary School and burst into tears.

This morning both Rebecca and Aiden, my two oldest grandchildren, began kindergarten. I got up very early and was out the door by 7 to make the rounds with my camera. I got to my daughter's house and rang the bell. Rebecca came out to greet me. For the past few weeks, Rebecca has been determined to learn how to use the monkey bars at her school. The result has been some rather big blisters that popped on her hands, but then again, she has mastered the new skill. It's the kind of girl she is.

She's 5 1/2 and more than ready to go. Let me tell you about her unique and heartbreakingly adorable outfit she chose: long brown corduroy skirt, white t-shirt with a horse on it, plaid bandanna tied behind her hair, and her very own "Little House on the Prairie" apron and bonnet tied around her neck. Oh, and silver shoes.

All I could think of was, "God, don't let anyone make fun of her. Please." She was so delighted with herself. Her vulnerability hit me hard. Up until now she's lived in perfect acceptance and praise. It struck me how defenseless and little she was. I took pictures of her alone and with her mom and baby sister. I kissed Rebecca on the cheek, told her to be herself and I loved her very much. Then I was off to try to catch Aiden before he left for school.

Aiden, at 4 1/2, wasn't dressed when I got there so I waited until he got his pants and shoes on. The other day I took him to the library and the first thing he told me was how he had boogers in his nose that were hard and they were bugging him. He couldn't breathe right. I listened and commiserated. This morning his mom was squirting a saline solution into his nostrils to alleviate his sore nose.

Aiden, with his shiny reddish blond hair and big blue eyes, was dressed in a red shirt and brown pants and tennis shoes. I stood him in front of the bedroom door and told him to say, "I love kindergarten" while I snapped away. He smiled bigger than normal and did just as I said. I kissed him, said "I love you" and told him to have a wonderful day. Later, when downloading the pictures, I realized how he barely stood taller than the doorknob.

As I drove to work I realized that I'm stuck in the same space as years ago only now my focus of concern is for my grandchildren. Added to my thoughts for my children, now I have four grandchildren about whom I worry, offer whispered prayers of protection, and hope that everything will be fine.

They have only been on this planet five years. They are so small, so completely lacking in guile and experience. And yet, they both are well-loved, with extended family, going to the best schools around, and so cute, so smart and sociable. I wish I had known while my parents were still alive how many people you carry around in your heart as you get older and I wish they were here to see this day. I know my mother would have said, "Stop worrying. They'll be fine." Then she would have made us a cup of tea.

Baby Toes

2010-08-22T19:49:00.000-07:00

My youngest grandchild, Ava, has just turned 6 months old this week. She is all big blue eyes and pink cheeks, full of good cheer, just looking for something to gnaw on to relieve her teething. She's smiley and loves the outdoors, but mostly she adores the wind blowing through the trees making them sway.

She's an observer, this baby. Ava watches each person who comes through the door or walks by the yard and wants to make eye contact right off. Of all my grandchildren, for some reason, I notice the changes she makes each week. Before, I would sit her on my knee facing outwards, and she would be happy for a long time. Now, all of a sudden, Ava turns her body around to smile at me and to respond to my voice. I can almost see all her synapses firing at once.

A few weeks ago she began to sit up. We went over to my son's house. My daughter in law has one of those things called a "boppie" that sits on your lap for nursing. Well, it seemed like a great safety net to put behind Ava while she sat on the floor with some toys around her. It worked for awhile, but I think Ava'a back gets tired. She slumped forward, then realized she could reach her toes, grabbed her big toe and began to suck on it. The baby looked up at me, smiled, then went back to sucking her toe.

Whoops...My Mistake!

2010-08-19T18:26:00.000-07:00

When Rebecca was 3, she was very curious about bugs and assorted small animal life that visited my small yard. Together we examined intricate spider webs, snails, and other tiny creatures of beauty. One day we went swimming in my landlady's pool in the adjacent yard. and we found an inch long lizard dead in the pool. Rebecca and I sat on the steps while I held the baby lizard in the palm of my hand so we could really get a good look at it. It was perfect in every way, except, of course, it was lifeless.

"Can I take it home, Bama?," Rebecca asked. "Sure, honey." I set the lizard aside on top of a brown leaf on the cement by the stairs of the pool so I wouldn't forget it. We finished our swim, dryed off, and I carefully carried the lizard in my open hand to my apartment.

Rebecca and I searched for a small box. I found a little gold Macy's jewelry box with cotton padding. I layed the lizard down on the padding and then I Scotch taped the box shut. I put the box in her diaper bag then I promptly forgot all about it.

An hour after Rebecca went home I got a worried phone call from my daughter. With alarm in her voice she said, "Mom, what the heck...?" I tried to explain. I told her we know the lizard hadn't died under unknown circumstances. "For cripes sake, the lizard drowned. He didn't die of a disease or anything." Rebecca loved it, that's all. She found it beautiful and so did I. But I guess I scared my daughter. So now I have a rule: No dead animals or insects should be sent home without warning my children first.

Family Reunion-37 Years After Campland

2010-08-09T20:00:00.000-07:00

The kids in this picture belonged to my three older sisters and I. At 24, I was pregnant with my youngest during this camping trip. My son, the boy in the red robe is 39 years old and the father of two now.

Thirty seven years ago, in 1973, my sisters Sandy, Lois, Joan and I decided to take all of our kids camping on Mission Bay in San Diego for one week. We had 8 kids between us, all age10 and under. No men with muscles, just our wits and cunning to help us survive.

We didn't really know what we were doing. Our father and mother drove down to help us get set up. My dad and I put the huge green Army surplus store tent up with pegs in the ground. None of those new cool tents with the bendable poles for us. My mom brought delicious homemade pies and cookies. We were exhilarated and happy to be together.

We didn't have enough money or food. We especially had no idea how much 8 children could eat when faced with the fear of hunger. Our trip to the store for supplies cost a fortune, yet we seemed to have mostly Mac and Cheese mix, Cheerios, coffee, milk, hot dogs, and I recall, a hefty supply of Safeway Truly Fine toddler sized disposable diapers. It only took a few days for the kids to realize that whoever was fast enough got the most. My son, at 2 1/2, began stealing cut up hot dogs from my sisters' plates. He'd lean over, pause with his fork in the air, then dive down to grab the meat and swoop it into his little mouth.

It was hard to control the group. The older kids began acting as a mob. We bought them a bunch of little plastic parachute men. The older children disappeared for a short time, and as we found out later, they had climbed a tower by the camp store, leaned over letting the teeny parachute men drift down to earth. The upshot was that they got yelled at and kicked out of the tower. To hear them tell it, they were banned for life.

My sister, Joanie, is a compulsive cleaner. She began sweeping the dirt under the picnic table and that covered our whole camp site. Over and over she swept, but still our area became filthy after every meal. Joanie washed the table repeatedly, with no lasting result. We scrubbed the kids and their hands with soap and water. This was not so easy, because the spigot to get water was on the same utility pole as our electric source. Not such a swift idea. My sisters and I had to be vigilant that none of the babies were electrocuted. One did catch impetigo on her cheeks and neck, however.

The little kids and babies were safely tucked into sleeping bags in the tent by 8 p.m. My sisters and I sat by the campfire drinking red wine and laughing, telling stories, and listening to music. We let the oldest, Heather, stay up with us for awhile because she was 10 years old and no longer a baby. By 10 p.m. teams of Fascist inspired campground men drove by in beat up golf carts telling us it was time to go to bed-Quiet down, shut up. We couldn't believe it. Who the hell did they think they were? But we were mildly tipsy and massively tired, so we went to bed. My sister, Sandy, on crutches couldn't get into the sleeping bags on the ground easily, so she slept in the back seat of her big wood-paneled station wagon.

I think we swam in the bay and lounged on the beach, but I can't remember that at all. I remember all the work, dirt and exhaustion. When the babies in diapers woke in the morning, the stuffing in Safeway Truly Fine diapers long since separated from the plastic, had gathered into wet, urine soaked wads into the feet of their fuzzy sleepy suits. Filling up 8 little bowls of cereal and 8 small glasses of orange juice, my sisters and I silently came to a consensus. Originally we had signed up for 7 nights, but we knew when we were beaten. Waving goodbye to Campland on the sixth night, we packed up, taking all of us, mountains of dirty laundry, and the 8 kids to a motel. We all showered, went to a laundromat, then to an "all you can eat" buffet restaurant that served cheap steak and baked potatoes. Sleeping in rows together like little logs, all of us finally slept soundly with full stomachs and clean pajamas.

This past weekend, we met again in San Diego for a family reunion. Some of us were missing. My daughter and her two girls couldn't come because the new darling baby screams her head off in the car. Too miserable for the baby and my daughter. Next year though...I've promised my oldest granddaughter, 5, a tandem ride on her pink Boogie board.

Our parents are gone now. My oldest sister, Sandy, died 5 years ago of breast cancer. Sandy's girls came with their kids. Her daughter Cindy wore a necklace that held a tiny amount of her ashes. I brought part of her as well by making her super delicious fruit dip.

Joan's boys were both far away, one in Maui, and one in New York. My cousin Gail and a new boyfriend came plus her sister Elizabeth joined us with her daughter, Laura, and her two darling sons we hadn't met. We celebrated my son's little girl, my granddaughter's first birthday, surrounded by all these people and more, a wonderful new husband and stepson, maternal grandparents, a daughter in law's fun, spirited sister and husband, and more. All the kids played, danced, and ate together, getting wild with too much sugar, but content to be a member of the same big tribe. What I wanted the most from this party was for the kids to know their cousins and aunties. I wanted them to feel the security and love of an extended family.

All of the kids in the beach picture are grown now and busy with their own lives; a television producer, a lawyer, a teacher and campus minister, a teacher of blind children, a social services worker, a public relations director, a entrepreneur and baker, a school bus driver and photographer, and a very talented elementary school teacher. Between them another 8 children have been born. When they talk about Campland, the kids remember nothing but complete fun and freedom.

I sat back for a moment watching everyone interact. It has not been all rosy. There have been tensions and fights, hurt feelings, and times of not speaking. But I am so grateful to have had this time for all of us to be surrounded by a big, noisy and loving family. So grateful and happy it continues on.

The Height of Cynicism: Target's Use of "Free to Be" Theme Music

2010-07-26T06:43:00.000-07:00

I am so damn mad. This afternoon I was sitting on my bed making a birthday card for my one year granddaughter, listening to The Food Network, when all of sudden, bam. I hear it.

"There's a land that I see where the children are free

And I say it ain't far to this land from where we are

Take my hand, come with me, where the children are free

Come with me, take my hand, and we'll live

And you and me are free to be you and me."

