When I was 13 years old the greatest thing that could ever happen to anyone on the face of the earth happened to me. I kissed Burt Reynolds....for real...right on the mouth! My best friends mom worked at the Royal Poinciana Playhouse in Palm Beach and she got some tickets for a benefit they were hosting. Burt Reynolds was to be the Master of Ceremonies and Mrs. Geiger knew I was a big Burt fan...so she asked me to go with her daughter and her. The beginning was kind of boring. It was just a bunch of people begging and pleading for money....kind of like the Jerry Lewis telethon every Memorial Day. But then Burt sweetened the pot when he said the next person in the audience to make a donation would get a kiss from him. Mrs. Geiger asked her daughter if she wanted to go and she said no. I was holding my breath...hoping she would ask me...and she did. I jumped at the offer and when the time came to walk the donation up I was all over it. Now...you all know me....you know that absolutely nothing ever goes like it is supposed to for me....well I was trying to be a big girl...so I wore garters to hold up my fishnet stockings....and on the stage....on national television....while Burt Reynolds kissed me....my stockings decided that now is the best time to roll down to her ankles and that is just exactly what they did. I could have died! Talk about a major mortification....this would have been it. I will never forget the moment....for good or for bad...yep, I kissed Burt Reynolds(one of the sexiest men on earth)...and embarrassed myself for eternity, on national television, all in one night....how lucky can a girl get! Happy Monday!
Monday, September 14, 2009
I Kissed Burt Reynolds
When I was 13 years old the greatest thing that could ever happen to anyone on the face of the earth happened to me. I kissed Burt Reynolds....for real...right on the mouth! My best friends mom worked at the Royal Poinciana Playhouse in Palm Beach and she got some tickets for a benefit they were hosting. Burt Reynolds was to be the Master of Ceremonies and Mrs. Geiger knew I was a big Burt fan...so she asked me to go with her daughter and her. The beginning was kind of boring. It was just a bunch of people begging and pleading for money....kind of like the Jerry Lewis telethon every Memorial Day. But then Burt sweetened the pot when he said the next person in the audience to make a donation would get a kiss from him. Mrs. Geiger asked her daughter if she wanted to go and she said no. I was holding my breath...hoping she would ask me...and she did. I jumped at the offer and when the time came to walk the donation up I was all over it. Now...you all know me....you know that absolutely nothing ever goes like it is supposed to for me....well I was trying to be a big girl...so I wore garters to hold up my fishnet stockings....and on the stage....on national television....while Burt Reynolds kissed me....my stockings decided that now is the best time to roll down to her ankles and that is just exactly what they did. I could have died! Talk about a major mortification....this would have been it. I will never forget the moment....for good or for bad...yep, I kissed Burt Reynolds(one of the sexiest men on earth)...and embarrassed myself for eternity, on national television, all in one night....how lucky can a girl get! Happy Monday!
Sunday, September 13, 2009
The Twilight Crazies
So I was outside the other day watching Natalie drive her Power Wheels Barbie car around in the driveway. She’s a frightening driver. She totally thought it was funny to collide into my legs. I think I’m going to be afraid when she’s sixteen.
Some of the neighborhood ladies were outside and I waved politely at them. Then I nearly fell on my face because Natalie rammed her car into me.
“Shit!” I shrieked and then quickly corrected myself. “I mean...shoot. Natalie, we don’t run into people. It’s rude.” Not to mention against the law.
The neighborhood ladies must’ve wanted to check that I still had functioning feet so they wandered over. There were two of them and I was slightly distracted by the fact that they both had neatly brushed hair. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I had brushed my hair before stepping outside but you’d never know it because it’s so unruly. I could already feel some strands poke out from my ponytail.
“Are you okay?” the blond asked sympathetically.
“It looked like she got you pretty hard,” the brunette added.
“I’m okay,” I said even though I knew I’d have a gigantic bruise. I hate that I bruise so easily. It’s not exactly stylish to have disgusting blue and purple circles going up your legs. This is why I rarely wear shorts.
“So tell her what you told me,” the brunette urged the blond.
The blond clasped her hands together as though she had a fantastic secret. “I scored tickets to New Moon!” She looked at me expectantly.
For a brief second I had no idea what she was going on about. New Moon? What’s a New Moon? Was that a new band or something? I’m so out of the loop with current bands. I just found out that The Fray was a band—for the longest time I thought it was a restaurant that served a variety of soups.
But then I knew what she meant.
New Moon. The second Twilight movie. The second Twilight movie that isn’t released until November.
“Yikes.” The word slipped out of my mouth before I thought about it. It just….CAME OUT. Plus I felt duped. I totally thought the blond had something interesting to say. Like…Michael Phelps was coming to the base to offer swim lessons for kids or that The Office was going to be filmed in Wyoming now which meant there was a good possibility of bumping into John Krasinski.
