Playing Favorites

Newsweek has an interesting article about the effect of a grandmother's genes on her grandchildren and how that might influence how dear granny feels about those grandbabies.

It has to do with the X-chromosome, how it's passed down from mama to child, then to grandchild. Can Grandma be more closely related to some of her grandchildren than others? Well, I guess if you play the DNA game, it might appear so. It goes something like this:

• Paternal grandmother (doesn't apply to me, I don't have a son, but let's see where this leads) - mama passes one of her X's to her son. He then passes his one X to his daughter, his Y to a son. Theoretically, paternal grandma is twice as close to her granddaughter (one of those two X's are hers via son) as to her grandson (nada, since grandma has no Y to contribute). Are you following this?


• Maternal grandmother (that'd be me) - mama passes one of her X's to her daughter. There's a 50/50 chance grandma's X is the one passed on to either a grandson or granddaughter. Ergo, maternal grandma is related to her grandchildren (sons and daughters) equally.

Hm. So according to this strictly DNA stuff, the daddy's mother will play favorites with her granddaughter, but not with her grandson. The mother's mama will be equally preferential. Did I get that right?

Of course, this is just the science end of things. We grandmas and grandmas-to-be know that loving those grand-chirruns has nothing to do with who gets the most X from whom. It's all about love, love, love.

Does video-watching = genius?

Seems the Disney folks who produce the incredibly popular video series, Baby Einstein, are giving refunds for the videos because they do not - I repeat, do NOT - turn your babies into geniuses simply by watching them. Campaign for a Commercial-Free Childhood has been fighting the video-babysitter industry for years and got to the brink of a class-action lawsuit before Disney caved to the refund idea.

OK, here's this Baby Boomer's take on all this. The whole Baby Einstein-stuff is just silly. So are all those programs trying to teach a 3-month old to read. C'mon, parents. Do you really want tiny kids to be smarter than you? No, you do not. (And you certainly don't want your teenager to be smarter than you, but there's no real danger of that, unless you're trying to relive your youth at the same time. But I digress.)

However, I'm not sure I buy into the whole "no commercials, no television, no pop-culture" push, either. My own dear child was raised on lots of Disney videos - Mary Poppins, Sleeping Beauty, Pinocchio, Bedknobs and Broomsticks, and on and on. Often times a parent does need a video- babysitter, whether just running to the bathroom or fixing dinner, and who better than Julie Andrews, Jiminy Cricket, Flora & Fauna, and Angela Lansbury to entertain your tot? Comedy, drama, color, music, and life-lessons - with no over-arching goal of making the viewer into someone who can invent a great way to destroy mankind.

And have you ever met one of those no-TV kids as an adult? Completely clueless as to pop-references in literature, newspapers, and daily conversation with peers. Kinda creepy.

Here's the thing. There's nothing wrong with great entertainment, which usually teaches more than anything pointedly "educational." The real bonus is that the good stuff, the classic stuff, captures the parent as well as the child. I will gladly snuggle next to my little one to watch and laugh and sing and explain Meet Me In St. Louis or Worst Witch, something I'd never do with a Baby Einstein video. Oooh, yes. I'm talking parental-engagement here. Good parenting does take constant presence, explanation, and cuddling with children.

So those of you with stacks of Baby Einstein videos, pack 'em up and send 'em back to Disney for a refund. And remember. The real Baby Einstein didn't watch videos to become Big Guy Einstein.

Baby-Mama at 22 weeks

Has parental sanity hit the skids? Nursery rhymes are GOOD for kids.

This Mary is quite contrary after reading that a goodly number of parents in Britain find nursery rhymes too old fashioned to share with their children. What?!

Granted, losing sheep, falling asleep under haystacks, and tumbling down hills after fetching buckets of water aren't experiences our internet, video game-playing kids can readily relate to. Still, must we sacrifice time-honored verbal rhyming skills and pure imagination to the reality hip-hop gods?

Mother Goose rhymes can be read, said, or sung from the time you first hold your dear little one. The rhythms and verbal patterns are soothing, however "disturbing" the subject matter. As children grow, those rhymes serve as little mini-stories, giving a child the opportunity to use imagination to fill in the gaps or change the endings.

Many complain that nursery rhymes and fairy tales are too dark and disturbing. Well, phooey. I wonder how many children actually find it scary that Humpty Dumpty couldn't be put back together or that Jack broke his crown? I remember finding those things hilariously funny as a child. I mean, we're talking about a giant egg here, people. And kids fall down (or slip on banana peels) all the time. Physical humor. I especially loved the blackbirds that snipped off the maid's nose. Ha!

I do hope the statistics don't reflect reality here in the United States. As crazy as they are, these rhymes and fairy tales are part of our heritage, connecting one generation of parents with another. They are woven into a common cultural knowledge that transcends age and generation. Fortunately, folks in the know about language and culture fully support the world of Mother Goose.

As long as I'm around, my grandchildren will have nursery rhymes and fairy tales poured into their little ears. Consider it a gift from one generation to the next, stretching back over time as it moves forward.

Yes, contrary this Mary may be. But I also have a garden full of silver bells and cockle shells. Oh! And pretty maids all in a row!

October Sonogram

And proof we have a little boy on the way!

(Sorry so blurry. I'll scan them at work and post clearer shots later.)

Baby Advice a la Mode

Advice pertaining to the health and welfare of mothers-to-be and their babes seems to change as often as fashionable hemlines go up or down. I haven't read any pregnancy/childbirth books lately (why would I?), but I do hear the chatter about all that is correct or not correct these days from my first-and-only-born-now-pregnant daughter.

