4gaby

Confessions of an Overzealous Christmas Early Decorator

2015-11-22T08:04:00.001-05:00

I must confess, I decorate for Christmas BEFORE Thanksgiving. Yes, I am ONE OF THOSE. The reindeer are out. The Santa Clauses are out. Everything is out of the closet.

No longer do I feel the overwhelming need to explain in the hopes of forgiveness. Indeed, unless you are paying my mortgage (and since Clemson was kind enough to send the Spring semester tuition bill this week, do feel free to contribute), truly - AIN'T NONE OF YOUR BEESWAX.

Despite saying that, and because it makes for a more lengthy blog, I will explain how I came to this state. Though part of me is explaining because writing the blog is more appealing then figuring out how to decorate the buffet in the dining room this year.

We have only eaten Thanksgiving dinner at our own home once in the twenty-four years we have been together. And we have lived within the confines of a one day trip to and from family, over the hills, and through the woods, exactly never. So every trip for Thanksgiving has consisted of at least half a day in the car going, and another half a day trip coming home. To say the sleeping arrangements have not been very comfortable would be an understatement, and in that statement let me say, that was true on both sides of the family - mine, and his.

Now - imagine a woman trying valiantly to imitate those skinny models they hire for the holiday commercials. The ones who are SUPPOSED to look like a wife and mother. I smile (too brightly), and announce after a long trip, "Yeah! Time to put up our tree, and decorations. How exciting!" Let me just give a few very common responses:

"Ugh,"
"Do we have to?"
"Can't you do it without us? We don't know where you want that stuff."
"You know, I think the house looks fine without it."
"We're tired."
"My stomach doesn't feel good."
"How long is this gonna take?"

I could go on - but many of you have heard the same. Those who haven't, y'all probably don't feel like you need a Valium after watching holiday commercials.

Many years ago, I stumbled upon putting everything up before we ever left. No one was burned out yet or exhausted. We had more time to enjoy it. Sort of like wearing your wedding dress for more then just the ceremony. We would come home, plug in the lights, and watch football. We still wait to take it down after New Year's. But that's what works for us. Even now that we no longer have so many places to go for Thanksgiving, still putting it up. I love football, I want to watch it, too.

And one more point about those endless holiday commercials with the perfect families - THOSE PEOPLE AIN'T RELATED TO EACH OTHER. I guarantee you that each one of those actors has some bat crap crazy relations, too.

And that gets me to the point of the blog - the holidays shouldn't be so dang stressful. If you want to decorate now - do it. If you want to eat Chinese, and watch Netflix - do it. If you want to say Happy Holidays and not Merry Christmas - do it. Each family should be able to do what works for them. The rest of us should chill, and not focus on criticizing such simple actions. Not when Paris is attacked, and Brussels is forced to lock itself up.

So from me to all of you - Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, y'all be blessed.

Happy Santa Merry Birthday

2015-10-06T06:27:00.000-04:00

So I have Santa sitting on my coffee table. He wears purple and gold, but of course, has a snow globe, and plays the ECU fight song on demand, while he peers in at the ECU football stadium. Why, yes, I am aware that it's the beginning of October. Why, no, I have not fallen prey to the same influences that seem to drive the retail world as they force Christmas on us before we can get our pumpkins carved. Santa is a birthday present. Or he was a birthday present - in July of 2008 - and it took Santa seven years to find my chimney. Actually he was home briefly, so maybe it should be classified as a detour.

In July of 2008 I was given Santa as a birthday present. But Daddy had dementia. So Daddy decided that I had stolen Santa. He couldn't stop complaining to Momma that I had "pulled a fast one" and taken his Santa. The solution - I returned Santa to Daddy with my apologies for being "confused". Santa sat on a table at my parents back door until last month when Momma looked at Santa, and said, "Why don't you take that damn Santa home? You know he's yours." So I loaded Santa back into my car for a return trip to his rightful home. But it's not Christmas yet so I stuck Santa into the closet with the other decorations.

However Santa wasn't happy apparently. See ECU was playing Virginia Tech and early on it looked like a blow out. So I decided that Santa should come on up and watch with me. Next thing I knew we had pulled out an unexpected victory AND I had spotted my goddaughter in the crowd. My solution - I told Rick that Santa stays out until further notice. His response - whatever makes me happy - proof he doesn't have dementia.

Last weekend our college freshman went to his first game as a college student. If you've got to pick a game to be your first one as part of the student body, then by all means pick the one where your school is nationally ranked playing another nationally ranked team on national TV in a pouring rain. Spend your morning tracking down a couple of ponchos and texting your football crazy momma who has lots of advice. Especially when NONE of that advice involves staying home. HAVE A GREAT TIME!! Layer, use trash bags if necessary, did I mention layers? Put your paper printout ticket in a Ziploc bag. Leave your phone in the dorm since it ain't water proof. Just a few examples of my wisdom.

My wisdom was well earned at a life time of going to games in all sorts of weather. One of my favorite memories of an ECU game came in September of 2000, well before Daddy became the man who thought I had stolen from him. It rained the entire time as just Daddy and I sat through the ECU/Syracuse game. We won, but I'm not sure if that makes the memory sweeter (silly, of course it does). I sat there with Daddy, getting soaked, cheering on our Pirates. I love, love, love that my first born went to his game, cheered on his team, and had a blast. Not as crazy over his statement that the clothes are "ruined 'cause I hit some mud on the way to the field, and I threw them over there in a corner." Apparently the laundry life lesson did not take as well as the support your team lesson did. But, life should be about making memories. It goes by too fast to spend no time in the rain.

Santa reminds me that kindnesses aren't always done in expected ways. I never corrected Daddy. I never complained over Santa, though I did make a joke to Rick that I had the distinction of giving instead of receiving a birthday gift for my own birthday. My brothers were well aware of the story of Santa. They heard Daddy, and they knew he would be mine - eventually.

The day after I brought Santa home was the two year anniversary of my father-in-law's death. The past two years have brought much heartache, many transitions, a lot of shifting of material goods, and so very much growth in lessons learned. Three years ago, Santa would never have peeked out in September. I would have been a bit embarrassed over the story. Now, I leave him out. I didn't expect him to help win a game, and truly our rushing QB did that for us. I just wanted to look at him, and reflect. I like seeing him. He'll get put back up eventually. I have too many Martha Stewart pretensions to leave him out year round. But for now - Happy Santa Merry Birthday to me. Oh, and GO PIRATES, GO TIGERS, (please, dear God, may Tennessee win).

Popcorn and a Movie

2015-09-29T16:57:00.000-04:00

I’m channeling The Property Brothers, and that perky, creative couple from Fixer Upper. Everywhere I look in our home I see DIY projects and I’ve taken the plunge, enjoying The DIY Zone. It’s been a blast, even though I haven’t actually done a demo project. (Is it wrong of me to really want a sledge hammer?) My time line for getting ‘er done is when I can fit in a project between my family’s schedules.

The big idea for my latest project was to completely redo my daughter’s bedroom. Anna had picked out a new bed and paint color for her walls. First I’d scrape the acoustic popcorn off of her ceiling then repaint the ceiling and walls. I’d done it before, so it should be easy, right? I could envision the end product in my mind. Love It or List It would always be a love it situation if my vision would go as planned.

When my daughter called this past weekend to say she would be home again on Friday, I started her bedroom ceiling. Spray the ceiling with warm water, scrape, catch the debris in a bucket, and repeat. A little up and down the ladder, and Bob’s your uncle, the job is done. I just didn’t realize that I had entered the room of doom that would turn my flip into a flop.

It took a freaking ocean of water to remotely get this repainted popcorn from hell soft enough to begin to scrap. Some of it flew off in chunks, somehow getting plastered inside my shirt. My arm muscles were aching after what seemed to be the 40^th trip down the ladder to refill the spray bottle. I wanted one of the Scott brothers to massage me and tell me it was going to be alright. A Wanna-be DIY lady can dream, dammit, because the dream was much better than the reality. I was covered; head to toe in “popcorn dust.” The room was hazy. My mask was clogged, and I had visions of my family finding me frozen and statue like with a bucket in my arms. That bucket was full of yucky, wet, chalk-smelling, white goo when I hit the floor.

The ladder tipped, sending me, and the scraper flying. Somehow, the scraper arched in the air and landed in the bucket. The bucket launched itself, as though ghosts of DIY celebrities past were trying to teach a novice not to be quite so confident. It landed firmly upside down on my head, bounced, and plopped on my feet, covering my shoes and the carpet in sopping wet popcorn sludge. I’m not sure what sounds came out of my mouth as I held my head, but I’m pretty sure it was close to speaking in tongues. All I know for sure is that my eight-year-old son ran away, fast. The big reveal, when the dust settled was a room splattered in ceiling popcorn, and one very spotted lady. No one could come into the room without pushing the muck more firmly into the carpet. Taking my shoes off became a test in how not to further spread the ceiling blob. I was covered, and there wasn’t a Property Brother in sight.

Today is Tuesday. My daughter will be home on Friday to a completely NOT

done room. It took two days for all the goo to dry before the room could be vacuumed, and wiped down. Anna’s room will be clean with a partially scraped ceiling and old paint on the walls. Her new bed will be freshly made and I’ll even spring for some fresh flowers in a vase. This time my DIY project isn’t on schedule. I thought I could redo a bedroom in five days since some of the HGTV programs show totally renovated houses in thirty days. I’ll give it another go later. I would rather enjoy the time I have with my daughter when she is here. In the meantime, I have a power washer and a chain saw, and I’m not afraid to use them. Sounds like a HGTV/Lifetime Horror movie in the making.

College Countdown

2015-08-09T18:30:00.002-04:00

Eighteen. Eighteen minutes, eighteen hours, eighteen days, eighteen months...eighteen years. A mother counts her child in so many ways. When he was eighteen minutes, they wheeled him out of recovery. My husband looked at me, then looked back at his first-born son, and said, "I'm going to follow him." I completely understood. I still follow him. I glance up, I glance back, I trace on Find My iPhone, while I convince myself that my parents would have traced me if they could have, and if it's on the ground then it can't be helicopter parenting...maybe.

Our first-born is eighteen. He leaves for college in less then a week. We're older parents, and I'm fine with that. I think we're not in charge of timing, and the timing was right for us. But how time has flown - I'm not good with that. When he went to have his senior pictures taken last year, all I could see was my mother-in-law's wall of senior pictures of the grandchildren. Ours won't be on the wall. She passed away his junior year.