But no. I get told that she’s already bought tickets for a movie that doesn’t even come out for two months.
Still, maybe she got the tickets for her kids. Maybe her kids are the ones that are into the whole Edward thing that I don’t seem to comprehend.
I realized that the two mothers were gaping at me and this is when I remembered about uttering the whole “yikes” thing. This is probably why I don’t have a lot of friends. I tend to go off into space and say things that aren’t entirely appropriate.
“Well, I imagine your kids will be happy,” I corrected myself. I knew she had two older girls one of whom has called my son a baby and nearly got the hose sprayed on her because of it.
The blond burst out laughing. “Oh, the tickets aren’t for my kids,” she guffawed.
Oh.
Well.
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“That’s...cool...” I choked out.
“Did you see that New Moon trailer that leaked on the Internet?” the brunette wondered. “Apparently it wasn’t meant to be shown because they wanted to air it on the VMAs.”
“The….VMAs?” I echoed stupidly.
The brunette looked stunned. “The VMAs! You know, the Video Music Awards?” She was staring at me as though I had a giant booger on my cheek.
Of course I know what the VMAs are. Of course. I just…don’t exactly watch them because most of the music of today gives me a headache. I mainly stick to oldies because I can actually hear the lyrics. (On my iTunes list? Songs from The Beach Boys, The Beatles, The Crystals, The Everly Brothers, and Tom Petty…)
“That Jacob is a hottie with an H!” the blond cooed.
I started to squirm. Isn’t the actor who plays Jacob like 17? And the blond was in her late thirties. That just seemed….weird…I mean, I get a little uncomfortable liking Michael Phelps because he’s three years younger than I am. I feel like I’m totally robbing the cradle.
“Oh, I know. He almost makes me want to go Team Jacob,” the brunette agreed.
Okay. That’s it. It’s official. The whole world has gone Twilight Crazed. I’m the only one left. I’m the only one who believes that Edward is somewhat mentally abusive. I’m the only one who doesn’t swoon over Edward. I’m the only one who plans on seeing New Moon for the sole purpose of making fun of it.
I needed to get away from these ladies.
“Well. I better get Natalie inside,” I said. Natalie was blazing across the driveway laughing maniacally. She’s definitely going to be watched when she’s sixteen. Maybe I can lie and say that the new driving age is eighteen and that all her friends are terribly mistaken.
At that moment, the brunette’s cell phone rang which made her blissfully stop going on about Jacob. (Lady, hello, the kid is 17. You’ll be sent to jail if you boinked him. FYI.)
“Oh, it’s my daughter!” the brunette said cheerfully. She started jabbering into the phone for a few seconds saying things like, “Okay sure, I’ll meet you in an hour then, bye…” Then she hung up. “I’m so glad I got Avery a cell phone,” she said.
I knew Avery was eight.
“Wow. She already has a cell phone?” I blurted out. My son Tommy, who is seven, has been begging for a cell phone because apparently a lot of his friends already have one. I told him that it’s ridiculous, that maybe he can have one when he’s 13.
“Well, the cell phone helps a lot. Avery can let me know when she’s ready to be picked up,” the brunette explained.
She’s eight! Do eight-year-olds already have a social life? I mean, really? Aren’t they still playing Barbies?
When I was younger I’d just tell my parents that I’d meet them at a designated spot and it all worked out. There is no way I’m giving Tommy a cell phone at his age. No way. Not only because I feel he’s too young but, bless his heart, he has a habit of losing things. We’ve already been to the Lost and Found bin twice to retrieve his jacket. At this rate, he may never have a cell phone.
I said goodbye to the Twilight Crazies a few minutes later. Natalie nearly drove into the blond’s legs but I leaped in front of the car right in time and got knocked in my knees.
“Have a great day,” I coughed out to the women who scurried off so they wouldn’t be my daughter’s latest road kill.
I peered down at Natalie. “Sweetheart. Be nice. I know Twilight freaks you out too but it’s no reason to injure a person,” I lectured.
“Twilight bad!” Natalie shouted and honked her horn for emphasis.
“This is true. But we mustn’t say that in public. People might, I don’t know, revolt or something...” I explained seriously.
You just never know.
It’s a strange strange world we’re living in....
Some of the neighborhood ladies were outside and I waved politely at them. Then I nearly fell on my face because Natalie rammed her car into me.
“Shit!” I shrieked and then quickly corrected myself. “I mean...shoot. Natalie, we don’t run into people. It’s rude.” Not to mention against the law.
The neighborhood ladies must’ve wanted to check that I still had functioning feet so they wandered over. There were two of them and I was slightly distracted by the fact that they both had neatly brushed hair. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I had brushed my hair before stepping outside but you’d never know it because it’s so unruly. I could already feel some strands poke out from my ponytail.
“Are you okay?” the blond asked sympathetically.
