Basking in Grandmotherly Bliss

Because of this girl,

the adorable Miss Baby Elephant,

I get to hang out with this guy--

the rambunctious, hilarious, heart-stealing Mr. Chunk.  It's a good thing Chunk likes his old Grandma, because we've been spending many precious hours together since the birth of his baby sister.  We go to the grocery store and ride the double-steering-wheeled carts and pretend like we are running into people.

We hang out at the park. The Orange park. Not the Purple Park or the Crazy Park.

We find cool things at the park, like those brown poke-o-nuts you see on the ground. 

I will never call them "pine cones" again.

We watch so many episodes of Dora that our eyes bleed and we must rest them.

We eat red popsicos.

And when Chunk freaks out on the way home to see Mommy because he left his three "points" at Grandma's house, Grandma digs three different "points" out of her car coin holder and says, 

"Oh look! Here they are!"

Grandma will be sad when it is time to give him back.

Introducing...Elephant!

While Em was pregnant, she frequently said, " I don't care what day she's born on, as long as it's not the 11th."  Her hubby's family has anniversaries and birthdays on the 11th, and Em didn't want to take away from their special days. Since her due date was the 19th, a birth on the 11th didn't seem very likely.

Do I really need to tell you that little Elephant [blog name chosen for her by her mother] made her entrance on May 11th? Nah, I didn't think so. It was too perfect. I envisioned little Elephant inside her mother's womb saying, "Did she say the 11th? I'm positive she said the 11th."

I would be a poor grandmother if I didn't post pictures, so prepare to be amazed at her loveliness.

7 lbs., 4 oz.

Around 5 hours old

2 days old, in her elephant-patterned p.j.'s

Grandma's hoping for brown eyes

Big brother Chunk adores her already

Can you see why Chunk has been spending his days with Grandma?

He's been described as "Dennis the Menace on steroids."

But it's a lie because he's always a perfect angel at Grandma's house--

besides I told him to go play in the mud.

This is only one of the reasons why I love having Chunk come over every day while his mama is recuperating. He was playing with Grandpa's flashlight and he aimed it at the corner of the wall saying, "Look, Grandma! I made you a heart."  

Happy Mother's Day to me.

Life's Little Things

Adulthood has taught me that cherished memories stem from seemingly inconsequential day-to-day events. That belief is the reason for my Robert Brault quote at the top, and the inspiration for most of my posts.

On Tuesday, I went with daughter Em for her regularly scheduled prenatal exam. While she was being seen by her obstetrician, I was in the waiting room wondering why such a doctor would have magazines like Popular Mechanics, Car and Driver, and other male oriented magazines in abundance. Where was People? Where were Martha, Paula, and Rachael? Finally, after going around to several magazine stands in the waiting room, I found one magazine that wasn't totally testosteronish--Reader's Digest.

Before I tell you about the gem that I found in RD, I must tell you what happens in my house every Monday through Friday, at 5:30 P.M. and again at 6:30 P.M.--Computer Geek and I position ourselves on the couch and watch Jeopardy!. I have loved this show since my mom got me hooked many years ago, back in the days of Art Fleming and Don Pardo. (Yes, youngsters, there was Jeopardy! before Alex Trebek.) Together, CG and I blast through the questions, combining our brains to beat the current contestants. We joke that alone, we would be an embarrassment to the program, but together we might score enough to be included in Final Jeopardy!. There's sometimes mild competition between us, but nothing worth causing a divorce.

Back to Reader's Digest. I read it in my usual manner, reading the funny anecdotes first, then going to the vocabulary section, and finally reading any stories that looked interesting. While testing my vocabulary knowledge, I came upon the word "polymath." I correctly guessed the definition as "a person of great and varied learning."  It was what I read right after that in the sample sentence that caused me to almost do a momentary dance of glee in the waiting room:

Yeah, so I had to take a picture so I could take it home to gloat. They even spelled my name correctly.

Today, two days later, I am having an afternoon phone conversation with the very pregnant Em. It went something like this:
Me: I just had lunch--bean soup with Nacho Doritos.
Em:  I was just saying that I wish I had some Doritos!
Me:  The grocery store has them for only $2.21 today. You should go get some.
Em:  Um...
Me:  Yeah, only $2.21.
[silence dragging on and on]
Em:  Um...
Me:  Are you trying to say you don't have $2.21?
Em:  Um...
[more silence]
Me:  Em?
Em:  Um...I think my water just broke.

I nearly threw the phone down, woke Computer Geek from a nap, and drove the 3 blocks to Em's house. She and her hubby packed their bags and I stayed behind to care for the Chunkster. He was quite disturbed to learn that he was being left behind, even though he was carrying around his toddler camp chair saying, "I got my chair. I get in the car. I go too."  He watched Mom and Dad drive away without him, and though he finally cheered up, I couldn't drag him away from the window for a couple of hours.

