I remember that the original Angel Boy was about fourteen years old when he entered the final stage, taller than me. Now I have to get on my tiptoes to hug him and HE bends down to me.
In my mind, he’s still and forever #1 or #2, so it doesn’t seem right that the roles have reversed, and it won’t be long before the Angel Kids will also be taller than me, because mostly everyone else is.
I guess that’s why they call me Little Grandma.
**I found this on Pinterest, but credit goes to artist Giselle Dekel.**
These incredibly observant Angel Kids of mine are full of nonstop chat as they watch my every move with their laser focused eyes and brains, especially when they sit at the counter (their favorite spot), waiting to be served exactly like baby birds in a nest with their beaks open wide for mom to bring a freshly caught worm..
“Why are you always in the kitchen, Grandma?”“It’s like you have a force field around you and you’re stuck in there.” (He is SO funny.)
“Yeah, Grandma, you’re always in the kitchen!” Angel Girl has to offer her opinion, too. ALWAYS.
I stop chopping veggies or flipping pancakes or cutting the crust off another slice of bread (only for Angel Girl), and respond with a question,
“Why are you guys always hungry?”
Well, that made them think a bit, that’s for sure.
“Good point”, Angel Boy 2.0 sagely nods as he ponders what I meant by that, as he chews on a slice of apple.
Those kids LOVE apples as a pre-meal snack. Sometimes dipped in nut butter, but they’re perfectly satisfied with a bowl of sliced apples.
The key is to give each of them their own bowl or they’ll squabble about equal amounts. “Why does s/he have more than me?” Since I only birthed one child, I’m not used to this kind of sibling behavior. I actually find it incredibly annoying and to avoid listening to it, for me, separate bowls are the easiest solution.
They eat a lot, not junk food or snacks, but wholesome and dense nutrition. That’s what healthy kids do; eat, play, sleep. They’re exactly like puppies. Their growing bodies and brains demand it and I’m only too happy to oblige.
“Play with us, Grandma. We’ll even play Candyland just for you. Or Scrabble.” That’s quite the concession on their part, as they know those are my two favorite games.
“How about after you guys have this smoothie and ants on a log and a (lentil/oat/kale) muffin, we’ll play. How does that sound?”
“Grandma, I need to tell you about YOUR LITTLE BOY!”
It never fails to make me laugh when I hear both Angels refer to their dad that way.
It started a long time ago when I explained to them that not only was I their grandma, but that their dad was my little boy and he’ll ALWAYS be my little boy.
Ever since, and especially when they have some juicy gossip OR a complaint, he’s referred to as “your little boy”.
When he rode his skateboard sans helmet which is absolutely DUMB, Angel Boy 2.0 would call me and tattle on him. When he fell off his surfboard, I was told about it. When he ran through a red light, yup, I had a phone call.
“Grandma, you will not BELIEVE what your little boy did!”
They extract a great deal of enjoyment when I scold their dad about his small crimes and misdemeanors; I’m a constant source of entertainment: “DAD, GRANDMA WANTS TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT YOUR BEHAVIOR!”
Mom isn’t exempt either, but MY little boy bears the brunt of the scandalous chat.
This time was a bit different. AB is now in third grade and his sister will start kindergarten at the same school. Usually Dad walked him as it’s only a couple blocks away and Mom stayed with the baby, now not a baby. (This is a cool deja vu moment for both Dad and me, because HIS elementary school was also in walking distance, and it was a great time to chat and walk there every day.)
I got the phone call….“Do you know what your little boy is going to do when school starts?“
I literally had no idea.
“Because I like to get to school early – Grandma, you know I don’t like to be late — and you know how Dad and I race there every day and sometimes I win –and C can’t EVER wake up, YOUR LITTLE BOY is going to run me to school first, come home, and then bring C. Isn’t that funny?”
“Well, T, why don’t you just wait until your sister is ready and Dad will only have to make one trip?”
“OMG Grandma, you KNOW that won’t work! We have to leave at exactly the right time.”
The backstory is that Angel Boy 2.0 has always been an early riser like Dad (and me), but his sister could sleep all night and most of the day. Sometimes, we still check on her to make sure she’s breathing, but boyohboy can that girl SLEEP.
Her pre-school started at 9:15 and it was often a struggle to get her there on time. Kindergarten starts at 7:55 a.m. so she’s going to have to go to bed extra early to train for a new sleep schedule. There will no longer be an option to let her skip a day or two or come in a couple hours late.
