The Jeopardy Game

My grandson Ashby is a serious student. He takes great pride in what he learns and practices all of the time. He has been learning sign language for at least the past six months. Every week Ashby joins a group of toddlers and Mommies as they learn new words and practice old words. He has moved from single words like cracker to concepts - where is Nana's dog Zed? or Where is the man's hair for Granddad.

His mom and dad reinforce his lessons by practicing the words and rewarding him with a "Good Ashby" affirmation. This week he started training Nana. The first time I caught on to my tutorial he and I were sitting at the window watching the world go by. He would point and look at me and I would say what we were looking at and he would give me the 'yeah Nana' nod. Then we moved on to the wall, the floor, feet, eyes, hair, - well you get the picture. When I got it wrong he would give me a second chance.

He likes to run through all of his key words and phrases first thing in the morning, when he gets up from his nap and most importantly when it is getting close to dinner and bed and he is winding down. I have gotten smarter under his unflinching tutelage, he never cheats, so now I am quickly going through the A list of bird, jogger, dog, car, train, wall, window, eye, hair, feet and the list goes on.

Today I got to go to music class with him. A dozen or so little people with their attendant parental units, one nanny and one Nana were in attendance. The instructor was great, the wee ones were wee ones. Some of the little girls were focused on the program, Ashby was focused on an escape plan. He circled the group, checking for any possible enemies or other untoward behavior. He checked out all of the visible and reachable sippy cups. But he kept a close eye on the proceedings. You could almost hear him saying, "Listen you guys, this is a classroom and you are all jumping around like jumping beans. Sit down, pay attention and then go home and practice." And practice we did when we got home. He got out the napkins and we did the scarf dance. We stomped, clapped and kept time on our knees. I didn't know the best song that has lots of hand clapping, thigh slapping and hand waving so I had to revert to the only one I know "We're going on a bear hunt" We have hunted a lot of bear today. Every time he thinks my mind is wandering he flops down legs out and off we go up the hill, look for the bear and run back down.

Thank you Ashby, I had a great time! I had forgotten how much fun it is to dance with scarves and I promise to practice my words every morning.

Fortune telling

Babies are such wonderful little mysteries. I am always studying their eyes and smiles wondering if there are clues to the future hiding in there.

I found a picture of Pete and his Dad on the day he arrived. He is giving him the one-eyed baby stare. I had forgotten how much hair he had when he was born. (No comments on the current status of the Dad's hair)

This is a picture of Pete with his new daughter. She is not sure yet if she is going to melt your heart with one of her little smiles or check you out with her thoughtful stare. I am pretty sure she is using her melt your heart looks on her Dad.

New parent secrets

As a Nana I can now safely look back on parenting and wonder why no one ever really tells you the truth about babies and toddlers. Is it like childbirth - if we remembered every little detail over and over we might all leave home and join a convent or at least remain celebate for the rest of our lives. Like childbirth the stresses of new babies and toddlers are passing. Time may seem to stand still still but in fact it is moving along at the same rate that it did before the arrival of the new person.
A combination of the natural order of life and intuitiveness seems to send messages to little ones that - wait - the parent units are near breaking - sleep an extra half hour and give them hope that someday in their distant future they will be able to string together 6 or 7 straight hours lying in their bed with their eyes closed. Toddlers seem to know that if Mommy doesn't get her hair washed and her legs shaved life is going to go downhill. And it seems that is the afternoon they stay snuggled in an extra 30 minutes of what seems like miracle time.
The complex part of the equation is that sometime parental units and wee ones aren't on the same email server and don't get the message in time. The night of the extra half hour comes when Mom has given up hope and is watching late night tv waiting for the 'chow time' call or is scurrying around finishing up a project just waiting for the 'here I am come get me' call. Truly syncing in must be a Zen moment, fleeting and wonderful.
Maybe I should have put my forehead against their foreheads and thought really hard -- "I just need 20 more minutes this afternoon and I promise not to fritter it away and will use my time wisely."

Fresh air

Seasonal depression is a really annoying problem. It sneaks up on you over the long gray days of winter. Slowly you begin to sleep later, no longer being awakened by the sun peaking through the edges of the blinds or the morning sounds of the neighborhood. Everthing is muffled slightly. Mornings when the sun is bright and sky is blue trick you into thinking spring is near but a quick walk out on the back deck reminds you that it is still too cold and wet to work garden, and a coat, hat a gloves will be needed for a walk.
I know this cycle, I have lived with the cycle all my life so I can't quite figure out why I am always surprised. When we lived in Canada it started in late November and lasted until the end of March, reaching a crescendo in February before ever so slowly loosening its grip as the days began to get longer and the snow and ice slowly melted from the north side of the yard.
When we moved to North Carolina I was ever so hopeful. For the first several years we had months of glorious weather. I could bundle up in a heavy sweater and sit in the sun on the deck in December. Winter cold was kept where it belonged in West Virginia - a place to visit, enjoy the cold and then pack up and come home to the land of sunny mornings.
This year winter came early in the south. It swooped in before I was ready. The garden was not cleared of debris, the bushes were not cut back. There it was - cold, wet, miserable weather that keeps you in the house. Now that I have cleaned off my rearview mirror and gotten a pretty good look at where I have been, I am making an effort to beat the blues. I have gone back to the gym - yes exercise is good for the soul - and have given myself a new goal of cleaning out the garden 6 feet at at time. All of you ADHD friends know that my biggest challenge is thinking small - just a few feet at a time, especially when the view from the windows is the whole enchilada as I read my Southern Living magazine while visions of sugar plums and maybe a fountain dance in my head. So back to the real world. I cleared out the dead daisies and am slowly cutting back the edging plants. I am limiting myself to no more than one hour a day. I am almost to the unruly rose bushes.
I am obsessed with my garden or lack thereof. For some unknown reason I feel that the garden and my mind are linked - a messy garden and a messy mind. You can drive up and look at the front yard and know how I am doing, you never have to come in. Are the roses wild, are the day lilies a mess, are the shrubs unruly. My mind is probably in the same shape. Wish me luck - I am tackling the roses this weekend. I will probably end up scratched and bleeding - landscape roses look wonderful in the spring and summer but if left untrimmed in the fall they become brier patches. But if I can hack them back into submission I have great hope for my mind.