“It looked like she got you pretty hard,” the brunette added.
“I’m okay,” I said even though I knew I’d have a gigantic bruise. I hate that I bruise so easily. It’s not exactly stylish to have disgusting blue and purple circles going up your legs. This is why I rarely wear shorts.
“So tell her what you told me,” the brunette urged the blond.
The blond clasped her hands together as though she had a fantastic secret. “I scored tickets to New Moon!” She looked at me expectantly.
For a brief second I had no idea what she was going on about. New Moon? What’s a New Moon? Was that a new band or something? I’m so out of the loop with current bands. I just found out that The Fray was a band—for the longest time I thought it was a restaurant that served a variety of soups.
But then I knew what she meant.
New Moon. The second Twilight movie. The second Twilight movie that isn’t released until November.
“Yikes.” The word slipped out of my mouth before I thought about it. It just….CAME OUT. Plus I felt duped. I totally thought the blond had something interesting to say. Like…Michael Phelps was coming to the base to offer swim lessons for kids or that The Office was going to be filmed in Wyoming now which meant there was a good possibility of bumping into John Krasinski.
But no. I get told that she’s already bought tickets for a movie that doesn’t even come out for two months.
Still, maybe she got the tickets for her kids. Maybe her kids are the ones that are into the whole Edward thing that I don’t seem to comprehend.
I realized that the two mothers were gaping at me and this is when I remembered about uttering the whole “yikes” thing. This is probably why I don’t have a lot of friends. I tend to go off into space and say things that aren’t entirely appropriate.
“Well, I imagine your kids will be happy,” I corrected myself. I knew she had two older girls one of whom has called my son a baby and nearly got the hose sprayed on her because of it.
The blond burst out laughing. “Oh, the tickets aren’t for my kids,” she guffawed.
Oh.
Well.
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“That’s...cool...” I choked out.
“Did you see that New Moon trailer that leaked on the Internet?” the brunette wondered. “Apparently it wasn’t meant to be shown because they wanted to air it on the VMAs.”
“The….VMAs?” I echoed stupidly.
The brunette looked stunned. “The VMAs! You know, the Video Music Awards?” She was staring at me as though I had a giant booger on my cheek.
Of course I know what the VMAs are. Of course. I just…don’t exactly watch them because most of the music of today gives me a headache. I mainly stick to oldies because I can actually hear the lyrics. (On my iTunes list? Songs from The Beach Boys, The Beatles, The Crystals, The Everly Brothers, and Tom Petty…)
“That Jacob is a hottie with an H!” the blond cooed.
I started to squirm. Isn’t the actor who plays Jacob like 17? And the blond was in her late thirties. That just seemed….weird…I mean, I get a little uncomfortable liking Michael Phelps because he’s three years younger than I am. I feel like I’m totally robbing the cradle.
“Oh, I know. He almost makes me want to go Team Jacob,” the brunette agreed.
Okay. That’s it. It’s official. The whole world has gone Twilight Crazed. I’m the only one left. I’m the only one who believes that Edward is somewhat mentally abusive. I’m the only one who doesn’t swoon over Edward. I’m the only one who plans on seeing New Moon for the sole purpose of making fun of it.
I needed to get away from these ladies.
“Well. I better get Natalie inside,” I said. Natalie was blazing across the driveway laughing maniacally. She’s definitely going to be watched when she’s sixteen. Maybe I can lie and say that the new driving age is eighteen and that all her friends are terribly mistaken.
At that moment, the brunette’s cell phone rang which made her blissfully stop going on about Jacob. (Lady, hello, the kid is 17. You’ll be sent to jail if you boinked him. FYI.)
“Oh, it’s my daughter!” the brunette said cheerfully. She started jabbering into the phone for a few seconds saying things like, “Okay sure, I’ll meet you in an hour then, bye…” Then she hung up. “I’m so glad I got Avery a cell phone,” she said.
I knew Avery was eight.
“Wow. She already has a cell phone?” I blurted out. My son Tommy, who is seven, has been begging for a cell phone because apparently a lot of his friends already have one. I told him that it’s ridiculous, that maybe he can have one when he’s 13.
“Well, the cell phone helps a lot. Avery can let me know when she’s ready to be picked up,” the brunette explained.
She’s eight! Do eight-year-olds already have a social life? I mean, really? Aren’t they still playing Barbies?
When I was younger I’d just tell my parents that I’d meet them at a designated spot and it all worked out. There is no way I’m giving Tommy a cell phone at his age. No way. Not only because I feel he’s too young but, bless his heart, he has a habit of losing things. We’ve already been to the Lost and Found bin twice to retrieve his jacket. At this rate, he may never have a cell phone.
I said goodbye to the Twilight Crazies a few minutes later. Natalie nearly drove into the blond’s legs but I leaped in front of the car right in time and got knocked in my knees.
