(My dad is the second one from the right. The oldest is my uncle Wilson, the next my uncle Cecil, then my dad, then my uncle Drew. They were handsome boys weren't they?) Several of you have asked how my dad is doing....well I guess I have not updated you in a while so I thought today was a good day to take care of that. Radiation is over for now....maybe. We had a CT scan yesterday and have a doctor's appointment on Weds. with Dr. Jahraus at the Cancer Center. Chemo was ended when he spent 8 days in the hospital getting blood. With all that said and done...his hair is almost gone...he just has tufts where it used to be. His eyes are sunken and he has no energy at all. He sleeps til 10:00 in the morning...and goes to bed by 4 in the afternoon. He does not talk a lot. He watches TV...and when you do get him to look at you...it is a blank stare. I miss my father. My dad was a vibrant fun and amusing man....this man in my house right now...is just a mere shell of the man I have known all my life. He does not know what day it is. He does not know what year it is. He still recognizes people....thank goodness for that....but to me it looks like he has quit. I guess I am a fortunate one...Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross has written about the five stages of grief and to be quite honest...it could be the stages of a person dealing with a loved one with a terminal illness. She says that,"at some point in our lives, each of us faces the loss of someone or something dear to us. The grief that follows such a loss can seem unbearable, but grief is actually a healing process. Grief is the emotional suffering we feel after a loss of some kind. The death of a loved one, loss of a limb, even intense disappointment can cause grief." Dr. Ross says that "sometimes people get stuck in one of the first four stages. Their lives can be painful until they move to the fifth stage - acceptance. The first stage is denial and isolation. I guess as a daddy's girl I have been hanging in a denial stage of all the things that are wrong with my dad.The second stage is Anger. I have been angry during my dad's illness....angry at the doctors, angry at my mom, angry at Frank, angry at my dad...even angry at God. The third stage is bargaining and oh yes,I have even found myself making bargains with God here. I have promised God all kinds of things...if he would just heal my dad. The fourth stage is depression and I have not been there yet. I hope I can be fortunate enough to skip that stage. Stage 5 is acceptance. It is what it is! My father is 83. His brothers died before they were 65. He is the only living sibling of 6. He is living on borrowed time to quote him. When he says that it makes me laugh...morbid thought...but he is so funny when he says it. Keep praying for my dad, my family, and me.....this is a difficult time for us. I appreciate all the prayers so far...and all the ones that have yet to be spoken.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Update on Dad and the Five Stages of Grief
(My dad is the second one from the right. The oldest is my uncle Wilson, the next my uncle Cecil, then my dad, then my uncle Drew. They were handsome boys weren't they?) Several of you have asked how my dad is doing....well I guess I have not updated you in a while so I thought today was a good day to take care of that. Radiation is over for now....maybe. We had a CT scan yesterday and have a doctor's appointment on Weds. with Dr. Jahraus at the Cancer Center. Chemo was ended when he spent 8 days in the hospital getting blood. With all that said and done...his hair is almost gone...he just has tufts where it used to be. His eyes are sunken and he has no energy at all. He sleeps til 10:00 in the morning...and goes to bed by 4 in the afternoon. He does not talk a lot. He watches TV...and when you do get him to look at you...it is a blank stare. I miss my father. My dad was a vibrant fun and amusing man....this man in my house right now...is just a mere shell of the man I have known all my life. He does not know what day it is. He does not know what year it is. He still recognizes people....thank goodness for that....but to me it looks like he has quit. I guess I am a fortunate one...Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross has written about the five stages of grief and to be quite honest...it could be the stages of a person dealing with a loved one with a terminal illness. She says that,"at some point in our lives, each of us faces the loss of someone or something dear to us. The grief that follows such a loss can seem unbearable, but grief is actually a healing process. Grief is the emotional suffering we feel after a loss of some kind. The death of a loved one, loss of a limb, even intense disappointment can cause grief." Dr. Ross says that "sometimes people get stuck in one of the first four stages. Their lives can be painful until they move to the fifth stage - acceptance. The first stage is denial and isolation. I guess as a daddy's girl I have been hanging in a denial stage of all the things that are wrong with my dad.The second stage is Anger. I have been angry during my dad's illness....angry at the doctors, angry at my mom, angry at Frank, angry at my dad...even angry at God. The third stage is bargaining and oh yes,I have even found myself making bargains with God here. I have promised God all kinds of things...if he would just heal my dad. The fourth stage is depression and I have not been there yet. I hope I can be fortunate enough to skip that stage. Stage 5 is acceptance. It is what it is! My father is 83. His brothers died before they were 65. He is the only living sibling of 6. He is living on borrowed time to quote him. When he says that it makes me laugh...morbid thought...but he is so funny when he says it. Keep praying for my dad, my family, and me.....this is a difficult time for us. I appreciate all the prayers so far...and all the ones that have yet to be spoken.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Jazz Fest Meets Aquapalooza!
Alexander City is a small town with big plans....there are two very exciting venues that are coming up and I just had to share them with you so you would not miss out on them. First of all....you must join us for Lake Martin 's biggest musical event of the year! The 19th Annual Alexander City Jazz Festival is scheduled for June 12th and 13th. The free two-day event will be held at Strand Park downtown Alexander City on Friday night and Lake Martin Amphitheater on Saturday. I will be there on Friday night up near the stage...dancing my fool head off.
FRIDAY - JUNE 12
TALLAPOOSA STREET PARK - ALEXANDER CITY, AL
6:00 PM - 7:00 PM Kent DuChaine
7:30 PM - 9:00 PM Sunpie Barnes
9:30 PM - 11:00 PM The Radiators
SATURDAY - JUNE 13
LAKE MARTIN AMPHITHEATER
6:30 PM - 7:30 PM Robin Hill Band (friends of mine and awesome)
8:00 PM - 9:30 PM The Gourds
10:00 PM - 11:30 PM Susan Tedeschi
The Alex City Jazz Fest is free to the public.
Where else can you hear this much music for nothing. All it will cost you is some gas to get here.
The second big event is called AquaPalooza....Alexander City, Alabama will be the (sweet) home of AquaPalooza this summer when the World's Largest Boating Party comes to Lake Martin from July 24th to 26th. Sea Ray has announced that Ambassador-level dealer Russell Marine of Russell Lands On Lake Martin in Alexander City will host the 2009 Signature Event, the biggest and most exciting of all AquaPalooza celebrations. AquaPalooza takes place near Kawliga (the wooden Indian of Hank Williams fame). While you are there you can venture over to Children's Harbor and see Hank's cabin. BTW the Kowaliga area of Lake Martin, which is just a short drive from both Birmingham and Atlanta, and offers nine marinas and 18 boat ramps.The big draw for this event is a concert by Alan Jackson. I am not a huge C & W fan....but saw Alan Jackson several years ago in Montgomery and became a huge fan. He is one of the most genuine and awesome performers you will ever get a chance to see.
On Children and disliking Pampered Chef
Fine, I admit it.
I can be anti-social.
Sometimes I have to force myself to converse with other people. I don’t know if it’s the Only Child in me or what. I mean, I’m in desperate need for female companionship over here but at the same time I’m worried I’m going make friends with one of those needy types that call every few minutes and show up at my doorstep every single day and ask me brightly if I can watch their kid. Here’s the thing: I hate watching other people’s children and I’d seriously be tempted to throw a fit if someone showed up at my door right before Lost was due to start.
I mainly keep to myself. Sure I’ll wave hello to the neighbors and we’ll exchange a few pleasantries but that’s about as far as it will go.
Yesterday I spotted a group of mothers on the sidewalk talking and I figured I ought to force myself out there and converse with them. I mean, I don’t want them to think I’m some sort of freak. So I took a deep breath and scooped Natalie up and headed outside. Tommy was already outside running around with a few of his friends.
Now, approaching a group of people makes me nervous. I’m always worried that everyone is going to pause in their talking and shoot me a dirty look for interrupting. Then I get paranoid that no one will move and allow me to squeeze into the circle and I’ll sort of be standing there on the outside while everyone carries on with their chatter. I wish I could be one of those bubbly people who just rush up to groups and easily include themselves—but that’s not me. I’m totally shy and as I said before, somewhat anti-social so it takes me a few minutes to warm up.
Thankfully a few of the other mothers spotted me coming and waved hello.
Whew.
I was easily accepted into the circle and a few of them asked how I was faring without my husband.
“It’s hard,” I admitted. “But I like having the bed to myself.”
There were 4 mothers there and only two of them laughed at that. The other two stared at me blankly. I suppose they’re the types that can’t sleep by themselves.
Then the conversation dived into our children and I sort of stared off into space because okay, I love my kids, but I don’t feel the need to spend every waking minute of the day talking about them. If I’m with an adult I sort of prefer to keep the kid chat to a minimum being that I’m surrounded by children all day long.
“And, I can’t believe it, but I overheard Lucas saying ‘Who died and made you boss?’ and I was HORRIFIED!” one of the mothers was saying incredulously.
My heart immediately started racing at that. Why? Well, um, because I sort of taught Tommy that phrase to say to this irritating neighborhood kid named Chase. I have an excuse though. Chase is incredibly bossy and I’ve overheard him instructing the kids on what to do and it just rubbed me the wrong way. Especially when I saw Chase shouting at Tommy that he couldn’t play Army with them.
“Why?” Tommy had wondered. “I want to play.”
“I said NO!” Chase screamed.
Tommy would run into the house in tears on more than one occasion because Chase wouldn’t let him play. So I told Tommy to say to Chase, ‘Who died and made you boss?’
I suppose the phrase is circulating around the neighborhood now. Tommy had told me that he had said that to Chase the other day and I asked what Chase’s reaction was.
“Oh, he was mad. But he let me play!” Tommy said triumphantly.
I was pleased that it had worked but I forgot that kids had big mouths.
So I stood in the circle of mothers and pretended to look all aghast that our darling children were asking each other who had died and made them boss.
Obviously the phrase doesn’t bother me much but it really seemed to disturb one of the mothers and she went into a rant on how rude it was to say and blah blah blah…I sort of went off into a daze again as she slammed her fist into her palm and said something like, “These kids need to stay sweet!”
A snort of laughter escaped my lips.
The ranting mother paused and shot me a look.
“Oh,” I said, reddening. “I, um, agree.” I bobbed my head enthusiastically even though I was thinking Yeah, hardly any of these kids on the neighborhood are SWEET. I mean, they’re loud, they’re rude and they question adults. I’m still shocked over the fact that some kid took Tommy’s bike out of our garage even though I had told him not to.
While the mother continued with her passionate speech, Natalie had started to run around the group. Then she walked over to me and pointed and shouted, “Boobie! BOOBIE!”
This seems to be one of her favorite words these days. When I got out of the shower one night she had pointed to my breasts and I had told her in a sing-song voice, “Those are my boobies!” and she cracked up like I was Elmo or something.
Anyhow, Ranting Mother paused in her diatribe and stared at Natalie in horror. “Did she just say....boobie?” She honestly seemed disturbed by this. She probably would have passed out if Natalie had said the word penis. In her household I imagine she calls the male anatomy Mr. Tinkles or Silly Willy.
(You have no idea how hard it was not to shout, "Vaginas!" to see what her reaction would have been.)
I didn’t want to cause a commotion and make her pass out from shock or anything so I went, “Oh no. She said bally.” I saw a yellow ball against the curb and ran over to grab it. “Here you go, darling!” I said and shoved it in Natalie’s confused hands.
Ranting mother relaxed and went on with her speech on ways we could enforce manners in our children and if we heard them say something inappropriate that we needed to band together and not be afraid to stop them.
I’ve been doing this for over a year but I kept my mouth shut.
I think the rest of us mothers were a little tired of hearing Ranting Mother speak so another one piped up to change the subject.
“I’m having a Pampered Chef party!” she called out.
Oh no.
I’ve been to one of those before and I felt like I was back in elementary school again. I mean, one of the games was to remember what everything was on a table before it was covered up again. I did that back in the third grade. Why would I want to do it as an adult?
Plus it was hard for me to get excited about cookware when I don’t even like to cook. Some women seemed like they were about to rip off their shirts and twirl it around in the air because they were so excited over these colorful spatulas. I sort of sat there in confusion and tried to muster up the same enthusiasm but it wasn’t working.
I remember one lady had gushed, “I am LUSTING over the stoneware!” and I had nodded along but was really thinking, “Stoneware? Pampered Chef wants me to cook on STONES?” I realized what she meant later on but for a few minutes there I was at a loss.
“I hope you all can make it to my party on Saturday!” Pampered Chef Mom said.
Quick! Make an excuse!
“Er…” I said, trying to sound all apologetic. “I don’t think I’ll be there. My son has a...dentist appointment.”
It’s a total lie but I had to say SOMETHING. I couldn’t very well say, “Actually, cooking bores the ever loving crap out of me and colored spatulas aren’t my thing.”
“A dentist appointment on Saturday?” Ranting Mom spoke up, raising an eyebrow at me.
She’s onto you! Quick, say something else!
“Well, my son’s tooth has been bothering him…..” I trailed off. Then I looked at Natalie who was contently playing with the ball and said, “Oh, Natalie is starting to look upset so I better get her inside. It was lovely talking to you all!” I picked up Natalie who did NOT want to give up the ball and who screamed right into my ear.
“It’s okay, darling. We’re going inside now. I know you’re probably hot,” I said loudly as she tried to break free.
About an hour later the Pampered Chef mom knocked on my door. I nearly passed out when I saw it was her.
She knows I was lying about the dentist appointment. She’s coming to confront me and attack me with her purse!
But no, she just wanted to show me the Pampered Chef catalogue so if I wanted to order anything I could let her know. I perused it as she chattered on about the FABULOUS plates and the FABULOUS stoneware and nearly passed out when I saw that two of those FABULOUS plates she was talking about were $34. For TWO plates? Maybe it escaped her mind that we’re in a recession and if I fork over $34 for dinnerware then I damn well better be getting an entire set.
Still, I smiled politely and promised that I’d let her know if I found anything.
I did flip through the catalogue after she left and laughed when I saw that Pampered Chef wanted me to fork out $29 for a Bamboo platter that I’d probably only use once and then never again because it would be stored separately from all my regular stuff so I’d just forget about it.
Of course I can understand how people can get excited over Pampered Chef stuff. I get the same way over children’s clothing. I love shopping for my kids and dressing them up in things like this:
If there was a party for children’s clothing then I’d definitely be there.
I can be anti-social.
Sometimes I have to force myself to converse with other people. I don’t know if it’s the Only Child in me or what. I mean, I’m in desperate need for female companionship over here but at the same time I’m worried I’m going make friends with one of those needy types that call every few minutes and show up at my doorstep every single day and ask me brightly if I can watch their kid. Here’s the thing: I hate watching other people’s children and I’d seriously be tempted to throw a fit if someone showed up at my door right before Lost was due to start.
I mainly keep to myself. Sure I’ll wave hello to the neighbors and we’ll exchange a few pleasantries but that’s about as far as it will go.
Yesterday I spotted a group of mothers on the sidewalk talking and I figured I ought to force myself out there and converse with them. I mean, I don’t want them to think I’m some sort of freak. So I took a deep breath and scooped Natalie up and headed outside. Tommy was already outside running around with a few of his friends.
Now, approaching a group of people makes me nervous. I’m always worried that everyone is going to pause in their talking and shoot me a dirty look for interrupting. Then I get paranoid that no one will move and allow me to squeeze into the circle and I’ll sort of be standing there on the outside while everyone carries on with their chatter. I wish I could be one of those bubbly people who just rush up to groups and easily include themselves—but that’s not me. I’m totally shy and as I said before, somewhat anti-social so it takes me a few minutes to warm up.
Thankfully a few of the other mothers spotted me coming and waved hello.
Whew.
I was easily accepted into the circle and a few of them asked how I was faring without my husband.
“It’s hard,” I admitted. “But I like having the bed to myself.”
There were 4 mothers there and only two of them laughed at that. The other two stared at me blankly. I suppose they’re the types that can’t sleep by themselves.
Then the conversation dived into our children and I sort of stared off into space because okay, I love my kids, but I don’t feel the need to spend every waking minute of the day talking about them. If I’m with an adult I sort of prefer to keep the kid chat to a minimum being that I’m surrounded by children all day long.
