Ralph

Old Yeller was one of only a handful of movies I saw with my parents. That was sixty-some years ago, but ever since then, there has been a special place in my heart for golden retrievers. So when I learned that Bootsie had developed an interest in dogs, it seemed only natural that I should get her a golden retriever for her tenth birthday last Oct. 4.

"Ralph," as she named him, is absolutely the most realistic stuffed dog I have ever seen. So much so that it gave both her and me a start when we opened the shipping box to see him lying there so quiet and still.

When Christmas came along several months later, I was able to add to Bootsie's "doggie" collection with a Hobby Lobby poodle painting for her newly remodeled room and a shiny beagle pendant to wear around her neck. Although she shows an interest in animals in general, she has a special affinity for dogs right now. 

It is not hard to take a fantasy peek into the future and see Bootsie as a veterinarian. I can imagine her dressed in her crisp white jacket and standing beside an exam table where some future dog looks to her for an inoculation, a check-up, or maybe some heartworm medication. She speaks soothingly as she rubs his scruffy ears. The dog trusts her at once because she speaks his language.

As with so many things last year, our travels to celebrate Bootsie's birthday were pushed to a couple weeks after the fact due to delays imposed by the coronavirus. But when we finally made it to the party, Ralph came along with us to make the occasion extra special.

Another event I missed was the opportunity to see Bootsie as a young Cratchit daughter in her school's presentation of Dickens' A Christmas Carol. So maybe if vet school doesn't work out, she can pursue Plan B as an actress. 

Whatever the case, she is bright and talented enough to go after whatever she wants in this world. Though I can't be certain at this point what that will be, I do know that this world will be a better place because she is in it.

Pa-pa's Boy

This boy.

In a world that has now circled the sun in the oppressive, uncertain cosmos of pandemic, this little guy has wrapped us in the soothing light of laughter and love. It had been six years since our flurry of six grandkids arrived in a span of six years. Everyone was finally in school. I had sold my baby bed and high chair.

Although the pandemic has kept our families apart more than we would've liked, it has not kept us from bonding with this newest grandson during his baby months. But the neatest thing has been to watch him interact with Pa-pa, even as early as that first Christmas, when he was only three months old. From the very beginning, our little Packee has been (mostly) Pa-pa's boy.

Anytime Packee gets a look at Pa-pa, or hears his voice, he lurches out from whomever is holding him at the moment, reaching his little arms out for Pa-pa to take him. He demands a place on Pa-pa's lap to drive the pontoon or the golf cart. He gets a bead on Pa-pa and runs toward him as fast as his little legs will carry him. And one of his earliest words? "Pa-pa," of course.

As you might imagine, Pa-pa dearly loves everything about this. In time, he bonded with all the other kids as well, but it was usually when they were a bit older. These guys, on the other hand, have been bosom buddies since Packee was born.

Last Sept. 30, when Packee turned one year old, his family was quarantined, so we got to see him with the official chocolate cake only on FaceTime. 

But a couple weeks later we were able to again visit his family and take him a special present, made just for a one-year-old ready to go mobile.

At this writing Packee is just over sixteen months old. He is adding to his vocabulary every day, and is starting to like books, something I have been waiting patiently for. When I saw him last week, he was particularly fond of a farm animal book, complete with fur to rub and buttons to push for sound. His little high-pitched "doodle-doo" when we turn to the rooster page is the cutest thing I have ever heard. 

The long baby hair of the photos above is now trimmed into an official little-boy haircut. He is almost old enough to come and stay with me and Pa-pa for a few days. I am really looking forward to that. 

Of course, I may have to build up my muscles so that I can wrestle him away from Pa-pa once in a while. He may be Pa-pa's boy now, but I intend to see if I can work my way up to equal rank--or at least come in a close second. That would be fine with me.  

    

Breaking Records

It's too bad the Guinness World Records people were not here in the lake area last week to observe the phenomenon of record breaking in action. I can't help thinking even they would have been impressed. I say this because, for a glorious stretch of eight days, all seven grandkids were here at one time or another--and sometimes all at once. It is an understatement to call it a super-busy time at Googie's.

Because of the Covid-19 pandemic, our summer adventures have a unusual feel and demand a revamped routine. There are no daily trips to kids' enrichment camps or courses at our nearby college. There will be no carnival ride wristbands for the Missouri State Fair. No corn dogs or funnel cakes or snow cones either, and no visit to Otto, the talking patrol car. Virtually every event of our typical summer is cancelled or drastically modified.

And that is okay, because we have the lake. With the exception of baby Packee, the kids are just the right ages to enjoy swimming, tubing, fishing, and all the other activities our lake offers. They can walk along the Osage River down at the harbor and venture out across the swinging bridge toward any of several scenic hiking trails there. Before the summer is over, we hope to have a couple new water skiers in the family.

When four to five children between ages eight and thirteen stay with you day and night for a week, this is when the aforementioned record breaking occurs. Among new records established in our household last week were the following:

• Sheer amount of food consumption
• Number of trips to Walmart grocery pickup
• Rolls of toilet paper used
• Number of consecutive late nights spent watching Perry Mason
• Number of consecutive nights Googie sang "Little White Duck" at bedtime (Will I still be doing this when all of them are teenagers?)
• Number of wet towels on the floor of the laundry room
• Loads of laundry washed, dried, and folded
• Number of (very) ripe bananas converted into banana bread in a single evening.

Aided by the uncertainties and negative effects posed by the virus, I seem to have set a couple records of my own. For instance, this is my first post in "Googie's Attic" since March 25, nearly four months ago. That is my longest dry spell since I began the blog in March 2011. Most unforgivable, however, is the fact that Zoomie's eighth and Sooby's thirteenth birthdays scooted by on June 25 and 30 with no acknowledgment. Pa-pa and I were at their house for the celebrations, but I just didn't get around to recording them here. I will do my best to make up for that here and how. 

Thirteen, Sooby? How can that be? When I started the blog nine years ago, you were only four. At some point between then and now, you grew into a young lady who plays piano and cello, loves to bake, and is among seventeen finalists qualifying for the Kansas state champion spelling bee next weekend. You are an artistic and creative force to be reckoned with, Sooby, and whatever form eighth grade takes for you this fall, Pa-pa and I are sure you will rock it.