For a second I was hit by nostalgia. Oh, Free to Be. Awwwww. Then it hit me. I had instant heartburn. I look up to see the Target advertisement is using the song to sell products made in foreign countries by women making .50 cents an hour. In our money grubbing, greedy culture where everything is up for sale, (example: Christo's majestic artwork ripped off on AT&T commercials), some things are just sacred. And I really hate to think that some 30 something advertising executive, who heard these songs for the first time as a little kid, probably from a feminist mother, misinterpreted the songs, and decided to use it to sell products that exploit people, mainly women, all over the world. A company that exploits the labor of women as employees and in the manufacturing of its products, using a song about freedom? Damn it. What is wrong with us?

For those of you who are unfamiliar, Free To Be, was a children's album from the 1970's. It was produced by Marlo Thomas and the proceeds would benefit the Ms. Foundation for Women. The songs were written and sung by many famous people like Harry Belefonte, Mel Brooks, Michael Jackson, Rosey Grier, Carol Channing, and others. All the songs had a message for children about men and women being equal, doing what they desired in life, and treating everyone with kindness and tolerance. I raised my kids with it, as did all my sisters and friends. We were true believers-we wanted a new, freer, and better world for all our children.

I know I sound a little irrational to be so upset, but for God's sake, you and I have been watching the Gulf Coast for the last 90 odd days, people, eco-system and animals, being destroyed by corporate bastards who find absolutely nothing sacred, but profit. I've been working up to a slow boil about the trashing of our culture by people who care nothing about anything except money. The British Petroleum ecological disaster is the prime example in our lifetime.

Well, feminism is sacred to me. Idealism is sacred to me and social justice too. Those songs were about letting people do what they want in life no matter what sex they are. The songs are about equality between men and women, showing emotions, sharing parenting and housework, about tolerance and choice to live our lives as we see fit. To see them used by a corporation who came in busting unions and paying minimum wage, who buys products from companies who run sweatshops is just too much.

To put it in historical context, the 50's and 60's most girls were told to focus on their looks, be good listeners, and to make boys feel good. They were told to be good girls and to take care of others rather than themselves. When I grew up, newspapers featured classified ads had two classifications in the paper. One said "Jobs-Men" and the other, "Jobs-Women." My first day of college the PE teacher, a woman, said to my all female classmates, " I know you are all just here to get your Mrs. degree."

I never saw a man pushing a baby stroller or changing a diaper. I never witnessed a woman doctor or dentist or a male elementary school teacher at work. None of my friends verbalized the desire to have a career. When I was 11 I told my friends I wanted to be a lawyer. We were walking down the street when I said it. My little gang of girlfriends all stopped, turned around to look at me. One of them said, "Girls can't be lawyers." I was dumbstruck. I hadn't realized until then that was a weird thing to want. I don't remember what I said in response. I do remember it clearly because it's frozen in my memory as a defining moment.

When I was a young mother, in the early 70's, the "women's" magazines like Redbook began to feature articles by Gloria Steinem and Letty Pogrebin, Marlo Thomas and Betty Friedan, discussing the unfairness and inequality of our culture towards women, how constricted their lives were, and how these expectations and limitations caused unhappiness, frustration and poor economic outlooks for one half of the population. It was so exciting to be on the forefront of social change. We were sure things would be better for kids.

Lordy, in the United States, forty years later and women still only make 79.9% when compared to male wage earners. According to CorpWatch, Target's " image is more upscale, more urban and sophisticated, sort of a wannabe Pottery Barn,” said Victoria Cervantes, a hospital administrator and documentary-maker in Chicago who regularly shops at Target. “I’m not sure if their customers really are more upscale. But that’s the image they’re going for. They have a very good PR campaign. "

CorpWatch goes on to say, "In contrast to this image, however, critics say that in terms of wages and benefits, working conditions, sweatshop-style foreign suppliers, and effects on local retail communities, big box Target stores are very much like Wal-Mart, just in a prettier package."

Listen, it took me years to get over Beatles songs on Visa commercials. . This just makes my heart and my head hurt. Oh, Marlo and the Ms. Foundation, tell me you didn't sell the song to Target. In the album, all the songs had messages for children about gender stereotypes and how to avoid them. It had all the big stars singing songs about people's lives and how we can do anything we want regardless of sex.

Well, maybe that's the point of the commercial, eh? Our own Supreme Court has ruled that corporations have the same free speech as humans. Tell me, how can that make a world better for children when companies have the same rights as a citizen? Well, I want to use my own free speech while I still have it. I'm done with you ,Target. I won't spend another cent in your store.

I Love You More Than the Stars and the Sea

2010-07-09T19:01:00.000-07:00

When my daughter was born, my son was just about to turn three years old. Randy was crazy about his baby sister until at one, she began to walk, talk, and demand her fair share of attention from the world and from me. The sibling rivalry between them lasted until half way into their teens. (I take that back. It's still going on in a milder form.) For years neither one of them could walk past each other in a room without a comment, a jab, a waving of hands, a pretend tickle, just enough to make the other scream, "Stop it. Mom, he/she is TEASING me!" They would demand that I take a side in all their fights.

If I wrote a little note in one lunchbox, I did the same with the other child. At Christmas, I would stack all their presents into two piles on my bed, carefully counting and recounting how many they each would be opening so that it was even, so neither would feel slighted. I did the same with their Easter baskets...two Reese's peanut butter eggs, 1 rabbit Pez container, 3 yellow marshmallow peeps, blah, blah, blah. It is sad to say that all my scrupulousness was wasted.

Sibling rivalry is as old as Cain and Abel. I thought I was over the worst of it, but no. My two oldest grandchildren, Aiden 4 1/2 (my son's son) and Rebecca 5 1/2 (my daughter's daughter), have begun the battle anew. We all went over to my son's to swim on Sunday. If I gave one of the kids a ride across the pool on their swim circle, the other asked for three rides. I bought both of them new swim rings, one larger than the other because Rebecca is bigger. Well, she hated the one I bought her because it wasn't girly enough. It was red with flames, Aiden's blue with pink flowers. He relished the idea that Rebecca was coveting his. It made him love it all the more.

I picked them both up from Castle Tales Camp yesterday at noon. The night before, I had carefully packed a picnic of homemade brownies, bought Capri Sun lemonades, cut off the crusts of the little peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and cubed fresh pineapple and blueberries. I was determined to have a day without competition.

Rebecca brought her Barbie pink Boogie Board that I bought her for her 3rd Christmas to use in the pool. The other children, being Northern Californian kids, were enchanted and had never seen one before. They were all asking, "What is that? Is that really yours, Rebecca?" Aiden was flummoxed. They climbed into their respective car booster seats. Rebecca mentioned that Aiden's was really a "baby" seat. I said, "Listen up, gang. I don't want to hear the word baby anymore unless you are talking about your own baby sisters." They both laughed. I knew it was headed south if I didn't intervene.

My own mother, even into her 80's, used to have certain things she would say to compliment myself or my three older sisters. Joanie was dubbed the "hard worker." Lois was " so smart." Sandy was "so funny, so intelligent..." I can't remember what she said about me. But every time she started saying, "That Joan is such a hard worker," I 'd be arguing in my head, "Yeah, but I'm working full time and going to college full time and I am raising two children and...." I believe I was 46 years old at the time.

You have different relationships with all your kids and grandkids. Some need a little of this and a lot of that. Aiden needs his confidence boosted. He always fights trying new things, then once he does it he loves it. I take him to the library and he loves tools. Rebecca needs to relax more. She loves to curl up and have me read to her. She loves to make me laugh or to draw together. They are both so different. I've tried telling them I have enough love in my heart to love them both "more than the stars and the sea." (My daughter wrote that when she was 7 on my Mother's Day card). I barely got the words out of my mouth before they were talking about Rebecca's Boogie Board and by the way, "Um, Gramma, will you get me a Boogie Board, too?"

Yep, I promised him one for next Christmas. Just because I think he'll love it if I can get him into the ocean. I know I can't convince them that loving one doesn't take away from the other. It's time I stopped this nonsense of being so careful to be even handed, and yet I have no idea how to stop. Even as I write this, I can hear my son saying, "Do you remember anything I wrote as a kid?"

10 Ways to Nurture Your Child's Spiritual Life

2010-06-25T11:00:00.000-07:00

A teacher once told me that joy was the natural state of humans. He said in the beginning it's like our hearts are bright, shiny-clean mirrors. Then, once negative things in life happen, the mirror becomes covered by feelings of worry, fear, anger, jealousy, etc. There are some conditions in our environment that we can control that have the potential to continuously wipe the mirror clean for our children and ourselves.

Maybe you've watched as magical, happy small children you know turn into not-so-charming materialistic kids who have lost their spark of individuality and joyfulness. Wanting more and more stuff stifles all the good qualities the child originally possessed. Make no mistake, the cultural norms promote and take over a large part of your child's life. If you go to a really good church or temple, that can counteract some the cult of ownership, but I think mostly its building a breathing space for your kids just to be. Materialism isn't the only cultural problem. Chronic rushing and busyness, loud music and TV, insane competitiveness, overfilled schedules, force kids to grow up too early, robbing them of their innate spirituality.

My grandson, who is 4 1/2, has only been to two movies and has limited PBS Sprout exposure. On Saturday, Aiden went to see Toy Story 3. So yesterday I took him to Safeway where we walked the aisles. Little pictures of Woody, the cowboy, jumped out at him from every turn. Cereal boxes, cookies, videos, called out to him, making him want all of it. We bought a box of Rice Crispies with Woody's picture only because we were making marshmallow treats. Apparently there was supposed to be something Toy Story related in the box, but we never found it, leaving Aiden disappointed. As much as you try to keep children from being influenced by our cultural materialism, it's designed to strikes home.

Here are some ideas to help you create a space that allows your child to grow spiritually and develop a rich interior life.

1. Let them know there is something bigger than themselves, it can be called God, or it can be certain ideals your hold like Truth or Honesty. Something has to be bigger than them. You can use any word you like; Spirit, Creator, just don't let your child be the center of the universe.

2. Let them see you helping others in your community. Assisting neighbors when they are sick or in trouble, and showing kindness is great modeling. Especially let them see you giving without expecting anything back.

3. Give your children the time to dream. It's a gift to allow them periods of silence. Some quiet and solitude-don’t keep them constantly involved in competition, sports, TV, video games, etc. It robs them of their ability to think freely, to breathe, and to relax. Contrary to the popular belief that being alone occasionally is problematic, it's important for them to learn how to think and dream. When I taught high school, the principal told the whole faculty, "Watch out for loners and report them to us." I laughed out loud, thinking it was a joke. There has to be a middle way. Alone all the time bad, never alone, equally detrimental.

7. Exhibit peace and respect for others.Watch what you say and do in front of your kids-screaming at other drivers, calling people names are noticed. When you show respect, politeness to others, when you let people go ahead of you on the freeway and in the supermarket, your kids see it. Everything you say and do is noticed. If you don't want to hear it coming out of your 5 year old's mouth, don't say it.

9. Be careful with movies, video games, etc. Children have their own inborn temperaments to be sure, but if they are exposed to scary or adult movies or games it harms them. Especially oversexualized or violent images have a terrible impact.

A few minutes ago, I went outside to clear my head and finish my coffee. Two small deer walked into the yard not 20 feet away from me. I could feel my heart jump a bit, lifting me up, cleaning the mirror again. I went to theology school, but I don't know everything about what we are doing here on this planet at this moment. I just know children's spiritual lives need nourishing and a sacred space to grow freely. It's the best gift you can give them.

Rebecca's Overnight: Making Gramma Martha's Caramel Corn

2010-06-19T18:51:00.000-07:00

Rebecca came to spend the night last night. Before she came I asked her what she wanted. Here are her replies:

1. Dinner? Mac and Cheese and Hot dogs

2. Movie? Ice Age

3. Activities? Reading, Art and Cooking

4. Snack? Gramma Martha's Caramel Corn

5. Breakfast? Blueberry Pancakes

6. TV? Berenstein Bears

7. Book? The Land of the Big Red Apple (Laura Ingels Wilder's continuing series, Little House, about her marriage and her own little girl, Rose.) It's a chapter book so we read 1 or 2 chapters after she gets into pajamas, brushes her teeth, and gets under the covers. I read it out loud to her.

Ice Age, the movie, was really good. When the viewer thinks Diego, the saber-toothed tiger, is dead, Rebecca's eyes got all teary and her mouth turned downward. I told her, "Don't worry, darling. The movie has a really happy ending or I wouldn't show it to you." She loved the baby in the movie just as much as I did.

After dinner, I popped two bags of popcorn in the microwave. Here's the recipe:

Gramma Martha's Caramel Corn

1. Pop 3 1/2 quarts of popcorn

2. Pour it into a deep turkey pan or some other pan that is at least 4 or 5 inches deep and large.

3. In a saucepan put 1 cup brown sugar, 1/4 cup corn syrup, 1/2 tsp salt. Mix together.

4. Cook on medium heat until bubbly-cook for 5 minutes (lower the heat a bit so it won't burn)

5. Take off the stove.

6. Put in 1/2 tsp baking soda, mix it in (it will rise up to the top)

7. Pour the mixture all over the popcorn, mix it around with wooden spoon (it's really hot so be careful)

8. Place in 200 degree oven for 60 minutes (set the timer for 30 minutes at first and turn it all over again)

9. Take out of oven, stir into a large bowl, mix again, breaking up the big pieces. Let it cool.

10. Put it in an airtight container to store.

I let Rebecca mix the butter, syrup, and brown sugar. The rest is just too hot. Together we watched Ice Age and ate some caramel corn and drank lemonade. We had a great overnight. She fell asleep listening to me read Little House on the Prairie book at 8:15 p.m which is a record. Usually it's 10 or 11 p.m.

This morning we ate blueberry pancakes and drew pictures and painted. I particularly liked the drawing she made of herself, Aiden, Angel, and Ava wearing bright red clothing. I'll post it next time.We ran to Target for a quick birthday present and I brought her home at 11:30 a.m..

My house seems really quiet tonight.

Summer's Comin' : Be Happy

2010-06-12T16:14:00.000-07:00

Well, Aiden and I had a horrible day. He wouldn’t mind me, he threw a bunch of play dough and his toys in the trash, ran away from me in the parking lot, blah blah blah. He said he didn’t like me anymore. Then with a smile, he said to me, "Are you mad?" I said, "Yes." With a grin, he tells me, "Be happy!" It was so cute it made me laugh.

I couldn’t get him to sit on the toilet so I said, “Don’t you dare go to the toilet. I bet you don’t even know how.”

He went and sat on the toilet and urinated, laughing the whole time. What a kid. It’s about darn time. When I leave now he always has to open the door for me and hugs me 3 times.

He seems very upset about all the transitions in his life-the end of school, new baby coming. I’m only babysitting him the next 3 days, then my son Randy will be home for the summer break from teaching.

The greatest thing about picking Aiden up at school is that when he sees me, he gets this huge smile with his dimples showing and he runs very fast and jumps into my arms, then he just holds me hard for about a minute before letting go.

It's almost summer so I took a few days off to go to my friend’s house on the coast. I didn’t see Aiden for 5 days. He's a boy who loves his routine and doesn't like it disrupted. When I picked him up at school today he gave me the biggest long hug-he just held on. At his preschool, the teachers are bringing the toddlers over to the bigger classes so they will know the new teachers for next year, but it’s making Aiden insecure. His teacher, Miss Katrina, said Aiden is hanging all over her, clinging to her legs, asking her where she’s been if she leaves the room.

We go get his lunchbox, say thank you goodbye to Ms. Katrina and Ms. Daisy then walk to my car, get him into his car seat, roll his window down, and strap him in. We talk on the way home, we scream “stinky stinky" when we go by the sewer smell that lingers across from the hospital-rotten egg smelling-really hideous. Then when we get to Broad St., we turn right and I ask him how many buses are waiting for kids to get off. Usually 4. Then when we get home, he wants to climb out of his car seat by himself, then he always wants to pop the trunk to get out whatever I want to bring upstairs. When we get in the elevator he pushes 3, but I say, 392 coming up”

When we get off the elevator, he wants to open the interior door for me, then I use my keys to get in the door. We both take off our shoes, I put on the tea kettle and we sit down to decide what we are going to do.

Only two more days. I'm going to miss Aiden like crazy. I'll see him at least once a week , but still...it won't be the same.

Heat Waves & Birthdays

2010-05-27T19:43:00.000-07:00

One year ago...

The horrible heat is gone which made a difference in my disposition. The heat makes me really cranky. At least it's not 90 degrees, but still kind of warm. Aiden wanted to swim yesterday. I thought the pool wouldn’t be warm enough so we went down just to put our feet in the water. It actually was really nice-I was sorry I didn’t put my suit on. Aiden had on disposable underwear. When he went into the pool to get wet, the Pull Ups expanded by about 5x. They end up weighing about 5 pounds. Aiden got that wet just playing on the steps. When we got up to leave the kid could barely walk. Aiden found himself to be extremely funny.

Maybe we’ll swim today if it’s nice. We are making a cake for his mother,Hollis. Her birthday is tomorrow.

Well, Aiden and I made a chocolate cake letting it cool down while we put together ingredients for the chocolate frosting. Aiden really loved the mixer and wondered why his mother didn't have one. I have to say to him with a serious face,

"DO NOT put your fingers near the mixer. You WILL LOSE your Fingers!"

If I forget to say this, he says,

"Grandma...what are you gonna tell me?"

While licking the beaters, Aiden told me about his day at school. He dumped almost the whole bottle of sprinkles on the cake before I had a chance to grab it. We put on 20 or so multicolored candles. It looked very festive.

I took pictures of him making the cake then we went downstairs to swim and cool down a bit. When we came upstairs, I took pictures of his mother so we had pregnant pictures of her-they came out with the sun glowing around her-very cute.

It was nice, you know. I think Hollis was very touched. As Aiden says, "It was a good day, wasn't it, Grandma?"

In the Blink of an Eye: What do we really have control over?

2010-05-23T19:12:00.000-07:00

Being a parent is scary business. Some close calls, things that happen in the blink of an eye, they play over and over in our minds when we try to go to sleep. When I was 4, I lived in Massachusetts during the horrifying early 50's of polio epidemics. My oldest sister, Sandy, caught polio when I was just 2. After that, during the hot summers that were muggy and miserable, we children weren't allowed in crowded places like stores or swimming pools because of the risk. Polio was an airborne disease and at that time there wasn't any cure. A few years later, after the panic was over and the vaccine was available , my dad asked me to go the store with him. He promised me a Tootsie Roll. We drove the few blocks to the store. My dad got out, closed his door, and started to walk to the passenger side to get me. In my excitement, I opened the driver's side door behind him, jumped out and walked right in front of an oncoming car. My dad saw what was happening, but couldn't get back around to stop me. The car hit me straight on, knocking me unconscious and I was taken to the hospital. Luckily, I just had a bad cut on my head. But my father was traumatized. Dad had nightmares for years about it. He saw himself running in slow motion trying to get to me before the car hit me, but he never could.

A few years ago, my children, now in their mid-thirties, told me about an incident that happened the day my son got his driver's license. He was 16 and my daughter was 13. Randy asked to take the car to go pick something up for me. I said yes. Even though my heart was racing, I knew I had to let him go. It was scary, but I let them go. I watched them drive away through the window. I prayed the whole time they were gone and whispered a thank you to the heavens when they returned safe and unharmed. Just a few years ago I heard what really happened. There were train tracks by our house that were on top of a small hill, then the road went downhill again. Apparently my son was still getting used to the stick shift and clutch. The car stalled on top of the railroad tracks, the warning bells went off, the barrier arm came down behind them. My son got the car started again, floored the accelerator, and they escaped. I am so glad I didn't know at the time.

The August after my daughter graduated from college, Elizabeth went to live in the South Bronx to volunteer teach for a year. The only way I could cope was to forget where she was. I called her, sent her letters and care packages, but mostly I pretended she was still at college. I know there are things she still hasn't told me, drug dealers with big snakes and pit bulls, but she did tell me a few years ago about being mugged on the subway.

All of these stories lead up to the question: What do we really control when it comes to our children's safety?

It's on my mind because Rebecca, my 5 year old granddaughter, sensible, smart, and fully schooled on the concept of making "good choices," took off on her bike, the first time she had a little freedom on her two wheeler and followed a little boy her age through the park, beyond her parents reach. She was entering a parking lot when she fell. It's what stopped her. She was so thrilled to be riding and to be free, Rebecca forgot how to use her brakes. The pure joy of riding and making a new friend overrode everything. Of course,she's only 5.

You can tell them everything they need to know. Right now, Rebecca adores climbing the small tree in her front yard. It makes her feel powerful and competent. I adore the fact that she climbs trees and loves adventure. She likes to scare me, too. That girl has been told to climb slowly and cautiously of course. Kids today wear helmets, knee pads, and elbow pads. She knows about the danger of strangers, walk don't run. We all tell them the same things. We punish them when they do something impulsive and foolish. Still, we cannot control everything. That's the hardest truth to accept so you just learn to give them what they need to know without turning them into neurotic nervous wrecks, pray continuously, and as they say in Nemo, "just keep swimming."

Babies

2010-05-14T09:36:00.000-07:00

I feel so blessed. In the last 10 months, I've had two new little granddaughters born. It is an embarrassment of riches, more grandchildren than arms. These little girls are so beautiful, all blue eyes and reddish blond hair, little bow mouths and pink cheeks, sqeezable chubby legs, bright sundress wearing, kissable feet and bellies, sweet necks and soft wispy hair on their heads to press my lips to. When I hold them I have to remind myself this is real. Two little girls at once.

I am learning about them and they are getting to know me, too. Angel is 9 months, petite, understands every word said to her, and is all doe-eyed. When I go to babysit, Angel smiles big, then looks at her mother, then me again and, she opens her mouth and screams bloody murder. She knows her mom is going out. She knows me and yet, she doesn't. While we wait out her stranger anxiety, Angel cries until her nose is running, her tears flood her cheeks, I hold her over my shoulder and pat her back and bottom until she gives up and goes to sleep. When she wakes up, I change her diapers, kissing the bottoms of her feet and her toes. She's happy until she remembers...Mom is out. I try to distract her-we play with a Kleenex first on my head, then hers, she laughs and laughs, and then she remembers again...more tears. Peek a boo works for awhile. Then her sorrow wells up again. We are getting there, soon she'll trust me and as I keep whispering in her ear, "You don't know it yet, but I'm going to be your best friend."

The newest baby, Ava, just turned 12 weeks old. All of a sudden she is all smiles, delicious chubby legs, pink cheeked, squirmy, cooing, sticking her tongue in and out copying me make faces at her. This week she made a noise like "Mom." My daughter and I looked at each other. My daughter said, "Did she just say Mom?" I think she did. We could be wrong, but we both heard the same thing.

The days are really beginning to feel like spring so I sat in the shade, wrapped her in a big orange blanket, and we watched birds, wind in the trees, listened to bird song, felt the balmy breeze. Not much talking. We just sat in comfortable silence. She likes to bounce on my right knee as we sit outside. Not my left knee ever. Ava doesn't like being put over my shoulder at all. She misses her mom because my daughter went back to work this week and I'm filling in between her husband leaving to work in the afternoon. She's not eating much or sleeping much. She's bereft, of course, but she'll be fine. At 3:30 my daughter comes home, Ava screams at the sound of Mama in the house, then begins nuzzling, and settles in to nurse.

Babies are amazing. It's like all their neurons are suddenly firing a million miles per hour. I think of all I want to say to them and teach them about the world. Then I think about my favorite Kurt Vonnegut quote:

"Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies — 'God damn it, you've got to be kind.' " That's more than enough.

Mother's Day: Here are a Few of My Favorite Things

2010-05-09T18:33:00.000-07:00

Photo-My Mother's Teacup

Mother's Day. Most people think it was invented by Hallmark, some kind of made up holiday to sell cards and flowers. It wasn't. Julia Ward Howe began it as a day to unite mothers around the world in world peace. I thought that might be too lofty a goal, so I told my kids I didn't care what we did, I just wanted us to all be together in the same room at the same time.

It turned out to be a fun day because I went to see a local children's theater production of "Sound of Music" with three of my grandchildren, my daughter, and Aiden's maternal grandmother. The movie with Julie Andrew's is the all time favorite of Rebecca's and mine. We've watched it over and over during our sleepovers and we mostly have the words down for most of the songs. So, for the two of us, it took everything we had not to sing along, loudly. The newest baby, 11 week old Belle, slept and nursed through the whole play. Aiden, although he behaved beautifully, started squirming an hour into it. After the musical, my son and his wife with 9 month old baby Lily joined us at a popular local restaurant.

I looked around the table at Rebecca, Aiden, Lily, and little baby Belle, my son and his wife and my daughter and understood how incredibly rich I am, how fortunate to have so many people to love and who love me in my life. Rebecca sipped blueberry lemonade and ate Mac and Cheese, Aiden munched on vegetables, Lily sat in a high chair and banged her spoon on the table. Lily had a white lacey headband on around her head al a Olivia Newton-John. I played peek-a-boo with her and she giggled. Aiden crawled under the table and came for a hug. Rebecca, in her blue velvet dress, alternated between leaning next to me and trying to get Lily to laugh. Belle slept through the whole thing. I opened presents; a mini-food processor, a tile with Belle's baby footprint, and a super dooper expensive razor that I wouldn't buy for myself. I had a recent bad encounter with a dollar store razor and my daughter took mercy on me.

In 1870, Julia Ward Howe began Mother's Day as time for women to gather for the purpose of ending war. The first time I read her speech, I knew exactly what she was saying. My own son, then 20, would have been eligible to be drafted for the first Gulf War. I knew that I hadn't raised him to be taken from me for nonsensical reasons by a president I saw as hasty and full of ego. It was not only sons who are the casualties of war, but the civilians, mothers, daughters, husbands, all loved and precious to their families. I knew that mothers all over the world loved their children with the same fierce intensity as I did.

These are Howe's words:

"Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn

All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.

We, the women of one country,

Will be too tender of those of another country

To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."

Amen, Julia. Happy Mother's Day!

When Are You Going to Die, Grandma?

2010-05-02T17:13:00.000-07:00

Aiden went to San Diego with his Mom and Dad for a week. I missed them all like crazy. I drove to their house to pick up their SUV, then drove to the airport, found them all on the curb with their luggage, and I switched to the back seat to ride with Aiden.

This is what he talked about: his dead grandfather, people in wheelchairs, Toys R Us, the beach, his watering can I gave him. His reply to any statement I make is always “Why?” and then “What’s that about?” He talked the 30 minutes straight on the way home. I had to really struggle with answers for him. Not a word about the airplane or clouds or anything else. Oh and his uncle’s garage, his uncle's tools, Aiden's own egg hunt, a basket his aunt Polly gave him, and his grandfather, Charlie. He laughed, he giggled, he gave me a big fat wet kiss on my cheek.

Lots of deep subjects: then finally, "When are you going to die and go to heaven, Grandma?" I tried to answer honestly without worrying him. He's three after all. I told him I had no idea, no one knows when they will die, but that I thought I'd be around for a long time. He seemed to accept my answer.

Last week Rebecca asked me when I was going to die. Jeepers creepers. What’s up with that? I gave her the same answer.

The next day, my son was still off work so Randy, Aiden, Rebecca and I all went to see a magician at the library-it was very funny and the kids all loved it. Every since Aiden saw the Calliou episode where the main character gets a top hat, a cape, and a magic wand, he has been in love with the idea. His favorite word is "Abracadabra."

The word is a magical incantation that comes from Aramaic meaning, "As I say it, I create it." I wish I could say a magic word and tell him I'd be around forever. I want to see all of my grandchildren grown and healthy and happy. Abracadabra.

What If God was One of Us...

2010-04-24T21:20:00.000-07:00

What if God was one of us
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the bus
Trying to make his way home
He's trying to make his way home
Back up to heaven all alone
- Joan Osborne

Children watch everything we do. Good or bad, significant or not. How we treat others, how we use power in the world. When I taught high school, the kids would ask about anything that was the teeniest bit different about me or the classroom. I have twin toes on both of my feet. One day I wore sandals without socks. The kids noticed and started a rumor started that I had 6 toes on each of my feet.

Aiden and I were driving home from school. I stopped at a red light. A homeless man was standing on the divider, looking forlorn, disshelved, and very thin. He was holding a sign that said, "Please Help. God Bless you."" I rifled through my wallet, found a $5 bill, I looked the man in the eye, smiled, and stretched my left hand to reach him.

From the backseat, a little voice, "Why you do that, Gramma Jannie,?" Aiden asked.

I said Jesus wants us to share what we have with others who are hungry or need something. When we got home, Aiden ran into his room, went directly into his cash register, took out five dollar bill from his play money and gave it to me. And kissed me on my cheek. It makes me teary just thinking about it.

We were tired and thirsty so we each had a lemonade popsicle, then watched the Bears, a new one called,
” By the Sea.”

We went downstairs to the fountain-we brought bubbles and a fruit roll.

A neighbor brought down her grandbaby, Giana, so Aiden could see her. The woman’s name was Lauri.

Aiden sang “Little Bunny Foo Foo” for the baby girl and she smiled.

Randy came home while we were outside and Aiden just screamed he was so happy to see him.

Rebecca and the Fairies

2010-04-16T10:07:00.000-07:00

I picked Rebecca up from preschool on Monday. She was dressed in her usual; knee-high pink cowgirl boots, striped orange and green flowing skirt, Little House on the Prairie bonnet tied around her neck, and purple t-shirt. She also had on a big smile as I approached the door of her school to sign her out for the day. I usually try to bring my art supplies on the afternoons I spend with her, but this time I also brought a gift a friend of mine had sent for Rebecca.

We have a routine. I help her get strapped into her booster in the back seat. I ask her, "What did you do today?" She replies, "Nothing." A few minutes later, with an eye on the rear view mirror, I asked, "What did you learn today?" With a big grin, she answers, "Nothing." I say, "You mean those teachers just let you all run wild all day?" and she says, "Yup."

Next comes playground news. Rebecca announced , "I made a ship to sail across the sea. We didn't let any boys get on. It was for girls only." I tell her about always being kind and not excluding other kids. Rebecca says they finally let the boys ride, but the girls still owned the ship.

"Oh, no Grandma. I'm out of gum. Can we go buy some more?" I say sure. I keep a pack of gum for both she and Aiden. They keep their gum in the small indentation in the armrest of each of their sides of the back seat. We drive to the convenience store, Rebecca skips through the store, stopping in front of the gum display. Today it's grape Bubbleicious.

As we are getting out of the car at her house, I tell her I have a present for her from my good friend, Jan Maria. She unsnaps the seat belt, climbs over the seat and lands on my lap. We laugh and disentangle, I pop the trunk, and go around to get my watercolor paper and her present. Once inside, I hand it to her. There is a small, soft-bodied fairy doll tied to the bow. Inside, the prettiest fairy paper dolls we've even seen. And wings and a mask. The paper dolls are glossy, double sided, beautifully painted, with clothes that fit over their heads so they stay put and little flower purses, dresses, daisy crowns, and great little stands so they don't flop over.

For the next two hours, on her knees on the chair, head bent over the table, Rebecca delicately popped the dolls, dresses, and accessories out of the book. She set me to work with an ultra fine black Sharpie drawing bedrooms with flowered bedspreads for the girl fairies. We worked feverishly until dinner and then I helped her attach the child sized wings to her back. I remembered how much I loved paper dolls when I was little. I even made my own by cutting out the hand drawn babies out of the Sear catalog. I felt happy and so content. So lucky to have this little girl in my life. It was a very good day

A Little Spot of Tea and an Itsy Bitsy Treat

2010-04-08T17:48:00.000-07:00

Another sunny day, but almost freezing overnight. Aiden and I watched the Bears, then went outside to play. We played kick the “pine cone” for an hour or so, Aiden running around the fountain singing “Ring around the Rosie” and the "Itsy Bitsy Spider" song. He threw the pine cone in the fountain over and over because the centrifugal force kept returning it to him. He’d kick, I’d kick, he’d yell, "Yeah Gramma! Good for you."

When I told him we needed to pack a bag to bring to Rebecca’s tomorrow for a play date, he wanted to go inside. He looked up at me and said, “We had fun today, didn't we?”

We had another play dough time, then made pink milk for his teapot by mixing fruit punch and milk. I took two of his little plates, squirted a whipped cream star on each, and then put a blueberry and a teeny piece of strawberry on it. An itsy bitsy dessert.

Colds, Coughs, Tea Parties

2010-03-26T17:16:00.000-07:00

When I picked him up from preschool, Aiden had a cold and a runny nose with a red chapped upper lip. His friend Ella came over to stare up at me the way she does like a puppy at the pound. We said our goodbyes and left.

He didn’t feel so good when we got home so we had mostly a laid back day. We watched the Bears story about going to the doctor for a checkup. Aiden went into his bedroom, got his doctor kit and we did all the things they did in the cartoon. He checked my blood pressure and listened to my heart. I showed him the scab on my elbow and he sympathized. He poured pretend medicine on my boo boo. He poked around in my mouth with a Q-tip. I put some Vaseline on his upper lip.

Then he got his second wind. We unloaded the dishwasher, rinsed all the dirty dishes, loaded them, washed my clothes and dried them; dry mopped and vacuumed the living room. I sat down to rest and Aiden got so mad. He scratched me and yelled at me, “Get up!” I had to put his hand on my forehead to show him I was sweating and tired.

Randy came home and Aiden started in on him. Then Aiden started to poop in his pants. I took him in and changed him. He seems so angry and frustrated. He probably needs to start receiving some discipline. I just went in and changed his pants and told him not to cry and that no one was mad at him.

The next day it was a pleasant surprise to wake up to find the sun shining. It was still cold, under 60, but sunny and clear.I was working on my computer all morning not realizing that the clock on my computer didn’t change with Daylight Savings Time. I would have been one hour late to pick up Aiden to the tune of ($10 per minute) $600. My God.

Anyway I was on time, peeking through the glass window to look for him, and he was still sound asleep on his little cot as were most of the kids in the room. I wasn’t the only one messed up by the time change. The teacher woke him up and changed his pull-ups, which were soaked.

He seemed happy and in a good mood. We watched the Bears. I had a cup of tea and Aiden wanted one too. I used a drop of tea, lots of milk and sugar.

As soon as the Bears were over, Aiden was up saying that we needed to clean. I told him, “Look, let’s just play today, okay? “ He argued a bit, and then relented when I offered to get his Play dough out. We had a great time making cakes and pies and small red apples.

Aiden went in his room and pulled out his 3 small plates and a tiny teapot. We poured the tea into the pot, and then Aiden poured two cups of tea for us. Then I remembered he had these tiny round cookies so I got them and put them on our plates. They were the perfect size. Then Aiden took the little red apples and started to put them in my little cup. I’d take them out; he’d put them back in. He is such a funny boy. He took the red apples out of my tea one more time, we clinked teacups and said “cheers.”

We took a walk outside to get some fresh air. I sat down on the bench in the courtyard and Aiden layed down with his head on my lap. Above us I heard a hawk cry so we both looked up to see a Red Tail soaring above us.

Aiden sat up, put his head on my shoulder, and said, “I love you, Gramma.”

After Randy came home, Aiden started his, “Don’t Talk” to Randy. I told Aiden every time he said that I’d have to tickle his belly button. It made him stop. By then, he said, “Go home now.” He walked over to me and tried to bite me on the arm. I told him to never ever do that again and to say he was sorry. He did.

He opened the door for me. Randy said he’s been trying to go outside without asking. He got out in the hall last week while Randy was in the bathroom. Aiden was outside screaming to come in. I have to watch him more closely.

Ants, Buddha, and Day of the Week Underwear

2010-03-21T18:21:00.000-07:00

I picked up Rebecca at 9:30 a.m. Saturday morning. I only slept from 11-12:30. I was awake until 4:30 a.m. because of this horrible cough. Feeling kind of airy, floating around. When we got in the car, Rebecca plucked a purple trumpet flower from the fence in front of her duplex. When she was in her car seat, she began to tell me how there was an ant on it, but she would never kill it, she never killed anything. She loves all animals. We talked about spiders and their beautiful webs. For a 4 year old person, she can handle philosophical conversations really well.

"This is so curious", she said. "What,? I said. "This little ant."

I told her about Buddha, never killing any animal.

We talked about the days of the week. I told her how they used to have girls’ underwear that had the days of the week on it. She was very fascinated and wished she had some.

We were lost for a while driving around in circles and talking some more. When we finally found the fabric store we picked out a pattern, measured her doll Elizabeth (who used to belong to her mother), found some purple colored fabric with Easter eggs on it, white lace, and purple ribbon for the straps of the blouse. I also bought her a new pincushion and a box of pins with different colored balls on top. Our total was $38.00 for a doll dress. God have mercy. While we waited for our turn at the cutting table, Rebecca did leaps and pirouettes, and pointed her toes and jumped and spun around.

I told her how I used to play with my mother’s pincushion while she sewed at her machine. I would lay on her bed and push the pins in and out to hear the scrunchy straw noise the cushion makes and talk to my mother.

Somehow the whole project took almost 3 hours. Rebecca’s ears were hurting and we were hungry by the time we got home. I haven't actually sewn anything from a pattern, but I didn't tell her that. Next week we'll cut out the material and pin the whole dress.

Sacred Space: Rebecca in Nature

2010-03-11T12:47:00.000-08:00

When spring finally came that year, it came with an extravagance of color. The wisteria on the lattice work covering the sky over my small backyard seemed to grow and bloom overnight. Thousands of perfumed flowers appeared, but not only that. Bees adored the lavendar buds. With hundreds of bees living right above my head, sometimes the buzzing was so loud I would stop what I was doing, close my eyes just to listen. and breathe in the air. Somehow I got on the hummingbird flight pathway, one little hyper Anna's hummer after another, with its telltale flourescent green back and ruby throat, flew by to sip nectar from my copper feeder. It felt magical, in techicolor even. My bright pink and salmon-colored geraniums grew to the size of an adult's head and I swear that year I never used Miracle Gro. I didn't need to. My 20'x 10' backyard was a wonderland.

It began when my granddaughter was just three and 1/2 years old. We began to sit outside, very still, and watch what happened in my small yard.

Her blond curly hair hung almost to her waist. Pink cheeks. Everything I said to her she believed. Not so much now at the age of 5, but back, then I was the authority on all matters. Rebecca looked at me with her navy blue eyes and saw a tall person, the keeper of life's mysteries. The question , "Why, Grandma? " hung on her lips. Lots of times I didn't have the answers so I tried to be completely honest with her. I did know some stuff, like why lizards do push ups or why hummingbirds rarely rested. Over the short few weeks of spring I began to make a mental list of all the insects, birds, reptiles, and other animals that Rebecca and I saw in this sacred space.

Dozens of yellow and brown caterpillars appeared underneath the dead winter leaves composting on the cement.

I picked up crickets who found their way under my screen door. They would hop across my carpet eventually disappearing under my couch or the TV in my living room. Carefully showing no fear, I would pick one up and hold it for Rebecca to examine. We looked at its sweet eyes, delicate antennae, and its crazy looking, impossible legs.

We found ladybugs, rows of ants, lizards big and little, and even a lazy old raccoon with a torn up tail. Neighborhood cats perched on the lattice, then finding some shade, curled up for a nap. Hummingbirds zipped by so often I had to fill the feeder up a couple of times a week.

Then one morning when Rebecca was visiting I looked out at the fence and thought I saw a slug on my plants. I try hard not to kill anything. I would usually just pluck the offender off the plant and throw it over the fence. But this was different. It was huge, yellow, ugly as hell, slimy looking. The first bug I'd seen in a long time that I really didn't want to touch. It was over 5" long and icky. I tried not to show my disgust in front of Rebecca who was thrilled by it. Her awe stopped me in my tracks. She looked at it. She put her little finger on its wet body. She giggled. We went onto Google Images to identify it. A banana slug. UC Santa Cruz's own mascot. I let it continue on its journey unbothered.

Blue jays, tiny brown wrens, Red Tailed and Cooper's Hawks floated hundreds of feet above us in lazy circles. Also those little birds with the black pointy heads, titmice, came to visit when I thought to spread out some sunflower seeds. If I wasn't out when they arrived, I'd heard them calling to wake me up. A squirrel that usually stayed in the tree in the utility easement crossed the boundry of my fence raiding the food.

One Red Tail landed on my fence for a brief stay. Regrettably Rebecca missed that one, but I told her all about it. Another early evening visit brought a huge owl landing in the pine next door. It was the size of an adult cat with a profile that showed little pointy feathers above its ears. When it flew away at dusk, it's wingspread was breathtaking, huge and ominous. Another afternoon we surprised a baby deer who had jumped the fence behind my yard. It flew out the gate like its tail was on fire.

Over the course of the season, we found rolly pollies, pincher bugs, snails, scary looking black spiders with beautiful intricate webs, a wayward rat. I once found a brown tarantula in the middle of my living room floor. It had climbed under a gap in my door.

When it got warm enough to swim, Rebecca and I discovered a teeny lizard, barely an inch long, that had drowned in the pool water. Rather than be put off, Rebecca touched it, sniffed it, and asked if she could take it home. A request which I complied with to my daughter's horror. I put it in a small jewelry box from Macy's snug in the cotton batting and I tucked it into Rebecca's backpack, but neglected to tell her mother what was inside.

I've forgotten lots of the creatures that came our way that year, but not how I felt. If you have a small child in your life, I highly recommend spending some time every day outside. Just watching and being still.

"You don't need to do anything. Just watch and be still. Do not even listen, only wait. Do not even wait, be wholly still and alone. Nature will present itself to you for its unmasking, it can do no other, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet."

Franz Kafka

Recognizing Grace in Ordinary Things

2010-03-05T11:25:00.000-08:00

She's coming to spend Friday night with me. We've made our plans. I bought new watercolor paper and over the phone we've discussed menus. I've been to the grocery store and swung by the post office to pick up a copy of Mary Poppins from Netflix. My four-year-old granddaughter, Rebecca, is so excited she's completely packed her things, dolls, books, bright green sleeping bag, purple sleepy suit, and extra toothbrush, and other necessities. It's only Tuesday.

I pick up Aiden from his preschool every weekday at 3 p.m. sharp. They charge $10 per minute if you are late so I always get there on time. Yesterday, Aiden had a hard day. He didn’t nap and he wet his sleeping bag at school. I brought them home to wash.

Today we watched the Berenstain Bears for a while, had a snack of pears and an energy bar, then I took him outside to play. It’s been raining so much we are feeling cooped up. The sun finally came out.

We went out by the pool and the fountain. For some reason, he loves to run around in a circle around the fountain. He sings, “Ring around the Rosie” and falls down and laughs so hard, then does it again and again.

Aiden found a stick that looked like a fishing rod and he would bring it over for me to take the pretend fish (leaf) off the hook. Then he took the stick and poked it in some dog poop. I took it from him and threw it over the fence.

He said, “Why you do that, Gramma?” I said, “It’s dirty, sweetie. Don’t touch,” But he adored the idea of dog poop so he made a song up about it." I told him about pooper scoopers which he found hilarious and he added that to the song.

Then he took my keys and threw them into the fountain so we had to get the pool skimmer to fish them out.

When I put the skimmer back, he kept saying, “Again? Again? Come on, Gramma. " Because he wanted to throw them in again, I finally put him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and brought him upstairs, laughing and laughing.

When he’s over tired he gets punch drunk, laughing, crying, throwing things, trying to bite clothing. I was hoping if he ran around for an hour he’d have gotten all his excess energy out of the way-somehow get his yayas out.

Yesterday we found out that my son and his wife, Hollis and Randy, are having a baby girl. I’m so happy they are going to have a boy and a girl. I'm really glad Aiden will have a sibling.

We were all very excited and Rebecca, Aiden's cousin, is especially happy. She said, "I knew it."

When Rebecca found out Hollis was pregnant, she came outside with me, looked up into the heavens and said with all her heart, “ Wish I may, wish I might, first star I see tonight, I wish for the new cousin to be a girl.”

Later we went over to play at my daughter's house. Aiden and Rebecca, the little cousins, played hard, dancing in circles, Rebecca in crown and butterfly wings, holding out her pink boa to Aiden dancing to "The Best of Sesame Street."

The kids and I made sweet potato fries and turkey burgers while Beth went to look at a house.

Driving home, Aiden in his car seat, said, "Ya know, Gramma, today was a a good day.”

New Baby Arrives...

2010-02-24T09:02:00.000-08:00

The phone rang at 5:30 a.m. I jumped out of bed and ran to the phone. "Mama, we're on our way to the hospital."

"Did your water break,? I asked her. "No, but I've been in labor since around 2." Quickly she told me the details. They'd left Rebecca still asleep with a teenage neighbor sleeping on their couch until I got to the house. Rebecca, my 5 year old granddaughter, had been out of preschool most of the week with a really bad cold and cough. I was hoping she'd be completely well before the baby was born.

"Get your coffee before you drive, Mom," my daughter said.

I assured her I wouldn't drive until I was wide awake and hung up. Still a bit groggy, I had a few minutes of wondering what to bring, then making a small pot of coffee, and whispering prayers for my daughter. I prayed for a short easy labor and a healthy baby. I kept up the prayers while I brushed my teeth and packed a small bag with clean clothes, poured a cup of coffee to bring, and while I was driving to my daughter's home.

Anna was born 4 hours later, healthy and beautiful. In every way a little twin of her big sister, the baby's facial expressions, her blond eyebrows, tuft of hair on top, the way she looks when she's about to cry mirrored Rebecca. Her skin was pink and perfect. The short labor must have contributed to her flawless skin. She didn't look like she had been through the trauma of birth. Rebecca, on the other hand, had this miserable suction machine attached to her head during delivery. Her head had been literally bent out of shape. The nurse, trying to not scare the parents, had used the swaddling blanket to wrap Rebecca's head so she looked like a tiny Islamic girl.

After a while my son and my grandson, Aiden. came over so the kids could play. We arranged a "Big Sister" party for lunch time. A few hours later, my daughter- in- law showed up with a bouquet of pink helium balloons and a white chocolate cake. We called for pizza. Aiden's little sister, my 7 month old granddaughter, Franny, sat in the middle of the living room rug surrounded by baby toys, but mostly she adored watching the older kids playing. Her eyes followed their every move. Rebecca and Aiden competed against each other by making funny faces and silly noises to see who could make the baby laugh the hardest.

The tension and excitement of the day began to wear on Rebecca. She wanted Aiden to go away. Every toy he picked up annoyed her. Somehow she scratched her toe, a small injury, but her faced crumbled. Rebecca burst into tears, sobbing. I held her tight telling her it would be okay. I kissed her toe. She looked up at me, "I just miss my mom so much."

I just held her until it passed. The pizza arrived. I could see her struggling with her emotions. Her cough and cold prevented her from going to the hospital to see her mom and the new baby. She was being brave, but there was more underneath it. I think Rebecca glimpsed an understanding that her world was about to really change. As much as she wanted the new baby sister, she wasn't the only child anymore. For her, that was a good thing. She needed a sibling to balance out the adoration and attention only a first child gets, but having to share her mother is another matter. It's also a necessary reality, but still, my heart aches for her.

Gramma, You My Best Friend

2010-02-19T16:54:00.000-08:00

I was really sick earlier in the week so I didn’t pick Aiden up from school. I called to talk to my son, then asked to say goodnight to my grandson. Aiden picked up the phone, then asked in real seriousness, “Why you no pick me up, Gramma Janny?” He sounded really worried. His other grandmother picked him up.

I said to him, "Well, I thought Grandma Patty would enjoy seeing your school." But he sounded really concerned so I told him I promised to be there in a couple of days. He’s so funny. I miss him when I’m not there to get him. His other grandmother lives far away so she only sees him a couple of times a year. I don’t know how she can stand it. I need to make cards today for Rebeeca and Aiden.

The next day I made Valentine cards for the kids and grandkids. I bought Rebecca some teeny real baby Valentine t-shirts for her doll, Sesame Street hair ties, and a heart Pez dispenser and candy. She got so much stuff from her grandfather it looked like Christmas. I only stayed for a minute or so because my voice was completely gone. I don’t think I’ve ever had laryngitis before.

A few days later I felt better and was able to resume picking Aiden up at school. It was pouring rain again. We both got soaked even though I had an umbrella. From the knees down, we were both sopping wet. When we got home, I had Aiden change his clothes. Then I gave him his Valentine with the bubblegum flavored tootsie pop. He said, Yummy,” then licked it for an hour. He also found the Pez container to be very wonderful the way it shoots out one candy at a time. I knew he'd want me to start working as soon as we arrived home. "Not today, honey. My back hurts." He wanted me to vacuum, so I let him do it instead of me. He did a great job.

The following day, I was having major problems with my car registration so I decided I had to go in person, never a good idea and not with a tired 3 year old. But I had no choice so Aiden and I went to the DMV. I had tucked away a grape tootsie pop in my purse to keep his occupied while we waited. I had an appointment, but still we had to wait.

He started to have a fit, but when I gave him theTootsie Pop he started to settle down. After a few minutes, he began giving me sticky kisses on my cheeks, on my sweater, on my hands. We finished our business and drove the 3 blocks to my son's house.

Aiden hadn’t taken a nap at school and with the sugar he was wild by the time we got home. He wanted me to help him wash dishes and again he wanted me to vacuum. I let him do it which he thoroughly enjoyed.

When I was leaving he threw his arms around my neck and gave me a big hug and told me, “Gramma, you my best friend.”

I Just Wanna be the FUN Grandma...

2010-02-17T16:35:00.000-08:00

It was a dark and stormy day. Parked in front of Aiden’s school because my dollar store umbrella fell apart exposing broken metal spokes. Right after that I got in trouble for parking wrong.

I found Aiden, put his orange jacket on him and zipped him up. He seems to be in a cranky mood lately. If I don’t do exactly what he wants he cries and has a fit. I wasn’t sure I signed on to do discipline. I just want to be the fun Gramma.

When we arrived home I was trying to think of a rainy day project. Throwing a sheet over the table and handing him my flashlight, I stood back to watch him climb into the tent I made him. It was really dark inside. Aiden explored every inch of the tent with the flashlight. He seemed to really love it.

Lately he’s been putting his arms around my neck and putting his head on my shoulder. He stays there for a few minutes without saying anything. Wow.

Aiden still hasn’t gotten over the freedom of being in a big boy bed. He’s waking Hollis and Randy up several times a night. They both have dark circles under their eyes. I was a lot younger parent than my kids so I can sympathize with them.

The next day Aiden and I had a play date with Rebecca. They are so good together, these little cousins. Aiden finds her so funny, and Rebecca defers to Aiden’s being littler than her.

Rebecca promptly gets ready by putting on her pink and gold princess dress, pink plastic high heels and a fuchsia colored princess crown-too funny. Then she found her old frog costume for Aiden and the danced and fell down and danced and leapt in the air and she pointed her toes in her pink ballet slippers and twirled and crashed into Aiden and they started all over again.

Aiden has been terrified of Rebecca’s cat, Caroline. Aiden would usually jump into my lap and scream whenever Caroline crossed his path. This time I told Rebecca to go find the Pounce, a kind of kitty cookie. So I let Aiden give the cat the treats one by one. Then he patted the cat and the cat sniffed him and purred. Aiden, with his one sided dimpled smile, said to Rebecca, “I love your titty.”

Like Puppies at the Pound...

2010-02-15T08:28:00.000-08:00

Aiden watches for me through the big window in his classroom. He is so happy to see me that he runs at me yelling ,"Gramma!” throwing his arms around my thighs. "Why don't we go outside and take some action shots, sweetie?" He takes my hand to lead me outside.

I brought my camera to take his picture at the new school. I said “Smile, Aiden” and he gave me this twisted forced camera smile. I said, “Knock it off, handsome. Just show me your dimples.” And he did, while hanging from the jungle gym and flying down the slide. Just a few weeks ago he was afraid of trying these things, now he's an expert.

All the attention starved children at his school come outside to follow me all over the playground, wanting me to take their picture, wanting to talk, wanting me to notice them. I’m some sort of grandmother archetype to the under 4 set. They act like attention starved puppies at the pound. It’s too sad. Except for a tiny Asian girl had just woken up from her nap, sort of hysterical, with snot all running down her nose into her mouth. She looked at me and screamed.

Aiden and I went straight home where we watched an hour of Berenstein Bears, then vacuumed and emptied the diswasher, two of Aiden’s favorite activities. We set the table and started making a dinner of vegeburgers and tomatoes. I cut the tomatoes into a half way slice and gave Aiden a butter knife to finish going through them. He loved it.

My son, Randy walked in and Aiden said, “Dinner’s ready." Once again, Aiden wants me out the door pronto. I think he can't take the heady stimulation of all of his parents and me all at once.

He yells, “See you tomorrow, Gramma," as he pushes me out the door.

Aiden Starts Preschool-Leaving Blue Blanky and Pacey Behind

2010-02-11T18:41:00.000-08:00

I go to Aiden’s fancy new preschool to pick him up. It’s his first day and he is 3 years old. I’m anxious about being on time because they charge $10 per minute if you’re late so I get there at 2:45 pm instead of 3 pm. I'm armed with an elaborate door code and emergency phone numbers on orange AstroBright paper in my wallet so I won't lose it. I'm hoping Aiden has had a good day.

My daughter-in-law says that when they arrived at the school this morning one of the little girls was sitting in the circle with a big pink pacifier in her mouth. Aiden, who had been recently been bribed out of his own “pacey” looked at her as if to say, “What’s that all about?” I thought you told me they weren’t allowed!”

The school is beautiful and new, very clutter free and organized. I punch in the secret code to get into the school and I sign my name in the book that says I picked him up.All the classrooms have large windows in them so you can see what's going on. I'm peering through each one looking in each room for a little red haired boy.

I see him in the last class at the end of the hall-all toddlers. He sees me first and his face lights up. He has a dimple in his left cheek that just slays me. He yells, “Gramma” and runs over to give my legs a hug and I extend my reach over several little people to introduce myself to his two teachers. I find out he ate most of his lunch, but not his yogurt.