“Have a great day,” I coughed out to the women who scurried off so they wouldn’t be my daughter’s latest road kill.
I peered down at Natalie. “Sweetheart. Be nice. I know Twilight freaks you out too but it’s no reason to injure a person,” I lectured.
“Twilight bad!” Natalie shouted and honked her horn for emphasis.
“This is true. But we mustn’t say that in public. People might, I don’t know, revolt or something...” I explained seriously.
You just never know.
It’s a strange strange world we’re living in....
Saturday, September 12, 2009
What A Week!
I have not been here much this week as you all know. I have gone back to work and am visiting my parents each evening after work to help them adjust. The adjustment period is going to take a while for my mom. My dad seems fine with it. They have had a good many visitors but each time I go my mom brings up the fact they are just going to be there for a day and she has been trying to get Dr. Powers on the phone to get him to let them go home (here to my house) where SHE can and will take care of my dad. My uncle Trollis went to see them on Thursday and she told him to go get her car taken care of...when I left I called him immediately to make sure he did not follow her directive...she cannot drive again. My dad ran a fever this week and seems weak...although my mom says he is improving daily...all I see is a man in bed by 4...sound asleep. She tells me of all his activity during the day but the director says he has little activity during the day. I am afraid for them both. I have slept soundly for the last few days knowing that they are safe and cared for. My head knows they are in a good place...my heart is not getting the message. Last night about 8:30 my mom called and wanted me to come to the Meadows first thing this morning...8:00. I don't know what she wants...but I am sure it has to do with leaving. Sigh! I saw a lawyer this week. My mom won't willingly give me a power of attorney...because it is her business, not mine. So I am going to have to sue them for conservatorship and take control without their permission. This way of doing things involves them having to go to the Probate Judge...with a lawyer and having the judge decide if they need to have a guardian to handle their affairs. I am afraid if I don't do this they won't pay their bills and the rent at the Meadows. I also had to work on getting a DD214(record of military service)for my dad so that the VA will pay part of his rent. That has been hard too. I had to get my dad to sign the papers and his handwriting has gone down a lot. He writes like a child now. It is so sad to see him fail so each day. I hate being put in this predicament. If only they had had foresight enough to take care of all of this before their healths began declining it would have been so much easier. I told my daughter that I will not allow this to happen to her. I plan to take care of my daughter and Frank's daughter so they neither of them have to experience this when I begin to age....begin...who am I kidding. I have aged 100 years in the last week. It was good getting back to school. I loved having something to do to occupy my mind. I understand my mom's restlessness because I am just like her. I don't sit still well...never have....even as a child. I have always needed something to do....even if it was reading a book. My mom does not read any more. I think that is sad. Both of them used to read a lot. Our house was always filled with books and the library was my favorite place to go. I have learned a great deal from this experience....some stuff I really did not ever want to know. I know what the term BOLO (be on the lookout) means, I know what a Silver Alert is, I know about conservertorship is and why it is actually better than a power of attorney in this case, I have sat in a lawyers office and discussed family secrets, I have hired my first lawyer, I know I have lots of friends, and I know I am loved. For my readers who have walked this path I am currently on...you understand what is happening, why it is so painful, and that I will get through it. For my readers who have yet to experience it...it is not fun, you feel as if you are in a living nightmare, and it will pass (they say). For those readers who may never have to go through this...count your blessings and pray for those of us who have been there, are there, and will be there. My God is a good God and He will keep me sane throughout this mess. He will help me survive what is to come. I know this in my head. My heart is having a hard time with this too. Happy Saturday to you all! Thank you for the comments of support. You will never know how special you all are to me. I AM a STILL MAGNOLIA and I will make it!
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The Story of the Dent
Tom loves his truck.
Sometimes I wonder if he loves it more than me.
Sometimes I’ll catch him staring at it when he’s supposed to be mowing the lawn. It’s like he’s thinking, “Look at that beauty. All shiny and red.”
He takes excellent care of his truck. He washes it all the time and winces when he sees someone drive by in a filthy truck.
“How can a guy let his truck look like that?” he’ll moan.
If he can keep his truck neat, then why can’t he get his dirty clothes in the hamper? This is what I want to know. I’ve asked him and he winks and says, “It’s fun to see you frazzled.”
I don’t know what to think about that.
Tom freaks out if the neighborhood children get too close to his truck. He’s yelled at one for daring to touch it. Tom also freaks out if he feels I’m abusing it. Apparently I slam my door too hard. I did this a few times and Tom will suck in his breath and go,
“What has my truck done to you?”
“Excuse me?” I’m always confused.
“You don’t need to slam the door like that,” Tom will lecture. Once he actually showed me the proper way to close the door.
“Lightly, yet firmly,” Tom said, pushing the door. “Do you see what I’m doing here? Lightly...yet....firmly....”
