Grandma's Favorite

This is the eulogy I gave at Grandma's funeral last week.

Growing up, I knew I had a good thing going with Grandma.  In her cupboards I always knew where I could find a special treat.  There was always room in her lap for me and she always took time to sing “The end of the rainbow” song to me.  We were always able to share a good laugh trying to get the last hit in on one another.  Time and time again she did “surgery” to reattach the arm on Button Eyes, my bunnies by Billie original.  She had the patience of the saint when came to teaching me how to ‘gnore my brother, braid hair on my Barbies and  My Little Pony, crochet a set of coasters, tie my first quilt, or bake a batch of buns.  Looking back on all of this, it is easy for me to see why I was pretty sure I was Grandma’s favorite.

As I got older, but not Grandma (she was always 39 you see), I remember having a discussion with some of my cousins about this very thing and we discovered something.  Somehow, some way, we had all come to believe we were her favorite.  It wasn’t that she told us this out right with words; it was in her actions that led so many of us to feel a special connection between Grandma and grandchild that surely must have meant we are favored.  And we were; we were ALL favored.

The special treat that Grandma stocked special for you may have been a tootsie roll, or a Kit-Kat, or a jar of peanuts, or maybe a cherry slice, or a frozen fruit cup, or homemade chocolate chip cookies, but you knew Grandma kept it on hand for YOU. 

She may have sung the rainbow song, the cow shed song, boom ditty or some other tune, but she rocked and sang to each and every one of us at some point.  And you could be guaranteed as you grew up and announced your engagement; Grandma would enthusiastically volunteer to sing “CeCe Oh Playmate” or “Blue Moon” at your wedding.

In addition to the laughs we were able to share with Grandma playing dumb like a fox, many also had a special last hit, pinch, or word game (can you say Rats-a-frats and Neh-ner, neh-ner, neh-ner!?) that you played with Grandma that helped you feel connected with her.  We all had a nickname Grandma liked to use: Spoofers, BJ, Phlip, Nana Banana, Jake the Snake, Kit Kat, Danni, Topher, Ash, Lissie, Aimes, Jen Jen, Tiffer. 

Grandma was always eager to help out with mending whether it was a stuffed animal that needed stitching, a hem that needed to be shortened, or a button come loose. 

Grandma taught all of us valuable lessons.  Some were in the kitchen or at the craft table.  We were all taught that if you wanted something clean, warshing was better than washing.  Many other lessons were taught from the heart as Grandma time and time again modeled for us how to care for others, welcome all and love big.  Grandma’s waiting by the window to wave good-bye, forcing us to share her with classmates for Grandparents Day, having a stocking and gift for every, and I mean every, person who came to Christmas, and getting up early to cook breakfast and wish good luck to the hunters are prime examples of her devotion and love for not only her family, but for others as well.

It takes a very special person with a big heart and lots of love to make 13 (plus 4) grandchildren feel that each and every one of them is favored.  And it didn’t stop there.  The same deep love and devotion that Grandma bestowed upon each of us was poured out onto the next generation as well.  With each and every great, we got to see all over again Grandma’s love for these babes.  First there was Lil Ray Ray and Robby, or Scott Robert, who could get her to sit in a parked truck for hours.  Next came Grandma’s Willy Lump Lump.  Grandma was so very happy when she got her 1^st great granddaughter and was able to share her wedding anniversary of March 5 with Danika, also know as little Deana Lee.  Then came Sam I Am, Calvin, Hunter, Dom, Miss Makayla and Miss MaKenzee and Grandma’s love never faltered.  She continued being able to hear and understand babies so well that somehow each and every one of them was heard time and time again saying, “I like my Grandpa, but I LOVE my Grandma.”  When her most recent great was born, Grandma made sure the hospital staff found a way for her and Grandpa to get from his hospital room to the nursery so she could meet her little Teddy bear.  Her adoration for them (and a well stocked freezer) earned her a fitting nickname of her own, Grandma Cookie.

13, plus 4, and 11 more is 28 grandchildren.  And that doesn’t even count all of the nieces, nephews, neighbors, Sunday School kiddos, friends, girlfriends, and boyfriends of ours that she also loved like only a Grandma can.  Each and every one of them loved, cherished and favored.  That takes a lot of heart.  I also think it takes a lot of faith in and love for God because her love was very much like the reflection of His.  I am so thankful that I was blessed to be one of the lucky ones who got to call her Grandma.  Thank you Grandma for the lessons, memories, and love you shared.  I know that each of us will have a freshly warshed room and open arms waiting for us in heaven.

