I’ve learned something in the past few days. At age 60, I am fairly ill-equipped to choreograph the day of small children. God knew what he was doing when he invented menopause (though it would have been nice if he had left out the hot flashes). Sixty-somethingers shouldn’t be in charge of small kids.

And choreograph is the correct word, I think. Parenting children is like a grand dance where everyone needs to be in their place and the music has to be just so and all parties involved must know the correct steps.

I spent one night and three days (so far) handling my 5-year-old and 3-year old granddaughters who just added a brother to the mix. Mom and Dad and brother are still in the hospital (hope to get out today). I’m pretty good during the day. I bring out the Play Do and they can entertain themselves for hours. At the end of it all, the floor is littered with little tiny bits of blue and green and yellow and red dough, but hey, it sweeps up.

It’s getting them ready for bed and then ready for school in the morning (at least one of them) where I struggle. The bedtime routine went fairly smoothly. PJs on, teeth brushed, go potty, night night (the night I watched them, they were too tired even for a single story).

But the morning was a different story altogether.

I had grand plans to make them a good breakfast including a healthy protein and orange juice, get them dressed in adorable clothes (perhaps matching), braid their hair in elaborate fashion, brush their teeth and gargle, and have Kaiya at school in time to have a few minutes on the playground.

Here’s what really happened. I managed to find pants and a shirt to fit each of them. They were almost color coordinated. Their teeth got brushed. I plopped a headband on Kaiya’s head and pulled Mylee’s hair into a couple of really sad looking pony tails. We ran into Safeway on the way to school and grabbed a couple of donuts and some chocolate milk, which they ate sitting on my lap on the ground just outside the door, because there was no eating area. We looked like sad homeless people. When I got off the ground, my yoga pants were covered in sugary glaze (and I’m sad to say I kept those pants on all day long, being too tired to put on any makeup or change into presentable clothes). I got Kaiya inside the school on time, only to have her look at me sadly and say, “Nana, where’s my backpack?”

“Never fear,” I said. “I left it in the car.”

I ordered the girls to stay put, and raced back to the car to retrieve the backpack. I was buzzed back into the school and handed Kaiya her backpack. She began walking down the hall, and Mylee and I started following her. She turned around and said, “Nana, you don’t have to walk me to my classroom. You can leave.” I’m pretty sure it was the sugar on the yoga pants.

Here’s the thing. I’m really not entirely inept. I was a single mother (at a much younger age of course) and I managed to get him through grade school, high school and college. It just was easier at that younger age. I had more energy. And I wasn’t so out of practice.

And as long as I’m ‘fessing up to incompetencies, I must tell you about yesterday morning’s debacle. I needed to get some groceries, and I decided I would walk to the nearest grocery store. It is almost exactly one mile.

It was a good plan except for one thing. I forgot how difficult it is for me to moderate myself at a grocery store. I picked up the things on my list. I got a few extra things. Quite a few extra things, really. I went through the self-check-out, and filled my cloth bag. When I lifted it up, I was stunned. In the words of that linguistic genius Scooby Doo, “Roh roh.”

I trudged back home carrying 14 pounds of groceries. I’m not some kind of a savant. I weighed the bag when I got home. It was very heavy.

But back to choreography. I think the kids will be glad to be with better dancers.

Like these…. (And, once again, notice Mo Mo made the family portrait.)

This post linked to the GRAND Social

You will all be happy to know that this post won’t feature one single picture of my new grandson Cole Jonathan. But his appearance has made a significant impact on my life, in more ways than one.

Since learning that he was born early Sunday morning, I have been on the run. I believe the way I can be of the most help is to take care of Cole’s two sisters so that Mom and Dad can become acquainted with little mister, and perhaps catch up on some sleep. But the kids have been keeping me in constant acceleration, and I’m certain I have it rougher than Mom and Dad. Well, except for the whole surgery thing and sleeping on a futon on which scads of sweaty dads have slept before. Whatevah……

After dropping the girls off at the hospital late yesterday afternoon, I took a little time to visit one of our newly-opened Trader Joe’s stores. Trader Joe’s has been hesitant to come to Colorado because of our alcohol laws. In Colorado, only one store in any chain can sell alcohol. Since Trader Joe’s relies heavily on their wine sales – and particularly their well-known and mostly-loved trademark wine affectionately known as Two Buck Chuck – it has taken some time to get them here, but here they are. The store I visited was not the store that had the wine, and it was frankly a little strange to see a Two-Buck-Chuckless TJ’s.