“And, I can’t believe it, but I overheard Lucas saying ‘Who died and made you boss?’ and I was HORRIFIED!” one of the mothers was saying incredulously.
My heart immediately started racing at that. Why? Well, um, because I sort of taught Tommy that phrase to say to this irritating neighborhood kid named Chase. I have an excuse though. Chase is incredibly bossy and I’ve overheard him instructing the kids on what to do and it just rubbed me the wrong way. Especially when I saw Chase shouting at Tommy that he couldn’t play Army with them.
“Why?” Tommy had wondered. “I want to play.”
“I said NO!” Chase screamed.
Tommy would run into the house in tears on more than one occasion because Chase wouldn’t let him play. So I told Tommy to say to Chase, ‘Who died and made you boss?’
I suppose the phrase is circulating around the neighborhood now. Tommy had told me that he had said that to Chase the other day and I asked what Chase’s reaction was.
“Oh, he was mad. But he let me play!” Tommy said triumphantly.
I was pleased that it had worked but I forgot that kids had big mouths.
So I stood in the circle of mothers and pretended to look all aghast that our darling children were asking each other who had died and made them boss.
Obviously the phrase doesn’t bother me much but it really seemed to disturb one of the mothers and she went into a rant on how rude it was to say and blah blah blah…I sort of went off into a daze again as she slammed her fist into her palm and said something like, “These kids need to stay sweet!”
A snort of laughter escaped my lips.
The ranting mother paused and shot me a look.
“Oh,” I said, reddening. “I, um, agree.” I bobbed my head enthusiastically even though I was thinking Yeah, hardly any of these kids on the neighborhood are SWEET. I mean, they’re loud, they’re rude and they question adults. I’m still shocked over the fact that some kid took Tommy’s bike out of our garage even though I had told him not to.
While the mother continued with her passionate speech, Natalie had started to run around the group. Then she walked over to me and pointed and shouted, “Boobie! BOOBIE!”
This seems to be one of her favorite words these days. When I got out of the shower one night she had pointed to my breasts and I had told her in a sing-song voice, “Those are my boobies!” and she cracked up like I was Elmo or something.
Anyhow, Ranting Mother paused in her diatribe and stared at Natalie in horror. “Did she just say....boobie?” She honestly seemed disturbed by this. She probably would have passed out if Natalie had said the word penis. In her household I imagine she calls the male anatomy Mr. Tinkles or Silly Willy.
(You have no idea how hard it was not to shout, "Vaginas!" to see what her reaction would have been.)
I didn’t want to cause a commotion and make her pass out from shock or anything so I went, “Oh no. She said bally.” I saw a yellow ball against the curb and ran over to grab it. “Here you go, darling!” I said and shoved it in Natalie’s confused hands.
Ranting mother relaxed and went on with her speech on ways we could enforce manners in our children and if we heard them say something inappropriate that we needed to band together and not be afraid to stop them.
I’ve been doing this for over a year but I kept my mouth shut.
I think the rest of us mothers were a little tired of hearing Ranting Mother speak so another one piped up to change the subject.
“I’m having a Pampered Chef party!” she called out.
Oh no.
I’ve been to one of those before and I felt like I was back in elementary school again. I mean, one of the games was to remember what everything was on a table before it was covered up again. I did that back in the third grade. Why would I want to do it as an adult?
Plus it was hard for me to get excited about cookware when I don’t even like to cook. Some women seemed like they were about to rip off their shirts and twirl it around in the air because they were so excited over these colorful spatulas. I sort of sat there in confusion and tried to muster up the same enthusiasm but it wasn’t working.
I remember one lady had gushed, “I am LUSTING over the stoneware!” and I had nodded along but was really thinking, “Stoneware? Pampered Chef wants me to cook on STONES?” I realized what she meant later on but for a few minutes there I was at a loss.
“I hope you all can make it to my party on Saturday!” Pampered Chef Mom said.
Quick! Make an excuse!
“Er…” I said, trying to sound all apologetic. “I don’t think I’ll be there. My son has a...dentist appointment.”
It’s a total lie but I had to say SOMETHING. I couldn’t very well say, “Actually, cooking bores the ever loving crap out of me and colored spatulas aren’t my thing.”
“A dentist appointment on Saturday?” Ranting Mom spoke up, raising an eyebrow at me.
She’s onto you! Quick, say something else!
“Well, my son’s tooth has been bothering him…..” I trailed off. Then I looked at Natalie who was contently playing with the ball and said, “Oh, Natalie is starting to look upset so I better get her inside. It was lovely talking to you all!” I picked up Natalie who did NOT want to give up the ball and who screamed right into my ear.
“It’s okay, darling. We’re going inside now. I know you’re probably hot,” I said loudly as she tried to break free.
About an hour later the Pampered Chef mom knocked on my door. I nearly passed out when I saw it was her.
She knows I was lying about the dentist appointment. She’s coming to confront me and attack me with her purse!
But no, she just wanted to show me the Pampered Chef catalogue so if I wanted to order anything I could let her know. I perused it as she chattered on about the FABULOUS plates and the FABULOUS stoneware and nearly passed out when I saw that two of those FABULOUS plates she was talking about were $34. For TWO plates? Maybe it escaped her mind that we’re in a recession and if I fork over $34 for dinnerware then I damn well better be getting an entire set.
Still, I smiled politely and promised that I’d let her know if I found anything.
I did flip through the catalogue after she left and laughed when I saw that Pampered Chef wanted me to fork out $29 for a Bamboo platter that I’d probably only use once and then never again because it would be stored separately from all my regular stuff so I’d just forget about it.
Of course I can understand how people can get excited over Pampered Chef stuff. I get the same way over children’s clothing. I love shopping for my kids and dressing them up in things like this:
If there was a party for children’s clothing then I’d definitely be there.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Blackened Catfish at Cecil's
In the book or e-list called 100 Places to Eat in Alabama Before You Die you will find a wonderful place called Cecils Public House. It is located at 243 Green Street in Alexander City, near the First United Methodist Church. It is housed in what used to be an old Doctor's Office. The Doctor's Office is a historic old house with a wrap-around porch. The Doctor himself was legendary....Dr. Cameron...he practiced til he was like 100...(just kidding...but he was old.)...Anyways, Greg Cecil opened the house first....filled it with charming antiques and upscale dining arrangements and the town loved it. It was somewhere nice to go when you wanted to have a special meal. Stacey Jones was his manager....and when Greg and his wife moved to the beach....Stacey bought the restaurant...and began a catering business too. If you are ever in Alexander City...you must eat here...just to meet Stacey. She is a trip...but the blackened catfish....that is a culinary delight and it will make you want to come back again I promise! You may be surprised to find blackened salmon and perfectly seasoned steaks in a place called Cecil's Public House but that’s exactly what home folks and visitors will discover here. If you come down the week of Father's Day...on a Friday night or Saturday night you will be treated not only to a great meal...but also some great music....it is our annual Jazz Fest. Friday nights version is held in town and Saturday nights version is held down at Kawliga at the Lake Martin Ampitheater overlooking the lake. The talent this year is awesome...so do come...if you don't have anything better to do...look for me on Friday night...I will be there with bells on...dancing in front of the stage!
Parlez-Vous Francais?
Yesterday was not going well.
Natalie was in a foul mood. Every few minutes she’d march up to me and scream, “Hurts! Hurts!” and point to her mouth. She has a tooth coming in and I imagine it DOES hurt but she wouldn’t let me help her.
I gave her a teething ring and she threw it down and stomped on it for good measure.
Fine. I get it. Teething rings are for babies.
So I wet a washcloth, stuck it in the freezer for a few minutes and gave it to her with instructions to chew it.
It was too cold.
She threw it across the room and hollered, “Don’t WANT!”
I tried baby Orajel but the taste insulted her. She hurled the tube in my direction and I ducked as it flew over my head.
“Hey, Naomi Campbell,” I called out to Natalie. “We don’t throw. I’m trying to HELP.” I stressed the word help and Natalie didn’t look impressed. She had her chin in the air and her arms folded across her chest. I wanted to jump up and down and scream, “What do you WANT from me?” but I composed myself and took some deep breaths.
“To make us feel better maybe we should go to the mall,” I suggested and Natalie practically dove out the front door.
“Shopping!” she screeched as she rushed to the car.
I wish. I would totally be shopping if I weren’t Cutting Back. That would make me feel better for sure.
“Actually,” I explained to Natalie as I strapped her into her car seat. “We’ll just be playing at the mall playground.”
Natalie seemed content with that.
When we got to the playground her teething woes seemed to be a thing of the past. I lowered myself onto the vinyl bench and watched as she went through a tunnel. I was thrilled that no one else was there and I had a few minutes to think so I sort of went off into a daze….
Then this woman sat down beside me. I was hoping that this woman was also eager to enjoy a few minutes of silence and that she’d keep her mouth shut and not ask me mundane questions and…
“How old is your daughter?” the woman asked.
Crap.
I don’t mind conversing with strangers. I really don’t. But sometimes I feel the need to relish in the silence. Maybe it’s the Only Child in me. I don’t feel the need to fill every bit of quietness with sound.
Plus, I had had a rough morning. I had things thrown at me, I was shouted at and I’m pretty sure Natalie put some kind of curse on me because I had become extra Klutzy. I mean, I am a Klutz in general but that morning I was spilling things left and right---probably because I had a toddler screeching in my ear every few minutes. It’s sort of hard to drink a glass of water and NOT spill it down your front while a piercing banshee type noise suddenly fills the air.
Still, I couldn’t just ignore the woman. That would have been rude. For a brief second I debated pretending I didn’t speak English and saying something like, “Ne Spehken ze English.” But that’s not even a real language. And so, I smiled politely at her and said, “She’s two.” Then I felt like it was good manners to ask her about HER kid so I went, “How old is yours?” I wasn’t sure if she had a boy or a girl. I tried to catch a glimpse but her child dived behind a plastic tree. I would guess a girl because I thought I caught blond hair down the back but these days parents like to allow their boys to grow their hair long. Kate Hudson seems to be a fan of that.
“She just turned two last week,” the woman said cheerfully.
I nodded as though this were fascinating news.
Then I thought I could lapse back into silence. I needed to figure out what I was going to make for dinner and I needed to remember what all we had in the house. So I started to think about that.
We have meat…I could make meat loaf….but I am so not in the mood for meat loaf…I wish we could just go out but we can’t go out since I’m Cutting Back….I hate cooking….I wish I had a personal chef….I wish--
“So is she potty trained yet?” the woman spoke up, interrupting my thoughts.
Damn.
“Not yet,” I said. And because the woman had an expectant for the love of God, ask me about MY KID look on her face I warily went, “How about your daughter?”
The woman practically fell off the bench, she was so excited. “Yes!” she gushed. “Since last week! One day Campbell decided she wanted to use the potty and she’s been using it ever since. For pee AND poops.”
I admit, I was a little impressed. I mean her kid had JUST turned two and was already potty trained? What was wrong with MY kid?
“So is your daughter working on potty training?” superior Mom wondered.
I immediately thought back to the night before when Natalie kicked her potty across the room because I dared to ask if she wanted to sit on it.
“No POTTY!” she had bellowed, her head thrown back dramatically. “NO POTTY!”
I flashed a smile at superior Mom and decided to lie. “We’re working on it. It’s going....splendidly.”
Then I tried to go back to quiet time and think about dinner.
So, I have meat and therefore I can make spaghetti. We have spaghetti every week but it’s one of the few things I can make without burning. Plus, both kids actually eat the spaghetti whereas they tend to pick at anything else I make….so spaghetti it will be. Do we have garlic bread? I know carbs are bad and blah blah blah but you can’t have spaghetti without garlic bread. It’s like a sin or--
“Do you know what time it is?” superior Mom asked.
I dug in my purse and pulled out my cell phone. I told her the time that was on the display and she nodded.
“We have about ten minutes then. Campbell has her French lessons.”
FRENCH lessons? How in the world did she expect a two-year-old to sit and have lessons? Of course, I have to remember that some people give birth to calm children. I give birth to kids who think sitting down is the worst thing ever and who have the motto, “Why sit when you can run?”
“Is someone in your family French?” I wondered. I figured I might as well give up on the silence. It just wasn’t going to happen.
The woman shook her head. “No. I just read that it’s important to introduce other languages while they’re young. It helps mold their minds or something like that.” She shrugged.
Oh.
“How are the lessons going?” I continued. I was intrigued at this point. I just couldn’t fathom Natalie sitting long enough for the teacher to explain to her how to say hello and goodbye in French. I pictured Natalie taking the French book and throwing it at the teacher’s head and yelling, “ALL DONE FRENCHIE!”
The woman grinned. “Wonderfully. Campbell loves to learn.” She gestured to Natalie who was banging her head on the carpet. “So…is your daughter in any type of lessons? Ballet, soccer....”
SOCCER?
If I put Natalie in soccer she’d just snatch up the ball and refuse to share.
“Er....not really. But she does speak some Chinese and Spanish,” I added because I felt like I should say that my daughter did something fascinating.
Plus, it is true. She knows how to say Ni-Hao in Chinese and Hola in Spanish thanks to Noggin. But the lady didn’t have to know this.
“Wow. That’s interesting,” the woman said, looking impressed. “So you teach her the languages yourself?”
I was at a loss. I didn’t know what to say. Do I admit that the television actually teaches her the languages?
Natalie ended up saving me. She ran up and told me seriously, “I poops.” For some reason when she said this I suddenly had it in my head to shout out, “Look at this! Natalie is saying ipoops which is Danish for hello. Did I mention that she could also speak Danish?” (Actually, the Danish word for hello is hej but surely the woman wouldn’t know that.) The weirdest things pop in my head sometimes. Sometimes I think something is surely wrong with me.
“I POOPS!” Natalie said again and gave me an irritated look. She was probably wondering why I wasn’t leaping to my feet to clean her up.
Superior Mom looked thrilled over this whole ordeal. I thought she might even clap her hands in delight. “Oh! She’s telling you she has to poop! Hurry up and get her to the potty, Mom, so she can go!”
What I didn’t tell her is that Natalie had already crapped her diaper and was just telling me to clean her up before she stuck her hands down her pants and tried to do it herself.
“You have a great day!” I told the woman and grabbed a hold of Natalie’s hand. I slung my diaper bag and purse over my shoulder and we headed for the playground exit.
“Hasta la vista!” the woman called out and Natalie gave her a startled look. I thought the lady had lost her ever loving mind at first—I mean after all, she DID name her daughter after soup—but then I realized that hasta la vista was the Spanish words for see you later and I had told her that Natalie spoke some Spanish. So I forced a smile on my face and told Natalie to say “Hasta la vista!” back and Natalie looked at me as though I had sprouted a breast on my head so I just waved enthusiastically for the both of us.
I pulled a confused Natalie towards the bathroom and changed her. When we were washing our hands I said, “Natalie. Am I stunting your growth? Am I ruining your brain? You don’t need French lessons, do you?”
Her response was to stick her head under the running water of the sink.
Hrm. I’ll take that as a no.
Natalie was in a foul mood. Every few minutes she’d march up to me and scream, “Hurts! Hurts!” and point to her mouth. She has a tooth coming in and I imagine it DOES hurt but she wouldn’t let me help her.
I gave her a teething ring and she threw it down and stomped on it for good measure.
Fine. I get it. Teething rings are for babies.
So I wet a washcloth, stuck it in the freezer for a few minutes and gave it to her with instructions to chew it.
It was too cold.
She threw it across the room and hollered, “Don’t WANT!”
I tried baby Orajel but the taste insulted her. She hurled the tube in my direction and I ducked as it flew over my head.
“Hey, Naomi Campbell,” I called out to Natalie. “We don’t throw. I’m trying to HELP.” I stressed the word help and Natalie didn’t look impressed. She had her chin in the air and her arms folded across her chest. I wanted to jump up and down and scream, “What do you WANT from me?” but I composed myself and took some deep breaths.
“To make us feel better maybe we should go to the mall,” I suggested and Natalie practically dove out the front door.
“Shopping!” she screeched as she rushed to the car.
I wish. I would totally be shopping if I weren’t Cutting Back. That would make me feel better for sure.
“Actually,” I explained to Natalie as I strapped her into her car seat. “We’ll just be playing at the mall playground.”
Natalie seemed content with that.