I rarely pay attention. Maybe I like to see Tom frazzled too. Maybe this means we have a sick relationship. I don’t know.
We have antelope that wander the neighborhood. Tom once scared a bunch off because he was worried they were getting too close to his truck.
“Shoo! Shoo!” he yelled, waving his arms in the air.
I never wanted to know how he’d react if something did happen to his truck. I mean, awhile back, someone backed into it and you’d have thought that he lost one his balls or something. Thankfully it got fixed because Tom made sure the guy gave his insurance information—he would never let someone escape after harming his baby.
Well, this is what happened on Saturday when we went out:
See, what happened is we went to Dennys and the parking lot was full being that it was a Saturday morning. Who can resist a breakfast from Dennys? There were people walking around and this one guy was getting into his vehicle next to the empty spot Tom was backing into. Suddenly, the guy got out of his vehicle (maybe to admire the truck, men admire Tom’s truck all the time) and Tom was worried that he’d accidentally hit him. So he turned the wheel a bit to give the guy more room.
He was so busy concentrating on doing this that he didn’t realize that he had backed far enough.
He didn’t realize that until the whole truck shuddered.
“What was that?” Tom demanded as we rocked for a few seconds.
“Erm...you may have hit the pole back there,” I said this gently as though I were preparing a person for awful news.
Tom looked sick. “My truck!” And then he was trying to get out of his seat but he forgot he still had his seatbelt on so he struggled for a few seconds.
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. It was so funny to see this grown man thrashing in his seat.
I actually got out first. Tom was still trying to pull free as I stepped onto the ground. I cautiously went around to the back and this is when I saw the dent.
Uh oh.
“Is there damage?” Tom called, finally free. He marched over, he jaw set tightly.
I leaped in front of it. “No damage at all!” I lied.
Tom stared at me in disbelief. “No damage? But the truck shook…”
I shrugged. “We got lucky, I suppose.”
I knew he’d eventually find out. But I just wanted to enjoy my breakfast. I knew if Tom noticed the ding that he’d—
“Wait a minute. Wait. What’s that?” Tom was craning his neck around me.
“Bird poo! Those damn birds. Scientists really need to teach them how to use a communal bird toilet or something,” I rambled.
Tom gently pushed me aside. “That’s a dent.” He looked a little pale as he ran his finger around it. “That’s a dent.”
I was worried he was going to hyperventilate, actually.
“It’s not that bad,” I said. “Really.”
“That’s a dent on my truck.” Tom was still a pasty white color.
“How about we go eat?” I suggested, pulling on his arm.
I got the kids out and pulled a dazed Tom towards the entrance. I kept hearing him mutter, “dent” and “truck.”
When we settled down at a booth Tom distractedly perused the menu.
When the waiter asked us what we wanted to drink Tom went, “Truck.”
The waiter furrowed his brow. “Huh?”
“We’ll both have cherry cokes,” I said in a rushed tone.
As I was deciding between the French toast or the omelet, I heard Tom say, “Why did I move aside for that guy?”
I looked up with a start. “Erm, you moved so you wouldn’t hit him and go to jail.”
“But if I didn’t move, I wouldn’t have been as distracted and I wouldn’t have hit the pole,” Tom moaned, putting his head into his hands.
“Tom. Darling. I’m starting to question your sanity now. You moved so you wouldn’t hit and kill the poor man,” I reminded him.
Tom lifted his head up and nodded. “Right,” he said. “Right.”
He wasn’t quite there when we got our food. He still ate but he seemed lost in thought.
“This omelet is delicious,” I gushed.
“Dent and truck,” Tom basically answered.
“And aren’t these pancake puppies scrumptious?” I continued.
“Truck and dent.”
So yes. It wasn’t the best meal ever.
Tom has made peace with it now. Sort of. If he glances at the dent he sort of tenses up and goes pale again. But other than that, I think he’s okay.
I hope.
Sometimes I wonder if he loves it more than me.
Sometimes I’ll catch him staring at it when he’s supposed to be mowing the lawn. It’s like he’s thinking, “Look at that beauty. All shiny and red.”
He takes excellent care of his truck. He washes it all the time and winces when he sees someone drive by in a filthy truck.
“How can a guy let his truck look like that?” he’ll moan.
If he can keep his truck neat, then why can’t he get his dirty clothes in the hamper? This is what I want to know. I’ve asked him and he winks and says, “It’s fun to see you frazzled.”
I don’t know what to think about that.
Tom freaks out if the neighborhood children get too close to his truck. He’s yelled at one for daring to touch it. Tom also freaks out if he feels I’m abusing it. Apparently I slam my door too hard. I did this a few times and Tom will suck in his breath and go,
“What has my truck done to you?”
“Excuse me?” I’m always confused.
“You don’t need to slam the door like that,” Tom will lecture. Once he actually showed me the proper way to close the door.
