The boys are back in town......

Yesterday was my daughter's 5-year wedding anniversary. I joked to her on Facebook, asking if the 5 year anniversary was the Sake anniversary or the Hangar 24 Wheat Beer anniversary. She replied with , 'It's the will-you-watch-my-kids anniversary. Silly question! They will be here this afternoon, and I am getting excited.

Of course, although they both love their Grandma, they are devout worshipers of my son- their beloved Uncle Tracy. A month or so ago, my daughter and I were conversing on the phone. Her older son continued to interrupt, saying he wanted to talk to Grandma. Being the strict mom she is, she made him wait until we were finished with our conversation before letting him get on the phone. What was so important he needed to ask me? "Where's Tracy?"

I try not to let it wound me!

They will be upset that their Uncle Tracy is leaving for the weekend. He is being whisked away to a mountain cabin for fun in the snow with his Aunt Laura (whom he worships)

It's up to Grandma and Grandpa to keep the boys entertained.

I fear I will be engaged in a duel with light sabers before the day is out.
May the force be with me!

Grandma's got a brand new job.

Four years ago, I became a grandmother for the first time. Shortly thereafter, I became engaged to my husband.

Not that getting engaged wasn’t a big deal, but it certainly took a back seat to becoming a grandparent. And when both you and your fiancé have been married before, it’s a bit trite to make a huge ‘thing’ of it. He asked, I accepted, and we are as committed to one another now as we were then.

At the company I was working, the new owner came in after a two week business trip, asking what was new. “I became a grandma, and I got engaged!” I pronounced happily.

“Two things you don’t often hear in the same sentence,” he laughed. Story of my life.

I am no longer at that company, which is another story altogether. Unemployment, especially in this bizarre economic climate, has been a lesson in humility, perseverance and creative storytelling. I have never in my life been out of work so long; I have had one type of job or another since I was 15.

The upside to not working is that I have been more available to my family. Last year, as my second grandchild was preparing to enter this world, I had the pleasure of keeping Grandson #1 with me for several days. A week or so ago, I enjoyed a lovely day at the beach with my daughter and grandsons, my son and his friend.

Now, my son goes back to school and I am back to work.

When you are in your 40’s, with little more than a high school education, albeit decades of experience, finding a job is daunting. Reading the news, with stories of layoffs, high unemployment rates and ‘charming’ tales of high level executives taking jobs at McDonalds, and you could find yourself looking at Prozac in a whole new light!

Job hunting these days is just plain exhausting. You don’t open the paper to the ‘want ads’ anymore, you go online. This is not difficult for me, just irritating. Every major job board on the internet is flooded with scams.

“Make money on the internet!”

“Survey Takers”

Posting your resume on these boards means that every insurance company in America will contact you to become one of their “Independent Contractors” and your in-box or spam file will be choked with offers to help start a business in Nigeria, get a job with eBay or make millions with Google.

Even the ones that appear to be legitimate jobs turn out to be recruitment centers (fees) or ‘colleges’ (more fees).

Then you thin it down to the ones that are honest-to-goodness job openings.

“Data Entry – entry level – BS degree required.” Forgive me, but to quote the vernacular of teenage text-monsters, WTF?

Honestly, if I was an employer, and, due to the economic climate, I could get a college-educated employee for $10 bucks an hour, I’d probably be tempted. But you just have to know that person is going to pack up their B.S. and move along just as soon as they can, right?

Don’t get me wrong, I believe a college education is a valuable commodity; it just irks me to no end when that becomes the sole criteria on which an employee’s potential is based. Common sense and experience, both gained in the school of hard knocks, will kick the proverbial hindquarters of a college degree all day and twice on Sunday.

And somebody please tell me where these ‘personality assessment’ tests came from? Honestly, if I answer all the questions “right” and get hired as a cashier at the Home Depot, does it really guarantee that I will show up on time and not steal from the register?

Hasn’t it occurred to anyone that those who score well on those tests are just very good liars?

What happened to courtesy? If a prospective employer calls you in for an interview, then says they will be in touch, then it is just plain unprofessional for that employer not to call back. It takes 90 seconds to make the phone call, especially if it is only to tell you that they chose someone else. Have the receptionist do it. I heard the argument that the employer is testing to see how assertive the prospect is, but that’s a cop-out – the prospect was out of the running anyway, why would the employer care?

Grow a pair and make the call!

I recently interviewed for a position, was called back for a second interview, was told I was one of the front runners for the job, only to be told that the company had decided to restructure and not fill the position (and I had to call them to get that information). My understanding is that there were several of us in the running, so that’s 4 or 5 of us, who spent time, as well as gas and wear on our vehicles, to two separate interviews, only to be told, “Just kidding! No job here!”

