Leaping into the future with Bailey and Avi

2019 edition of the grandchildren.

I blinked and my grandchildren leaped into the future, Bailey heading off to Kindergarten this week and Avi back to preschool. Because their mom -- my daughter, Lauren -- teaches in a nearby elementary school, all of them are now together under the same roof.

Lauren spends her days teaching kids with special needs while Bailey and Avi spend their time showing off just how special they are. Hey, I'm their Pops so I have the right to pop off every now and again!

Truth to tell, the kids are absolutely normal. They run around and play, manage to get into stuff that often drives me bonkers -- why do the kids put beans in their ears? -- and often fight with one another like cats and dogs.

They also both remain pure spirits with hearts of gold, filled with the innocence of youth and unconditional love.

Avi: Always smiling and ready for fun.

After a morning that had me thinking it would be easier to herd a bunch of cats then control my grandkids at play, I finally managed to get Avi into his crib for a nap. As I went to close the door, Avi called out that he wanted a hug. He wrapped his little arms around my neck, then kissed me on the cheek before settling down with a contented smile across his face. A moment later he was asleep.

I then got Bailey to quiet down by handing her my iPad. As she got comfy on a couch in our den, happy to spend some quality time on YouTube, I was thinking I might grab a quick nap.

Bailey: Now in kindergarten and ready to read.

Bailey had other ideas.

"Pops", she called out, "won't you come snuggle with me?" And that's how I got to spend some quality time with my granddaughter and JoJo Siwa -- trust me, JoJo is very big with 5-year-old girls.

In a world that often seems turned upside down, at times dark and troubling, Bailey and Avi provide a measure of light. It might seem counterintuitive, but with all their ranbunctious play and zest for life, they offer up an island of calm, a sense of normalcy ... hope.

And isn't that the way it should be with all of God's children?

Discovering happiness in the moment

Bailey out and about and enjoying life at Chuck E. Cheese's.

Bailey was vegging out in her car seat, savoring the memory of the tasty milkshake she had just devoured. All was good until I told her we were headed back to her house and she made it screamingly clear that she had other plans.

We can stay out another 10 minutes, I told her. No, she bargained, three more minutes. Bailey, thankfully, has yet to master the ups and downs of time!

She had spent the morning with her Bubbe at synagogue, chatting and playing and sort of praying -- see what I did there?! After chowing down on a bagel and a handful of cookies at the Oneg, Wendy and Bailey drove to a nearby Lakeshore Learning Store where I met up with them for a little arts and crafts adventure.

We then stopped briefly at one of the ubiquitous fast food spots nesting in our little corner of the world and had a sugary snack: a vanilla milkshake for Bailey, while Wendy and I shared a root beer float. Yummy!

Avi, Pops and Bailey sharing a little Kodak moment.

A few moments later we were headed home when the screeching and bargaining began. Bailey and I eventually made it to a lake in her subdivision where, she said, she wanted us to stop and spend a little quality time sitting on a bench and watching the world go by.

And that's pretty much what we did. It was hot and humid, I was tired and more then ready for an afternoon nap, and Bailey was just a tad snappish, wallowing in her toddlerness and wanting what she wanted -- now!

A day later, not only had I forgotten the heat and humidity, my weariness and Bailey's momentary lapse into childhood churlishness, but I found myself happily thinking about our short adventure at the lake and wondering when we'd be getting together again.

The image playing out in my mind was bathed in a golden glow, a cool breeze whisking away the summer heat and mosquitoes. The real stuff -- Bailey pointing out a couple of turtles sunning themselves on a rock and a raft of ducklings enjoying an afternoon snack -- seemed both casual and intimate, a slice of life of a slice of life. Add a soundtrack filled with a gentle melody heavy with strings and I'm thinking we have the centerpiece for a coming-of-age blockbuster.

I mention all this simply to make the point that happiness sometimes is hidden away in the moment, but almost always surfaces in our memories.

And this is what I remember most.

As we sat quietly chatting about this and that, enjoying the day and the moment, I glanced down at Bailey and realized she had quietly reached over and was holding my hand. It was a sweet and innocent gesture of trust and unconditional love. And it's one of the best perks of being a Pops.

Bailey Boo and New York, Too!

Bailey, Bubbe, Lauren and Josh out and about in NYC.

Our winter getaway this year was a family affair to New Jersey and New York, a couple of days to attend and celebrate our grand niece Jessica's Bat Mitzvah, mixed with a few days to chomp away at The Big Apple yet again!

Highlights included Bailey flying the friendly skies of United for the very first time and riding a train, then venturing in to Manhattan and getting chilled to the bone, dancing the night away at her cousin's party and filling up on enough sugar to keep her spinning about for hours.

We also spent some quality time with Lauren and Josh, first in Jersey with family and friends, then into the Big Apple for a quick trip around Times Square and Rockefeller Center. Then we were off to the Upper East Side to try out the pastrami at a little hole in the wall, The Pastrami Queen, that came highly recommended. Two words: Good Eats!

On Sunday, after a few days of folks and fun, Wendy and I returned to the city after dropping Lauren, Josh and Bailey at the airport in Newark. We generally spend a longish weekend in Manhattan in late January, but decided to go ahead and eat our way across the city and attend a few shows since we were already in the area.

Great view of lower Manhattan from Brooklyn Heights.

We mostly wandered about the neighborhoods in Chelsea and Greenwich Village, revisting a few of our favorite restaurants and bakeries -- Rafele and Rocco's in the West Village and S'MAC, always a cheesy delight, just this side of SOHO. We also took a walking tour that had us trekking across the Brooklyn Bridge, offering up amazing views of lower Manhattan, with stops in Brooklyn Heights and Dumbo -- trust me, it's a New York sort of thing!

We only had time for two shows and decided to take a chance on the Rockettes and the annual Christmas Spectacular at Radio City. It was definitely a spectacle, sort of a mega-cruise ship production on steroids. I'm thinking it's the type of show that a kind and forgiving critic would roll their eyes at, then report truthfully that "a good time was had by all!"

We also made it to Broadway to see "Come From Away," the Tony award-winning musical focusing on the residents of Gander, Newfoundland and the thousands of airline passengers stranded there following the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center.

"Come From Away" funny, sad and delightful.

