Category Archives: Conversations

Angel Chat: High Energy and Squishmallows

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I haven’t done this in a while; here’s a compilation of random high energy Angel chat…read all the way through to learn about Squishies.

“Grandma, watch me brush my hair! Grandma, watch me, no, right now! Looklooklook!”

“Grandma did you put the picture I drew for you on the refrigerator?”

“Mom, I totally freaked Grandma out!”

“Grandma Princess Rosebud, I totally freaked you out, right?”

OMG she really did (and yes, they really call me Grandma Princess Rosebud). We were at the park and seemingly for no reason at all, she took off running and was headed OUT of the playground gate faster than I have EVER seen a four-year-old run. What I didn’t know was that she had spotted Dad and was breaking all land speed records to jump in his arms.

“You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“T, remember how I totally freaked Grandma out?”

As a reminder, this is a verbally precocious four-year-old and she was absolutely astonished at my “freaked out” reaction.

All I know for certain is that I guard those kids’ lives with a fierce laser-focused intensity, and I had no idea why she was running OUT and away, as that had never happened before. The kids stay close to me and I have my eyes on both of them at at all times. Their safety is my number one priority.

“Grandma, how long do I have to hold your hand to cross the street?”

“Until you’re ten, ‘cos that’s when Daddy stopped holding my hand, but if I ever say it’s super important to hold my hand, please agree to do it because it’s my job to keep you both safe, right?”

“Oh, okay.” (Insert teenagerish eye roll.)

“Grandma, look at this Pokemon card. Is it real or fake?” How about this one? How come you always can pick out the fakes?”
“I played chess with my friend.” “Why don’t you play chess Grandma?”

“Grandma, do you know what? You haven’t been very annoying for a few days.” “I just thought I’d tell you that.”

“Well, my little friend, thank you for sharing because now I will work extra hard to be annoying!”

“Grandma, did you send more puzzles? Really hard ones? How many pieces?”
“T, I sent you two Pokemon puzzles, one with 100 pieces and a really hard one with 300 pieces. Do you think you can handle it?”

“Yes, I can handle it, Grandma!”

“DAD, GRANDMA SENT ME A POKEMON PUZZLE WITH 300 PIECES!”

“How about ME, Grandma?”
“Your two puzzles each have 48 pieces, my smart little angel.”
“But that’s not hard enough!”
“When you’ve completed those a few times, we’ll see about moving up to the next level, OK?”

“Grandma, did you send us more Squishmallows?”

“Yes, I absolutely did. Don’t I always?”

Are you dialed in to the Squishmallow craze? You probably are if you’re a mom or grandma. It started a couple years ago when the kids received one of these very soft, very squishy stuffies and the addictive desire for more multiplied. It seems to have become a worldwide phenomenon. I admit I love them too and can’t stop collecting the new releases. If I had to count, I’ve probably bought the kids each about thirty-five, so that equals a grand total of SEVENTY Squishmallows. (Since they MUST have the same ones. I always buy TWO.)

I know, I know, I know it might seem excessive, but that’s what grandmas DO!

I just found these ADORABLE giant Halloween Squishmallows and yes, these will be presented soon…

Some stay here to be loved while others are held on the flight home. I send a new one pretty much every month which is the reason for the question.

They come in smaller sizes too, and brilliantly branched out into other merch — I’ve even gotten Angel Girl Squishmallow socks.

Pineapples, tigers, and dinosaurs, but I really love the enchanting unicorns, don’t you?

Skateboard Trauma Revisited

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Facetiming with the Angels…

“Grandma, Daddy was on his skateboard and didn’t wear his helmet AGAIN!”

“Yeah, Grandma, here’s Daddy, you need to have a talk with your little boy about that!”

(FYI, that’s how they refer to their dad…as MY little boy, It’s really cute.)

This is not the first time I’ve lectured him about this subject.

“Darn it J, you know better, why are you doing that? Stop laughing, it’s not at all funny. Your children tell me EVERYTHING, so WEAR YOUR HELMET! You are a ROLE MODEL! Do you want them to do it because Daddy does? Come ON, you are so smart, be smart with this too.”