“Lightly, yet firmly,” Tom said, pushing the door. “Do you see what I’m doing here? Lightly...yet....firmly....”
I rarely pay attention. Maybe I like to see Tom frazzled too. Maybe this means we have a sick relationship. I don’t know.
We have antelope that wander the neighborhood. Tom once scared a bunch off because he was worried they were getting too close to his truck.
“Shoo! Shoo!” he yelled, waving his arms in the air.
I never wanted to know how he’d react if something did happen to his truck. I mean, awhile back, someone backed into it and you’d have thought that he lost one his balls or something. Thankfully it got fixed because Tom made sure the guy gave his insurance information—he would never let someone escape after harming his baby.
Well, this is what happened on Saturday when we went out:
See, what happened is we went to Dennys and the parking lot was full being that it was a Saturday morning. Who can resist a breakfast from Dennys? There were people walking around and this one guy was getting into his vehicle next to the empty spot Tom was backing into. Suddenly, the guy got out of his vehicle (maybe to admire the truck, men admire Tom’s truck all the time) and Tom was worried that he’d accidentally hit him. So he turned the wheel a bit to give the guy more room.
He was so busy concentrating on doing this that he didn’t realize that he had backed far enough.
He didn’t realize that until the whole truck shuddered.
“What was that?” Tom demanded as we rocked for a few seconds.
“Erm...you may have hit the pole back there,” I said this gently as though I were preparing a person for awful news.
Tom looked sick. “My truck!” And then he was trying to get out of his seat but he forgot he still had his seatbelt on so he struggled for a few seconds.
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. It was so funny to see this grown man thrashing in his seat.
I actually got out first. Tom was still trying to pull free as I stepped onto the ground. I cautiously went around to the back and this is when I saw the dent.
Uh oh.
“Is there damage?” Tom called, finally free. He marched over, he jaw set tightly.
I leaped in front of it. “No damage at all!” I lied.
Tom stared at me in disbelief. “No damage? But the truck shook…”
I shrugged. “We got lucky, I suppose.”
I knew he’d eventually find out. But I just wanted to enjoy my breakfast. I knew if Tom noticed the ding that he’d—
“Wait a minute. Wait. What’s that?” Tom was craning his neck around me.
“Bird poo! Those damn birds. Scientists really need to teach them how to use a communal bird toilet or something,” I rambled.
Tom gently pushed me aside. “That’s a dent.” He looked a little pale as he ran his finger around it. “That’s a dent.”
I was worried he was going to hyperventilate, actually.
“It’s not that bad,” I said. “Really.”
“That’s a dent on my truck.” Tom was still a pasty white color.
“How about we go eat?” I suggested, pulling on his arm.
I got the kids out and pulled a dazed Tom towards the entrance. I kept hearing him mutter, “dent” and “truck.”
When we settled down at a booth Tom distractedly perused the menu.
When the waiter asked us what we wanted to drink Tom went, “Truck.”
The waiter furrowed his brow. “Huh?”
“We’ll both have cherry cokes,” I said in a rushed tone.
As I was deciding between the French toast or the omelet, I heard Tom say, “Why did I move aside for that guy?”
I looked up with a start. “Erm, you moved so you wouldn’t hit him and go to jail.”
“But if I didn’t move, I wouldn’t have been as distracted and I wouldn’t have hit the pole,” Tom moaned, putting his head into his hands.
“Tom. Darling. I’m starting to question your sanity now. You moved so you wouldn’t hit and kill the poor man,” I reminded him.
Tom lifted his head up and nodded. “Right,” he said. “Right.”
He wasn’t quite there when we got our food. He still ate but he seemed lost in thought.
“This omelet is delicious,” I gushed.
“Dent and truck,” Tom basically answered.
“And aren’t these pancake puppies scrumptious?” I continued.
“Truck and dent.”
So yes. It wasn’t the best meal ever.
Tom has made peace with it now. Sort of. If he glances at the dent he sort of tenses up and goes pale again. But other than that, I think he’s okay.
I hope.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Maybe It's Not So Bad...
Well.
I survived.
Tom was off of work Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday.
When he wasn't following me around and asking ridiculous questions
("what's for lunch?"), he was doing this:
I lost my temper several times because Tom was doing this:
I forced Tom to watch an episode of Yo Gabba Gabba with Natalie because he kept doing this for hours. He claims he is now traumatized.
I went on a shopping spree because of this:
It's fun to ask questions when Tom is distracted. I'm all, "Hey Tom, can I buy this?" and he's so involved in the game so he's all, "Sure, fine." Of course then when he sees what I've bought he's all, "Wait, where did that come from?" and I'm all, "Oh, you said I could get it while on the computer, remember?" And Tom won't want to admit that he wasn't really paying attention so he's all, "Oh....right.."