The best part of this story is how much Angel Boy loves school. He can’t wait to get there and always wants to stay after to play with friends.
His dad loved to learn, too, and still does.
It’s markedly different than my experience, that’s for sure. I didn’t like school and couldn’t wait to get home. The only happy part of it for me was the night before when I chose whatever pretty dress I would wear the next day. There were always matching socks and ribbons for my hair.
Being a fashionista is a life long pursuit and I can’t wait to see what the kids wear for their first day.
Wishing a very happy International Woman’s Day to all strong, intelligent, talented, and simply wonderful women of this world!
Today is International Women’s Day, but really, EVERY DAY should be a day to celebrate women, to encourage a world where difference is valued and celebrated with all the ways we can forge women’s equality.
IWD began in New York City on March 8, 1857 when female textile workers marched in protest of unfair working conditions and unequal rights for women. It was one of the first organized strikes by working women, during which they called for a shorter work day and decent wages.
For me, even more important than a single day set aside to commemorate women, March 8 is the day to rejoice in the birth of Angel Boy 2.0 on his eighth solar return.
I don’t know how it happened, but that child I love with all my heart is eight years old today! How is that even possible?
I still think of him as he was learning to walk…
and now running as fast as he can.
He’s an awesome soccer player; obsessed with Minecraft, (no longer Ninjago or even Pokemon), so his presents reflected that: a giant Minecraft Lego set, Minecraft underwear, a Minecraft joke book, and as many Minecraft t-shirts as I could find, all wrapped up in a Minecraft bag with a musical Minecraft birthday card. He doesn’t have any Minecraft video games, I’m happy to report.
We’ve all heard the proverb, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” and I’m proud to say my DNA of hoarding and obsession for shiny baubles is alive and well and thriving in this next generation.
When they find something around here that they want/need, these Angel Kids call me Grandmama. I love that extra syllable. I AM a mom and a grandma, so it works.
They like to inspect every room like a couple of CSI forensic detectives, searching for whatever might strike their fancy among my little treasures, along with an extraordinary ability to suss out anything new that’s been added since their last visit, like my penguin box.
I especially like that they ASK and don’t simply TAKE. It really makes all the difference.
“Grandmama, can I have this sparkly box?” “Yes.” “I want one too, can I have THIS one?” “Yes.” “Grandmama, can I have this Hello Kitty bracelet?” “Yes.” “Grandmama, can I have these pearls?” “Yes.” (We’re not talking about my real pearls, just a couple strands of fake ones and some pearls used in jewelry making.)
At some point in the day, they opened a closet and discovered my crafty area with shelves of boxes and drawers full of polished rocks and seashells and gems and beach glass and sparkly beads.
“Grandmama, can we have some?” “Yes.”
Between the two of them, there was a wild feeding frenzy. They sat on the floor, their individual piles of loot growing and growing.
“OMG, LOOK AT THE GEMS!” “Can I have the blue ones?” “Can I have the green ones?”
“Look you guys, I’ll find containers for each of you and yes, you can take what you want. All I ask is that you work together and don’t argue about who takes what. Compromise and share. Do we have a deal?”
OK, Grandmama, we can do that. Even the big pearls?
“Yes, even those.”
“DAD, GRANDMAMA SAID WE CAN BRING ALL OF THE TREASURES HOME!”
As happy as that makes those Angel Kids, I wonder if they have any idea at all how happy it makes ME to be able to make THEM deliriously happy.
Here’s what I learned today. Since Angel Girl turned four years old, I needed a new car seat. When it arrived, I didn’t have too much trouble assembling it (although it took an HOUR) but I couldn’t figure out how to properly install it next to her brother’s. I didn’t pay much attention when Dad did it.
I read the cryptic instruction booklet and it was like reading hieroglyphics. I watched several YouTube videos and they didn’t help me, either. This isn’t unusual–I’m not very mechanically inclined.
I figured that our friendly police department would surely be able to assist me, so I drove to the local station. This is where the vortex of frustration began…
Guess what? Our police do NOT help to safely install carseats, but they said OTHER grandmas have come in asking for help, too.
The police department referred me to AAA.
AAA also does NOT help to install or make sure they’re installed properly.
AAA referred me to California Highway Patrol which DOES have a program to safely install car seats but they’re booked up through January 2024. That’s no help at all. AT. ALL.
CHP said the Sheriff does it, but they most likely are booked up too. I called to make an appointment, had to leave a message, and no one returned my call.
I even called a neighboring city’s police department and they don’t install car seats either.
After that, I called Children’s Hospital which does have a car seat installation program but it charges FIFTY DOLLARS per car seat!!!
Our local fire department doesn’t assist in installation or inspection to make sure car seats are properly installed.
The final call I made was to Safe Kids Worldwide’s Child Passenger Safety, a nonprofit organization, and there is no tech in my area. Also, no one responded to my email.
I’m exhausted from running around the dead end rabbit hole with my vain attempt to ensure the safety of the Angel Kids.
I eventually tried to install it but noticed there was no anchor with this particular booster-type seat with a back, and it seemed a bit unstable, so I took an anchor strap from the old seat and tried to attach it. I’m not sure if it’s OK but at least it’s not moving around and seems more secure.
And from the manufacturer, I read comments and questions from others who wanted information about no latch/anchor: “Thank you for your interest in the Turbo Booster 2.0 Highback Booster Seat! Unfortunately, a LATCH system is not offered for this product. We hope this helps! – The Graco Team” Well…it doesn’t really help at all, because why NOT??
Friends have said I should just leave it for Dad to do it again but I wanted to make life easier for all of them when I pick up at the airport. It’s much less stressful to jump in the car and head straight home than to have to sit at the curb and wait for him to hook it up.
This says volumes about lack of community service and safety from the entities that should absolutely care. My very final outreach was a call to the community relations department of our police department to suggest they recommence their former program of assisting/examining installation of car seats. Not surprisingly, I’ve received no return call.
Frustration level? OFF ALL THE CHARTS.
UPDATE: A neighboring city’s sheriff’s office returned my call, I made an appointment for this morning, and their in-house certified car seat tech examined both car seats and gave me a few tips to keep the kids extra secure. It took less than ten minutes–peace of mind = PRICELESS. I’m still concerned that it took so much effort to get it done. I don’t think most people are as tenacious as I am, and if they quit too soon, their children might not be secured properly in an accident.
“You said you would and you always keep your promises, right, Grandma?”
“I know I did, and isn’t that exactly what I’m doing? Aren’t we on our way to the special Pokemon card store? Am I keeping my promise?”
He often says that to me, referencing my statements about keeping promises to him or his sister. Or to anyone, really.
“You promised!”
I think it’s important to be honest and if I promise to do something or take them somewhere, I’ll keep my word. If I’m not sure, I say, “I’ll try but I can’t promise.” That way, they’re prepared to accept a different outcome. I don’t want to let them down.
The key to my success is not to promise anything I can’t deliver. With the kids, it’s simple–promises to go to the park or a special store or bake whatever they request (kugel or cinnamon rolls) or play Candyland.
Why is keeping promises important?
Keeping a promise lays the foundation for trust and respect. Trust is vital. When our behavior is consistent, it allows others to build faith and trust in us. Nurturing this behavior in children early in life begins a pattern that leads to reliability and personal integrity. It’s all about responsibility, commitment, and accountability.
Have I ever broken a promise to the kids? So far, the answer is no. Because it means so much to me to be a person they can always trust, who will always be there for them no matter what. As they get older, hopefully I’ll never let them down. They can count on me.
I’m known as the “fixer” because I have a certain amount of success in gluing together broken bits of china, repairing toys, and mending torn clothing…just call me the all around problem solver.
The original Angel Boy recently came to me with a few hand sewing tasks; a ripped seam in his windbreaker, tighten the upper arms of his gardening sleeves where the elastic stretched out so they won’t fall down, (which is super annoying), and sew or iron patches on AB2’s jeans, where he must slide on one knee A LOT,
After I completed my work under the watchful eye of my faithful sidekick, Angel Girl, she rummaged around in her room for something for me to repair (she doesn’t like to be left out of anything) and ran back with a dress that had short-ish butterfly sleeves that didn’t meet her high fashion standards.
“I don’t like this part, Grandma, so you can fix it.”
I took a look at it and figured it wouldn’t be a too difficult job to remove the flutter sleeves and resew the seams, which I did.
It made her very happy.
Later, while mom was giving her a bath, I could hear them chatting about her day. All of a sudden, she said, “I’ve got to give this to Grandma.”
She jumped out of the tub and came running into my room dripping wet, holding a raggedy torn and tattered washcloth full of holes.
“Here you go, Grandma, fix this.”
It must have been washed dozens of times and there really wasn’t any life left and sadly, that worn out fabric was far beyond my capabilities to magically repair, but I love the faith and confidence that angel has in me as the “fixer”, the one she can count on to make things right and restore everything back to the way they should be.
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!
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 