I started making wedding plans right after Grant proposed. I didn't know what kind of wedding I wanted, but I did know what I didn't want. My first marriage was all about the dress, the flowers, the cake, anything and everything except the groom. The reality that I forgot that detail slapped me upside my head when my new groom went downstairs to the bar instead of spending our wedding night together. This time, the wedding would be all about the groom and the life we would share starting after the wedding. The first item on my list was location. You would think this would be the easiest choice, but not for us. Option 1 was one of our churches. That one was quickly nixed because my home church was where I married the first time. His church was the one my ex's family attended. Our current church didn't marry divorcees, so onto option 2. Smoky Mountains seemed an obvious choice for a quick and easy wedding until Grant vetoed that because his first honeymoon was there. It was all downhill from there. Vegas, Hawaii, Florida, the list went on and on because we couldn't find a place that one of us hadn't been with some ex (or skank, in Grant's case). I finally surrendered and told Grant I guess we would just have to go to the courthouse. I guess he felt bad for staining most of the United States with memories of his conquests, so he offered to take over the wedding plans. All I had to get was my dress and he would do the rest.
I came home from work the next day and he had made all the plans (For a female it takes a year to plan a wedding. For a male, it takes 3 hours tops.) He said all the arrangements were made and we needed to decide on a date within the month. Yep, within the month. I don't know if he thought I might back out if we waited longer than that or if he got a discount for last minute plans, but nonetheless, we picked a date. We settled on Friday, October 13, 2000. Now, to most people 13 is an unlucky number and Friday 13 is a day for hiding in the house under the covers until Saturday comes, but to us it was the logical choice. In our warped logic, we figured the other days of the year had been unlucky for us, so this time we would tell superstition to kiss it and pick the day that no one else would want to get married. We booked a flight for California and I ran to my friend Terri's house for a dress. Terri's mom had a clothing store for years and her unsold stock was in a room at her house. I figured she would have something that would work (Can you tell, wedding number 2 is soooo much different from wedding number 1). All of the dresses she had were wedding 1 looking and I wasn't about to be like the Real Housewives and pretend this was wedding 1 in virginal white with a long train and all that mess. Luckily, Terri's mom had a beautiful suit that she had worn to a wedding that she offered to give me. It was perfect. Simple, classy, would pack well, my wedding planning was over.
The day before the big day came and we headed to Memphis for our flight. In typical Grant fashion, he was running over an hour behind leaving. Then he realized that he didn't have much cash so he headed for the ATM. I was in a nervous jerk by this time because now we were an hour and a half behind schedule. We turned into the airport on 2 wheels and sprinted like OJ (airport OJ, not freeway chase OJ) through the airport just in time to see our plane heading down the runway. OMG!!!! Seriously??!!!? If I ever needed a sign that this marriage was a mistake, this was it. For the next 5 hours I sat seethingly in silence while Grant looked for every reason in the world to make me forget this bad omen. "Maybe we missed the plane because it's going to crash (He wished 200 people dead just to prove missing the plane wasn't a sign not to marry.)" "Maybe there's a virus on the plane that would've made us so sick we would've been in the hospital instead of on our honeymoon." "Maybe all the luggage will be missing when that plane arrives, so it's a good thing that we get to go on the next one so we will have our wedding clothes." He went on and on until I finally lost it. There we were, yelling, crying, and pleading in the airport food court. Boy, I bet everybody there was wishing they were the happy couple going to get married!
When we finally landed in Reno, Grant and I had made up. I would like to think that I was sure missing our flight wasn't an omen and that this marriage would be the fairy tale I hoped for, but at that moment, I was thinking, at the very least, Grant believed in 'til death do us part' like I did and for better or worse, by golly, we would stick it out no matter what. We drove into California to a beautiful Inn with a view of Lake Tahoe and a chapel for our nuptials. We stayed in a fabulous suite with champagne chilling by the fireplace. In that chapel, we said our vows and this time I knew we both meant every word. Looking at my Husband, I knew that for better or worse, in sickness and health, through the good and the bad (despite Grant's pleading, we did leave out the obey part), he would be by my side every step of the way. Now, 13 years later, my marriage couldn't be better. Standing in that chapel, I never imagined all the trials our relationship would have to endure. Court battles for our children, estrangement from my children for a period of time, the sickness and death of our family members, job changes, infertility, the list is long for reasons we could have called it quits years ago, but instead, with every ordeal, we circled the wagons and met the challenges head-on. Not once have either of us even thought to do anything else.
