it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: SuperSized Kind of Life

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: SuperSized Kind of Life: A billion years ago, I was the drive-thru girl at a McDonald's on the Evansdale Campus of WVU.  There was a little television so you cou...

SuperSized Kind of Life

A billion years ago, I was the drive-thru girl at a McDonald's on the Evansdale Campus of WVU.  There was a little television so you could see the person or persons in the vehicles. 

I loved being the drive-thru girl.  Loved it.  What I loved the most, was looking at the people placing their orders.  Not going to lie, I loved messing with them.

On those hot, sunny days, when a Mom in a mini van pulled up, as smooth as silk, I would utter these words, "mom, sure seems like a great day for chocolate sundaes." 

"Mom, can we have a sundae, please mom, please?" I kind hear those kids in the background and I loved it. 
 
"We will have five sundaes please."  Supersized!  Bam. 

Loved it.  Mission accomplished.  It wasn't about increasing sales.  It was about kids getting sundaes on hot, summer days.

So easy then.  So simple.  A sundae from the Golden Arches and they were happy. 

Last week, my girl friend told me that her daughter's first friend to marry is now with child.  The fetus still looks like a rice krispie and the reveal party, the baby moon and the "Pushing present" have already been decided. 

"Pushing present?"  What the hell is a "Pushing present?"

"Oh, that is when you get a big piece of jewelry for pushing out the baby."

"What?  ARE YOU FLIPPING KIDDING ME?"

What about your baby?  Isn't that the gift?  A gift from God?  Isn't that enough? 

WTH?

And what if you have a C-section?  Do you not get a pushing present?  Do you get a bigger present because you were cut open like Julius Caesar's mom to get the baby out?  Are you kidding me? 

"It is all the rage."

My present was being able to poop and leave the hospital with my baby.    No jewelry was needed.

Are you kidding me?  A present?  There is a baby at the end of the push, the greatest joy ever and that isn't enough?

I know so many woman that would have done anything to push out a baby, anything.  And now you get a gift?

Monogrammed diaper covers and a themed rooms trump the biggest surprise of your life. 

I don't get it.  When did we get so supersized?

Walker is getting ready to end middle school.  He is not graduating from anything.  He is just going to high school.  Thus, we need a party.  A new outfit.  A party.  A party for leaving middle school.

When and how did we get so wrapped in the event that we have discarded the meaning and the reason?

My eighth grade "graduation" was an assembly, awards passed out, American Legion Award winners presented, and done!  My parents were there, my grandparents as well.  And that was it.  No party, no dinner, nothing.  I am sure I had to go home and fold laundry and  scrub the garage door.  No big deal.  I survived.

My girl friend contacted me about the party.  Of course I am having a party for a bunch of smelly 8th grade boys.  Look, I am proud of their successes. And things to change in high school, I get it.  But why the party? 

Why is EVERYTHING so Supersized?  Over the top proms, parties, bachelor parties and baby reveal and baby showers, when and how?

I was married in our backyard, partied under the stars without any of the glitz.  Eighteen years of marital bliss and we did it all without the Pinterest Parties and destination bachelor parties. 

One of my clients has a set of twins who are both graduating from college.  His gifts, each is getting a condo.  A condo?  Really, a condo?  I got towels.

When my brother and I were little, on Friday nights, only on Friday nights, if we had been good, my dad would bring home Lays Potato Chips, Hellava Good Onion Dip and Coca Cola in bottles.  Even better, we were allowed to eat out of the kitchen and sit at the fireplace hearth.  We would watch Gomer Pyle.  All week, we waited for that all week.  And we were happy. It was a simple reward.  But it worked.

I am sad that females think they need a "pushing present".  I will never forget the first time I felt my baby kick.  And I will never forget how they both seemed to get crazy in the womb at certain times of the day.  My husband did not get that experience.  There is not a gift in the world that could take my breath away like that first kick.  No way. 

I know it is a different time and place, maybe not a better time.  I remember getting my  first "note from Pup D."  He would hand it to me as we went inside from recess.  I would love reading his "notes" to me.  I still have them.  Sometimes he sprayed them with perfume.
Text messages don't smell like your grandma's bath water and the font is from a machine, not from your boyfriend's hand.

Too Supersized.  Everything is way to Supersized except for meanings, they have shrunk. It isn't the sex of the baby that matters, it is the person they become.  It isn't the number of carats in the ring, it is the commitment. 

We have all heard the expression, "Good things come in small packages."  I would like to believe that folks still buy into this verse.
I would rather watch my baby sleep than gaze at earrings. 


Tonight on the way home, I asked Addie and her friend if they wanted to stop at the Fuzzy Peach for yogurt.  I had a coupon.