When we got to the playground her teething woes seemed to be a thing of the past. I lowered myself onto the vinyl bench and watched as she went through a tunnel. I was thrilled that no one else was there and I had a few minutes to think so I sort of went off into a daze….
Then this woman sat down beside me. I was hoping that this woman was also eager to enjoy a few minutes of silence and that she’d keep her mouth shut and not ask me mundane questions and…
“How old is your daughter?” the woman asked.
Crap.
I don’t mind conversing with strangers. I really don’t. But sometimes I feel the need to relish in the silence. Maybe it’s the Only Child in me. I don’t feel the need to fill every bit of quietness with sound.
Plus, I had had a rough morning. I had things thrown at me, I was shouted at and I’m pretty sure Natalie put some kind of curse on me because I had become extra Klutzy. I mean, I am a Klutz in general but that morning I was spilling things left and right---probably because I had a toddler screeching in my ear every few minutes. It’s sort of hard to drink a glass of water and NOT spill it down your front while a piercing banshee type noise suddenly fills the air.
Still, I couldn’t just ignore the woman. That would have been rude. For a brief second I debated pretending I didn’t speak English and saying something like, “Ne Spehken ze English.” But that’s not even a real language. And so, I smiled politely at her and said, “She’s two.” Then I felt like it was good manners to ask her about HER kid so I went, “How old is yours?” I wasn’t sure if she had a boy or a girl. I tried to catch a glimpse but her child dived behind a plastic tree. I would guess a girl because I thought I caught blond hair down the back but these days parents like to allow their boys to grow their hair long. Kate Hudson seems to be a fan of that.
“She just turned two last week,” the woman said cheerfully.
I nodded as though this were fascinating news.
Then I thought I could lapse back into silence. I needed to figure out what I was going to make for dinner and I needed to remember what all we had in the house. So I started to think about that.
We have meat…I could make meat loaf….but I am so not in the mood for meat loaf…I wish we could just go out but we can’t go out since I’m Cutting Back….I hate cooking….I wish I had a personal chef….I wish--
“So is she potty trained yet?” the woman spoke up, interrupting my thoughts.
Damn.
“Not yet,” I said. And because the woman had an expectant for the love of God, ask me about MY KID look on her face I warily went, “How about your daughter?”
The woman practically fell off the bench, she was so excited. “Yes!” she gushed. “Since last week! One day Campbell decided she wanted to use the potty and she’s been using it ever since. For pee AND poops.”
I admit, I was a little impressed. I mean her kid had JUST turned two and was already potty trained? What was wrong with MY kid?
“So is your daughter working on potty training?” superior Mom wondered.
I immediately thought back to the night before when Natalie kicked her potty across the room because I dared to ask if she wanted to sit on it.
“No POTTY!” she had bellowed, her head thrown back dramatically. “NO POTTY!”
I flashed a smile at superior Mom and decided to lie. “We’re working on it. It’s going....splendidly.”
Then I tried to go back to quiet time and think about dinner.
So, I have meat and therefore I can make spaghetti. We have spaghetti every week but it’s one of the few things I can make without burning. Plus, both kids actually eat the spaghetti whereas they tend to pick at anything else I make….so spaghetti it will be. Do we have garlic bread? I know carbs are bad and blah blah blah but you can’t have spaghetti without garlic bread. It’s like a sin or--
“Do you know what time it is?” superior Mom asked.
I dug in my purse and pulled out my cell phone. I told her the time that was on the display and she nodded.
“We have about ten minutes then. Campbell has her French lessons.”
FRENCH lessons? How in the world did she expect a two-year-old to sit and have lessons? Of course, I have to remember that some people give birth to calm children. I give birth to kids who think sitting down is the worst thing ever and who have the motto, “Why sit when you can run?”
“Is someone in your family French?” I wondered. I figured I might as well give up on the silence. It just wasn’t going to happen.
The woman shook her head. “No. I just read that it’s important to introduce other languages while they’re young. It helps mold their minds or something like that.” She shrugged.
Oh.
“How are the lessons going?” I continued. I was intrigued at this point. I just couldn’t fathom Natalie sitting long enough for the teacher to explain to her how to say hello and goodbye in French. I pictured Natalie taking the French book and throwing it at the teacher’s head and yelling, “ALL DONE FRENCHIE!”
The woman grinned. “Wonderfully. Campbell loves to learn.” She gestured to Natalie who was banging her head on the carpet. “So…is your daughter in any type of lessons? Ballet, soccer....”
SOCCER?
If I put Natalie in soccer she’d just snatch up the ball and refuse to share.
“Er....not really. But she does speak some Chinese and Spanish,” I added because I felt like I should say that my daughter did something fascinating.
Plus, it is true. She knows how to say Ni-Hao in Chinese and Hola in Spanish thanks to Noggin. But the lady didn’t have to know this.
“Wow. That’s interesting,” the woman said, looking impressed. “So you teach her the languages yourself?”
I was at a loss. I didn’t know what to say. Do I admit that the television actually teaches her the languages?
Natalie ended up saving me. She ran up and told me seriously, “I poops.” For some reason when she said this I suddenly had it in my head to shout out, “Look at this! Natalie is saying ipoops which is Danish for hello. Did I mention that she could also speak Danish?” (Actually, the Danish word for hello is hej but surely the woman wouldn’t know that.) The weirdest things pop in my head sometimes. Sometimes I think something is surely wrong with me.
“I POOPS!” Natalie said again and gave me an irritated look. She was probably wondering why I wasn’t leaping to my feet to clean her up.
Superior Mom looked thrilled over this whole ordeal. I thought she might even clap her hands in delight. “Oh! She’s telling you she has to poop! Hurry up and get her to the potty, Mom, so she can go!”
What I didn’t tell her is that Natalie had already crapped her diaper and was just telling me to clean her up before she stuck her hands down her pants and tried to do it herself.
“You have a great day!” I told the woman and grabbed a hold of Natalie’s hand. I slung my diaper bag and purse over my shoulder and we headed for the playground exit.
“Hasta la vista!” the woman called out and Natalie gave her a startled look. I thought the lady had lost her ever loving mind at first—I mean after all, she DID name her daughter after soup—but then I realized that hasta la vista was the Spanish words for see you later and I had told her that Natalie spoke some Spanish. So I forced a smile on my face and told Natalie to say “Hasta la vista!” back and Natalie looked at me as though I had sprouted a breast on my head so I just waved enthusiastically for the both of us.
I pulled a confused Natalie towards the bathroom and changed her. When we were washing our hands I said, “Natalie. Am I stunting your growth? Am I ruining your brain? You don’t need French lessons, do you?”
Her response was to stick her head under the running water of the sink.
Hrm. I’ll take that as a no.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
I Pray You Enough
My sweet friend Rhonda lost her mother suddenly back at the first of the year. She has a very tight family and it has truly been difficult for her....and her family to get through this mourning time. I am struggling with the illness of my father...and am watching him slowly waste away to nothing before my very eyes...and feel useless because there is nothing I can do. Anyways, Rhonda sent me this email today...and I felt I just had to share it with all of you out there in blogland....some of you may be hurting...or may not know that tomorrow things may be different than they are today....whatever...read this and remember to always pray enough.
"Recently, I overheard a mother and daughter in their last moments together at the airport. They had announced the departure. Standing near the security gate,they hugged, and the mother said, 'I love you, and I pray you enough.'
The daughter replied, 'Mom, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I pray you enough, too, Mom.' They kissed, and the daughter left. The mother walked over to the window where I was seated. Standing there, I could see she wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on her privacy, but she welcomed me in by asking, 'Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?' Yes, I have,' I replied. 'Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?' 'Well...I'm not as young as I once was, she lives so far away & has her own busy life. I have some challenges ahead, and the reality is - her next trip back will be for my funeral,' she said. 'When you were saying good-bye, I heard you say, 'I pray you enough.' May I ask what that means?' She began to smile. 'That's a prayer that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone.' She paused a moment and looked up as if trying to remember it in detail, and she smiled even more.'When we said, 'I pray you enough,' we wanted the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them.' Then, turning toward me, she shared the following as if she were reciting it from memory.
I pray you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how gray the day may appear.
I pray you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more.
I pray you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.
I pray you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear bigger.
I pray you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I pray you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I pray you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye.
Then, she began to cry, and walked away.
They say, it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but an entire life to forget them."
So I encourage you my friends that I know...and ones I have yet to meet....my family and my loved ones to:
TAKE TIME TO LIVE..... and I PRAY YOU ENOUGH.......
Food Rocks!
It's no secret that I'm a huge fan of food.
So I decided to write an entry on some of the foods that I can't get enough of these days.
So here we go:
This is S'mores pudding that I bought at Wal-Mart. I realize the picture doesn't make it look appealing but I swear, it's delicious. And the marshmallows? They just melt in your mouth.
Cinnastyx from Dominoes Pizza. They rock. I practically ate the entire row because Tommy said they looked funny (!) and Natalie only wanted one. I couldn't just let them go to waste, could I?
Cookie cakes! Notice how the things I'm taking pictures of are half eaten. This is because I'm a total pig. It's also obvious that I get a lot of my junk at Wal-Mart. Yeah it's a scary place to shop at times but I'll brave the bearded lady and the guy who scratches his butt and then reaches to grab some apples in order to get to my S'mores pudding and frosted cookie cakes.
Here's the truth: I have to try all the new candy that comes out. It's like some sick compulsion of mine. So when I saw these I got all excited and threw them in my cart. The thing is, they're sort of disgusting...yet I can't stop eating them. They have an intriguing taste and I find myself reaching in the bag for another handful. (Actually, I'm munching on them as I type this.)
Um oops. Where did this come from? John Krasinski isn't food and therefore I can't eat him. (I mean I could but I'm not Hannibal Lector.) Still, he's too cute not to list. (Hey, my husband has been gone since April, I can't HELP it..)
Fine, soda really isn't a food but I need it to get through my day. I don't drink coffee so this is my source of caffeine. I'll drink any diet soda, I'm not prejudiced. I basically buy whatever is on sale and lately the Coke products are nearly $5 for a 12 pack and I'm sorry, no way am I shelling out that much cash for a 12 pack of soda. So diet Pepsi it is.
Plums! Get your jaw off the ground! I eat healthy food too! It may not be as often as I should but I do love my plums.
And because I'm on a picture roll, this is what Natalie will be wearing to my husband's graduation from dog training school next month:
The picture goes with my food list because she was watching some ants and then she tried to eat one. I was all, "Natalie, NO!" which in turn startled her which in turn made her cry which in turn gave me a giant headache.
So I decided to write an entry on some of the foods that I can't get enough of these days.
So here we go:
This is S'mores pudding that I bought at Wal-Mart. I realize the picture doesn't make it look appealing but I swear, it's delicious. And the marshmallows? They just melt in your mouth.
Cinnastyx from Dominoes Pizza. They rock. I practically ate the entire row because Tommy said they looked funny (!) and Natalie only wanted one. I couldn't just let them go to waste, could I?
Cookie cakes! Notice how the things I'm taking pictures of are half eaten. This is because I'm a total pig. It's also obvious that I get a lot of my junk at Wal-Mart. Yeah it's a scary place to shop at times but I'll brave the bearded lady and the guy who scratches his butt and then reaches to grab some apples in order to get to my S'mores pudding and frosted cookie cakes.
Here's the truth: I have to try all the new candy that comes out. It's like some sick compulsion of mine. So when I saw these I got all excited and threw them in my cart. The thing is, they're sort of disgusting...yet I can't stop eating them. They have an intriguing taste and I find myself reaching in the bag for another handful. (Actually, I'm munching on them as I type this.)
Um oops. Where did this come from? John Krasinski isn't food and therefore I can't eat him. (I mean I could but I'm not Hannibal Lector.) Still, he's too cute not to list. (Hey, my husband has been gone since April, I can't HELP it..)
Fine, soda really isn't a food but I need it to get through my day. I don't drink coffee so this is my source of caffeine. I'll drink any diet soda, I'm not prejudiced. I basically buy whatever is on sale and lately the Coke products are nearly $5 for a 12 pack and I'm sorry, no way am I shelling out that much cash for a 12 pack of soda. So diet Pepsi it is.
Plums! Get your jaw off the ground! I eat healthy food too! It may not be as often as I should but I do love my plums.
And because I'm on a picture roll, this is what Natalie will be wearing to my husband's graduation from dog training school next month:
The picture goes with my food list because she was watching some ants and then she tried to eat one. I was all, "Natalie, NO!" which in turn startled her which in turn made her cry which in turn gave me a giant headache.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Chocolate to the Rescue!
So how was your long weekend?
Did you BBQ?
Did you go camping and relax and eat S’mores?
If you did, then I’m totally jealous.
Want to know what I did?
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Well, I cleaned the house and reminded the kids to use their indoor voices at least a bazillion times.
I would have shoved them outside but it was rainy all weekend. Don’t the Weather Gods comprehend that long weekends must be pleasant and sunny?
On Memorial Day I called up my husband to thank him for his service.
“What do you want to buy?” he asked warily.
Oh my God! I was totally being nice and thanking him for his service in the Air Force and he’s asking me what I want?? Can’t I just be nice and not want something?
“No,” Tom replied when I asked him this. “So what do you want?”
“Nothing!” I shrieked. “I’m just thanking you for your service. It’s MUCH appreciated.”
Okay, if I’m being totally honest there are a few books I want. But it’s nothing I need now.
“Thanks....I guess.....” Tom said, still sounding as though he didn’t believe that I didn’t want anything.
“So what are you doing today?” I wondered politely. I imagined that he’d say that he was just lying around and watching TV.
Instead he said, “Oh, I’m going to lunch with your Mom and then we’re going to the outlet mall.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
LUNCH?
SHOPPING AT THE OUTLET MALL?
With MY Mother?
(My parents live near where Tom is taking his class so he usually goes up to stay with them over the weekend.)
“Oh,” I said in a strangled voice. “That must be....nice....”
I was seething. What’s this business about going to the outlet mall? Without me? He doesn’t even APPRECIATE the outlet malls. All he wants to shop at is this boring Black and Decker store and then he’s all, “Well I’m done.” Oh and he has to get a chocolate apple from The Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory. But then that’s it.
Me, I could stay all day. I go to Carters, Oshkosh, Gymboree, Gap, The Children’s Place.....the list goes on and on and on.
And lunch! All I was having was some boring macaroni and cheese.
“I’ll still take you to the outlet mall when you visit,” Tom promised.
But now he’s going to be extra rushed because he’s already BEEN to the outlet malls. So he’ll do a quick sweep of the tool store and when he sees nothing new has arrived he’ll be badgering me to finish up and I’ll be screaming, “If you rush me I’m going to hit you over the head with my purse, so help me God, Tom!”
If people think that Kate from Jon and Kate plus 8 is mean then they should see me when Tom tries to rush me when I’m trying to shop. It’s not a pretty sight.
I hung up a few minutes later. I didn’t want to hear about his exciting day when all I was doing was eating orange macaroni and trying to keep the kids from killing each other.
To cheer myself up, I decided to make brownies. When I make brownies I totally lick the bowl clean. Sure I could get salmonella but it’s never happened before. Plus, Hulk Hogan swallows eggs raw and he’s....well, he’s still breathing.
I gave the kids a spoonful of the batter and then took my bowl and my spoon and tried to hide in the laundry room. See, if the kids saw me happily noshing on the batter, they’d want some more.
So there I was, leaning against the washer and totally pigging out on the chocolate. Oooo, it was delicious. I was in a state of euphoria and I was about to stick another heaping spoonful in my mouth when....
“Mommy! THERE you are!”
Uh oh. Busted.
My son Tommy stood in the doorway and narrowed his eyes at me. He still had his spoon which was now licked clean and started coming at me with it.
What?
What’s he doing?
He already got a bite! Why’s he looking at me like he’s going to get....MORE? This is my chocolate, dammit, and I don’t have to share!
Plus, I’m totally PMSing and when you’re PMSing it cancels out the whole sharing thing, right?
“What are you....doing son?” I asked weakly and quickly put the bowl over my head as Tommy made a move to get more batter.
“I want more,” he told me simply and tried to jump to reach the bowl.
At that moment Natalie rushed into the room with her spoon out.
IS THERE NO PLACE TO HIDE IN THIS HOUSE?
(No.)
