Deep South Moms

Matters of Life and Death

2010-02-07T03:54:00-08:00

I lost someone dear to me last week and, as these things do, it has put me in a reflective mood. The number of people who flooded my uncle’s hospital room, to say last words, to support his wife and daughters, was phenomenal. The hospital staff moved him to a larger room and gave us the one next door as well to handle all the visitors and still they spilled out into the hall. He was in an unresponsive state for the last two days but the people kept coming, often bringing food and drinks for the family so that they would not have to leave his side.

These people all had busy lives I’m sure. Like the rest of us, they had jobs, houses that needed cleaning, meals that needed cooking, and kids that needing schlepping to this or that activity. They had not planned their week to include hours at the hospital, nor had I, but love for this man drew us there. The suddenness of it had taken us all by surprise. He was fine on Sunday. Went to church twice and out to eat in between. He had gone to the grocery store on Monday. On Wednesday he was in a coma and on Friday he passed away quietly, without drama or fanfare.

The day came for visitation at the funeral home. As is customary, two hours were set aside for family and friends to pay their respects. Turns out they needed five. When I arrived, the line was so long I couldn’t even see the end of it. People were coiled along every available hallway standing 3 and 4 wide. I was thankful that, after standing in line for almost 30 minutes, I was recognized as family and taken directly to the viewing room, through a side door, bypassing the rest of the line. But as I left I went back along the line to speak with those I knew, some I hadn’t seen in years. There was no impatience on any face that I saw. People were visiting with one another, talking softly, exchanging hugs and more than once I heard the comment we’ve all said, “It’s a shame we only get together for weddings and funerals”. Life gets in the way. The busy-ness of it. The minutiae.

It often takes something hard, shocking, or painful to bring things into sharper focus. At first, for me at least, the focus was on opportunities missed. Time not taken to visit someone who suddenly is not there to visit anymore. Words not said. Guidance not sought. Then the awareness quickly sets in that other opportunities just like that are still being missed. People who are still here, but for how long? We all assume our lives and the lives of those we love will just go on, until reality delivers a harsh reminder that this is not the case. I rush quickly by that one, stuffing it back. I cannot look at that right now.

The day of my uncle’s funeral dawned gray, cold and wet. It was raw and I felt that seemed somehow appropriate. I came prepared with tissues, for I had loved my uncle and knew that the sight of my grieving aunt and cousins would surely bring my own tears back, though I had cried many over the previous five days. But the service was unexpectedly light. I could almost say cheerful, though that sounds odd I know. It was a service that celebrated a life well lived. The men that spoke of him told of all the ways he had served his family, served his church, his job, his community. The way he touched the lives of countless people, here and overseas as he made frequent mission trips to Nicaragua. He was a simple man. He was a humble man. He was the salt of the earth.

He worked for the same company for 50 years. Nowadays that’s called stagnation, but it used to be called dedication. He was married to my aunt for 50 years as well, and loved her faithfully until the end, just as he vowed to do. The life he lived was a life of quiet purpose. He was one of those rare people that you know you can count on. No question. He sought no recognition for this, it is just who he was.

Coming away from a service like that, one cannot help but examine their own life. What will be said by the people who knew me well? No one speaks ill of the dead at their own funeral I suppose, but I cringe to think that people might have to search their memories to dredge up some long ago act of kindness to offer on my behalf. Or maybe just as bad, that no one will know enough about who I was to say any but the most trite, stock phrases of condolence.

No, maybe it sounds inappropriate, but I want my uncle’s funeral. And by that, I mean I want to live a life like he did. A life that touches others. A life that makes a difference. I’m not saying I want to be mourned but darn it, I want to be missed! In a way, I’ve come to the conclusion that you have to live your life backwards: decide what you want people to say about you, and then live that way. The words I most fervently covet would include: “Faithful, kind, patient, dependable, giving, hardworking, supportive, uncomplaining, humble, loving, selfless…”

At 41 years old, I find I have a lot of work to do to earn the funeral I want to have. I think it’s a worthy goal.

This is an original Deep South Moms post.

Leopards and Boob Jobs and Bears, Oh My!