It's a creative and energetic production, funny and sad, filled with music that manages to be both uplifting and melancholy. The story had Wendy and me laughing, crying and up on our feet cheering with the rest of the sold-out house when the final curtain came down!

The trip, unfortunately, became a bit of a jarring adventure, thanks to the weather and an electrical fire that messed up the return journey home. The kids' flight was delayed, then canceled when the airport in Atlanta suffered a blackout that played havoc with flight schedules around the globe.

Lauren, Josh and Bailey were forced to spend an extra night in New Jersey; thanks and a tip of the cap to our niece and her family who provided them with a place to rest for the night and got them back to the airport the next day. The flight delay and cancellation eventually had them flying to Nashville, renting a car and driving the final four hours back home to Atlanta.

Josh, Lauren and Bailey finally on the way back home.

Meanwhile, Wendy and I boarded our flight right on time, but flew smack dab into a torrential thunderstorm hovering about northern Georgia. We spent 30 minutes of the flight being battered by high winds, then white-knuckled our way through an aborted landing before arriving safely, if a little shaken, at Hartsfield Jackson -- aka, the Atlanta airport!

I'm holding on to the idea that often a trip is just a trip, but when something goes wrong it all becomes an adventure. So I'm pretty sure that our little trip up north this year was a grand holiday and one heck of an adventure!

Walking, talking and exploring the world

Bailey out and about and having a ball.

Bailey and I were making our way to my car recently, maneuvering our way through the garage packed with the stuff of life -- boxes of old clothes, and little used cooking utensils, tools, garden supplies and a flat screen TV that was fried during a recent storm.

As she wiggled her way between the car and a couple of dusty storage bins, Bailey muttered over her shoulder: This is a tight fit!"

She tossed out the words with a tiny exasperated sigh that had me chuckling for an instant. But I had to admit she was right. It was a tight fit! What I couldn't quite figure out, however, is when and where in her very short life had she managed to pick up the phrase "tight fit" and learn to use it correctly.

To put this all in context, consider: I took two years of Spanish in high school and two quarters of German in  college. I also lived in Germany for 15 months, working closely with locals on a NATO base that also employed a handful of officers from Italy, Belgium and France.

Given my years of study and living abroad, it might seem likely that I was trilingual, certainly bilinqual, right? Au contraire mom ami! Truth to tell, about the only phrases I recall from my scholarly and experiential efforts are the oh-so useful queries, "Habla Español?" and, that's right, "Sprechen sie Deutsch?"

I absolutely had no idea all those years ago -- and certainly not now -- how to say "This is a tight fit" in German or Spanish. So, exactly what sort of magic are Bailey and other toddlers using to learn how to talk?

Mom and Dad cuddling with Bailey.

Anyone whose spent time around a baby knows that one of the grand joys of life is watching an infant grow and mature. The talking begins with cooing around the second month and quickly morphs into babbling about four months later.

By the time a baby celebrates their first birthday there's a really good chance they're talking gibberish -- and that's a good thing! Over the next several months they start using a few familiar words -- mama, dada, Cookie Monster, string theory! Okay, the physics reference is stretching the point; but only a year or so later, about the time the infant is blowing out two candles on their birthday cake, they know 50 or so words and managing to correctly use two-word phrases.

And then they're off to the races.

Bailey is 30 months young now, a bundle of endless energy that comes gleefully wrapped with an infectious smile and a crown of curly hair. Like most toddlers her age she's hit that maddening stage of life -- the terrible twos -- when her wants are much more important than her needs.

The fascinating part of all of this is the language thing -- I'm convinced that it really is magic -- plus her boundless curiosity about all those things that we jaded adults take for granted.

Kodak moment: Bailey, Bubbe and Pops at Shabbat sing

That means that both Bailey and I -- her parents and Bubbe; her fraternal grandparents, Janice and Steve; preschool teachers and extended family and friends -- are occasionally frustrated as she explores the world and wants to know, well, everything.

Her favorite phrase right now is "What's that?" My answers as we venture about, include: A leaf, a cloud, the moon, a car, a sign, an ant, the mailman, a rock, a bigger rock, a chocolate sundae with whipped cream, nuts, sprinkles and a cherry on top!

The good news is our mutual frustration turns to joy and amazement most days when Bailey, with little fanfare, hands me a leaf and announces that it is, in fact, a leaf; that she lets me know when it's time to go home and tells me to put her in the "car", then points out the clouds that fill the sky and the moon resting on the darkening horizon.

Meanwhile, the wonder of watching Bailey become Bailey can be found in a little vignette that played out earlier this week. She was spending the night with Wendy and me and we had just finished up the initial steps of preparing for bed: Fresh diaper, into pjs, books selected and read, then read a second time.

We were methodically working our way through stage two of the process, making sure her dolls, blankets, "lovies" and pillows were all in her crib and properly placed when, unprompted and delightfully, she began quietly singing the "Shema"! Those of you still with me and not a member of the tribe, just accept my word that this is a Jewish thing akin to saying your prayers before going to sleep.

Bailey finished up the little nightly ritual, then hugged me and her Bubbe tightly before snuggling under her blankets and waving us out the door.

Another day older, another day wiser, another day filled with love. Bailey had a good day, too. Oh, it also turns out she's bilingual. Bailey chanted the Shema, after all, in Hebrew!

Ode to Bailey on turning two

The first thing you notice about Bailey is her hair. It soars about her head, a mass of curls that seem to defy the natural laws of physics.

At first glance, as she walks my way in childish glee, her helmet of curls and toddler's gait announce to the world the sweet and innocent nature of her being. She, like most youngsters her age, is a bundle of energy and spirit.

Bailey at 2, too cool for words

After all, Bailey Boo is turning two.
Yes, it's true, she'll soon be two.
Blink, and the days will rumble by,
and then, oh gee, she'll be turning three;
then another blink and time will soar,
and Baily will be turning four.

Okay, that rhymes, but I digress.
So shake it off and fix this mess.
Another rhyme, so stop it now,
and don't get smart or have a cow.
Okay, that makes no sense at all,
except when Bailey "moos" then falls atop her dolls;
and laughs and screams for more ice creams!

Ice creams, really? Enough; I say enough!

Let's focus on today, the here and now when life for Bailey remains a hidden mystery to be explored; and explore she does! There are no drawers she doesn't open, no buttons or switches she doesn't push,  no tchotchke she doesn't examine or box she doesn't kick. All this play is really work, the stuff of life and the business of living when you're still in diapers.