For all those who think the white dress, bank-breaking, perfect day is the first step toward a perfect marriage, I say this- Until you have your wedding in the one place your fiancee hasn't taken a hoochie, borrow a suit from a little old lady, and miss your flight to your wedding destination, you haven't really even started to test the waters of your future marriage. All those things weren't omens that my marriage was a mistake, but tests to make sure we were able to push through the stuff that didn't matter to get to the stuff that did.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
I Taught the Men at Guantanamo Bay How to Interrogate
My 13th anniversary was this weekend, so, in honor of this monumental occasion, I thought I would share the story of our journey from engagement to altar.
For those of you who haven't known us for our entire lives, Grant and I have known each other since we were 5 and 6 years old. He was even my boyfriend for a minute in middle school and took me to the fair. He claims he kissed me but I only remember holding his hand and staring at his deformed pinkies (they are C-shaped). Somehow we never made it to an official relationship until I ran into him at a dance recital after we both divorced. Anna Claire and my niece were in dance class together. I saw him sitting behind me and my sister-in-law told me he had also recently gotten a divorce. I decided he would be a great "break-in" date since I had been friends with him for decades and I was rusty at dating after almost 13 years with the same guy. When I left the recital, I stopped and spoke to him, caught up for a minute, and told him to call me sometime. I walked out all excited thinking, "Yeah, I still got it!" and went home and waited for the phone to ring….and waited….and waited. Finally, three days later, I'm thinking to myself, "Heck, my kids will be back in a couple of days. Either I call him now (Which, to me, is the equivalent of giving up my Southern Belle card and becoming something worse than a Democrat- I would be a FEMINIST!!!!), or I don't go out for another week. I swallowed my Scarlett O'hara attitude and dialed his number. When he answered the phone, I basically said, "Well, you didn't call, and my kids are coming back, so if you want to go out it's now or never." We set the date for the following night.
While I was getting ready for our date, another guy called and wanted to meet for drinks. I told him I'd meet him at 9:30-10:00 (in case I needed a Plan B). Since I was familiar with Grant's style, preppy and well-groomed, I dressed in a cute sundress and sandals and sat down to wait for a knock at my door….and waited….and waited. 45 minutes later, he arrived at my door in a t-shirt with a gecko on the front, tan painter's pants, and mandals!!! Between his wardrobe choice and punctuality, I was convinced that Plan B was a good call on my part. We went down to his car and I had to move piles of papers out of the seat so I could even get in the car. We went to Vanellis and while we were waiting for a table, I started quizzing him. You see, I decided when I divorced, there was no reason to waste my time dating a guy that wasn't up to my marriage standard. Even if the "it factor" wasn't there, at least the candidate would be worth a try. I didn't want to fall in love with another man that could never be what I wanted from life. I made a list of what I wanted and didn't want, and proceeded to grill him. We rapid fired back and forth, things like 'how long have you had your job?' how often do you attend church?' how many drinks do you consume per week on average?' 'what is the amount of your total debt excluding your home?'- You get the idea.
The quiz continued into the morning. About 3 a.m. we decided to call it a night. We literally talked for 7 hours straight. I walked him to the door and he said good night and walked down the sidewalk. About halfway to his car, he turned around and came back and gave me a quick, simple kiss, and walked away again. I was hooked right then and there. Come to find out, he was late because he went and bought that outfit off a mannequin at Old Navy because his clothes were all preppy and he didn't think that was what people wore 'these days' and he wanted to be 'hip'. We power dated for 4 months. We were together every minute of every day except for bedtime. At bedtime, we were on the phone until 2-3 in the morning and I had to be at work at 7. We were literally living on love because we rarely ate or slept those four months. During the forth month, I started looking at houses to buy. He went into panic mode. In both our minds, we knew where the relationship was headed, but for some reason, I wanted a house. He suggested moving in together, which I quickly vetoed (He was getting free milk from time to time, but at least I was making him come to my barn to get it. ). The next thing I knew, he hopped onto one knee and popped the question. To this day, I have no idea what he said because in my head all I could hear was Charlie Brown's teacher's voice, but I said yes anyway, and the wedding planning began.