And you, Zoomie. You held the spot as the youngest kid in your family for over seven years, but you have relinquished that position with grace and (most of the time) maturity. You are old enough to entertain us with your jokes and antics, but not too old (yet) to give us some good snuggles. You have mastered the task of dealing with your allergies to dairy and tree nuts like a trooper, accepting that your brothers and sisters can sometimes have treats that you can't. Pa-pa and I can't wait to see what new things you learn in third grade.

Here you are about to open the present you asked me for several months ago. You may be the only eight-year-old in the Midwest to have his own . . . poker set. I imagine that you and your brother Pooh will be practicing the techniques needed to hold 'em, fold 'em, and do a fair amount of bluffing in the process.

As this record-breaking summer of 2020 continues to challenge us at every turn, I am reminded constantly that the closeness of our family makes it bearable. I have only to look at seven little faces to know that, in spite of it all, I am truly blessed.   

  

 

 

The Heliball

If I hadn't taken Pa-pa to Target with me to shop for a birthday present for Beenie, I might never have met the heliball. While I was perusing an adjoining aisle for durable boy toys like skateboards and such, Pa-pa spotted the heliball and pushed the button to start a demonstration video located near the display on the toy shelf.

"Come over here and look at this," he said. "This looks like fun."

Looking dubiously at the heliball in its package, I was not initially impressed. It appeared to be a small, fragile-looking hard plastic sphere, about the size of a baseball and topped with paper-thin plastic propellers. But at the same time, I was kind of fascinated by what I saw. So, wrestling down my better judgment, we made the purchase and headed home to try it. I wanted to have it figured out so that I could show Beenie how to work it.

The heliball, I learned, is an LED-lit ball that takes off into the air once it is fully charged and the "on" switch on the bottom is flipped. Equipped with sensors on top and bottom, it whirs around the room as the operator tries to control its movement with a hand just above or below it, or a foot just underneath. The sensors steer it in the opposite direction, saving it from crashing. Usually.

One of the first things I learned was to hold the heliball vertically straight with your fingers around it rather with your hand cupped on the bottom. If you don't, the bottom sensor will be confused, and the heliball will take off erratically and in a way that is impossible to control. As a result, it will crash, and that can be hard on its flimsy little propellers. Here, Beenie demonstrates the WRONG way to hold the heliball as you flip the "on" switch and prepare to release it.

If you hold the heliball correctly for takeoff, it will spin off into the air around you, where you can exercise the proper controls. Here, Beenie waves a hand underneath to keep the ball from going lower.

While the heliball is flying, watch carefully and follow it closely so that you can keep it in safe flying territory if possible.

The heliball will come down if it goes high enough for the top sensor to recognize the ceiling. But if your ceiling is extremely high, it is better to keep the ball in a position where you can get a hand above or below as needed.

If the heliball moves away from you, follow it so that you can be right on the scene if it decides to take a detour.

After a reasonable flight, both you and the heliball will be ready for a break. Catching it while in flight takes a little practice. Here, Beenie gets in position to make the catch.

Catch the heliball by gripping it with one hand as you would if you were preparing to unscrew a light bulb. Here, Beenie makes a perfect catch.

He is now ready to put the heliball back on its charger for a while. You can figure on five to seven minutes of play for every twenty or so minutes on the charger.

I honestly don't know if it was Beenie or I who had the most fun with the heliball, but it turned out to be a great addition to his eighth birthday celebration, In fact, the heliball is recommended for children eight years old and above, although Heero, who is six, had a couple pretty good flights with it, too.

It is better to turn a kid loose with the heliball after some explanation and demonstration. This keeps the kid from getting frustrated and the heliball from meeting an untimely demise, which I imagine sometimes happens.

The enclosed instructions explain a way to actually control the heliball with a TV remote, like some kind of colorful little living room drone. We didn't try this ourselves; that is for the more electronically capable than I. But Beenie, Pa-pa and I recommend the heliball if you need a creative gift idea that is just a little out of the ordinary for a kid who is quite extraordinary himself.

Sabotaged by a Monster

When baby Packee was born last fall, I had such plans.  I was going to be there for all those monthly baby milestones--the turning over, the giggling, the sitting up. I was going to see him often and use him as an excuse to spend more time with his brothers and sisters as well.

Packee arrived after a six-year lull in grandkid production. Since he might be the last one, I was going to pinch those fat thighs to my heart's content and once more perform my entire repertoire of silly noises. I would kiss those chubby cheeks and feel the sweet weight of that little head on my shoulder while he slept.

The first four months of my plan went by the playbook. But when I waved goodbye to him on Feb. 1, who would have dreamed it would be months before I would see him again? Worse yet, I don't know how many of these precious months this long wait will stretch out to consume. The monster COVID-19 has changed not only plans but normal daily routine.

That is all the whining I am going to do. I look around and see others affected so much more adversely than is this old lady who just wants to snuggle a grandbaby. Thousands of people are sick, and medical responders are caught up in a rat race. High school seniors are missing those last spring activities, and even graduation ceremonies look uncertain. Weddings and funerals, the rituals of life itself, are on hold. Senior adults in care facilities can't see their families. For many, this pandemic is so much more than a mere inconvenience.

But today, in the midst of all of this, I celebrate the day Packee turns six months old. The highlight of my day is when my daughter texts me pictures like these:

  

I like to think that, in this last one, the reason Packee looks so serious is because he is wondering where his Googie is. Thankfully, he is too little to know about monsters.

I am here, sweet baby, just waiting for the monster to relent so I can come see you again. Until then, stay healthy,  practice your skills of self defense, and warn your brothers and sisters. There are a lot of pent-up squeezes around here just waiting to be released.

Beenie's Birthday Puzzles

Question: What does the Rubik's Cube have in common with the coronavirus?

Answer: They have both been major shaping forces in the celebration of Beenie's birthday.

At first glance, this photo might look like any typical boy getting ready to blow out eight candles atop the red velvet cake his mama made (at his request).