Last year Momma was able to come see his marching band. She loved seeing both our sons and their band, while my brother, and I were struck by how much Daddy would have loved it. He loved a good band. But he passed away, too.

I'm not sure how to approach being the parent of an adult. I knew or pretended to know how to handle an infant. Lots of love, clean diapers, food on time, and a dash of praying. Elementary school had its challenges - ADHD, and judgmental parents and teachers who should have known better. High school meant a lot of time convincing him to try harder on his schoolwork, and to talk to people. He wouldn't stop talking when he was young. Once he got to high school he wouldn't start. I was painfully reminded of that at my favorite grocery store not too long ago. The bagger was a kid I recognized. I said hello. He asked how he knew me. I told him whose Mom I was. Immediately he said that my kid was the kid who was such a clown and idiot, wouldn't shut up when they were younger, and when they got to high school he was known as the kid who wouldn't talk.

Well, bite my ass, punk.

No, I didn't say that, but I really, really wanted to. Amazing how immaturity hits you the moment it involves your child. I wanted to point out our son's every accomplishment. Instead I mumbled my way through my groceries while feeling the eyes of the cashier bearing down on me - 'what a lousy mother she must be.'

Our son has had criticism thrown his way from the very beginning. So have I. His hyperactivity was because of too much sugar or my slack parenting, take your pick. Except the kid isn't really big on sweets, and I didn't sit around letting him run wild. Along the way, he heard your comments, after all his ears are thirty-six years younger then mine. You people who went to anti-bullying rallies thought nothing of making negative comments about him. So the pendulum swung and he just stopped talking. If you're a close friend, he'll talk. Otherwise you can bite his ass. What strikes me is if I went up to you and said, 'Hey, your kid is fat.', what a horrible person I would be. I know nothing of the circumstances involved. But a kid who is very shy, it's perfectly acceptable to come up to me and say something. Seriously?? Do you think I'm not aware? I particularly enjoyed the teacher who went on and on about how slow he was, and forgetful, and how that would drive her crazy if he was her child, and she did this IN FRONT OF SEVERAL OTHER MOTHERS! Why, yes, a highlight of the years.

I'm petrified to send him off to college. I know just how cruel people can be, and colleges are not immune from that. If anything they are a breeding ground of selectivity enabled pompous asses (I keep using that word - normally I'm a much cleaner writer, but the word works). I remember the rejections of college. I want it to be a happy, fun experience.

I've been posting childhood pictures of fun times - trips, fishing with his grandma, riding a tractor with one grandpa, and on a train with the other granddaddy. He's laughing or excited in these pictures, and then it strikes me. He's happy. He's got several close friends. One will be his roommate. And along the way the asses taught him a valuable lesson. His self esteem is not earned based on your approval. He takes care of his business, and ignores the ass who wants to give him a hard time because he's not interested in performing for your approval.

The pictures have reminded me not to grieve this chapter closing. His childhood was fun for both of us. Playgrounds, museums, battlefields, amusement parks, state fairs, beaches, mountains, music, and laughter have all been experienced. When they say that your child will grow up so fast - believe them. When you see some homily about housework can wait, go have some fun - do it. I will miss my child. But I look forward to meeting my adult son. I'm sure he will be more mature than I am about the asses of the world.

Finally, to quote a favorite song: "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" Ashford & Simpson

Remember the day I set you free
I told you you could always count on me darling
From that day on, I made a vow,
I'll be there when you want me,
Some way, some how

Oh baby there ain't no mountain high enough,
Ain't no valley low enough,
Ain't no river wide enough
To keep me from getting to you babe

I love you, always, my beautiful baby boy.

It's the Everyday Stuff, Ain't It?

2015-04-26T08:31:00.001-04:00

One month from today, I'll have a high school graduate. Actually, three of the four gaby ladies will have high school graduates this year. Just a touch overwhelming to think about, when your child still seems so young to your own eyes. Some high school graduates will go straight to full time work, others straight to the military, others go on to college. Any way you approach it, adulthood is beckoning. I told some friends at lunch that I had been struck by the most horrid realization that as much as I had tried to raise my child, there were huge swaths of knowledge (like the proper usage of the word swath), that I never properly conveyed. So I started a list, because every teenager LOVES seeing their mom approach them with a list...

So every day, the poor kid has a very brief ~~lecture~~, discussion, about items on the list. So here in writing, and I do not promise no further additions, is some of the list:

The car - how to jump-start a battery, already demonstrated when he sat in his car running the a/c, and the radio without the engine. Also discussed a flat tire, engine warning lights, roadside assistance, and car insurance. Most importantly, we discussed accidents - who to talk to, who to call, and DO NOT STOP ON A DESERTED ROAD IF SOMEONE REAR ENDS YOU. Sadly, I explained about staged accidents, and that he should call 911, explain the situation, why he was not stopping at the scene of the accident, and where he should travel to. Young adults traveling alone are a target, and you aren't always in an area you are familiar with. In case you think I missed a hot topic - he's been lectured on the use of his phone while driving since before he could drive. Fortunately, he uses his phone to pipe music playlists through his car speakers, which has the advantage of making him ignore calls/texts as that would mess up his tunes.

Identity Theft - most teenagers are not comfortable yet with their own identity. Unfortunately, there are people out there more then happy to take on your identity for you. One simple rule - when in doubt, shred. People will go through the trash looking for that piece of paper with your social security number or maybe a voided check with your account number/routing number. Shred it. Never give out information on the phone except to your own mother, if you want me to cover that outrageous bill for data. Don't trust the email that looks all official-like wanting you to confirm a password. The bank ALREADY knows what they need to know - they ain't asking you. Same thing for the government, and your college. Never give out account numbers or passwords. And treat any threats they issue - like how you'll lose access, blah, blah, blah - exactly the way you treated my threats over cleaning your room. Then I know they'll get nowhere.

People - Sorta like the identity theft one, trust is a big issue. You're going to meet a lot of new people. Some will be fantastic, and become life long friends that you will laugh with over that thing that happened that night at that place (better not be a bar - geez, now I just sound stupid) for the rest of your lives. Others will be ones that you will use as examples to your own children. Sometimes it's hard to distinguish the two, and sometimes you're wrong. Often the manipulators are soooo nice, and friendly, and they make the request to use your car, your computer, your money, seem sooo reasonable. Like you're the one being unreasonable, and mean to say no. Others will jump in like a Greek chorus pushing on you to say yes. JUST SAY NO. You were not put on this earth to provide rides, money, food to others (except your brother - if he goes to the same college, you two WILL do all of that). These people will exist in your universe for the rest of your life, so college is a great training ground for recognizing them, and moving past them. This doesn't mean that you can't help someone in need. BUT THERE IS A DIFFERENCE. Some of the wealthiest girls at ECU were the biggest users. I ended up throwing away shoes, clothes, hot curlers that were ruined by others, even provided rides to parties I WASN'T invited to, before I started realizing what was going on. I can be slow on the uptake. Sharing with others, and being taken advantage of are not the same.

Priorities - College is expensive. You are not there for the party. You are not there to demonstrate your video gaming prowess. You are there to prepare you for a career which will enable you to come home to visit, not to live. Set your priorities. Have fun, AFTER YOUR SCHOOLWORK, especially if you want us to contribute to the cost.

I've shown our son how to write a check, how to look at his balances online, made sure he has his email set up on his phone, how to address an envelope, how to write a thank you note, how to wash a load of clothes (though I suspect those will come my way since he's only a short drive away), but I know I've missed a lot so any suggestions are welcome. I'm going to miss my baby, but I do welcome seeing a young man.

Blood Sport for the All American Girl

2015-03-24T19:36:00.002-04:00

"For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?”

Mr. Bennet, upon reading Lizzy the letter from Mr. Collins, which hints that she may be engaged to Mr. Darcy and warns them that Lady Catherine will never approve
Pride & Prejudice, Volume 3, Chapter 15

So I read a book for my much loved book club. The book was simultaneously the easiest and hardest read. On reflection, I have to give it a very solid, porch swing worthy recommendation. The book is "Big Little Lies", by Liane Moriarty.

More about the book in a moment - I will tie all of this together, wrapped up in the threads of life.

"Now I know I'm just here to amuse you

And I don't mean to abuse you

But if I could just use you one time

Tell me what it's like

To be the queen of it all

The Neiman Marcus of the Mall

And tell me what it's like to be the one and only

All American Girl"

Train, "All American Girl"

I find myself reflecting on the passage of time. Our oldest son will finish high school in May. We're wrapped up in college decisions, and majors, and the younger son is only one year behind, plus my goddaughter has decided to go to college at my own alma mater. At times I feel like my head peeked out from a cocoon and the time/space continuum warped me - or something like that. So I was thinking last week that I should focus on what I WON'T miss when the boys have gone off to college. You know, the dishes, the tracked in dirt, the car lines, the Queen Bees, and along came this book.

"At the gas station, I think she pretended not to see me."

"It felt like every parent was secretly observing their conversation. This must be what it felt like to be famous."

"Not here, you idiot. Let's not talk about family business with sharp-eared mothers all around us."

"The Blond Bobs hurrying about looking very involved and important as they did each Friday morning."

"It would already be on Facebook."

"Give me a vicious corporate takeover any day."

Yes - along came this book. I'm betting that I don't have to go into much more detail then the quotes...because I'm betting you now know what sport I reference. It's the blood sport of motherhood. It's mildly amusing that once I got a grip on how little the Queen Bees opinion of me should count, I have very little sighting of them anymore. But this book brought back many delightful memories woven with a thread of humor, and a reminder - don't trust what YOU DON'T KNOW to be true.

So to the moms out there still in the running of the moms which bears an eerie resemblance to the running of the bulls in Pamplona - You are a champion. Read the book - You are not alone. Good luck - but you don't need it. Their opinions don't matter, trust me.

Happy Birthday, Momma!!

2015-02-24T08:24:00.000-05:00

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens" - Rodgers and Hammerstein, "My Favorite Things'

One of my favorite things is the unexpected. The person who has been dismissed, a judgment made, and then all expectations are shattered. Lady GaGa did that with the Oscars the other night. Some already knew that her voice is an incredibly well trained instrument, but many looked at those silly red rubber dishwashing gloves, and that was that. Man, she showed up in the best way.

My mother's birthday is today. She's a small woman, and she always has been. If ever there was an illustration of the quote, "Though she be but little, she be fierce" (William Shakespeare, "A Midsummer Night's Dream"), Momma is it. She has no problem at all with telling you exactly what she thinks, and good luck.

But wrapped in that small package is also a depth of compassion that took her through years of being a nurse at the Women's Prison, through the years of AIDS at a prison, and her husband's dementia.

She has a story about hugging a prisoner who was dying of AIDS:

“You know back then, AIDS had just started out. It was just getting to be well known, and we had a lot of prisoners to come in there that had a positive AIDS test. And we had to put them in isolation. And we had three inmates that died at Women’s Prison from AIDS. We had to go in there and wait on them. And I think the hardest thing that I've ever done was I went in the room one day to check on one of them, that was dying and she wanted me to hug her neck and I didn't want her tears on me, because we still weren't sure about how you caught it. But I sat down and I let her hug my neck because she just wanted to touch somebody. Her family couldn't come see her. Those were some tough times. But you do what you have to do.”

Momma has a tolerance and an acceptance. Her last sentence actually illustrates beautifully her life philosophy, “But you do what you have to do.” She doesn't look at taking care of the ill or dying as something horrible to flee from. She simply does it.

She's one of the quiet many who have helped the world. You may look at her and see a small older woman. I look at her, and I see my hero. Happy Birthday, Momma. We love you very much. Thank you for the lessons in how best to live a life.

My Son Climbed a Tree of Tests

2015-02-13T06:50:00.003-05:00

"Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life thinking its stupid." Albert Einstein

I walked into a conference room, and thought, "Are these rooms called conference rooms when they are in an elementary school?" The room was already crowded. I silently counted the people. There were three teachers, two administrators, and one person I didn't know. So a total of six people to my one. A few years prior I had helped with the accounting consolidation of some recently purchased manufacturing plants. That conference room only had four people in it. Four people to work on a purchase involving millions of dollars, and hundreds of jobs. Seven people to discuss a seven year old's education. Six of them sure that I was wrong.

Our younger son was inducted into the National Honor Society this week. He's also been inducted into the Beta Club, and received an Academic Achievement Award. He has college credit waiting. I could go on, but already I sound like one of those moms you avoid like the plague on the playground so you don't have to spend the next hour hearing how their child cured cancer in their sandbox yesterday while changing his own diaper and pressure washing the siding. But here's the rest of the story:

Once upon a time he was a special education student. He was placed in Special Education at seven years old. He was taken back out of Special Education in a matter of months. Still, I remember it with the sting of a parent who was ignored. They said he couldn't read at grade level, that he didn't identify letters correctly, he had an "issue" with words. I said, he has a confidence issue. He DOES understand, and he does know. He's an intuitive kid who looks for your cues as to what answer you are looking for, and then provides it even if it's not the one HE thinks is correct. He has an older brother who has severe ADHD. I spend too much time working with the older brother on homework and not enough time working with our younger son. I need to improve. He needs me to pay more attention to his needs. He needs to know that it's OK to give his answer and not the one he thinks others want to hear. I believe Special Education is wonderful, and vital. But it was not the proper placement for this child. If I thought it was I would have embraced it, volunteered, done everything I needed to do for him. But it wasn't the right placement, and we have TESTS to thank for those few months.

It was hard not to flash back to that meeting during each awards ceremony. It was hard not to remember my entreaties that his needs were not being correctly addressed. The "tests" - so many letters, and names I had never heard of - all the "tests" said he wasn't capable. It was hard to ignore the creeping smugness I felt regarding all who tried to convince me that he would never read well at his level.

Once he entered the Special Education program, the wonderful teacher there worked one on one with him. She was open to listening to my assessments, and never gave me that all too common condescension that I had encountered in some in the education field. The attitude that said that since I was NOT an education professional I couldn't possibly know what I was talking about did not exist with this teacher. She recognized that parents spend more time with their children then teachers so we might have an inkling of an idea regarding the child's strengths and weaknesses.

Before long, the talented Mrs. R was discussing with me his confidence issues. We were discussing how to make him comfortable with answering with what HE thought was correct, and not just what he THOUGHT someone wanted to hear. Shortly after that, he scored so ridiculously high on an assessment test that a small "graduation" party was held for him, and he was back in his original classroom. Oh, the irony - tests placed him in, tests placed him out.

By the fourth grade, he had the fabulous Mrs. H. She loved, loved, loved on this child just as she had his older brother, encouraging his love of History, his love of reading, and giving him the experience he needed to flourish. His teacher, Mrs. C helped convince him - he is a bright kid. I've silently thanked those teachers during every awards ceremony - and I've written my thanks to them also.

It may sound like I'm blasting my local school system. I'm not. We have a fantastic music program that both our sons have thrived in, the high school offers several foreign languages, and AP classes, and every negative encounter with an educator has been offset by hundreds of positive ones.

But year after year...tests...and tests....and tests. Tests tell us where he is flourishing. Tests tell us where he needs improvement. The tests say which teachers are doing well. SERIOUSLY? Do the tests tell whether a teacher has a classroom with six kids who have horrific home lives, three more who have siblings getting all the attention at home (as mine was - I readily admit that), and four who came to school hungry?? Do the tests recognize that some kids DON'T test well in a timed environment or that some kids mature at a different rate, and will test astoundingly well next year??

Now, I must acknowledge, I circle around very distantly the issue of Common Core. My kids aren't affected so I've viewed some articles but it's not a heartfelt exploration. But I have an issue with the word COMMON. To me, it implies that all is the same. ALL IS NOT THE SAME. Tests look for a commonality. Do you know the word - infatuation? It's an SAT word. I'll use it in a sentence. Our nation is infatuated with testing. But infatuation implies a passing fancy, not a deep seated love. It strikes me that a nation that was founded based on individuality is now striving for likeness in all. Tests and their ability to rule our lives is a national problem in our education system.

There is no one learning style. There is no one maturation rate. Our education system and our politicians need to recognize the uniqueness. There is no one correct answer that makes everyone else an ignoramous. A little civility among the adults might be nice. One group advocates testing. Another group throws money around. Programs are eliminated, programs are added, and at the end of the day we still suck at teaching our youth. Identification of learning disabilities is vital, and identification and intervention at a young age are key. BUT, we need some programs which allow children to play, and learn, to develop, and not be put under pressure to meet a norm which is unreasonable.

I never bothered to teach my children the alphabet before kindergarten. Silly me, I thought that was what kindergarten was supposed to help with. I DID teach them how to build a fort out of sticks, and to pretend the play set was a ship on the shining seas. I was mightily criticized for a five year old (our older son) not knowing the alphabet completely. The same five year old is now 18. He knows the alphabet now - English, and Mandarin. He'll be attending college in the Fall. And he STILL knows how to lash together sticks for a fort - might be helpful during a zombie apocalypse or when he has his own children.

Are there complexities that I don't begin to discuss and address - how wealthy is the school district, how involved are the parents, are there language issues, and I could go on - absolutely there are issues. Do I have answers? Absolutely not. But I wonder what happens to the child who doesn't have a parent able to sit on the phone, attend meetings, and email concerns. The parent who will lose a job for missed work can't attend meetings during the school day. The parent who doesn't speak the language can't discuss their point with reasoned passion. The parent or guardian who doesn't have internet access can't email, or check the parents portal for grades/assignments or help prepare for an almighty test which sets a path at seven years old. Where would the seven year old in that first paragraph now be at in 11th grade? Would he be throwing his mail from colleges into a basket to look at later? Shouldn't that be a concern? Should money be spent on more tests? Is that REALLY helping the child? Instead of more money on tests, how about more money on instructors, and counselors, and psychologists so the child can be seen as the individual and not as test results?

Children are these wonderful, amazing creatures - resilient, imaginative, unprejudiced. Are we allowing them to finish their education that way?

And to All, a Good Night

2014-12-18T05:12:00.001-05:00

"Is it finally over?"
"It's over, Momma. Now it's straight."
"Well, thank goodness!"

So let me back up. If you read my last blog, then you saw that we were having a bit of a problem with the gub'ment. Seems they accidentally showed Momma's Medicare as being terminated effective 01/01/2014. Seems like a fairly easy problem to fix. Just confirm that the cancellation form is not on file, that her premiums have been paid on time, and correct it.

Yeah - cause Santa Claus is bringing me that Mercedes with the gull-wing doors I always wanted....stuff always works out the way you want it...uh-huh.

But I am thrilled to follow up, and say, IT IS FIXED. It only took from November 6th until yesterday, December 17th, and contacting the following agencies:
Medicare
Medicare Advanced Resolution
Social Security Administration
Railroad Retirement Bureau
Social Security Administration - two different local offices
Her former employer she retired from
Her former employer's benefits administration group
The insurance carrier
The state insurance commissioner's office
Her congressman
Her senator
Her senator-elect

And don't think each of these was limited to only one phone call apiece. Formal complaints were filed through four different agencies (I think - may be more.)

In fact when the congressman's office got involved, I faxed them TWENTY-SIX pages of documentation I had already accumulated.

But yesterday, Momma got the call we had been working towards. She has been retroactively reinstated. She will be reimbursed for the out of pocket expenses incurred while this went on. And the following part of the call cracked us up - "We are so sorry you went through this. Would you mind calling your daughter, and tell her that it is fixed, and that we apologized?"

Or as my hubby interpreted it - 'Hey, call that bulldog you gave birth to, and tell her to back off of us, please.' (On a side note - he appreciates that I do not use that character trait on him - normally.)

Shakespeare had it wrong. The line should read - Hell hath no fury like a woman whose loved one has done been wronged.

Because I believe in giving credit - huge kudos to her local office of Social Security Administration, to my contact in her benefits administration group, to United Health Care Social Media who took the ball, to the person in Medicare's Advanced Resolution area, and to her congressman.

To anyone going through this, my best advice is this:
1) Don't believe anyone until you get the same answer multiple times
2) Feel free to go on a multi-pronged attack
3) Document, document, document - date, time, length of call, a name if possible
4) Pray

Now, I'm off to research the cost of a Mercedes with gull-wing doors. After all, we weren't sure I could ever get this fixed, much less an apology so obviously I'm on a roll.

Good night!

The Nightmare of the Government Before Christmas

2014-12-09T19:28:00.001-05:00

I invite you to take a trip into a parallel dimension. One of neither common sense nor competency. Welcome to the world of the government. Where HAL, the computer in "2001: A Space Odyssey" seems benevolent, and kind. Certainly HAL has a point about human error.

