Kidspeak

While we were gone, baby Seth joined our family.

Marta is Seth's mom, and Dan is Seth's dad.

Benji is Seth's big brother, and he came for a sleepover last night. Dee graciously let Benji share the master bedroom with me, and I made him a comfy bed on the floor with a feather tick, quilts and several fluffy pillows.

"Who's sleeping there, Oma?" he asked.

"You," I replied.

"Well," he said, "I could sleep in the bed."

"I thought I'd sleep in the bed," I said.

"Well, it's big enough for two," he said.

"Really?" I said.

He's learning to share his mom and his dad.

It might be too much to expect him to share his bed!

(The floor wasn't that comfy, by the way.)

Welcome to Seth Wells Dansie

Cousins Club Member #22

Read Marta's beautiful new-baby post here.

A Grand Kid Day

Lucy, Jessi and Chloë make their Grand Entrance

Nothing is more fun than a day with grandkids! (I've had quite a few lately, and I know my stuff.) I took this trio to the Grand America in downtown Salt Lake City for the Grand Tour.

We started with brunch.

Pancakes with strawberries and cream cheese,

crepes with bananas and nutella ...

Hot chocolate with fluffy mounds of whipped cream ... "Can we go to La Bonne Vie after this?" they asked. The French bakery outside the Garden Cafe was filled with pastel macaroons and chocolate truffles and had caught their imaginations on the way in. "You don't have dessert after breakfast," I explained.

"But this is brunch!"

"Prepare for the bathroom of your life," Chloë told the others.

"We get our own little rooms, with chandeliers."

(It's a grand thing when toilets make such a splash.)

"Look at these old fashioned phones!" Jess exclaimed.

"Are they from the '90s?"

Cords, buttons, and even a dial—

"Where's the caller ID?"

The Grand Finale was a visit to Jou Jou,

a toy boutique in the hotel for grand kids.

"This is the ultimate doll house," Lucy said. It was standing next to a giant robot that told knock-knock jokes in a monotone robot voice, after it greeted us with:

"I-can't-give-a-high-five-but-I-can-say-hi-five-times ...

hi-hi-hi-hi-hi."

A grand piano was on the floor in front of organ pipes filled with brightly colored bubble gums. When the girls stepped on the keys the music started and so did the dance moves.

Making memories in grand proportions

There's nobody quite like grandkids. They love completely with no expectation except receiving love back. It's a forgiving, tolerant, accepting kind of love. They aren't trying to improve us, or change us. We're good enough. Who else loves us that way? They aren't embarrassed by us, and actually expect us to be a little eccentric, which gives us confidence to just be ourselves. All in all, it's just grand!

"And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children,

and the heart of the children to their fathers . . ."

—Malachi 4:6

Random Writing Recommendations

Chloë and her teacher, Mrs. Nugent

I went to my granddaughter Chloë's 4th grade County Fair, and ran into my own 4th grade best friend. Fifty-five years later, she's now Chloë's favorite teacher, Mrs. Nugent. She was just Karen when I knew her, way back when.

Karen lived right behind me—we shared the back gate. She was tall and I was short and her mom called us "Mutt and Jeff." (Neither of us know who Mutt and Jeff are.) Her grandma taught me to play Gin Rummy and her grandpa taught me not to lie. I'll never forget that day.

We lived close to a canal. Rumor had it that a little girl had once drowned there, and all the neighborhood kids knew we were not to cross the street or go near that fearsome place. One day I ran through the gate, through their garden, past her grandpa and into the yard. The whole family was searching for Karen's little sister Carolyn who was about three. Even Grandpa put down his shovel, pushed back his hat and hollered, "Carolyn!" through cupped hands, and came up onto the grass. "Have you seen Carolyn?" he asked me.

Thinking it would be funny, I said, "Yes. I saw her floating down the canal." You can imagine how that little joke went over. Grandpa grabbed hold of my wrists and walloped me on the backside. "Have you ever heard the story of the boy who cried 'Wolf"?" he asked. Obviously I hadn't. He sat me right down and told it to me, and then informed me that lying was wrong and I better not do it again. He made me promise.

I've never forgotten that incident—whenever it comes to mind I cringe. (It reminds me that I was often a brat.) Carolyn was eventually found and things settled down; Grandpa went back to the garden and we went inside to have some of Mrs. Thatcher's tapioca pudding.

Looking back, I'm grateful I grew up in a time when adults took responsibility for teaching kids how to behave. I deserved that spanking and I'm glad he taught me a lesson I still remember. Now his granddaughter is teaching my granddaughter lessons she'll always remember, with a softer touch. (Chloë is definitely not a brat and already knows how to behave.)

Who was your best friend in 4th grade? Do you keep in touch? What would you talk about if you got together? Write down a memory!

Benji, 3.