"No thanks, we had a big day.  We are good.  Thanks though mom but we are good." 

That is what you call Supersized.

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Clogged Blog

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Clogged Blog: I crawled the bleachers in the gymnasium, found a seat and sat down. Sighed.  Made it in time.  The Cheer Competition hadn't started y...

The Mall

Obviously, things have changed a bit from when I was a teenager.

Just a bit.

I was reminded tonight that really, really, things haven't changed all that much, it is just the way we go about it.

When I was a teenager, my friends Joan and Barb and Joan's sister, finally graduated to the biggest privilege of all, taking the bus to the Monroeville Mall.  The Mall.  The bus.  Alone, without parental control.  Shopping.  Teenage shopping.  Alone.  Awesomeness.

We would save our money all summer for this trip.  I can remember buying an outfit for the Catholic Church Carnival (painter's pants and earth shoes) along with the Back to School outfits.  We waited all summer for this bus trip.

We got the bus at the bottom of our street, on the Highway.  The label above the bus driver said "Monroeville Mall".  Translation, Paradise.

We rode the bus, $1.35 each way.  We would spend all of our money except for the $1.35 that would get us home.  This bus ride was over an hour, and an hour of diversity.  Our eyes were wide open,  feet tired and wallets empty.

We shopped at Ormond's, Foxmore Casuals, GAP,  Black gabardine trousers with blouses with abstract designs.  Earth Shoes.  Blouses with big bows in the front.  Anything that was Mauve.  Levis' 501s from the GAP.  Long cardigan sweaters.  Long sleeved blouses with V neck sweaters, the layered look.  Fashion. 

We shopped. We ran hangers over those racks.  We hid clothes in stores, we went to every store, made sure we were getting the biggest bang for the buck.  And then we made our purchases.

We had babysat, mowed grass, baby sat dogs and washed cars.  We had cash. 

And we would treat ourselves to lunch.  There were very few places in the mall to eat so it wasn't that big of a treat.  No debit cards, no cell phones, no coupons on cell phones, no pictures being transmitted over the world wide web...just girls gaining independence through fashion.  We were fashionistas, purchasing gaberdene black pants and earth shoes at the Monroeville Mall.

This week, my Addie was asked to go with three other girls to the Crabtree Valley Mall for the day.  Two hours away. 

The "preshopping" web shopping has been nonstop.  Complete with comparisons, online coupons, lists in phones, an online scavenger hunt. 

Of course I had a friend say, "don't let her go.  It is a different world."

Yes, it is.  I understand. 

I also understand that the "virgin girlfriend trip to the mall" is a right of passage.  The excitement is over the top. 

I am excited for her.  I want to go.  I want to go and sit on a bench and watch them go from store to store and take Instagram photos, selfies and then eat cheeseburgers.  I want to watch them take the first steps of becoming women. 

Instead I will stay at home and be a mom.  Being there when she returns and watching her show me her purchases will be the most fun.

Two dollars and seventy cents was my admission to fashion and independence.  Truly, some of the best money ever spent. Her ride is free but worth so much more.

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: The Eve before 55

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: The Eve before 55: I don't know how it happened.  I mean, I know how it happened but I cannot believe that it has happened. Tomorrow, I am going to wake ...

The Eve before 55

I don't know how it happened.  I mean, I know how it happened but I cannot believe that it has happened.

Tomorrow, I am going to wake up and be 55 years old.  A speed limit on the highway of life.  And not a slow speed. 

Seriously, how did it happen?

I remember sitting on the floor in the Delmont Presbyterian Church playing "Upset the Fruit Basket" in kindergarten. 

I remember every single grade, outfits I had, the smell of the room and the teacher.  I remember the sounds the radiators made when they turned on, Keith R. throwing up and the janitor sprinkling sawdust on it in the cloak room.  I can remember in fourth grade when Miss Mercer wheeled in the television, during school and we watched the walk on the moon. 

I can remember Bobby Duca playing the harmonica, "Heart of Gold" when Miss Diebler left the room.  Yesterday, I swear it was yesterday.

I can remember my Snoopy curler holder and how my bedroom window frosted up during the winter.  I can remember looking out my bedroom window at the Star on top of the coal hill in White Valley.

I can hear the creaks in my mamaw's floor and stairs in my head.  I can smell her house and hear the fire whistle.

I remember my years in high school, outfits, classes, projects and friends.  I remember the bus rides, the phone calls with friends and the joy riding in cars.

It seems yesterday I landed in Morgantown, WV with a heart full of dreams and unanswered questions.  Four years.  I remember those 1500 days, every single one of them and every jiffing Friday afternoon. 