I feel compelled to say the following - this is purely an expression of my own frustration. Also I feel compelled to say that this is a purely bipartisan gripe. I have no idea which administration was in charge of which rules being put in place. Personally, I'm not sure there is a politician with common sense anymore. Both parties seem to spend too much time catering, and not enough time leading.

Let me tell you what happened here. It all started when my Daddy dared to die. He passed away on May 28th. On June 11th, as required to, I notified the Railroad Retirement Bureau. At that time, the very nice, very sympathetic woman informed me that no other actions were necessary other then returning his direct deposit payment within the week. One and 1/2 days later when I went to the bank to instruct them to return it, I found out that the government had already taken it. If only all their actions had been as efficient as they were with taking back money from a recent widow.

Months went by. We grieved, and we moved forward. I executed his wishes as he had communicated to me while he was still of sound mind. At times, Momma almost felt I was too efficient. But I'm a to-do list kinda gal. I have a list. I work my list. I find comfort in my list. Some shop, I make a list.

Then the world flipped, and we DID NOT MAKE IT FLIP. I have spent days of my life trying to correct an error WE DID NOT CAUSE. The Railroad Retirement Board moved Momma's Medicare from being under them, and under Daddy's claim ID to the administration of the Social Security Administration and under Momma's own ID number. Reminds me of when our sons have projects in school, and suddenly need the purple markers with green board - SORTA NICE TO KNOW IN ADVANCE!

We received no notice of this change. She received no new Medicare card. Nope. What we got was a nice letter from her group plan she has as a retiree from a very large employer. It seems they heard from our government that SHE TERMINATED her Medicare. WHAT??? Also that it was "terminated" on 01-01-2014. HUH??? So why has the government been deducting her Medicare premium from her monthly check - WITHOUT FAIL?? Which I verified by looking at every dang month of her banking. Why has her every claim to this point been processed WITHOUT A PROBLEM? YES - I'M SHOUTING!! Though I didn't at first. I sighed. I thought a couple of calls would clear this up. I told her not to worry. Silly, silly me.

Let me just say, that I was closer to reality when I believed in Santa Claus. At least Daddy had a beard, was round, and had his jolly moments, and Momma, and I have the height of a couple of elves.

Since November 6th, I have been in an endless loop of one entity blaming the next entity for the "mistake". Naturally the first entity blamed was me. Once again, HUH? All I did was give timely notice of my father's death. I might add that it's never easy to call anyone and say that someone you love has died - never. I initiated NO OTHER ACTION. Indeed, my research indicated that it is difficult to terminate your Medicare. As I graciously pointed out to one ignor...I mean clueless, person. (Clueless - still harsh, but my kindness is strained right now.)

Medicare would blame Social Security Administration who would blame Medicare and each one would tell me to call the other one to fix it. This was AFTER I spoke several times to her insurance carrier who at first said they just needed her new claim id. Which I gave them. Then they tell me, no, we can't reinstate her - she had no coverage from 01/01/2014 until 10/01/2014. So I also involved that large employer. They've tried to help. Really, they have. One of the only entities which was willing to give me a real person's name, and phone number to help. But help can only go so far when no one truly understands how the systems work, and therefore how to fix them.

Now look at those dates, again. Anything jump out at you? Like, perhaps, how easy it is to transpose 10/01 and make it 01/01. I began (after numerous phone calls) to figure it out FOR THEM, what THEY had done wrong. Mainly because I was tired of being told that WE had terminated her. Someone hit "termination" instead of transfer/change (which would not have been us), and then instead of the effective date for the CHANGE being 10/01, keyed in 01/01. Voila - my mother appears to have been terminated effective 01/01/2014. Or as I dryly said to a few of the many government employees I've spoken to - wasn't that jumping the gun a bit since Daddy didn't even die until 05/28???

Finally after many (numerous, excessive) calls to the various agencies attempting to find someone to help/take responsibility (one starts to wonder - are they paid by the calls answered, not the calls resolved??), a helpful soul named Leah appeared. She works for Medicare, and after several times of putting me on hold to verify the details, and to discuss with a supervisor, she informed me that yes, it really is Social Security who tells Medicare who can have Medicare, and so Social Security are the ones who will need to fix it. She also tells me to ask to speak to a supervisor so it can be escalated, and that it is best to call our local office.

Fine. I call the local office. What happens? By now it shouldn't be hard to guess. I explain what happened (by now, I can do it in my sleep. I've repeated this story more then the telling of our children's births.) So what do I hear - 'you need to contact Medicare, they would be the ones to fix that.' SERIOUSLY? I just got off the phone with them. THEY SAID TO CALL YOU. May I speak to a supervisor? And this woman actually asked me why, when a supervisor was 'just going to tell you what I JUST told you.' Personally, a badge of honor here. I'm not always the best with holding my temper. Just ask my kids. But I very calmly said, that I was fine with that, I would still like to speak to one. In fact I've stayed calmer then expected through most of this. I am however getting better workouts on the elliptical. There's a certain umph to them....imagine that.

Guess what? Best move I made through the whole ordeal, ignoring her, and speaking to a supervisor. Beverly - lovely woman. Extraordinarily helpful. Even called Momma directly to say how sorry she was that this had happened, and she would get it fixed. AND SHE DID - at least the Social Security Administration part. Which then allowed Medicare to issue a new and correct card. Of course how many calls did I make to get through to the one person who could and would help - unknown, but I have a lot of notes, and I could probably figure it out. I've hugged her in person. Lovely lady.

So we should be at the end of the journey now...right...right...rig....wrong. (And if you're sticking with me through this tale - congrats, and many thanks!)

No, now I get a call from her former employer. That big insurance company, United Health Care, won't add her back with a correct effective date of - ALL DANG YEAR LONG - unless they hear from Medicare to do it.

So I call Medicare - again. I sit on hold - again. I explain - again. I get told I'm wrong - again. Finally, I was told that it would be forwarded to their Advanced Resolution Center. Two business days - they must reply. On the second day they called. The wrong number. Poor Momma - she was not expecting the call, BECAUSE I TOLD THEM TO CALL ME. I gave them my number. They have the proper authorizations on file (that could be another way too long blog about authorizations). Instead they call her, and ask for me. That's so indicative of how this entire experience has gone. Never quite right. It's like the blind date that looks good, but can't carry a conversation to save his life. The insurance company isn't fixing this. Medicare isn't fixing this. And I wonder - WHY IN THE HELL DO I HAVE TO FIX SOMETHING I DIDN'T BREAK??????????

So we're waiting. Still waiting for Prince Charming. He needs to make it right. He needs to give her back the health coverage she NEVER TERMINATED. It needs to be effective as of 01/01/2014. It needs to cover her AS IT SHOULD HAVE. I say, HE, because at this point, I've started emailing her congressman, and her US Senators. Do you blame me??

By now, Momma is beyond frustrated. She's been made to feel that she no longer has health insurance, embarrassed at trying to fill a prescription, and sure that this will never get fixed. She's been talked down to, and spoken to as if she is "stupid" to use one of the many words she's used, a more family friendly word. She's a sharp cookie, but no, she never handled the paperwork of life. Daddy did, and now I do. I can't help but wonder about the elderly person out there who doesn't have a bulldog named Evelyn for a daughter? How messed up is their stuff? How many times are they being told it's their fault, and they assume the government is right, and they aren't? Truly it's not just the government either. Big corporations mess up. They bill you wrong, and it's your problem, not theirs.

I, am equally upset. I have tried to fix this, and instead I have been insulted, turned away if the proper permissions were not in place, and spoken to as if I'm trying to cheat the system. I've been spoken down to, talked over top of, and treated as an imbecile. I've spent hours of my life in the special circle of hell called, On HOLD, listening to the most awful, repetitive music broken up by their even worse, repetitive announcements, and been frustrated by automated operators who don't have the option I need - dial x if WE SCREWED UP YOUR STUFF. Indeed, the Medicare complaints site doesn't list a way to COMPLAIN ABOUT THEM - only others.

So, really, how about treating our senior citizens as the golden members who have helped build this great country and not as a burden? My mother has helped so many. Where the hell is her help...which she paid for?

Well, here's what's happening next. I continue to contact anyone who wants to listen to what has happened to my mother. No one should have to go through this. So guess what - the Insurance Commissioner of the great state of North Carolina, her congressman, her U.S. Senators, Medicare, United Health Care..I'm not done yet. My Momma doesn't deserve to be sleepless over this. They say that the first set of holidays spent without someone you love are particularly hard. A big {sarcastic} thanks to all the above for keeping my focus off of my loss and on to your inability to make a simple correction. Yeah, thanks for that.

9-11

2014-09-11T19:55:00.001-04:00

I sit here stunned by the silence. The cat, named Elvis in honor of his black velvet fur, is quite content. I have a lovely glass of wine, and a new book beckoning me. All is right with the world. But my thoughts turn to 2001.

I was at my parents. The two of them, the two children, and me. Our sons were the ripe old ages of three, and four. Just yesterday our younger son reminded me that he was too young to have any real memories of that day. Of course, part of that can be attributed to the adults surrounding both children. While Daddy sat in the bedroom, his gold recliner at attention while he watched the nonstop coverage with both an unwillingness to participate, and in inability to look away, Momma, and I traveled the hall. We took turns. One of us would be in the living room, Cartoon Network providing a respite from the horrors down the hall. Children laughed, fought, played, and argued while the world was full of ashes, dust, and fire. News came that a friend had given birth to a healthy, beautiful baby girl. Still the world was aflame. Friends who might be in harms way were located, thankfully safe. We were untouched by tragedy...but none of us were untouched by the tragedy. The uncertainty reaching the remote reaches of North Carolina. The prayers, and the horror, too.

Too often we ignore the evil of the world. Most of us have a desire to embrace the good, and run from the evil. Our sons are now 16, and 17. College is on the very near horizon. As is registering for the draft. Our younger son discusses a military career after college. We have friends whose sons discuss it sooner, and friends who have sons already in the military. 9-11 is such a simple moniker for a day which changed our world.

I believe stories are an integral part of the world. We learn through stories. We should share our stories. Where we were, who we were with, how we felt. Because through remembering, through sharing with the next generation, perhaps, we can make a better world. Eradicating evil. Thank you to all who serve. Thank you to all who sacrifice.

You Can Depend on Dewey

2014-08-25T20:17:00.002-04:00

Anybody out there who believes in those moments? The ones that take your breath away and make you believe completely in a higher power - those are the moments. When your child is born, when someone you love dies, when a rainbow appears, when a song comes on or maybe a music box plays without being wound up - those are the moments. One of my moments happened last week.