For those of you who haven't known us for our entire lives, Grant and I have known each other since we were 5 and 6 years old. He was even my boyfriend for a minute in middle school and took me to the fair. He claims he kissed me but I only remember holding his hand and staring at his deformed pinkies (they are C-shaped). Somehow we never made it to an official relationship until I ran into him at a dance recital after we both divorced. Anna Claire and my niece were in dance class together. I saw him sitting behind me and my sister-in-law told me he had also recently gotten a divorce. I decided he would be a great "break-in" date since I had been friends with him for decades and I was rusty at dating after almost 13 years with the same guy. When I left the recital, I stopped and spoke to him, caught up for a minute, and told him to call me sometime. I walked out all excited thinking, "Yeah, I still got it!" and went home and waited for the phone to ring….and waited….and waited. Finally, three days later, I'm thinking to myself, "Heck, my kids will be back in a couple of days. Either I call him now (Which, to me, is the equivalent of giving up my Southern Belle card and becoming something worse than a Democrat- I would be a FEMINIST!!!!), or I don't go out for another week. I swallowed my Scarlett O'hara attitude and dialed his number. When he answered the phone, I basically said, "Well, you didn't call, and my kids are coming back, so if you want to go out it's now or never." We set the date for the following night.
While I was getting ready for our date, another guy called and wanted to meet for drinks. I told him I'd meet him at 9:30-10:00 (in case I needed a Plan B). Since I was familiar with Grant's style, preppy and well-groomed, I dressed in a cute sundress and sandals and sat down to wait for a knock at my door….and waited….and waited. 45 minutes later, he arrived at my door in a t-shirt with a gecko on the front, tan painter's pants, and mandals!!! Between his wardrobe choice and punctuality, I was convinced that Plan B was a good call on my part. We went down to his car and I had to move piles of papers out of the seat so I could even get in the car. We went to Vanellis and while we were waiting for a table, I started quizzing him. You see, I decided when I divorced, there was no reason to waste my time dating a guy that wasn't up to my marriage standard. Even if the "it factor" wasn't there, at least the candidate would be worth a try. I didn't want to fall in love with another man that could never be what I wanted from life. I made a list of what I wanted and didn't want, and proceeded to grill him. We rapid fired back and forth, things like 'how long have you had your job?' how often do you attend church?' how many drinks do you consume per week on average?' 'what is the amount of your total debt excluding your home?'- You get the idea.
The quiz continued into the morning. About 3 a.m. we decided to call it a night. We literally talked for 7 hours straight. I walked him to the door and he said good night and walked down the sidewalk. About halfway to his car, he turned around and came back and gave me a quick, simple kiss, and walked away again. I was hooked right then and there. Come to find out, he was late because he went and bought that outfit off a mannequin at Old Navy because his clothes were all preppy and he didn't think that was what people wore 'these days' and he wanted to be 'hip'. We power dated for 4 months. We were together every minute of every day except for bedtime. At bedtime, we were on the phone until 2-3 in the morning and I had to be at work at 7. We were literally living on love because we rarely ate or slept those four months. During the forth month, I started looking at houses to buy. He went into panic mode. In both our minds, we knew where the relationship was headed, but for some reason, I wanted a house. He suggested moving in together, which I quickly vetoed (He was getting free milk from time to time, but at least I was making him come to my barn to get it. ). The next thing I knew, he hopped onto one knee and popped the question. To this day, I have no idea what he said because in my head all I could hear was Charlie Brown's teacher's voice, but I said yes anyway, and the wedding planning began.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
It's All Hearts and Flowers Until Lettuce Shows Up On A Taco
I ran through Taco Bell to grab supper the other night. I ordered tacos for Ben with meat and cheese only. I pulled to the window and when the lady handed me the bag, I pulled a taco out and asked her, "Are you sure these are meat and cheese only?" She said they were, so, against my better judgment, I pulled off without opening the wrapper. When Ben opened the bag, lo and behold, the tacos weren't meat and cheese only. Instead of taking them back, he looked up the number and called Taco Bell. He asked to speak to the manager and told him about the taco catastrophe (at least that's what it feels like at my house when an order is wrong) and told him that, rather than making yet another trip to the store, he would be in the following day for a replacement order and gave them his name. The manager replied, "Well, you don't have to be a jackass about it." Ben said, "Way to be professional, Taco Bell Manager, I'm on my way." He and Anna Claire headed out the door to Taco Bell. Being the Mother of the Year and all, I yelled out, "Remember, you're not a minor anymore, so don't go to jail!" (Somehow that's replaced 'Love you, be careful' when my kids go out the door.)