I survived.
Tom was off of work Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday.
When he wasn't following me around and asking ridiculous questions
("what's for lunch?"), he was doing this:
I lost my temper several times because Tom was doing this:
I forced Tom to watch an episode of Yo Gabba Gabba with Natalie because he kept doing this for hours. He claims he is now traumatized.
I went on a shopping spree because of this:
It's fun to ask questions when Tom is distracted. I'm all, "Hey Tom, can I buy this?" and he's so involved in the game so he's all, "Sure, fine." Of course then when he sees what I've bought he's all, "Wait, where did that come from?" and I'm all, "Oh, you said I could get it while on the computer, remember?" And Tom won't want to admit that he wasn't really paying attention so he's all, "Oh....right.."
The Meadows of Hillabee
Dr. Powers gave me three choices when my parents were ready to be dismissed from the hospital on Sunday night. I could bring them home and hire sitters(not his choice). I could send my dad to a nursing home and take my mom home( not my mom's choice), or I could put them in assisted living where they could be together. So I left the hospital to do some research, went to the Meadows on Hillabee and checked out the place. To be honest I was not 100% sure what exactly assisted living was. I thought it was some kind of glorified nursing home and I was wrong. Ms. Peggy Easterwood met me as soon as I had entered the place and began to explain it to me. So far she has been a lifesaver. Having been through much the same experience herself she is very comforting and loving with the the residents. I had to come to grips with reality that my parents are now classed as older adults who find it difficult to maintain a home, hence why they have lived with me for the past 4.5 years, and who can no longer live safely alone, I can't take another 48 hour period of hell where I cannot locate them....so I had to find an alternative and I think I did. Assisted living offers a blend of personalized services in a supervised and secure environment that embraces privacy, independence and choice. Residents have their own room furnished with their personal belongings in addition to homey living rooms, dining room and porches for activities and socialization. The Meadows on Hillabee assisted living offers the support services seniors need to maintain their independent lifestyle(sin car) and dignity. I moved them in yesterday...and to be honest they have lived with me so long...I actually experienced empty nest syndrome last night for the first time since Kat went away to college. My mom does not want to be there. She continues to say that she will be coming home tomorrow. She all but refused to give me a check for the month's rent...and was so fiesty....but only with me...with everyone else...she was so sweet. Typical mom! I finally got a check out of her, paid the lady, turned in the paper work, and ran! I had to get out of there. I have now been off for a week and needed to feel normal for a few minutes. I went to Wal-mart and picked up a few groceries and met Frank at the house. We road back out to the Meadows to visit for a bit before they had supper. I know this will take time for them to adjust. So when you say your prayers tonight...pray that they will and that I will survive their adjusting! Happy Wednesday! I am going back to work today!!!! Woooo Hooooo!
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
My Poor Neck
Cinnamon.
Sweet cinnamon.
This is what I breathed in when I woke up on Sunday.
Mmmm, cinnamon.
Wait. Cinnamon.
I sniffed and then realized that it was cinnamon rolls baking. Normally I wouldn’t mind. But I had told Tom a few days earlier that I planned on making them for our Sunday lunch. I realize that sounds a little odd but hey, it’s an easy lunch. This means I don’t have to scrounge around and find something to make.
When I had told Tom that I was making the rolls for lunch, he had laughed and said, “Those aren’t lunch,” and patted my head as though I were a child.
“He doesn’t listen!” I shouted as I sat up in bed. This was when I realized that my neck hurt and that I couldn’t turn it without a pain shooting through my body. Great.
I went downstairs and found Tom on the couch.
“You made the cinnamon rolls!” I accused, keeping my neck very straight.
Tom blinked innocently at me. “Yup. Is there a problem?”
At this point he had been home from work since Friday so I was losing my patience. A part of me longed to run outside to the neighbor’s house and say, “Excuse me? Sir? Would you mind taking my husband off my hands for a few hours?”
“Yes Tom, there is a problem. Remember I said that the rolls for lunch?” I said this through clenched teeth because not only was I irritated, but I had accidentally shifted my neck and a spasm of pain had gone up my face.
Tom waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Rolls aren’t lunch, sweetheart.”
“Yes they are! They can be lunch! There are no rules!” I shrieked, keeping my head still.
Tom raised an eyebrow at me. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like…you have something wedged up your butt. Why aren’t you moving your neck?” Tom stood up and came over to me.
“Because I’m annoyed!” I insisted.
Tom raised an eyebrow at me. “You’ve never yelled at me without moving your neck before,” Tom said.
“Fine. My neck hurts,” I admitted.
“You know what’ll help? Cinnamon rolls!” Tom said cheerfully and went into the kitchen to pull them from the oven.
I slathered mine with the frosting. Tom seems to think that two small pats of icing is enough so I always have to add more.
“Gee. Do you want some cinnamon roll with that icing?” he joked.
Later, the neighborhood kids starting ringing the doorbell. I still couldn’t move my neck.
I heard a crash coming from the garage a few minutes later and stomped outside to find a bunch of my plastic totes knocked over.
“What’s going on out here?” I demanded. I pretended that my neck wasn’t killing me because children latch on weakness.
A bunch of kids spoke at once.
“Well Tanner was—”
“She was climbing on—”
“Someone pushed me into—”
“Why do you look all stiff?” an older kid inquired, gaping at me.
I feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You look weird,” he said bluntly. Apparently his parents forgot to teach him the lesson of tact.
“My Mom doesn’t look weird!” Tommy cut in.
Aww! My boy, coming to my rescue. Isn’t that—
“She just has a bad neck!” Tommy continued.
Blabbermouth. My kid is a blabbermouth. I swear all the kids started leering at me.
She’s wounded! Get her!
“Just...be careful in here,” I quickly said and practically ran inside. Running with a sore neck is not easy, mind you.
Thankfully I was feeling better by the evening. And Tom went to see Inglorious Bastards so I had the house to myself. Well, sort of. The kids were there but they were sleeping.
When Tom got home he said, “They showed a scalping in the movie!” He looked totally enthused over this. I’m wondering if I should be worried.
“That’s gross, Tom,” I said.
I’m surprised he didn’t break into a song about blood and gore, to be honest.
Sweet cinnamon.
This is what I breathed in when I woke up on Sunday.
Mmmm, cinnamon.
Wait. Cinnamon.
I sniffed and then realized that it was cinnamon rolls baking. Normally I wouldn’t mind. But I had told Tom a few days earlier that I planned on making them for our Sunday lunch. I realize that sounds a little odd but hey, it’s an easy lunch. This means I don’t have to scrounge around and find something to make.
When I had told Tom that I was making the rolls for lunch, he had laughed and said, “Those aren’t lunch,” and patted my head as though I were a child.
“He doesn’t listen!” I shouted as I sat up in bed. This was when I realized that my neck hurt and that I couldn’t turn it without a pain shooting through my body. Great.
I went downstairs and found Tom on the couch.
“You made the cinnamon rolls!” I accused, keeping my neck very straight.
Tom blinked innocently at me. “Yup. Is there a problem?”
At this point he had been home from work since Friday so I was losing my patience. A part of me longed to run outside to the neighbor’s house and say, “Excuse me? Sir? Would you mind taking my husband off my hands for a few hours?”
“Yes Tom, there is a problem. Remember I said that the rolls for lunch?” I said this through clenched teeth because not only was I irritated, but I had accidentally shifted my neck and a spasm of pain had gone up my face.
Tom waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Rolls aren’t lunch, sweetheart.”
“Yes they are! They can be lunch! There are no rules!” I shrieked, keeping my head still.
Tom raised an eyebrow at me. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like…you have something wedged up your butt. Why aren’t you moving your neck?” Tom stood up and came over to me.
“Because I’m annoyed!” I insisted.
Tom raised an eyebrow at me. “You’ve never yelled at me without moving your neck before,” Tom said.
“Fine. My neck hurts,” I admitted.
“You know what’ll help? Cinnamon rolls!” Tom said cheerfully and went into the kitchen to pull them from the oven.
I slathered mine with the frosting. Tom seems to think that two small pats of icing is enough so I always have to add more.
“Gee. Do you want some cinnamon roll with that icing?” he joked.
Later, the neighborhood kids starting ringing the doorbell. I still couldn’t move my neck.
I heard a crash coming from the garage a few minutes later and stomped outside to find a bunch of my plastic totes knocked over.
“What’s going on out here?” I demanded. I pretended that my neck wasn’t killing me because children latch on weakness.
A bunch of kids spoke at once.
“Well Tanner was—”
“She was climbing on—”
“Someone pushed me into—”
“Why do you look all stiff?” an older kid inquired, gaping at me.
I feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You look weird,” he said bluntly. Apparently his parents forgot to teach him the lesson of tact.
“My Mom doesn’t look weird!” Tommy cut in.
Aww! My boy, coming to my rescue. Isn’t that—
“She just has a bad neck!” Tommy continued.
Blabbermouth. My kid is a blabbermouth. I swear all the kids started leering at me.
She’s wounded! Get her!
“Just...be careful in here,” I quickly said and practically ran inside. Running with a sore neck is not easy, mind you.
Thankfully I was feeling better by the evening. And Tom went to see Inglorious Bastards so I had the house to myself. Well, sort of. The kids were there but they were sleeping.
When Tom got home he said, “They showed a scalping in the movie!” He looked totally enthused over this. I’m wondering if I should be worried.
“That’s gross, Tom,” I said.
I’m surprised he didn’t break into a song about blood and gore, to be honest.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)