I saw the boys through the first day of school, and then I was gone for the week.
Momma, and I had worked out our schedule of what needed to be done, day by day. On the list - visiting her credit union. She had this check in Daddy's name. It was a small check, but anyone who has ever tried to work on an estate knows what a pain some of this is. So just as planned on day three of my visit, we went to the credit union. Our credit union has a long row of tellers, but we had timed it well, and there wasn't a line. This lovely young girl called us down to her spot. And there it was - our sign. An ink pen sat there. Someone had left it behind. Or maybe God did. Because it had my Daddy's name on it. I noticed it first. I pointed to the pen to Momma. As she gasped over seeing Dewey on a pen, I rolled it ever so slightly, and we were even more in awe. For on that pen was also a slogan. The slogan, "You can depend on Dewey". Daddy was a dependable sort. He planned, and he worked hard. Still Momma has wondered if she's been making the right decisions. My brothers, and I have assured her that she is making the right choices. It felt as if a sign was sent from heaven. She could depend on Daddy, and he knew it was all OK.

So today is Daddy's birthday, and I always knew it would be a hard day. Father's Day was hard, today was hard, and I can't say I'm looking forward to ECU's kickoff on Saturday night. It's the first ECU football game that I can remember that I don't have Daddy to tell me I'm wrong about something. I'll miss that even though I still have a husband, and teenagers so it's not like I'll miss out completely on the experience of being wrong.

We still love you, Daddy. Thank you for being dependable. I hope I'm raising sons to be as dependable as you, and Pa Cooper always were. Happy Birthday in heaven. The teller let Momma keep the pen you sent. She still loves you, too.

Ch...CH...Changes

2014-08-10T19:54:00.003-04:00

My last blog was in June. In July I turned 54, I worked on my father's estate, I pressure washed, I cleaned, I organized, I repaired, I did everything I could do to keep busy. I didn't write. Yet, it's the one thing I kept thinking of as something I wanted to do.

I see stuff that I want to comment on, but I don't. Like how Kate Hudson is designing these wild looking yoga pants. One look at them, and all I could think is - only a Hollywood actress would think any self-respecting women would put THAT on her butt. Even starving would NOT make that look ok on my rear end. And I have to say, there's always a comment I can come up with about the Kardashians.

Also Facebook has the most fascinating view of me based on the "suggestions" it comes up with. Apparently I'm a liberal, gun-toting, overweight, old woman/man with questionable taste in decor. I may resemble some of those characterizations, but it's difficult to cover them all, even for a Southern Momma.

Grief is a process. Yep - it sure is. Hubby has started listening to country music, and one good friend said our life has been like a country music song. I LOVED THAT COMMENT. Anything with a tint of humor is so welcome, and that cracked me up. Need to find me a broken pick up truck...dang it, and the cat don't resemble a hound dog...but other then that, I see her point.

So I want to start back writing. It's so cathartic...ten dollar word, right there. I need to figure out how to get back to writing. There's so much coming up that is just ripe for commentary. Our oldest son will be applying for college. Our younger son wants to work on his Eagle Scout award. Estates need to be settled, and a car needs to be repaired again. Teenagers drive, and drive us crazy in the process. My Momma adjusts to single life.

So bear with me...life's been in the way. But I want to write, and I will.

This is for You, Daddy

2014-06-17T20:16:00.000-04:00

"This is for you, Daddy." Stevie Nicks at the beginning of "Landslide" on "The Dance" Album

My husband and I are well suited to each other. Momma has often said that she couldn't have designed one better for me. We have a lot in common. This year we have one more thing in common. We've lost our fathers, and this has been the first Father's Day for each of us with no one to call or send a card to. My husband would admit - I was the one sending the cards. It became a point of humor for us. I would say, "You sent a card that said..." And he would grin, and say, "I'm so thoughtful." But cards or no cards, love exists.

"Tell me, where does the spirit go when you die?" "Annabel" - The Duhks
"Tell me, did you sail across the sun?" "Drops of Jupiter" - Train

My Daddy is gone. Momma said yesterday that she kept thinking she would wake up, and he would be there. I told her I knew exactly what she meant. Because I do. I think that puts us in one of those stages. My stage involves Hostess Big Wheels (that's what they were called when Daddy bought them for me almost every day my sixth grade year, and that's what I'm calling them), some Jack and Coke, and digging what's left of my fingernails into my palm to prevent tears. A friend once told me that we write to learn about ourselves. I've learned a lot this past year, but not written a lot. Another friend reminded me that the shower is a great place to sob. I am so very clean - so is the shower stall.

"Up all night, I could not sleep. The whiskey that I drank was cheap." "South City Midnight Lady" - The Doobie Brothers

"And I confess that I'm only holding on by a thin, thin thread." "Sad" - Maroon 5

"Life goes on. It gets so heavy. The wheel breaks the butterfly." "Paradise" - Coldplay

I wonder if I've been kind enough to others when they've experienced grief. This has been such a constant presence in my life this last year. We've not only lost our fathers, but my mother-in-law passed away, a favorite uncle, and a favorite aunt, a loved cousin, even our beloved dog. Our older son can actually write in his upcoming college applications that he lost three grandparents during his junior year of high school. What a dubious distinction. I will say it provides a certain perspective on the other stuff like needing a new transmission in a 2014 vehicle, the broken sprinkler head that was pointing towards the golf course flooding the green, the broken outside water faucet that was dripping for who knows how long (can't wait to see the water bill), the kid who ignored my explanation of how a car battery can be drained resulting in his first lesson involving jumper cables, poison ivy, bronchitis, flu, and the infamous 'I stepped on a snake' incident resulting in a new door mat - one not black and not so easily blendable with a black snake. When you've spent so much time dressing in black, hugging people you love, hugging people you don't remember or never knew, the other stuff just becomes adventures to laugh at. Sometimes the hugs are adventures, too. May I suggest that some people should keep their hands in reasonable places...

"I miss the sounds of Tennessee. I blink and while my eyes are closed, they both have gone away." "House on the Lake" - Rosanne Cash

Some people are so kind it's almost overwhelming. Others are so clueless that your choices are to be amused or offended. I opted for amused, with only an occasional sprinkle of indignation. So I have even more stories then just the snake one, like the ex-girlfriend who showed up to my father-in-law's visitation flirting with hubby or the ex-boyfriend who tracked down my number, and called me. Which made hubby and I even-steven on the exes front - thank goodness - no need to inflate the man's ego. But really, people, funerals are NOT Eharmony...or a high school reunion. Perhaps you could pick another time to decide we were catches after all.

There's the tendency to question God, and his existence in all of this. That's not my way. I long ago gave up even attempting to understand. I don't get quantum physics, I can't comprehend how to engineer a part, and I for dang sure ain't 'bout to try to rebuild an engine so why should I know all the answers to God's universe. I get that. I'm also good with counting blessings. I had my Daddy for years longer then many people I know had their loved ones, and we were able to be at a good place when he passed from this life to life eternal. That's a gift not all receive though it was wrapped in the sideways paper of dementia.

"Think about it. There must be a higher love. Down in the heart or hidden in the stars above." "Higher Love" - Steve Winwood

Now, I have to say, Daddy was not some perfection of a man. Like all of us, you got the good with the bad. The man had a temper, I mean he could really lay it on. And if he thought he was right, well, there ain't no way that YOU were right. He went almost a year with out speaking to me once because he thought I had made the wrong job choice. But I have that stubborn streak, too. Eventually he was proud when I made my way in a large company just as I wanted to do. I think he enjoyed my spirit, as long as I never forgot to say ma'am or sir along the way. Sometimes two people are too much alike...but there are lessons in all of that, too. Lessons I try to remember raising our teenagers - one is a little more like me, the other one a little more like Hubby. Makes life more interesting as long as we remember the love, and forgiveness.

"Children get older. I'm getting older, too." "Landslide" - Fleetwood Mac
"Mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life? I don't know." "Landslide" - Fleetwood Mac

The night of Daddy's visitation one of my cousins told me a story I had never heard. Daddy came from a large family. Such a large family means a large range in ages of the cousins, and this cousin remembered Daddy as a young man back from the Korean War. He told me that our grandmother said Daddy would wake up with what they called "night terrors" for months after he returned. I am at an age now that I can look back at how it must have been for my Daddy, not too much older then my sons, and be so impressed by him. This was a man who answered his country, did his duty, came back home, worked full time at night on the railroad while he attended East Carolina College during the day, and spent countless hours helping charities. He never spoke of Korea until dementia came calling other then to tell us that "M.A.S.H." was NOT the way it was. Only then did we find out that he rode trains laying down gunfire to evacuate the dead, and wounded. He led a life, life did not lead him, and there's a lesson in that also. Too much is handed to so many of us. He expected nothing to be handed to him. He became a college graduate. He became Master of his Masonic lodge, president of his Shrine club chapter, and if you didn't know that he was an ECU Pirate then you obviously had never spoken to him for more then two minutes, and certainly never spoke to him during football season. Even as he lay on his deathbed, we played an ECU football game, and he knew it was his Pirates. I could even con him into leaving his nasal cannula in place by telling him that we would beat UNC if he left it alone.

Daddy passed away on May 28. For years, Momma said it would be terrible if someone died and there was an East Carolina University game because none of us would come. Daddy died when there were no active sports going on for ECU. I think he planned that. But still we flew our flags and magnets. His last surviving sister realized what we were doing, and insisted someone put them on her Cadillac, and one of my cousins flew to her car, got them out of her trunk and put them on. No one wanted to disobey her. The last one, the last one of nine siblings. How hard it is to survive.

"We're the Purple and Gold. We are the PIRATES OF ECU." EC Victory Fight Song

The night of Daddy's visitation we had one of those DVD's going. All the good funeral homes do them these days. You send pictures, they set them up to loop through, maybe add some music. Daddy loved music. We all love music. Somehow it felt right that we asked for three songs to be set to the pictures on the DVD. The three songs were, "Sugar Lips" by Al Hirt, "Whipped Cream" by Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, and the ECU Fight Song. Nothing else would have felt as right. He loved life, and he saw it in so many ways - war, and peace. He deserved music that reflected his love of life.

Our sons have been a wonder through it all. They have watched their parents grieve, and shown compassion. I will never forget the touch of our sixteen year old's hand on my back as I started a strangled sob walking in the funeral home or the introverted seventeen year old walking up to me, and telling me that he would stay beside me until I told him he wasn't needed.