And then the adult life. I got married, divorced.  Single.  Married.  Kids.  First days of school. T-Ball.  Dance.  Baseball.  Wrestling.  Cub Scouts.  Boy Scouts.  First kisses.  First heartbreaks. 

And somewhere in the midst of all of this, I got to 55.  My body (as my bf reminded me today is in an awkward stage, old) is not a fast as it used to be.  My mind, what was I talking about?  Oh yeah, my mind just cannot wrap my arms around where the time has gone. 

Even if I live to be 110, my life is half over.  Half Over.  WTF!  HALF OVER?

And I am tormented with, "what have I accomplished?"  Disney World was taken, OPRAH beat me to the television show, magazine and weight loss, Bill Gates was smarter and Steve Jobs was way geekier than me.  I haven't changed the world.  I haven't invented anything or been on the cover of Newsweek.  My life has been ordinary. 

And as I age, so many things don't matter so much anymore.  Fingerprints, matching socks, designer handbags (well they still matter, not as much) dream houses and wild vacations.

Instead I like quiet nights, home cooked meals served in homes (hence the names) belly laughs with friends and family. 

 When I reflect on my life, my mom and mamaw, brother and sister-in-law, my wonderful nieces and nephews seem to pop into my memories the most.  And of course, a handful of dear, dear friends.
My husband and my children are the core of all the memories. 

Matching socks cannot make you pee in your pants from laughing.  Of course, it is true, most things make me pee in my pants these days, but so many memories do this for me.

What I have really learned to treasure are moments, not stuff.  I remember the very first time I realized my mom was a person.  We were riding in the car, Carole King was belting out, "I Feel the Earth Move" under my feet, on KDKA, we were on Route 66 coming from Greensburg, going down the hill approaching Delmont.  My mom was belting it out.  Singing.  Her frosted hair was moving, one hand was on the wheel and the other out the window.  She was a young woman at the time (probably 25) and I was 6 I guess and she was singing away.  Yesterday.  Seems yesterday.  My mom was a young girl enjoying her youth with two kids in the car.

Even the family members that are no longer here, seem more present in my life.

And my friends have become more important for many different reasons.  And many of those friends that I do not see very often have become even more important.  They have been there longer. 

But in the midst of this very ordinary life, some extraordinary happened.  I learned to love.  You love your mom and dad.  Your grandma and grandpa and it is grand.  But my mom would always say, "you will never know what it is like until you are married and have your own kids."  Truer words have never been spoken.  I never knew what "true love" was until I married Franklin.  I know people look at us sometimes and wonder. My favorite thing about him was I knew he would grow old with me and we would laugh.  I was correct.

Unconditional love for a child, I think Franklin and I have been the poster couple for this one.  Truly, the love you have for your kids is extraordinary.  And this is an extraordinary wonder to experience. 

Love was and has become the center of my world.  And in the ordinary moments, this love has made things extraordinary.

Nope, no inventions from this girl, or I doubt "breaking news" when I pass.  I can grow a great sunflower, laugh loudly and come up with a few zingers, but in the end maybe everybody's true legacy is that they loved and were loved unconditionally.  This is the greatest of all gifts.

So, the new Chapter of my life starts tomorrow.  I have no idea how long it will last or what it will bring or who will be riding in the car with me, if we will get pulled over or what car we are driving.  I just now I am in there, speeding along, loving.

Oh Christmas Tree

Love Holidays.  Love them.  Love parties or any reason to celebrate. 

Until this year.

Cannot find the Joy.  Not spiritually.  Spiritually, I am ok.

This year, I am down.  Bah Humbug.  Ebeneezer and it is just another day.  So not like me.

My house is decorated like a gift shop, some of the presents are bought and wrapped and I sent the cards before my mom even sent hers. 

But, I have done all of this just going through the motions.  I cannot get excited.  I cannot feel Joy. 

And I am consumed by the Joy I can not feel.  Never have I been a fan of the Faith Hill, "Where are you Christmas?" song.  Until this year.  I am Faith Hill (give or take 60 pounds and 20 year) looking for the magic of Christmas.

I had all of the plans, very personalized gifts, wrapping etc.  Again, I have just been going through the motions.

Or, maybe this year I am just more aware that I am going through the motions.  Maybe I have finally taken my blinders off. 

Franklin just got off the phone with me and asked me "what do you think it is?  This is so unlike you?"

And while I was talking to him, it hit me.

Last year, a girl I have known since kindergarten, posted a picture of a tree.  The infamous ceramic Christmas tree that so many moms made back in the 1960's, that tree.  My mom made one.  And when she left Pittsburgh, she boxed it up and put it in my pile.

I didn't know I had it until this year.  I took it out of the box, washed it and even ordered new lights.  Julie inspired me.