About 30 minutes later, the kids roll back in the driveway. Anna Claire burst through the door laughing hysterically and proceeds to giving me play by play about the Taco Bell BrooHaHa. Here it goes…..
Setting: Taco Bell
Time: Tuesday night
Characters: Ben- the hostile customer
Anna Claire- the amused pot stirrer
Manager- the guy who has to listen to people gripe about lettuce 40 hours a week
As the curtain opens, the audience sees Ben standing at the Taco Bell counter.
Ben: I need to see the manager.
Manager: What can I help you with?
Ben: I'm the guy you just called a Jackass.
Manager: Huh?
Ben: I'm the guy you just called a jackass on the phone.
Manager: Sir, I don't know what you are talking about. I didn't call you a jackass, but if you keep cussing you're going to have to leave.
Ben: I'M going to have to leave? YOU"RE the one that started it by called me a jackass.
Manager: Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about. I haven't talked to you or anybody else and haven't called anyone a jackass.
Ben: Oh, really? Then why is your number on my recent call list? (Ben pulls the phone out of his pocket with a flourish and scrolls through the call log. He then turns the phone around and puts it up to the manager's face.) See that right there? It says 844-xxxx. Now what have you got to say?
Manager: That's the phone number for the OTHER Taco Bell.
Anna Claire: Ben, give me the keys so I can get back in the truck because I don't want anybody to see me in here with you.
Ben: Huh……..My bad. I messed up, Man. I'm sorry for all this, but we're all good if you didn't call me a jackass.
Manager: It's cool. I'll give you some tacos anyway.
Ben goes back to his truck, tells Anna Claire to get out of the floorboard, and leaves the store, new tacos in hand.
End scene.
When I asked Ben if he was happy that he embarrassed his sister and himself, he replied, "Oh, I wasn't embarrassed. I just messed up. Got tacos with meat and cheese only anyway, so it's all good, AND now, thanks to me, you have a great story for your blog."
About 30 minutes later, the kids roll back in the driveway. Anna Claire burst through the door laughing hysterically and proceeds to giving me play by play about the Taco Bell BrooHaHa. Here it goes…..
Setting: Taco Bell
Time: Tuesday night
Characters: Ben- the hostile customer
Anna Claire- the amused pot stirrer
Manager- the guy who has to listen to people gripe about lettuce 40 hours a week
As the curtain opens, the audience sees Ben standing at the Taco Bell counter.
Ben: I need to see the manager.
Manager: What can I help you with?
Ben: I'm the guy you just called a Jackass.
Manager: Huh?
Ben: I'm the guy you just called a jackass on the phone.
Manager: Sir, I don't know what you are talking about. I didn't call you a jackass, but if you keep cussing you're going to have to leave.
Ben: I'M going to have to leave? YOU"RE the one that started it by called me a jackass.
Manager: Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about. I haven't talked to you or anybody else and haven't called anyone a jackass.
Ben: Oh, really? Then why is your number on my recent call list? (Ben pulls the phone out of his pocket with a flourish and scrolls through the call log. He then turns the phone around and puts it up to the manager's face.) See that right there? It says 844-xxxx. Now what have you got to say?
Manager: That's the phone number for the OTHER Taco Bell.
Anna Claire: Ben, give me the keys so I can get back in the truck because I don't want anybody to see me in here with you.
Ben: Huh……..My bad. I messed up, Man. I'm sorry for all this, but we're all good if you didn't call me a jackass.
Manager: It's cool. I'll give you some tacos anyway.
Ben goes back to his truck, tells Anna Claire to get out of the floorboard, and leaves the store, new tacos in hand.
End scene.
When I asked Ben if he was happy that he embarrassed his sister and himself, he replied, "Oh, I wasn't embarrassed. I just messed up. Got tacos with meat and cheese only anyway, so it's all good, AND now, thanks to me, you have a great story for your blog."
Friday, September 6, 2013
I Don't Know Nothin' About Birthin' No Babies, Ms. Lori!
It's been awhile since I posted, but old age is catching up with me and I haven't felt well enough to write. Today I'm going to give it a shot.