Do you have a favorite day? Mine is Oma Day! Benji came over for an Oma Day and entertained me for a couple of hours. I'd heard he loves playing baseball, and has a powerful swing, so I thought I'd let him tell me about it.

Oma: So, Benji, do you like sports?

Benji: Yes! I do!

Oma: What's your favorite sport?

Benji: Well ... I think ... golf.

Oma: Wow! Do you play golf?

Benji: Not now, but I used to when I was a little kid.

He carried around a tiny helicopter the whole time he was here, and when he was leaving, his mom told him to put it away. "Can I keep it?" he asked. "Maybe you can borrow it," I said. "When you come again, you can bring it back and trade it in for something else." He looked at it and then glanced in the Cousin's Clubhouse at the other toys. "Actually, I want to trade it in right now," he said.

Benji and his cousins in the Cousin's Clubhouse

"…writing comes more easily if
you have something to say."
—Sholem Asch

One secret of writing: collect things to say:

1. Carry a notebook and jot down kidspeak. Kids are funny.
2. Listen in on conversations in the check-out line, in restaurants, and the beauty salon.
3. Imagine what you would have said if you were rude, or clever, or funny.

The other secret of writing: write!

Put on some bum glue and sit down at your computer and make those fingers go.

If you don't write, you'll never be a writer. It's that simple.

If you do, you will.

Want to read ahead? I've got a book list:

1. How to Write the Story of Your Life, by Frank P. Thomas
2. The Autobiographer's Handbook, edited by Jennifer Traig
3. Legacy, by Linda Spence
4. Tracing Your Family History, by Anthony Adolph
5. For All Time, by Charley Kempthorne

Granddaughters: A Sweet Treat

Chloë at San Gelato

I picked the girls up after school, and Chloë got to ride shotgun. At ten, she is still technically a back seat rider, but my back seat could only accommodate her two younger sisters. Who knew it would be a grand perk of Oma day?

She twisted the side mirrors, adjusted the vents, rearranged the sun shades, locked and unlocked the doors. "You seem to be enjoying all the accessories." I said. She checked her hair in the make-up mirror on the back of the visor. "Well, yeh. The front seat is way more luxurious than the back seat." she said.

We're babysitting this week, getting reacquainted with the up close and personal. It's so fun to listen in on girl-talk, get in on bobby-pin demonstrations and overhear piano practice. These girls are 10, 9 and 7, old enough to pack their own lunches and put in their own wash. Bedtime is not an issue and they come home anxious to do their homework. Observing such awesome qualities has restored my belief in heredity.

After dinner they played on the swings in our neighborhood park while the wind whipped their hair into tangled updos--mine was standing straight up. It was time to head over to a family night concert, and I suggested we go home to wash up. "It probably won't do much good to comb our hair with all this wind," I said. "Oma," chided Chloë, "I think we should at least make an effort."

Like I said: granddaughters are a sweet treat!

Chloë May, Ashley Paige and Jessica Dee

"Remember how you always blog about us when we're funny?"
I do!
Click here for some memories of kidspeak:
Ashley
Jess
Chloë

"Grandkids are the reward for not killing your kids."
--Bill Cosby

Trust Your Instincts

"Hi, Opa." The little voice squeaked with worried tears.
"We have a big prob-wem!" His panic came through the phone.
"Songbear needs surgery, and there's nobody else who can help us."

Songbear is Benji's best friend, and he'd been hugged til his stuffing was coming out.
A holiday bath had made things worse, and Benji was feeling his buddy's pain.
"Can you help us?" he whimpered.

Opa perfected his sewing skills years ago with Cub Scout shirts and Boy Scout patches. There's nobody he'd rather pick up a needle for than a little boy. He arranged to meet his patient at the Christmas Eve party.

All during the festivities Opa snipped and stitched.

"I'm trying not to hurt him," he said as the needle poked a furry backside.

When Operation Songbear was complete, Benji tied the final knot.
The perfect Christmas present.
(Who needs Santa when you've got an Opa?)

Forty three years ago, when I was just nineteen, I met a 22-year-old boy. We were on a semester abroad without the accouterments we normally judge people by. I didn't know his family, what kind of car they drove, how they interacted. I'd never seen him in real life—his clothes, his friends, his house.

Ten days later we decided to get married. My parents freaked out when they got the letter. What was I thinking? They didn't know a thing about him! But I did. Our first Saturday together he shined my shoes.

Something told me he'd be an awesome Opa.

Hearts Turned

PJ May 2011

Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, the present and the future.

Opa May 2011

My favorite scripture is a prophesy in the last verse of the Old Testament:
"And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children,
and the heart of the children to their fathers . . ."
It's happened to me.

