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Recent Loon Posts!

• Buckle Up
• Stop Where You Are
• The Worm Tour
• Merry Christmas
• Baby Luke is Here!

It’s impossible for me to believe as I watch Christi set up the lights, put down the pink backdrop and pull out the pink polka dotted #1 that my precious little Annika Baby has been here for a whole year.  This little one who scared the poop out of all of us by making her somewhat dramatic entrance into the world 6 weeks early weighing in at a whopping 4.5 pounds is now a whole 16 pounds of crawling, standing, climbing, babbling, analyzing everything one-year-old.

Back in February, right after I had made a cute little yellow rubber duckie smash cake for Tanner’s first birthday, Christi asked me if I would make Annika’s smash cake.  I was so excited—Okay, what kind of cake does our little Annika Baby want?  A Monkey Cake.    Ok, Google my friend, help me out with this.  I Googled, Binged and even Yahoo-ed but alas there are no easy as 1-2-3 monkey cake molds to purchase on the internet.  Ok, in an effort at full disclosure there is one but frankly it was basically monkey ugly and therefore not cute enough for my Annika Baby’s first birthday cake.   But this Grandma was not deterred.  I spent days looking up pictures of other people’s monkey cakes and finally came up with a plan.  My first prototype scored major points in the cute department but had a couple of issues not the least of which was the fact that the poor little monkey’s head kept falling off and its tail looked more like the aftermath of a bodily function instead of a cute little furry thing that facilitates swinging from branch to branch.  Back to the internet I went and found some great tips on a website written by a fellow grandma.  Armed with my new grandma certified knowledge the next prototype was a definite go.  We now have a wonderfully cute 3-D monkey cake for Annika’s birthday.

From the day the first prototype sat on my kitchen counter with its head plopped off to one side, I have been envisioning Annika’s encounter with the Monkey Cake.  In my lemonade commercial world she grabs it up and squeals with delight as she shoves huge bites into her mouth.

But alas, this Grandma is reminded once again that she does not live in a lemonade commercial.  My little Annika Baby sat on the floor in her fluffy pink tutu, bare from the waist up with what little hair she has pulled up in a pink bow creating a splay atop her cute little head.  In her very Annika Baby way, she carefully analyzed the little monkey cake with complete disregard for the countless hours her Grandma had put into its creation and ultimately deemed it to be utterly disgusting.  The second her hand made contact with the monkey’s cold squishy frosting she recoiled in what can only be explained as 1 year old baby disgust.  She attempted to touch it a few times coming away with a little bit of chocolate frosting on her fingers. Each time she pulled her hand away shaking it vigorously to remove the filth that had gotten on it.  Kenny, sure that the sweet yumminess of sugar would entice her, lopped off a bit of frosting and put it in her mouth.  But nope, this was met with an even more disgusted face and an instant removal of the foulness from her mouth.

Ok, so the moment did not go the way my lemonade commercial imagination thought it would.   Some people may even go as far as to say the Monkey cake should be considered an epic fail.  But in this Grandma’s world, the cake was awesome (especially when you consider it was make by an accountant) and Annika’s reaction to it was priceless.  The goal was to make a memory to cherish forever.  On this count, we have an epic win.

The creepy feeling that someone is staring at me wakes me from a deep sleep. In my sleep disoriented state I open my eyes expecting to see one of my little kids from 20 years ago, their little faces pressed inches from mine waiting to tell me that they’ve had a nightmare and want me to snuggle them for a few minutes before they bravely make their ways back to their beds. But even before my eyes flutter open I am saddened by the thought that no, those little kids are all grown up and don’t need me to banish the monsters from under their beds anymore. I crack my eyes open and see a sight that has melted my heart for the last 30 years. David standing above me, his sleepy brown eyes sparkling with excitement, his entire being humming with electricity. As soon as he sees the blue of my eyes he excitedly informs me that it’s Saturday and the train is running today!