It's also what defines the "terrible twos", that exhausting, fussy period when a baby becomes a toddler and when "want" becomes part of their vocabulary. There was a time, not long ago in Bailey's short life, when there were only "needs". Keep her fed and watered, rested and clean and all was good with her and the world.

Now, there is no toy, book, doll or game she doesn't want. At the market she wants a cookie, at a department store she wants -- in fact, has to have -- whatever she spots; and don't even think about taking her into a shoe store!

Here's the good news. Wanting is part of life; it's the creative force that drives the cognitive, emotional and social development of a child. It's what gets us humans from here to there and it's what drives parents and others to drink!

It's certainly what had Bailey digging deeply into a planter in our kitchen this week, wanting to understand what all that dirt would look like spread across the floor.

And yet all is forgiven, even forgotten, when she bursts into our home most days, shouting for Bubbe and looking for Pops; when she rests her head on my shoulder and wraps her arms around my neck; when she blows a kiss and waves goodbye.

Two years ago when Bailey was born, I wrote that her birth ushered in a season of joy. I'm happy to report that the joy remains and the adventure continues.

So happy birthday, Bailey Boo,
and never forget that we love you!

Working, playing and a peek-a-boo surprise

Kodak moment: Bailey Boo and Pops make two

It was one of those special moments, the instant when Bailey first took hold of my hand and tottered about like a drunken sailor. She has yet to fully find her sea legs, but is gamely attempting to push her way into the future.

She cruises about these days, lifting herself up, holding onto anything handy -- a table or shelf, bedroom wall or pile of boxes. It's all about getting from here to there, pushing and pulling and grabbing hold of the moment.

It's tough work, this leaping forward and figuring out the sights, sounds and logistics of life. After all, she's only 16 months old. But Bailey is a happy warrior, laughing and giggling her way around obstacles, gleefully offering up a word or two of gibberish that has recently started making sense.

The road is clear. The future beckons.

There's much to be learned by watching a baby. If lucky, the game begins with health and a little wealth; enough stuff, at least, to keep the focus on the natural and important bits of living -- eating, sleeping and pooping! Bailey's now exploring walking and talking; each day filled with something new and amazing.

So if you're in the game and have a baby around the house, it's an incredible and joyful journey. It can also be peek-a-boo surprising. I'll explain.

Just last weekend, the lovely Miss Wendy and I managed to spend some quality time with Bailey, a day filled with tottering around the house, sliding and gliding and giggling with glee. The plan was for Bubbe and me to watch over Bailey while Lauren and Josh had a night free.

After feeding and watering the baby, reading books and singing songs, playing with blocks and dolls and phones and remotes -- hey, anything with buttons and lights is in play -- standing up and sitting down and rolling about for an hour or so, it was time to put on our jammies and go to sleep. Yeah!

This is probably a good place to mention that playing -- lots of playing -- is a good thing. Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning. But for children, play is serious learning. It's really the work of childhood. At least that's the thinking of Fred Rogers -- yes, that Mr. Rogers!

I wholeheartedly agree; but I digress.

Bailey, as she is want to do, cried out for a second or two after being gently tossed into her crib; then she rolled onto her tummy, found her thumb and a comfy corner and lightly floated away on a metaphorical cloud.

Here's another observation. There's probably nothing more stressful then a fussy youngster; and there's probably nothing more comforting then a happy, sleeping baby. After all, when Bailey is happy, everyone is happy.

And so it went for the next 12 hours or so, until night gave way to the lengthening and lingering shadows of morning. Wendy and I momentarily pushed aside the light, then grudgingly gave in to the demands of life, stretching and yawning and listening for the morning song of our grandchild next door.

But all was quiet -- too quiet! The sun was rising well above the horizon and Bailey had yet to cry out. It was a good hour passed her usual wake-up call and for an instant a seed of panic took hold of our hearts.

We wiggled out of bed and padded quickly to the nearby nursery, ever so gently pushing back the door. Light streamed into the room and I could spot a corner of the crib, but no sign of Bailey. I pushed the door a bit wider and still no sign of her. The seed was growing

Another shove, swinging the door fully open, and I found myself face-to-face with my granddaughter. Bailey stood with her arms atop one corner of the bed, her head resting comfortably on her hands, a little angel, just about perfect in all the ways that matter. She might have been resting their in regal repose for only a moment, perhaps an hour or more. A look of bemused indifference spilled across her features. Our tardiness was forgiven.

We stared at one another for an instant longer and then Bailey smiled, a gap-tooth grin that I took to mean good morning and where the heck have you been. The day was newly born and grand adventures rested mightily on the horizon. Life beckoned and time was wasting.

Bailey turns one and we're all happy, happy, happy!

Say cheese: Bailey all smiles as we celebrate her birthday.

So, here's something worth celebrating: Bailey turns ONE on Friday!

It's been a year since Lauren and Josh called us all -- the waiting and anxious grandparents -- back into their little hospital hide-away and introduced us to the tiny package of pink that would become the center of our universe.

Bailey was quietly regal, I recall, bundled up in a swaddling cloth and already checking out the world with a gleeful look of curiosity and good cheer. I was smitten!

In recent months, the simply being part of early babyhood has given way to a singular personality, a bright and beautiful little girl taking her first tentative steps into this bright and beautiful world. I'm thrilled to report she's mastered cooing and gurgling and moved on to screaming songs of joy; she can point and wave and clap; play peek-a-boo and throw the occasional kiss.

She's added finger foods and other mushy stuff to her diet while managing to slowly lose some of the baby fat that's made her oh-so huggable and lovable! Happily, she continues to sleep through the night, mostly, even though a squadron of teeth are beginning their final assault on her gums. But that's a story for another day.

All of this stretching and growing -- physically, mentally, emotionally -- is hard work for Bailey; but she's done the chore with grace and good cheer. Truth to tell, if I could use only one word to describe her life and attitude, her spiritual essence, it would be "happy."

In fact, it wouldn't surprise me at all if Pharrell Williams was thinking of Bailey when he recorded his iconic, toe-tapping tune that is HAPPY and bright and filled with joyous energy. Okay, it might surprise me a bit; but, hopefully, you get my drift.