Lori, a long time friend, asked me if I was going to tell any stories from back in the day, so in honor of her request, I'll tell you the story of her pregnancy. Lori had an interesting relationship with her 'baby daddy' even before he was her baby daddy. We were in our first year of college when we found out her little bundle of joy was on the way. Let's just say the phrase 'first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Lori with the baby carriage' was in a slightly different order. We quickly planned a simple wedding at my church. I started worrying that the divorce would come before the baby when they got in a fight over him hitting her with rice in the church parking lot. The next 7 months were a blur. I remember lots of crackers, pulling over for Lori to throw up on the side of the road nearly every day, BD coming home with a couple of quarts of beer because Lori told him a 6 pack was too much (gotta watch out for the loopholes), McRib sandwiches, and cigarette withdrawals.
Lori called me one morning and said she had been cramping but didn't think she was in labor. We talked about it and called our mothers. Lori's mom had moved to another state so my mom had become our go-to mom on the pregnancy questions. Mama said it could be labor and it wouldn't hurt to go to the hospital to check and see. Well, Lori didn't want to set off any false alarms by telling her husband or family, so we decided that I would run by and pick her up on my way to school because I had a test that day, I would take the test and she would wait on me, and then we would head on to the hospital. Don't judge. We were the 3 stooges minus 1 and never even knew anybody that had a baby, so this seemed like a great plan to us. I picked her up and we headed to McDonalds for an egg mcmuffin (What? Wouldn't everyone stop for food on the way to have a baby? Nobody said don't eat.) I made it to school and went in to take my test while Lori waited in the car. About an hour later, we headed to the hospital. Lori was still cramping, but the baby hadn't crowned or anything, so I figured we were good. We got to the hospital and got set up on all the monitors and waited to see what was going to happen next.
An hour or so later, they gave us the verdict. Lori was in labor and was going to labor and delivery right then. Well, we didn't expect that. We were an hour from everyone and the baby was on its way. I flew to the phone and started hunting everyone down. My mom and BD showed up right in the middle of the 'good contractions.' Boy, was it on then. BD was telling Lori to hush, quit being a drama queen, you get the idea. She proceeded to dog cuss him. I remember phrases like "It's your d--- fault I'm like this." "I probably did it just because you wanted to, I probably didn't want to that night anyway." "I HATE you! I hate EVERYTHING about you!" Finally, our little bundle of joy arrived and the fun was over. Our first child experience was interesting to say the least. Breast feeding, episiotomies, and colic notwithstanding.
Lori, a long time friend, asked me if I was going to tell any stories from back in the day, so in honor of her request, I'll tell you the story of her pregnancy. Lori had an interesting relationship with her 'baby daddy' even before he was her baby daddy. We were in our first year of college when we found out her little bundle of joy was on the way. Let's just say the phrase 'first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Lori with the baby carriage' was in a slightly different order. We quickly planned a simple wedding at my church. I started worrying that the divorce would come before the baby when they got in a fight over him hitting her with rice in the church parking lot. The next 7 months were a blur. I remember lots of crackers, pulling over for Lori to throw up on the side of the road nearly every day, BD coming home with a couple of quarts of beer because Lori told him a 6 pack was too much (gotta watch out for the loopholes), McRib sandwiches, and cigarette withdrawals.
Lori called me one morning and said she had been cramping but didn't think she was in labor. We talked about it and called our mothers. Lori's mom had moved to another state so my mom had become our go-to mom on the pregnancy questions. Mama said it could be labor and it wouldn't hurt to go to the hospital to check and see. Well, Lori didn't want to set off any false alarms by telling her husband or family, so we decided that I would run by and pick her up on my way to school because I had a test that day, I would take the test and she would wait on me, and then we would head on to the hospital. Don't judge. We were the 3 stooges minus 1 and never even knew anybody that had a baby, so this seemed like a great plan to us. I picked her up and we headed to McDonalds for an egg mcmuffin (What? Wouldn't everyone stop for food on the way to have a baby? Nobody said don't eat.) I made it to school and went in to take my test while Lori waited in the car. About an hour later, we headed to the hospital. Lori was still cramping, but the baby hadn't crowned or anything, so I figured we were good. We got to the hospital and got set up on all the monitors and waited to see what was going to happen next.