Okay. Think. THINK. I had to distract these kids so they wouldn’t eat my batter.
“How about we have some Hershey’s Kisses?” I asked in a high pitched voice to make it seem like this was an exciting offer.
Because Natalie is two, she fell for it. She clapped her hands and went, “Cah-co-dat!” and dropped her spoon on the floor.
But Tommy is seven and doesn’t fall for things like that anymore. He gave me a stern look and went, “I don’t WANT a Hershey’s Kiss. I want that.” And he gestured to my bowl.
In the end I gave him another bite. But then I quickly finished the rest and when he asked for more I told him in a sad voice (with cheeks stuffed with chocolate), “I’m sorry, son. It’s all gone.”
Tom called me a few minutes later and I was feeling sated from the chocolate mix so it didn’t hurt as badly that he was shopping without me.
“You’ll be proud of me. I just bought two chocolate apples,” Tom said.
That is a huge feat. I can’t just go to the outlet mall and buy apples.
“Did you at least go to Gymboree and think about me?” I asked hopefully. I had pictured Tom wistfully stepping into Gymboree and gazing around the store and then his heart would clench because he realized how much he missed me....
“Um. No,” Tom said, clearly confused.
Oh.
It's all good, though. I had my chocolate and I was still on a high from that so I wasn't insulted.
Did you BBQ?
Did you go camping and relax and eat S’mores?
If you did, then I’m totally jealous.
Want to know what I did?
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Well, I cleaned the house and reminded the kids to use their indoor voices at least a bazillion times.
I would have shoved them outside but it was rainy all weekend. Don’t the Weather Gods comprehend that long weekends must be pleasant and sunny?
On Memorial Day I called up my husband to thank him for his service.
“What do you want to buy?” he asked warily.
Oh my God! I was totally being nice and thanking him for his service in the Air Force and he’s asking me what I want?? Can’t I just be nice and not want something?
“No,” Tom replied when I asked him this. “So what do you want?”
“Nothing!” I shrieked. “I’m just thanking you for your service. It’s MUCH appreciated.”
Okay, if I’m being totally honest there are a few books I want. But it’s nothing I need now.
“Thanks....I guess.....” Tom said, still sounding as though he didn’t believe that I didn’t want anything.
“So what are you doing today?” I wondered politely. I imagined that he’d say that he was just lying around and watching TV.
Instead he said, “Oh, I’m going to lunch with your Mom and then we’re going to the outlet mall.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
LUNCH?
SHOPPING AT THE OUTLET MALL?
With MY Mother?
(My parents live near where Tom is taking his class so he usually goes up to stay with them over the weekend.)
“Oh,” I said in a strangled voice. “That must be....nice....”
I was seething. What’s this business about going to the outlet mall? Without me? He doesn’t even APPRECIATE the outlet malls. All he wants to shop at is this boring Black and Decker store and then he’s all, “Well I’m done.” Oh and he has to get a chocolate apple from The Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory. But then that’s it.
Me, I could stay all day. I go to Carters, Oshkosh, Gymboree, Gap, The Children’s Place.....the list goes on and on and on.
And lunch! All I was having was some boring macaroni and cheese.
“I’ll still take you to the outlet mall when you visit,” Tom promised.
But now he’s going to be extra rushed because he’s already BEEN to the outlet malls. So he’ll do a quick sweep of the tool store and when he sees nothing new has arrived he’ll be badgering me to finish up and I’ll be screaming, “If you rush me I’m going to hit you over the head with my purse, so help me God, Tom!”
If people think that Kate from Jon and Kate plus 8 is mean then they should see me when Tom tries to rush me when I’m trying to shop. It’s not a pretty sight.
I hung up a few minutes later. I didn’t want to hear about his exciting day when all I was doing was eating orange macaroni and trying to keep the kids from killing each other.
To cheer myself up, I decided to make brownies. When I make brownies I totally lick the bowl clean. Sure I could get salmonella but it’s never happened before. Plus, Hulk Hogan swallows eggs raw and he’s....well, he’s still breathing.
I gave the kids a spoonful of the batter and then took my bowl and my spoon and tried to hide in the laundry room. See, if the kids saw me happily noshing on the batter, they’d want some more.
So there I was, leaning against the washer and totally pigging out on the chocolate. Oooo, it was delicious. I was in a state of euphoria and I was about to stick another heaping spoonful in my mouth when....
“Mommy! THERE you are!”
Uh oh. Busted.
My son Tommy stood in the doorway and narrowed his eyes at me. He still had his spoon which was now licked clean and started coming at me with it.
What?
What’s he doing?
He already got a bite! Why’s he looking at me like he’s going to get....MORE? This is my chocolate, dammit, and I don’t have to share!
Plus, I’m totally PMSing and when you’re PMSing it cancels out the whole sharing thing, right?
“What are you....doing son?” I asked weakly and quickly put the bowl over my head as Tommy made a move to get more batter.
“I want more,” he told me simply and tried to jump to reach the bowl.
At that moment Natalie rushed into the room with her spoon out.
IS THERE NO PLACE TO HIDE IN THIS HOUSE?
(No.)
Okay. Think. THINK. I had to distract these kids so they wouldn’t eat my batter.
“How about we have some Hershey’s Kisses?” I asked in a high pitched voice to make it seem like this was an exciting offer.
Because Natalie is two, she fell for it. She clapped her hands and went, “Cah-co-dat!” and dropped her spoon on the floor.
But Tommy is seven and doesn’t fall for things like that anymore. He gave me a stern look and went, “I don’t WANT a Hershey’s Kiss. I want that.” And he gestured to my bowl.
In the end I gave him another bite. But then I quickly finished the rest and when he asked for more I told him in a sad voice (with cheeks stuffed with chocolate), “I’m sorry, son. It’s all gone.”
Tom called me a few minutes later and I was feeling sated from the chocolate mix so it didn’t hurt as badly that he was shopping without me.
“You’ll be proud of me. I just bought two chocolate apples,” Tom said.
That is a huge feat. I can’t just go to the outlet mall and buy apples.
“Did you at least go to Gymboree and think about me?” I asked hopefully. I had pictured Tom wistfully stepping into Gymboree and gazing around the store and then his heart would clench because he realized how much he missed me....
“Um. No,” Tom said, clearly confused.
Oh.
It's all good, though. I had my chocolate and I was still on a high from that so I wasn't insulted.
My Girls - The Bow Heads
Kat and Jill have been friends since they were born. It was a simple thing....Jill's mom was my friend....I am Jill's godmother...Deborah was my daughters second momma....when they were 4 and 5 the bow head girls pictures started. We took the first one at Jill's fourth birthday....and they lasted until they were out of high school before they finally said, "NO MORE!" But...once when they were 4 and 5 I was at Gayfer's Dept Store (it is now Dillards)...in the foundation department being fitted for a bra. I had the girls with me....Deborah was in another area of the department. The girls got very quiet...and then the sales clerk and I heard this angelic giggling....but we could not find them....when we did...they were sitting on the platform in the bridal fitting room....looking at themselves in the three way mirror. On their sweet little heads was a Quad X sized bra....nude....a cup on each head...and the strap was attached under their chins. The whole department was hysterical....as was I. Of course, this was in the days before cell phone cameras....and I was not the camera nut I am now....so I did not have my Nikon in my purse. The only picture that remains...is the one in my memories....and those of the sales clerks. It was one of those Master Card moments....Priceless!
Monday, May 25, 2009
Tommy's Presentation Day
My son Tommy goes to something called Language Lab in the afternoons. It’s a place that helps him with his speech. Sometimes he doesn’t pronounce things clearly enough. I understand him almost all the time but that’s because he came from my uterus. Anyhow, they were having a Presentation Day and parents were invited to come.
Natalie was thrilled to see her brother. The second we walked in the classroom she yanked her hand from mine and rushed to Tommy.
“Bruh-dder!” she shrieked. “Bruh-dder!”
Tommy was sitting in a row with his other classmates—Language Lab has about 7 other students in it. He looked a little embarrassed when Natalie hurled her tiny body at his chest. He sort of patted her hair and muttered out a hello. He loves his sister, I know he does, but he never seems overly thrilled with her. He claims she’s too loud which is amusing to me because Tommy has also been blessed with a fantastic set of lungs.
“Tommy’s Mom!” a familiar voice shrieked.
I cringed.
Oh no.
The voice belonged to Blake, the annoying kid who lives on our street and can’t take no for an answer. He’s always at our door and he once tattled on Tommy for jump roping. He looked all serious with his bug eyes as he said, “Could you tell Tommy to stop jump roping? I don’t like it.”
Plus, the kid always calls me Tommy’s Mom even though I’ve asked him to call me Amber. I guess I should tell him to call me Miss Amber but Miss Amber reminds me of an old lady who makes cheese.
“Tommy’s Mooooom!” Blake’s irritating voice called out again. “It’s me! Blake!” He waved his arm in the air as though I completely forgot who he was.
Sorry Blake. I don’t have that kind of luck.
“Tommy’s Mom!” Blake continued and I debated taking off my sock and stuffing it in his mouth.
I forced a smile and waved hello as I picked up Natalie and took a seat behind Tommy.
“You could sit behind ME, Tommy’s Mom,” Blake said grandly as though this were a huge prize.
The forced smile remained on my face. My cheeks started to hurt. “Actually,” I said in what I hoped was a polite voice. “I’m going to sit behind Tommy.”
Blake looked confused. He’s the only kid I know who wouldn’t comprehend that line.
“Why?” he wondered.
Because Tommy came out of my crotch and you didn’t! I wanted to snap.
Instead I said, “Because Tommy is my son.” And praise Jesus that you aren’t.
Blake opened his mouth to say something else but I leaned over to Tommy and quickly asked how he was doing.
Tommy shrugged. “Fine.” Then his face brightened. “I get to read the slide first!”
Huh? Read what slide?
Then I realize that there was a slide show set up front with the title “We Love Fruits and Vegetables!” on the front.
What in the world was this teacher teaching the students?
I’m kidding.
But is it wrong that I counted how many students there were (8) and then started wondering how long they would be reading for? No offense but watching kids read is about as fun as scrubbing limescale off the bathtub. Plus I wasn’t sure if Natalie would sit through that.
A few more parents filtered in and then the teacher clapped her hands and said it was time to begin.
Tommy instantly jumped from his seat and marched up to the front of the room and boldly took the microphone. He read easily from the slide about liking broccoli, cauliflower and some other vegetable that eludes me but I can assure you tastes like feet. Then he talked about growing stuff in a garden when we lived in England and I had no idea what he was talking about. What garden? What universe would I have a garden? Did the poor guy mistake that hunk of dirt that grew absolutely nothing for a garden?
Still, I watched him proudly and was surprised that he didn’t even seem shy being in front of the class. When I was in school and had to talk in front of the class I’d panic and would practically break out into hives. But Tommy acted like it was no big deal and only stumbled over one word (scrumptious which is not a word I’d use to describe broccoli.....)
When he was finished it got boring. I tried to look interested as a kid talked about how delicious tomatoes were.
I started to daydream.
Lalala....chocolate....cake....buttercream frosting....LITTLE DEBBIE SNACK CAKES.....
Then I’d come to when Natalie would slide off her chair and try to escape. So I’d grab the back of her shirt and pull her to me and start daydreaming again.
Ice cream....Zero bars...John Krasinski....Reeses Peanut Butter Cups....isn’t it ironic that I’m thinking about junk food when the class is talking about fruits and vegetables? I must be a messed up adult.
When the fifth kid started to read my eyes started to grow heavy. The room was dark and I just couldn’t muster the interest to focus on a love story about carrots. And some kids read incredibly slow. Like this: carrots.......are.......delicious......and......orange.....
When the last kid finished reading I started clapping enthusiastically and realized no one else was clapping.
Oh. Oops.
Then the kids moved onto a play entitled Fast Food Gulp Gulp. I got excited and started to think, Finally, a play that doesn’t bash fast food! Obviously I get that fast food is greasy and disgusting but if you eat it in moderation it’s not so bad.
This is Tommy reciting his lines. He was a customer ordering a delicious burger. The hat made me think of Crocodile Dundee.
But then as the play continued it turned out that the moral WAS that fast food was disgusting and will give you a stomach ache.
Then the restaurant that was once serving delicious pizza and burgers and chicken turned into a health food joint.
Blah. It was probably one of those types that blend up grass and roots to cleanse your system. I'm sorry but I will NEVER drink grass and roots. My system will just be forever messed up.
This is Tommy checking out the health food place. He seemed as baffled as I was and looked like he wanted to ask, "Um, where'd the burgers go?"
After the play was over it was time to pass out reading awards.
Tommy read the second most books in the class. He read a total of 56 books. This one kid read over 200 and I think he was totally lying. Please. It was on the tip of my tongue to shout, "LIAR!" when he went up to get his award but I did not.
And then when that was over it was time for refreshments.
Guess what was out?
You guessed it.
Fruits and vegetables.
You know, when I was growing up I remember cupcakes and cookies at these sort of occasions. But then you have the parents that whine and complain about health food and they spoil it for the rest of us. Sure, have your fruits and vegetables but don't skip out on the cupcakes or the cookies!
Now, there were some cookies up there but they were the granola kind with raisins. I'm a firm believer of the law that says that you do NOT put raisins in cookies.
Tommy and Natalie both wanted brocolli (!) and I nibbled on some tomatoes and pretended it was a hunk of chocolate.
Then after that it was over. The kids had prepared some plants and the teacher handed me Tommy's plant.
"It still has to harden and it still needs to be cared for a few days," she told me.
Huh? Harden. CARED FOR? Does she not get that I KILL plants? Not on purpose, mind you, but I've never been able to keep one alive for more than a few days.
I gave her a blank look and said, "So...I water it?"
She gave me a perplexed look and went, "Yes...." as though she were speaking to a complete idiot.
I held the tiny plant that was in a decorated cup for a few seconds and then forced a smile on my face.
"Great!" I said and hoped that I sounded excited. "I'll...er...take great care of this!" I twirled the cup in the air and nearly dropped it. The teacher sucked in her breath sharply.
"Mommy. Let ME hold it. You'll BREAK it," Tommy lectured, taking his beloved plant from me.
Oh. Sorry.
I grabbed Tommy's backpack and thanked the teacher and was about to head out the door when Blake the World's Most Annoying Kid called out to me.
"Tommy's Mom!"
I was tempted to keep going and pretend that I hadn't heard him. But Blake's parents were there and I didn't want them to think I was a total kid hater. So I stopped, turned around and gave him another forced grin.
"Yes, Blake?"
"Do you want to see the picture I made?" Blake wondered hopefully. He had a picture in his hands and actually, I DIDN'T want to see the picture he made but instead I nodded.
He turned the picture around and I couldn't quite make out what it was. It looked like a blob. With eyes and, what in the world...horns? Thankfully I speak parent and I know exactly what to say when you don't know what a kid has drawn.
"It's lovely. TELL me about it!"
See, you always have to say tell me about it because if you go, "What in the CRAP is that?" you'll insult the artist and then they might cry and then you'll feel bad so trust me, it's just easier to ask them about the picture.
Of course, if the kid is as annoying as Blake you might be sitting there for ten minutes as he explains every.single.detail.
"And this is his eyeball for him to, you know see. This is grass down here for him to, you know, eat..."
Thankfully I've been blessed with an impatient two-year-old so Natalie shrieked and pointed to the door.
"GO HOME!" she boomed.
I pretended to be all sad that I wasn't able to sit through Blake's explanation of his creature's digestive tracts but in reality I was all, "Oh bless you, Natalie. Bless you."
Tommy now has two weeks of school left. I'm a little afraid. It means I'll probably have to see Blake on a daily basis.
Help me.
Natalie was thrilled to see her brother. The second we walked in the classroom she yanked her hand from mine and rushed to Tommy.
“Bruh-dder!” she shrieked. “Bruh-dder!”
Tommy was sitting in a row with his other classmates—Language Lab has about 7 other students in it. He looked a little embarrassed when Natalie hurled her tiny body at his chest. He sort of patted her hair and muttered out a hello. He loves his sister, I know he does, but he never seems overly thrilled with her. He claims she’s too loud which is amusing to me because Tommy has also been blessed with a fantastic set of lungs.
“Tommy’s Mom!” a familiar voice shrieked.
I cringed.
Oh no.