To paraphrase Forest Gump's mom, "happy is as happy does ..." And Bailey knows how to do happy! Her winsome smile and infectious laughter is a gift that I can't resist, a balm for everyday woes that never fails to warm my heart.

So it would seem the only thing left to say is Happy, Happy Birthday, Bailey Boo. I can hardly wait to see what the coming year brings. The really good news is whatever happens, I know it will all be good. After all, happy is as happy does!

Life with Bailey: Short visit turns into grand adventure

Rule No. 1: If Bailey is happy, everyone is happy!

It was a cold and blustery day last January when Bailey, her mom, dad and doggie sisters dropped by for a short visit. Their home had been hit hard by the "arctic vortex" that blew its way across the region, dropping temperatures into the single digits and causing all sorts of weather-related problems.

My daughter and son-in-law's house was temporarily afloat, one little leak spilling gallons of water across much of the main floor. At first glance it seemed a minor, if troubling issue that might take a few days, perhaps a week or so, to fix.

Absolutely no problem, both I and the lovely Miss Wendy figured. Here was a perfect opportunity for all of us to hunker down and weather the storm; spend some quality time with the kids and really get to know Bailey, our precious little granddaughter, up close and personal.

I did mention this all happened last January, right? If you look at a calendar and crunch the numbers, that means we've been together for five months now. The good news is we're all still talking to one another and, even better, this little adventure is nearing its end!

In just a few days, Bailey, her parents and doggie companions will be schlepping back home and Wendy and I will once again become empty nesters! Despite the challenges that come with four adults, a baby and two dogs living in close quarters, I'm thinking it will be a bitter-sweet moment when the gang moves out and the house goes quiet.

The silence will be especially heavy in Bailey's room, filled with a crib and changing table, toys, diapers and the heady, soft scent of a baby. Her yips and yaps, cooing, crying and laughter have become part of the space, hanging lightly in the air and my memory.

It's not often that grandparents get to experience the first steps a newborn takes into the world -- eyes focusing, rolling about, sitting up and reaching out for sounds and colors. But Wendy and I have watched with expectant glee as Bailey mastered all these little things, her babyish ways ever so slowly morphing into what has become her unique personality.

What lingers around heavily at the moment is the soliloquy she offers up some mornings, a quiet cooing that spills lightly into joyous squeals, signaling the start of a new day. I've lain awake in my bed, watching the early-morning shadows march across the ceiling and, filled with contentment, listened to her soaring song.

A moment later, standing at her crib, I've watched Bailey glance about and, spotting me and whoever else has the morning watch, break into a smile that never fails to warm my heart. Find a way to package such innocence and spread it about, and the curse of cynicism would be vanquished from the world.

And so it's on this cosmic note that I choose to remember this bit of life, an adventure that I'm thinking we'll be sharing for years to come. The story will most always begin on a melancholy note, "do you remember back in 2014 ..." And at least for a moment we'll recall the donuts and fleas, web connections and Sesame Street, stacks of laundry, shared meals and walks around the neighborhood.

But mostly I'll recall Bailey's soaring song and the morning smile that filled my world.

"Miss Wendy" moving on to exciting new chapter in her life

A wonderful life: Bubbe and Bailey creating new memories

It was way back in the early 1980s when the lovely Miss Wendy opened a special door that will be closing on a euphonic, if melancholy note next week.

We had just moved to East Cobb and our daughter Lauren was starting pre-school at the JCC. Back then the school was housed at Congregation Etz Chaim, the synagogue that we stumbled across shortly after moving into this little corner of the world.

Wendy, being Wendy, got to know the teachers and administrators at the school quickly, so it didn't come as a surprise when I learned that she would be joining the staff as a part-time worker. Actually, it all made sense.

For a decade or so, Wendy had worked in various offices doing mostly secretarial chores. It was decent work but, well, not really a career. That all changed the first time she sat in a classroom surrounded by a group of youngsters, held up a book of colorful pictures and created a story that both entertained and enlightened the children.

The lovely Miss Wendy had found her calling.

As Lauren got older and moved on to elementary school, the part-time gig became a full-time job. Over the years Wendy worked with just about every age group, helping youngsters find their way as they took their first tentative steps into the world.

She continued her important work in the summers as a camp counselor, eventually becoming a director of one of the JCC programs at Shirley Blumenthal Park. And then she blinked.

Now, nearly three decades of work spread out from there to here, a bit of time filled with the stuff of life -- playing and learning, laughter, tears and memories.

Hundreds of young students -- many part of her legion of "teddy bears" -- have made their way through her classroom, learning their letters and numbers, stories about a fella named Waldo and a warrior named Judah, songs and dances and how to make matzo. They've also learned important lessons about how to get along with one another from a woman who's lived her life smoothing out rough corners with a joyful heart and a constant smile that most always lightens the heaviest load.

And here's just one way Wendy can measure her success. Walk along with her into any shop, restaurant, grocery store or park, movie theater or synagogue, and within moments her students -- many now  grown with children of their own, others just a year or two removed from her class -- spot "Miss Wendy" and most always offer up a warm hello, a few words of shared memories and, occasionally, a little embrace followed by words of thanks.

I'm the guy standing nearby, the one who is occasionally greeted as "Mr. Wendy." And although I often roll my eyes and tap my feet impatiently, the truth is that I couldn't be prouder of my wife and what she accomplished in a world that was once unfamiliar, but now is partly defined by her personality and good work.

For Wendy it's time to retire and move on to new adventures; time to create more memories, especially as a Bubbe. But "Miss Wendy" and the children she taught and loved will always be part of her life, warm thoughts that she can embrace in the golden years of her life.  

Bailey Update: Six months and counting!

Bailey, Bubbe and Pops share a special moment together.

My daughter Lauren is so excited that her daughter Bailey is now six months young that she's pulled together a video to celebrate. Truth to tell, I'm pretty darn excited myself. If you need a little smile and want to celebrate along with us, click on this link: Happy birthday (sort of) Bailey!

It's been an exciting adventure so far. Bailey is wiggling about, holding herself up, mostly, turning over a bit and starting to chow down on real food -- finally!

There has been a little playing about with sleep. After only a month or so, Bailey was sleeping through the night. For whatever reason, a few weeks ago she started waking up before the sun peeked over the horizon. So Lauren has tweaked the feeding schedule and we're almost back to a full night's sleep. Can I get an amen out there!

