My BATTLE BUNNY Regret

MacBarnettFan

A few Mac Barnett favorites that aren’t pictured here: SAM AND DAVE DIG A BIG HOLE, MUSTACHE, OH NO!, OH NO! NOT AGAIN!, GUESS AGAIN, and EXTRA YARN

If you get the opportunity to meet Mac Barnett, read Battle Bunny first.  Take it from me. I blew it. When Barnett visited  the Red Balloon bookstore in my neighborhood I hadn’t read it yet. MacBarnett Sept2014MacBarnettSept2014KEM friend, Elise, even pulled the  book out of a Barnes and Noble book shelf and told me I’d like it. But  I figured I’d look at it later.

Now I’m thinking the only thing I would have liked better is an autographed copy of Battle Bunny and a chance to gush about it. Dang it.

BATTLEBUNNYBOOKThe strange-looking treasure is two books in one.

 

 

It began as Birthday Bunny, written by Jon Scieszka and Mac Barnett in the style of a syrupy, grandma-friendly Golden Book.

Then it was given to  protagonist Alex (Scieszka and Barnett’s alter ego) by who else, but his doting Gran Gran. “Alex”  transforms it into a disturbingly entertaining, testosterone-ridden, hare-raising tale of doom and destruction.  (Alex’s artistic side comes compliments of Matthew Myers).

ToAlexanderLook closely.
The raw beauty of this book lurks in the details.  For instance, check out Gran Gran’s sentiments.

 

This note looks so real, I first assumed the library had a used book on their shelves. I can picture Alex gagging, choking, then gritting his teeth in response to his grandma’s  saccharine birthday endearments.

I’d type excerpts, but half the brilliance comes from “Alex’s” illustrations.AlexCredits

PluckedChicken

AlexToTheRescueAlexToTheRescueII

BackCoverBattleBunnyOur son wrote and drew BATTLE  stories in grade school. We know this because of the calls to the principal’s office.
CRACKLINOATBRANDThe principal would run his hand over his face and  suggest Ritalin. We’d try to look concerned, then save the confiscated manuscripts in scrapbooks.

Luckily, Josh had a revolutionary teacher with revolutionary ideas about letting kids be kids.

THE BEST STORY OF HANSEL AND GRETTEL Personally, I think the wrong family member creates children’s books.

 THE BEST STORY OF HANSEL AND GRETTEL

Text and spelling copyright 1991, Joshua Honeyman,
5th grade

T’was a time when sheep smoked cigars and elephants had cars and there lived a gangster group called the devils. In that group was two of the baddest, the leader Hansel and his evil side kick Grettel. Hansel and Grettel went into the woods in their nuclear tank while they redecorated it with spray paint. When they were nearly done they saw a house full of candy. They spray painted it with black, green, and purple paint. Then they knocked it down with a silver battle axe. hen I glanced at brats wrecking her  house, I got out my ninja stuff. Sharp like a knife I knocked the axes out of there hands. Suddenly Hansel kicked me into the microwave. I kicked the door down.

“You SKUM!” I yelled “NO ONE MESSES WITH ME!”

“Except us,” chuckled Gretel.

“HI-YA!” I yelled while kicking Gretel to the ground. Hansel took a missile lancher from the tank so I threw a sword it nocked it away from him.

“DIE DANDREFF DOG!” I yelled kicking them both to the TV set. I chained them to the couch and switched the channel to PBS.

“NO!” yelled Hansel and Gretel. Mr. Rogers was on. “AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!”

(Incidentally, this valiant superhero is now an Army Captain.)

BattleDuckiesWhile reading Battle Bunny to children, one must read it first as originally written, then reread it Alex’s way. Our grandkids’ faces light up as they notice each detail and witness the unleashing of an imagination (Technically, three imaginations: Scieszka, Barnett, and Myer’s).

During a recent overnight stay, our youngest granddaughter forced me (Okay, she said, “Please.”)  BattleDuckiesIIto read Battle Bunny to her twice–which, technically, means four times. The next morning she asked if she could play with the bath toys. I thought her request was unusual, because A.) she wasn’t taking a bath, and B.) we have way cooler toys than bath toys. Later, as I cooked breakfast, I overheard her, deeply immersed in her play world. “Take that! Evil Battle Bunny! You’re no match for my Superhero Duckies!”

When I looked under the coffee table, her request made perfect sense. A rebel  squeeze toy rabbit peered through his transparent plastic cup prison at an intimidating fleet of rubber ducky wardens.

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m so proud of my bunny-trapping granddaughter. (Sheer genius, like her Gretel-kicking uncle.)

Gran Grans, Nanas, Grandmas–whatever you call yourself–UNITE! We owe it to our grandkids to supply each one of them with a copy of Battle Bunny (for inspiration), a box of markers,  and a mushy Golden Book with a title page note from us urging them to go wild and re-create.