“Grandma, did you throw out all of Daddy’s skateboards when he was little?“

And there it is, one of my Angel Boy’s worst traumas. How did they know about that?

Even Mom chimed in; “Yeah, what was that all about? You never throw anything away!”

It’s true. I don’t. I saved every report card and every paper he wrote and every single piece of art he created. Crazy me, I saved the shoes he wore all over Europe when he did his year abroad. I don’t dispose of anything!

Except for those darn skateboards!

To give a little background, this incident happened about fifteen years ago, maybe a bit longer. When he was in high school, he (and his friends) helped build a fairly large skate ramp in our backyard. All during high school and up to when he was in junior in college, it was well used and maintained. I supplied everyone with smoothies and cookies while I kept a watchful eye from the kitchen window.

After AB graduated from college, he went to graduate school on the east coast. His visited home less frequently and the ramp deteriorated from sun and rain.

It was requested of him that he help to remove it as it was now an eyesore and falling apart, that it was a rite of passage and he SHOULD help.

I can’t remember if he helped a lot or put in slightly more than zero effort which was what he usually did when he wasn’t too interested in a project.

His many skateboards were sitting around, also unused, gathering dust.

Here’s where things get a little fuzzy. I literally don’t throw ANYTHING away. I’m an admitted hoarder. I don’t recall the specifics of how and when these skateboards disappeared, but they definitely DID.

I spent the last fifteen years apologizing to my angel boy for throwing out his beloved skateboards, which I know memorialized a meaningful time in his life.

I’ve offered to buy him a new skateboard or several — to make up for my horrible parenting.

I never want to cause him pain, but it’s obvious that he’s still bothered by all of it.

So, this last time, most recently, when the conversation opened up, in front of everyone, I formally apologized AGAIN and asked how or what I could do to make amends.

I’m genuinely sorry that I tossed out (or gave away, I can’t remember) a happy piece of his childhood. It’s really so unlike me and I didn’t do it with malice or anger, but the fact remains that those boards are gone forever.

Anyway, he accepted my apology (again) and said he doesn’t want a new skateboard but I think I’m going to go to his favorite sk8 shop and get him one anyway, or get him a gift certificate so he can choose all the parts that he wants: deck, wheels, bushings, trucks…yes, I was the mom of a skater. It’s language I can speak.

Note to self: NEVER toss anything else out.

EVER.

The Secrets That You Keep

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I’m not talking about that song by the The Romantics, but a secret spot I discovered while out walking yesterday.

I can’t believe I’ve lived here for decades and never knew about this little beachy secret. One other person was there with their dogs and we vowed not to disclose this classified location…

Pretty cool, huh?

Looking to the east…

And to the west…

I MIGHT be persuaded to share the coordinates of this idyllic site, but you’d have to also be sworn to secrecy.

Can I trust you?

Another Exquisite Disaster

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We had been playing house with her dolls and I styled their hair with braids or headbands and even a sparkly tiara, when Angel Girl said,

“Grandma, take your hair down.”

“Why?”

Those giant eyes scrutinized me with piercing discernment.

(This not-quite-four-year-old is actually quite judgy and has no problem letting me know if I’m wearing the right clothes or if my shoes are tied properly. Definitely some of my DNA, haha.)

“I don’t like it up in a scrunchie, I want to brush your hair.”

Uh oh, I thought to myself. I remember another little girl who used to love to brush my hair and it always turned out to be an exquisite disaster.

When hair is as curly as mine, it’s next to impossible to brush. The only time I can attempt it is when it’s freshly washed and I comb in product.

But will I say no? Not on your life.

“OK, I replied, “but PLEASE be as gentle as I am with your hair and T’s hair. You know it hurts to pull.”

Eye roll. “OK, Grandma. Sit down and turn around.”

Yes, ma’am! These are definitely two bossy boots angel kids.

For the next few minutes, while the angel stands behind me, all is silent as her brush unsuccessfully attempts to glide its way through my hair. She was intensely concentrating on arranging my hair into a semblance of “style.”