Our kids 1984

They won my heart when they were little,
and their kids have turned my heart all over again.
Listen in on some kidspeak from tonight:

Scott, Eliza, Jill

"Tickle us some more, Uncle Sco."
"I can't, girls. I'm old."

"But we're young!"

Marty 1965

I love having the memory of being young,


Marty, May 2011

and the perspective of being old.
It fills me with gratitude.

Today my heart is turned to the fathers who kept my world turning:

Wells, 1943

Dee's dad in England,

Jiggs, 1943

And my dad in Australia.

I wonder if all the soldiers realized the lives they were blessing.

"Think of the power of thousands of prayers of parents and grandparents,
back and back and even beyond, all requesting essentially the same thing:
'Bless my children; bless my children; bless my children.'
Can you hear it as it rolls and echos throughout all eternity?"
—John H. Groberg

My heart is turning in both directions:
Bless my children; bless my fathers.
And bless me to be worthy of them all.

♥♥♥

Who are you remembering this Memorial Day?

Postcard: Learning to be Thankful

Grace by Norman Rockwell

Chelsea said the blessing:

" . . . and please bless that we'll like all our food,
and please bless that we'll even like the chicken.
And please bless that we'll like whatever our drink is . . . "

God answers prayers with the blessings we need.
I wrote about a personal miracle here.

Bullies

Will

Oma: How was your day?

Will: Fine, except for when I was attacked for no reason.

Oma: How awful! What happened?

Will: I just got beat up.

Oma: Who did it?

Will: Madelyn.

Oma: What did you do?

Will: What do you think? I ran away!

Art by Feodor Rojankovsky

The other day I got attacked for no reason. I was halfway out the door, already late for an appointment, when the phone rang. Thinking it might be a call I'd been waiting for, I rushed back in to answer. The woman, an acquaintance new to a group I'm part of, began with some observations of how things were done differently in this group than she was used to. When I tried to explain the reasons, she launched into a full-blown critique of the group. Then she got more personal and listed some of the things I was doing wrong. She assured me she was just trying to help.

Devastated, I listened to her soft-spoken and (supposedly) well-meant evaluation of my performance, thanked her for calling, and said good-bye. At first I felt embarrassed—I didn't even know I needed her help! What a loser I was! Then the defensive team in my psyche took over. Hey! Who was she to beat me up? She wasn't aware of the circumstances or the efforts to do the very things she'd suggested. And I won't be explaining them anytime soon. Sometimes the only thing to do is run away—fast!

What do you do when you feel bullied? Why do people outside a situation take on the responsibility of critique? How do you ever trust or like a person who you know disapproves of you? (Just wondering. I'm totally over it.)

I'm not a crybaby!

Old Crone

Can we talk?

I think I have Old Crone's Disease.

Little people are pointing out my symptoms.

1. I told my granddaughters that they could tell me anything and I wouldn't stop loving them. "Oma, you're fat." (Oh, except that.)
   
2. Babies are very convenient because you can blame any odd smells on them. But what happens when there are just two of you? "Oma, was that you?"
3. "I wasn't asleep," I explained. "I just had my eyes closed." Wrong. "Oma, you were snoring so loud we heard it downstairs."
4. "Oma, do you shave?" she said as she touched my chin. "No!" I said haughtily. "Maybe you should," she said.
   

Women's rights have come a long way, but we still don't have the right to age. Halloween is the only time anyone pretends to be an old crone—the rest of the year it's just not trendy. Did you watch Oprah today? Her guests were aging beauties discussing their croniness.

Cybil Shepherd talked about the first time she realized men were looking at her daughters and not at her. It freaked her out. Linda Evans said she had her midlife crisis at 28, when her husband fell in love with a 15-year-old beauty and she was suddenly cast aside as too old.

I can't remember which guest said she had a revelation on the golf course recently: a young guy came up to her from behind and said, "Hey, baby . . ." When she turned around he said, "Oh, sorry Ma'am. I thought you were my age." It dawned on her that having a figure like a sixteen-year-old girl didn't fool anybody. She was 58 and she needed to have something more than her looks to fall back on.

About the time my eye-teeth grew in as fangs and my mom pointed out that I'd inherited her bow-legs I decided I needed something more than my looks to fall back on. Various crises came and went long before midlife, so psychologically I can handle being a 61-year-old grandmother. In fact, getting old has actually taken off a lot of pressure. But there's still some scary stuff.

1. Hot flashes. How can you keep your cool when sweat is dripping off your ears?
2. Bodily malfunctions. What do you say when you're in an elevator and it's obvious it was you?
3. Hormonal changes. Do you join the church choir as a bass after your alto has gone south?

Are you scared yet, or are you still in denial?

Age: It's coming for you, too.
Scary stuff.


*Do you know a classy old crone?
What are her secrets?