An hour or so later, they gave us the verdict. Lori was in labor and was going to labor and delivery right then. Well, we didn't expect that. We were an hour from everyone and the baby was on its way. I flew to the phone and started hunting everyone down. My mom and BD showed up right in the middle of the 'good contractions.' Boy, was it on then. BD was telling Lori to hush, quit being a drama queen, you get the idea. She proceeded to dog cuss him. I remember phrases like "It's your d--- fault I'm like this." "I probably did it just because you wanted to, I probably didn't want to that night anyway." "I HATE you! I hate EVERYTHING about you!" Finally, our little bundle of joy arrived and the fun was over. Our first child experience was interesting to say the least. Breast feeding, episiotomies, and colic notwithstanding.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Not Just Anybody Can Say They Got Their Butt Kicked By An Emu
Just a head's up, the next several blogs will be about my memories of days long ago. I felt like sharing because some stories are too good not to be shared! I will change the names so some folks don't get even more on my case than they already are, but every word of the stories are true. Enjoy!
Daddy decided he wanted to raise emus. He found a guy in Baldwyn that had some to sell. We loaded up in the truck with a horse trailer in tow. Daddy and my ex, "Joe," came up with a plan for loading the emus into the horse trailer. Daddy thought the easiest thing to do was, since Joe was so tall, he should be able to grab the emu by the neck and basically walk the emus into the trailer. They started out across the corral toward the emus. Joe eased around and grabbed an emu around the neck and all hell broke loose. That emu started bucking and kicking, I mean it sounded like somebody dropped a bowling ball down a flight of stairs. Everybody started laughing hysterically- except Joe. Joe was being pummeled by that emu. He turned it loose immediately but that emu was hell bent on revenge. He kicked and bit at him all the way back across that corral. His emu friends even joined in on the brawl. Joe was trying to duck and cover, but they were much quicker and fiercer than we could have ever imagined. By the time Joe made it back over the fence, he looked like he had been in a bar room brawl with a bunch of Hell's Angels. His hair was stuck up in every direction. His shirt was stretched out of shape and torn at the seams. His jeans were filthy and he had red blotches all over his body. His eyes looked wild and he walked around in a daze. As I stood there with tears rolling down my cheeks and my sides splitting open from laughing so hard, Daddy said, "Well, that didn't work. Guess we should have thought that through a little better." Well, then I REALLY lost it. Joe looked at my Daddy like he could kill him and said, "Yeah, before I got my a-- kicked by an emu, you mean?"
Needless to say, we loaded back up in the truck, our empty horse trailer in tow. Joe was bruised from head to toe for more than a week after that. I figure to explain the bruises, he told people he had been in a bad wreck rather than he got his butt handed to him by an emu. Daddy changed his mind about being an emu farmer, but is still mad to this day that we didn't take a video camera with us for emu wrangling. Funniest Videos would have made us rich if we had caught that on tape.
Daddy decided he wanted to raise emus. He found a guy in Baldwyn that had some to sell. We loaded up in the truck with a horse trailer in tow. Daddy and my ex, "Joe," came up with a plan for loading the emus into the horse trailer. Daddy thought the easiest thing to do was, since Joe was so tall, he should be able to grab the emu by the neck and basically walk the emus into the trailer. They started out across the corral toward the emus. Joe eased around and grabbed an emu around the neck and all hell broke loose. That emu started bucking and kicking, I mean it sounded like somebody dropped a bowling ball down a flight of stairs. Everybody started laughing hysterically- except Joe. Joe was being pummeled by that emu. He turned it loose immediately but that emu was hell bent on revenge. He kicked and bit at him all the way back across that corral. His emu friends even joined in on the brawl. Joe was trying to duck and cover, but they were much quicker and fiercer than we could have ever imagined. By the time Joe made it back over the fence, he looked like he had been in a bar room brawl with a bunch of Hell's Angels. His hair was stuck up in every direction. His shirt was stretched out of shape and torn at the seams. His jeans were filthy and he had red blotches all over his body. His eyes looked wild and he walked around in a daze. As I stood there with tears rolling down my cheeks and my sides splitting open from laughing so hard, Daddy said, "Well, that didn't work. Guess we should have thought that through a little better." Well, then I REALLY lost it. Joe looked at my Daddy like he could kill him and said, "Yeah, before I got my a-- kicked by an emu, you mean?"