I feel her little hands twisting and pulling and puffing up certain areas. I’m afraid to look.

“What are you doing back there? Can I look?”

“Not yet. Grandma, hand me your scrunchie.”

“Here you go.”

Somehow the scrunchie is now imbedded in all of that twisting and spiraling and brushed out tangled up curly bird’s nest of her creative endeavors.

I know it’s going to be a long hard road to untangle the knots, but when she finally tells me she’s done and I can look, the pride (and love) in her eyes was totally worth every bit of it.

“Am I beautiful now?”

“Yes, you ARE beautiful now, Grandma.”

In her eyes, I am, and that’s all that matters.

Later, after the kids were tucked away in bed, I slathered conditioner on my hair, took my wide tooth comb and spent a good half hour or so untangling the knots, and fell asleep with a smile on my face.

These are the rare moments that weave a tapestry of joyful memories. However, I wouldn’t dare share a photo of my medusa-like hair catastrophe!

Sweet Harmony | Push-Fold-Turn

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“Push…fold…turn…”

It’s a mantra of sorts. Do you know what I’m talking about?

Picture Angel Girl wearing my Hello Kitty apron on the other side of the kitchen table, mirroring my movements and my mantra, “push, fold, turn…“

I toss a handful of bench flour on the silicone mat so the dough won’t stick, and hand her a portion of the cinnamon roll dough to start kneading.

“Like this, watch me. With this part of your hand, push…fold…turn.”

“Like this, Grandma?”

“That’s perfect. Let’s say it together.”

We work and speak in harmony…”Push, fold, turn. Push, fold, turn.”

“You can tell it’s ready because it feels smooth. How does your dough feel?”

“Super smooth, Grandma!”

“Awesome! Now we’ll let our dough rise and finish creating our yummy cinnamon rolls.”

“I can’t wait!”

“Neither can I, but we have to follow all the steps to make your Great Grandma Charlotte’s recipe exactly like she taught me.”

After the dough doubled in sized, both the Angels helped to roll it out, sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon, and they allowed me to complete the process.

One more proofing (no one was patient) and the sweet bread was finally ready to bake.

Dad and Mom came home JUST as they came out of the oven and we all gorged ourselves on more cinnamon rolls than we probably should have.

In case you’re wondering, we don’t ice our cinnamon rolls. We like them just like this.

Dad complimented me, “These are really the best you ever made!”

Do you know what the secret ingredient was?

I do.

It was the sweet, loving assistance of two curly haired angel kids.

Push, fold, turn…

Self Portrait

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The Angels love to look through the photos on my phone, especially all the ones I’ve taken of them, of course.

When we clicked on this rose, I told them it was a selfie of ME cos I’m Princess Rosebud. They thought that was funny but being their dad’s kids, they just HAD to disagree…

“Grandma, you are so annoying! You aren’t a REAL princess!”

“Yes, I am.” I replied. “And you are Princess Charlotte and Prince Theodore.”

“Dad, Grandma’s being annoying again!”

OMG did they just tattle about me to my original Angel Boy? That’s too funny.

From the other room, I hear him say, “Mom, stop being annoying.”

I guess that’s going to be my legacy…however, we’re all royalty around here, so I thought I’d share this little joke to start the week.

This particular rose smells as good as she looks. Spicy and sweet, just like me.

I think a backstory needed to explain the origin of being called “annoying”, thanks to my new friend, wonderfully talented author Debbie Russell. I should have explained it in more detail and to be fair to the Angels.

I first began to reference myself that way when I bothered them as they were busy doing things (just to be funny) like standing in front of the TV during a show they were watching and I’d say, “Aren’t I the most annoying Grandma?” and they’d say “Yes, you are! Stop it!” And I’d stop, of course. Also for example, when I’d read a book to them, a book I’d literally read a thousand times before, to make it more interesting for ME, I’d change the names or spice up the story a bit differently, mainly to see if they were paying attention (which they were) and then they’d say, “Read the exact words, Grandma!” which I thought was pretty cute. And then I’d say, “Do you find it annoying when I do that?” The answer was always yes.