Meanwhile, as some of you know, Bailey, her parents and doggie sisters, are spending quality time with me and Bubbe. There was a little frozen pipe problem back in early January that forced Bailey and her folks out of their home. So we've all been living the good life together.

There's nothing like waking up to a baby yelling for breakfast each morning, especially when she offers up a morning smile that will melt your heart.

Happy half-birthday, Bailey. And just think, only another six months and you'll be ONE!

Mother Nature shouts “BOO”, but Bailey is safe and happy

Despite the weather, Lauren and Bailey are all smiles!

I think one of the perks of being a Pops is that one day down the road Bailey will make her way over to my house and her Bubbe and I will have a grand sleepover with our beautiful granddaughter.

We’ll build a little castle of sheets and towels that will spill across the living room and play hide-and-seek around the house, then drink hot chocolate and watch cartoons into the night. I’m a little exhilarated and exhausted just thinking about it all.

That said, thanks to Mother Nature our chance to bond with Bailey in such a Norman Rockwell fashion has given way to stark reality. For the last week or so Bailey, now an aging newborn of three months, has been living out her babyish days and nights with Bubbe and me.

She comes with an entourage – her mom, dad and two doggie sisters: Maggie and Ella Rufus!
The temporary move was made after a blast of artic air gripped the Land of Cotton, just about the same time as one of the furnaces at Bailey’s home decided to call it quits. Bailey and her mom bundled up and settled in with us while her dad remained home – an oh-so chilly but necessary decision. Hey, somebody had to watch the dogs!

A short two days later and the cold snap played itself out. Bailey and her mom headed home. What they stumbled into when they reached their house had them – Bailey, her mom, dad and the dogs – all momentarily reeling and in search of sanctuary.

I’ll explain.

The cold snap apparently whirled about Lauren and Josh’s home – that would be my daughter and son-in-law – and lingered around a few vulnerable pipes in a back bathroom. Need I say more?

When Lauren walked into the family room she heard a bit of static coming from a couple of speakers – never a good omen – then saw that a nearby hallway had become a watery canal. Yikes! Several inches of water covered all the nearby rooms, turning the newly installed carpeting – a little gift of welcome for Bailey in early October – into a soggy mess.

The static Lauren had heard was just a tiny taste of the pop and sizzle playing out as Mother Nature fried all the high-tech gizmos filling the house – computers, routers and lots of wiring connecting a state-of-the-art sound system, flat screen TVs, digital lighting and expansive security system.

That’s a long and windy way to say the gizmos and other stuff are mostly toast today. But, fortunately, there’s always tomorrow.

That’s where we’re all headed right now, neatly bundled up together in Pops and Bubbe’s home; warm and comfy and waiting for repairs. Okay, we’re a little pressed for space and there’s a little bumping into one another now and again.

But we’re all taking it a day at a time and, the good news, at least for me and the lovely Miss Wendy, we now have that opportunity to have a grand time with our new granddaughter in an up close and personal way.

No, we’re not building castles out of sheets or sharing warm cups of cocoa with Bailey – yet! We’re doing something better. It’s called life. It begins around 7 each morning when Bailey quietly announces that she’s up and ready to start the day.

She’s generally all scrunched up, her tiny legs flailing about as she searches for her thumb. If we’re lucky – and most mornings we are – she offers up a welcoming smile and a bit of baby gibberish that never fails to warm my heart.

The bulk of the day is a mixture of handling mundane needs – feeding, burping, and changing diapers – along with fun and games; lots of rocking and singing, tummy time and soothing walks around the neighborhood. Do this simple stuff just right and Bailey offers up a reward.

Often it’s just a contented sigh, her tiny hand resting lightly on my cheek or tugging at my finger; occasionally it’s the contentment I feel watching her eyelids grow oh-so heavy as I rock her in my arms and she falls ever so lightly into a gentle sleep.

Truth to tell, it’s a wondrous and symbiotic relationship.

Lauren, Josh, Bubbe and me – and let’s not forget Janice and Steve, our machatunim – are all working together to take care of Bailey’s needs. For her part, Bailey then satisfies our collective need that she be safe and happy.

So despite the watery mess that Mother Nature tossed our way, despite the close quarters and the little “gift” Maggie left on our hallway carpet – I did mention the two dogs, right – all is good.

At the moment the house is quiet. Lauren and Josh are resting in the guest room, Maggie at the foot of their bed; Bubbe is asleep and Ella is regally plopped next to her, comfy on my pillow; and in the room that was once my own little girl’s, my granddaughter is now safe and happy and floating in a dream.

In a couple of days or a couple of weeks the watery mess that is Bailey’s house will be fully repaired; warm and dry and home once again. And here’s the really good news. Years from now, I’m thinking, we’ll be talking and laughing about the “Arctic Vortex” of 2014 and the grand adventure that brought us all together in a very special way.

Caring for Bailey and warming my heart

Bailey fed, dry and happy and spending

the day with Pops. Can you say ahhh!

I finished up my first week of Bailey sitting recently and, somewhat miraculously, both my granddaughter and I are still around and fond of one another.

My daughter Lauren has headed back to work and, thankfully, there’s a gaggle of grandparents available to handle daycare. For a bunch of logistical reasons, I was the lucky guy, along with an assist from the always lovely Miss Wendy, tapped to spend time with Bailey last week.

It’s been an adventure!

At its heart, the job can be summed up in one word: poop and pee. Okay, that’s actually three words; but, hopefully, you get the idea. I know there’s the whole feeding thing also. But I sort of group that in with the pooping and peeing; it’s all one ongoing cycle!

Truth to tell, the real work is best defined as simply being. I’ll explain.

For most of my life I had a job that defined success by my doing something. I imagine that pretty much captures the point of most jobs, whether you’re making widgets, managing a hedge fund or digging ditches. In my case, I played with words as a reporter and editor for newspapers across the Land of Cotton.

Caring for Bailey does involve a bit of work. But after I spend a few minutes each day feeding her and making sure her diaper is clean, what I’m really doing is simply being with her. I hold and gently rock her; I hum songs from my childhood and make up tunes that keep her happy; I make silly faces and silly noises; I walk her about the house in my arms when she’s fussy and on pleasant days push her around the neighborhood in a stroller.

I learned all these special tricks over three decades ago after Wendy and I went looking for a pediatrician who, we hoped, would be able to detail the secrets of childcare. Wendy was pregnant and we didn’t have a clue about taking care of a baby.