In another recent interview, the prospective employer visibly winced at my salary expectations. Not that she thought I expected too much, she felt I was undervaluing myself. I don’t bear her any ill will for thinking that, but I almost broke down crying at that.

When I was initially contacted about the job, the first thing the recruiter asked is what my salary was at my last job. I answered honestly, although quickly explaining that I had fully resigned myself to the idea that I would not be getting that dollar amount to start out with and she was audibly (and loudly) relieved.

A few months ago, a prospective employer emailed me, asking for a salary history. I emailed it to them- again, answering honestly. I never heard from them again.

I lost out on a low-level, low-paying auditing job to someone with a Masters in engineering.

Undervalued? She has no idea.

So, at 45 years of age, I am off to a new job. The new kid on the block. Fresh meat.

I’ve been there, done that.

Movin’ on.

Act Your AGE!

“What’s my age again?” -Blink 182

I love walking. The mountain behind our home has paved and dirt hiking trails, offering a variety of workouts for those on foot or bike. The summit of this mountain has two peaks, one mounted with an American flag and one topped with a cross, the latter sitting a bit higher.

One day, while taking a breather at the base of the flag and people-watching as usual, I noticed a very frail old woman coming up the trail, accompanied by a woman near my age. As they approached where I was sitting, the younger woman was suggesting they rest near me, and the old woman walked on determinedly, to the peak with the cross.

One reason she stood out was her garish purple track suit- that crushed satin look from the late 80’s. Her companion sat next to me as I commented that I loved the purple outfit. She shook her head and explained that the old woman was supposed to be walking with a cane, but had made this obstinate trek up the mountain without it, and refused the younger woman’s assistance most of the time.

As the old woman came back toward us, the younger one took her arm to guide her across a patch of rough terrain. As soon as the pavement was smooth again, Ms. Purple Pants pulled away and began her descent, while her aide shot me a look that said, “What are ya gonna do?”

Did I describe the woman in the purple track suit as old and frail?

Someone forgot to tell her.

More recently, I made a trip to the beach with my daughter and her two young sons. My youngest son brought along one of his best friends and while they went boarding and my daughter dug in the sand with her older son, I relaxed in the shade with the baby.

A boy came up to me, asking to borrow one of my grandson’s beach toys, and later came back to ask if I had any more, so I directed him to where my daughter and grandson were digging.

The boy, not a shy bone in his body, asked my daughter if she was helping her brother dig.

“No,” said my daughter. “This is my son.”

“You’re a mom?” The kid was perplexed.

Laughing, my daughter asked, “What? Aren’t moms supposed to dig in the sand?”

“No way!” was his immediate response.

In typical fashion, my grandson was already bored with digging, and he and my daughter went out to do some boogie-boarding.

The boy was even more impressed, “You go boogie-boarding?”

“Yes, and I surf, too.” My daughter was having fun with this.

As she recounted the story to me, I was reminded of a beach trip some 10 years ago, when my oldest son was similarly impressed that I knew how to body-surf.

Last year, when my husband and I took my two boys and his daughter to Baja, his daughter stared in disbelief as her father ran into the surf with a boogie-board.

It’s always amazing that kids think they invented the cool stuff!

Years ago, my favorite band, Aerosmith, was featured on the news show, Dateline. The opening shot showed Steven Tyler, in his traditional skin tight pants, long-jacket with no shirt, sunglasses and wild hair, turning handsprings onstage at a concert. A recent concert.

The voice-over asked, “Is this any way for a man, eligible for AARP, to act and dress?”

HELL YES, it is! The now-past-sixty Tyler is a grandfather, and where is he?

On tour.

So it is with great pride that I salute those who refuse to act their age.

Hats off to skydiving octogenarians and the senior scuba club, to the 60 year old Karate student and the grandmother who climbs onto the swing next to her 3 year old granddaughter.

All those who define the phrase, ‘Age ain’t nothing but a number’

Dara Torres

Chuck Yeager

Georgia O’Keefe

Nolan Ryan

Ann Margret

My list could go on, but I think I need to make a playdate with my grandsons.

Why, God, why?

One of my favorite movies of all time is Dogma. Written and directed by- and also starring- Kevin Smith, it turns religious notions on their ear. There is a disclaimer at the beginning not to take the movie so seriously, that even God has a sense of humor. It then goes on to offer the Platypus as proof that the Almighty is a bit of a comedian himself.

I have different ideas.

Since I was 13, I always thought proof that God not only has a (bizarre) sense of humor, but that He is decidedly male, is menstruation. Really, ladies, if God was a woman would She have come up with such a bass-ackwards, inconvenient, totally inefficient method of procreation? I think not.

Women are not alone, though, in the suffering from Aunt Flo's monthly visit. Just ask the guy who has a wife and more than one teen-age daughter. You can bet he has a calendar, in his garage or the back of his mind, that reminds him when to wear his hockey helmet!


My most recent reminder of the jovial nature of our maker is the presence of body hair.
Seriously, whether you are a man or a woman, as we age, we lose hair on our heads at alarming rates. Then it pops up in places we not only don't want, but have no possible need for!

I once took my son, who was about 5, along with me to a barber shop to get my nephew's hair cut. The two young boys giggled uncontrollably as the barber meticulously trimmed the bushy ear and nose hair of an elderly gentleman, while he also neatly sculpted the remaining 10 or 15 hairs on the man's head.

Yes, men get to look forward to ear hair, nose hair and clumps of hair popping up on their backs that look like roaming, vertical buffalo.

That, though, is nothing compared to what aging does to us girls.

I was visiting my sister recently, and as we were talking, I noticed a fine, blond coat of hair on her face. I laughed. Not at her, but with her, since my husband had just recently pointed out that very condition on my own face. Of course, I warned him he better not laugh, lest my hand slip next time I am weed-whacking his ear forest!

If left unchecked, my eyebrows will not only meet in the middle, but also up into my hairline. Besides the occasional random strand that goes from 1/8th inch to 3 in six hours, there is a mustache that graces the outer corners of my smile. (Orale, vato!)
I've never been much for primping in a mirror, but seriously, it's become necessary to avoid looking like Sasquatch's Bride!

God, Allah, Mother Nature, Intelligent Design...whatever! The maker of your chosen belief is sitting somewhere, enjoying some almighty good versions of Funniest Home Videos!

The GRANDMA title.

"Hey, GRANDMA!" My neighbor said this to me as I was herding my two grandsons toward my car. I smiled and nodded, as I attempted to keep the three-year-old from wandering out to the alley. The neighbor was encouraged, going on to say, "What's the matter? You don't like being called Grandma?" He seemed genuinely tickled by the thought.

And so it goes, folks calling out "Grandma" or "Grandpa", as if it is a slur, indicating that one is OLD! I didn't get older when I became a grandmother, I didn't feel older, either. But somehow, general perceptions of me changed.

Well, here's a great big news flash! Grandparents are COOL! We listen to cool music! My youngest son listens to Jerry Lee Lewis and is looking for Sam Cooke for his iPod. My phone/music player has the Foo Fighters and Cage the Elephant.
And we TEXT! Now, I am not the text-monster that, say, my teenage step-daughter is, but I can hold my own.

Obviously, we blog!

We e-mail, we are tech-savvy and fashionable.

OK, well, this Grandma is no fashionista, my uniform is capri pants, concert T-shirts and flip-flops. But take a look at my daughter's mother-in-law, who also favors capris and flipflops, but ALWAYS looks perfectly put-together.

The days of Grandma in a rocking chair, with her silver hair pulled into a bun, knitting sweaters and endless booties while baking cookies are done.

Don't get me wrong, I can bake a wicked batch of cookies. Or homemade bread. But I am just as likely to whip up a batch of hand-rolled sushi or Ahi Poke.

My daughter and her dad were shopping once, when she was pregnant with her first child. They found a shirt for a baby that said "Grandmas house smells like cookies" or something to that effect.
My daughter scoffed, saying her kid needs a shirt that says Grandma's house smells like garlic!

So, go ahead, call me Grandma! Just make sure you know who you are talking to!

I'm not your grandma's grandma.

Hell, I'm not even my own grandmother. My earliest memories of my grandmother are of a darkened room at my Grandpa's house. As a very small child, I'd skitter past the room, because there was a red glow floating around in the dark room. And the strange creature inside would bark at intervals. She'd order my mother around like a servant. She scared the living crap out of me.

Flash forward 20 years. I was married, had a nice home and I flew my grandmother out to stay with us. She didn't smoke anymore, but she was even more demanding than I remember. My husband and I both worked full-time and she bitched because she was at the house all day alone. She whined about the food, the weather, the fact that my home only had one bathroom. My daughter was 5 or 6 when my grandmother visited, but doesn't really remember her, other than that she was mean and scary.

My daughter is now 27, with 2 kids. She lives about 45 miles away, so I see my two grandsons on a regular basis. I happily volunteer when she and her husband want to get away, and the boys come stay with me. I live in a small apartment and my car is not really meant for two car seats, but I don't care! We have a blast.




What happens at Grandma's.........
stays at Grandma's






Now, I am not in any way trying to demean my own grandmother. She is who she is. I don't think she ever wanted kids, much less grandchildren. I just like my own way of grandparenting. I am finishing this post with the 9-month old on my lap. He'll be going home in a few hours and I will miss him when he does. But that's the best part of grandparenting! You get to give them back!