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Bubbe Zayde TV

Facilitated by the remarkable technology that is FaceTime, Jo and I speak with Bina almost every day. Perhaps, I should rephrase that – Jo and I perform for Bina – and we do so with great delight.  At moments when Bina is a bit cranky or needs company while Nomi quickly runs to the basement to put in a wash (with Bina secure in her high chair), the Bubbe and Zayde Players are called upon to perform.  
I announce my appearance on Bubbe and Zayde TV with a rendition of “It’s Happy Zayde Time” sang to the tune of “It’s Happy Doody Time”, among the essential anthems of my youth. Jo’s specialty is a highly exaggerated sneeze that causes her hair to flop over her face.  Bina thinks that is the best thing ever. I call upon a Kermit the Frog Pirate doll to perform an array of antics; popping up from behind Jo’s shoulder, resting atop her head, magically appearing from the side of the screen.  Peek-a-boo maintains its allure for toddlers through the ages. 
We sing songs; Bina’s favorite, although we have no idea why, is “Bah, Bah Black Sheep”.  We are strangely drawn to TV and radio jingles from our youth.  Buster Brown is a favorite of mine:
 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pm4xH9unqzU)
By the way, Buster Brown still makes shoes.
Here’s another:
“Don’t cross the street in the middle………
” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qWGEPZlbtX4)
Why these songs remain lodged in my consciousness is a mystery to me.  My concern is that they are taken up space that might be better used for practical information – for instance, where I put my car keys.

In an emergency, when our normal grandparental antics aren’t doing the trick, I turn the camera around on the iPhone and head for a house and garden tour; stopping off to check to see if there are birds at the bird feeder and to listen to the notes of the wind chime.  We head out to the backyard to walk through the Bina Trail (see previous blog entry).
It’s hard to imagine that mental health workers wouldn’t be inclined to cart us away during these FaceTime sessions.  But that doesn’t bother Jo and I a whit, and we couldn’t be more delighted to prattle on like two asylum escapees.   Without question, prattling, carrying on, and being unashamedly goofy is among the great joys of being a grandparent.  We can’t wait to do it again tomorrow.

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