Priceless Mother's Day Present

Ashley (4)

The Cousins Club hung out the other day and baby Benji did his best to impress Ashley. "He's still only one, so he can't talk," she reported. "But he's up on his hind legs now, and he runs everywhere."

Benji, unleashed.

I was in the living room while the little girls played house in the bedroom. "Oma, I have to go to the bathroom," called Chelsea as she whizzed past me in a blur. "Can you put this game on pause?" A second later the door banged open and she shouted, "You can un-pause it now."

Kidspeak is a delightful language.

Original Kidspeak notations.

A bloggy mom (please take credit if you're reading this) posted a clever idea a few years ago. She keeps a note pad and pen next to a jar on her counter. When someone says something in Kidspeak, she jots it down, folds it up and stashes it in the jar. On chaotic, stressful afternoons when she needs a smile she pulls out a slip. It's caffeine-free rejuvenation! (And a Mother's Day gift idea.)

Emmie (9)

Sometimes a little hero worship sneaks in. Concerned about the wild weather back east, I asked Emmie about their situation. "And your dad's going out of town? What happens if your power goes out?" "Well," she said. "We do have Jake."

Jake (11)

Kidspeak is my love language.

Oh . . . by the way.
Just in case you missed my self-induction
into the hall of fame, this is the re-cap:

"Moi?"

I was asked to write an article on being a long distance grandparent
for a fabulous blog called GrandparentsAbout.com.

Read it here.

The website is part of The New York Times Company.
(Yes. I'm bragging.)

"I'd like to thank my publisher, and my English professor, and my Jr. High newspaper,
and my type teacher, and everyone I know, and my Mac . . ." ♫ ♫

(Someone get her off the stage!)

What a Wonderful World This Could Be

♫ If you chance to meet a frown . . . ♫

2007

It was supposed to be fun. We were making pictures of root beer floats after we'd enjoyed the real thing.

Each of the girls had a drawing of a mug, 10 cotton balls for the foam, a pink striped straw and a glue stick. There were three brown crayons: two fat ones, and one skinny one. That's when the problems started—Lucy's crayon was different.

After a few tears and a talk about compromise, they started coloring. But two of the crayons "drew dark" and the third "drew light." Another chance to discuss, advise, and work things out. The final straw was when Jess' straw didn't stick because her glue was stuck. She pouted that she "didn't even care." Life just isn't fair.

To reassure us all, we ended the activity with a spontaneous game called I Know Why I Love You. The tears were dried, the pictures collected and everyone felt better.

As we walked down the hall to meet their moms, they seemed a little wiser. I asked if it had been a fun Oma Day. Lucy said, "It was pretty good, even though there were problems."

I "don't know much about history" but I do know that throughout history life has created problems, and problems create wisdom.

I wonder, if I could see my own problems in perspective, would they even matter? Friends have fatter crayons, neighbors have stickier glue. And whoever doled out the cotton balls was not being equal. There's a lot of the 4-year-old left in me, pouting, feeling picked on, comparing everyone's stacks of stuff. The stuff varies with the seasons, but whether it's a romance, snazzy car, ritzy house, well-paid job or doting family, I could still look around and find mine lacking in comparison.

Or I could turn the other way, and see the people who might be coveting my little slice of life, and demonstrate truths that might improve theirs: a positive outlook, experiences that lead to wisdom, secrets for a happy marriage. When I secretly make such an offer, it must be well hidden in a sincere desire to help, free of superiority or judgment. Even 4-year-olds recognize a superiority complex. "You're not the boss of me!" While we can't change the pompous folks, we can make sure we eliminate that tendency when we're sharing our blessings.

My little girls sang a sweet song as they scampered towards their moms.

♫ "Jesus said, Love everyone, treat them kindly, too.
When your heart is filled with love, others will love you." ♫

If I took the long, confusing problems of adulthood, and applied this simple truth from a 4-year-old, would the world be less complicated?

It's too overwhelming to think about how to fix the whole world. But we can improve our own little worlds by forgiving and loving those closest to us. We could share, revel in our differences, color our friend's fence brown, and then offer him a root-beer-float and admire our handiwork with eyes full of gratitude. What if a lot of people did that? As the song says, "What a wonderful, wonderful world this would be."


*Homework:

~Look for a way you could encourage, support, or actually lend a hand to help someone else this weekend.

~Everytime a fit of envy tickles your nose, turn the other way and notice what you've got that others might benefit from. Figure out a way to share it patiently and gratefully, with no expectation except that you'll learn something from the experience.

~Pray about the problems you're having. The scriptures say to pray with intent. Intent to what? An intent to follow the inspiration you get, to obey the promptings you feel. My 60 years of expertise in this area tells me that the answer will usually have to do with serving somebody else. And it's the quickest way to "turn a frown upside down and smile that frown away."

Follow the

Plan of Happiness