David has been planning this day ever since we got the word that our daughter, Jess, was bringing our grandson, Tanner, out to visit for a few days. Two blocks from our new condo in Scottsdale is this great little train park. It has swings and pavilions like most parks but it also has train engines and cars to be explored, a museum and gift shop. But best of all, it has a little kiddie train! The engine chugs around the perimeter of the park pulling its precious cargo of little kids and sometimes overexcited grandpas.

Come to find out, David has been standing outside Tanner’s door listening intently for the first peep that would indicate that he was awake. I was excitedly told that he had laid out Tanner’s Thomas the Train T-shirt (purchased in anticipation of this amazing day). David had a plan. As soon as Tanner was awake, they were going to have breakfast, get dressed, slather up with sunscreen, jump into the stroller and make a bee line for the train park. Now all David needed was for Tanner to wake up so they could get going. The logic, that I groggily added, that it wasn’t quite 6am, didn’t seem to curb David’s excitement as he left me to return to slumber and once again took up his vigil outside Tanner’s bedroom door.
Finally, Tanner woke up and the plan was put into action. Lickity Split, the two little adventurers were dressed, fed and out the door. Hours later, just as I began to worry about how long those two little birds had been gone, my phone dinged. David sent me a picture of him and Tanner on their third ride around the park. Tanner proudly sporting his Thomas the Train T-shirt, David happily sporting a pair of sunglasses that read “I Love Trains” across their lenses.

Later that night, after all reasonable people had gone to bed, David regaled me with his epic adventure to the train park during our cocktail hour. For a brief few minutes, I saw the little boy that had become such an amazing man. His eyes danced and he told me about the ride around the park. He was crestfallen when he told me how the train turned away from the tunnel on its first pass. Then his face beamed with joy when he told me that on the next pass the little train chugged into the darkness of the tunnel. Then to my surprise I was informed that cocktail hour was to be cut short—“The train is running again tomorrow!”

It’s 3 o’clock in the morning.  Hours have passed since everyone else in the house has sensibly run to their beds for a good night sleep.  I, on the other hand, have been sitting on the porch talking to Christi, listening intently to all her words, marveling at what a wonderful full grown person she has become.  We sneak up the stairs being as quiet as two giggly girls can be and let myself into the bedroom where David and Little Annika Baby are snoozing.  I tip toe into the bathroom, quiet as a mouse, put on my jammies and brush my teeth.  I tip toe back out, check on the baby and slip under the covers exhausted from a long day of fishing on the beach but utterly content with this wonderful life I am so lucky to have.

My head barely hits the pillow before I hear my Little Annika Baby begin to make her adorable little squeaky noises.  I lay in the dark, listening to her sweet sounds until I know that she is fully committed to getting up for her nighttime feeding.  Being the ever prepared grandma, I had slipped her bottle onto my nightstand before I got into bed.  Now there is one rule that Christi has with the nighttime feeding—DO NOT ENGAGE THE BABY!  Annika is supposed to get up, drink her bottle and then be put immediately back to bed to fall back asleep until a more respectable time of the morning before she is to be played with.

I get my little love and slide back into the bed propped up on my pillows and give her the bottle never saying a word.  When she is finished I lay her head on my shoulder and pat her back relieved as she relaxes back into that sleep that only infants can enjoy.  Then like a shot she pushes up on her arms, grabs the sides of my face and begins to whisper her little baby secrets into my mouth.  Then she starts giving me those amazing open mouth slobber kisses.  Technically I am not breaking the Christi night time feeding decree—Annika is engaging me.

She spends the next half hour whispering her little baby secrets to me and filling me up with kisses and coos.  My mind races ahead to the years when she is no longer a little baby but a growing child and I make a wish that she will always want to crawl into her Grandma’s bed in the middle of the night to share her little girl whispers with me.