Stephen King told us not to worry. He’s the doctor we found to take care of Lauren and, serendipitously, is the senior physician now in the practice that Lauren and Josh selected for Bailey’s care.  When we met all those years ago I was expecting him to listen to our concerns and then produce a spread sheet and expansive notes on how and when to do everything – feeding, diapering, bathing, sleeping.

Instead, he offered three words of advice: Love your baby. He then added, “Everything will be okay.” And, well, it was and is.

That’s what I’m doing now with Bailey, loving her.

And if I or Wendy or Janice – that would be Josh’s Mom and Bailey’s other Grandma – do our job really well, if we keep Bailey fed and dry, safe and happy, we get to hold her while she sleeps contentedly in our arms or offers up an innocent smile that is achingly beautiful.

That’s the kind of holiday bonus that’s really meaningful. It doesn’t have much purchasing power, but it certainly warms the heart on a chilly winter day.

It’s official: Bailey Rebecca becomes Chana Tovah

Bailey all decked out in her Etz Chaim

T-shirt that she was given as a present during

her baby naming last weekend.

Want to know what perfection looks like? I came close to spotting it over the weekend when Georgia won, Alabama lost and my granddaughter was “officially” named during Shabbat services at my synagogue.

The football games were nice – actually, incredible – but the icing on the cake was Bailey’s debut in the Jewish community, a transcendent moment of high ritual and ancient prayers when my eight-week-old granddaughter received her Hebrew name, Chana Tovah.

Boys are circumcised and given their Hebrew name when they are only eight days old; an ancient practice, the Brit Milah, which makes them officially part of the covenant of Abraham. This all might seem a bit bizarre for those of you outside the Tribe. Let’s just agree it’s a Jewish thing, and leave it at that.

Meanwhile, in recent decades, little girls have been welcomed into the community with a small, significantly less traumatizing event: the baby naming. We Jews take formal Hebrew names both to honor and recall family members who have died and to use in Jewish rituals – being called to the Torah for an aliyah or on religious contracts like a ketubah. Again, it’s a Jewish thing!

Those are some of the esoteric details, but the moment is mostly a celebration of family and culture, an opportunity to embrace who and what we’re about as individuals, a community and a people. For a moment Bailey, her mom and dad, stood beaming on the bima, our rabbi declaring to the world that Chana Tovah has become part of our ancient covenant.

He then cradled her gently and offered up the Priestly Blessing, that God bless and keep Chana Tovah; that He fills her life with light and is gracious with her; that He lifts up His face and grants Bailey a life of Shalom, Peace!

Apparently the blessing worked!

Bailey was not only at peace, she pretty much took a ho-hum attitude to the entire affair. She managed to sleep through the entire service, only fluttered awake momentarily during the celebratory luncheon, and completely ignored the dozen or so folks passing her about like a pop-star fan in a mosh pit.

So this is for you Bailey, a little remembrance that perhaps you’ll read on the eve of your Bat Mitzvah in 2026 or when you graduate from the, ah, University of Georgia – okay, we’ll discuss school options later.

More importantly, maybe this tiny blog will remind you of who you are and what’s important in life as you prepare to be sworn in as the first Jew and second woman to be president of the United States.

With great parents and doting grandparents, loving aunts, uncles, cousins and friends – many present and kvelling this festive weekend – it seems there are no limits on what you might accomplish with your life.

I’m just happy that I’ll be around to watch it all take shape in coming years.

Poop and Pops: The adventure continues

Bailey is as snug as the proverbial bug after an afternoon

snack and having her diaper changed.

It’s been over three decades since last I changed a diaper. But, like riding a bicycle, there are some things once learned that stay with you. And so it was, just the other day, that Bailey and I were spending a little quality time together.

My daughter Lauren was a little loopy from lack of sleep and I was on-call, the guy charged with sitting by the phone in case emergency action was needed. I’m not certain that babysitting qualifies as combat duty, but I probably could have used a little basic training in diapering 101 before my first big mission. I’m also thinking I might be putting in for hazardous pay in coming weeks.

The battle began as I was quietly feeding my granddaughter, holding her gently in the crook of my arm, my hand supporting Bailey’s tush and her itsy-bitsy tootsies flailing in delight. That’s when I felt a whopping huge bubble explode and squeak its way across the bottom of her diaper.

A moment later I had her bundled and burped and was off in search of the changing table in the nursery.  It shouldn’t be all that difficult carrying about a 10-pound package of baby softness; but sometimes, a squirming, wailing infant can be a challenge.

I’m thinking if someone was around to capture the next few moments, we might have the makings of a viral video: Poop and Pops! The problem was maneuvering Baily from my shoulder onto the changing table, holding her down and removing her diaper and finding a moist wipe off in the distance while she squirmed in defiance.

Then I had to figure out how best to slip the new diaper up and under legs that were flailing about and a tush and torso twisting in a squiggly dance of abandon. My herculean efforts were greeted with a tiny burp and smile – thank you very much!

This little bit of daily life is new for both Bailey and me and the wonder of it all is, in fact, the wonder of it all. The biology is clear but doesn’t capture the exquisite beauty of the adventure. Truth to tell, a new born is both the normal stuff of life and an inexplicable miracle.

Joining Bailey in the 21st Century … WAWI

Bailey either wants me to give her a call -- this just a

few days after being born -- or, perhaps she's suggesting

it's time I GAL and buy a new phone!

There are all the obvious joys and delights of becoming a grandparent, especially the first time around. It’s a life-affirming adventure that has a way of grabbing your attention and forcing most of us to ignore the small problems of life while focusing on the transcendent moments.

For the lovely Miss Wendy and me, there’s another bit of good news. Bailey, who just celebrated three weeks of life on planet Earth, is managing to nudge her low-tech bubbe and pops into the 21^st century. I’ll explain.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve probably noticed that we’re all zipping into a high-tech, digitalized world at the speed of light, filled with gadgets that both connect and, at times, push us apart.

Today you can pretty much hide away in a darkened room of your house, the bustling lobby of Grand Central Station or an intimate nook in your favorite coffee shop and, drumroll please, remain connected with your family, friends and colleagues – it’s magic!