I do hope their parents (and their school principals) will forgive us.BATTLEBUNNYMEETSBATTLEDUCKIES

Strategic Spontaneity II

As posted in September, my husband and I committed to individual dates with our grandchildren. We’d intended to do this twice a year with each child.  But, with five grandchildren, and another making his debut any minute, we needed to step it up.  So, we finally enjoyed our first date with our second grandchild.  Coordinating around runny noses, holidays, work, school, and family time becomes more challenging as they grow.

Our date with “Tinkerbell”, granddaughter number two, age five, was even less spontaneous than our date with “Katie“, granddaughter number one.  Tink wanted to do everything we did with her sister — only, with amusement rides.  One thing we hadn’t thought about: 5:30-7:30 p.m. in January is a lot darker than 5:30-7:30 in August.  Also: 5:30-7:30 p.m. in January is a lot colder than 5:30-7:30 in August.  So, our repeat environment seemed a bit dreary in comparison to the first.

To add to this dismal atmosphere, once we found a vacant table in the Mall of America food court, a maintenance man had a seizure. Our five-year old granddaughter sat with her mouth gaping open as my husband rushed to assist the fallen, convulsing man and I dashed to the nearest concession for assistance in calling the mall emergency line.  Once we and Tink were assured he’d be okay, our cold food didn’t seem very appetizing, so we whisked her off to Nickelodeon Universe.  There, we would have to have fun in a hurry.  We only had time for three rides.

Since Minnesota time moves according to the thickness of molasses — teenage amusement ride attendees move much slower in January.  By the time we got on and off the Merry-Go-Round, we only had time for one more ride.  Tink’s selection: the Hot Air Balloons.  We thought we remembered the entrance location.  We didn’t.  Grandparent’s minds work slower in January, too.  We walked the perimeter of the indoor park one and a half times before we found it — at the hour we should have taken her home.

While we stood in line, I asked if she’d like both of us to ride with her or just Papa, since I joined her on the Merry Go Round.  “Just Papa,” she said.  “Otherwise, who’s going to take pictures?”

The attendant had a broken foot. Oh no!  The good news: the ride held approximately 20 big and little people.  The bad news: Tink and Grandpa were  customers 21 and 22.  After 12 and a half excruciatingly slow rotations, they boarded.

Tink had a funny incident descending the American Girl Doll escalator before, so I was happy for her uneventful ride with Grandpa.

After 12 and a half more flights around the pole and 25 blurry pictures, we swept Tink off to the nearest escalator to the ice cream concession.  No time to ask what dessert she preferred.

As we enjoyed our sweets, a little girl, about seven, sat beside Tink.   Obviously, a serious dance competitor or child beauty contestant  in her short sequined dress and giant bow, the girl polished a small trophy, hoping to win Tink’s adulation.  Unsuccessful, she batted her false eyelashes — the ones below her blue eyeshadow, and above cheeks of rouge.

“Oh, brother,” I thought, “Tink’s parents are going to kill us if Tink decides she needs make-up or false anything.”

Luckily, Tink’s half of a mint ice cream chocolate cookie sandwich won her adulation instead.

Even though we knew it was late, we couldn’t forego the dollar store sibling gifts.  Tink selected a bottle top necklace kit for sibling number one, a paint set for her younger sister, miniature dinosaurs for her toddler brother, and Tinkerbell coloring pages for herself.  She even found Valentine candy for her parents.  (Coincidentally — Tink’s favorites.)

As we drove her home, I thought about how Tink had rarely been anywhere without a sibling.  I’m sure it seemed weird, riding alone in the dark back seat with Grandpa and Grandma up front, so I turned and mouthed “I love you” with each passing mile — amidst insincere, giggly protests.

We thought Grandpa and I would be grounded for missing Tink’s curfew by an hour, but her parents were surprisingly calm.  The whole family swarmed us as Tink proudly distributed her gifts.

Tink and Katie hugged — an atypical occurrence. “Do you like your present?” Tink asked.

“I LOVE it,” Katie gushed.

Tink beamed. Grandpa beamed. Grandma beamed.

Hmmm…Strategic spontaneity still works — even when it’s a repeat performance in the dark.

Hello Dolly Date

The sweetness of our first official grandparent/grandchild “date” prompted me to plan another happily-ever-after family event just for the girls:  me, my doll (my daughter), her dolls (her three daughters), and their dolls (really — their dolls: McKenna, Ashley, and Katie). Our foo-foo destination — brunch at the American Girl Doll Bistro.

The younger girls’ dolls are Americans, girls, and dolls – just, unbeknownst to them, with a less expensive “g”.  To avoid melt-downs, I called ahead to inquire if all dolls would be welcome. Thankfully, the AG representative assured me that they do NOT discriminate against dolls of any origin, even from the less affluent side of the tracks.

When I picked up my dates, I expected the front door welcoming committee with the usual accolades – hugs, kisses, and “You’re the best grandma in the world”.  Instead, one granddaughter argued with her mom about the relevance of brushing hair, another love-wrestled her little brother to tears, and the littlest stomped, crossed her arms and protruded her bottom lip.  “I didn’t get bweakfast.”

