My Confessional

"So, what's up with your blog?"

I just stared across the room, pretending not to hear.

"Seriously, what's up with your blog?"

There are about 55,555 ways I could have answered the question.

"Fricking Blogspot changed everything.  I cannot get in. I cannot figure out, I hate all this change.  Blogspot was just fine.  I just cannot access it and I don't know what to do."

"Ya, sure.  I am calling bullshit on you.  You could get in if you wanted.  You barely answer my calls.  Do you even leave your house?  You don't do anything socially....and you quit sending cards.  Blame it on the blog if you want but I know better."

Okay, blame it on the "maple syrup Saturday."

About two months ago, maybe 2 and half months ago, I was so excited.  Franklin and I were invited to a party.  Not some big lavish soiree, but a night out.  No kids.  Just out.  Makeup on a Saturday night.  I spent the whole week going over this, "don't make plans for Saturday cause I as in your dad and I have plans"  Over and over and over again I preached this.

Saturday came.  I was giddy.  Out.  I was going out with my husband.  We were going to a party and having fun.

As the day progressed, I could feel it.  Plans kept changing and the stars kept getting further out of whack.  And it happened.  Date night was not happening.

And then "it" happened.  

I was alone, AGAIN, and I was putting something away in the kitchen cabinet when I discovered that an ENTIRE bottle of maple syrup was dumped over and went all through the cabinet.  

It was the second time this has happened to me into my lifetime and honestly, this did not need to happen to anybody twice.

I went crazy.  I mean crazy.  Academy Award winning crazy.  Not in the fetal position, rocking back and forth type of crazy, just crazy.  I couldn't rock back and forth because I would stick to myself courtesy of the maple syrup.  I took on everything.  Everything that had sucked or sucked the air out of me, my family, everything in 2017.  

And as I cleaned for hours, and unstuck the sticky syrup things and obstacles got more clear.  

I had clarity.  I got my composure back.

And as I walked out to take the trash to the trash bag, I stubbed my toe on a cast iron dutch oven.  Not just a stub, but a crack the big toe nail down the middle and stub the big toe.

It wasn't the discomfort in my toe that did me in, it was my heart.  It was the pain in my heart that made me and my rage so raw.  It all surfaced. 

And as I screamed, "I don't want to do this anymore, I just want to kill myself and die", I turned around and saw my precious Walker astounded.

Not only did he see me pick up the cast iron Dutch Oven and hurl it across the garage like an Olympian Track Star, he heard me say those words.  The look on my face said I most likely wasn't kidding.  No, I wasn't suicidal, not really, but I was done with pain.  

Seriously, I think I need shoulder surgery.  I am still hurting.

It was the next morning that I finally figured out my behavior.

The syrup mess was worthy of a meltdown, for sure.

But it wasn't the syrup.  It was my son.

I am a fixer.  If something is broken, I fix it.  Fingerprints, wipe them off.   Weeds, pull them.  

I am constantly looking for a project.  Christmas cards done, next project.  

And here I was, the biggest project of my life, and I could do nothing.  Nothing.  Not one thing.  And there was so much to do.  And I could do nothing.  

I could pray and Hope and this is huge but I could not use my hands or my feet to help someone who could not use theirs. 

And so, I withdrew.  Because I was searching for answers, searching for questions and then answers.  And some more answers.  There were so many things to process.

If I withdrew, I didn't have to talk about something that was so much bigger than me.  And, if I continued to withdraw, the pain wouldn't be present.  The sadness wouldn't come up. 

But as I suffered in silence and solitude, I realized that I did indeed need someone to talk to and talk with.  I just didn't want to be the buzz wreck or negative Nelly in the room.  So I just continued to come undone.  

I don't know what is worse, when people ask you about your child or when they don't acknowledge your child at all.

I understand sometimes people don't ask because they are afraid of the answer  I get it.  

Sometimes, the acknowledgement maybe would have helped me get through the stages.

While my son is still here on earth, he is gone.  I have a new son.  The son who dug the giant hole in the backyard with a series of pulleys to hoist trucks and food into the hole, he's gone.

My new son, I don't know him very well yet.  I may never know him.  

I prayed the button lived through the day on January 1, 2017.  I celebrated life on January 2, 2017.  I realized how naive  we were and how grandiose the injuries were by January 5, 2017.  By January 7, 2017, I knew we were way in over our head and this was way bigger than I could have ever imagined.  But he was alive.  

I won't discuss the button or his current condition any further.  He is alive.  And being his mother has been the greatest joy of my life.

I have told Franklin 300 times, "it" is like wearing an eye patch over your eye...and it is the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of when I fall asleep, and every other second in between.

But, it was "our" thing.  So we kept to ourselves.  And we went through the stages, shock, anger, depression and finally acceptance.  Honestly, acceptance sucks the most.  It is the final stage.  

I never wanted to be the girl who sucks the life out of the room or is depressing to be around.  So, I played the "fake it till you make it" game, hurting all the way. 

A few weeks ago, I was at a baby shower.  The mom-to-be opened up a Christmas ornament and it said 2017.  She said, "2017, the best year of my life".  That's not what I was thinking but I watched her glowing and I was happy for her.  

The other day, Addie and I were in the car and we were talking about a friend of ours who has not been herself for three years.  She's been mean and angry for three years.    Addie looked at me and asked, "so when are you going to quit being sad and get back to being yourself?"

Way to get called out by your 14 year old daughter...answer, "Right now."  And I did.

Maybe I just needed my mini me to call me out to get my act together.  

So why now, why the confessional?

Today, the craziest thing ever happened to me.

I had to zip into the Hobby Lobby to gather items for the "crazy cheer bow"  (a whole other blog topic) exchange and I saw an acquaintance that I haven't seen in two years.  I was shocked when I went down the pipe cleaner aisle and there he was.

"Well look who it is, how are you Stephanie?"  

"Good, and you, I cannot believe you are standing here in the pipe cleaner aisle at Hobby Lobby.  You look great.  Wow, you really look great.  What's new?"

Ok, I expected, "I had onset diabetes and started watching what I was eating and started walking".  Instead, I got, "my wife got sick, needed a transplant...I was a match.  We did the transplant and she died."

Ok, I just stopped and looked at him.  

As I said before, "if you take your troubles to the market, you most likely will leave with your original basket."

"I have no words for your grief.  Thank you for trying to save your wife.  Come here, let me hug you."

I NEVER hug like this.  Not a hugger.  And we hugged.

I stepped back and asked, "what are you doing in the pipe cleaner aisle?  I have to know.?"

He laughed hysterically and said, "I have no idea, when I am having a bad day, I come in here and walk around and hope to get inspired."

"You need a new place to shop."  

We chatted some more and then I had to leave.  We hugged again and I wished him a Merry Christmas.  We started to walk off and he said, "let's have lunch some day when you are down this way, I will buy you lunch but if you need bone marrow, I am out."

I laughed.  I laughed hard.  I understood.  I understood how he felt like the biggest thing ever came his way and he couldn't fix it.  

And he says, "thanks for laughing."  He had no idea how much I got his painful admittance with his touch of humor.  

I got in the car and was blown away.  Blown away.  I was stunned.  His wife was young.  He is young.  Wow.  And now he wandering around the Pipe Cleaner aisle.  I am sure it is safer than throwing a cast iron Dutch Oven across the garage.  I got it.  I cleaned up the syrup but that was all I could clean up.  Everything I could fix, I had fixed.  

On January 6, 2017, a neurosurgeon asked me "what is your time line on this recovery?"

I remember saying "365 days."  

And quickly, I asked, "the button or me?"

He said, "you and it will take all of 365 days.  Your son is very changed and so much more is going to change.  Your family is in for a long year."  

Man, the doctor wasn't kidding.

I prayed for dignity and grace on January 1, 2017. 

I didn't have dignity and grace 100% of the time, but I had the dignity to admit when I didn't have dignity and grace.  My heart and my mind have grown more this year than any other time in my life.  

And now it is Christmas, the Celebration of Love and Life and Hope. 

I think about that mother-to-be from the shower and the Hope  she has for her child and her new family.  I hope she never loses that feeling.  I hope  she never feels the need to  hurl a Dutch Oven across a garage.  I Hope  her children are healthy and stay healthy.  I Hope she never buries her children.

I Hope she never has to give her bone marrow to anyone and if she does, I hope they live.

And mostly, I Hope and Pray that she understands that she cannot fix so many things for that child of hers.  And I hope she learns it very early.  All children are God's children, mom's just take care of them, and pray for them.  

So, Celebrate Love and Life.  

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Irma's Eye

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Irma's Eye: In case you woke up from a 20 year coma today, and your first thought was to read blogs, there is a pretty large lady coming to visit the...

Irma's Eye

In case you woke up from a 20 year coma today, and your first thought was to read blogs, there is a pretty large lady coming to visit the United States, after she wore out her welcome in some lovely islands. 

 

Franklin lost everything in Hurricane Andrew.  Everything.  His brother graciously offered to come down to Florida with a U Haul to help him.  Franklin laughed "bring a trash bag or two.  There is nothing left."  His washer and dryer were in the pool in the back yard.

 

 

As he left Florida, he saw his car blocks away.

 

My husband and Jim Cantore have been having a "bromance" since Tuesday.  Seriously, that Hurricane sounder is about to send me over the edge.

 

Years ago, Franklin and I had to caravan my sister-in-law's new Dodge Mini-Van to Maryland.  I had the two smaller kids because the new mini van had a DVD player.  They chose ICE AGE.  They fell asleep and the movie ended and so the ICE AGE loop played for 2 hours because I didn't want to stop the car and chance waking up a one and two year old on I-95, I didn't know how to work the damn thing and I could not get my right arm back there.  I am a multi-tasker but not a contortionist.

 

Anyway, Franklin paces and paces in between cigarettes and he runs in to get the latest co ordinates.  I cannot take the music.

 

He ticks a bit when he watches the devastation. 

 

I tick when I hear that music from ICE AGE.

 

I get it. 

 

And then today, I saw it, read it, watched it, processed it, shook my head and went back.  Again, I saw it, read it, watched it and processed it again.

 

I don't care who said it, why they said it or what they hoped to gain from it, but let me just point something out to you, Karma is a bit like IRMA.  It's a Bitch.

 

If you are cheering that Trump's "Winter White House" is going to be destroyed or cheering because his home in St. Martin was destroyed or even think this is payback for electing him...let me tell you about a Hurricane.

 

I am a good old fashioned Pennsylvania Girl.  Give me a blizzard.  Bring'em on.  No humidity or mosquitoes.  Everything is white and clean and pretty.  Cardinals look amazing.  You wait for the power to come on, put chili on the stove and go outside and plow.  It is awesome.  Nothing like a snow day. 

 

I am pretty sure if you are one of the "cheering" folks, you have never been through a Hurricane.  Let me tell you a little bit about what you don't know about or see on the news.

 

1.  Just because there is this huge, swirling red dot out in an ocean, with Jim Cantore telling you it is headed your way, you don't just get to sit there and wait.  You have to go to work.  It is days away.  Your kids go to school and after school activities.
 

2.  During your work time, you sneak out, buy water, hotdogs, propane tanks, wipes, zip lock bags, fill prescriptions, make copies of important documents, buy a portable phone charger and scan important documents to somebody you might know who lives in Omaha in case you do lose everything.  Your Omaha friend becomes your voice.
 

3.  You get home and rearrange or clean out your garage and continue to act like all is normal around the kids.  In my house, when you start rearranging the garage, they know what is coming.  You get the generator out, make sure it starts.  You get your boards out, the nails the hammer and the spray paint.  (you spray paint the names of all the storms you go through)
 

4.  Next day, wait in line for gas, get gas in the cars and gas for the generator,  drain your checking account, even if there is only nine dollars in there, you take it.  Irma will most likely steal all the power and cause computer crashes and you will need money.  You bring everything from the outside into the garage and arrange it strategically.  You put up the boards.  You take several pictures of your home boarded up.  Not for social media, but to prove your due diligence if needed for the insurance company.  Then, you go inside your home and video tape and photograph all of your contents.  You open drawers, closets, and film everything you have.
 

5.  During all of this time, you listen for the Hurricane music, go get the laundry that needs to be folded, get back in front of the TV in time and fold and watch the red swirling dot.  And all this time, you just keep thinking, "should I stay or should I go?"  Remember The Clash?  I think they wrote this before a Hurricane. If I go it will be trouble, If I stay it will be double.

 

We have stayed.  We have stayed with newborns.  We have stayed with a house full of people.  A Hurricane is loud.  Not like a train.  Loud.  Then it is quiet when the eye goes by and then loud again.  And you cannot see outside, the house is boarded.  You lose power and you have no idea what time it is.   When you finally go outside, the humidity is so unreal and the mosquitoes can pick you up and carry you.  Snakes have washed up from the water, alligators too.  All you can hear are chainsaws, generators and power washers.  Yes, you need to pressure wash your house.

 

Then, you take down all the boards, let them try, stack them back in the garage, take everything back outside, move the cars and eat bun length hotdogs.  For every meal.

 

What I described is what happens if you stay and escape your Hurricane Visitor. 

 

But Irma is different.  She is like Ursula the Sea Witch.  She is big and strong.  She has already ruined islands, islands.  Do you know how big and strong you have to be to ruin an inland?

 

My mom is now a Florida resident.  She lives in a 55 plus mobile home park.  She was forced to evacuate.  She is a mess.  She is high strung on a normal day.  She had no idea she had to get a hotel room on a middle floor or why.  She was mostly worried about a 93 year old couple from her park.  They don't watch television, they cannot hear or see and they don't use the internet for 93 year old reasons.  Can you imagine how scared this couple might be?

 

 Those who stay, will get to sit there and listen to the  roof being blown off or windows being smashed while the neighbor's mailbox is blown off and crashes into the one window you couldn't reach to board. 

 

There are women that will birth babies in this storm, in their homes and without modern medicine or C-sections. Any ladies out there want to do this and tell me what it is like? 

 

There will be moms alone with their children, scared to death, because their husband's are deployed, fighting for your free speech and there will be first responders who will put strangers ahead of their own family's.

 

Cars will be picked up, fly and land.  Boats will be stacked up like a game of Jenga.  Cranes in will most likely fall and crash into other buildings. 

 

Roofs will fly off homes and buildings as easy as opening up a yogurt container.  Rain will dump in and ruin everything.  When that roof flies off, it flies into something.  Another house, car, boat, tree, whatever it finds. 

 

Waters, raging waters, will start to run through your family room where you were supposed to be opening Christmas presents in December.

 

Blind people will stumble through the wreckage, folks in wheelchairs will grab onto railings and hope they don't give way. Their  catheter bags will fill up and the importance will not be to empty the bags and the urine will go back into the person.   People with cancer who are weak from treatments and sick will have to "suck it up" to get through it.

 

Elderly will fret or say they "have lived long enough." 

 

Trees will fall on homes and go through roofs and into bedrooms and kill people.  Once the tree is there, the home will begin to flood.

 

Bodies will be washed up from graves and bones scattered on the ground.

 

Even the shyest person will be forced to sleep and live in a shelter with 500 others.  On a cot.  No air conditioning with limited food.  And fear of what your new life could be like.

 

Jobs will be lost, four generation businesses lost, marriages ended, people will die, others will be injured, quilts made by your grandmother for your first born, ruined and cars totaled. Bridges will collapse.   Lives will be changed.  In one split second. 

 All at the hands of Mother Nature's lousy friend, Irma.

 

My friend bought their dream in St. Thomas a year ago.  They bought a condo, became best friends again, started the empty- nester life and "the dream is lost."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Enough people. Enough. Don't wish this on anyone. Don't cheer when anyone's home is destroyed. Don't wish flooding, death or injury on anyone.  IRMA didn't vote.  She doesn't care who is president.  She has no feelings.  IRMA will be gone by Tuesday and never have the chance to look and celebrate all the chaos, death, injury, disease, and horror she has caused. 

Remember how everyone went out and put a flag up AFTER 9/11? (which was amazing to me because you should be flying one everyday). Remember how kind and loving everyone was?

Where did that sentiment go? 

 

Yes, I saw folks come together when Harvey hung out in Texas for a few days.  Wonderful.  Humanity.  I saw the faces of humanity. 

 

There will always be looting and always be price hikes because sometimes Mother Nature has PMS and brings out the worst in folks.  IRMA is a female so I am guessing it will happen again.

 

Millions of people are scared tonight and will remain scared for days.  They will hear Irma coming, taking big giant steps and then she will raise her hands for more hell and chaos. 

 

This isn't about an election people.  Never should you hope that something catastrophic happens to anyone, any human being, ever.  Period. 

 

Don't put your hands in the air and cheer for destruction or clap over heartache just because you didn't vote for somebody or don't agree with that person.

 

Instead, after Irma raises her hands, makes the mess and leaves, grab a hand, lend a hand, bandage a hand, squeeze the hand of a friend and say, "glad you made it."

 

Prayers for the people of the  Sunshine State.  All 21 million of you. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Skinny Girl

It could have been me.  It could have been so many of the young girls I know or my nieces or my neighbors.  It could have been one of  the girls from dance, cheerleading, youth group or a friend of Walker's.  It could have been anyone of those young girls.

During Boy Scouts last night, I got the "on your way home stop at Walgreens and get..." text.  So that I did.

I followed a young, skinny and I do mean skinny girl into the Walgreens.  Funny, we both headed the same direction.

We got to the same aisle, she went to the other end.  I heard her texting and it didn't even make me look up.  I swung by for some PowerAde and then to the counter I went.

Strangely, she was already there.  She looked up and said, "Go ahead."  And her voice was shaking.

I put my $12.13 items down and paid.  As I went to retrieve my bag, there it was on the counter, the EPT test.  It was slightly hidden under the bag of Gummi Bears.  It was like she was trying to hide them and so she picked up the off brand of Gummi Bears.

She paid with a bill and lots of change.  She was shaking. 
Skinny.  Very skinny. 

I got into my truck to answer another text from home and when I looked up, she was parked beside me, slumped over the steering wheel sobbing.  Sobbing. 

My heart bled for her.  I wanted to get out of my car and go over there and hug her and tell her it was going to be OK. 

I didn't.  I wanted to but I didn't.  I also wanted to text her mom and tell her to hug her daughter.  But I didn't know her.  I don't know her mom or her story.  I just saw her fear. 

Years ago, a fellow that I worked with and his wife announced they were having a baby.  I asked him if he was excited and he said, "in my younger days I prayed the test was negative, so when it was okay to get a positive test, I didn't know how to respond."

I laughed and have never forgotten what he said.

Franklin says that you should call the EPT test, the "Oh shit" test.  No matter what you want the result to be, it is overwhelming.  You say "Oh shit."  His sticks would fly off the shelves because everyone would remember the name.

I thought about how skinny she was and how it would be incredibly difficult for her to hide a pregnancy.  She would no doubt look like a tree with a knot in it.

Over the past week, my friend had her first grandchild.  She is still somewhere up in the clouds, we haven't seen her yet.  No doubt her smile will arrive minutes before her body does.  My niece (from the first husband) had her third baby after months and months of being sick and my "spiritual leader's popped out a ten pounder with no drugs.  She too looked like a tree with a knot in it.  Nothing but giant smiles in the photos, signs of fear or regret, just enormous smiles. 

When I discovered I was pregnant, on THE 9/11, at 41 years old, I shook my head.  I didn't slump over the wheel of a car and sob, but I did say, "oh shit."  I was overwhelmed.  Aren't we all?  Isn't that why you have a ten month gestation period, just to get ready?  Just to try and process it all?

A few months ago, my sweet friend had her first grandchild.  My friend's daughter posted a few days after delivering, "Meet the best thing I have ever done."  I have thought about that line so many times.  When I was on the fence about birthing a child, my sister-in-law said to me, every woman who can, should.  And there is NEVER a perfect time.  How accurate.

When I got up this morning, like most people, I immediately went and did the "morning pee."  I thought of that skinny, young girl.  While I know nothing more about her, I am pretty sure I know what she wants the results to be and I hope she gets the results she wants.

And if she doesn't, I am sure I speak for any parent.  There are a million, "am I doing the right thing", "oh shit, what do we do now", "I don't know what to do", "is this my payback", "will it ever end", "it could always be worse" and "don't tell your mother" moments. 

But there  are 10 million moments of laughter and pride.  There are moments of "what would I do without him or her?"  And equally as many, "my life would be so dull and boring without my children." I truly think that you really learn about love through children, but that is just me.

So sweet, skinny, young girl, whatever the stick said, your mother was just as scared and overwhelmed as your no doubt are this morning.  And all that fear turned to love. 

Oh shit, I forgot I had biscuits in the oven.

A Funeral, Birthday, Wedding, Babysitting Job, Freshman Orientation, My Total Eclipse of the Heart

The highlight of the week, no doubt, has been the Eclipse.

I did not purchase the glasses.  I looked directly at the sun, just like you were told not to do.  I had to do it.  I had to look.  And then I grabbed the ski goggles.  It was amazing.

Later that evening, on the news, they interviewed folks and asked them if they knew the "true definition of eclipse."  I looked it up myself.  It was the third definition that just kind of got to me.  "the partial or complete interception of the light of one component of a binary star by the other."

Yep, that has been my life lately. 

A few days ago, I attended a funeral.  Not just any funeral but the "slap in the face funeral."  You know the kind.  You sit in the pew and wonder if anyone could ever stand there and say such powerful things about your strength and wisdom and love.  The kind of slap in the face where you listen about how one person can rise above the greatest loss imaginable, continue to give love and commitment, with a fashion flair, and later lose their eye sight.  And still, the message is all about strength and love. 

After the funeral, I attended the luncheon.  As I stood at the high top table, with a cocktail, I was engaged in conversations about the media world.  Real life Mad Men. Beside my was "the Geek", a gentleman I really started my career with so many years ago.  We both were ambitious and a little intense. We both had career goals and dreams.  And now, at this high top, we were talking about retirement.  Retirement.  It was yesterday that we sat at the high top bar at Catellano's after our huge Pig Balloon burst in the Holiday Parade. 

It was yesterday.  We were all single, drove sports cars, fabulous clothes and we were on fire.  The radio industry was hot and we were sizzling. 

I left the next morning, early.  I called my friend to tell her I had seen "the Geek" and she asked, "how did he look?" 
"Old. But he was very nice to me."
"Bet he thought you looked old too."  I have such great friends.

I mentally recapped the weekend, the eulogy, the flowers and how I wished I had one of those lamp chops about now, the new friends I made and the life stories I heard.  And I thought about strength and rising above your biggest loses and fashion.  I wish I was one of those people who could put on a burlap sack and look great.  Burlap is too itchy though. 

So during this drive, I mentally went through the calendar for the next few very busy weeks.  School is starting, haircuts, notebooks, shoes, clothes, the whole list.  Mentally I planned shopping days and my calendar.  Darn, I almost forgot I needed a wedding gift

A wedding gift.  I used to baby sit for this little girl, Chris.  Now her daughter is getting married.  I remember the one day I babysat, we baked a cake and put canned mandarin oranges on it.  Yesterday, remember it like it was yesterday. 

And now my friend's daughter was getting married.  It took me back to the high top table with the "Geek".  This new bride  will write her thank you notes and the next thing she will know, she will be 56 and not know where her life went.

Sunday was Franklin's birthday.  He didn't say anything but it wasn't the best one he ever had.  All of us were working.  Nobody knew when any of us were getting home, I didn't even get a Hallmark, I settled for a Piggly Wiggle card with the cellophane wrapper and the cheese cake assortment.  Not my best birthday presentation.  I asked Franklin if he felt older and he said "no, worn out."  I could relate.  He said "thank you" for everything but I did feel like it was truly "just another day".  Life got in the way of the celebration.  Kind of like a jumbo shrimp.  We wanted our kids to work and earn monies, just not on our birthday's

This morning, Addie had a babysitting job.  Not just any babysitting job.  She was babysitting the girl of "Holwee" her first official babysitter.  She was so excited.  I went out to the car to see the little angels and when I told them that their mamma used to babysit Addie, they said "no, she never was a kid."  Just yesterday, my kids were screaming to have Holwee come and give them chicken nuggets. 

Later in the evening, for the first time in days, both of my kids ended up at the kitchen table together.  One eating dinner, one dessert.  Tomorrow there is a football game.  One playing, one cheering. 
And, it is also freshman orientation. 

"Walker, just afraid I will get lost.  And, I am afraid I won't have friends and the older kids will thing I am cringy."

Ok, gone were the days of "if you feel something in your shoe at recess, don't panic.  It isn't a meteor, it is just mulch.  The chicken sandwiches are the best.  Know your lunch number or the one lunch lady gets really mad.  Slide the tray, slide it.  Keep your cubbie clean and Miss Judy doesn't like it when you walk to the bus, run."

Now we were in the big leagues.

"Addie, mom is right.  They have never found any bones in the building so everybody gets lost but everybody finds their way.  Don't panic.  Don't be loud and all giggly like the other girls.  Be nice.  Just be yourself.  But don't be loud.  Be yourself.  And don't worry about everyone else and don't get in people's business.    And don't cause drama.  Don't be loud."

And there you have it, the ingredients for high school success.  Don't be loud, be yourself, be nice and don't be nosey and don't care what others think".

During the eclipse, I saw my two neighbor friends on their back porch with their glasses on, looking up at the sun.  Would they be here, in 24 years for the next big eclipse?  Would I?  Would Franklin?  Where would we live?  Where would my kids be?  Where did my life go?  My goals?  I wanted to own a radio station?  Now I cannot even listen to commercial radio.  I hadn't lost my baby weight yet and felt like I never accomplished what I thought I would.  The eclipse and the miracle of it and the desire to see another just screwed with my head, not my eyes. 

Twenty four years has zipped by, zipped. It was just yesterday that I was standing there at a high top bar celebrating the beginning of my career.  Now I get AARP in the mail and think about retirement.  My daughter is babysitting her first babysitter's kids, our life was too busy to celebrate a birthday, I am attending the wedding and the Mother of the Bride is a girl I used to babysit and wrapping all of this up has been the eulogy my friend gave his mother. 

Knowing fashion and style is out, would my kids take love and strength from me?  Would I have strength?  Would I have my vision (keeping in mind I look at the sun without protective eye wear during an eclipse) and would I know my children?  Would I know my husband? 

I thought about this tonight folding laundry, towels. 

In walks my daughter, bouncing in from cheer practice.

"How was it?"

"Good.  What's for dinner?  Is that what I smell?  Hey mom, I am not nervous about being a freshman anymore."

"Good, why?"

"Cause it is a short time in my life.  When the next eclipse comes I will be 38.  I won't even remember or care about all this stuff anyway.
Mom, do you think you will be here for the next big one cause you will be like 80?  80 mom, you will be 80!  (I was scowling) Mom, how cool will that be! Do you ever wonder what you will be like when you are 80?"

"YES!  ALL THE TIME!"

"Mom, don't worry about it....just be yourself.  And have fun doing it.  Just have fun mom, don't let stuff dull your shine or dim your light, let your love shine." 

"What if I can't see..?"

"Oh, so now you worry about it."

"What if I don't know you?"

"Well I will know you so what is there to worry about?  You will be wearing your NIKE shorts and a t shirt with those goofy glasses,  laughing.  It will be fun mom."

That was my total eclipse of the heart. 

Fidget Spinners, Highlights and Snipe Hunting

Several weeks ago, I sat patiently in a doctor's office.  Just me, a mom and her two sons (one about 5 and Henry was about 2) and a clock that ticked loudly.  Weird.

Before I proceed, I am not judging child rearing skills.  I too had and still have a son that asked a million questions a day.  My button would ask trillions of questions.  It is exhausting.  I get it. 

"Mom, if Jesus is God's son, who is God's wife and why doesn't he talk about her?"  Just one example of the button's questions. 

"Button, why do you ask so many questions?"

"That is how I learn."  Who can argue this reasoning?  I get it.

The mom sat across from me, yoga pants, messy bun, mascara, lipstick, perky boobs and a sports bra/shirt combo that made her look amazing.  Almond shaped gel nails that were like moving at a rapid base on her keypad.  She never looked up.  Ever.  Never Ever. 

Sitting directly across from me was the five year old.  He had a fidget spinner.  Again, not judging.  Wish I could shake the hand of the person who invented that contraption, sure he own an island now in the South Pacific, but really?  How about a book?  I just sounded like my mother.

Anyway, he played with his fidget spinner and then he looked over at me.   I asked, "is that a fidget spinner?"

Now, normally, a mom, who is in an ear shot of a stranger talking to her child, would look up and over at the adult speaking to her child.

Nothing.

"Yes.  It is made in China.  On an assembly line.  I saw an episode on the history of the assembly line on the Discovery channel.  Did you know that even Hershey kisses are made on an assembly line?"

OMG.  A button.  And he likes chocolate.  He is maybe five.  I was never this smart.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I have seen the assembly line in Hershey and have seen them make the kisses.  I even made my own candy bar at Chocolate World. "

No eye contact from the mother.  Still typing at the speed of light.

"You did?  When?  Did you ride in a car on stand upright and move on moving floor? "

Okay, this kid is way too smart for a five year old.  I just imagine the millions of questions that he during a car ride.

I proceed to tell him where I used to live and how Hershey was part of my business and I went there all the time and yes, the street lights really are shaped like kisses.

He was staring at me, hanging on to every word and little brother Henry stood beside him, shaking his head, like he understood and you could tell he was so eager to say something so he could be a part of the conversation.  Adorable.  Henry was a cutie.

And then I asked the big question, "have you ever seen pretzels being made on an assembly line?"  Omg.  Hit pay dirt.  He saw the same episode.  He must peed himself right there.

"Did you see that episode?  The snack episode on the assembly line?"

Nothing, nothing from the mom.  Nothing.

I have three kids.  So crazy, each had a thing.  The "button" loved duck tape.  Any kind, any color, he loved duck tape.  Walker, hitches.  He could spot a hitch a mile away.  Loved hitches.  Adeline, leashes. 

This fellow was an assembly line dude.

And then my name was called.  I told my two new friends goodbye.  As I walked away, I heard the mom say, "Now sit down and be good or I won't take you  to Twisted Spoon."

I didn't think about her until later that day. I was talking to another mother, who is young enough to be my daughter, and she was asking me for birthday party ideas for her daughter.  Night time party, different, no characters.  I reply, "Snipe Hunting."

Ok, most folks my age, no longer have kids with driving permits or a cabinet filled with acne wash.  Most of  the friends I have, have children who have children. 

Anyway, "Snipe Hunting.  Have a Snipe Hunting Party." 

"What the hell is Snipe Hunting?"

"You never went Snipe Hunting?  Have you ever heard the song I Think I Love You?"  What the hell, who hasn't been snipe hunting.

I said, "You are kidding, right?  You seriously haven't been snipe hunting?"

"No, never.  Never heard of  a Snipe.  What is a snipe?"

I told her I wasn't telling her, instead, we would hunt.

The next morning, I was thinking about the SNIPE Hunt.  I remember the brown paper bags like it was yesterday.  Wooden spoons, pot lids, teams....running wild in the forest.  Never caught one.  Never even saw one.  But it was fun.  Christmas morning without the gifts for adults.  Fun though.

And while I was walking, my thoughts went to the mom in yoga pants in the doctor's office.  Never, ever, ever, did she look up.  Now, her parents could be ill and she was texting a sibling, maybe she was hoping for a kidney for an ailing sibling, hell, maybe her husband was a Russian spy, or maybe she was worn out, scared about her doctor's visit, I don't know, but she never looked up.  Ever.  Whatever was on that keyboard had to be pretty important.

I can remember sitting with my mom in a doctor's office, quietly, eagerly waiting to pick up the Highlights Magazine.  Immediately, we went to the back page.  I loved searching for the objects within the picture.  And we were NEVER allowed to use a pencil or pen because "It didn't belong to us".  And, if someone else ruined it for us and used a pen and circled  them, we were bummed. 

And after the glitz of the HIGHLIGHTS MAGAZINE wore off, we played, "Find the diamond."  Not the stone, the shape.  It is hard to find.  So we looked for it.  My mom entertained us.  Or herded us.  And there wasn't any "be good so you can get frozen yogurt."  It was more like, "do what I expect you to do so I don't break your legs."  My brother was a button and just like the little guy with the fidget spinner, I know he was exhausting.  He is still exhausting.  But we engaged.

My dad would get so excited at the thought of a SNIPE HUNT and he would work hard to make it even more fun.  No Pintrest, Google, IPHONE of Android, just him.  Just searching for diamonds in an office, just simple stuff.  It worked. 

Books, crayons, chalk, squirt guns, hoses, and ice cubes with TANG.
Summer staples.  No electronics.  Just simple fun.

Recently, I reconnected with a childhood friend who lived by my mamaw and Bill.  Our favorite summer days were when my mamaw pulled out old bedspreads with clothespins and we pinned them around trees and made forts.  Hot as hell but awesome.  We loved these forts.  Especially when my mom came out with TANG flavored ice cubes in a napkin.

Walker and his little friend Ethan, came to me years ago to tell me that they didn't think Santa was "real".  They googled it.  Google said it was aerodynamically impossible. 

I don't know what was going on in that young mom's life that day.  None of my business.  I got home today and was greeted by two teenagers.  They got a meal out of me, helped clean up and went to their caves with their phone chargers.  Occasionally, one would come out, use the bathroom and yell something at me.  "I did my chores today".  I wish they would still be in their CARTERS jammies, watching Discovery or Animal Planet with me.  I wish they were fighting to sit in my lap for book time.  I would even read that truck book (the one I have read 1billion times with the steering wheel in the center) if Walker would sit in my lap.  I hope that mom realizes it that by the time she ends her text session, Henry will be driving a car.  It truly goes that quickly. 

And, maybe, maybe that mom was not interested in her children or their safety.  Maybe I looked like a harmless old lady who missed having young kids and she wanted to make my day.

Or maybe she was exhausted from too much SNIPE HUNTING.

Mother's Day...It is coming

I have a memory like an elephant but for some reason, I cannot think of one gift I ever gave my mom for Mother's Day.  Not one.  Funny.
I wonder if she can remember any of the gifts I have ever given her?

I thought about my kids and the gifts they have given me and I get confused with my birthday being in April.  Maybe they did give me the yellow iris plants for Mother's day but I do think the "button" gave me those for my birthday?  I don't remember.

It is funny, don't you think?

Once you become a mom, everything, seriously, everything changes.  I cheer turtles on as they cross the highway or pick them up when I can.  After all, they are some poor mom's kid.

Mother's Day is so different after you become a mom.  It isn't about the gifts they give you...or the breakfast in bed or the new nightgown...it really is about what you take from them and how they remember you.

When I was totally down and out about the "button", a policeman stopped me in my driveway one day to talk.  He informed me that he worked at "summer camp" and knew my son.  I have mentioned this story before.  The policeman told me how the "button" slept during the day and then stayed away at night and would talk to this man "through the door."  I have no idea what that really meant so I just went with it.  Anyway, the policeman told me that "your son has told me about your Christmas garland going up the stairs about 50 times and next year I am stopping by to see it.  He told me that is what he misses most about Christmas."

I never knew anyone cared about the garland.  My new policeman friend died of a sudden heart attack and never got to come see the fake garland with kid's Christmas ornaments and white lights.  Nothing extraordinary or clever, but my son thought it said "Christmas".  Not the gifts, not all the stuff that goes with Christmas, but the simple garland.  This simple garland makes me laugh. It is fake (I hate fake garland but it is the south and sometimes 80 at Christmas) and so ordinary but now it makes me laugh and smile. 

Walker "loves my crockpot".  We all know Walker loves what comes out of the crockpot.  "Mom, when I hear you open the door where your crock pot is, I get happy. "  "I tell all my friends about your crockpot."  I think my crockpot would have been a magical character in Beauty and the Beast if he had written the story.  The magical crockpot would have been a gold server and then turned into a big, massive, bulky hunk with big arms the size of hams and buns like turkeys.  And he will come in the door and see bubbles under the lid of the crockpot and say, "you are the best mom ever, my favorite meal is in there, did you get the penne?"  And he laughs. 

Addie says what she will remember about me is that I "have no ass (cause I swallowed it) and how we would look at one another and laugh.  And we knew why we were laughing.  Even when nobody else was laughing.  And we can hear or see the same thing and crack up "at the same time".  She thinks that is so funny.  I do too. 

What I remember most about my mom growing up was the way she packed my lunch.  It was perfect.  Others envied my lunch.  And she always called us "punkie" short for pumpkin.  And she laughed.  She yelled, a lot, but she laughed with us. 

My mamaw would always shake her head when something seemed absurd to her.  Sometimes she would take her crocked finger (she had one) and would point it in the air to make a point to us kids and we were just mesmerized by the crocked finger.  We didn't listen to her because we were too busy laughing at the crocked finger.   And she let me sleep in her bed or bedroom with her with the Shalimar smelling sheets.  And there were always gumdrops I the second drawer.  Always.  Maybe orange slices instead of gumdrops but same consistency. And when I would open up the drawer to get one she would yell, "get out of there" and I would laugh with a mouthful of orange slices. 

I think if you were to ask any mother who didn't have a mom anymore, they would only want one gift, an afternoon, a car ride, one more chance to say thank you and I love you. One more conversation.  Just one.

I think about moms who have had to bury their kids and what they wouldn't do for a cardinal, a penny or a rainbow on mother's day or better yet, a magic wand that would turn back time.

I think about what my kids have been to me in my heart and the laughter they have provided me.  Adeline went on a rant the other day imitating me and it was really funny, especially the "my nerves are shot moment".  She was hilarious. 

When I look back at my time with them, I never remember the diaper changing or the times they were up all night and or even the night all three of them threw up for hours. 

So when all three are adults, what part of me will they take with them?  Will that be my gift to them?  And what will be my greatest gift from them?  Will it be that they still call me and want me in their lives?  What will it be?  And will they call their friends and complain about me?  Of course they will.  They do that now.  Will the fact that they want me to be a part of their lives when all of us are older be my greatest gift from them?

I had no clue when I became a mom.  None.  I thought I did.  I read books.  I babysat, a lot.  I had this.  I had no idea.  If I did get my mom a gift....it could never be a as grand or great as what she did for me.  I had no idea (and these are in no particular order) that I would buy my kids shoes while I was still wearing maternity underwear (the baby was six), I could go on such little sleep, I could hear their voices and know who was getting sick and with what, that I would drive thru the drive thru and forgo the "homemade meal" and that sometimes ice cream is for dinner, chips and dip too.  I had no idea I could pull puke out of someone's hair, have a spread butt inches from my face to check for tics and I would scan a body for ringworm and treat it without wanting to puke at any of these. 

I didn't know I could make such dazzling di-a-ramas and still get A's and I didn't know how inept I really was in Math.  Never did I know the importance of getting "glitter shoes" when the entire kindergarten class had them (even if they were one size too small) or that Power Rangers underwear really do make you pee in the potty.

I had no idea the importance of this Saturday morning question, "mom do we have to leave the house today?" Some time just  laying on the couch on rainy Saturday watching Dragon Ball Z is how you get promoted to Mother of the Year. 

I always thought if my windows were free of fingerprints and that if the sheets smelled like fields of lavender and my oven had something in it, I was doing it all right.

I didn't know that I would pay for vacations with change or frequent the Coinstar in between paydays.  I had no idea that I would clip coupons or whip out my phone with that 40% Hobby Lobby coupon like a champ.  I had no idea that I could make three meals out of a chicken that was buy one get one. 

I didn't realize how important it would be to not talk on the cellphone when you are car pool mom.  I didn't realize how important it was to be a carpool mom.  I didn't realize that my kids would go behind my back and ask their friends if my pasta was good or did they really like my cake.  When I asked my kids about going behind my back to check up on me they said, "we just wanted you to be at your best
mom."

I never knew that my heart would be broken even more than theirs when they were sad and devastated and there was nothing I could do to ease the pain.  Without a doubt this single thing makes being a mom suck.  But, I never knew I could my big girl panties on and find the positive in those disappointing and devastating moments.  They still really suck though. 

I had no idea that I would learn to love wrestling, Boy Scouts, horseback riding, cheerleading (not all the way there yet) or track.  I had no idea that I would be rejoicing over the way I could get a catchers pants so clean.  And then brag about it.  I had no idea that I could pick up four sweaty football players and the gear and not gag or simply say, "You all stink.  Bad.  Like Ass."  And I had no idea that I could sit the entire day at a dance recital and love every minute of it. I had no idea that most of my best friends would be from these moments. 

There was never a gift that I presented to my mom that would ever mirror what she had done for me or provided for me. 

I wonder what my mom learned being a mom?   I wonder what her mom learned?

And I wonder what my mom thinks about when she thinks about Mamaw.  If my mom could sit one more hour with her mom, what would she ask or say?  What were the gifts they gave one another?


When I think about being 20 years older....and I go to visit my kids...and the spouse's parents are like 53 and I am 76...I want them to still see me as young and fun and hip....totally hilarious because I am not that now....but maybe there is hope.  I want them to say  "remember that time mom...." and we laugh. Laugh hard. 

That is what I want for Mother's Day....I want it in concrete that this will happen and I will be present in mind and body for that moment.  This will be the ultimate Mother's Day forever gift. 

I hope this happens for all of you mom's too.

And if your mom is gone, I hope you look up to the sky and laugh and smile.  She will smile back.

And if you are a member of "the club", I hope you get to look into the sky and yell, "thanks for making me laugh, I hope I made you laugh too."  And your child will send you a message that will make you smile. 

Happy Mother's Day.