With the right stuff and frame of mind, you can work and play games on a laptop; surf the web on a wide assortment of tablets, e-readers and other such devices and listen to music on itsy-bitsy Mp3 players. You can also mix and match all these gizmos and remain plugged in and tuned out till your mind turns to cheddar cheese!

You can also push aside all this expensive and hefty hardware and, for the most part, remain entertained and connected with one simple device that has become the high-tech toy of choice – the Smartphone!

That’s the good news. The problem is Wendy and I don’t have Smartphones. I’m don’t necessarily think the retro flip phones we carry around are “dumb”; but if you glance back at the photo of Bailey above I’m pretty sure she’s telling me it’s time to update and join her and everyone else in the 21^st century.

After all, unless we plan to carry around a photo album filled with glossy 8 x 10s, there’s no easy way to show off pictures of the newest member of our family. And when we attempt to offer up the latest images on the one-inch screens on our flip phones, a magnifying glass is needed to make out details!

And then there’s the whole issue of texting. I’ve yet to master this ubiquitous form of communication and, truth to tell, I’ve yet to figure out why it’s not a whole lot easier simply to make a phone call. But Bailey and her mom, that would be my daughter Lauren, seem to think the time is right to make the leap.

And they might be right. Lauren sent a text to Wendy the other night when she and I and Bailey were getting to know one another and Lauren and Josh were out and about, enjoying a free evening. Lauren simply wanted to know if everything was OK.

Thirty minutes later, after both Wendy and I had whacked away at her flip phone, attempting to respond, we managed to report: xtyxxes. “Yes” is buried somewhere in that cryptic note and, IMHO, we’ll actually be able to write something legible once we have a phone that comes with a usable keyboard.

If not, I’m thinking Bailey might suggest it’s time we GAL. I agree. So the lovely Miss Wendy and I are off in search of a digital update. Stay tuned and BB4N!

Bailey Update: Babies, grandparents and a ‘shayna punim’

Okay, really, you have to agree that Bailey is

a "shayna Punim", right?

It’s happened and I didn’t even see it coming. I’ve become my mother.

I was holding Bailey the other day – that would be my two-week-old granddaughter – and she was mostly doing her baby thing: lots of gentle sleeping, a little wiggling and a whole lot of just being cute.

Way back in the innards of my brain, apparently the part that is attracted by the serene sense of calm that newborns manufacture, a phrase started to take shape that I couldn’t quite put into words. It circled about for a while, lingering just on the tip of my tongue when, glancing down at Bailey, it tumbled out unexpectedly.

It was the focus of a sentence that, quite possibly, might be found if you look up the word “treacle” in the dictionary.

“Such a shayna punim; yes you are, oh yes you are!”

Oy! That’s another Yiddish word that means, well, oy.

For my Yiddish-challenged readers, shayna punim means “pretty face”. But, like lots of Yiddish phrases, it’s much more than simply a couple of words tacked together. It’s more a state of being and state of mind that, truth to tell, most all grandparents – Jewish or not – find in their grandchildren.

It’s a phrase that “yiddishe mamas” have been using for centuries and my mother offered up liberally when playing with her grandchildren and announcing to the world what a bit of perfection she’d stumbled onto.

That’s the wider meaning, the stuff of life that all babies capture. After all, in a tiny package of pinkness and hair, the potential for all they will ever become is making its debut and just about the only words that seem adequate for the occasion is the overly sentimental pronouncement, shayna punim.

So I’ve become my mother, not just using the phrase, but offering it up in that rhythmic, sing-songy voice that meshuggenah bubbes have, no doubt, copyrighted – I certainly don’t recall my father using the phrase.

I’ll know that the maternal link is absolute when I start using the term pisher, but I’ll save the details on that particular word and all that it means for another time.

Bailey update: Cooing, gurgling and a little smile

Josh and Bailey do a little father-daughter bonding

after arriving home from the hospital late last week.

So it was a simple question, an off-hand remark that got my attention and sent my blood-pressure soaring.

“Dad, I’m going to take a nap, so are you okay with Bailey?”

The person asking the question was my daughter, Lauren; and Bailey, my granddaughter, wasn’t raising any objections. On this day she was weighing in at just less than eight pounds and celebrating her fourth birthday – four full days on planet Earth! So, really, what’s the big deal, right?

After all, she was snoozing comfortably in my arms, wiggling about a bit and giving off those soft cooing and gurgling sounds that babies often make.

“No problem,” I said with all the bravado and good cheer I could muster. I mean, really, what could go wrong?

Ten minutes later and Lauren was off and napping in her room; I was gently rocking Bailey who remained adrift in that twilight world that babies frequent – not quite here, but working hard to figure out all the strange sights, sounds and feelings that we call home.

Nearby, Maggie and Ella – the canine members of the family – shuffled about, circling in search of that sweet spot where they could fall on their haunches and continue their afternoon siesta.

For a moment the room was filled with the euphonic and blissful sound of absolute contentment: the barely audible wheeze of air filtering through the black and wet nostrils of the dogs and the itty-bitty nose of Bailey. I was still holding my breath.

And then the doorbell rang.

The dogs were immediately up and barking, dashing for the door. I was yelling at them to quiet down and, fortunately, little Bailey was ignoring the commotion. Perhaps her face scrunched up a bit as I maneuvered my way up and off the couch in the living room, holding her close as I got to my feet in what can only be termed a masterful display of strength and dexterity.

I’m thinking what I managed was the sort of acrobatic maneuver that Cirque Soleil builds entire shows around. Then again, maybe not!  The good news is Bailey’s eyes stayed shut and her gentle cooing signaled she was still asleep.

So, too, apparently Lauren; she remained dozing in her room, a mom sleeping off an early-morning feeding and fussy follow through that had lasted until the sun settled on the horizon a few hours earlier. 

I quickly made my way to the door, the dogs at my heels, Bailey still in my arms. To my surprise, waiting to greet me was, well, no one. I uttered a well-chosen expletive, happy that my granddaughter was sleepily unaware of her Pops popping off and wondering if kids in the neighborhood were playing “ring and run” in the middle of the afternoon.

Then I spotted a package at my feet and heard a UPS truck chugging away in the distance. Only a few moments later our little group – Bailey, Ella, Maggie and me – was once again snuggly resting in the living room, order restored and the future looking bright. The quiet calm had me nodding off a bit, a sentry momentarily falling asleep at his post.