PASTA?!?!?!

If you read my blog from time to time, you may have picked up on certain patterns.  One of those being that dinner time can occasionally be a bit difficult at my house.  I always vowed that I would raise children who eat what was on the table or go hungry, and for the most part we stick to that philosophy, but it does lead to some interesting dining experiences.

You may recall the problem with pasta back in May 2011.  If not, you should check it out here in this blog entry: Power Play.  There's also the entry about how I overcame that, What's for Dinner?  And just this week about how I made one heck of a Chicken Alfredo: The Best Dinner.

Well this is a story about the leftovers from that very best dinner...

"What would you like for lunch?  A sandwich, the pizza from last night, or some of the pasta we had the other night?"

"WAIT!  Did you say pasta?!?!"  Oh boy!  Here goes Robby again.

"Yes, Rob I said pasta.  Pasta is another word for noodles.  All noodles are pasta.  Get over it already.  you love noodles.  Mac and cheese, chicken Alfredo, spaghetti, it's all pasta."

"But I don't like pasta!" Rob adamantly protested.  Great, way to go Billie Jo!  Ruin a slew of dinner ideas for the kid.

"Fine, would you feel better about it if I just said noodles?"

"Yes."  Whew, what a relief!

"Okay then.  Do you want some of the noodles with chicken and peas from the other night?"

"Yes please."

Oh my.

The Best Dinner

The other evening, dinner time was looming.  The boys were hungry, the baby was hungry, and I was tired.  So I headed to the pantry and found a jar of Alfredo sauce, opened the freezer and pulled out some chicken that I had cooked and cut in advanced, and put on a pot of water to boil some noodles.  I mixed it all together, added some peas, and viola! Chicken Alfredo was on the table.  I wasn't 100% sure how this would go over given the fact that the last time I made it, Rob refused to even take a bite.  So when Rob asked what it was, I knew better than to use the common name,, "chicken, peas and noodles," I said.

"Yum!" Rob enthusiastically replied.

Alright then.  Ray and Rob ate with must enthusiasm and eventually Ray declared, "This is probably the best meal we've had since the baby's been born!"

"Thanks," I think.  Never mind the home cooked meals I've made, sometimes you just have to take a compliment when you can.

And for those of you wondering about Sam, don't worry, he still kept the whine with dinner going refusing to try his food until the rest of us where long gone from the table.  He cleaned his plate while I washed dishes.  He did like it, he just wanted to make sure our dinner time wasn't enjoyable. ;)

Hungry Hungry Kiddos

My kids may appear small, but don't let that fool you about their appetites!  I have NO idea where they pack the food away, but somehow they manage to eat and eat and eat.  I can't imagine what our grocery bill will be by the time they are teenagers.  YIKES!

On a campout a few weeks back, my long-time friend Caroline was in charge of bringing the hot dogs and brats.  She thought she brought extras.  My boys fooled her when they ate 2 a piece along with plenty of other sides.

The other evening, Michael was working on a vehicle which left the me and the boys on our own for dinner.  Since we had returned from camping earlier that day and were low on groceries, I had no issue caving when Rob requested cereal for dinner.

Here is what they managed to shove into their hollow legs:
Sam: 2 bowls of cereal
1 apple
1 piece of string cheese
and several crackers

Ray: 2 bowls of cereal
1 piece of string cheese
 and a half sleeve of crackers  (come to think of it, that wasn't very much for Ray; maybe he was too tired from the campout)

Rob: 3 bowls of cereal
2 pieces of string cheese
an apple
and some crackers

I can honestly say they all out ate me, but that really isn't anything new these days...

Well, I think we're out of cereal. And fruit.  And granola bars.  And orange juice.  Guess I better make a trip to the grocery store.  Again.

Peas in a Pod

We are enjoying our lazy days of summer vacation.  After a nice quiet morning at the library, we ran a few errands and played outside for a bit before lunch.  As I am finishing getting lunch on plates, the boys are circled round the table munching on slices of tomato and cucumbers and gabbing a bit.

Honestly, I'm only half listening to the conversation, but my ears perk when I hear "P."  With having all boys, they find bathroom humor VERY funny.  Pretty much anything can be made in a gut busting joke if you insert a word like pee, fart, poop, potty, well you get the idea.  Now I'm an advocate for free speech and all, but some things do not need to be discussed in certain places, like around the table.  I also know that attempting to abolish something altogether often times only amplifies the desire to do it.  That is why we make it very clear that you are welcome to discuss these natural body occurrences all you like, but you must do so in the proper place: the bathroom.  So as I was saying, I perked up my ears to hear the context of their conversation.  From my vantage point near the stove, I hear some giggling and "P" continues to surface.  I begin to prepare myself to invite the boys to continue their discussion in the bathroom when I hear this.