"No, this child will be gifted with love, with patience, and with faith." "Wonder" - Natalie Merchant

In the bottom of Daddy's jewelry box was an id bracelet. One that had my name on it and was made for me at the North Carolina State Fair when I was a little girl. Long after I stopped wearing it, and discarded it, he kept it. That's how love is - we keep it. We always keep it.

Somehow in grief, we each make our way. We find love. We find faith. We find compassion. Somehow we heal. Each scar makes a stronger place for faith, and love to take root.

"Take this love, and take it down." "Landslide" - Fleetwood Mac
"So I will look for you between the grooves of songs we sing." "The World Unseen" - Rosanne Cash
"Are ye healed?" "Did Ye Get Healed" by Van Morrison

Each time one of us shares love, and compassion, each time one of us turns to God, we are healed. - me

Beware the Ides of MAY

2014-05-15T20:16:00.002-04:00

"It's such a perfect day." "The lawnmower stopped." "Look at the semi's - they're blocking the highway." "There is a meal in your refrigerator." "I watered my front porch." "Sure a car with less then 8,000 miles should need a new transmission." "It's not fair to the other students to accept it so late."

Let me tell you about my May. Yes, I know it's only half way through - dang it. My tale involves a funeral, a snake, a chipmunk (may be more then one - who knows - they all look alike), a transmission, AP exams, the SAT, school, love, and friendship. Why, yes - that does pack a great deal into fifteen days.

Two weeks ago today, we buried my mother-in-law. This was totally unexpected, leaving unsaid words, and unshared hugs behind. My husband lost his first mother at four years old. He lost his second mother, the one he had since he was five years old, at 55. Are you ever prepared? As we drove to the cemetery from the funeral home, Coldplay came on. "It's such a perfect day." Our younger son pointed out the inappropriateness of the music. Of course, he was right. Then from our position as the second vehicle behind the hearse (we should have been fourth as the fourth child), we watched the time honored sign of respect of others, and their grief. The vehicles kept quietly moving to the side, pulling off where possible, just stopping in the lane where it wasn't possible. But the most touching moment didn't involve a car or truck. It involved a gentleman cutting his grass. Riding lawnmowers are cool. I'd like to have one. But they become elegant, when someone stops, climbs off, doffs his hat, and waits. I have no idea if he knew any of us. But we know his heart.

Since that day, we've traveled back home. Our older son tried to take the SAT. His first score was very good, and we suspect this one will not top it. It's hard when you're tired.

Both sons have hard course loads, and we're near the end of the semester. But our older son has organizational skills issues which is quite common with ADHD. It's hard for him to organize, and prioritize. It's showing now. He's trying to juggle catching up work, with taking the SAT immediately after returning from his grandmother's funeral, and two AP exams, and normal school work. I wish I could say I've been a great help, but I haven't. But it was a little frustrating to hear from a teacher who imposed no deadline on a project he missed, tell me that it was two weeks late now, and she felt it was unfair to the other students to accept it this late. Yeah, life sucks. It didn't feel fair to lose so many people we love in the last year, and our dog, too. How about a break here? Yes, I know he needs to learn to do this stuff. Dang it, parenting is hard.

I've tried to answer the siren call of other commitments, and traveling to my parents, and then the car, ah the car. I won't say much other then - we need 1.5 days for lemon law status. It's been a peach, make that a lemon...almost. AND THAT'S ALL I'LL SAY....

Oh, the snake, and the chipmunk(s). I know you're dying to know about that (unless you're my Facebook friend - as most of you who might actually read something I wrote probably are - cause I have great, indulgent friends.) My friends already heard about the snake part. See I ran home from trying to help somebody. I had just enough time before meeting someone with a check for the Boy Scout troop (see the earlier statement about commitments...or being committed...sometimes it's hard to tell the difference in a Stephen King sorta way), when I stepped outside to water my flowers on the front porch. I STEPPED ON A SNAKE!! He did not BELONG on my front door mat. For the record, I now have a new door mat. It's very colorful. It is NOT black rubber allowing a black snake to blend. The word blend belongs to outfits, Pinterest, and margaritas - not to SNAKES. I threw the water in the air, thus watering the front porch. I screamed. No neighbors were around thus justifying the alarm system. No, I didn't kill him. I moved too fast to harm him, though it's amazing I didn't throw out my knee. Pretty sure I set a new land speed record.

Then I notice a hole in a board. On the roof. Between the garage, and the dining room. It doesn't look good. I think it's carpenter bees. I call two exterminators. One set says, "Don't bother us." OK - maybe it was a little different phrasing. Second set comes out, looks around, offers for $400, then $100 per month for several months they can "maybe" take care of it - but they aren't going to repair the board. That's when I call my trusted repair guy. Who takes one look, and says I think that might be squirrel damage. At which point his nephew leans out of his truck, and says. "Hey, I just saw a chipmunk come outta there." Ah...the snake wasn't laying in wait for me. He wanted Chip or Dale!! Take them, dude! Oh, and he only wants $150 total. Victory - take 'em where you can get 'em.

By now, I'm feeling whipped when Momma says, your Daddy is not doing well.

I noticed. He doesn't have an appetite. My father-in-law lost his appetite, too before he left us. We lost him last September. By now, I'm thinking that 2014 did NOT need to compete with the suckiness of 2013 where we lost my father-in-law, an uncle, an aunt, and our dog. But we've also lost one of my first cousins this year, and it's just not looking up.

So I sit here starting a pity party when the cat starts playing. He's having a good time. It's infectious. Then one of the sons comes up, and starts telling me about stuff. Stuff at school, stuff he's read, stuff he's interested in - who cares? He's a teenager, and he's talking to me. The other son is working hard, really working. He's gonna turn in that project. Whew. And I remember the dear, dear friends. The ones who put food in our refrigerator and a plant in our home. The ones who emailed, who sent cards, who called, who sent a text. The friends who gave us love. Dang it - pity party over. But if May would like to call off the dogs, I would appreciate it - greatly.

LMBO - An Accident - While Texting - Who Would've Thunk It?

2014-04-17T08:35:00.001-04:00

Back in March, I spent close to the entire month sick - flu, bronchitis, ear infections - it was tons of fun. Our sons don't have their licenses yet. It's just not on their radar as something they care about so why keep the insurance company fat and happy?

Our sons were often grabbing rides home with friends in the afternoon. One day, I received the text all parents dread: "We're gonna be late. XXXX had an accident." I'll give more on the details in a bit, but yes, texting was involved in the accident.

It was minor, but even scarier to me was the realization that I had never, ever discussed with our teens (who can drive, just don't care about it), what to do in the case of an accident. Never. Ever. Occurred. To. Me. Duh... I also haven't shown them how to check the oil or change a tire. Those lessons are coming. (might hand those off to hubby... though I do know how thanks to Daddy, and brothers.)

So I sat down, and walked them both through my rules of what to do, and in case it's helpful to anyone out there who might also have a duh moment (I can't be the only thoughtless parent...I hope...in a warped way.)

1 - Never leave the scene of an accident. At your age, I don't care how minor it is, stay there. Enjoy the scenery, watch the gawkers, but stay put. The exception to this is if you are on a dark, deserted road. Especially important for young female drivers, but applicable to any age or gender. Some will hit your car on purpose. Listen to your instincts. Don't stay put, go to a local police station or well lit, populated area, and call 911. Explain the situation, you will NOT get in trouble for this.

2 - Call your parents or guardians. We WANT to know. We will instantly move into Supreme Protector Parental Mode, and be there. If for some reason, we can't be there, call your approved list. Just like in elementary school, when you knew it was ok for Aunt JuneBug to pick you up, but never climb in the car with Auntie CrazyLoon, same thing. You, and your parents should discuss what responsible adults should be called. (Side note to parents/guardians - Might be a good idea to let those responsible adults know they are on the hook. Also make sure your kid has these wonderful people in their phone.)

3 - Who is your insurance agent, and carrier? Contact number for them? The police, and other driver will ask for that. Make sure they have the proof of insurance, and know where it is in the car. And find out the other driver's information, too. This isn't a one-way street. Don't let them convince you it is. Maybe it is, but let others help with that decision.

4 - Our longest discussion involved this next piece of advice. There will be those who are offended - sorry - my blog - my warped view. DO NOT carry on a conversation with the other driver. It's ok to make sure everyone is alright. It is not OK to admit guilt or alleviate the other driver's guilt. (No saying things like, 'I'm sorry, I should have noticed you' - sliding into my lane where I already was...). Unfortunately these days, finger pointing is the norm, as is the ubiquitous lawsuit. Wait for your parents, and let them handle it. You may speak to the police, and certainly answer their questions. But in this day of recording devices on phones, never assume the other driver is a good, and generous soul. Sorry, but don't.

Now about the accident. Did you assume the teen driver was texting? I would have. But noooo, the middle aged woman who hit him was texting, and rear ended him at a stoplight. So this next piece of advice is for all drivers, PUT DOWN THE FREAKING PHONE. C'mon people. You are not the excellent driver while texting/surfing/dialing/talking that you think you are. It's the same principle as none of us look as young as we think we do. Same thing. Accept it.

A Real Housewife....

2014-04-08T06:56:00.000-04:00

I'm a loser. Worthless. My time has not been well spent. I have consumed bon bons by the truckload while consuming the truths of daytime tv. "The Doctors", and "Dr. Phil" are my gurus, providing medical help with the power of the remote control while not requiring me to move off my couch. My colonic cleanse will resume in 3, 2, 1...tmi...

OK - now that some of that is out of my system. I am truly none of those things. I am not a loser. My time has been very well spent, I never watch daytime tv, and I'm not sure where bon bons exist. As for the colonic cleanse, that's what collards are for, y'all.

I finally actually got a real interview for a job! Then I made it to the second round! And I didn't get it. The people were great, really, but the gap, it's always about the gap, and I ain't talking about the thigh gap.

I've been out of the workforce (as determined by society), for a number of years. No where on your resume do you get a slot for the following:

Our older child has severe ADHD. He has gone from a child who was constantly complained about by teachers, to a high school junior who is well behaved, and considerate. After being told that he "isn't very bright", and "doesn't know what my other kids know" (just a sample of comments endured), he is in the Beta Club, and on the Math team. He has letters from schools as far away as Cal Berkeley, Northwestern, the University of Chicago, to all the schools close by, and in our state. How? Persistence, flexibility, research, and prayer, lots of prayer - still a work in progress.