I remember when I was pregnant way back in 1982-83, ingesting any form of sodium nitrate/nitrite was considered - at the very least - bad form. Call me a bad mommy, but I did eat bacon and hot dogs on occasion when I was preggers. And gave birth to the healthiest little cuss you've ever seen.

One of the big things now is no raw/undercooked fish. Poor daughter loves her sushi but has been staying away from it while pregnant. I do wonder, however, how the Japanese manage to birth healthy babies while continuing to consume sushi and sashimi with a bun in the oven. Hmm.

And the safety measures built into toys, furniture, and clothing have changed as well. Too many to name here. Again, I wonder how we all managed to survive the old stuff, eh?

My advice to my daughter and any other pregnant lass out there is this: By all means be as safe and healthy as you can possibly be for yourself and your baby. Eat right, get some exercise, and put away all the enticing breakables until your child is 18.

However. Women have been giving birth for eons, eating everything from dirt to raw wild animals and putting their precious darlings in holes dug in the ground, rickety cradles, and baby beds with slats spaced more than what is now considered safe. Guess what? Civilization has endured! Babies have thrived!

One of my favorite TV shows is "Mad Men." Pregnant character Betty Draper smoked and drank (real liquor, not just wine) and then gave birth to a healthy baby boy. That's the way it was in the 50's and 60's. I certainly do not advocate smoking and drinking during pregnancy, but you know what? Millions and millions of perfectly healthy babes (Baby Boomers, anyone?) were born of mothers who chain-smoked, ate bacon, and drank cocktails throughout those nine months. We're smarter now (I hope), but babies are tougher than we give them credit for.

Do what seems right to you. Trust me, by the time your own sweet children are bearing your grandchildren, the rules will have changed yet again. No telling what baby furniture will look like in 30-40 years. And yet, your little sweetums will make it just fine in whatever the current fashion of safety might be.

Relax. This baby business ain't new.

And the big news today is . . .

Grand to the 2nd Power

As long as we're spotlighting "grand" generations, I'll shine a fuzzy light on my own grandparents.

Paternal Grandparents:
William Robert "Grand-daddy Rob" Frazier and Allie Mae "Grandmother" Pardue Frazier. Actually, not sure if Grandmother's name was spelled "Mae" or "May," but folks just called her Allie, so I guess it doesn't matter.

When I was little Grandmother and Grand-daddy Rob lived on a farm in Henrietta, Tennessee. Daddy Rob didn't say much, but what he did say had a subtle humor about it. We loved him dearly because he made us laugh. Knowing Lil Sis Cindy loved cats, he'd always make sure there were plenty around whenever we'd visit. Other memories: sitting around the tiny coal fire, Daddy Rob smoking and coughing, and playing Rook.

Grandmother was always busy as a whirlwind - cooking, usually, but I'm sure she was doing other farm chores. I distinctly remember watching her go to the backyard and wring a chicken's neck so that we'd have yummy fried chicken for dinner. And I, for one, never minded eating that chicken, wrung neck or not. Grandmother never sat down at the table during meals. She was always re-filling our plates (took us forever to finish!) and sat on a high stool, so that she could easily pop up and down.

Maternal Grandparents:
George Warren Bartow and Ilder "Mama" Gresham Bartow - the Georgia grandparents. I don't have a grand name for George Warren because I only met him once. He gave me 50 cents. As best I can ascertain, Mama asked him to leave after her girls were grown. Maybe an alcohol problem? Certainly no divorce. Still, I never knew him. We called my mother's mother "Mama" because Mother and her sisters called her that. We grandchildren called our own mothers "Mother." Interesting.

I know from my Aunt Nell that George Warren was kind and hard-working. He loved Mama and all of his girls. It's hard for me to imagine what could've taken place to drive him out of the house, especially since it was a strict Southern Baptist household and seemed to frown on "broken" families. Mother never really talked about George Warren. I remember visiting his grave with Mother. I hope he found peace because he looked a gentle, but sad soul.

Mama was such a strong figure that I just never questioned her need for a corresponding grand-father figure. She was strict but loving. Mama was one of the original Bully Bartows; no question that she was boss. She was gorgeous in her younger days and had beautiful black wavy hair. She and I were never really close - I think I just tried to stay out of her way, since she never paid me any special attention except when I'd gotten into mischief. She doted on my cousin Steve, which was fine as far as I was concerned. By the time I was 8 or 9, hardening of the arteries (as it was known at the time) had set in. Talk about Confusions of Grandeur! Daddy once called her the Goddess of Confusion because she was so addled. After several years of her daughters trying to cope, Mama was finally put into a care facility in Dalton, Georgia. I always dreaded having to visit her, since she didn't know who I was and the place was depressing to a kid. She died a day or two before my 16th birthday.

I loved my grandparents, but I was never really close to any of them. Each had unique gifts and quality of character that leave me with fond memories. I admit to being kind of jealous of Kate and her generation for the relationship they had with my own parents - all the doting and spoiling. But it was a different time, and my grandparents had come of age in the first years of the 20th century.

This grandparenting thing has many facets, so I'll just have to see which qualities of my own grandparents I bring with me.

A New Family Album: Page 1

Awwwwww. Got baby's first picture from Daughter today, and I noticed how much the little blueberry looks like GrandMary: big head, fat tummy, and in a reclining position. You see the family resemblance, too, right?

It's hard being so far away from the action during Kate's pregnancy. All the doctor visit reports and day-to-day nausea monitoring have to be transmitted via email, Facebook, or phone, which is frustrating for both of us. Of course, there's not much need for hands-on help right now. We'll see how it goes once the Bundle of Joy arrives.

Due date? February 22. A little George/Georgia Washington. And so we begin a new family album . . .