2010-02-04T02:18:00-08:00

Why does everyone want to be something they are not? My daughter has a bear that is dressed in a leopard costume. And there’s the line in “Best in Show” where a frantic Parker Posey tries to find her dog’s busy bee toy and is appalled when she is presented with a substitute: “No, that's a bear in a, in a bee costume.” What’s with all these cross-dressing stuffed bears? This brings me to Heidi Montag. Her image is plastered all over the tabloids and try as I might, I cannot avert my eyes from FrankenHeidi. I don’t try to hide the fact that I’m celeb-obsessed. However, the main reason I can’t stop chicken-necking at this particular train wreck is that I am truly sickened by what is happening to this girl. And I do mean girl. She is only 23. When I was 23, I didn’t make the wisest decisions, but thankfully they did not have life-long, mostly irreversible consequences.

So Heidi went under the knife and had ten procedures in one day that lasted a total of ten hours. She almost died because they gave her too much Demerol which interfered with her breathing. At 23, this is the second time that she’s undergone plastic surgery. Before, she had a tasteful breast augmentation and subtle nose job. Now she looks like an alien Barbie. In no way does she resemble the person she was before. In addition to another nose job, she now has DDD breasts (but wants bigger), a brow lift, butt enhancement and the list goes on and on.

I am not opposed to plastic surgery if it enhances what you look like. It’s one thing to slightly change your nose or get a face lift when you’re older so that you restore some of your youthful looks. But this is a beautiful young 23-year-old who has basically altered her entire outer identity. The thing that pains me the most is that I suspect a lot of this was spurred on by her “Hills” TV producers. Apparently Heidi kept these procedures a secret and of course, the moment that she tells her mother is all captured on film. Can you imagine your daughter covertly changing her entire appearance and then revealing it to you, all with the cameras rolling? I know that in this sad era of reality TV stunts, this is all par for the course, but when you really think about it, it has a grotesque, Twilight-Zone-like quality to it. It’s pure side-show madness and no one is stopping it.

Heidi claims that she needs to look like she does in order to advance her music career. She sees Grammys, top of the Billboards and Rolling Stones covers in her future. Well, I’d say that maybe being able to sing would be one way to do this, but then again, Heidi’s obviously not asking me for advice. I think we all know what industry requires DDD’s and it’s not one that a Bible-spouting good girl belongs in. When asked about what kind of message she’s sending to young girls, Heidi says something to the effect of “It’s what’s inside that matters.” Huh? Then why do you keep changing your outsides?

I truly hate the message that this is sending to young girls, but then again, when it comes down to it, I believe that it is up to parents to teach their daughters to love themselves for the way they are. To continue this tenuous bear analogy, if you are a bear, you don’t have to change into a leopard or a bee. So far, my daughter has a quiet confidence and seems blissfully aware of societal pressures to act or look a certain way. I hope this continues. In the meantime, someone get that Heidi to a therapist STAT!

An original Deep South Moms Post.

When not poring over celebrity rag mags, Lisa blogs at: The Curious Georges.

Conformity or Rebellion in the Supermarket Aisles?

2010-02-03T02:00:00-08:00

It isn’t enough that moms get pressures from the media, other parents, relatives and random people in the mall (“That baby is cold. Put a coat on him!”). Now, we are being told what to wear to the grocery store as told in an article in Salon. That’s right, folks, a grocery store in Britain has instituted a dress code where "footwear must be worn at all times and no nightwear is permitted." According to one woman who was escorted by a security guard at this store, she was wearing pajama pants with a coat.

I know during my days of early motherhood that I have been known to visit the store in my pajama pants and a coat. And I have certainly gone to our neighborhood market in my slippers. After being up all night with a sick baby with croup, I needed to go to the store to get him some Tylenol. Being that our nearest grocery store is fifteen minutes away, I didn’t have time to get all dolled up after getting two hours of sleep.

I’m sure glad they didn’t install this rule when I was in my twenties and lived in a walk-up apartment in Manhattan. After work, I had an occasional habit of putting on my PJ’s with my long winter trench coat and black snow boots and walking down to the McDonald’s underneath my apartment. If it was a really bad day, I would go next door and get a Krispy Kreme donut for dessert.

I hope that if I did have an emergency and needed to do a grocery run in my pajamas, that I would not be escorted from the store. And what constitutes “appropriate”? Are yoga pants ok? Crocs? Ugg boots that look like slippers? And what about my kids? What if it’s pajama day at school? They have definitely been to the store in their nightclothes. If Halloween costumes are inappropriate to wear to the market in July, we’re guilty of that one too.

This story reminded me of a luncheon that was given for students at a nearby elementary school. The kids wore themed costumes, and the parents were also asked to dress in similar clothing. On her way to work, one of the moms came to the party in her work uniform and was told to leave because she was not wearing the appropriate attire. Aside from wanting to move, this story disturbed me on many levels. First of all, what is wrong with people??? Second, if you want parents to get involved with the school, this is not the way to go about doing it. Third, what message is this sending to our kids? Parents need to support each other, not separate further the division between working and stay-at-home moms.

So, if you see me at the grocery store in a long trench coat and boots, don’t ask me to take my coat off. You never know what might be under there.

This is an original post to Deep South Moms. When she’s not lounging in her pajamas and eating bonbons, Carrie Faith can be found chasing after her very active boys and writing about the truthful side of motherhood (and life) at www.whoiwasbefore.com.

Apron Strings: The Ties That Bind

2010-02-02T11:17:12-08:00

I came across a message board conversation recently that involved aprons. The original poster wanted to know if other women wear aprons in the kitchen. To say I was shocked to read the many positive replies is an understatement. I had no idea that everyone else is wearing an apron! There on that message board thread was the evidence that I have been totally left behind. There were photos, patterns, and links all devoted to aprons. There was even mention of an entire blog devoted to aprons. Who would think?

As an adult, I’ve never thought that much about wearing aprons. When I think apron, I automatically think about Granny. She was a true Southern soul, a gentlewoman in every sense. When company came calling, she would slip on her apron and head to the kitchen. Aprons make me nostalgic.

My Granny had plain aprons made from cotton fabric in patterns, florals, stripes, and plaids. She had lacy aprons and frilly aprons and she had sheer aprons trimmed in bricabrac. She usually had an embroidered hanky in the pocket. I was blessed to receive one of her aprons after her death and I keep it in a box in my closet. It’s sheer brown floral pattern takes me back to her kitchen every time I think about it. I don’t even have to see it!

Granny’s apron also brings me comfort. Years ago, I was struggling with my son’s death. It was the anniversary of his passing and some years are just worse than others, I have learned. I found myself trying to picture him as a 4 year old instead of the baby he was when he left us. I’m sure that is why I dreamed of Granny that night.

In my dream, Granny was sitting in a chair. The room was brightly lit, by her presence, I suppose, and it looked warm and cheerful. I was outside, looking in the window. I could not go in. I did not try, but somehow I knew I could not go in. The window was open and the curtains were billowing about. I could only see the side of Granny’s chair from her chest down. Her face was not visible, but I could hear her laughing. I would know that laugh anywhere! She was holding a child on her lap. I could not see his face, either, but I could hear him talking and I could see his skinny little legs swinging. He was very happy! And he was holding something familiar. It was the corner of Granny’s sheer brown floral apron.

When I think of aprons, I think of a great-great grandmother holding her grandson in Heaven. Aprons are much more than clothing protectors. Aprons hold the memories together in my mind.

This is an original Deep South Moms' Post.

When not writing for Deep South Moms, Lisa can be found telling stories about her crazy happy life at her personal blog, All That and a Box of Rocks.

*Photo by Ana Garza

Nothing to Fear But Lice Themselves

2010-01-31T02:14:00-08:00

My three year old daughter scratched her head yesterday afternoon. I froze. I asked her why. She replied that she was itchy. “No,” I thought. “It can’t be.” I gulped. Not again…

I looked through her hair, and found signs of a flaky scalp. Whew. Then I took her into the bathroom, where the light was a bit better. And that’s when I saw what appeared to be…..lice.

I had become acquainted with the little bugs last April. An outbreak at my daughter’s preschool resulted in her whole class getting sent home early, and their moms scurrying to buy out the stock of the local CVS’s lice removal products.

That was back when the weather was warm. It is anything but warm now. So what were they doing back?

We returned to CVS. I explained to the pharmacist that she might not have lice – but what she had looked a bit like lice. He flinched when I mentioned the word “lice,” as many people do. Often, they start itching at the mere mention of them. He suggested that I treat her as though she had it, just in case.

I spent $25 on the lice rid kit. We went home, after a detour to Starbucks (my daughter insisted. I felt that a chocolate milk was appropriate for someone who was about to be doused with lice shampoo).

Then we began the vicious cycle of shampooing, applying gel and combing. In between, I started to wash her bedding, stuffed animals and clothes. I treated my own hair, too, just in case.

With a heavy heart, I told the director of the preschool that she might have lice. I didn’t want her to be demonized for spreading it; but then, if she did have it, she probably got it from her classmates.

The director clearly had a heavy heart when she heard the news. It meant that she had to check the hundred odd students in the school.
But we dropped her off, then got a call from the school. She was lice free. So were her classmates.

So now I need to wonder why I was so paranoid that I spent hours washing, combing and spraying over a few pieces of dandruff. My experience in April with actual lice was so unpleasant that I will go to great lengths to avoid them.

But I think I need to study up on exactly what they look like…

This is an original Deep South Moms Blog post.

Home School Fantasy

2010-01-29T02:22:00-08:00

Almost as soon as my kids started school this year (daughter in Kindergarten and twin sons in pre-K), I started thinking about home school. Despite my bliss at having mornings to myself, my house actually being clean, and having lunch dates without a playground, I found myself thinking about and researching home school.

There are so many things that draw me to the world of home school.

I think I would love the routine. I would enjoy the exploration I would be able to do along with my children. I would love to take vacations at off peak times and avoid the crowds. I think I would like having them around more. I think that home school offers more opportunity to explore, delve into interesting subjects, and allows them to develop at their own individual pace rather than trying to mold themselves into a ‘normal’ pattern of development.

There are things about home school that frighten me.

What if they don’t listen to me? They seem to be much more obedient when other adults tell them things than when I tell them. I don’t want to be locked in an endless power struggle day after day. When will I ever be able to grocery shop alone again? How will I find time for doctor appointments and running errands? How will I ever keep my house clean? I worry that I won’t have enough ideas to keep them interested. When my daughter tells me something she learns in school, I don’t know if I would have thought to teach it. Obviously there are curriculum helps, but I worry that mine will be the only perspective they will be taught from, and I don’t think that is a good thing. I worry that they will do nothing but fight and argue all day long (let’s face it- we all get along better when we have a little time apart). I don’t look forward to all the work on my part of finding and preparing and teaching them all the things there are to learn. I do enough work as it is!

When my twin sons started struggling in their pre-k class this year, I didn’t hesitate to take them out and keep them home with me. It has been a wonderful decision. They have made amazing progress on learning their letters (except for the letter “E” of course), and we only spend about 20 minutes a day on structured learning. The rest of their day is spent in imaginative play, which is what I believe will benefit them most at age 4. We explore museums, and zoos, aquariums, and the local parks. I love the lifestyle, for the most part. I don’t worry too much about the learning aspect, because it is only pre-k, and I feel pretty qualified to teach them letters and numbers.

I’m not ready at this point to make a decision one way or the other. After all, the perfect solution isn’t really available to me. You see, I want my kids to be home schooled, I just don’t want to be the teacher.

An Original Deep South Moms blog post. Shanna blogs about family life and whatever else pops into her head at 3 Cute Kids.

SV MOMS GROUP BLOGS FOR HAITI

2010-01-29T00:37:00-08:00

Collectively, we have a powerful voice. Our messages and stories of aid, sadness, fear, shock and even hope made its way through the internet and social media tools upon learning about the devastation in Haiti. We want to help and let the Haitians know that they are not alone. In both small and large ways, the blogging community is here, getting the word out and using our united voices and sites to share love, concern and messages of hope.

CLICK HERE TO SEE ARTICLES WRITTEN BY SV MOMS GROUP CONTRIBUTORS ABOUT HAITI ........

