Confessions of a Burb(Grand)mom

In my early mommy days, I was the cruise director for an only dainty daughter. I was an expert on pony tails and pom poms, Barbies and ballet lessons, tutus and tights. I adorned my little angel in ruffles and velvet until the inevitable six-year-old rebellion that led to jeans, skinned knees and Big Wheels. I soon learned that a gaggle of girls could squeal at decibels that set the dogs to howling. I discovered that ˜tween ™ rolling eyes meant nothing I said would be heard and that the word, MOM could have four syllables. My adult daughter became a mom herself almost a decade ago. My eagerly awaited first grandchild was ¦ a beautiful boy! Okay, I thought. I can learn boys. Firstborn grandson was quiet, intelligent and brimming with a devilish sense of humor. He liked books, puzzles, shape sorters, and all things Thomas The Train.  He would eat none of my home cooking, didn't like sweets, and never thought much of riding toys. He loved it when I would read to him or engage him in random story creation (i.e., I ™ll start, then you finish the sentence! ) Hey. This is cool! I thought. Boys are so much easier than girls! As years passed, I assumed he ™d be my only grandchild. I bonded hard with him.

Eight years almost to the day after his birth, along came grandson number two. I ™ve got this covered, I thought. I know about little boys! I have now discovered the mysteries of multiples. One little chickie was my only direct experience. One adorable grandchickie was the sole owner of my heart for eight years. And then ¦ another. Oh, how I worried about loving two. How do I share the time and attention? How do I grow another heart? Ah, multiples! Completely different! The little guy, now 19 months, is the family scamp. He oozes charm, which makes it difficult to say no to his antics ¦ like climbing on the glass tables, using the TV remote to find his own favorite shows, bypassing the child locks easily to explore the kitchen trash, feeding dog food to the fish, and turning anything with wheels into a battering ram.  Baby food is not his style. He prefers vegetables, fruit, ranch dressing, anything spicy, and chocolate ¦ in quantity! That second heart? I grew it the first time the scamp said, MIMI! and crumpled my expensive new glasses! Rhonda, aka MiMi, is a BurbGrandmom who lives in Carrollton and loves spending time with her grandchildren.