Ah, those little moments.
Randi acing Jeopardy!
"I think my water just broke."
"I get in the car."

Little snapshots of emotion that in the end, are the things we remember most.

Time to wake up...

Mmm...stretttch...yawn
Rub eyes...
Crack back...ah, that felt good.
Look around.
It's daylight! Oh no, did I oversleep?
Jump out of bed and step on my missing barrette.
Look at the calendar.
May?  It's May?
Check blog to see if anyone kept it going during my 3 month hiatus.
Hmm. Guess that was my job.
Dilemma...go back to bed or get up?
I think I'll stay up.
Who knows what incredible life events happened while I was snoozing?
Or even what little things passed me by...

Don't Let Teens Play With Children's Toys

You've all seen this seemingly safe child's toy, right?  In our part of the world, we call them "poppers" or "pop-its." You press it down on a table or floor and after a few seconds, it pops into the air. Gleeful, I tell ya.

Since my son is thirteen and is past the danger of putting it into his mouth and swallowing it, I though it was safe to let him play with this toy. After all, others like it are in my Sunday School treasure box, from which children can pick when they get up and give a talk in front of a crowd. Boy, was I wrong. Please don't call Child Protective Services.

My son, walked past me this afternoon, and as he did, I noticed some strange markings on his face--strange markings that would cause a mother of a teen extreme alarm if they were elsewhere on the body, say on a neck or somewhere.

"What happened to your face?"  He, not knowing there was anything wrong, went to the bathroom mirror. He came out with a sheepish grin and said, "Oh, I guess that happened when I stuck the popper to my face."

He stuck the popper to his face. Where was the warning label? Why wasn't I advised that adhering a popper to the face may cause a child to look as if an octopus had attacked? How many teens have been unjustly accused when they have come home at night with such bruises? "I promise, Dad, we were just playing with poppers!"  How many budding young romances have been squelched by disbelieving parents?

I will know better now. Especially in the case of my son, who charged me $1.50 to put his picture on the blog and tell his story. The little mercenary.

It's RAK Day!

February 17 is Random Acts of Kindness Day. You know what that means, don't you? You get to use your imagination to find ways to surprise people with kindness. Here are a few of my favorites:

* Tape fifty cents to a gumball/prize machine at the store for a random child to find.
* Take treats to someone
* Send a postcard
* Take a daisy to a neighbor
* Buy a small gift and mail it to someone
* Make it a point to smile at or say a pleasant word to three strangers
* Give someone a homemade coupon utilizing your skills. If you can sew, offer a coupon for one
   alteration. If you love children, give a coupon for 2 hours of child care. If you can cook, offer to
   make a meal of choice for a busy mom.
* Call someone who has impacted your life, just to say "thank you."  {Thanks to Cousin Chris for that    idea--she's a nurse and a patient called her to say "thanks." It made her day.}

If you need more ideas, check out the Random Acts of Kindness website.    If you would like a little kindness for yourself, check out these two Facebook pages:

* Michaels craft stores are randomly giving away gift certificates to their Facebook fans today
* Rayovac is having a contest to win free batteries and a flashlight. Even if you don't win, you get a $.55 coupon for batteries.

Post here in the comment section to let us know if you participated in RAK Day, and tell us what you did. We can all use some new ideas for brightening someone's day!

For Charlie and Braden

For those of you who are parents, I have a question for you.

How often have you dragged your kids out of bed at 12:30 A.M. to go on an impromptu camping trip? In December, with snow on the ground? Never?  I didn’t think so.

What would you think of a father who would do so, especially if you knew the children were four and two-years old? And what would you think if you knew he happened to take these small children camping, in the winter, at 12:30 A.M. at the same time that their mother disappeared?

Wow. What an alibi. Josh Powell couldn’t possibly be responsible for his wife Susan’s disappearance, after all, he was on a camping trip.

At 12:30 A.M.

With his 2 and 4-year old.

In the snow.

Without their mother.

Over the past two years, we have watched the drama as Josh Powell maintained his innocence. We have seen his father and father-in-law almost come to fisticuffs on television over the issue. We have observed Josh’s own sister taking a stand against him, saying she believed he was responsible for the disappearance and probable death of Susan Powell. Custody battles have erupted with the children finally being placed in the care of Susan Powell’s parents, because of child pornography being found on computers in the home that Josh Powell shared with his father. A polygraph test was ordered for Josh, something he had refused to take before. In fact, he had refused to cooperate during the entire investigation.

Friends, family members, and complete strangers have fretted over the wisdom of allowing Josh visitation with his children. They feared for their safety. They wondered what Josh would do when faced with a polygraph test.

Their fears were not unfounded.

Today, when a case worker brought Josh Powell’s two boys, now five and seven, to his home for a supervised visit, the feared outcome became reality. The children ran to their father’s door ahead of the case worker. Josh Powell let his boys in, and slammed the door in the face of the case worker, who was supposed to supervise the visit. She smelled gas and hurried to her car to make a phone call. The house exploded behind her.