There is a tiny Asian boy stretched out on one of the nappy cots. He looks like he has been through hell. He’s on his back, arms and legs akimbo, looking like he is in the deepest sleep of his life. His face is red and blotched like he fell asleep crying. Another mom comes in at the same time. I overhear the teachers asking why the mom didn’t celebrate the girl’s birthday at school. The mom is embarrassed, but says “Well I’m working the day shift, my husband is working a night shift, we were busy…blah blah blah. “ I’m beginning to think how lazy can you be, lady? That is, for Christ’s sake, too much. I feel bad for being judgmental, but I end up feeling bad for the girl and the teachers, too.

The teacher, Miss Daisy, tells me Aiden cried a little during transition times, but that he had a generally good day. He did not go poop, but went in the toilet and urinated. She gives Aiden a big hug and a high five for being a big boy. We thank her and wave “bye.”

We drive home and both of us are kind of quiet, I didn’t want to freak him out with a lot of questions. We have orange juice and cut up pears while watching “Berenstein Bears.” He sits motionless, except for reaching for the fruit, with his blue blanky up next to his cheek.

Then we unloaded the dishwasher, loaded it again, and set the table for their dinner. Hollis came home exactly at 5:00 p.m.She told me that since Aiden moved into a bed and out of his crib he’s been waking up really early, sometimes 5 a.m. My son, Randy went looking for a gate for his room. Aiden is really upset about it. They keep telling him to use his words instead of screaming so this is what he said: “I do not want to be locked up. It makes me really mad. I want to come out of my room when I wake up.”

Aiden turns to me, now that his mother is home, and says, "Bye bye, Grandma." He practically pushes me out the door. We kiss and hug and I promise to see him the next day at 3:00 p.m.

Sleepover at Grandma's

2010-02-04T21:36:00.000-08:00

Two weeks ahead of time I ordered the newest Angelina Ballerina from Netflix so she’ll have a movie we both will like. It’s actually not a stretch because Rebecca is thrilled with anything on TV. Her parents don’t have cable by choice so it’s an exotic thing for her to watch Sprout at my house.

Her latest habit is to arrive somewhere, my house or others, and quickly change into a princess costume. My daughter is a teacher in a lovely affluent town and all the mothers save their girl’s cutest hand-me-downs for her thus an envious wardrobe and a corner of her closet busting open with a multitude of dress up ball gowns with plastic high heels to match.

When Rebecca doesn’t understand something or more likely, she thinks I don’t understand something, she will yell out in frustration, “I’m so ‘fused,” or “Gramma, you are so ‘fused.” I asked her why she changed clothes so often and that was her impatient reply. She's probably wondering why I don't change my clothes several times a day.

I have to admit, with my 70’s feminist leanings, to really hate the princess crap. I love dress up for kids, but the princess stuff used to make me sick. Now it just does bothers me on other children who are not my grandchildren. Well, and a lot of the Disney stuff as well bothers me for a lot of reasons (Mermaids give up their voice to marry princes).

While I’m fiddling with the DVD player, Rebecca puts on her green gown with a bodice covered in green sequins and the skirt is several layers of green netting.

So we began our evening with Angelina, followed by meatloaf and Mac and cheese (her favs). We played Connect 4 even though she knows I hate board games. Then bath time, which I admit is a struggle. She has long thick beautiful hair that is really hard to wash and detangle. I put her a warm tubby with pink peppermint soap and new net scrubbies. Then I have to negotiate washing and drying, pouring water to rinse, etc. I gave her some of my pink shaving cream which is really fun to squish in your hands, a general rinsing, then ending in Baby Magic Lotion and powder, pushing her into a lavender sleepy suit and zipping her up.

I dread brushing her hair, but as she gets older, she has more tolerance for tugs and pulls on her hair. Afterwards, when we are all done with nightime preparations, I give her the world’s tiniest vanilla ice cream sundae, topped with a swirl of caramel sauce, and a flower of whipped crème on top.We read three books. She scrubs her teeth with training toothpaste (what is that?). Her mommy calls to say goodnight.

Then I put her to bed on her make believe bed, 2 bright blue outside lounger cushions covered with her lime green sleeping bag and blankets.

She asks for a lullaby so I give in. I sing Rock a Bye Baby. She really likes my voice, she’s said to me before. My voice is awful, but geez isn’t that nice? She’s asleep in 5 minutes.
Around 11 when I’m crawling into my bed, she wakes up and asks to crawl into my bed. I say," good fine."

But the combination of our breathing and the heat from her little body in the fleece sleepy suit is too much.

She curls into my back like a baby opossum. It’s so deliciously comfortable I can’t stand it. Then I get really really hot.

She says, “Gramma, your hair is tickling my face.” It makes me laugh.

But still no sleep.

I finally say, “If we’re not asleep in 10 minutes, I think you will need to go back to your own bed. “ In a couple of minutes, Rebecca crawls over me to get back to her own bed.

I fall asleep for a while, then Rebecca wakes me with, “I have to pee.”

When she gets back in bed she says very sweetly, “Grandma, my dad has this thing he wears on his nose when he snores. Maybe you could try that?” Which cracks me up. Then she starts singing very softly “Jingle Bells.”

She falls asleep somewhere around 1 am. I’m staring at the ceiling listening to her breathe for a long time before I finally drop off.

Crisscross Applesauce-A Rainy Day Project

2010-01-29T18:48:00.000-08:00

It's been raining for weeks. I wanted to do something with Aiden, but it had to be indoors. My cottage is very little, but I have a functional kitchen. Here’s what I did with Aiden a couple of weeks ago. I picked him up and we came home to my little house to have lunch. I bought a bag of red apples (about 12-15 apples) the day before. If you haven’t read my blog before, Aiden is my 4-year-old grandson.

My mom had this strange funnel with holes in it like a colander, but it narrows down into a tip and has a metal holder so it can stand up straight on a counter. Along with both of those, it has a wooden contraption with a round handle that you move around in circles into the funnel pushing against whatever food you have inserted. I saw something a little like it in a food catalogue. They called it a ricer, but this is different. It probably over 75 years old. The wooden beater looks like it caught on fire at some point.

My mother always made applesauce in it and today, so Aiden and I are going to make it also.

This process will probably work with a food mill also. If you want to make this with a child, here’s how to do it:

1. Buy a bag of apples-I bought organic because I heard on the news that strawberries and apples soak up a lot of pesticides.

2. Fill up your sink full of water. Get a step stool for the child and let him put each apple in the water and wash it really well.

3. Let the child dry each apple.

4. Using a butter knife, let the child cut all the apples in half. I usually cut the apples most of the way before I hand them to Aiden.

5. Let the child pull the drain up to let the water go out of the sink, hand him a large pot, let him fill up the pot half way with cold water.

6. Ask the child to put all the apple halves in the water.

7. You put the apples and water on high on the stove. Cook it really well until all the apples are just very mushy. It maybe takes 25-30 minutes, sometimes more. To be sure the apples are done, I stick a fork in an apple-if it goes in really easy, it’s done.

8. Drain the water out but leave about a cup of the water in the pot. It helps the applesauce to thin out a little.

9. Let all of it cool for about 15-20 minutes so no one gets burned. It stays hot for a long time.

10. Arrange the holder’s legs over a large bowl. Place them both in the sink so it’s easy to put enough leverage over the colander. Now put the colander in, get out the wooden masher, put about 5 or 6 apples in it, then get the child up on the stepstool, and stand by the child after you show him how to push the masher around in circles. At this point I said to him, “Use your muscles, Buddy.” I asked him to show me his biceps which he did.

11. Applesauce will immediately begin to come out of the holes into the bowl so keep smashing until all the apples are smooched. Add 2 or 3 apples at a time. The best thing is this contraption keeps all the skins, stems, and seeds out.

12. Take a break for a few minutes to rest your arms, come back, and smash again so you get every bit out. Take a butter knife, life up the colander and scrape all the applesauce off the outside into the bowl.

13. Let the child pour 1 cup of sugar into the applesauce and stir it in.

14. At this point you can add what you like, but last time I tried fine grating 1 orange rind and it was delicious. You could use cinnamon instead. My mom used to put a orange that had been cut in half upside down in the sauce and squeeze a bit of the juice into the sauce, then leave the orange in it while it’s still warm.

15. If you are opposed to sugar you could use honey instead.

16. Try to eat a small bowl while it is still slightly warm. It's so delicious. Aiden had a look of rapture on his face. "Yummmm," he proclaimed with a big grin. I put most of it into a container for Aiden to take home. I reserve a bowl for me for dinner.

17. I made sure to tell him that his Daddy’s grandma used to make it for him, now he’s making it!

It's so fun and a great way to spend an hour or so with your grandchild. It brings up lovely memories of my mother as well. She would have been 100 years old this March 20th. My niece used to plant flowers with her little girl on my mother's birthday. I think I'll make applesauce.

The Innocent Dignity of a Child's Heart

2010-01-18T12:31:00.000-08:00

Rebecca is the daughter of my daughter. I was there the moment she was born and I felt like I knew her immediately. When she first began to speak, she called me "Bama," then "Dama", and finally, Grandma. She was my very first grandchild.

For her fourth Christmas, I ordered her a Pepto Bismal pink Boogie Board so we could use it together in the ocean when we go to Southern California. Rebecca is a Scorpio girl and adores the water, particularly the ocean. Even when she was tiny, just crawling, she would scoot crab-like towards the water until my daughter gathered her into her arms.

She has long blond hair with curls. When it's just been washed, her hair sprouts tiny tendrils that frame her face making her resemble a portrail painting of a 18th century European child. Her eyes are bright blue, her lips a little pink bow. She's a lefty and very bright and imaginative. My God, how the child loves to dress up in crowns, boas, and plastic high heels.

Last summer she became tall enough to stand in the shallow end of a pool. With the delicacy of an advanced ballerina, she would hold the side of the pool with one hand while balancing herself to make ballet movements with her left arm. While she tiptoed through the water, Rebecca sang a song about a "Rose Fairy Rosemary Tooth Fairy" in a high thin voice.

She's a wonder to me. Rebecca is a sometimes a full blown extrovert who enters the library like she's Eloise at the Plaza, dancing and twirling, yelling greetings to the librarians.She can be full of confidence, then minutes later slumped over in dance class, chewing on the skin of her right thumb looking worried and anxious.

Rebecca is also extremely literal. I stopped by to see her recently when she had a cold. When I was leaving her, I bent over her, smoothed her forehead, kissed it and said, "You take good care of yourself, sweetheart.!" She looked at me like I was nuts. "I am TOO LITTLE to take care of myself. My Mama and Daddy take care of me." I could see how shocked she was. "Oh", I said, "Right. What was I thinking?"

She interpets her world though a combination of steely-eyed realism ("There are no such things as angels, Grandma") and a pure hearted innocence. When she learned she was going to have a new cousin, she marched outside, peered up into the vast universe, then began to recite the old poem, " Wish I may, wish I might, first star I see tonight. Let the baby be a GIRL.!" At that moment, I knew it would happen.