Our younger son had health issues, and a self confidence issue. He is a Master Sergeant in Air Force Junior ROTC, and is working on his Eagle Scout. Oh, straight A's, too. How? Patience, kindness, and I have I mentioned prayer yet?

Now - because I have a hot button about this, let me pause and say - my solution of staying at home is not the solution for ANYONE ELSE! At no point do I want my rant, err, nah, we're gonna stay with rant, to be interpreted as an ultimatum as the right way to raise children. If there is one thing I have learned from being a mother, it's humility. Each one of us has unique children, and unique circumstances, and we try our best.

But I could do with a little less humility. Why is my time so undervalued by society that a new college graduate is more desirable, and viewed as having a better skill set? I have actually had my accounting skills questioned (BS - Accounting - they haven't changed the whole debit/credit system...). I've done quite a bit of volunteer work, almost all centered around my accounting skills. I was told that would help. Maybe a little, but the questions always go back to what have I done these years...

I've honed my skills for working with difficult people. I've furthered my ability to doggedly pursue solutions. I am patient, and calm in a crisis....

And I don't give up easily...

Spring has sprung, the grass is riz. It’s prom time, help me! Here it is!

2014-03-28T10:59:00.000-04:00

Prom, the flutter in the stomach, the slow dance, the magical surroundings, the boy, the girl, the dress, does anyone remember? I do, and it isn’t the same. At the risk of sounding like a parent, “In my day,” we did our own hair, makeup and nails, and we felt wonderful! When did the prom become so complicated? It’s a first world problem, the dress, the hair, the nails, and the shoes. When I think of what message spending all this money on “beauty” might be, I cringe, but by the same token, I want this experience to be special for my daughter.

I’m caught up in all of the hoopla. I have been informed that “all” of the girls have their hair, nails, and makeup “done.” Can we add up the cost on that? When did going to the prom resemble the bride getting ready for her walk down the aisle? Its nuts! What concerns me more is that the natural beauty of our daughters is cast aside in yet another market geared to make them feel inadequate if they don’t spend, spend, spend to look just so. Even when I was an adequate weight for my height, I never could look like Cindy Crawford. We are supposed to be different, unique, and lovely in the way we were created. Don’t get me wrong, I adore a great pedicure and hairstyle, I enjoy being pampered, but where do we draw the line? I suppose it comes down to why we are doing it.

I took my daughter to the hairstylist for a trial run for prom night. I saw the woman inside. She was lovelier than I could have imagined, but she had tears in her eyes. Her hair wasn’t what she envisioned it to look like. When I asked her what was wrong, she responded that the hairstyle didn’t make her as pretty as she had hoped. Well poop. That bugged the mess out of me. On the way home, while she dabbed at tears, I told her that her young man would find her beautiful in bib overalls with mud streaking her face. After all, he didn’t see her across a ballroom when they first met. She smiled, or at least the corner of her mouth lifted a millimeter. I think she got it. I hope she did.

Time will fly, as it often does, and prom night will be upon us. I have no doubt that the hair, nails, shoes and dress will be spot on. I hope the young man is a gentleman, that the night is the stuff that teen dreams are made and that, fingers crossed, my daughter will know her beauty is her own, inside and out.

26 for Life

2014-02-28T19:48:00.000-05:00

"You can't be 53. I'm only 27."

"I hear you're considering Accounting."

"Who are you?"

It is a comfortable spot. Elvis, the cat sits near me. The music is playing. I have an abundance of books, and some knitting beckoning me. The teenagers are downstairs, happy to be free for a while on a Friday night before an exciting, but hectic Saturday. Hubby has the big tv going in his kingdom. All is right with the world. But really it's not, as the world has been tilted on its axis for some time, and the end of the tilt is not in sight.

Yesterday, I read an article. Seth Rogen testified before members of Congress regarding Alzheimer's, and dementia. No disease has a barrier stopping at the wealthy or connected, and certainly Alzheimer's, and dementia are not exceptions. One quote stood out, "so few people share their personal stories". (Seth Rogen Testifies, ABC News)

Here are the conversations involving the quotes above:
Last weekend:
Daddy - "Who are you?"
Me - "I'm Evelyn, your daughter."
Daddy - "You're my daughter? How long have I known you?"
Me - "Well, I'm 53 so I would say all 53 of my years."
Daddy - "You can't be 53. I'm only 27."
Me - "OK. I'm 26."
Daddy - "That's better."
Me - "Works for me."

October:
Daddy - " I hear you're thinking of East Carolina."
Me - "Sure, I'm thinking of East Carolina."
Daddy - "I hear you're considering Accounting."
Me - "Yes sir. I bet if I go to East Carolina, major in Accounting, and get a degree, I could make good money, meet the love of my life, have a couple of kids, and a nice house."
Daddy - "That sounds like a good life."
Me - "Yes, Daddy, it does, doesn't it?"
(Since I actually graduated from East Carolina University with an accounting degree in May of 1985, obviously I was in high school here.)

Every family touched by this has stories - some of faith, some of loss, some of blessings, and some of tragedy. We have been blessed that my brothers, and I have pulled together as a team. Some families are not able to work it out. Resources, and faith are strained, and relationships go with them. There simply has to be a way. As for me, I will continue to be whatever age Daddy needs me to be until he forgets me completely, and then I will pray, and cry even harder.

“Those with dementia are still people and they still have stories and they still have character and they are all individuals and they are all unique. And they just need to be interacted with on a human level.”

- Carey Mulligan

It's a Gift - {Eyes Roll}

2014-02-01T07:08:00.002-05:00

It's a gift. Maybe it's one our teenagers feel they could do without, but it's one I freely give - unlike time on video games which is only grudgingly granted.

I can take anything, anything, and turn it into an opportunity to ~~lecture~~, err learn. We're driving down the road, and I point out another driver's flaws (trust me, I point out my own, theirs, and hubby's too - I may want to work on that side seat driving). A song comes on, and I can come up with a way to discuss the lyrics and what they really mean (except "Brown Sugar" by the Rolling Stones - I am NOT explaining to them that I didn't get that until I was in my 30's. I'm already in the stupid zone - they are teenagers.). And of course, you can't turn on the news or pick up a magazine or newspaper without the opportunities provided by Bieber, Cyrus, Kardashian, the Russians, politicians of any stripe...it's a constant.

Methinks I may be overdoing it, but one is a sophomore, and the other one is a junior, and I feel like I'm racing an hourglass set at fast.

So here's an early commencement lecture, and maybe I'll try to relax today, and just enjoy them - which is my advice to me.

Don't stay stuck - I'm talking driving. People stack up in the left lane or in the right lane. Use a signal, move to the left to pass, and move back to the right. There are exceptions - understand them. Come to think of it - it does work on politics, too. Look at each issue individually, decide, and make the appropriate moves. Don't stay stuck, not when driving, or when thinking.

Never follow the maddening crowd. It's not necessary to have the same opinions to have a friendship, and if it is, then that's not a friendship.

Become addicted - to learning, to reading, to listening, to music. If you nurture an addiction to these, then you won't need an addiction to drink, drugs, food, smokes to handle the stress of life. Nothing handles stress better then to sit, and listen to nature, sit, and love a pet, and listen to their appreciation of you, and your time, sit, and listen to God, sit, and listen to the words written in a well-written book, sit and listen to an incredibly well-crafted piece of music. There is a peace, you can find it.

When in doubt, show kindness. Sometimes kindness is an act, and sometimes it's not acting in anger. You'll figure it out.

Never decide someone is beneath you. When you do, you've just placed yourself beneath them. The People of Wal-Mart website isn't funny. It's sad. The homeless are sad. We never know the circumstances of someone else's life. The wealthy person who has it all could have had the most horrific childhood.

Never assume someone is better then you. You are you. Be the best you possible. Never let someone else's opinion of you determine your own opinion of you.

Always remember - you are loved. Oh, and please use your turn-signal.

Hugging Distance

2014-01-25T12:48:00.000-05:00

Letters from colleges are starting to arrive in droves. My daughter is a junior in high school and everyday a new reminder of how little time she has left at home arrives in the form of shiny packages in our mail box. Glossy pamphlets tout what each school has to offer and I see an excitement growing in my daughter’s eyes that I could, quite frankly, do without. It’s not that I dread an empty nest. When she packs up and takes that major step into the academic world, we will still be parents of a child under the age of ten, but I dread my girl leaving non-the-less.

I worry if she will be ready. I worry about the emotional highs and lows she will experience; I worry about boys, grades, distance and the everlasting need to hug her when I want to. Two more well designed packets came in the mail today and I trembled as I laid them on the kitchen counter for her to check out when she came home from school. I know her preference currently, and I shudder at the drive, the climate and hugging distance away. Unlike my husband, I am not a helicopter parent, but as the time nears to push my child from the nest, I catch myself holding my breath and taking in each moment. Even the eye-rolling ones.

All of this has been done before by other mothers, leaning out, letting go and hoping beyond hope they did everything they could to help prepare their child without the manual. Oh sure, there are a gazillion books out there about parenting, and while many are helpful, they are just like life, trial and error. I remember my Mama once saying that “You just do what you have to do in the moment and pray to God you did the right thing.” I know that letting go is the right thing, but no one prepared me for how hard this is going to be.

No, I will not miss hearing the morning out-of-tune serenade of “I AM up.” Nor will I miss the consistent need of a teen/woman/child to always have the last word, but I will miss moments. You know the one’s I’m talking about. The ones that take your very breath away at the amount of love and gratitude you have for being graced to have this very life put in your care. I had an unexpected hospital stay in November of 2013 that caught us all off guard. The recuperation period had both of my children showing their concern with a heck of a lot more attention to me than I was used to getting by them. My daughter walked by to clean a dish in the sink and hugged me on her way. The smell of her hair, the curve of her cheek, the very promise of all she is took me out of myself and found me marveling in the wealth that loving a child is. She looked at me funny, knowing that some moment had passed and then I told her not to worry. I told her I’d be well enough soon and back to riding her butt. She laughed long and hard, and so did I, carrying out the moment and making a memory.

Thinking of that, I was reminded of my stay in the hospital and of the insatiable need to still have my own Mama taking care of me though she is long gone and spring has long since left my step. Once you are a parent, it never ends, and hopefully, the need for a parents love and affection is always wanted, even long after they are gone.

From a different sort of distance, I still long for a mother’s touch, and from a geographic distance, I hope my daughter will still want mine. She will find herself in a world where she is becoming. The excitement of new ideas, her sense of self, all of this will be part of the process of leaving. It’s hard to let go, but it’s oh so exciting watching your child become who they will be.