The Worst Thing About Parenting Is Other Parents

2010-01-28T02:30:00-08:00

Despite the tantrums, endless diapers, potty training , rotavirus, hand and foot disease, trips to the ER, perpetual sleepless daze, and overall angst and worry that come with parenting, I always say that the worst thing about parenting is other parents.

It starts in the birthing class. "Oneupmomship" starts while the wee one is in the womb. All the chatter about designer organic crib bedding, European strollers, stretch marks (who has them and who doesn't), cup size, doulas, birth plan. Gah! My ears were on fire after six weeks of that class. I couldn't take it anymore. Then again, my husband and I were misfits to begin with in that crowd. I had no pregnancy war stories to tell. I didn't look pregnant from behind. My ankles stayed as such without a cankle in sight. I had experienced no symptoms in any of the trimesters. Pregnancy was easy peasy. The women hated me. It didn't help that in a new parent version of the Newlywed Game we chose "Bad to the Bone" as our baby's theme song. You should have seen the gawks and gasps from the Rockabye Baby crowd. But come on, in that song the baby falls out of a tree! What exactly is comforting about that?

Of course after our son was born we found ourselves surrounded by more parents than non-parents in our social circle. The talks of educational toys, crying it out, co-sleeping, bottle versus breast, blah blah blah continued. Don't parents have anything to talk about other than their kids, I wondered. My husband had an escape from that world. He got to go to work. In an office. With grown ups. I was always the lone mom out at the park because I wanted to talk about the news, cooking, celebrity gossip, Duran Duran, anything but my kids. Look, it's not that I don't love my kids and bust myself gloating and fawning all the time. But I was in Kidville 24/7 and needed a break. Playground time was for mommies too, right? A time to reconnect with women, friends, neighbors. Was it just easier to talk about our children, the lowest common denominator in any group of parents?

I was simply surviving this parental road trip without a map, a textbook, or a compass. It was the first time in my life I had to rely on intuition alone. I did benefit from some (solicited and unsolicited) advice I got on those playdates. I did enjoy hearing about Ella's latest moves and Paxton's recent sleep success. But I wanted more. I craved more. I never connected with the women whose sole identity is tightly coiled around the mantle of motherhood. I can't shake the woman I was before someone called me Mommy. And I'm not sure I want to.

I know this about myself: what I needed then (and now) was a little less momversation.

But this isn't just about the moms. It never is, folks, despite what the shrinks might tell you.

Now that my first grader plays on sports teams, I've encountered a new creature on the parenting beat. The Little League Dad.

I thought those tales from the field were simply lore. I'm here to tell you that it's all true. The cheering becomes jeering. The whooping becomes hissing. Something positive degenerates to something nasty in the time it takes for the ref to call a foul. I'm amazed that grown men find it in them to taunt six year old girls who are dribbling their little hearts out and shooting the ball granny style. Men who sneer at the pink baseball helmets with a hole cut out the back for a ponytail to swing free. Men who revert to being boys instead fathers raising sons.

There are likely as many parenting types as there are Myers Briggs types (I speak ENFJ.). Wouldn't it be a marvel to take on that research? There are of course the Soccer Moms, Helicopter Moms, Free Rangers. But I also see the Braggarts, Spankers, Yellers, Dishrags, Worry Warts, Ivy Leaguers, Junior Leaguers, Judgers, Flakes, Fruit Loops, and Over Achievers. I admittedly see a glimpse of myself in all those monikers. Some are not faces I want to look at in the mirror. Those are the same faces I don't want to look at on the playground, at the PTA meetings, on the tennis court, or in piano lessons either.

Like the corporate world, there are a lot of schmucks we have to contend with. Personalities clash. Philosophies diverge. Egos swell. Name calling ensues. Somehow we all manage to work together, and it's even fun once in a while. Well, except for the one who can't let go of the oneupmomship. That's never fun.

This is an original Deep South Moms blog post.

Ilina opines at her blog Dirt & Noise, where she writes about her silly sons, her motherhood musings, and random rants. She posts a cocktail in the weekly feature 5:00 Fridays and has a grand time doing the recipe taste testing.

Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky by Chris Greenhalgh: A Silicon Valley Moms Group Book Club

2010-01-28T01:00:00-08:00

Love affairs in Paris, culture, style, genius. Typical mom stuff, right? Join us as Silicon Valley Moms Group bloggers talk about the book Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky by Chris Greenhalgh.

Sophia from Moody Mommy ponders Me? Naked?
Christina from Hooey Critic explains that in German it would be called 'Ehebruch'
Sam from Temporarily Me Dot Com thinks about Love. Elsewhere
Lisa from Hannemaniacs' revels in her luxurious life
Melanie from Tales from the Crib discusses faithfulness
Jessica from It's My Life has a little Coco Chanel flashback
Heidi from Coast 2 Coast Mom wonders how Coco Chanel would have done a mom uniform
Leticia from Tech Savvy Mama finds that member-only sale sites feature Coco Chanel and designer duds for less
Kim from I'm Not the Nanny found herself examining family vs career aka SAHM vs working moms
Erica from wellthoughtoutspot wonders what Coco would say about her unfashionable side
Vanessa from Chefdruck Musings Puts Down the Paintbrush to Find the Right Tool for her Creativity
Stacy from Laptop TV Mom discusses Coco Chanel and Tiger Woods
Michelle from Wife and Mommy reveals her special talent
Ana from Finding Bonggamom has a love affair with pearls
Linsey from Me Too You talks about independence and balance

Silicon Valley Moms Blog is hosting the book club discussion this month. Please leave a comment below and join in the discussion.

Past Silicon Valley Moms Group Book Clubs have included:

See Mom Run by Beth Feldman
Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind by Phillip Done
This is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Topper
Do One Nice Thing by Debbie Tenzer
Birth Day by Mark Sloan, M.D.
What Happened to the Girl I Married? by Michael Miller
Testimony by Anita Shreve
Comfort Food by Kate Jacobs
Much to Your Chagrin by Suzanne Guilette
It Started with Pop-Tarts by Lori Hanson
Who By Fire by Diana Spechler
The White Trash Moms Handbook by Michelle Lamar
Writing Motherhood by Lisa Garrigues
The Vaccine Book by Dr. Robert W. Sears
The Other Mother by Gwendolen Gross

Click here to read all about the Silicon Valley Moms Group Book Club.

This is not a paid for post. The publisher of this book did provide free copies to Silicon Valley Moms Group bloggers to use for this book club.

Mother Nature, You Fickle Girl

2010-01-27T02:00:00-08:00

Dressing my children for school in the winter is always a game of chance. Will it be 50 degrees and sunny? 34 with a mixed bag of precipitation? Windy and 60? You never know.

For the most part the 7-year-old has it easy. Metro Davidson County schools here in Nashville enforced Standard School Attire in 2007 when she started kindergarten. I know some parents groused about it, especially parents of teens, but I was all "praise the Lord and pass the khakis and polo shirts." The dress code makes outfit selection easy. Accessorizing, however, is a whole 'notha story. Which pair of knee socks, which sparkly headband? Decisions, decisions.

My 4-year-old, however, is a different story. She has a penchant to dress "creatively" any way and doesn't quite get why she can't wear sundresses to the grocery store in the middle of winter or a Halloween jumper in January.

Over the past two weeks we've had days that were downright warm and our winter coats hung in the closet. This morning it's a chilly 33 degrees outside and my 4-year-old is wearing a very climate appropriate pair of jeans topped with a cozy sweatshirt. But, and here's the real clincher, she's wearing princess socks with pink jelly sandals.

I give up on the argument of "but it's too cold" to wear something. Because tomorrow? It's going to be 50 and sunny and later this week the forecast is calling for snow.

One thing is for sure. Nashville weather is anything but boring. Pack a coat, pack a sweater, and pack your best pink jellies.

An original post to Deep South Moms.

When not Swiffering dog hair or stepping on microscopic Polly Pocket stilettos, Jamie is an editor, writer, and social media coordinator for a small business publishing company in Nashville and mom to two little girls. You can read her personal blog at BlondeMomBlog.com, where she's been pontificating about poop and pinot noir since 2005.