The voice belonged to Blake, the annoying kid who lives on our street and can’t take no for an answer. He’s always at our door and he once tattled on Tommy for jump roping. He looked all serious with his bug eyes as he said, “Could you tell Tommy to stop jump roping? I don’t like it.”
Plus, the kid always calls me Tommy’s Mom even though I’ve asked him to call me Amber. I guess I should tell him to call me Miss Amber but Miss Amber reminds me of an old lady who makes cheese.
“Tommy’s Mooooom!” Blake’s irritating voice called out again. “It’s me! Blake!” He waved his arm in the air as though I completely forgot who he was.
Sorry Blake. I don’t have that kind of luck.
“Tommy’s Mom!” Blake continued and I debated taking off my sock and stuffing it in his mouth.
I forced a smile and waved hello as I picked up Natalie and took a seat behind Tommy.
“You could sit behind ME, Tommy’s Mom,” Blake said grandly as though this were a huge prize.
The forced smile remained on my face. My cheeks started to hurt. “Actually,” I said in what I hoped was a polite voice. “I’m going to sit behind Tommy.”
Blake looked confused. He’s the only kid I know who wouldn’t comprehend that line.
“Why?” he wondered.
Because Tommy came out of my crotch and you didn’t! I wanted to snap.
Instead I said, “Because Tommy is my son.” And praise Jesus that you aren’t.
Blake opened his mouth to say something else but I leaned over to Tommy and quickly asked how he was doing.
Tommy shrugged. “Fine.” Then his face brightened. “I get to read the slide first!”
Huh? Read what slide?
Then I realize that there was a slide show set up front with the title “We Love Fruits and Vegetables!” on the front.
What in the world was this teacher teaching the students?
I’m kidding.
But is it wrong that I counted how many students there were (8) and then started wondering how long they would be reading for? No offense but watching kids read is about as fun as scrubbing limescale off the bathtub. Plus I wasn’t sure if Natalie would sit through that.
A few more parents filtered in and then the teacher clapped her hands and said it was time to begin.
Tommy instantly jumped from his seat and marched up to the front of the room and boldly took the microphone. He read easily from the slide about liking broccoli, cauliflower and some other vegetable that eludes me but I can assure you tastes like feet. Then he talked about growing stuff in a garden when we lived in England and I had no idea what he was talking about. What garden? What universe would I have a garden? Did the poor guy mistake that hunk of dirt that grew absolutely nothing for a garden?
Still, I watched him proudly and was surprised that he didn’t even seem shy being in front of the class. When I was in school and had to talk in front of the class I’d panic and would practically break out into hives. But Tommy acted like it was no big deal and only stumbled over one word (scrumptious which is not a word I’d use to describe broccoli.....)
When he was finished it got boring. I tried to look interested as a kid talked about how delicious tomatoes were.
I started to daydream.
Lalala....chocolate....cake....buttercream frosting....LITTLE DEBBIE SNACK CAKES.....
Then I’d come to when Natalie would slide off her chair and try to escape. So I’d grab the back of her shirt and pull her to me and start daydreaming again.
Ice cream....Zero bars...John Krasinski....Reeses Peanut Butter Cups....isn’t it ironic that I’m thinking about junk food when the class is talking about fruits and vegetables? I must be a messed up adult.
When the fifth kid started to read my eyes started to grow heavy. The room was dark and I just couldn’t muster the interest to focus on a love story about carrots. And some kids read incredibly slow. Like this: carrots.......are.......delicious......and......orange.....
When the last kid finished reading I started clapping enthusiastically and realized no one else was clapping.
Oh. Oops.
Then the kids moved onto a play entitled Fast Food Gulp Gulp. I got excited and started to think, Finally, a play that doesn’t bash fast food! Obviously I get that fast food is greasy and disgusting but if you eat it in moderation it’s not so bad.
This is Tommy reciting his lines. He was a customer ordering a delicious burger. The hat made me think of Crocodile Dundee.
But then as the play continued it turned out that the moral WAS that fast food was disgusting and will give you a stomach ache.
Then the restaurant that was once serving delicious pizza and burgers and chicken turned into a health food joint.
Blah. It was probably one of those types that blend up grass and roots to cleanse your system. I'm sorry but I will NEVER drink grass and roots. My system will just be forever messed up.
This is Tommy checking out the health food place. He seemed as baffled as I was and looked like he wanted to ask, "Um, where'd the burgers go?"
After the play was over it was time to pass out reading awards.
Tommy read the second most books in the class. He read a total of 56 books. This one kid read over 200 and I think he was totally lying. Please. It was on the tip of my tongue to shout, "LIAR!" when he went up to get his award but I did not.
And then when that was over it was time for refreshments.
Guess what was out?
You guessed it.
Fruits and vegetables.
You know, when I was growing up I remember cupcakes and cookies at these sort of occasions. But then you have the parents that whine and complain about health food and they spoil it for the rest of us. Sure, have your fruits and vegetables but don't skip out on the cupcakes or the cookies!
Now, there were some cookies up there but they were the granola kind with raisins. I'm a firm believer of the law that says that you do NOT put raisins in cookies.
Tommy and Natalie both wanted brocolli (!) and I nibbled on some tomatoes and pretended it was a hunk of chocolate.
Then after that it was over. The kids had prepared some plants and the teacher handed me Tommy's plant.
"It still has to harden and it still needs to be cared for a few days," she told me.
Huh? Harden. CARED FOR? Does she not get that I KILL plants? Not on purpose, mind you, but I've never been able to keep one alive for more than a few days.
I gave her a blank look and said, "So...I water it?"
She gave me a perplexed look and went, "Yes...." as though she were speaking to a complete idiot.
I held the tiny plant that was in a decorated cup for a few seconds and then forced a smile on my face.
"Great!" I said and hoped that I sounded excited. "I'll...er...take great care of this!" I twirled the cup in the air and nearly dropped it. The teacher sucked in her breath sharply.
"Mommy. Let ME hold it. You'll BREAK it," Tommy lectured, taking his beloved plant from me.
Oh. Sorry.
I grabbed Tommy's backpack and thanked the teacher and was about to head out the door when Blake the World's Most Annoying Kid called out to me.
"Tommy's Mom!"
I was tempted to keep going and pretend that I hadn't heard him. But Blake's parents were there and I didn't want them to think I was a total kid hater. So I stopped, turned around and gave him another forced grin.
"Yes, Blake?"
"Do you want to see the picture I made?" Blake wondered hopefully. He had a picture in his hands and actually, I DIDN'T want to see the picture he made but instead I nodded.
He turned the picture around and I couldn't quite make out what it was. It looked like a blob. With eyes and, what in the world...horns? Thankfully I speak parent and I know exactly what to say when you don't know what a kid has drawn.
"It's lovely. TELL me about it!"
See, you always have to say tell me about it because if you go, "What in the CRAP is that?" you'll insult the artist and then they might cry and then you'll feel bad so trust me, it's just easier to ask them about the picture.
Of course, if the kid is as annoying as Blake you might be sitting there for ten minutes as he explains every.single.detail.
"And this is his eyeball for him to, you know see. This is grass down here for him to, you know, eat..."
Thankfully I've been blessed with an impatient two-year-old so Natalie shrieked and pointed to the door.
"GO HOME!" she boomed.
I pretended to be all sad that I wasn't able to sit through Blake's explanation of his creature's digestive tracts but in reality I was all, "Oh bless you, Natalie. Bless you."
Tommy now has two weeks of school left. I'm a little afraid. It means I'll probably have to see Blake on a daily basis.
Help me.
Musical Monday on Memorial Day
Today is Musical Monday for me and I plan to share a song with you today that moves me to the max,….but first I have to comment about what today really is and tell you a little something about it. Today is Memorial Day, originally called Decoration Day, is a day of remembrance for those who have died in our nation's service. Memorial Day was officially proclaimed on 5 May 1868 by General John Logan, national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic. This holiday was first observed on 30 May 1868, when flowers were placed on the graves of Union and Confederate soldiers at Arlington National Cemetery. The first state to officially recognize the holiday was New York in 1873. By 1890 it was recognized by all of the northern states. The South refused to acknowledge the day, honoring their dead on separate days until after World War I …it was at that time that the holiday changed from honoring just those who died fighting in the Civil War to honoring Americans who died fighting in any war. It is now celebrated in almost every State on the last Monday in May, though several southern states still observe an additional separate day for honoring the Confederate war dead.
In 1915, inspired by the poem “In Flander’s Field,” Moina Michael conceived of an idea to wear red poppies on Memorial day in honor of those who died serving the nation during war. She was the first to wear one, and sold poppies to her friends and co-workers with the money going to benefit servicemen in need. Later Madam Guerin, a visitor from France, learned of this idea started by Ms. Michael and upon returning to France, made artificial red poppies to raise money for war orphaned children and widowed women. This tradition spread to other countries. In 1921, the Franco-American Children's League sold poppies nationally to benefit war orphans of France and Belgium. The League disbanded a year later and Madam Guerin approached the VFW for help. Shortly before Memorial Day in 1922 the VFW became the first veterans' organization to nationally sell poppies. Two years later their “Buddy” Poppy Program was selling artificial poppies made by disabled veterans.
The sad thing about Memorial Day is that a traditional observance of this special day has diminished over the years. Many Americans nowadays have forgotten the meaning and traditions of Memorial Day. At many cemeteries, the graves of the fallen are increasingly ignored, neglected. Most people no longer remember the proper flag etiquette for the day. While there are towns and cities that still hold Memorial Day parades, many have not held a parade in decades. To some people Memorial Day weekend is a time for a quick trip to the beach, a picnic, a barbeque, a day on the lake, anything that is relaxing and fun….after all it is a day off from work for some. There is nothing wrong with that. I live in a town of a little over 20,000 people. It is a small town….last year I sang “God Bless the USA” at the service at Memorial Park…..remember a town of 20,000 people. The program lasted less than an hour….and there were less than 100 people in attendance and 25 of those were involved in the program. THAT is sad! Yesterday, I attended another program….in another town….a small town….but less than 30 people were there. Thirty people….remembered. So let me leave you with this today….have you remembered to pray for the families of those who gave their lives? Have you remembered to thank a living veteran….for giving you the freedom to enjoy your day? If not…take a moment…and just close your eyes…and thank your lucky stars you are living where you are today! Enjoy my song choice for the day and visit Jori and Diane to see what their Musical Monday idea is….
In 1915, inspired by the poem “In Flander’s Field,” Moina Michael conceived of an idea to wear red poppies on Memorial day in honor of those who died serving the nation during war. She was the first to wear one, and sold poppies to her friends and co-workers with the money going to benefit servicemen in need. Later Madam Guerin, a visitor from France, learned of this idea started by Ms. Michael and upon returning to France, made artificial red poppies to raise money for war orphaned children and widowed women. This tradition spread to other countries. In 1921, the Franco-American Children's League sold poppies nationally to benefit war orphans of France and Belgium. The League disbanded a year later and Madam Guerin approached the VFW for help. Shortly before Memorial Day in 1922 the VFW became the first veterans' organization to nationally sell poppies. Two years later their “Buddy” Poppy Program was selling artificial poppies made by disabled veterans.
The sad thing about Memorial Day is that a traditional observance of this special day has diminished over the years. Many Americans nowadays have forgotten the meaning and traditions of Memorial Day. At many cemeteries, the graves of the fallen are increasingly ignored, neglected. Most people no longer remember the proper flag etiquette for the day. While there are towns and cities that still hold Memorial Day parades, many have not held a parade in decades. To some people Memorial Day weekend is a time for a quick trip to the beach, a picnic, a barbeque, a day on the lake, anything that is relaxing and fun….after all it is a day off from work for some. There is nothing wrong with that. I live in a town of a little over 20,000 people. It is a small town….last year I sang “God Bless the USA” at the service at Memorial Park…..remember a town of 20,000 people. The program lasted less than an hour….and there were less than 100 people in attendance and 25 of those were involved in the program. THAT is sad! Yesterday, I attended another program….in another town….a small town….but less than 30 people were there. Thirty people….remembered. So let me leave you with this today….have you remembered to pray for the families of those who gave their lives? Have you remembered to thank a living veteran….for giving you the freedom to enjoy your day? If not…take a moment…and just close your eyes…and thank your lucky stars you are living where you are today! Enjoy my song choice for the day and visit Jori and Diane to see what their Musical Monday idea is….
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Freedom Isn't Free Is It?
I attended a Memorial Day service at a local graveyard in Waverly, AL today….where the names of all the fallen were read….and the children placed flags on each and every grave. It was very emotional time for me. My husband read a poem called “Freedom isn’t Free.” I found the poem so very moving. The only thing missing from this presentation in the cemetery was the playing of Taps. I must say I am glad that was the way it was because there is something about the sound of Taps that literally rips me off the frame. Every time I hear the tune I cannot stop from crying. It is a song that hurts my very soul. I came home from Waverly and began seaching the web to find that poem so I could share it with you in my post today. The poem was written by a student! I hope this young person’s views of freedom touch your heart today….and make you thank every veteran, firefighter, police officer for what they do for us each day and remember that Freedom always comes at a cost.Freedom Isn’t Free
By Cadet Major Kelly Strong USAF JROTC
I watched the flag pass by one day.
It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,
And then he stood at ease.
I looked at him in uniform
So young, so tall, so proud,
With hair cut square and eyes alert
He'd stand out in any crowd.
I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil?
How many mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't free.
I heard the sound of taps one night,
When everything was still
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.
I wondered just how many times
That taps had meant "Amen,"
When a flag had draped a coffin
Of a brother or a friend.
I thought of all the children,
Of the mothers and the wives,
Of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.
I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn't free.
For the past 9 days in Riverside, CA, volunteers have been reading the names of all the veterans who are buried in the cemetery there. Nine days….24 hours a day. How awesome is that? People who care enough to give up some time to read names out loud….for men and women who gave up their lives so we could be free….so they won’t be forgotten. I personally would hope that in between your barbeques and picnics that all of us would take a few moments to remember and honor such souls and to give thanks for the freedoms and spiritual gifts which they have afforded us and which we as a people so often take for granted. I want to give my personal thanks to every veteran and enlisted person….right now….for all they have done….and will continue to do. I love my freedom. Thanks for giving me this great gift!
Friday, May 22, 2009
Letters to Tom
Most people know that my husband Tom is on TDY until June. He’s been gone since April. I usually send him letters or e-mails to keep his spirits up.
The following is the type of letter that I usually send him because I don’t want him to worry about us. The second letter will be the type of letter that I wish I could send.
Dear Tom,
We miss you over here and hope you are doing well. Tommy has been really interested in plants lately and insisted that we buy some marigold seeds. He constantly chatters about roots and the importance of sunlight and water for his beloved plants. Sometimes I wonder if he’s too attached to his plants because one day he put his potted flower in my bed because he thought it could use a rest. It was pretty funny!
Natalie is becoming more independent. We’re working on potty training and have had no successes but I hope she surprises me one day. She also prefers to get dressed herself and if you dare help her, she’ll get upset. She’s a silly girl!
As for me, well, I’m just taking things day by day. The bed is empty without you.
I can’t wait to see you next month. I plan on throwing my arms around your neck and resting my head on your shoulder. I’m so proud of you!
We all love you!
Amber, Tommy and Natalie
--------------------------------
This is the letter that I WANT to send:
Tom,
I hope you don’t plan on going away anytime soon. Because I will not allow it. I need a break. These children are monsters, absolute monsters!
Tommy won’t stop talking about plants and there is no polite way to say, “I could care less about your flower!” So I have to stand there and listen to him prattle on and on about it and then he’ll ask me why we don’t have a garden and I’ll say, “Because Mommy kills plants!” Then he’ll look all horrified and hug his potted plant to his chest and toss me a dirty look as though he thinks I murder plants on purpose.
Do you know what your son did? He put his potted plant IN MY BED because he said that it needed to rest. There was dirt all over the place. I was so close to tossing the thing out the window but I didn’t simply because I didn’t want to hear the screams that Tommy surely would have emitted if I had tossed his green friend into the street. I told him through clenched teeth that plants don’t NEED a bed and to please not do that ever again.
Tommy also put a few marigold seeds in the spaghetti sauce. He said that they’d taste good because he mistook them for sunflower seeds. So now I’m petrified that we’re all going to be shitting marigolds in a few days. If we see each other again and a flower is coming out of my ass, well, you’ll know what happened.