"P.  Rob.  It is a letter too you know."

"Yea, I know.  I am four!  It looks like the letter at the end of my name."

"No, your name has a b.  Not a p.  R-o-b. Not R-o-p."

"R-o-p?  That sounds silly!!"

"Huh.  I never thought about how much p and b sound the same.  Well, their names, not their sounds.  And they do look a lot alike too, but b's line goes up and p's line goes down."  As a reading teacher with my almost master's in literacy, this conversation was melting my heart! Talk about metacognition at work!  Do you think I could find a way to squeeze this into my capstone project?

Ray continued on, "Rob, did you know there is another kind of P?  There's the bathroom kind, the letter AND the one we eat.  And they are all spelt different!"

Rob finds this humorous and starts giggling.  "I like to eat peas."  (I can't help but wondering if he's really thinking of the vegetable pea or still stuck on the idea pee as in urine....)

"P!  P! P!" chimes in Sam.

"UH!!!  Sam is saying P, P, P!" Rob alerts everyone.

"He's talking about the little green kind.  Right Sam?"  Ray scrunches his forefinger  into a small ball and peers through it at Sam.  "You mean the little circle peas we eat right Sam?"

"Yup, uh-huh," nods Sam enthusiastically.

"Whew," says Rob.  "Mom, is our macaroni ready now?"

"Yes sir.  Here it is.  Let's eat!"  I grab the plates and forks with a smile on my face thinking that I am so blessed to have these three little peas in a pod.

My 3 peas in a pod

Power Play

Oh my Robby Roo.  He has so much of me in him, it isn't even funny sometimes.  The other day, about 1 hour into one of his many rants, Michael looked at me exasperated and said, "I don't remember being like this as a kid."

I smirked and said, "I do."

He likes to fight about what to wear, who will dress him, what to play, going to bed, how many bedtime stories, how many bedtime songs, going to sleep.  I've said more than once, "Today, Robby woke up screaming and didn't stop till he passed out at night."  It may be a slight exaggeration, but there is an element of truth to it too.

There was always one thing I never thought I'd have to battle Rob about.  Eating.  He has always been a good eater and has always loved to eat good food.  In fact, this past Christmas, he was ecstatic to find a green pepper in his stocking.  Eating battles with Robby were more about eating his meal in order to get more veggies.  The worst food related battle I could recall involved me running out of carrots.  How could I do such a thing?!?!

The first time I remember Robby turning his nose up to food was this winter when he decided he "HATES ravanoli.  Ravanoli is gross!"  (To which I replied, "Then it's a good thing I didn't make ravanoli and made ravioli instead!")  I've since made ravioli sparingly and have enough other stuff with it that we don't have to argue too much.

Things were moving along well on the dinner front.  (Were being the opportune word.)  I found myself having to tell him more and more frequently to eat a little more of his meat, hot dish, or whatever meal so he could have more carrots, broccoli, green beans, or whatever vegetable I was serving.  Still not too big of a deal in my mind.

And then, one night, I served: PASTA! duh-nuh-nuh!

Sometimes it's like has a switch and one can never be sure what will flip that switch, but that night, it was pasta.  He screamed.  He flailed.  He kicked.  He was carried to his room numerous times.  He demanded to be made a different meal.  He reasoned.  And for the most part, we rolled our eyes, ignored, carried him off to his room, and ignored a great deal more.  But the reasoning what was really got me rolling.

"I can't eat pasta.  I'm allergic!"

"Don't you know I hate pasta?!  I've ALWAYS hated pasta!"

"I can't eat pasta.  It makes me sick.  Do you want me to be sick?  Do you want me to have diarrhea and throw up in my bed?"

"Why do you ALWAYS make pasta?  You made it last night, and the night before, and the night before.  You make a hundred million times!"

On and on he went giving at least 1 dozen different reasons why he can't eat pasta.  Then there was the one that had me literally doubled over in hysterics: "I can't eat pasta!  When I eat pasta, it makes my penis grow in my undies!"

Michael missed that one and was asking me what was wrong.  I tried answering, but couldn't catch my breath long enough to speak a full sentence.  After a few attempts, I managed to relay the kid quote of the day to Michael and then thanked Robby for his constant contributions to my future book.  Now if I only had the time to write it...