I took my time, roaming around and seeing what kinds of things were available. I was particularly interested in buying something yummy to make for dinner last night that was simple and quick. I was frankly too tired to cook.

What I found was a ready-made ravioli filled with arugula and parmigiano reggiano – a nice change-up from the typical spinach. I also bought a bottle of Trader Joe’s spaghetti sauce – a delicious roasted garlic tomato sauce. In 10 minutes time, I had a delicious meal in front of me. That, with a glass of red wine and a quick salad, made me very happy.

Who says I need a baby brother? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

We arrived back in Denver last Tuesday. On Wednesday, I had lunch with my daughter-in-law who was almost eight-and-a-half months pregnant. Her due date was May 20. For almost nine months she has told me she wasn’t going to make it to May 20. Secretly I thought to myself, you never know what God has planned.

The plan was for me to watch the girls when she went into the hospital. I had a conversation with her about having a back-up plan. Late last year, my nephew and his wife barely made it to the hospital as she gave birth to Baby Number 4 – still in her clothes and with nary a doctor in sight. Their designated caregiver was her mom, but there was no way she would have gotten to them in time, so a neighbor came to the rescue. I cautioned my daughter-in-law to be duly prepared.

“No need,” she said. “I always have my babies early and I have long labors. We won’t need a back-up.”

I guess I should have trusted her intuition and experience.

Sunday morning, about 1:30, I awoke to my telephone ringing. I was so sound asleep that it was one of those situations where the phone call became part of my dream. Bill is out of town visiting his mother, so he wasn’t there to alert me to the ringing telephone (in the unlikely chance he would have heard it).

Finally, I drug myself out of bed to answer the telephone. It was my daughter-in-law’s mother – The Other Nana. Whaaaaat?

“Did you get my text?” she asked.

Get her text? I’m pretty sure I would have had trouble hearing a helicopter landing on my roof had she chosen to alert me that way. A little “ting” indicating a text message? Wasn’t going to happen.

“No,” I said.

“They’re at the hospital,” The Other Nana (who wasn’t supposed to be babysitting; I was) said. “Her water broke.”

That’ll do it.

“Are you with the girls?” I asked. Or had Court also sent me a text telling me to come watch the girls, also assuming I could hear little “tings” in the night. (As it turns out, he had sent me a text telling me what was going on. These people must be very light sleepers.)

The Other Nana told me they had spent Saturday with my son and his wife, and at the last minute, decided to spend the night since they live 45 minutes to an hour away. So they were there when the waters gushed and my son whisked my daughter-in-law off to the hospital.

I return to my bed, still dazed and half in a stupor. I laid there for a long time, trying to decide if I should go to the hospital. According to Court’s text, the C-Section was scheduled for 2:30. It was about 2.

It would be dumb to go to the hospital, I told myself. Only drunks and perverts are out at 2 o’clock on Sunday morning. Your car has been giving you trouble. They will already be in surgery by time you arrive. Go back to sleep and get up really early to go see the baby. You aren’t even sure how to get to the hospital.

By this time, I had brushed my teeth and thrown on clothes. While there were a million reasons why I shouldn’t go out at 2 o’clock on a Sunday morning, the one reason I should is that I had been there for almost all of my grandchildren’s births – and the only reason I missed any of their births was that I was far, far away at the time. I wasn’t far, far away.

Two o’clock on Sunday morning is a very weird and oddly peaceful time to be out driving, by the way. There really aren’t many people on the road, and as long as you realize almost everyone but you is drunk and drive accordingly, you are probably safe.

I made it to the hospital and found my son, who seemed relieved to see me but instructed me to turn around and go back home. Surgery had been pushed back and by time they had the surgery and did all of the post-partum stuff, he said it would be a more reasonable hour like 6 a.m. At 6 a.m., in addition to a few dedicated drunks, you have newspaper deliverers and people going to a really early Mass. A more civilized population.