Natalie has clearly lost her shit. She’ll tell me that she needs to use the potty and I’ll get all excited but she won’t do a thing on it. She’ll sit for two seconds and then run off stark naked and take a crap on the floor. I’m not joking. SHE TOOK A CRAP ON THE FLOOR! Our daughter is part monkey, I swear it.
Natalie also likes dressing herself which means it takes an hour for her to get ready. She’ll slowly put on her shirt but she can’t figure out all the holes yet so she’ll try and push her head through the arm hole and if I dare tell her that it’s wrong she’ll turn into Linda Blair and throw a ten minute fit. So I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut. It’s just easier that way.
The only bright spot in all of this is that I get the bed to myself. I’m sorry, but you might have to sleep on the couch when you get home. I love stretching out. I love resting my arm on your abandoned pillow. I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to share again.
So I will see you next month and don’t be offended if the second I see you I give you a quick kiss, deposit Natalie into your arms, push Tommy in your direction and take off towards the hills. I swear, I’ll be back. I just need a few days of silence.
June can’t come soon enough.
Oh, and yeah, I love you.
Amber, Tommy and Natalie
The following is the type of letter that I usually send him because I don’t want him to worry about us. The second letter will be the type of letter that I wish I could send.
Dear Tom,
We miss you over here and hope you are doing well. Tommy has been really interested in plants lately and insisted that we buy some marigold seeds. He constantly chatters about roots and the importance of sunlight and water for his beloved plants. Sometimes I wonder if he’s too attached to his plants because one day he put his potted flower in my bed because he thought it could use a rest. It was pretty funny!
Natalie is becoming more independent. We’re working on potty training and have had no successes but I hope she surprises me one day. She also prefers to get dressed herself and if you dare help her, she’ll get upset. She’s a silly girl!
As for me, well, I’m just taking things day by day. The bed is empty without you.
I can’t wait to see you next month. I plan on throwing my arms around your neck and resting my head on your shoulder. I’m so proud of you!
We all love you!
Amber, Tommy and Natalie
--------------------------------
This is the letter that I WANT to send:
Tom,
I hope you don’t plan on going away anytime soon. Because I will not allow it. I need a break. These children are monsters, absolute monsters!
Tommy won’t stop talking about plants and there is no polite way to say, “I could care less about your flower!” So I have to stand there and listen to him prattle on and on about it and then he’ll ask me why we don’t have a garden and I’ll say, “Because Mommy kills plants!” Then he’ll look all horrified and hug his potted plant to his chest and toss me a dirty look as though he thinks I murder plants on purpose.
Do you know what your son did? He put his potted plant IN MY BED because he said that it needed to rest. There was dirt all over the place. I was so close to tossing the thing out the window but I didn’t simply because I didn’t want to hear the screams that Tommy surely would have emitted if I had tossed his green friend into the street. I told him through clenched teeth that plants don’t NEED a bed and to please not do that ever again.
Tommy also put a few marigold seeds in the spaghetti sauce. He said that they’d taste good because he mistook them for sunflower seeds. So now I’m petrified that we’re all going to be shitting marigolds in a few days. If we see each other again and a flower is coming out of my ass, well, you’ll know what happened.
Natalie has clearly lost her shit. She’ll tell me that she needs to use the potty and I’ll get all excited but she won’t do a thing on it. She’ll sit for two seconds and then run off stark naked and take a crap on the floor. I’m not joking. SHE TOOK A CRAP ON THE FLOOR! Our daughter is part monkey, I swear it.
Natalie also likes dressing herself which means it takes an hour for her to get ready. She’ll slowly put on her shirt but she can’t figure out all the holes yet so she’ll try and push her head through the arm hole and if I dare tell her that it’s wrong she’ll turn into Linda Blair and throw a ten minute fit. So I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut. It’s just easier that way.
The only bright spot in all of this is that I get the bed to myself. I’m sorry, but you might have to sleep on the couch when you get home. I love stretching out. I love resting my arm on your abandoned pillow. I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to share again.
So I will see you next month and don’t be offended if the second I see you I give you a quick kiss, deposit Natalie into your arms, push Tommy in your direction and take off towards the hills. I swear, I’ll be back. I just need a few days of silence.
June can’t come soon enough.
Oh, and yeah, I love you.
Amber, Tommy and Natalie
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Swim Lessons with Michael Phelps
So here’s the thing.
I can’t swim.
I mean, I can dog paddle so I guess I can technically swim. But it’s sort of embarrassing to dog paddle around a pool.
I had swim lessons as a child but I was petrified on sticking my head in the water so they didn’t go very well. I still don’t like to put my head in the water. My husband is greatly amused by this. He once scooped me up and said he was going to throw me into the pool.
He let me down only because I dug my nails into his skin and screamed straight into his eardrum.
I know I need to learn how to swim better. It’s going to be embarrassing when my own child swims right past me as I’m dog paddling along the water. I need to set an example!
Which was why this Michael Phelps swim lesson intrigued me.
In case you’re in no mood to click the link, well, basically it’s an auction for a private swim lesson with Michael Phelps. The money goes to a charity and if we had that kind of money then I’d probably bid on it.
Let’s just pretend that we’re rolling in cash and I won the auction. I’d show up at the aquatic center wearing an oversized t-shirt over my swimsuit because hello, I’m not about to let Michael Phelps see my thighs. Or my stretch marks. Apparently he hangs around with strippers with tight bodies and breasts as big as my head so I wouldn’t want to startle him with my pale skin and breasts that are probably the size of his ears.
I imagine Michael would be surprised to see me because I believe the auction is intended for swim lessons for a CHILD. Because after all, most adults know how to swim, right? So he’d be giving me a baffled look as I calmly set my duffle bag that would contain my towel and a water bottle down.
“Is your kid coming?” Michael might ask and this is when I’ll realize that he’s standing there in nothing but a tiny Speedo. My face will immediately flush because hello, the Speedo doesn’t leave much to the imagination. It’s just a tiny bit of spandex covering the...well....you know...and you really can’t HELP but look.
So to be on the safe side I opt to look right over Michael’s shoulder at the wall as I speak to him because I know if I look him in the face that my eyes will inevitably wander downward and he’ll think I’m a total perv.
And I’m not, I swear it, I’m not a pervert. But it’s sort of hard not to look when someone strolls out in a tiny swatch of body hugging material.
Of course Michael will wonder what I’m staring at and will follow my gaze to the wall and stare at me in bewilderment.
“Oh,” I’ll say all flustered. “Sorry. It’s hard to look at you when you’re wearing...that...” And then I’ll gesture to his Speedo and dear God, because it’s me my hand will nearly bump his....area....and he’ll think I’m about to molest him or something.
“How about we get started?” Michael will suggest and then he’ll easily jump into the pool.
So I’ll slowly start to take off my shoes and walk over to the pool.
“Um, aren’t you going to take off your shirt?” Michael will wonder.
Is he insane? I’m not about to take off my shirt and frighten the Speedo off of him.
“I think I’ll keep it on. If that’s okay,” I’ll quickly add because I wouldn’t want to insult him. I mean, he’s won a bazillion medals which means he’s sort of like a swimming god.
“Keep it on if you’d like,” Michael will say because really, he just wants to get this over with and go home and play video games.
Then I’ll head to the pool stairs and Michael will call out, “You know, you can just jump in!”
Jump in! Does he want me to DIE? Honestly, Michael Phelps, you may have won a bazillion medals but you have a terrible memory. Maybe all the swimming he does has ruined his memory. Did he forget that I’m here for SWIM LESSONS and thus don’t know how to SWIM?
But then a thought will hit me. Suppose Michael thinks that I’m PRETENDING to not know how to swim just so I could meet him? I mean, fine, I do have a crush on the guy but I wouldn’t pay over two grand just to MEET him. No offense.
“I really can’t swim,” I’ll be compelled to say as I grip onto the side of the pool for dear life.
Michael will probably not believe me. He’ll start to prattle on about safety, something that his lawyers made sure that he’d say so he wouldn’t get sued if I drowned. Then he’ll ask if I know how to tread water and I’ll say, “For like ten seconds.”
Michael will demonstrate how to tread water and will patiently wait for me to let go of the wall.
I’ll slowly let go and start to move my arms and legs like crazy and then I’ll start to panic when I realize that I’m not treading in water but instead thrashing around the pool like I’m a mad woman. I’ll instantly freak out and my hand will go back to gripping the side of the pool.
“What was that?” Michael will wonder, still calmly treading water like it’s no big deal.
Poor Michael. All the chlorine must’ve ruined his sight. Did he not see that I nearly DROWNED?
“I nearly drowned,” I’ll say incredulously.
A sigh will come from Michael’s lips. He’ll be thinking, okay, I think my donating swim lesson days are over. I can’t handle this. I’ll just give the charity a chunk of cash from all my endorsements.
“I won’t let you drown,” Michael will promise. “Try again. Like this.” He’ll demonstrate again and it’ll look so easy that I’ll let go of the wall and try again.
It’ll go smoothly at first and I’ll call out, “Oh my gosh! I’m doing it! For more than ten seconds!” but then I’ll realize that I’m slowly sinking and I’ll make a dying animal noise and reach dramatically for the wall.
“You’re panicking. Don’t panic. Calm down. Breathe. If you panic, you’re going to go under,” Michael will say in cool, even tones.
Go under? I can’t go under!
“Maybe we should move onto something else,” Michael will suggest giving me a forced smile. “Since you seem so terrified of going under, how about we stick our head in the water and blow bubbles so you see there is nothing to be afraid of?”
STICK MY HEAD UNDER?
“Actually,” I’ll say. “I’d like to learn how to swim without having to stick my head under. If that’s okay,” I’ll quickly add.
Michael will close his eyes briefly as though he’s going to his happy place. Then he’ll open them, toss me his tenth forced smile of the day and explain through clenched teeth that if I want to learn how to swim that I’ll have to stick my head under the water.
“Are you worried about your hair?” Michael will inquire. Because I imagine he’s been around those girly women who flip out if their hair gets dirty or if they chip a nail. I could care less about that. My hair never works anyhow and I chew my nails. So I’ll shake my head and say, “No. I’m worried that I’ll DROWN.” I’ll say this all seriously with wide eyes and Michael will be somewhat amused.
“I told you. I’m not going to let you drown. Now come on. Stick your head under like this and blow some bubbles,” Michael will say and then his head will disappear under the water and a sea of bubbles will pop up.
I’ll take a deep breath and do the same. Or at least I’ll try to before flipping out and gluing myself to the wall again.
“You’re panicking again,” Michael’s voice will boom out causing me to jump. Uh oh. He’s starting to lose his patience. He’ll quickly realize that he’s just shouted at the person who has donated over two grand for a charity and therefore he has to be nice. So he’ll close his eyes again to go to his happy place and then he’ll say, “Let’s move on.”
Right. Let’s.
“I’m going to show you how to do a breaststroke. Each time you do a stroke you tilt your head so you can breathe. Got it?” Michael will say and then show me what he means. He makes it look so easy, of course.
I decide that I’ll try because after all, I gave birth to two children so swimming should be a breeze. Right?
But as soon as I attempt to copy Michael’s moves I realize that I breathe at the wrong moment and inhale a bunch of water. So then I’ll start thrashing again and I realize that I’m going to die and Michael quickly swims over to me and tries to scoop me up but I’m going nuts and my limbs are all over the place and Michael is shouting, “COULD YOU PLEASE REMOVE YOUR NAILS FROM MY BACK? I’m trying to HELP YOU!”
Oops. I’ll relax and let Michael take me over to the side of the pool. He’ll stare at me with shock and say in a surprised tone, “You really don’t know how to swim, do you? I honestly thought you were joking….” he’ll trail off and give me an apologetic look.
Yup. Just as I thought. He assumed I forked over all that cash just to meet him. Sorry Michael Phelps, but I’m not a psycho. I really DO need to learn how to swim.
“Look, if I had known that you really couldn’t swim I’d have started off easier. Here, let me get something,” Michael will say and then will easily hoist himself out of the pool. I’ll try not to look at his butt but again, Spandex doesn’t cover much and it’s RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF ME.
Michael will jog over to the corner of the room and pick up a yellow foam thing.
“A kickboard!” he’ll shout triumphantly, jumping back into the pool. He’ll hand it over to me. “There. Just swim around the pool with me like that.”
I’ll feel a little foolish accepting the kickboard but I’ll take it because I don’t want to drown.
I get the feeling that the kickboard was intended for a child but it doesn’t matter.
“Let’s race,” Michael will suggest.
Racing Michael Phelps! A once in a lifetime opportunity! Suppose I end up beating him and he’ll be impressed with my supersonic kick and go on the news and say that he’s just been beaten by someone who doesn’t even know how to swim....
So I’ll nod my head enthusiastically and he’ll shout “GO!” and I’ll take off with the kickboard underneath me. But then halfway to the other side of the pool my legs will start to ache and I’ll wonder how Michael does this for more than an hour each day.
“I’m tired!” I’ll gasp out as Michael touches the other side of the pool. I stop kicking and sort of bob in place.
“You’re tired?” Michael will shout. “Do you know that I swim in the pool two hours a day, TWICE a day and don’t even get a day off?”
Um.
“Er...no?” I’ll admit.
“Surely you can make it to the end of the pool and back?” Michael will continue.
No. No I can’t, Michael Phelps. Because I’m allergic to exercise and this really feels like exercise. My thighs are burning and the chlorine fumes are starting to make me dizzy. But I can’t tell him this because he took time out of his day to teach me how to swim. So I’ll start kicking again and try to forget that my legs feel like they’re about to break off.
I’ll make it to the end ten minutes later and Michael will look like he’s about to fall asleep.
“Great job!” he’ll yell when I finally make it over. “Fantastic! You did a GREAT job!” he’ll say overenthusiastically. “You’re done!”
What? I’m done? I thought we were swimming back down the pool?
“I thought you said—” I’ll start but Michael is already climbing out of the pool.
“I have an autographed picture for you and a copy of my book,” he’ll be saying as I kick my way over to the pool stairs. I’ll slowly climb out of the pool, still confused. I mean, I really haven’t learned how to swim.
“Here you go,” Michael will say and practically shove his picture and book in my baffled arms. I’ll realize that he has a towel around his waist, thank goodness. “You have a fantastic day.” Then he’ll turn on his heel and because his legs are so long he’ll have disappeared into the locker room in record time.
And that, my friends, is why I will not be bidding on the lessons. I do not want to wind up being known as “the chick who made Michael Phelps lose his patience.” And then, oh my gosh, suppose he ends up losing a race at the London Olympics and during an interview Michael will be all, “I’ve never swum the same since this one woman dug her nails into my back and punctured a muscle.”
I can’t have that sort of thing on my conscience!
I just can’t.
I can’t swim.
I mean, I can dog paddle so I guess I can technically swim. But it’s sort of embarrassing to dog paddle around a pool.
I had swim lessons as a child but I was petrified on sticking my head in the water so they didn’t go very well. I still don’t like to put my head in the water. My husband is greatly amused by this. He once scooped me up and said he was going to throw me into the pool.
He let me down only because I dug my nails into his skin and screamed straight into his eardrum.
I know I need to learn how to swim better. It’s going to be embarrassing when my own child swims right past me as I’m dog paddling along the water. I need to set an example!
Which was why this Michael Phelps swim lesson intrigued me.
In case you’re in no mood to click the link, well, basically it’s an auction for a private swim lesson with Michael Phelps. The money goes to a charity and if we had that kind of money then I’d probably bid on it.
Let’s just pretend that we’re rolling in cash and I won the auction. I’d show up at the aquatic center wearing an oversized t-shirt over my swimsuit because hello, I’m not about to let Michael Phelps see my thighs. Or my stretch marks. Apparently he hangs around with strippers with tight bodies and breasts as big as my head so I wouldn’t want to startle him with my pale skin and breasts that are probably the size of his ears.
I imagine Michael would be surprised to see me because I believe the auction is intended for swim lessons for a CHILD. Because after all, most adults know how to swim, right? So he’d be giving me a baffled look as I calmly set my duffle bag that would contain my towel and a water bottle down.