But a closer look at the circumstances surrounding Beenie's eighth birthday reveals more unusual goings-on than meet the eye.

In recent weeks Beenie has been obsessed with the Rubik's Cube, to the point that YouTube videos showing solutions to the famous puzzle top his list of TV-watching preferences. He works patiently and relentlessly to figure out the standard 3 x 3 cube he already has, and has achieved solid color on two sides. His birthday brought him an assortment of other Rubik's-style puzzles, including a 2 x 2 and a triangular variation. The t-shirt Pa-pa and I contributed to his birthday stash says it all: "I make it look easy."

 
Interestingly, the Rubik's Cube is anything but easy. George Webster, writing for CNN in "The Little Cube That Changed the World," asserts that the various turns and twists of the puzzle offer 43 quintillion possible combinations. As a non-math person, I had to look up the term "quintillion." It is a thousand raised to the power of six, times ten to the eighteenth power. Now you know.

Even Erno Rubik, the puzzle's Hungarian inventor, took a month trying to figure out the solution after he concocted the rotating Cube from rubber bands and wood blocks. Intending it solely as a visual aid for his students in interior design, he never meant to create what some call the most popular toy in the world, selling more than 350 million since it was first mass-marketed in the early 1980's.

That was over forty years ago, before Pa-pa and I were even married. We celebrated our thirty-ninth anniversary on March 20, which is also Beenie's birthday. And, unlike most of his and his brother Heero's past birthday celebrations, this one was very small, consisting of only his immediate family and two sets of grandparents. No bounce house. No trip to Chuck E. Cheese. No lively gathering of fellow second-graders.

This is because Beenie's eighth birthday fell victim to the coronavirus and its current restrictions on large-group gatherings. As the number of positive cases continues to escalate daily, the virus is proving to be a puzzle of sorts itself. The countries of the world, like cubes of wood on a common axis, restructure data daily, turning and twisting to try to solve the puzzle the coronavirus imposes. We walk here on new ground. The game plan changes things.

Beenie and the other six grandkids remain insulated from the effects, implications, and what-ifs associated with the coronavirus pandemic of 2020. They are as safe as possible in the homes of caring parents who look out for their health, happiness, and safe-keeping. I am thankful beyond measure for these families, and I look forward to the day we are all together again with this outbreak behind us.

Until then, Beenie Boy, keep working at that Cube. Watch those experts, especially that guy with the record of 3.47 seconds. You might grow up to invent something spectacular or solve some bigger puzzle. Our world will always need people like you.
 

02-02-2020

Look at those numerals. Those eight digits, made entirely of 2's and 0's, form a palindrome reading the same forward and backward. How unusual is that? How fortuitous? How can a date like that bring anything other than memorable and amazing things?

It can't.

Last Sunday was destined for greatness in at least three ways, which I enumerate here from least to most important:

1. Punxsutawney Phil, the weather-predicting groundhog, did not see his shadow this year, thus predicting an early spring. On the typical 02-02, this hairy little meteorologist from Pennsylvania shows no sympathy for those of us suffering the usual icy, snowy Midwest winter. For whatever reason, he took pity on us and, if he did see his shadow, he had the decency to keep it to himself.

This is good news for people in our neck of the woods. We are tired of fighting cold winds, treacherous driving conditions, and unpredictable event cancellations. However, the temps last Sunday hovered around an unseasonable 70 degrees, giving us a big enough taste of spring to get us really excited.

2. The Kansas City Chiefs won the Super Bowl for the first time in fifty years. This is a big thing to Missourians, with the excitement multiplying logarithmically the closer you get to Kansas City. The game four nights ago capped off a season plagued by injuries and a post-season of dramatic comebacks. Super Bowl LIV itself brought a nail-biter which saw quarterback sensation Patrick Mahomes and company work their magic in the game's final six minutes to convert a 20-10 deficit to a 31-20 win.

3. Pooh celebrated his eleventh birthday, which he observed in grand style beginning with a visit from Pa-pa and me Thursday through Saturday. We took along a Chiefs AFC West Division Champ shirt for him and a dozen cupcakes with Chiefs decorations.

On Saturday he had a football-themed party with his friends, and on Sunday we traded text messages and photos as the big game came down to the wire. In our family, we will always remember that Pooh turned eleven years old on the day the Chiefs won the Super Bowl--02-02-2020. Pooh loves sports, especially football, so this makes both events extra special.

Over the past few days my Facebook "memories" have been popping up with pictures of Pooh on some of his previous birthdays. There was the one from ten years ago where he was sitting in his high chair with his face covered in chocolate icing. In another ten years, he will be a grown man of twenty-one. This is scary.

Years ago, I could never have imagined life with seven grandchildren. Now, I can't imagine it without them. Birthdays always seem to bring reflections on how fast the kids are growing up and how time is getting away.

But enough of that. Spring is coming, the Chiefs are champs, and Pooh has reached the fun age of eleven. It is a happy time for us, and this boy is a huge reason for that. 

Catching Up

As a kid growing up, I often heard adults around me talking about how "time flies." I couldn't imagine how they could think such a thing, when, clearly, an eternity seemed to stretch from Christmas to Christmas and from one of my birthdays to the next.

Now, however, I understand too well what they meant. Thanksgiving has already come and gone, baby Packee has made his first visit to Googie's house, and tomorrow I will turn the calendar to December. That will give me a frantic twenty-four days to finish shopping, wrap, send cards, and throw a tree into the corner of the living room. How did I ever have time to work? I remember the older adults of my childhood saying that, too.

Situated as I am here on the short track to Christmas, I can't see how in the world I will have the time to store away all the unrecorded "treasures" of the last several months here in "Googie's Attic." Yet, because these events are all momentous in their own ways, they merit at least a cursory mention to secure their place in this record the kids and I will want to look back at someday.

I have often noticed how newspapers, at year's end, will go back to review their top stories of the year. So, taking a cue from them, I am looking back over the past three months to consider several topics that I fully intended to write posts about but, for various reasons, didn't get to. Though each of them deserves its own spotlight, they will have to share the stage this time. So here is a little "collection," of sorts, that I wish to relegate to at least this small corner of Googie's attic.