We LOVE the Library

2010-01-08T09:08:00.000-08:00

Aiden and I had planned a trip to the library, but when we got there it was closed-Christmas furloughs. I hadn’t had breakfast yet and we still needed to throw our pennies in the fountain so I parked the car and we got out. The café was open so we ordered warm apple cider and peanut butter cookies. After we were done, we practiced hitting the back wall of the fountain with our pennies, throwing as hard and as far as we could. Fifty pennies goes really fast so we needed another plan.

Aiden wanted to paint, but I knew he was low on supplies. “How about Michael’s?” I proposed. “Yes, let’s go!” he replied. We sang on the way over, making up a new song entitled, “Cookies.” It goes like this, “ Cookies on the ….(fill in the blank.” In case you want to try this song, sing it in the cadence of Marine marching songs like this, “Cookies (emphasis on the word cookies) on the freeway, cookies in my mouth, cookies in my ears… whatever strikes your fancy.”

With Aiden as the captain inside the shopping cart, we grabbed paper, new brushes, watercolors, and scissors. On the way back to my house, I asked him what he would like to paint. Aiden says he wanted to “paint pictures of his peeper.” “Lots and lots of peepers.” I knew that was his word for penis. “Why, Aiden?” He just laughed his head off, then began the cookie song again. This is the same kid who was horrified to find trash on the library grounds telling me that the “people were disrespecting the earth.”

That’s the amazing thing about being with my grandchildren. They are such gifts to me. Our discussions can begin with bathroom humor and drift into profound in a just a few minutes and they always make me laugh.

Breakthrough

2009-12-26T19:18:00.000-08:00

When Rebecca was one years old, my son and his wife had a son, Aiden. For a long time during the pregnancy, I was worried about whether I could love another child as much as Rebecca. Worried too, that I wouldn’t be able to hide it and everyone would know, including the baby. I vaguely remember thinking the same thing when I was pregnant with my second child. Is it possible to love someone else this much?

He was a tiny stranger that I couldn’t connect with at first. When he was a newborn, I’d hold him and sing to him. His eyes would watch me, but I had a hard time getting him to smile. It seems odd now because one of Aiden’s nicest features is his sense of humor. He has a great laugh and loves it when words sound weird to him. He’ll laugh really hard, then bring up the word again, and start laughing all over again.

After he was a couple of months old, for the rest of his first year of his life, whenever I went over to baby-sit he would scream his head off. I know they say that a child doesn’t have fear of strangers before 6 months or so, but he knew his mom and dad were out. He would scream like I had just stuck him with a pin. He would scream so hard my ears would hurt. It didn’t matter whether he was at his house or mine. Same thing. I would walk with him and rock him or just put him in his crib. It didn’t matter.

One day when he was just starting to crawl, I stuck out my toes and I tickled his little toes with mine. He gave me a big smile, he laughed, and he put his tiny hand on my toes and tickled me back. That did it. We were friends for life. He never cried with me again unless he hurt himself or dropped his pacifier or wanted to get up from his nap.

He began as a redhead, but now is a mixture of blond and red. His eyes are a grayish light blue just like my father’s eyes. He had a really big smile and a sweet dimple on his left cheek that just knocks me out. To me, he looks like a little Norwegian child, but sometimes looks very Irish. He is fastidious and loves to clean. Give him a spray bottle of water and a wad of paper towels and he’s a happy guy. He’ll dry mop the whole condo. He has asked Santa for a vacuum. When I took him to Target, we had to look at each one very carefully before we could move on.

He is smart and funny and very shy. Strangers will try to talk to him because he’s so handsome, but he is not in the least interested. Aiden will hide behind my legs. He’s the kind of kid you need to coax into trying new things, like getting into a pool or trying a piece of equipment at the park. He is an introvert, without guile, a sweetheart of a boy. He can be heartbreakingly compliant, then refusing to do even simple things. If I get tough with him about his behavior, he’ll smile and hug me. Or he'll say with a sly little smile, "You mad at me, Gramma?" Aside from cleaning supplies, he loves his blue blankie and his pacifier the best. Give him those two items and he will slide into sleep in seconds.

Last summer I had a few hours with him at the beach, just he and I. The only way I could get him into the ocean was by filling up buckets of water for our sandcastle. Finally he got wet, but I never got him in past his knees. Maybe next summer.

We have a standing date to go to the library. Lots of times he is dressed and ready to go, standing outside, looking down for my car. When I open my car door I can hear him yelling, "Gramma! Gramma!" If I yell up to him on the patio, "Hello, Darling Boy," he will answer, "Hello, Darling!" This is our routine. We sing our way to the library with "The Wheels on the Bus," and "Puff the Magic Dragon," all the while looking for red-tailed hawks in the sky. When we arrive at the library, I take out the roll of pennies I've picked up so we can throw them into the fountain outside the little cafe at the entrance. Sometimes he'll throw 1, or sometimes, 20 pennies at once. We go to the cafe. He drinks a smoothie, whileI have tea. He shares my bagel, but also wants a peanut butter cookie.

We ride the elevator, all the while Aiden is pushing the right button for the library, then the handicapped button that opens the entrance door. I let him pick as many books as I can carry generally about 10. He always gets a couple of Curious George's because he recognizes the yellow covers. We are both lovers of books.

On our way to the check out desk, Aiden rushes over to get the stool so he can hand the librarian his stack of book choices. Then we do everything again in reverse, handicapped door opener, but he pushes the "Garage" button this time. He loves garages and insists that we park under the building.

Aiden is going to have a new baby sister this summer. I’m really glad he is not going to be an only child.

Learning to love a new person stretches you, makes your work harder to know them. He'll be a great big brother, protective and tough with anyone who might hurt her, but he'll teach her to laugh, to love books, to wrestle, and I'm willing to bet, to clean. When I look at him, I love him so much it makes my heart ache.

That Barbie Girl Has Everything!

2009-12-24T12:19:00.000-08:00

When my daughter, Elizabeth, was in elementary school my father built a wonderful two story doll house for her. My mom put in carpet scraps for the flooring and beige drapes with golden swags for the living room windows. For the next Christmas, I spent all my nights after my daughter had gone to bed, sitting crossed legged on my couch, bent over sewing everything completely by hand. I didn’t even wear glasses then. I was in my late twenties, but I would get up to go to bed around 1 or 2 only after I almost lost circulation in my legs.

I made beds using unused books for frames, Kapok-filled mattresses, little blankets, and even a faux bulletin board for the kitchen wall. It was made of black construction paper, brown paper bags, and tiny multi-colored beads for push pins. I hung it on the little wall with a piece of jute. I even made teeny weenie notes and glued red and orange beads onto the top of the paper so they looked real. I also made overstuffed chairs out of small milk cartons and filling. Oh, and with matching pillows.

I remember it as a very happy time in my life, totally engaged, feeling very happy and creative, and anticipating how much fun she would have with it. Well, my daughter is 35, very pregnant with her second child, and she is the mother of my 5 year old granddaughter, Rebecca. A few years ago I had given Rebecca a used Barbie Recreation Vehicle I bought at a thrift shop. Since then the RV had become somewhat shabby and faded, but still she loves it and continues to play with it.

This child has so many toys and will get many more. So I asked her if she would like it if I renovated the RV for her for Christmas. She liked the idea. I asked her what color she wanted it. She replied, “Blue.” For the past few weeks I’ve been haunting fabric, hardware, and doll stores gathering supplies. I put down good money at Ace Hardware for paint that works on plastic (Krylon is great by the way). I went to Whippersnappers in Lafayette to buy itty bitty Coke cans, a little box of Kellogg’s Corn Flakes, and an inch long metal whisk. I kind of became obsessed. My wonderful niece, Michele, let me spend a day at her house using her sewing machine, calling out over and over for her to fix the bobbin or rethread the needle. (She was adorable about it and I owe her a morning of babysitting!)

So the RV is all done. I knew I was done when I found myself at midnight last night making a very little paper towel holder for the RV kitchen.

I made it out of a cut up Tootsie Pop stick and paper towels sliced up with manicure scissors. My creative juices have been spent and my back is tired. So here’s what I made: Bedding and pillows, fleece comforters, curtains, a bathrobe, beach bag and matching towels, seat cushions, tablecloth and napkins, and much more that I can’t remember.

Merry Christmas!

Silent Night

2009-12-12T08:48:00.000-08:00

She has strawberry blonde hair, almond shaped eyes, a sweet round face, and smiles most of the time. My newest grandbaby is just four months old, all gums when she's happy, and ears that stick out a teense, just enough to be endearing. Her name is Franny and we are just beginning to know one another. I discovered this week that she might be musical, or at least "very advanced."

When I was taking care of her this week, she became a little fussy. I sat down on the rocker, put her head over my shoulder, and began patting her bottom. I began to sing "Silent Night." Recently when I talk to her, Franny makes noises back at me to signal her pleasure, but this was different. With my mouth next to her ear, I sang the song softly. She began to hum, holding her sounds long enough to match the words. As I sang, "silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright," she was right with me. She kept it up through the whole song, then nodded off at the end. Is that even possible? My son says she does that in church with the choir.

Even if she isn't a musical prodigy, Franny is clearly delighted to be alive, thrilled she can pull herself up to a sitting position by holding tight to my fingers, struggling with everything she has to make sounds that show me how happy she is to be here with us.

Mindfulness

2009-12-04T12:44:00.000-08:00

I could see her shadow through the window. I knew it was her because I know her perfect profile, the way her hair moves when she’s excited, the shape of her compact body. I watched as her head bounced while she jumped up and down as soon as she recognized me standing outside her preschool door. There was just enough light through the darkened glass to see a huge smile on her face. My granddaughter, Rebecca, just turned 5 years old.
I don’t know about you, but my grandchildren are the only people in my life who are thrilled to distraction just by my arrival. I think that is the essence of being a grandmother for me. We are exactly true to our feelings, her and me. There are no pretenses between us. If I was able to jump up and down when I saw her, I would have.
Did my own children act that excited when I picked them up at school? Did they? I don’t remember. They might have, but I don’t think so. I had so much stuff on my mind, so much responsibility that I wouldn’t have noticed: Which is exactly the difference between parenting and grandparenting.
As a young mother I was the daily presence who told them to eat vegetables and be quiet in church, do homework, be quiet when I was on the phone. I noticed things, but not on this level. I was always projecting into the future about the kind of people I wanted them to be.
Now I notice everything. Being with my grandchildren is an extreme mindfulness I practiced in meditation. I am right in the moment with them when I’m in their presence. No past, no future, just RIGHT NOW. My meditation teacher told me that our natural state is joy. He said, “Picture joy like a bright shiny mirror covering our hearts. Most of the time this mirror is covered with things like worry, regret, anger, and fear. These negative emotions cloud the mirror so we don’t feel the joy. But joy, which is our natural state, is always there. Paying attention, being in the moment, cleans the mirror and allows the joy to come through.”
When I am with my grandchildren, I am so focused on them, letting them take the lead, that I feel nothing but joy.