The Angels weren’t being disrespectful. Grandma was!

Gift With Purchase

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How does a three year old know me so well?

Her mom purchased a bottle of perfume and it came with a fancy little cosmetic bag full of samples.

Apparently, as the story was told to me, Angel Girl told Mom she had to “save the bag for Grandma” ‘cos “she loves stuff like that.”

She was a thousand percent correct. I LOVE gifts with purchase because it’s like discovering a surprise treasure chest.

How did she know?

I mean, we share the Chanel connection and the ballerina connection, but gift with purchase?

How could this obviously intuitive child see so deeply inside of me?

That’s too much. My heart can’t take it. The joy.

Every single time I use that little bag, I’ll think about my Angel, and smile.

Yup. She gets me.

Public Toilet Wisdom: Written on the Walls

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I walked to the beach during a May gray morning and sat on top of my usual picnic table to overlook the Pacific Ocean, hoping to see a whale or some dolphins.

I didn’t get lucky this time, but there was a crowded lineup of surfers out there and I couldn’t figure out why ‘cos the waves weren’t all that big.

As I took off my hat, unbraided my hair and shook it free from its constraints to feel the salty breeze, I turned around because I could feel someone standing behind me.

It was a man I often see at the beach; I’m not sure if he’s exactly unsheltered or not, but he stays there for hours, working on a crossword puzzle or reading. I’ve chatted with him a dozen times as he’s a fixture on the boardwalk and he’s very friendly, not at all like the the other guy who wanted to write on me and claim ownership!

He said, “Excuse me for saying so, but you have no idea the unmitigated joy you gave me as I watched you liberate your hair. You have the most beautiful curls, and I wanted to say thank you! That made me very happy.”

His language and phrasing was delightful; old worldly elegant, courtly, very much the gentleman.

I was caught off guard by his lovely comment and thanked him profusely. It made my day even more joyful, that’s for sure.

Before I walked home, I stopped at the restroom. Look at what I found written on the wall! So inspirational!

It’s a manta and an affirmation to love oneself and I couldn’t resist snapping a photo.

PS WordPress is so weird. I didn’t publish this until today, the 15th, but it appears as if I published it the 14th, which I did not. WP is strange…

Boketto: Word of the Day

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Boketto is one of those magnificent Japanese words that doesn’t seem to have an exact English translation. 

Boketto is the act of gazing out into the distance with no specific thoughts, to lose oneself in the vast, mindless, horizon. 

I do it a lot, and for me, it’s a sort of trance; a spaced out, zen-like calm and meditative state.

Couldn’t you lose yourself right here above the Salish Sea gazing at the cloud-shrouded Olympic Mountains?

Grandma Gossip: Smarter Than Me

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A while back, the two of us sat on the floor contemplating a puzzle of wild animals.

“Don’t help me!” “I can do it by myself!”

“OK, I won’t, but I’m right here if you need me. All you have to do is ask.”

She cocks her head, slyly looks at me, and declares, “I’m smarter than you, Grandma.”

I laughed, “Oh, you are? How so?”

“I can do this puzzle without your help.”

“I know you’re very very smart, so I believe that you can, but I will always be here if you need any help at all.”

A couple minutes go by as we work together to turn over all the puzzle pieces.

“I’m smarter than everybody.”

“Really?” I ask. “Everybody?”

“Oh yes.”

“Are you smarter than Daddy?” “Cos you know MY little boy is pretty smart, right?”

She thinks for a nanosecond.

“Yup, I’m smarter than Daddy.”

“How about Mommy? Are you smarter than Mommy?”

Another second goes by with a nod, “Yes, I am.”

“And what about Theo? Are you smarter than he is, too?”

First a sigh, than a shake of her head as she wistfully says, “No, I’m not smarter than Theo. He can do anything.”

My goodness. I was speechless. I could feel the deep love she has for her big brother.

“Theo IS smart and so are you, my Angel Girl.”

Laughing, she says, “We’re both smarter than YOU, little Grandma!”

I can’t really argue with THAT three-year-old, that’s for sure.