Aunt Julie comes back. In August, Pa-pa and I were surprised and delighted when Julie, our AFS daughter from three years ago, made an impromptu two-week visit to the States. Of course, high on her list of priorities was a visit to Sooby, Bootsie, Zoomie (in front), and Pooh in Kansas. She even brought a little stuffed bunny, named "Miffy," for baby Packee, whose arrival was still a month away. She also brought us loads of stroopwafels and Dutch candy. Pa-pa and I look forward to traveling to the Netherlands in the spring to visit Julie and her family there.

Green Machine wins Zombie soccer tournament. In late October son Teebo (back left) entered this team of future soccer pros in tourney play at the end of a season that saw them go undefeated. True to form, they dribbled and shot their way through the tournament, winning all four of their post-season games and maintaining their perfect record. Both Heero (far left) and Beenie (second from right) played their hearts out and contributed goals to the team effort. Pa-pa and I didn't miss one exciting moment of tournament play, and we look forward to more Green Machine action next fall.

Moose, saucy wench, pioneer girl, and storm trooper rock Halloween night. Pa-pa and I made a quick overnight stay in Kansas Halloween night as these four candy-mongers took to the streets of Maple Hill. Next year, they may not be able to cover quite so much ground with little Packee toddling alongside. Hopefully, we will get to see him on his first trick-or-treating excursion and find out whether or not he has inherited the family penchant for chocolate.

Googie's "kiddie bus" gets totaled. No, November did not start out well, and I normally would not give such a disappointing event space in our "Attic." But over the past four years all six grandkids and I have traveled so many miles together that our gold van was like our good friend. There was nothing like tooling around with all of them in tow and giggling at the overhead antics of SpongeBob, the Ninja Turtles, Elmo's Potty Time, and the like.

I am thankful beyond words that none of them were with me the day I happened to be in an intersection when another driver ran through a red light. Despite the painful bumps and bruises and the seemingly  hopeless tangle of insurance issues, I know that I am very lucky that the outcome, whatever it may be, will not be as bad as it could have been.

Great-grandma Susie celebrates her ninety-fifth birthday. Just before Thanksgiving, my mom turned ninety-five. She is an integral factor in our family dynamic, and it has been a privilege to watch her enjoy her great-grandchildren (she has nine) and to see her develop a relationship with all of them. They will be quick to tell you that she bakes good cookies and sews pretty quilts.

So--that wasn't exactly a New Year's Eve countdown or anything, but you can see that some big events have affected our lives over the past several months. They are things that have made us laugh, cheer, feel sorrowful, and rejoice. This period of our lives is a microcosm of the whole of life itself, and, hopefully, you can see why I thought it needed to be remembered.

Looking at my calendar, I am afraid I may not make it back to the blog until after New Year's. But I'm sure there will be holiday stories to tell then and photos to share. For the moment, I feel reasonably "caught up." But in only a few short hours I will have to turn over the calendar page, and once again--already--December and I will step up to the starting line and the race will be on.

Heero's Knock-Out Party

There is just something special about turning six. In Heero's case, the past year marks his transformation from a little boy reluctant to climb ladders and sleep in the dark into a regular kid who swings a bat, dribbles a soccer ball, shoots hoops, and rocks kindergarten.

A short six months ago Pa-pa and I were attending his preschool graduation. It was during that ceremony that I got the first inkling of Heero's future plans. We listened as we heard from children who aspired to be police officers, fire fighters, and all the career positions you might expect from a group of four- and five-year-olds. Then, toward the end of the program, we heard our sixth grandchild tell the world what he wants to be when he grows up. Apparently, Heero wants to be . . . a boxer.

I thought of Muhammed Ali. I thought of Rocky Balboa. I imagined that sweet little boy standing up there on the stage sporting a designer mouth guard and wiping blood off his face with his forearm. In my mind I watched him dance around the ring, delivering his own well-placed punches while dodging those of his opponent. And, of course, since he is my grandson, I imagined the referee counting to ten, declaring the opponent OUT, and raising Heero's sweaty little arm up in victory amid the deafening cheers of an arena full of devoted fans.

So when his sixth birthday rolled around this past week, I could see my mission clearly. I must do my part to help this boy realize his career dream. Yes, this was a no-brainer. I must buy him boxing gloves. A tip from his mama clued me in on the color red. Even the casual observer will admit that he already looks the part.

The party where Heero acquired his gloves was a knock-out in its own right, building on a LEGO theme. There were LEGO favors for all his friends and cousins, as he models below.

Other prize-winning aspects of the party included a pinata shaped like the Number 6, a LEGO version of the Twister game, and a magic show performed by the birthday boy himself.

Rounding out the fun, in addition to all the candy treasures that flew out of the pinata, were pizza and, of course, the obligatory cake.

To cap off Heero's birthday week, I got to be his guest at his first school Grandparent's Day, where we wove a yarn spider web, combined our artistic efforts to "Draw a Grandma," and picked out two books for him at the school's book fair. (It is good, I suppose, that we are encouraging reading and other skills as a back-up plan just in case the boxing thing doesn't work out.)

And so, I close with a birthday wish for this amazing all-grown-up boy who, until just six weeks ago, was my youngest grandchild: I have loved every moment of my time with you this week. You seemed to jump into this world landing on both feet and have kept things interesting ever since. I hope you are always this ready to embrace new adventures and punch through any obstacles that try to get in your way. It won't be possible to win every fight that comes along, but I will always be among your biggest fans and you will always be Heero to me.

"We Can Fix This"

A couple weeks ago, I commandeered daughter Cookie's kitchen island for Operation Homework and enlisted kids from grades 2, 3, 5, and 7 to take down the enemy before the bedtime ambush. Although it was a maneuver I had grown rusty at, our mission garnered some modest success over the week and a half I was there, and we enjoyed a lot of good fun and conversation in the process.