As I finally put her back into her crib I look at the clock—4:45 and realize I will need to be up and at ‘em in a few short hours.  With an amazingly contented sigh, I slide back under the covers to get a little shut eye before my day starts.  Some people would be dismayed that the nighttime hours of sleep have slowly been fettered away, but this Momma/Grandma knows with all her heart that sleep can come another day but these precious moments are too fleeting to miss.

From the time Tanner was old enough to hold on my hip, when I mix the formula with water for his bottle, I bounce him up and down on my hip singing, “Shake, shake, shake…shake, shake shake…shake Tanner’s bottle, shake Tanner’s bottle.”  This has ended up being a great way keep a grumpy, hungry child distracted for the several seconds it takes to finish preparing his bottle.

Our back guest bedroom has become Tanner central. The waist high bed is used as a changing station, the settee has become a place for Tanner’s basket of toys and the open floor space is now home to a 25-year-old little tykes car and a brand new jumper seat that looks more like a space ship than a baby toy.  Tanner, being an ever on the move boy, is less than thrilled when Grandma scoops him up from play to change his diaper.  Once again, the goofy nature of Grandma comes out as we play the “oh that’s so stinky” game to keep him distracted while I clear out whatever baby deposit he has left for me.  Tanner, being the smart baby he is, figured out really quickly that if he was good during this ordeal, I will stand him up on the bed, face him towards the dresser mirror so he can see himself and then bounce him up and down on the bed all the while singing, “Jump, jump, jump…jump, jump, jump…Jumpin’ Tanner, Jumpin’ Tanner.”  Now that Tanner is older, he squeals with glee every time he gets to watch himself jumping on the bed.

Now, I know I didn’t make up this tune but for the life of me I really couldn’t place where it came from or why it would be stuck so firmly in my brain.  The other day I was driving back from taking Tanner home.  I switch to a classic station on the radio and out poured my little ditty.  It all came back to me in a flood.  Me and my friends standing in the arena at the Sarasota County Fairgrounds listening to KC and the Sunshine Band belting out “Shake, Shake, Shake…Shake, Shake, Shake…Shake your booty…Shake your booty.  I sat in the car laughing out loud.  Who would have thought a horrible song from the late 70’s would lay dormant in this silly girls mind all these years only to be resurrected as one of the weapons in this Grandma’s “Distract the Baby” arsenal.

In 2015 I was the lucky recipient of two happy healthy little grandbabies, Tanner and Annika.  When they were first born I would very contentedly get up in the middle of the night for their feedings.   Nothing could compare to sitting in the dark cuddling those little babies, breathing in their heady “new” human smell.  They were like valium for my soul.  One year into the Grandma game I find myself completely thrilled to spend my day walking around behind Tanner while he explores the world around him with my hands hovering just inches from his precious little body just in case I may need to catch him before he falls.    I live for the moment when I get see my little Annika Baby’s face again.  Each visit, picture and video more precious than the last.

Ok, Loon Wathcers, if you’ve read “Cookies for Dinner” and “Panic Early Panic Often” you already know I have an opinion about everything and can’t wait to share my stories of being the “perfect, imperfect mother”.  So, about the only difficult part about being a grandma is knowing when to keep my mouth shut.  Oh, sure, I have 33 years of experience raising children.  Oh sure, I have gone through all the stages of Mommyhood and come out the other side somewhat bruised but by no means beaten.  I ache to share my experiences with the younger ones just starting out to save them from some of the bumps and bruises acquired in the game of Mommyhood.   But alas, this is where my “Mommy” monster runs to the front of my brain and reminds me “you have already raised your kids.  Now it is their turn.”

So this grandma sits and watches with absolute adoration for her two amazing girls as they deftly handle the day to day raising of their little ones all the while juggling the demands of their jobs, their husbands and their homes.  I just hope they know that this Momma is standing at the ready.  I am completely content following them around with my hands hovering protectively at their backs, just in case they may need me to catch them if they fall.