“We’re going for brunch, Sweet Pea.”

“I don’t want bwunch. I want pancakes.”

Their dolls looked perky and groomed — but them — not so much. Apparently, they’d stayed up past their bedtime the night before. I threatened that we couldn’t go until they brushed their hair.  No bristles made contact.  I stood my ground — for about 45 seconds — until the one who once cut her sister’s hair said, “Why can’t we just be bald and wear wigs?”

Everyone gets great service at the American Girl Doll Bistro.

At the bistro, while I envisioned bald granddaughters, two girls at the table next to us gushed over official AG photographs.  I whispered to the server, “How much?”

“Twelve dollars each.”

I flinched.  It seemed a silly extravagance on top of barely touched $14 pancakes, especially since I brought my camera.  Unfortunately, the granddaughter with perfect hearing determined that life would not be worth living without official pictures.  So, she whined. I stood my ground — for about 55 seconds — until the “cheapskate” sign flashed on my forehead.

Apparently, the AG photographer saw my neon sign.  She humored me by asking if I wanted to take some pictures, too.  I happily  complied.
To escape the paparazzi  frenzy, the girls fled to nearest amusement park ride — the AG store escalator.  As my daughter and the oldest descended, I climbed on the top step with the youngest.  The middle granddaughter let go of my hand and stopped, causing a jam of escalator-goers behind her.  I heard “I’m too scared” as her sister and I disappeared below.”You wait there!” The Superman theme played in my head as we hastily got in line to ascend.

“Wook!” The youngest pointed.  The bottom half of the descending escalator was empty.  In the middle, an embarrassed, but chivalrous teenage male AG security guard held my granddaughter’s hand.  Granddaughter #2 beamed like a little debutant as an amused entourage packed behind them.

Better than an escalator.

Nickelodean Stare Down

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We grown-ups suggested real amusement park rides to avoid making the AG Doll’s worst customers list.  After zooming, swooping, spinning, and saying “no” to 375 pleas for SpongeBob SquarePants novelty items, my daughter and I suggested a dessert diversion. The girls chose cotton candy and then determined they liked my daughter’s and my ice cream better.  I stood my ground for about 15 seconds — until they found extra spoons.

The flawed fairy tale might have seemed a disappointment — if not for little boxes of table topics that grace the tables at the AG Doll Bistro.  One question: “What was your favorite childhood memory?”

My daughter and I reminisced about holidays past. Two of the granddaughters cited their birthdays.  But, soon-to-be-Escalator-Girl put her head on my shoulder and wistfully sighed, “THIS is MY favorite childhood memory.”

Seems the best memories don’t require perfect hair or even perfect harmony.

 

Strategic Spontaneity

We’re not sure how our oldest grandchild morphed into a social seven-year-old, but it caught us off-guard.  Her maturation snuck by us so quickly. To our hearts’ discontent — gasp — she now prefers playing with her friends over hanging with her grandparents.

We have two choices: 1.) wallow in self-pity, mourning the passing of the once-glorious moments she clung to our legs in worship or 2.) thank God for those memories and revel in her marvelous, normal development.

We chose Door #2.

Really, she hasn’t outgrown us.  She’s simply distracted.  Staying present amongst the diversions in our grandchildren’s  lives will simply require more creativity.  So, my husband and I formulated a strategic plan, incorporating  a tradition of semi-annual Grandpa and Grandma “dates” when each of our grandchildren will be the center of our universe.

We’ve only completed one Grandpa and Grandma Date and we’ve already determined that these modest events will soar among the highlights of our lives. 

During our first official date, our granddaughter (Ms. Social) selected dinner at A&W Root Beer and shopping as her excursion. She held our hands and skipped, often lifting her feet, so that we could swing her through the air. To encourage selflessness — and because children are starving in Bangladesh (we are cheapskates) — we took her to the dollar store to shop for her siblings. We worried she would consider us miserly.  Instead, she glowed, as if she had inherited a treasure. She carefully searched out the perfect stuffed animal for her toddler brother, an art apron for her pre-school sister, and window decals for her kindergartner sister.

She brought her own money to purchase eye glasses for her nearsighted doll.  We helped her do inventory of her pennies and nickels and Grandpa slipped in some extra change to cover her selection.


She declined amusement park rides, getting sidetracked by an ice cream/cookie sandwich.

When we dropped her off at her home she proudly distributed her gifts — a consolation for the formerly sad siblings who wanted to go on the first first date.

While we admired her admiring her bespectacled doll, Ms. Social whispered, “I love you, Grandma.  I love you, Grandpa.” This led me to skip–even though Grandpa couldn’t swing me when I lifted my feet.

Since then, we’ve decided to be proactive with our grown children and our friends as well — diligent in designing more quality interaction rather than hoping the moments will spontaneously occur.