On one night in particular, Bootsie (who had celebrated her ninth birthday only a few days before) was going head to head with some grammar, generating some discussion of sentence subjects, direct objects, and the like. Her assignment involved some parsing and diagramming, and she was having a little trouble determining the roles and relationships among nouns in a given sentence. I watched as she wrote an object in the subject spot.

We talked about the different ways verbs work, and how some nouns denote "doers" while others designate "receivers."  She realized her mistake, erased it, corrected it, and looked thoughtfully up at me.

"You know," she said, "some people just say, 'Oh look. You did that wrong, didn't you?'"

"Really?" I asked, thinking she might be referring to me. "What would I say?"

A few seconds of thoughtful silence, and then this: "You would say, 'We can fix this.'" She caught me off-guard.

Right off the top of my head, I can't recall many times when anything anyone said made me feel better than these simple, sincere words from this new nine-year-old. I love that someone might see my efforts in this positive way. I like the thought that someone might look to me for hope, for reassurance, for ways out of tough spots, for companionship when problems need solving.

So here I sit, a full, unprecedented twenty-four days late with birthday-blog wishes for this sweet kid. Although busy may be a reason, it does not hold up as an excuse. There is a problem here, and I must fix this. Now.

Happy birthday, Bootsie. In the chaotic whirlwind that blew in with a new baby brother, you slipped quietly from eight years old to nine. In spite of that, though, there were presents and cake (twice) and lots of good thoughts that were just for you. You got toys, activity kits, and costumes to feed your creative spirit, and I was glad to arrive while the celebration was still ongoing and fresh. I can't wait to return in a few days for Halloween.

Your great-grandma and I are proud to see that you are hand-stitching quilt blocks from these squares of fabric she gave you.

Don't get frustrated, though, if you find a row of stitching that is crooked or coming loose. Don't worry if the pattern doesn't turn out quite like you intended. As you are finding out, everything doesn't always come together smoothly, especially right off the bat. Some of the things you want to accomplish take a lot of time.

So be patient with yourself, and stay positive. Like all of us, you are bound to make a few mistakes along the way. But when that happens, just remind yourself, "We can fix this"-- and then try your best to do just that.

Packee

I had forgotten how it feels to hold a newborn baby. After all, nearly six years had gone by since the last new grandkid, and my mind had moved on from nursery rhymes to The Hardy Boys and from first steps to dance steps. By every indication, it seemed safe to dispense with the baby toys, the high chair, the toddler bed.

But as it turns out, the sweet song of little people in my life plays on. At the bottom of this page of music, a repeat sign has magically appeared. Baby Packee, born at 8:37 a.m. on Sept. 30, is adding another verse and his own variation to the familiar melody of the past twelve years. I have just returned home from a ten-day stay with him and his family as we all adjust to a family dynamic so dramatically (but joyfully) changed.

Baby Packee joins four adoring siblings who at present clamor and compete to hold him. Below, on the night he was born, Zoomie gets the honors as Sooby, Pooh, and Bootsie look on.

Since then, everyone has had plenty of turns, including me. This photo, taken right before I left to come home five days ago, pretty well verifies that I still have my knack for baby-holding and assures Packee's place as suitable subject matter for "Googie's Attic."

A few friends have asked me how I chose "Packee" as the blog nickname for this seventh addition to Googie's cast of characters. In the case of his siblings, I have always added a double-o to the first letter of their real names to form the nicknames used to reference them in the blog. So when it happened that this baby's first name begins with the same letter as that of his brother "Pooh," I had a hard time coming up with another name beginning P-O-O. (Think about it--the options are not too promising.)

So I decided to include the double-e pattern from the names of his cousins Beenie and Heero and to position those letters at the end of the word. Since the baby's real-life initals are P.A.C., I determined I could add a "k" and call him "Packee." Not only does this honor his real initials, but it also honors a TV character I loved as a child in the late 1950s--Packy Lambert. Packy, played by Roger Mobley, was in the cast of the Saturday morning TV show Fury, a series about a beautiful black horse living on a ranch in California.

Our little Packee is three weeks old today. He arrived five days before his sister Bootsie's ninth birthday, which was pretty well eclipsed by his arrival. I am late with her birthday blog, I know, but maybe she will be so busy with her new little brother that she won't notice.

How To Wait for a Baby

The self-help book market abounds with advice for families who are expecting a new addition. Indeed, many writers have turned their first-hand baby-related experiences into volumes of "how-to" instructions in an effort to help others conquer the challenges that arise when a whole new person suddenly sabotages their comfortable family dynamic.

How To Help Your Baby Stay Asleep While You Run Your Vacuum--I'm sure there's a book for that. How To Trick Your Baby into Loving Strained Peas--there has to be one for that, too. How To Potty-Train--now, that's a big one. Anyone who has ever had a baby or even looked at one from across the room recognizes these as essential survival skills for parents, grandparents, and others who find themselves caring for a tiny human being while trying to maintain some vestige of a normal life.

I am surprised that I have not tried my own hand at writing for this lucrative market. My credentials certainly qualify me to do so. I have been a Googie now for twelve years and three months. I have a grand total of six grandkids, who all arrived over a six-year period. Somehow, Sooby is already twelve, and Heero, the youngest, will be six in just over a month.

And then, there's Packee, our imminent seventh, due yesterday. Apparently, he has failed to check his watch and will now be late to the party. This lack of consideration is making us all crazy. We are all so anxious, we can hardly stand it. Yesterday I forgot to take Pooh to soccer practice. The day before that, I took him, but it was a day too early. Today, Zoomie had a meltdown because he lost a piece of candy. It occurs to me that we could all use some advice on how to wait for a baby.

Or, maybe, we have some advice to offer, After all, Packee's four siblings and I waited all day yesterday and today. During that time we did come up with some coping strategies that may be worth sharing. Here are some of the things you can do if you, too, find yourself waiting for a baby.

1. Play charades, being sure to narrow the subject field a bit. Sooby, Bootsie, and I had the best luck with "nursery rhymes and fairy tales." If I do say so myself, I did quite a stunning job with "Hey Diddle Diddle" (but we won't talk about the "cow" part, okay?).

2. Look up techniques for the diabolo, a Chinese yo-yo your grandson can do tricks with. Pooh is pretty good at this, but he was having trouble with the diabolo wobbling too much. I am proud to say we found a trouble-shooting video on You Tube that fixed the problem.

3. Let the kids snuggle with you in your bed in the early morning, even if they are almost too old. Expecting a little brother is hard work, and they need a break. Bootsie and Zoomie took advantage of this opportunity.

4. Watch Kids' TV with them if it is a weekend night. You may, as I did, meet a new cartoon character. In my case, this was a mouse named Geronimo Stilton. Look him up--he is very smart, and his niece and nephew are cute.

I could go on, but you get the idea. The best way to wait for a baby is to spend the time with others who are also waiting and feeling the pain even more dramatically than you do.

That said, no one is more ready for this baby than my daughter Cookie. Yesterday she had a couple contractions in close proximity and went to take a shower because she thought it might be time. But it wasn't, so today she played the organ for a wedding. She has her own ways of coping.

Here is a photo of Cookie back at Easter time, already thinking about baby Packee. I'm sure that, right now, it must be impossible to think of anything else. I hope this delivery goes well and goes soon.

Because of previous plans and other obligations, I have come home now and will very likely miss being with the family for the birth. But already, I am jumping out of my chair every time a message dings into my phone.

It is even harder to wait for a baby from this distance. I can see that, in the coming hours and days, I may have to tweak my list.

The Fairest of Them All

When you grow up in a town that includes the state fairgrounds, you might, after so many years, begin to take the Fair for granted. You might develop a kind of ho-hum attitude toward it, and--worst case scenario--you might become so apathetic toward it that you don't bother to go at all during the Fair's traditional eleven-day August run.

That is, however, not the case with me. Even though I now live thirty-four miles south of my hometown, sometimes referred to as "The State Fair City," I can't recall a year when I didn't go to the Fair at least once. When I was a little kid, it ranked right up there with my birthday and Christmas as a highlight of the calendar year. For me, the Fair (which I honor even now with a capital letter) was big stuff.

The Fair is even bigger stuff now that I have six grandchildren to share it with. Ranking from five to twelve years old, they are all the perfect ages to enjoy the variety of entertainment and activity the Fair offers. Largely to humor their Googie, both families of children make it a priority to spend at least one day together scoping out freebies, indulging themselves with Fair food, checking out the goings-on, and getting their wristbands' worth of rides on the midway.

Although this year's event enabled us to once again enjoy some of our favorite Fair features, we got the chance to try out some new experiences as well. The photos that follow focus on some of the things we took on this year that we don't usually do.

If you have followed "Googie's Attic" through the Fairs of previous years, you know about our yellow T-shirts, which all of us except Heero (far right) and Beenie (far left--he is wearing a lookalike) still fit into. Wearing bright yellow, we do not do much at the Fair that goes unnoticed. We look a little like a flock of ducks, but--hey--two years ago, when the kids were four through ten, these shirts definitely helped us to keep the flock together. This may be our final yellow-shirt year, but you will be glad to know these trusty garments will be retired with honor, having served their purpose nobly.

This was the kids' first year to see the massive, majestic Budweiser Clydesdales up close and personal. Placards listing the horses' birth dates gave the kids a chance to brush up on their summer vacation math skills. Most of them found a horse with either a birthday near their own or one who was close in age.

 
It was also our first year to catch a hug from Sparky the Fire Dog, as Beenie, Heero, and Bootsie do here. A quick check on the website sparky.org reminds me that Sparky first began his fire prevention campaign in 1951, the year before I was born. Since then, he has appeared as an advocate of fire safety in coloring books, comic books, and videos.

Sixty-eight years may be an impressive career for a fire dog, but this year marks the seventy-fifth birthday of Sparky's cohort, Smokey the Bear. Here, Zoomie and Heero celebrate with Smokey, a Fair icon who still moves his arm up and down, points his finger at you, and delivers a recorded fire safety message with the push of a button, as Heero demonstrates.

This last photo shows Zoomie and Pooh visiting with my friend Kathleen, who is living a dream by impersonating Laura Ingalls Wilder, the much-loved author of the Little House on the Prairie series of children's books. Following her presentation, "Laura" encouraged participation from the audience and took time to answer impromptu questions. Sooby, Pooh, Bootsie, and Zoomie are familiar with Wilder's books as bedtime story material, so each of them--as well as their cousin Beenie--readily offered a question that Kathleen, in turn, fielded expertly.

What happened to Nellie Oleson (this "mean" girl was actually a composite of two real-life meanies)? To the Boasts (the Ingalls' neighbors)? To Pa (played by Michael Landon in the TV series)? To Mary (Laura's sister who went blind)? How many times in all did you move?

I was proud of the kids for their interest, attention, and willingness to speak out with their questions. If theirs are questions you wonder about as well, you may want to invite "Laura" to tailor a presentation for your group. (You can e-mail Kathleen Boswell at boswell@iland.net if you wish more info.)

The Clydesdales, Sparky, Smokey's birthday, and Laura Ingalls Wilder (plus the fact that everyone can now drive the bumper cars unassisted--this is BIG!) were just some of this year's Fair highlights. I can't express how much it means to me for these kids to share this much-loved institution of my own childhood.

When next August rolls around, it will be hard to top the novel experiences of this year's Fair--but there is this to consider: We plan to be pushing a stroller. It will be Baby Packee's first Fair, and that alone will make it special.

The Splash

You look at this photo and a thousand questions race through your mind. How can five children, holding hands and running toward the edge of the pool, possibly hit the water at the same time? Should they land at the same time? Will Zoomie (in red) and Heero (in blue) catch up with the rest of the group? Will Zoomie be able to keep a grip on his nose in the seconds to follow?

Will any unsuspecting swimmers be decapitated? Will the lady in the lounge chair behind the kids have a dry square inch left on her body? Is she thinking it might be about time to pack up her flip-flops and go home? 

Will the splash that is imminent make The Guinness Book of World Records? Do these kids have a future in synchronized swimming?

Let me assure you that the aforementioned splash was indeed huge--every time this scene was replayed during the course of last week. And luckily, no pool patron, either in or out of the water at any time, was harmed in the making of this picture.

Last week, all six grandkids came to Googie's house for a week of summertime fun. During the mornings they attended Kids College classes at our local community college. Sooby (who was busy talking to a friend during all of the splashing) attended a class in theatre arts; Bootsie designed beautiful creations in "Fabric Fun"; and Pooh explored the Oregon Trail. The other three boys attended the same workshop in Sensory Science, making tornadoes in bottles, making kinetic sand (one of the boys called it "Connecticut sand"), and constructing a primitive "lava lamp" from oil and water.

I think the thing that caught me by surprise most was the sheer amount of food six children can consume. It didn't take me long to learn that, when eating out at Steak 'n' Shake, the kids' menu is no longer an option. Thank goodness, though, for Sonic's half-price milkshakes after 8 p.m. Those gave everyone a chance to pick a special treat for just under $15.

At home we went through a large pot of navy beans and ham, a large pot of green beans with bacon and new potatoes, a large pot of chicken and noodles, a watermelon, three pans of cinnamon rolls, a big pot of corn on the cob, two blenders of banana-peanut butter smoothies, a 13 x 9" spaghetti casserole, two boxes of Texas toast, a huge bowl of fresh salad, a huge bowl of fruit salad--and those are just the things I can remember. It seemed like I was always planning a meal, grocery shopping while they were at school, cooking, or cleaning up the kitchen. That would be my only complaint if I had one--that and the fact that I sometimes forgot to factor in enough food for me and Pa-pa.

When we weren't eating, it was a week of Lego-building, superhero costumes, Barbie-dressing, and Ninja Turtle movies in the car while we were on the road. There was even a night when we reverted to our old habit of singing together at bedtime, with Pooh and me delivering our rousing rendition of "King of the Road" after everyone else had fallen asleep.

The pool picture offers a good visual metaphor for our week together, the week when all the grandkids joined hands and plunged into the otherwise ordinariness of my summer. The house is quiet now that they are gone, and I miss them.

On the Verge

I was not ready for this birthday. It might as well have crept up behind me and thrown a gunny sack over my head. Although I am usually more than excited for birthdays, this one totally blind-sided me.

I don't mean my own birthday, the one that came a month ago today and pushed me a notch closer to that next big decade. I mean the one that sneaked up yesterday and hammered me like a hurricane. Yesterday was the twelfth birthday of my first grandchild, the original Googie-maker. And as candles flickered atop a cheesecake in Kansas--and Sooby shopped for the first earrings for her newly pierced ears--I was here in Missouri thinking about her standing there on the threshold of her teens.

I don't know how to do this. With the six grandkids coming in a space of six years, I am used to thinking of "kid" things for us to make and eat and play and do. Now that one of those children is a beautiful young lady, I am anticipating the first major change in our dynamic. The teens open up territory I have not explored in a while. My step feels a little uncertain here.

The photo above shows Sooby a week ago tonight with her bag of early birthday presents from Pa-pa and me. Since her brother's birthday falls five days before hers, we often celebrate the two of them in one trip. Still, I have saved a few thoughts and wishes to share with her tonight.

Happy birthday, Sooby-Soo. Just last weekend your cousins and I were looking at a digicam video I took of you, Pooh, and Bootsie when you were not yet four. You were lying on the floor, giggling, with an orange bristle block on your belly button. I barely blink, and here you are today with a pretty new orange dress, a sweet smile, and--always--those gorgeous blue eyes. Where did those eight years go?

Pa-pa and I are certainly proud of you for your achievements in school, music, and 4-H, but the thing that touches us most is your kind heart, your thoughtfulness toward others, and your wish to do what is good and right. I used to cringe when you were always wanting to help in the kitchen, but now I welcome that help. You bake great desserts and can cook up a mean griddle full of bacon and pancakes. I imagine that is something that will just keep getting better as you check off those teen years.

As the oldest, you will be the one who blazes the teen trail just ahead of your siblings and cousins. When your new little brother arrives in a few months, you will be a great help for your mama and an able caregiver for him.

And, if the cause is not hopeless, you may be able to re-train me to interact appropriately with a teenager. I can't help thinking we are on the verge of a great new adventure. We have a year to figure that one out, and I'm betting we will be okay. 





 

A Convertible for Zoomie

Sometimes I find myself with an awkward-sized birthday present that no bag from Dollar Tree will work for. This was the case earlier this week, when Pa-pa and I took a road trip to Kansas to celebrate Zoomie's seventh birthday.

With no workable bag, I then have to improvise, this time with some leftover Spiderman Christmas paper. Look closely--the tiny sprigs of holly, though discreet, are a dead giveaway.

Zoomie didn't know it at the time, but he was about to get the only convertible I could find on my down-to-the-last-minute shopping trip last Thursday. Despite the fact that we are in the middle of summer, all the convertibles seemed to be on car lots rather than on the toy shelves at Target.

Except this one--and I almost missed it. That's because this blue plastic convertible came a part of a tow truck/trailer set, shown here with Zoomie, Bootsie, and Pooh.

If I do say so myself, the truck is a pretty cool rig with all the bells and whistles--or at least the working horn, lights, and backup/engine noises--any self-respecting seven-year-old could want. It even includes winch and harness for moving the convertible on and off the trailer. The toy is a neat birthday story in its own right, but the story behind the gift makes it even better.

When Zoomie and his family visited us a couple weeks ago, their visit coincided with that of some other very special house guests. The evening of everyone's arrival marked the first time in fifty-one years that Pa-pa had seen a friend he served with in Vietnam in the late 1960s. It was the culmination of an effort he and I had begun as a long shot via Facebook message last September after Pa-pa recognized the man's name in a veterans' newsletter.

To make a long story short, the man and his wife answered our message (from me--a name they didn't recognize) several weeks later. Phone calls between the guys followed, and finally the two reunited when the couple took a short detour from their vacation route and stopped to spend the night with us. 

Here's where the convertible comes in--they were driving one. As they prepared to drive off, they put the top down and prepared for a ride toward the Black Hills on a perfect summer day. Zoomie, in particular, was fascinated by the way the car top receded behind the back seat, leaving its occupants to enjoy the open air. He talked about it all day, and that was when I knew, somehow, there would have to be a convertible for his birthday.

We left Zoomie and his family after our birthday lunch together at McDonald's (his choice), but I have been thinking ever since then about him and the things I wish for him as he turns seven and prepares to head into the second grade.

Happy birthday, Zoomie-Zoo. I wish you a great summer of fun. You are riding your bike so well now, and I hope you can put the finishing touches on those swimming lessons. I hope your allergies and asthma improve with the testing and treatments planned for summer. In some ways, you have had to grow up beyond your years, and in others you have hung tenaciously to your role as the "little brother."

In just a few short months, you will no longer be the "baby." Little Pookie (trying out a blog name here) will be the youngest, and for the first time you will be a "big brother." I am sure you will be a good one, and he will learn a lot from you about the sweetness and kindness and gentleness that have always been a part of what you are.

I hope you meet the coming changes bravely, sweet boy, and embrace this transition. This time next year, when you are turning eight, someone else should be about ready to learn just how that blue convertible works.

The Bunion

It is just a matter of bad timing.

Just as I am exhibiting some of the less attractive features of growing older, my grandkids seem to be taking an uncanny interest in my anatomical anomalies. Translation: If something about me looks weird, the kids are anything but shy about pointing it out and demanding explanations.

Several years ago, when Zoomie asked me why I had "witch fingernails," I didn't think much about it. A chronic nail biter through my childhood, teen, and even young adult years, I was proud that my nails (all natural, I might add) had grown to medium-long and were good for gently scratching little backs at bedtime.

It wasn't much different last summer when Pooh seemed to be staring at me with a strange, curious expression. Finally, in a tone of wonder and amazement, he pointed out a "really long hair" growing from my chin. Those stray single hairs, which I like to call "chin wires," are not all that unusual these days.

But during the past week I have been asked if a mole on my collarbone is "a raisin" (honestly, it is nowhere near THAT big) and why there is a "little seed" on my lower lip. This, in case you too are curious, was an especially persistent flax seed from my Uncle Sam breakfast cereal (those little rascals have a mind of their own).

"Why do you eat cereal with seeds?" Bootsie asked, to which I replied, "because it has 10 grams of fiber per serving." This, of course, led to a discussion of the benefits of dietary fiber, a conversation which needs not be repeated here.

Perhaps the most interesting of our recent chats, however, centered on the bunion that protrudes from my right foot.

As you can see, the abnormal and rather unsightly condition of my foot offers tantalizing fodder for conversation. When interrogated, I spilled out the sad story of The Curse of the Narrow Heel. This, I told the kids, often required me to wear shoes that were too narrow for the wider part of my foot in order for them not to slip up and down on my heels. (Shoes with too-big heels, I explained, tended to fall off at inopportune times.)

The fact that my right foot is a little bigger than my left one only compounded the problem, resulting in a bunion that has worsened gradually over the years. The kids seemed satisfied with this explanation--but first they all had to actually touch the bunion to see if I was making all this up. "Poor little bunion," Pooh said, and I considered the subject closed.

That is, until the kids' parents brought them, from the weekend garage sales in our little lake village, a magnetic dart board. In the process of tossing darts and comparing scores, they found that some darts, because of their magnetism, stuck sideways out from the board rather than landing flatly on the face of it.

The kids labeled these errant shots "bunions." "Bunions" in darts, I guess, are kind of like "leaners" in horseshoes; they are not quite "ringers," but they ought to count for something.  Following are some of the "scores" I heard coming from the kids' room during an especially competitive game of darts:

"Twenty points and a bunion."

"Oh, man, I just missed getting a bunion."

"Oh, wow--TWO bunions this time."

"Darn it, I didn't even get a bunion."

"One more bunion, and I would have won."

"I beat you by a bunion."

Most people wish secretly and fervently for something to be named after them. They hope for one thing that will stand out long after they are gone--that one thing that will honor their memory in years to come.

I am so proud to have accomplished this while I am still living. I foresee that, down the line, the game of darts will be forever changed--all because of me and my unsightly right foot. At least, I think that will happen.

To the normal eye, I may appear to be just a Googie with a wire on my chin, a raisin on my collarbone, and a seed on my lip. But as you see here, I am so much more than that. I can only hope the full significance of this will dawn on you the next time you find yourself in a heated game of darts.

Goin' Fishin'

Pa-pa and I have high hopes for the prospect of grandkid fishing. That's partly why, nearly two years ago, we picked up lock, stock, and barrel to relocate our lives half an hour south near Truman Lake.

We had reason to think this was a good idea. Our son Teebo and his boys, Heero and Beenie, were already spending a lot of time at our farm pond in pursuit of the wily schools of bass, which we introduced there as tiny baby fish many years ago. Beenie, particularly, has embraced the fine art of fishing to the point where he enjoys posing with his catch after reeling it in.

He has even learned to cast proficiently and to contemplate the pond bank patiently while waiting for his bobber to first rock and then sink.

With Beenie already hooked (pun intended), Heero not far behind, and the other two grandsons ready to play catch-up, Pa-pa deemed the time right to add this brand new beauty to our fleet:

This way we can introduce the boys (and maybe the two girls as well) to the joys of fishing in the lake for crappie (pronounced "KROP-ee," in case you are not from around these parts), undoubtedly the most delicious fresh-water fish to ever tantalize the taste buds of a human being.

John Lasseter, a Walt Disney filmmaker and executive, expresses concern about the frantic pace at which many kids experience childhood today. "I worry about kids today not having time to build a tree house or ride a bike or go fishing," he says. "I worry that life is getting faster and faster."

Pa-pa and I want to make sure that doesn't happen here at the lake. Since the kids now range in age from five to eleven, we hope to give them the chance to enjoy the recreational opportunities this area offers. We also hope these six keep us young enough to offer this opportunity to any additional grandkids that come along, including the one slated to arrive at the end of September.

We learned just this week that he is a boy--and we sure hope he will like to fish.