I had always said my three main goals as a parent were that my children could learn to be content all on their own, be self-sufficient, and not need too much therapy because of my parenting. I know now that I missed one goal. May they always know how much they are loved. A little hug now and then wouldn’t hurt either.

A Kitchen Table and a Hand to Hold.

2014-01-21T15:59:00.001-05:00

My sister-in-law, Sally, passed away suddenly this month and my eldest sister and I flew to Arizona to be with my brother. It was a short trip just shy of three full days, and we packed more into that time than I would have ever thought possible. We honored a lovely wife of 48 years, a mother who had compassion and wit, and who was a “Grandma” to many, not just her own. I watched my nephews mourn, and their children weep. I heard them speak Sally’s praises and laugh while telling stories about her. And I watched my brother.

Every memory I have of my brother is one of a calm and collected dude. (His sons, my nephews, may have seen him differently as a father.) I cannot recall a time that I have ever seen my brother lose it. More than any other male figure in my life, he has been my rock, our own father dying when I was just 18. I watched my brother graciously greet and welcome everyone who came to the services for Sally Kay Alford. My brother was a study in grace and gratitude. My sister Elizabeth and I later talked about that in the hotel room, feet up on pillows, shadows of the big and little sisters that we used to be when I would sit upon her bed and talk so many years before. Elizabeth and I sat in exhausted awe of this man who we called brother.

My brother took us around Phoenix, showing us the sights and allowing us to spend more precious time with our nephews and their loved ones. I met my great-nephews and nieces and found joy when the youngest ran into my arms to hug me. At my brother and Sally’s home, we sat around the kitchen table reminiscing. This was something we always did at home growing up, and we realized the table we were around was our Mother’s. We were only doing what came naturally. In a time of mourning, my brother was making us feel at home. In a time of sorrow, he was making new memories for us. In that time he was honoring his love of so many years with the comfort, caring and sharing that I believe Sally would have given others.

My brother’s chin wobbled only for a few seconds in the kitchen of his home. Wondering how he would handle the coming days. To me, he seemed even more of a rock, big softie that he really is. I don’t want to imagine a future without my husband. It is not habit that I reach for his hand and find it there. It’s a conscious choice to stand with someone you love, even on the awful, icky, if-I-look-at-you-I’ll-scream, days. I couldn’t fathom how my brother was coping, and in a moment of sharing, I saw a strength that took my breath away. What I saw was a kind of knowing that although the hand is no longer across the table from you, you still hold fast.

Most of the time we were at my brother’s, we spent in laughter. I sat in the back seat of the car while my brother and sister sat in the front, driving to dinner with the family. There was a comfort in that, a memory of days spent in the back seat listening to my older siblings and knowing that somehow, no matter how the road twists and turns, we’ll be alright.

I Say Tomato…

2013-12-17T06:48:00.000-05:00

This week’s blog is way overdue because I got sidetracked. Three separate and unkind incidents wound up being related and I found myself in a state of pre-Christmas shock. Christmas is a season that fills me with joy. I love the decorations, the gift-giving, and most importantly for me, the true reason behind this most loving of celebrations. I was taught from a young age to put God first, honor my Mother and Father and treat others the way I want to be treated. This brings me to my current soap-box stand.

I was checking out in a large chain store and the cashier wished me “Happy Holidays.” The lady behind me snorted and said clearly so six people deep could hear her, “It’s not Happy Holidays, it’s Merry Christmas.” The cashier was a 20-something full-time student (hey, it’s a small town and we tend to know everyone) working her way through college and it broke my heart to see her face turn pink with embarrassment. I turned to her and said clearly so six people deep could hear me, “Thank you so much for wishing me happiness.” The lady behind me was not amused, but given the situation, I treated her the way I hoped someone would treat me and smiled and wished her a Merry Christmas.

Later that same blooming evening, Facebook smacked me right in the kisser with one of those e-cards on my news feed. “I won’t wish you Happy Holidays, but I’ll Merry Christmas the crap out of you!” Really? Someone is so obsessed with something being only one way that they’ll put the word crap in the same sentence with Merry Christmas? Pardon me, but whoever thought of that needs an enema for the brain. Crude, I know, but again; really?

The next morning I turned on the radio in my car and found that someone had been messing with my dial. Talk radio was on at its most opinionated. Rush was hollering how the “Left” in our society was trying to rid the world of Merry Christmas. I happen to work at Social Services. I enjoy my job and I have a live and let live mentality. In the eyes of Mr. I-know-everything-and-you-don’t, that would put me so far to the left you couldn’t get directions. Funny, but I believe in Merry Christmas, Happy Easter and the Pledge of Allegiance.

My point? How can someone wishing me Happy Holidays possibly take away from what I believe? How does it threaten me? If someone says “Have a blessed day,” am I not the recipient of a kindness regardless of my beliefs? I don’t get it. In a Season that is all too short, glossed over with commercialism, Black Friday, and Cyber Monday, what has become of us that we can’t recognize kindness? Here’s what I wish. That if you celebrate Christmas, then may God bless us everyone, if you don’t, may your Season be full and may you be surrounded by love. Peace begins with each and every one of us, and it is my wish for all.

Thank you, stepping off of my soap box, and going to the Christmas Concert with my family, amen.

25 Senseless Sick-abilities

2013-11-22T16:59:00.001-05:00

I can’t honestly remember the last time I lost an entire week to being sick. I’ve missed work, missed my children, and missed out on all my household duties…gosh darn. I found that being lost in a fog of fever and rib crushing coughing brings with it some of nuttiest diversions/delusions.

1. Listening to your children argue while consumed with fever is like watching a Tim Burton movie, it’s all dark and dismal but sounds better if you delude yourself that Johnny Depp is there.

2. I can fall asleep during all the episodes of Law and Order, wake up five minutes before the end and still tell you the story line.

3. I have slept through 20 or more episodes of Law and Order this week.

4. Daytime TV scares me.

5. Dr. Phil has apparently been on the Rodeo Circuit. He keeps saying this isn’t his first Rodeo.

6. Dr. Phil scares me. How’s that working for ya?

7. I don’t understand The View. I can’t hear what the “view” is; they all talk over each other.

8. Cable rules.

9. Sense and Sensibility still makes sense when sick.

10. Emma Thompson is my hero.

11. One should never watch soppy-period-love stories, and cry when they can’t breathe in the first place. But OH! Willoughby! You know what I’m talking about.

12. I am losing weight.

13. I will gain it all back as soon as I am well.

14. I want to keep losing weight but I want to be well.

15. Reading Stephen King cured my fever. I broke out in a major sweat.

16. You discover that your body can do more than one thing at a time when you have violent coughing spasms.

17. I scared my family while coughing.

18. Watching Comedy Central is great, until you laugh, which leads to coughing, which scares the family.

19. Showers are seriously underrated.

20. Dexter and I have become close friends.

21. NetFlix is dangerous.

22. The Walking Dead is suddenly so cliché. I have a fever right?

23. The couch looks pretty good as a place to spend days on end.

24. We may need to burn the couch.

25. "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

These sick abilities are truly senseless!

Mea Culpa Motherhood

2013-11-14T22:46:00.000-05:00

When a woman makes negative comments about the big “M” known as Motherhood, there are those who act as if a major sin has been committed. There is nothing, NOTHING, more challenging, exhausting, frustrating and sleep deprived as being a parent. You don’t get breaks, you don’t get vacations, you give of yourself in ways you never thought possible, and the thanks you get is like a drop of water in the middle of a thirty day march in the desert. Not enough to relieve the thirst, but delicious just the same.

I was taking a day off from work to take care of my six-year-old son who had come down with his second ear infection of the season (How on earth is this a day off from work?), and The Talk was on TV. It’s one of those women-gathered-around-the-table-talking-about-women-related- subjects, shows. A viewer sounded off on motherhood and some of its downfalls. The audience gasped. I was thinking “you’re preaching to the choir sista,” but according to the audience response, I must have been in the minority

It cracks me up that every time a woman complains about parenting, the battle cry of “Enjoy your children, it goes by so fast,” or “But the rewards are well worth the work,” rears its off key warble. Complaining does not mean I would trade one second of life with my children for something else, it means that I have a need to vent, and dismissing that need as if it were trivial negates just how challenging being a Mom can be. A Fortune 500 CEO can vent and complain about the downside of a company, and no one blinks an eye, but let a woman complain about the loss of interesting conversation because she’s too busy changing diapers or burping babies, and the judging begins.

Our second child came a full nine years after our first. We were truly under the delusion that we were a complete size as a family. The changes that came prior to and upon our son’s arrival made my head spin. I had to trade in the VW Bug I always wanted and was enjoying, for the big honking mini-van. I love my son, but I still miss my Bug. I left a job that I enjoyed to be home with a newborn. I gave up traveling with fellow musicians, learning and sharing our craft, to change diapers and sing lullabies. No guitar or piano could ever hug me or smile at me and send me to the moon the way my daughter and son do, but I still miss crafting a melody with those who understand the intricacies of note upon note. The choices I made were mine to make, but even the right choices can be hard.

My husband and I attended a long anticipated wedding when our son was two. Shortly after eating a splendorous buffet, but well before the festivities truly began at the reception, our baby-sitter called. My then 11 year-old- daughter was distraught beyond belief at how her baby brother was still crying for Mama and Daddy. My son was a sobbing, heart-broken mess, and the baby-sitter was stressed to the point of hysteria. We did what we had to do and left the wedding. My husband was put out beyond all measure. He complained about missing a good time and how he couldn’t believe we had to leave to take care of the children. Understand that my husband is the biggest of teddy bears. There is nothing this man would not do for his children, but this was the first time he ever had to give up his plans to attend to his children. It’s not the T-Ball, Band, Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, planned activities that knock the air out of you, it’s the unexpected that can throw you off kilter, and it hit my husband smack in the kisser. Welcome to my world, I thought, but didn’t say. He was disappointed enough without me showing my, uh, hind end.

It’s hard being a Mom. Go ahead, say it. There is no mea culpa in venting. There is nothing wrong with stating your case. Not if it’s fact. We’re allowed to vent, really. In the mean-time, I need to go pick up my daughter from band, instead of planning the next blog. Life goes on, we vent, we juggle, we give to others as we give of ourselves. I am the CEO of my children’s well-being and I love them, no matter what I’ve given up for them. Like any company, sometimes mine doesn’t go the way I planned and I'm allowed to complain about it.