So I did.

When next I saw the interior of the hospital, I was able to meet Cole Jonathan Zierk, who is entirely perfect. I arrived just after his sisters, and was able to watch them meet their baby brother for the first time.

Kaiya was awestruck. Mylee feigned disinterest. (Perhaps if I ignore him, he’ll go away.)

Eventually I took the girls home with me so that their parents could catch up on a bit of sleep. We arrived back at the hospital late in the afternoon, and the girls were going to spend the night at the hospital. That’s when I’m glad I’m the nana.

The Other Nana.

One of the things I miss most when we are in Arizona is seeing the grandkids in their school activities. We hit the ground running and were able — in a single day — to see Maggie Faith (two weeks short of being 6) and 11-year-old Adelaide in school programs.

Maggie’s kindergarten class put on a dance performance, featuring such greats as the Macarena and the Cha Cha Slide. Maggie performed perfectly. We could see her faithfully counting as she danced. Maggie is in the front row on the right.

Addie’s fifth grade class performed an opera that was a crazy version of the Revolutionary War story featuring Sam Adams and Paul Revere. Or, as they called it, the Revol – oops- tionary War. The clever fifth graders wrote the play themselves, including the lyrics to the music. In addition to being Lady Liberty, Addie was the stage director — a perfect fit for this first-born. Addie is also on the right.

Here are the two stars of the shows after the events were both completed…..

Have a good weekend.

The first few days that we are at either house, we spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out where things are.

“Where do we keep the Q-tips?” Bill will ask, rooting around a cabinet where the Q-tips aren’t, and never were.

“Do you remember where I keep my spare phone chargers,” I ask Bill, who, of course, doesn’t have the least idea.

But, worst of all are all of the issues we come back to. When we return to Denver, Bill always comes back to a lawn that looks like the jungles of the Amazon. He spends a couple of days cutting the grass that is so long it requires him to empty the bag about every seven seconds. I expect him to bring out the scythe any second.

However, this time our biggest obstacle was that MY YELLOW BUG WOULDN’T START. Oh, and when we got it started by charging the battery, why-oh-why was there a red flashing light on my dashboard. Flashing lights are never good. They bode serious trouble.

We charged up the battery and figured out how to refill the coolant in the bug which was the cause of the flashing red light. (When I say “we” I obviously mean “Bill”). And let me just tell you that none of this is easy when it comes to Volkswagens. They don’t just use normal radiator fluid. Ooooooh nooooo. That would be too easy. It takes a special, EXPENSIVE kind of radiator fluid that’s hard to find. And you can’t just go and buy a battery because it’s extremely difficult for anyone who isn’t a certified Volkswagen Mechanic  to replace anything on a Volkswagen. Last time I bought a new battery it took a team of Walmartians way longer than it should have to put it in because of where the battery is located.

We thought we had the battery problem fixed. I picked up my granddaughter from school and met her mommy and sister for lunch. After lunch, I cheerfully climbed into my car, turned the key, and – well –nothing happened. Well, that’s not entirely true. There was a sad click click click, which is German for “reach in your pocket because this is going to cost you some big money, meine Frau.”

My daughter-in-law gave me a ride home, and Bill drove me back to my car, where he gave me a jump. The car started, and we agreed that, like it or not, a new battery was in order. He agreed to follow me to Costco to purchase and install said battery. What could possibly go wrong?

So there we are, driving down County Line Road, one of the busiest thoroughfares in the south suburbs of Denver. It’s 3:30ish, nearing rush hour. I stop at a red light at the MAJOR INTERSECTION of University Boulevard and County Line Road, and my car dies. I am in the middle lane, and the car was absolutely dead. I put on my flashers; Bill, who is right behind me, does the same. People are roaring up to him about 75 miles per hour before they realize he is at a dead stop. Apparently the red flashing lights don’t mean anything. Perhaps it involves the legalization of marijuana.

I called AAA, and they agreed to send help as soon as possible and to replace my battery on the spot. In about an hour.  AN HOUR. I am stalled in the middle lane of an extraordinarily busy street as rush hour is bearing down upon us.