So it was with a little jerk of fright that after only a few seconds or so I woke and glanced down at Bailey. She was just managing – intentionally or not – to lift the corners of her mouth in her first-ever smile.

I glanced around to share the moment with anyone in hailing distance. Maggie and Ella took the news with quiet delight, glancing my way when I shared the news of my granddaughter’s little accomplishment.

Their bemused doggie stares reminded me that such is the stuff of life and, most probably, there will be additional "firsts" down the road.

Bailey Rebecca and a "Season of Joy"

Lauren, Josh and the newest member of the family, Bailey

just moments after my granddaughter made her

grand entrance at Northside Hospital.

My son-in-law Josh came sauntering out of a longish hallway at Northside Hospital, a slight and weary smile spreading across his face.

His next few words changed my life.

“Want to meet your granddaughter,” he asked me and the other three grandparents-in-waiting nearby; all of us tired, anxious and thrilled and more than ready to leave the waiting room where we had been keeping watch for a dozen hours or so late last week.

We huddled outside the labor and delivery room – an expansive space that had the feel of a comfy hotel suite that just happened to be filled with high-tech medical gizmos and monitors – took a deep breath and walked gently into the future.

My daughter Lauren, the rigors of childbirth now a fading memory, looked remarkably calm, cradling the little girl who had just made her grand appearance into this world.  And, at least for an instance, my mind was filled with the melancholy image of my parents, no longer of this world, and a jumbled blur of clichés: L'dor vador, the Circle of Life, peek-a-boo-I-see-you!

It would seem that my mind had turned to mush after hours of pacing, fiddling with high-tech smart phones, iPads and e-readers; low-tech newspapers, magazines and paperback books; chowing down on the very best that McDonald’s and nearby vending machines had to offer and trying to find the sweet spot on the lumpy chairs and sofas spread about the hospital’s Women’s Center.

But the pristine beauty of my grandchild, the life and energy that filled the delivery room when I, my wife and machatunim – that would be Janice and Steve – finally got a chance to take a peek at the center of our new universe, brought about a bit of clarity and had me thinking of the Book of Ecclesiastes and, well, the 1965 hit by the Byrds, “Turn, Turn, Turn”.

Those of you of a certain generation, hum along if you like!

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A Time to be born, and a time to die … A time to weep, and a time to laugh … A time to mourn, and a time to dance … A time to love and a time to hate.

On this special morning, when the sun had yet to brush the horizon, the darkness was filled with the light and soft, sweet smell of a baby, Bailey Rebecca, not quite an hour old. And, at least for the moment, my family’s season was blessed and clearly a time to be born and laugh and dance and love.

A very short six decades ago and I was stumbling through childhood myself and then I blinked. The college years were mostly fun and filled with friends and new experiences and then I blinked again.

I married, started a new job here in Atlanta, then started a family. I blinked yet again – well, actually, several times – and found myself looking back wistfully at four decades of work and trying to figure out, as Cher once asked Alfie, “what’s it all about?”

Spending a moment with Bailey, my first grandchild, and the cyclical nature of life is finally starting to make a little sense. At least for today, I think Solomon got it about right when he – or, more likely, a number of scholars over a number of years – explored the nature of life and the seasons that fill our days.

It turns out that living really is about weeping and laughing, mourning and dancing, loving and hating. Fortunately – and I think I speak for many bubbes, grannies and grandmas; zaides, grandpas and pops – life is constantly changing and the horizon continues to expand and shift, especially if there’s a baby resting comfortably in the near distance.

The really good news is that having the privilege to be part of the first moments of a new life – for me, Bailey’s – opens up a fresh new door. I think Solomon called it the Season of Joy.

 

A Seder to Remember

Lauren and Josh are all smiles after announcing we'll

be needing another chair at next year's Seder!

I’ve written much about the ghosts that take part in my Passover Seders, a spiritual link that connects me with both my ancient ancestors and family members who have died in recent years. Interestingly, this holiday season it wasn’t the past that offered up a cosmic connection but a glance into the future.

The first night of Passover, the lovely Miss Wendy and I attended a Seder at the Nathan’s – that would be Barbara and George, longtime friends of our machatunim – along with other family and friends. We spent a few minutes shrugging off the evening’s chill and warming up with casual chit-chat, then settled in for the night’s high ritual and festive meal.

So it came as a small surprise when Josh, my son-in-law, shushed the expectant crowd and asked for everyone’s attention. He stood silent for an instant then casually mentioned that Passover had been a very special time for him, especially in recent years when good fortune and grand adventure had become part of the holiday.

Five years earlier, Josh recalled, he and Lauren had gotten engaged. Wendy and I were hosting 30 of our closest friends and family for the first night of Pesach that year and were madly dashing about taking care of last minute details – honey, where did you store the matzo balls?

I was in the process of adding additional sugar to the bottles of Manischewitz – hey, you can’t be too rich, too thin or have too much sugar in your Passover wine – when Lauren called and asked if she and Josh could drop by to, ah, check out some pillows! For a normal person, the pillow talk should have been a clue that something was up; but I was deep into Passover madness.

So it was that the happy couple dropped by, stood in the foyer making small talk as Wendy and I whirled and swirled around in a prepping frenzy. After 15 minutes or so they mentioned they needed to be off and, yet, they still stood and waited. Lauren kept waving her hand about and I kept wondering why they hadn’t checked out the pillows upstairs.

It was in all this misdirection and hustle and bustle that the word “engaged” finally captured my and Wendy’s attention and we took note of the glittering diamond Lauren had been waving around frantically since she’d arrived. The diamond sparkled; Lauren and Josh beamed.

And so, it’s been five wonderful years, Josh was saying at the Seder the other night, and I thought how nice it was of him to celebrate the moment. But then I noticed Lauren. She was, well, beaming – again! I forget exactly what Josh said in the next few moments; something about needing an extra seat at next year’s Seder! What I mostly remember is everyone laughing and crying and hugging. I’m pretty sure I even heard the oh-so festive melody of Siman Tov Umazal Tov quietly in the background. After all, my yiddishe ghosts travel with me.

It turns out that for Lauren and Josh; Janice, Steve, Wendy and me, Passover will now always be about the future. If I recall my high school biology, Lauren will be doing the heavy lifting – after all, she’s the one who’s pregnant – but I’m pretty certain we’re all expecting!