“Is your kid coming?” Michael might ask and this is when I’ll realize that he’s standing there in nothing but a tiny Speedo. My face will immediately flush because hello, the Speedo doesn’t leave much to the imagination. It’s just a tiny bit of spandex covering the...well....you know...and you really can’t HELP but look.
So to be on the safe side I opt to look right over Michael’s shoulder at the wall as I speak to him because I know if I look him in the face that my eyes will inevitably wander downward and he’ll think I’m a total perv.
And I’m not, I swear it, I’m not a pervert. But it’s sort of hard not to look when someone strolls out in a tiny swatch of body hugging material.
Of course Michael will wonder what I’m staring at and will follow my gaze to the wall and stare at me in bewilderment.
“Oh,” I’ll say all flustered. “Sorry. It’s hard to look at you when you’re wearing...that...” And then I’ll gesture to his Speedo and dear God, because it’s me my hand will nearly bump his....area....and he’ll think I’m about to molest him or something.
“How about we get started?” Michael will suggest and then he’ll easily jump into the pool.
So I’ll slowly start to take off my shoes and walk over to the pool.
“Um, aren’t you going to take off your shirt?” Michael will wonder.
Is he insane? I’m not about to take off my shirt and frighten the Speedo off of him.
“I think I’ll keep it on. If that’s okay,” I’ll quickly add because I wouldn’t want to insult him. I mean, he’s won a bazillion medals which means he’s sort of like a swimming god.
“Keep it on if you’d like,” Michael will say because really, he just wants to get this over with and go home and play video games.
Then I’ll head to the pool stairs and Michael will call out, “You know, you can just jump in!”
Jump in! Does he want me to DIE? Honestly, Michael Phelps, you may have won a bazillion medals but you have a terrible memory. Maybe all the swimming he does has ruined his memory. Did he forget that I’m here for SWIM LESSONS and thus don’t know how to SWIM?
But then a thought will hit me. Suppose Michael thinks that I’m PRETENDING to not know how to swim just so I could meet him? I mean, fine, I do have a crush on the guy but I wouldn’t pay over two grand just to MEET him. No offense.
“I really can’t swim,” I’ll be compelled to say as I grip onto the side of the pool for dear life.
Michael will probably not believe me. He’ll start to prattle on about safety, something that his lawyers made sure that he’d say so he wouldn’t get sued if I drowned. Then he’ll ask if I know how to tread water and I’ll say, “For like ten seconds.”
Michael will demonstrate how to tread water and will patiently wait for me to let go of the wall.
I’ll slowly let go and start to move my arms and legs like crazy and then I’ll start to panic when I realize that I’m not treading in water but instead thrashing around the pool like I’m a mad woman. I’ll instantly freak out and my hand will go back to gripping the side of the pool.
“What was that?” Michael will wonder, still calmly treading water like it’s no big deal.
Poor Michael. All the chlorine must’ve ruined his sight. Did he not see that I nearly DROWNED?
“I nearly drowned,” I’ll say incredulously.
A sigh will come from Michael’s lips. He’ll be thinking, okay, I think my donating swim lesson days are over. I can’t handle this. I’ll just give the charity a chunk of cash from all my endorsements.
“I won’t let you drown,” Michael will promise. “Try again. Like this.” He’ll demonstrate again and it’ll look so easy that I’ll let go of the wall and try again.
It’ll go smoothly at first and I’ll call out, “Oh my gosh! I’m doing it! For more than ten seconds!” but then I’ll realize that I’m slowly sinking and I’ll make a dying animal noise and reach dramatically for the wall.
“You’re panicking. Don’t panic. Calm down. Breathe. If you panic, you’re going to go under,” Michael will say in cool, even tones.
Go under? I can’t go under!
“Maybe we should move onto something else,” Michael will suggest giving me a forced smile. “Since you seem so terrified of going under, how about we stick our head in the water and blow bubbles so you see there is nothing to be afraid of?”
STICK MY HEAD UNDER?
“Actually,” I’ll say. “I’d like to learn how to swim without having to stick my head under. If that’s okay,” I’ll quickly add.
Michael will close his eyes briefly as though he’s going to his happy place. Then he’ll open them, toss me his tenth forced smile of the day and explain through clenched teeth that if I want to learn how to swim that I’ll have to stick my head under the water.
“Are you worried about your hair?” Michael will inquire. Because I imagine he’s been around those girly women who flip out if their hair gets dirty or if they chip a nail. I could care less about that. My hair never works anyhow and I chew my nails. So I’ll shake my head and say, “No. I’m worried that I’ll DROWN.” I’ll say this all seriously with wide eyes and Michael will be somewhat amused.
“I told you. I’m not going to let you drown. Now come on. Stick your head under like this and blow some bubbles,” Michael will say and then his head will disappear under the water and a sea of bubbles will pop up.
I’ll take a deep breath and do the same. Or at least I’ll try to before flipping out and gluing myself to the wall again.
“You’re panicking again,” Michael’s voice will boom out causing me to jump. Uh oh. He’s starting to lose his patience. He’ll quickly realize that he’s just shouted at the person who has donated over two grand for a charity and therefore he has to be nice. So he’ll close his eyes again to go to his happy place and then he’ll say, “Let’s move on.”
Right. Let’s.
“I’m going to show you how to do a breaststroke. Each time you do a stroke you tilt your head so you can breathe. Got it?” Michael will say and then show me what he means. He makes it look so easy, of course.
I decide that I’ll try because after all, I gave birth to two children so swimming should be a breeze. Right?
But as soon as I attempt to copy Michael’s moves I realize that I breathe at the wrong moment and inhale a bunch of water. So then I’ll start thrashing again and I realize that I’m going to die and Michael quickly swims over to me and tries to scoop me up but I’m going nuts and my limbs are all over the place and Michael is shouting, “COULD YOU PLEASE REMOVE YOUR NAILS FROM MY BACK? I’m trying to HELP YOU!”
Oops. I’ll relax and let Michael take me over to the side of the pool. He’ll stare at me with shock and say in a surprised tone, “You really don’t know how to swim, do you? I honestly thought you were joking….” he’ll trail off and give me an apologetic look.
Yup. Just as I thought. He assumed I forked over all that cash just to meet him. Sorry Michael Phelps, but I’m not a psycho. I really DO need to learn how to swim.
“Look, if I had known that you really couldn’t swim I’d have started off easier. Here, let me get something,” Michael will say and then will easily hoist himself out of the pool. I’ll try not to look at his butt but again, Spandex doesn’t cover much and it’s RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF ME.
Michael will jog over to the corner of the room and pick up a yellow foam thing.
“A kickboard!” he’ll shout triumphantly, jumping back into the pool. He’ll hand it over to me. “There. Just swim around the pool with me like that.”
I’ll feel a little foolish accepting the kickboard but I’ll take it because I don’t want to drown.
I get the feeling that the kickboard was intended for a child but it doesn’t matter.
“Let’s race,” Michael will suggest.
Racing Michael Phelps! A once in a lifetime opportunity! Suppose I end up beating him and he’ll be impressed with my supersonic kick and go on the news and say that he’s just been beaten by someone who doesn’t even know how to swim....
So I’ll nod my head enthusiastically and he’ll shout “GO!” and I’ll take off with the kickboard underneath me. But then halfway to the other side of the pool my legs will start to ache and I’ll wonder how Michael does this for more than an hour each day.
“I’m tired!” I’ll gasp out as Michael touches the other side of the pool. I stop kicking and sort of bob in place.
“You’re tired?” Michael will shout. “Do you know that I swim in the pool two hours a day, TWICE a day and don’t even get a day off?”
Um.
“Er...no?” I’ll admit.
“Surely you can make it to the end of the pool and back?” Michael will continue.
No. No I can’t, Michael Phelps. Because I’m allergic to exercise and this really feels like exercise. My thighs are burning and the chlorine fumes are starting to make me dizzy. But I can’t tell him this because he took time out of his day to teach me how to swim. So I’ll start kicking again and try to forget that my legs feel like they’re about to break off.
I’ll make it to the end ten minutes later and Michael will look like he’s about to fall asleep.
“Great job!” he’ll yell when I finally make it over. “Fantastic! You did a GREAT job!” he’ll say overenthusiastically. “You’re done!”
What? I’m done? I thought we were swimming back down the pool?
“I thought you said—” I’ll start but Michael is already climbing out of the pool.
“I have an autographed picture for you and a copy of my book,” he’ll be saying as I kick my way over to the pool stairs. I’ll slowly climb out of the pool, still confused. I mean, I really haven’t learned how to swim.
“Here you go,” Michael will say and practically shove his picture and book in my baffled arms. I’ll realize that he has a towel around his waist, thank goodness. “You have a fantastic day.” Then he’ll turn on his heel and because his legs are so long he’ll have disappeared into the locker room in record time.
And that, my friends, is why I will not be bidding on the lessons. I do not want to wind up being known as “the chick who made Michael Phelps lose his patience.” And then, oh my gosh, suppose he ends up losing a race at the London Olympics and during an interview Michael will be all, “I’ve never swum the same since this one woman dug her nails into my back and punctured a muscle.”
I can’t have that sort of thing on my conscience!
I just can’t.
Senior Prank '09
The seniors struck the hallowed halls of Benjamin Russell. Sometime after we all left yesterday....somebody came into the school and took every desk out of every classroom with a Math Science Master Lock and put them in the hall. When Trina got here this morning shortly after six she found a sea of desks as far as she could see. Poor Trina....she had to crawl across the desks to get to her room and then across them again to make coffee for this morning. My phone rang at home around 6ish and when I opened my message there was a picture of the hall of desks with a blurb telling me to be prepared to crawl when I got here. Fortunately...by the time I got to school I just had to dodge desks. Most of them had been put back into rooms. We all sat around drinking our coffee and laughing at this cute little prank...but then I found out some stuff was broken (accidentally) during the move....and a marker was destroyed....so the prank lost some cool points. You have to admit....we have a large campus....and for kids to come and pull every single desk out into the hall....cover the suveillance cameras....and pretty much not touch anything else....did add some brevity to an otherwise bleak school year ending. I had to laugh....and I laughed out loud. Kudos seniors for an absolutely brilliant trick. you will go down as the first class to pull such a monumentally outlandish prank. Hats off!
An Invitation
This is a redo of a post I did in 2007. I had just been introduced to the blog world and had no followers or readers...so no one ever saw this post. I felt like the last official day of school for my students was a great day to bring it out and dust it off for old times sake. We all love to get invitations. I know I do. I love to be invited somewhere...I love to dress up....make special food for the event....anything....just to be invited. Today, I want to talk about a different kind of invitation that I was lucky enough to get when I was younger. My invitation was to learn. When I was 36 months old, Ms. Meabold invited me to learn about Jesus in Sunday School. She portrayed him as my faithful friend, a loving father, a miracle worker and I believed her. She invited me to sit at her feet and listen to wonderful Bible stories that she read to us each Sunday. I learned and I loved every minute of it. When I was 48 months old I went to Opportunity with my mom. She worked there....the only invitation I had there was not a pleasant one...they made us take naps....something I had not done since I was a baby. At 60 months I entered the world of Vedado Park Kindergarten....and again an invitation was extended for us to read, draw, create, make friends. I did just that and loved my time in the neighborhood school. At 72 months I got my first big girl invitation. It came from Joyce Freeman. She invited me to be all I could be. She opened up a whole new world for me in first grade and I loved school and I loved her. Second grade at 84 months was a different ball of string. My teacher was beautiful.....on the outside. She was not pretty on the inside. She did not get to know us....she did not invite us to learn. She was pretty busy getting ready to get married and did not have time for us. If she had...she would never have sent me home one day alone to get a signed form I had forgotten. I forgot it because my mom was in the hospital and I was staying with friends at their house. The form was at my house....but she did not know...and she did not care. I did not feel invited to grow in this classroom. Third grade brought Ms. Lohr. She was an invitation waiting for a place to happen. I would have died for her as a third grader. She wanted us all to read, write, create...and we all tried our best. Yep, 96 months was a good time for an invitation....108 months rolled around there was Mrs. Hays, 120 months brought Miss Reynolds into my life...and 132 months brought yet another teacher I loved, Mrs. Carlson. She lived down the road from me and was such a great teacher. She made everything exciting....but then she got sick and the substitute uninvited us all. It was a bleak rest of the year. When 148 months arrived I found myself in a whole new setting....we changed classes, we had more than one teacher and I was terrified. Could I cut it in Junior High? Beth Ruggles was the first teacher to invite us to expand our minds. Her English class was great....but Math and Science did not come with invitations....so the year was extremely confusing. 55 years later....753 months have passed by....There have been many invitations throughout my lifetime....in college, at work, in life....sometimes I have taken them...other times I found myself RSVPing with a "No thank you " reply. I find myself the giver of invitations now. I have been handing them out for the last 23 years. Sometimes the students will take them and we will have a wonderful adventure. Other times they turn me down and it is a hard year for both of us....the thing about an invitation is...if you don't accept it....you will never know what you might have missed. I like the words to the song Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls from the movie City of Angels...."I don't want to close my eyes....I don't want to fall asleep...." because I might miss something....and that something could change my life. I wish I could help my students understand this lesson I have learned during my 55 years of breathing. Don't not try something new or out of the ordinary....you might miss an extraordinary! So today, I invite you to open your eyes, heart, mind, and just let go and breathe life in. It may be a bumpy ride and things may not always go like you want them too....but let me tell you....it is an adventure!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
A Big Love
What a night we shared,
One of many that have been
and are yet to be.
Our bed was so warm and inviting
Inviting us to cling together,
burn together, lie together,
with unbridled passions
that flow through us.
If my death were to come now...
I would leave here smiling
for once, for one brief shining moment,in the span of all time,
I was loved...thoroughly....by you!
I wrote this poem for my sweet Frank several years ago....for our first anniversary and I never gave it to him. While I was cleaning up my classroom today, getting ready for summer, I found this stuffed inside a folder with totally non-related papers and just had to share it with you....and with him. When my world comes unglued...and I feel I can't go another step...he is always there to pick me up, dust me off, and set me on my path again. He truly is one of the good guys and I am blessed.
Inappropriate Husbands
The phone rang right as Natalie was going through her thirteenth fit of the day. This time she was upset because I wouldn’t let her take the DVDs out of the cabinet. I’m sorry, but the last time she did that it looked like the entire DVD section of Wal-Mart had thrown up in my living room. Plus she totally ripped off my Sex and the City covers and that was just not cool. What does she have against Sarah Jessica Parker?
Tommy was whining because I told him that he had to wear suntan lotion before he went outside. This gravely insulted him and he was in the middle of listing the reasons why he didn’t need the lotion when I picked up the phone.
“Number SIX! It smells weird!” Tommy shrieked as I said hello into the receiver.
“What are you wearing?” came a husky voice.
Excuse me?
I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at it as though it were a giant booger. Ew, did someone mistake my number for a sex hotline?
“Who is this?” I said warily.
“Your husband. What are you wearing?”
Oh for---seriously? In the middle of the DAY?
“Black sweats and a yellow t-shirt,” I said in a deadpan voice right as Tommy was screaming, “Reason EIGHT! I don’t LIKE lotion!”
“I bet you look hot,” Tom said in a seductive voice.
I cradled the phone against my shoulder. “Yeah. I’m sweating like a pig.”
Tom groaned. “Why won’t you talk sexy with me?”
Oh great. Tom started with the whining. I hate when he whines.
“Tom. I’m surrounded by children. It’s not an appropriate time,” I reminded him.
“No time is an appropriate time,” Tom grumbled.
Sorry. During the day I’m busy wrangling children. By the time they’re in bed I’m too exhausted to form an erotic sentence.
“I’ll call you later,” Tom said, all dejected.
Oh boo hoo. I hung up and stuck the phone in my pocket. I managed to get suntan lotion on Tommy, even though he was on reason fifteen why he didn’t like the stuff. (“Reason fifteen! It feels SLIMY!”)
We all headed outside and I thought I could sit for a few minutes while the kids ran out their energy. But no. Right before my butt hit the pavement, Natalie wanted me to play with her. She stuck a hat on my head and pulled on my arm and pointed to the area where she wanted me to stand.
“Actually, Mommy just wants to sit,” I said and started to head back to my sitting spot.
“PLAY! PLAY! PLAY!” Natalie started jumping up and down in horror.
