Sick day

(keep watch, little puppy. my little puppy is sleeping.)

Gramma, thanks for coming over.

You're welcome sweetheart, your mommy had to take Jules to get her immunizations, right?

Yeah. And I'm sick. I threw up, did you know that? It was disgusting.

Yes, I heard. You look a little tired.

No. I'm not tired. I'm a puppy.

Oh, ok. What does the puppy want to do?

She wants to wear a princess dress.

Ok.

And you need to make her a leash. With a collar.

Ok.

And then you be the mean person, and trap her, right here, with this blanket.

Ok.

She's going to take a little nap. I don't like to take naps. But the puppy wants a nap. You be right there. Don't go anywhere.

I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I promise, puppy ... puppy? You there? Puppy? I love you, little puppy. Sleep tight.

~~~

A Day In The Life Of A Unicorn

(this is one spoiled unicorn, let me tell ya)

Today was another sunny day in Texas -

Gramma! Shush! My unicorn is sleeping.

Oh. Sorry. Where is he sleeping?

She! It's a she! SHUSH.

She. Fine. Where is SHE sleeping?

In the hat, of course.

Oh sure. The hat.

Can you talk quieter? She is very sad. She needs to sleep.

Why is she sad?

Because her fairy friends Azura and Ariella got shot.

Oh really? That is very sad.

Yes. They got shot by the wicked queen. She shot the unicorn in the wings. Do you think you could find a doctor who can fix my unicorn? Can you Gramma? Please?

Well of course. In fact, I can even make YOU into a magical unicorn.

You can??

Yes. That's what Gramma's do. We take little girls, and we magically transform them into the most special, beautiful, amazing creatures in the whole wide world. Are you ready?

I'm ready.

I love you Riley.

I love you too, Gramma.

~~~

Merry Christmas

I wish you love ...

joy ...

and peace on earth ...


Merry Christmas.

~~~

The Rules

The Rules of Clothing, according to my favorite 2-year-old:

1. If your pj pants are warm and comfy, why change into something else?


2. Run away screaming when they approach you with a comb. Eventually they will give up.




3. Dress for the season. Spring is lots of fun.



4. Before leaving the house, be sure to check your shoes.

Baby Einstein

My 22-month-old grandbaby is a little genius. Now, I know every Grandma says that. But it's true! How else would you explain the following:

1. She knows that she should say "MY purse" at the mall as she yanks her purse out of her stroller which cost as much as my first car but which she steadfastly refuses to sit in. I mean, think about it - we ask her, "Do you want your purse?" So why doesn't she call it "your purse"? Plus, she always heads straight for Dillards, my favorite store. How does she know?



2. She insists on eating nothing but macaroni and cheese. My daughter worries that she isn't getting any nutrition whatsoever, but I hear this is the latest diet craze among babies. She's leading the way.



3. She is always on the lookout for new discoveries. Like, did you know that there are little tiny flowers in the grass, if you look hard enough? And there are acorns and little sticks on the sidewalk that must be moved onto the lawn, one at a time. And some houses have ceramic ducks by their front doors!!! Ducks!!! It's no wonder it takes us an hour to walk four blocks to the park.





4. She is a brilliant problem solver. She knows that there is one word that can solve every problem, fulfill every need, and trump the wishes of her parents. Can you guess what that word might be?

Who you callin' Grandma?

(I originally wrote this on July 3, 2007, when Riley was 2 months old.)

I'll be the first to admit that I'm old enough to be a grandmother. I grew up in the 1960's. I remember seeing the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show. I remember the "miracle" of color TV. And I earned every one of the wrinkles I'm planning to have Botox'ed out of my face as soon as I'm convinced that there won't be any pain involved. But still, my daughter's happy announcement of our first grandchild presented a dilemma. What would I be called?

My own grandmother came up with the term "G-Mom." I remember my mom saying it was because she didn't want to be known as Grandma, which as a sensitive child made me feel a little guilty. I told myself I didn't feel the same ambivalence, though I was at a loss to explain how we went from the 1960's to the 2000's so quickly. Anyway, G-Mom was out.

There was a "Granny" on my husband's side, who took feisty-ness to a whole new level. (Note to self: Feisty is good. Extreme feisty-ness is just an excuse for being ornery.)

"Mee-Maw" sounds hick. "Nana" sounds like the dog in Peter Pan. And "Grandmother" would make the poor kid sound like a member of the royal family. The choices were getting worse by the day. Rather than waiting for me to decide, my daughter wisely went ahead and had the baby.

Even though I knew little Riley Nichole wouldn't be able to call me anything for quite a while, I felt a renewed urgency to pin down the perfect name. I reviewed my options on the way to the hospital. Grammy? Grams? Nonnie? Each one sounded corny and hopelessly old.

I got more creative on the elevator ride up to the maternity ward. MomMom? Mommy Two? Then I turned ethnic. Opa? Bube? Grandmere? I was searching my brain for celebrity names that might fit (Oprah? Goldie? Clearly I was way off track) ... when I stepped into room 3014 and saw her for the first time.



What struck me first was the fact that my daughter was holding a baby. That probably shouldn't have surprised me, considering the fact that she'd been pregnant for the past 9 months. But still. My daughter was holding a baby. Her baby. I've never seen her happier. She looked up at me proudly and pushed the blanket down gently, so I could see Riley's perfect little face. But something else already had my attention.

Poking out from the other end of the blanket, I saw two feet. Notice I didn't say "little" feet. Riley was only 20 minutes old, but she had the feet of a 2-year-old. Her toes were double-jointed. Her arch was amazingly high. From two sturdy ankles to ten long toes, her feet formed perfect triangles.

They looked just like mine.

I joked with my daughter about how the doctor would need legal-size paper to take her footprints. I told her those toes would come in handy for picking up Cheerios. But deep down, I already knew that those feet were a sign of great things to come. I knew little Riley would have a firm foundation to stand on. I knew she would make her own path, and walk with the assurance that she is deeply loved. And I knew she could call me whatever she wanted.

Just pictures!

"I thought you said never talk to strangers!!!"


Riley: "Wanna go shopping, Dolly?"
Dolly: "Rrrg arrg you're strgrgrangling me"



She's a star!


This is the best kind of snow! (the warm kind)