Before he killed himself and his two boys, Josh wrote a message to his lawyer. “I’m sorry, goodbye.”

I don’t know whether Josh Powell killed his wife. His father admitted that he and Josh’s wife had flirted with each other. After listening to this bizarre tale over the last two years, I wondered several times whether Steven Powell was actually Susan’s killer, with Josh covering it up. Who knew? The case was perplexing.

The only thing that is certain, is that Josh Powell died a murderer. He killed two small boys today in an “If I can’t have them, no one can” tantrum.

My husband asked me if I was going to break with tradition and use “stronger words” than I normally use on my blog. I told him no. I feel that there is always a better choice than using profanity. But I’m going to retract that statement. I think of two little kids whose own father blew them to bits because he loved them so much, and the only thing that comes to mind is this:

Damn you, Josh Powell. Damn you.

I won't be responding to comments on this post, as I feel it would lessen the impact of your contribution. Thank you for your comments.

Confession Time

I'm in love.

With another man.

Who's not my husband.

And my husband doesn't care. Because when I asked him if he cared that I was in love with another man, he said, "I'm in love with him too."

But I think it's okay because he's a fictional character.

This one:

Source: bbc.co.uk via Randi on Pinterest

 


For the uninitiated, this is Sherlock Holmes--master of intrigue, grand poo-bah of crime scene investigation, oddball extraordinaire.

I've always loved Sherlock, because I am fascinated with mystery, especially when it's coupled with masterful deductive reasoning. The BBC version is everything you would expect from Sir Arthur's character, but with a modern twist. This Sherlock solves crimes using laptops, cell phones and the London taxi cab system. And get this: WITHOUT GRAPHIC GORE.

Okay, so there's a little blood here and there, but none of the hurl-your-dinner genre made famous by shows like CSI. No, this version focuses on the mentality of the crime suspect as well as the intellect of the crime solver, rather than on the severed body parts of the crime victim.

Last week, we had an evening long Sherlock fest, trying to catch up with past episodes. It was easy, because there aren't that many, only three so far (unless you live in England where they already got to view season 2. We lowly Americans have to wait until May. Torture, I tell ya.) The nice thing about those three episodes is that they are 90 minutes each. So for those of you with Netflix accounts, I've provided something for you to do this weekend.

Disclaimer: If you fall in love with Sherlock I am not responsible. Take that up with Sir Arthur.

Apology to Robert Downey, Jr.: You've been replaced. I'm sorry.

Government-forced hoo-hah: No one paid me to say any of these things, not the BBC, not Netflix, not the estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, not Benedict Cumberbatch. However, if you see a link like the one below that looks suspiciously like an "ad," rest assured it is an ad. The government thinks you are too stupid to know that it is an ad, so I must tell you that it is, indeed, an ad. Therefore, if you click on the ad, and then actually buy something attached to the link, I will get a commission. Blog owners do not put ads on their sites just because they think they enhance the look, although that's what the government thinks that you think, hence the obligatory blah blah blah.

In Which My Daughter Explains a Fashion Mystery

I'll admit it. I am not a fashion maven. My style of dress can best be described as "mom." That's not to say that if I had the right figure, income, and time on my hands I wouldn't be a fashionista. I totally would. However, there are elements of style that befuddle my middle-aged mind, notably this trend:

Source: shop.nordstrom.com via Elizabeth on Pinterest

Source: Uploaded by user via Bethany on Pinterest

Source: agjeans.com via Jordan on Pinterest

Get the picture? It's women standing pigeon-toed for photos!

This trend has perplexed me for a while. It seems I can hardly look at a fashion spread without seeing some evidence of this, and to be honest, I find it annoying, probably because I get annoyed when I fail to find logic in something. Is it supposed to somehow be more attractive? 

I guess I somehow failed to keep up with the times, because when I mentioned this irritation to my daughter, Em, she knew exactly why models stand like this.

"Mom, it's because when you stand pigeon-toed your thighs don't touch."

I tried it. It works!  And did you go back and look at the above photos? No thigh-touching to be seen!

So now when you see pictures of me and you you say, "Randi must have lost weight. Her thighs don't touch anymore," you will know my secret, fresh from the modeling world. Em, I owe you one.

Kids. Entertained so cheaply...Part II

Not knowing that I had just posted a picture about my grandson playing with his birthday box, Foreign Quang reader Jill coincidentally posted this picture of her daughter. "Little G" ( Daddy is Big G) turned nine yesterday and found a box just as intriguing as her gifts.

Jill writes: "All those gifts, and this is what the kids played with all day long."

Do you think children would rebel if we gave them only boxes on their birthdays? And isn't her #9 shirt fabulous? I'm sure her mother made it because she is all kinds of crafty like that. Happy Birthday, Little G!

photo used with permission