Good gracious. I thought she’d pass out from the excitement and I was in no mood to wait around at the ER so I agreed to play. I sort of stood there while Natalie handed me a bag and started putting a bunch of stuff into it.
I’m not exactly sure what this game was.
My bag was nearly filled to capacity when the phone rang. I dug it out of my pocket.
“Hello?” I said. The bag straps were starting to dig into my arm from all the weight. Ouch.
“Do you know what I’m doing now?” came the familiar husky voice.
Oh Lord. Here we go again.
“Are you watching TV?” I wondered hopefully. Please be watching the TV.
“I’m laying on the bed. Naked.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m envious. What I would give to lay on the bed naked. But one of the kids would probably walk in on me and then I’ll have to answer questions such as why I have boobies, what’s wrong with them and didn’t I know I could only be naked in private? To which I’d reply that I WAS trying to be private but apparently a shut door means come on in to our children,” I said dryly.
Tom sighed. “Fine. Forget it,” he grumbled.
“Tom. You know I love you. But I’m tired. I get that your class is exhausting but you get a break when it’s over. You get a break over the weekend. I rarely get a break. Even during the night I’m still on the clock. Your daughter thinks two AM is a fantastic time to wake and have a party. So excuse me if I can’t talk nasty to you,” I ranted as Natalie tried to stuff a car in the overfilled bag.
“I just miss you,” Tom said in a tiny voice.
Aw. Poor guy. All he wants is to hear my voice and---
“Are you wearing panties?” Tom continued hopefully.
He’s deaf. My husband is deaf.
“Yes. Disgusting panties with holes. Look Tom, I’m not doing this right now. Unless you want Tommy to go to school tomorrow and start talking about fellatio with the kids, you’ll stop this talk right now,” I hissed. I lowered my voice so the kids wouldn’t hear fellatio. I could just see Tommy heading off to school and saying during playtime, “I’m going to make myself a pie with fellatio,” because he’ll assume it’s food or something and then I’ll get a phone call from the teacher and be lectured on how to be appropriate.
At that moment there was a clap of thunder. We’re having a string of storms this week. Natalie has decided that thunder terrifies her so when this happened she let out a bloodcurdling scream.
“What’s going on over there?” Tom asked while his kid carried on as though someone had told her that her favorite character Brobee was dead.
“That would be your daughter,” I explained, setting the full bag down and scooping Natalie up. “She’s afraid of thunderstorms.”
“See Mommy? It’s going to rain. I put on lotion for NOTHING!” Tommy wailed.
“Since when is Natalie afraid of thunderstorms?” Tom asked as I shuffled the kids back inside.
“INSIDE IS BORING!” Tommy shouted as I closed the front door.
“Since...I don’t know, the last time we had a storm,” I replied, attempting to set Natalie down. But she had a death grip around my neck and refused to let go.
Tom gave a wistful sigh. “I’m missing so much.”
“You’ll see them soon,” I said in a strangled voice because Natalie was starting to cut off my air supply. I tried to get her to loosen her grip but it was difficult while trying to balance the phone against my ear.
Tom mistook my strangled voice for crying because he said, “Awww, I miss you too. Don’t cry.”
I didn’t bother to correct him. I just let him act like he was comforting me because that distracted him from inquiring about my undergarments again.
Tommy was whining because I told him that he had to wear suntan lotion before he went outside. This gravely insulted him and he was in the middle of listing the reasons why he didn’t need the lotion when I picked up the phone.
“Number SIX! It smells weird!” Tommy shrieked as I said hello into the receiver.
“What are you wearing?” came a husky voice.
Excuse me?
I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at it as though it were a giant booger. Ew, did someone mistake my number for a sex hotline?
“Who is this?” I said warily.
“Your husband. What are you wearing?”
Oh for---seriously? In the middle of the DAY?
“Black sweats and a yellow t-shirt,” I said in a deadpan voice right as Tommy was screaming, “Reason EIGHT! I don’t LIKE lotion!”
“I bet you look hot,” Tom said in a seductive voice.
I cradled the phone against my shoulder. “Yeah. I’m sweating like a pig.”
Tom groaned. “Why won’t you talk sexy with me?”
Oh great. Tom started with the whining. I hate when he whines.
“Tom. I’m surrounded by children. It’s not an appropriate time,” I reminded him.
“No time is an appropriate time,” Tom grumbled.
Sorry. During the day I’m busy wrangling children. By the time they’re in bed I’m too exhausted to form an erotic sentence.
“I’ll call you later,” Tom said, all dejected.
Oh boo hoo. I hung up and stuck the phone in my pocket. I managed to get suntan lotion on Tommy, even though he was on reason fifteen why he didn’t like the stuff. (“Reason fifteen! It feels SLIMY!”)
We all headed outside and I thought I could sit for a few minutes while the kids ran out their energy. But no. Right before my butt hit the pavement, Natalie wanted me to play with her. She stuck a hat on my head and pulled on my arm and pointed to the area where she wanted me to stand.
“Actually, Mommy just wants to sit,” I said and started to head back to my sitting spot.
“PLAY! PLAY! PLAY!” Natalie started jumping up and down in horror.
Good gracious. I thought she’d pass out from the excitement and I was in no mood to wait around at the ER so I agreed to play. I sort of stood there while Natalie handed me a bag and started putting a bunch of stuff into it.
I’m not exactly sure what this game was.
My bag was nearly filled to capacity when the phone rang. I dug it out of my pocket.
“Hello?” I said. The bag straps were starting to dig into my arm from all the weight. Ouch.
“Do you know what I’m doing now?” came the familiar husky voice.
Oh Lord. Here we go again.
“Are you watching TV?” I wondered hopefully. Please be watching the TV.
“I’m laying on the bed. Naked.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m envious. What I would give to lay on the bed naked. But one of the kids would probably walk in on me and then I’ll have to answer questions such as why I have boobies, what’s wrong with them and didn’t I know I could only be naked in private? To which I’d reply that I WAS trying to be private but apparently a shut door means come on in to our children,” I said dryly.
Tom sighed. “Fine. Forget it,” he grumbled.
“Tom. You know I love you. But I’m tired. I get that your class is exhausting but you get a break when it’s over. You get a break over the weekend. I rarely get a break. Even during the night I’m still on the clock. Your daughter thinks two AM is a fantastic time to wake and have a party. So excuse me if I can’t talk nasty to you,” I ranted as Natalie tried to stuff a car in the overfilled bag.
“I just miss you,” Tom said in a tiny voice.
Aw. Poor guy. All he wants is to hear my voice and---
“Are you wearing panties?” Tom continued hopefully.
He’s deaf. My husband is deaf.
“Yes. Disgusting panties with holes. Look Tom, I’m not doing this right now. Unless you want Tommy to go to school tomorrow and start talking about fellatio with the kids, you’ll stop this talk right now,” I hissed. I lowered my voice so the kids wouldn’t hear fellatio. I could just see Tommy heading off to school and saying during playtime, “I’m going to make myself a pie with fellatio,” because he’ll assume it’s food or something and then I’ll get a phone call from the teacher and be lectured on how to be appropriate.
At that moment there was a clap of thunder. We’re having a string of storms this week. Natalie has decided that thunder terrifies her so when this happened she let out a bloodcurdling scream.
“What’s going on over there?” Tom asked while his kid carried on as though someone had told her that her favorite character Brobee was dead.
“That would be your daughter,” I explained, setting the full bag down and scooping Natalie up. “She’s afraid of thunderstorms.”
“See Mommy? It’s going to rain. I put on lotion for NOTHING!” Tommy wailed.
“Since when is Natalie afraid of thunderstorms?” Tom asked as I shuffled the kids back inside.
“INSIDE IS BORING!” Tommy shouted as I closed the front door.
“Since...I don’t know, the last time we had a storm,” I replied, attempting to set Natalie down. But she had a death grip around my neck and refused to let go.
Tom gave a wistful sigh. “I’m missing so much.”
“You’ll see them soon,” I said in a strangled voice because Natalie was starting to cut off my air supply. I tried to get her to loosen her grip but it was difficult while trying to balance the phone against my ear.
Tom mistook my strangled voice for crying because he said, “Awww, I miss you too. Don’t cry.”
I didn’t bother to correct him. I just let him act like he was comforting me because that distracted him from inquiring about my undergarments again.
Awesome T-Shirt Give-Away!
The Perry Family is hosting a giveaway from Crazy Dog at Crazy Dog T-shirts.com. These are some of the best T-shirts I have seen in a long time and you definitely want to get in on this giveaway. Sooooo...if you love T-shirts get on over the the Perry's blog and enter. I have put one of the T-shirt samples on this page so you can get an idea of what they have to offer. They have several different categories to chose from like:
Cheap T-shirts
Cool t-shirts
Funny t-shirts
Girls t-shirts
Graphic t-shirts
Hilarious t-shirts
Junk Food t-shirts
Novelty t-shirts
Offensive t-shirts
Saint Patricks Day t-shirts
Spotlight Products
Video Game t-shirts
Vintage t-shirts
custom t-shirt
movie t shirts
retro t-shirts
Be sure to tell the Perry's that Karen sent you.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
You Prime It
So I was on a high from changing the license plates all by myself. I decided, hey, while I’m at it, why not mow the yard? A lot of people were mowing their yard. Granted, most of the people were MEN. I sort of stared wistfully at the guy across the street as he pushed the mower effortlessly across his yard. I think he caught me staring at him and assumed that I was checking out his butt.
Sorry. But no. I was just jealous that all these men were out in their yards and I was stuck doing it myself.
I sighed and headed into the garage to pull the mower out. The mower, by the way, was wedged in the corner and was surrounded by my treasures. See, I call them treasures; my husband refers to them as JUNK. Excuse me, my old high school notebooks are NOT junk. They could come in handy someday. Suppose I want to remember what my sixth period class was back in 1998? You just never know.
So after I pushed my treasures aside I went to yank the mower out. But it wasn’t budging. I grunted and strained until I realized that one of the wheels was trapped by an old scarf. Ew! Where did that scarf come from? It was neon (!) multicolored and something that I would never be caught dead in. Ew! Then I realized that it was my husband’s old scarf. See, we had gone through a bunch of boxes and Tom had opted to KEEP the scarf in case our son wanted it someday.
I couldn’t fathom anyone wearing that scarf. Ever. So I sort of tossed it behind some boxes and hoped that a mouse would come out and eat it/poop on it/drag it away....
I guess the scarf started a love affair with the mower or something because I had to pull a few times in order to get it free.
Then I tossed it behind some boxes again.
I dragged the mower to the yard and took a deep breath before yanking on the string that turned it on.
I pulled and....
....nothing happened.
So I pulled again.
Nothing.
Then I started muttering a bunch of inappropriate words and I may have even kicked the mower’s side.
“You WILL work,” I told the mower sternly. I have a problem with talking to inanimate objects.
Thankfully my neighbor, who had been spraying weed killer in his yard, had gone inside so he didn’t catch my mini-tantrum. However, I saw one of his curtains flick as though someone had been standing there.
Uh oh.
They may have seen me talk to the mower.
Great. Now my neighbor is going to think I’m crazy like Anne Heche when she lost her mind and started talking alien.
I’m not like that, I swear.
I stomped in the house and dialed my husband’s number.
“Hello?” he said.
“How do I turn the mower on? I’m pulling and nothing is happening!” I shouted dramatically.
“Is it SO hard for you to say hello first?” Tom wondered.
“HELLO!” I said my voice laced with irritation. "How do I turn on the mower?"
Seriously. It was hot and sweat was starting to form on my brow. I am not attractive when I turn hot. I become a drippy red-faced mess. I wanted to mow and get it over with. It was not the time for pleasantries.
“You prime it,” Tom said calmly. He’s used to my antics. Sometimes I think he may even get off on them. Then he can be like, “Yes, I’m the sane one in this relationship.”
Prime it?
What’s a prime it? It sounded like a new dance move or something.
“What’s a prime it?” I questioned. It was like an entirely different language.
Tom chuckled. Oh, laugh it up mister. We’ll see who is laughing when we see each other for the first time in three months and I’m wearing granny panties and pretending that I’m on my period.
“You know that red button on the front of the mower?” Tom said.
I walked to the front of the mower and squatted down. I noticed a red button with the word PRIME 6TIMES above it.
Oh.
Oops.
“I see it,” I replied and started pushing it.
“The mower should work now,” Tom said knowingly as though he had just discovered how to make chocolate or something.
I pulled the string and the mower roared to life.
“Thank you,” I said to Tom. “Talk to you later. Love you!”
See? I can be quite nice when I figure things out.
I got the entire front lawn mowed and part of the back. Then I got tired. I honestly started to see spots and John Krasinski (Jim on The Office ) leaped out from behind a pine tree. So I figured at that point that I needed to stop.
Although, admittedly, I was a little disappointed that John wasn’t really there. It turned out to be an empty box.
Oh well.
Sorry. But no. I was just jealous that all these men were out in their yards and I was stuck doing it myself.
I sighed and headed into the garage to pull the mower out. The mower, by the way, was wedged in the corner and was surrounded by my treasures. See, I call them treasures; my husband refers to them as JUNK. Excuse me, my old high school notebooks are NOT junk. They could come in handy someday. Suppose I want to remember what my sixth period class was back in 1998? You just never know.
So after I pushed my treasures aside I went to yank the mower out. But it wasn’t budging. I grunted and strained until I realized that one of the wheels was trapped by an old scarf. Ew! Where did that scarf come from? It was neon (!) multicolored and something that I would never be caught dead in. Ew! Then I realized that it was my husband’s old scarf. See, we had gone through a bunch of boxes and Tom had opted to KEEP the scarf in case our son wanted it someday.
I couldn’t fathom anyone wearing that scarf. Ever. So I sort of tossed it behind some boxes and hoped that a mouse would come out and eat it/poop on it/drag it away....
I guess the scarf started a love affair with the mower or something because I had to pull a few times in order to get it free.
Then I tossed it behind some boxes again.
I dragged the mower to the yard and took a deep breath before yanking on the string that turned it on.
I pulled and....
....nothing happened.
So I pulled again.
Nothing.
Then I started muttering a bunch of inappropriate words and I may have even kicked the mower’s side.
“You WILL work,” I told the mower sternly. I have a problem with talking to inanimate objects.
Thankfully my neighbor, who had been spraying weed killer in his yard, had gone inside so he didn’t catch my mini-tantrum. However, I saw one of his curtains flick as though someone had been standing there.
Uh oh.
They may have seen me talk to the mower.
Great. Now my neighbor is going to think I’m crazy like Anne Heche when she lost her mind and started talking alien.
I’m not like that, I swear.
I stomped in the house and dialed my husband’s number.
“Hello?” he said.
“How do I turn the mower on? I’m pulling and nothing is happening!” I shouted dramatically.
“Is it SO hard for you to say hello first?” Tom wondered.
“HELLO!” I said my voice laced with irritation. "How do I turn on the mower?"
Seriously. It was hot and sweat was starting to form on my brow. I am not attractive when I turn hot. I become a drippy red-faced mess. I wanted to mow and get it over with. It was not the time for pleasantries.
“You prime it,” Tom said calmly. He’s used to my antics. Sometimes I think he may even get off on them. Then he can be like, “Yes, I’m the sane one in this relationship.”
Prime it?
What’s a prime it? It sounded like a new dance move or something.
“What’s a prime it?” I questioned. It was like an entirely different language.
Tom chuckled. Oh, laugh it up mister. We’ll see who is laughing when we see each other for the first time in three months and I’m wearing granny panties and pretending that I’m on my period.
“You know that red button on the front of the mower?” Tom said.
I walked to the front of the mower and squatted down. I noticed a red button with the word PRIME 6TIMES above it.
Oh.
Oops.
“I see it,” I replied and started pushing it.
“The mower should work now,” Tom said knowingly as though he had just discovered how to make chocolate or something.
I pulled the string and the mower roared to life.
“Thank you,” I said to Tom. “Talk to you later. Love you!”
See? I can be quite nice when I figure things out.
I got the entire front lawn mowed and part of the back. Then I got tired. I honestly started to see spots and John Krasinski (Jim on The Office ) leaped out from behind a pine tree. So I figured at that point that I needed to stop.
Although, admittedly, I was a little disappointed that John wasn’t really there. It turned out to be an empty box.
Oh well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)