I placed the tree on the dining room table, proudly, for everyone to see. 

And it has haunted me.  I am "Joyless" because I miss old times.
I can picture those ladies in the my Aunt Judy's basement painting and talking. And I wonder what they spoke about?  There wasn't any social media, they actually looked at one another, eye to eye and spoke.  I am sure they shared recipes.  Of course they talked about their kids.  We were all growing up with one another, we were in the same classrooms, Sunday School classes, baseball teams and Brownie Troops.  There were only three channels, all went off at 12:30 am, right after the Star Spangled Banner, so talking about television was limited.  I am sure they did speak about The Edge of Night or Search for Tomorrow and maybe they were appalled by "Love American Style". 

They could only talk about the Russians or China not about ISIS.  Did they talk about the Beatles, Carole King, Rosemary's Baby  or going braless?

And did they talk about Christmas?  Who decided it was a good idea to put feet in the jammies and have the kids wear matching jammies?  Did it start with moms painting ceramic Christmas trees?  Did they discuss what they were cooking on Christmas Eve and what they made for Christmas morning and then again for Christmas Dinner?  Did they write the recipes down for one another?  Did they write several and bring them when they "went to ceramics?"  Is that where my mom found out about Mona's sugar cookie recipe?

Did they discuss the best prices on Lite Brites, Easy Bake Ovens, Kitchen and GI Joes and Barbies?  Hot Wheels and bicycles?  BB guns?

Were they concerned that CLACKERS were cracking up and going in kids eyes? 

Did they decide they were not going to let kids sled ride down the hill this winter without helmets because they were fearful of concussions?

Or, did they just sit in comfortable silence and enjoy one another company?  None of them worked outside the home.  I am sure going to "ceramics" was a big deal.  I can hear my mom now telling Crazy Russell he had to be home in time so she could go.  Her big night out, with chicks, something to do, something to look forward too.  Girls nights with Ceramic Christmas trees.

And now, 48 years later, this tree is on my dining room table.  The girl who got the LITE BRITE is looking at the Ceramic Tree wondering where the time has gone. 

My "Joy" that is missing...times gone by. 

Christmas Eve was either at our house or my Aunt and Uncle's House.  The best day ever, always.  Hours of opening presents.  Youngest to the oldest.  Every now and then they would switch it up.  Oldest to youngest.  It was awesome.  Tons of laughs.  Cookies.  Church. 

All of this JOY followed by the horrendous task of trying to fall asleep.

 Sitting in my mamaw's basement on Christmas Day eating in the basement.  Best meal  ever.  My grandfather's homemade ice cream.  I loved those Christmas meals.  I loved traveling to Greensburg with "one toy, you can take one thing" to show my cousin Jennifer.  It was the best.  The twenty minute car ride seemed like eternity but so worth it.

And then later in life, Emma, Allison and Thomas.  I shopped for them for months.  The drive to Maryland.  OMG, I loved getting there and seeing how they have changed.

And then Robbie
Followed by Walker and Addie. 

Kitchen sets, Little Tykes Cozy Coups, Wiggles Guitars, LEGOS and Stuffed Ponies, Dry Erase Boards for playing school and tons of laughs.

I miss my mom at Christmas.  I miss my Mamaw.  I miss my mother-in-law.  I miss my nieces as little girls despite the fine young women they have turned into.  I miss my nephew letting me pull at his ear lobes. 

And I miss my babies.

My sister-in-law called me last Saturday.  "I just miss the old days."

Couldn't have said it better myself. 

I sat and looked around my house tonight from my chair with this laptop on my knees.  I looked at the ornaments on the tree.  The garland going up the stairs.   I looked at the ceramic tree.  My mom wrote 1967 on the bottom of the base with that sharp tool that had an arrow on the end. 

Little did she know when she wrote "1967" that this tree would be sitting in North Carolina in 2015.  Where had the time gone?

What would my kids miss?  What Christmas memories would they take to their homes in far away states?

Today while I was at worked, I walked into my favorite place at the television station.  The commercial guys, aka, "two headed monster" and we discussed my lack of Christmas spirit.  These two fellows really listened to me.  I told them "screw the turkey, it is going to be 80 degrees, we are grilling steaks" and they said, "go back to your roots. To get your Joy back, you have to go back to Joy.  Get a ham."

So, I am going to get up, get out the recipe box and make Mona's Sugar Cookie Dough and get it in the fridge. 

I am going to get my Joy back.  I am going to appreciate what I have had, even though it is just a joyous memory.  I am blessed to have had those memories.

And, I am going to commit now to making ceramic Christmas trees in 2016 for all those women who have been there for Christmas's before. 

Getting my Joy back.  Going to burst out in song..."Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree".