Tag Archives: grandparenting

Essays, Writing

Megalodon Fossil Tooth

Leave a comment

(If only my granddaughter’s tooth brushing was this joyful.) AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/XQYWuY (Example of what the tooth looked like that my grandson found.) https://images.app.goo.gl/EmtGmtXMyrbHvq2t8

My grandson Julian (6 years old) found a giant fossilized megalodon tooth in the backyard today. He brought his prize to show me, and it was quite impressive. It is probably the biggest limestone shark tooth I have ever seen. I suggested he go show Grandad (91 years old) and get a second opinion. I don’t think Grandad played along as well as I did, so Julian took it back outside to do some more excavating and promptly misplaced it.

Speaking of teeth, Charlotte (my 10-year-old-in-8-days granddaughter) has a loose one—I believe it is #8, a canine. She likes to wiggle it in the mirror and point out that she only has 2 baby teeth left in her mouth. How time flies. I remember when she was first cutting her little tiny teeth on her bottom gums and we were super excited. Now she’s old enough that I spent over an hour on the phone with Apple tech support trying to get the parental controls set up on her phone so we could figure out which objectionable content to allow and which to block to help with internet safety. One issue was that I apparently set a password years ago and forgot it. We tried everything we could think of, but the Apple people were stumped. There was no fixing it. We finally gave up and decided it was unsolvable. A few hours later, on a whim, I typed in 1,2,3,4, and it worked. So embarrassing.

Julian brought me half a Mini Coke with a straw in it yesterday.

“Here you go, Ema. You can drink this because I joined the army and can’t drink sugar anymore.”

Woohoo! I like this game. Apparently, Charlotte was his drill sergeant and got him drinking water only. She had him working out and doing obstacle courses all day long. I bet his little muscles are sore today.

Charlotte convinced Julian to wear a bonnet to bed the other night like she does. Her curly coils have to be protected by a silky wrap at night to keep them from getting frizzy or damaged. Julian has the complete opposite texture hair. But with Charlotte’s application of who-knows-what-goo and some little twists here and there, Julian awoke with one or two curls on his head. He was very proud of them. I was impressed he made it all night in the bonnet.

This morning, Charlotte made Julian the Coraline breakfast special. I have never seen the movie Coraline, but Charlotte is obsessed with it. Julian lucked out. All by her little self, she made an egg and cheese omelet, 3 slices of bacon, and toast with jelly. It was a masterpiece. This is the same girl who melted onto the floor in a puddle the other day when I asked her to push the vacuum a few times. She literally did one strip of carpet before collapsing from the difficulty of the task. The next time she acts helpless, I’m going to remind her how capable she is when she wants to be.

Julian pulled a prank on us today. He was at the top of the stairs, and Charlotte and I were in the kitchen area.

Suddenly, we heard his pitiful little voice whimpering, “Help me, help me. I can’t see. Everything’s dark. I can’t see. I need help.” He was really laying it on thick.

Charlotte headed his way to see what kind of a bind he had gotten himself into this time. She returned just as quickly, marching with her hands on her hips, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. Julian appeared around the corner with his sweatshirt pulled up over his face like he was either trying to put it on or take it off; I’m not sure which. He was laughing so hard at his own joke that he ended up making us laugh, as well.

Grandad informed me that he was taking Charlotte to McDonald’s. She convinced him to take her to McDonald’s so she could spend her own allowance money on French fries. I tried not to be irritated. She already asked me and I said no. I told her to go make her own fries out of the perfectly good potatoes and oil we have here at home. They are easy to make in the air fryer. Grandad is a pushover when it comes to that girl. He was my grandfather first, and he never would have stopped what he was doing to take me to McDonald’s when I was a kid. He would have lectured me on saving my money and not begging all the adults all the time to take me places.

But honestly, I love that he has softened and spoils my grandchildren rotten (his great-great-grandchildren.) Every kid deserves at least one adult in their lives that is wrapped around their little finger. Mema was my person (Grandad’s wife of over 70 years and my grandmother.) She would do anything for me. Knowing that kind of love made me a strong woman who knows how to ooh and aah at shark teeth rocks and 10-year-old-in-8-days loose teeth for my own grandchildren. It all comes full circle if we put in the time and effort to be present in each other’s lives. And Charlotte is right that McDonald’s fries are way better than homemade. The girl knows her fries.

Rebekah Marshall @Home Studio

Poetry, Writing

Fire Pit

Leave a comment

(Poem 365 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Photos taken New Year’s Eve 2024 by Rebekah Marshall.

It is winter in Texas,
though our photos
make us look like
we are on some tropical
island where the weather
is always a balmy 75
degrees and we can wear
shorts and short sleeves
year round.

The fire is to pretend
it is wintertime, so we
can participate in the
festivities of making
smores, roasting hot
dogs, and sitting around
a fire pit for New Year’s.

We are good at pretend.
It is actually one of our
preferred states around
here because pretend
is usually much more
interesting and fun.

Charlotte had a dramatic
argument with the fire
pit lady for shooting sparks
out at her. It was quite
believable.

Julian scared
himself watching a giant
marshmallow transform
into a huge, flaming beast
with fire bursting out from
inside a hollowed out cave,
turning from dinosaur,
to alligator, to terrifying
skull; its ability to both
expand and melt was
nearly too much for his
imagination to handle.

Maybe later this week
we can pretend some
snow into being and make
a snowman to start off the
new year right.

@Home Studio – 365th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Fire Pit photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Mini Coke

Leave a comment

(Poem 363 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

https://images.app.goo.gl/GsghpQ8M9DgLccip8

Grandad has a Mini Coke
when he’s craving a soda,
but isn’t really supposed
to be drinking sugary drinks
because he’s diabetic.

They are the perfect size
for Julian, if he’s been granted
permission by his mom
because it is early enough
in the day, he’s eaten real
food, and he’s already had
some water—basically the
stars have aligned and a
sugar bomb is allowed.

But for me, it does not hit
the spot. I feel like Hulk in
that commercial where he
and Ant Man are fighting
over the last Coke and, of
course, they end up sharing
because Ant Man only needs
a drop to be satisfied, but
poor Hulk gets the equivalent
of a thimble full to drink.
What the heck? He needs
a 10-gallon drum of Coke
to quench his thirst.

That’s how silly I feel
drinking a Mini Coke.

@Home Studio – 363rd poem of the year

Runner ups for the Mini Coke photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Christmas Breakfast

Leave a comment

(Poem 360 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Photo taken 12/25/24 by my sister-in-law Brittany Hefner.

Christmas morning
was all the fun and family
it should be this year,
with 3 little ones
to enjoy the excitement
of gifts and games.

The grown-ups sat
around drinking coffee
and feasted on homemade
cinnamon rolls, egg tater tot
casserole, mountains of bacon,
biscuits and gravy,
eggnog bread pudding with
eggnog whipped cream.

There was just the right
amount of silliness
and chaos and squeals,
and plenty of laughter,
as we all reconnected.

We continued the tradition
Mema liked to share
from her childhood—
orange, apple, pecans,
walnuts, and peppermints
in everyone’s stockings.

Mema would be pleased
that Grandad was right
in the middle of it all,
and was as thrilled as
a kid to open the biggest,
brightest flashlight
known to man as a gift
from one of his grandsons.

Last night, neither Grandad
nor I could sleep. His legs
were hurting and restless,
my cough was keeping
me up, so we were wandering
the house like ghosts at 2am.
Come look, he said,
after swinging open the back
door, standing in the
doorway in his pajamas.
Feel how heavy it is,
he said as he handed his
new toy flashlight to me.
Well, turn it on, he said.
I pushed the button
and nearly gasped as the entire
yard all the way to the barn
was bathed in daylight.
It felt magical,
such power in the palm
of my hand.

Mema would have swatted
both our behinds,
and loved that we are all
taking care of each other.

@Home Studio – 360th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Christmas Breakfast photos to accompany my poem:

Photos taken 12/25/24 by my sister-in-law Brittany Hefner.

Poetry, Writing

Bird Calls

Leave a comment

(Poem 345 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/te3J3b

I was reading a Mary Oliver
poem, as I tend to do
and the theme was birdsong,
as her poems tend to be,
and I was transported—
looking out the open window
of my grandson’s room
when he lived with me
as a baby,
our routine as simple
as one, two, three,
me holding him
him looking at me,
waiting for my imitation
of the bird call of the morning.

I was quite impressed
with my mimicry,
as was he.
The bird would sing to us
and we would respond.
If I took too long,
my grandson would grunt
to hurry me up.
A proper reply must
be whistled off, woman.

I’d forgotten that I learned
three different bird calls
during our shelter-in-place
COVID season,
probably the accomplishment
I’m secretly most proud of,
even though I also got
my Master’s degree,
fostered my grandchildren,
taught remotely,
rescued an elderly cat,
and survived.

But those morning
conversations between
the birds, my grandson,
and me—

@Home Studio – 345th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Bird Calls photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Julian Plays Piano

Leave a comment

(Poem 339 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

(Julian playing piano.)

Julian thinks he has blood burp,
the kind where blood comes out
of your body. We’re not sure if he
needs to go to the hospital, or if he
simply needs a glass of water.
He said he burped like 1,000 times.
He almost burped google plex.
Do you know what google plex means?
It means past infinity.

He’s busy playing the piano,
and such beautiful music makes
him wax contemplative.
Try to guess that song, he says.
Happy Birthday, I throw out on a whim.
NO! It’s something that says uuuuhhhh.
He’s learning to sound out words
in Kindergarten and likes to point out
the starting sounds of words to show
how smart he is, like the color red –
rrrrr, rrrrr, come on, guess it, he says.
rrrrr, eeeee, dddd, red. R, E, D. Red.

Back to uuuuuhhhh.
The name of his melancholic song.
He is very offended that I can’t figure it out.
Turns out, it’s Up from the movie.
I think that is the saddest sounding
song he can think of, and he wants
to play something soulful.
Now he’s banging in such a way that all the cats
have run outside.
He says the loud banging is from
the movie, too. It’s the part where there’s singing.
He’s done playing the piano.

Now he has my Wonder Woman sword
and is practicing stabbing me
in a variety of different ways.
Through the underarm is his favorite
because it comes out the other side
and looks really realistic.
Hey, wanna arm wrestle?
he asks conspiratorially.

I’m not sure how normal our relationship is.
This probably isn’t how most people imagine
grandmothers and grandsons spend their time.
But I don’t want to miss a second of it.
What do you want for Christmas? I ask.
Without missing a beat,
Cristiano Ronaldo cologne from Amazon.
Cologne? For a 6-year-old? Are you sure?
He nods.
What if it arrives and it’s stinky?
It won’t be. Ronaldo always smells
better than everybody all the time.
My bad. I learn something every day.

@Home Studio – 339th poem of the year

More Silly Julian:

Poetry, Writing

Skin Deep Disappointment

Leave a comment

(Poem 330 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/gmUzt6

My heart hurt with crushing disappointment
after the news of the election was released.
I felt sadness about the reality of the people
who would be affected by inhumane policies.

I have so much more to learn to be an ally
for those I love because it never occurred to me
to be afraid for my husband or granddaughter
whose skin is more melanated than mine.

Lying in bed, bemoaning the next four years,
my husband admitted to being nervous about
walking the dog the next morning because it
will be dark and racists might feel emboldened.

My breath caught to think a thought so horrible,
and realize those are the thoughts my husband
has grown up with, must live with, is burdened by,
and over half our nation is just fine with that.

@Home Studio on 12/4/24 @ 8:52pm – 330th poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

My Grandson Michael Myers

Leave a comment

(Poem 297 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Photograph by Rebekah Marshall – Julian as Michael Myers

What is wrong with children these days?

My grandson’s goal in life is to either
scare me or disgust me
and my reaction must be over the top.

He just turned 6.

How does he even know who Michael Myers is?
Can we turn the clock back to dinosaurs
and race cars, Frozen and Trolls?

At least he had the decency to explain
to me that he is wearing a costume and he
is not the real Michael Myers.
He went on to explain that there isn’t even
a real Michael Myers because he’s pretend,
so no children will be killed in this process.
I appreciated the reassurance.

@Home Studio – 297th poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

Anniversary

Leave a comment

(Poem 275 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

(10/1/15 Mema, David, Rebekah, Grandad)

9 years ago,
I promised to
continue writing
a love story
with you
for the span
of the rest
of our lives.

I walked
down a grass aisle
to a tree canopy
and exchanged vows
in the presence
of our people
while the sun
set.

It was a Thursday,
and white
lights were strung
in the tree
so we
could celebrate
falling in love
after dark.

@Home Studio – 275th poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

Olive Green Yarn

Leave a comment

(Poem 273 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

(Hair stick art display)

I needed a way
to display
my hair sticks
decoratively,
so I measured
and sketched
a design Grandad
could build
with his hands
and his tools
and his can-do
attitude that turns
ideas into art,
like a barn
or a staircase,
a balance beam
or doll furniture,
or a simple
wooden frame
with olive green yarn
stretched taut
between raised metal tacks
and a shiny gold hook
holding fast at the top
to hang my idea
for all the world to see.

@Home Studio – 273rd poem of the year