I said, “You do that,” hung up and called 911. A very nice cop quickly arrived. Then a second car pulls up. And a third. Pretty soon I hear the theme song to COPS. Bad boy bad boy, whatcha gonna do when they come for you?

The nice cop stopped traffic on this busy street, which made all of the other drivers really happy, and allowed Bill to pull up next to me to again give me a jump. My car started. I prayed to the patron saint of crappy batteries, and successfully made my way to the nearest parking lot.

About this time two things happened. One, a tow truck appeared, and two, AAA called to inform me that they can put batteries in every other car in the world except Volkswagen Beetles. See my earlier paragraph. Apparently the Germans are getting even with the Americans for WWII when they designed the engine compartment of the Beetle. Payback is a bitch.

But Mr. Nice Tow Truck Guy suggested I call Sears – just down the road – to see if they were willing and able to install said battery, and they were. He was nice enough to follow me all the way there so that if I stalled out again, the angry drivers would have to deal with him. And he was big. Or at least his tow truck was. He deserved the big tip Bill gave him when we arrived safely and said our goodbyes.

As we waited for my car to have its battery replaced, I said to Bill, “Well, this is certainly not how I expected to spend my first afternoon back in Denver.”

“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” he said in perfect Monte Python manner.

As I write this, my car is safe and sound in my garage with a new battery that cost me a lot of money. But my car runs, and I am ready to be the babysitter when the new baby decides to come.

Just don’t tell the Germans. And Bill will get the scythe out of the storage shed and finish cutting the grass today.

Bill and I are back in the Mile High City, and glad of it.

Our trip home went fine. As usual, we drove the first night to Albuquerque. We did make one change-up, in that we visited the Petrified National Forest. We have driven by it several thousand times, but decided to take an extra hour and drive back into it a bit. It was very pretty. The painted desert was gorgeous, and the petrified wood is astounding.

We then hit the road yesterday early, and made it to Denver by late afternoon. I always hold my breath as we turn the corner onto our street, hoping hoping hoping that the house will still be standing. Silly, because undoubtedly Allen would have thought to mention it to us if it had burned down.

Since I spoke yesterday about the things I will miss about Arizona, I want to tell you about a few things I am happy to be back to here in Denver.

Tap Water

The water in the Phoenix metro area is nasty, plain and simple. It is terrifically hard, full of minerals, and tastes absolutely awful. No one drinks unfiltered tap water in Phoenix. Bottled water, filtered water, or water freshened up via a reverse osmosis method is the norm. I think Denver has good tap water. It is heavenly to me to be able to turn on my faucet and get a glass of water. Now if I could just make myself drink eight of them a day…..

No scorpions

I have never seen a live scorpion. That is very good news. I don’t know why it is the case, but we have had not a single one in our house or our yard in Arizona. Nevertheless, I know they’re out there because our house is in the desert. So I never walk barefoot in my house or outside – never, ever. I never leave dirty clothes on the floor. And I always – every single time – shake out my shoes and slippers before putting them on my feet. Yay! I don’t have to do that in Denver. It will take some getting used to.

300 Days of Sunshine a Year

I was just recently reminded that Denver has 300 days of sunshine a year. I thrive on sunshine. I’m quite serious about that. My doctor has told me I visually change when the days get longer and I can enjoy warmer weather and more sunshine. So now I have the perfect world because Phoenix also enjoys sunshine most days – 296 days of it a year I recently read.

Springtime in the Rockies

We are seriously getting home just in time to enjoy the most beautiful time of the year in Colorado. In May, it isn’t unheard of to have some cold days, even days where the temperature dips below freezing. It only took one time of me planting my flowers early in May only to have a freeze for me to learn that YOU NEVER PLANT YOUR GARDEN BEFORE MOTHERS DAY. NEVER. EVER. Having said that, there are more nice days than cold in May, and it’s fun to see my perennials start pooking out of the ground. Yay. And the really nice part is that the nights are still chilly. Nice sleeping.

My Own Car

We have only one car in Arizona. There is actually a second car that currently isn’t running. We are determined to get it fixed, but one thing becomes the next and before you know it, we are ready to leave and still only have the one car in Arizona. We are seriously able to get by with one car about 90 percent of the time. Still, there are just a few times when I want to do one thing and Bill wants to do another. We made it work.

Here in Denver, I have a Volkswagen Bug. Collectively referred to by all of the grandchildren as “Nana’s Yellow Bug.” They love it, as do I, despite the fact that it only fits four people. Period. But it’s brightly colored so that when I come out of any store, I immediately spot it in the parking lot. It runs like a little top (except when it doesn’t) and I can climb in it anytime I want and go anywhere I want without having to make sure Bill doesn’t need the car. Of course, when I went to start it yesterday afternoon, it was dead as a doornail. More about that tomorrow.

And finally….

My Family

And just as my family was the thing I was going to miss most in Arizona, it is my family that is the best reason for my joy at being back in Denver. My sister Jen, my nephew BJ, all of our kids and a good portion of our grandkids – and most exciting of all – one more baby boy coming along ANY DAY NOW. Stay tuned.

After all, wouldn’t you be happy coming home to this…..

Dagny, Adelaide, and Alastair enjoying a sunny afternoon with an ice cream cone.

And this….

Kaiya and Mylee enjoying ice cream as well!

And this….

Maggie Faith with her Uncle Mike.

Maggie asked me the other day, “Aunt, what will you miss most about Arizona?”

It’s a question I have been asked several times as of late. That, and if I’m sad to be leaving. The truth of the matter is that no matter which direction I’m going – be it to Arizona for winter and spring or Colorado for summer and fall, I feel somewhat sad and know that there are things that I will miss.

After giving it some thought, here is my list, in no particular order.

Martinis on Dave’s patio as I watch the sun set over the city

My brother lives at the foot of Superstition Mountain, and from his backyard you see a panoramic view of Phoenix facing west. Watching a beautiful Arizona sunset with an ice cold martini in my hand certainly ranks as one of my favorite things. You can almost watch the sun move as it sets behind the city. The clouds turn orange and purple, and as it gets dark, you can see the lights go on in the city. And then, of course, there’s that ice cold martini……

Watching the birds on our patio

I was surprised to see just how many birds we have in Arizona, and how many different varieties I can watch from my back patio. In years past, the stars of the show have been the mockingbirds. They are funny birds because their bird call takes on many forms. Recently we watched and listened as a mockingbird sitting on our neighbor’s roof went through his entire repertoire. This year, however, we have been entertained by a multitude of quails. They are the funniest birds. They definitely fly, but they seem to enjoy simply running about. As we walk down our street heading to the grocery market, we watch them — always in a group – run back and forth across the street. Their nest must be on one side and their food source on the other.  In the past few days they have taken to walking across our back fence in a line of three or four birds. They make me laugh. We also watch the hawks as they search for something to eat in the desert area behind our house.

Guido’s, Chicagoland Hot Dogs, Fuddruckers

I hate to have food be something I’ll miss, but alas, it’s true. Chicagoland is very close to our house, and we frequently have our lunch there. The owner is a young man who moved to Phoenix from – you guessed it – Chicago, and along with his father-in-law, opened this very genuine Chicago restaurant. Despite what you might think, all Chicago dogs are not the same, and his are very good. Guido’s is an Italian restaurant and market in Scottsdale. It is too far for us to visit very often, but we try to make our way there at least once in a while. They have the very best Italian sub sandwich I have ever eaten. I am on a quest to find a sandwich like that in Denver, but have been unsuccessful to date. I can’t tell you exactly why it’s so good. The meat is good, the bread is delicious, and as you eat, the dressing literally drips off of sandwich onto your plate (or your lap, depending on where you’re holding it). And it’s an exceptionally good Italian market as well. Finally, Fuddruckers is my favorite hamburger and I’m sad they went away entirely in Colorado. We visited Fuddruckers here often.

Winter Visitors

Yes, I’ve said it. You have heard me complain endlessly about the so-called Snowbirds, but while they can drive a person crazy, they are often kind, friendly, and full of fun. Almost every day this winter I saw a group of men riding their motorcycles towards Saguaro Lake. The motorcycles are very fancy, often with three wheels. I also have enjoyed seeing the plethora of vintage cars ranging from totally refurbished Model Ts to 1960 Ford Fairlanes. Bill always knows what kind of car it is. I of course never know, but I spotted this one parked in front of Subway the other day. I think it’s a Ford Fairlane. So fun…..

1,350 square feet and fake grass

I love my house in Denver. In particular, I love my magnificent back yard. But our Denver house, while not a mansion, is way big for us two simple folks. Bill and I literally use one bedroom, one bath, our family room, our kitchen, and Bill’s office. That leaves a dining room, living room, and three bedrooms virtually untouched. (Well, except for grandkids’ sleepovers.) Here our house is a 1,350 square foot ranch with a small backyard. Last year Bill installed artificial grass, making the upkeep negligible-to-non-existent. I LOVE this little house. It is the perfect size. It makes me realize that we are very close to being ready to sell our big house in Denver and buy something smaller. If it wasn’t for that magnificent back yard…..

Walk to Basha’s

Basha’s is one of those rare commodities – a locally-owned grocery store chain. It is an Arizona chain (though I think there is one in Gallup, NM, and Needles, CA), and is a full-service grocery store. Our nearest grocery store is Basha’s, and it is two blocks from our house. I walk over nearly every day. It makes me feel very European. The checkers have come to know me. Best of all – they sell wine!

Desert

I love the desert. That’s all I’ll say about that. P.S. – I don’t love rattlesnakes or scorpions.

Superstition Mountain

I have lived 40 years in Colorado, and yet (and don’t hate me for this) my favorite mountain is right here in Arizona. I love Superstition Mountain. There is something absolutely glorious about the way it looks in the morning and the evening – all lavender and hazy. I see it from our house, and will miss looking at it every day.

But, while my lists of things I will miss has been in no particular order, the thing I will miss the most is…

My family

After years of living far away from Bec and Dave, it is such a blessing to be so close to them for so many months out of the year. I still can’t believe that I can call Bec on the phone and we can meet for a cup of coffee. Bill and I often visit my brother at whatever Basha’s he’s working at that day for a donut and a quick chat. And how lovely to be able to get to know my great nieces and nephews and spend time with Erik, Maggie, Christopher, Kacy, Jessie, and Brooke and their families. I will miss everyone.

The good news is I’m going home to just as many blessings.

Nana’s Notes: The title of this post comes from the song Arizona by Mark Lindsay. You’d know it if you heard it.

By time you read this post, Bill and I will be on the road to Denver. Our winter visit is over. In the words of that famous philosopher Willie Nelson, we are “On the Road Again.” In tomorrow’s post, I will tell you what we will miss most about Arizona. However, I wanted to offer you the opportunity to see some of the really spectacular flowers we have been enjoying in our yard, our neighborhood, and the surrounding areas as of late. The cactus flowers really are astoundingly beautiful.                                            

We’re getting ready to go back to Colorado, so this will be the last Saturday Smile that involves my great nephew Austin Joseph Jensen, at least for a while. He’s one funny little 3-year-old dude, and I think he will always make me laugh.

The other night I had Bec, Maggie , Austin and Lilly over for fried chicken, Swiss macs, creamed corn and dinner rolls. It was oh-so-yummy.

Throughout the dinner, Maggie tried to talk Austin into eating something.

“Would you like some chicken Austin?” she said.

“No thanks,” was his firm but polite response.

He continued to play on my IPAD. A bit later Maggie said, “Austin, would you like some macaroni and cheese?”

“No,” he replied, again patiently but firmly.

“But you really like Aunt Kris’ macaroni and cheese,” Maggie pleaded.

“NO,” was the even firmer response.

He played some more.

“Austin, would you like some of this creamed corn, or maybe a roll? You LOVE bread,” said Mommy, sounding quite desperate by this time. The child must eat something, after all.

“No thanks Mommy,” he said, not even looking up from the IPAD.

I quietly told Maggie that I had some Greek blueberry yogurt. He loves blueberry yogurt.

“Austin, would you like some blueberry yogurt?” Maggie said.

“Yes,” came his surprising response.

He came to the table, sat in the chair, looked at the yogurt sitting in front of him, and said, “FINALLY!”

Have a good weekend.