Needless to say, we loaded back up in the truck, our empty horse trailer in tow. Joe was bruised from head to toe for more than a week after that. I figure to explain the bruises, he told people he had been in a bad wreck rather than he got his butt handed to him by an emu. Daddy changed his mind about being an emu farmer, but is still mad to this day that we didn't take a video camera with us for emu wrangling. Funniest Videos would have made us rich if we had caught that on tape.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
It Wouldn't Feel like Christmas without "Blue Christmas" on the Radio and Blue Lights in the Rearview Mirror
The last week has been all about getting rid of the bad parts of the past and looking forward to great times in the future. But, in purging myself of the past, a lot of blog-worthy stories came to mind.
I divorced 13 years ago after being with my ex for 13 years, and the phrase 'the truth is stranger than fiction' was invented for that marriage. I can laugh about it now, and even laughed about a lot of it then, but, a lot of those 13 years was a hot mess. Holidays were always 'fun' in our dysfunctional family. We had just moved into our new house on December 1, 1998, and went to spend a few days with my mother in Jackson. My daddy called me there and said, "Ya'll need to come home because somebody ran through your house." Now, I'm thinking 'ran through' must mean 'ransacked', so I asked him what was stolen. Daddy said, "No, literally 'ran through.' A drunk guy missed the curve and his car ran through your house. There's a big hole in your house." We pulled into our driveway 4 hours later to see a huge hole covered with plywood and a huge "Santa Stop Here" sign nailed to it (Thanks to my Daddy). Inside, my aunt, uncle, and daddy had cleaned up all the sheet rock and set my tree and gifts back where they were, but I was still shaking sheet rock out of that tree for years after that. Needless to say, Santa got to bring vinyl siding and 2x4s for Christmas that year.
The very next Christmas, we separated the second week in December (I won't go into the gory details of that, but let's just say "Blue Christmas" became my theme song for the next decade or so). I sat there and looked at those stupid stockings for a few hours, got ticked off that three people were living there and four stockings were hanging there, so I took one off and burned it. Long story short, I had to buy a replacement stocking at the day after Christmas sale.
Determined to break the "Blue Christmas" curse, we decided to decorate the tree as a family the following year. We played Christmas music and I made hot chocolate. All was 'Holly Jolly Christmas' until he put the garland on the tree. As he wound those gold balls around the tree, wouldn't you know that he didn't do it correctly. When I say correctly, y'all women know what I mean, every drape the exact length and width, perfect symmetry from top to bottom. Well, about the sixth time I asked him to redo the garland, he grabbed the tree, opened the front door, and threw the tree onto the yard. Oh, Lawd, the kids came unglued. All I remember is my ex yelling and cussing, me laughing hysterically, the kids crying and screaming, "Santa isn't going to come now because Daddy threw out the tree," and "Silent Night" playing on the radio.
Now, I know you think I'm exaggerating, but the next Christmas we were separated again. I went to the Sheriff's Department Christmas party with my daddy and my ex kept the kids for me. Guess what the band played? Yep, "Blue Christmas." That was it for me. I headed to get the kids in my daddy's truck. Now, I suck at driving in general, but driving an unfamiliar vehicle at night after hearing "Blue Christmas" was ROUGH. I was stopped at a road block within spitting distance of the house where my kids were staying. I tried to put the windows down and hit the lock instead. I tried to put the truck in park and hit the wipers instead. I cut off the lights, you name it. By this time the police had one hand on their guns and were searching my truck bed and ordering me out of the car. I finally got the door open and held up my hands and said, "I promise, I have been at the Sheriff's Christmas party all night. I had one drink 3 hours ago so I am not drunk. This is my daddy's truck and I am an awful driver and that's where I'm going (I gave a head nod in that direction because I was afraid at this point if I moved I'd be shot) and if you will just let me get right there, I promise I will not come out and drive ever again." The officer died out laughing and said, "If we did haul you in after that story, the sheriff would fire us anyway, so get on home."
The last Christmas we were married we had gone to the marriage counselor for the gazillionth time in the past decade. We finished our session and when we got home, my ex said, "Well, I think that went pretty well." I replied, "I want a divorce. We can finish out this holiday and then I'm moving out the first of the year." Then we loaded up and went to my daddy's for our family Christmas. We walked in the house, Daddy takes one look at us and said, "What's wrong with y'all? My ex looked right into his eyes and said, "I just found out your daughter is leaving me next week. Merry f---ing Christmas." After a millisecond of silence, in typical Hopkins fashion, everybody in the room fell out laughing.
You would think that after so many Godawful holidays, I would dread bringing out the decorations, but that wouldn't be my style. Instead, I crank up the radio, make hot chocolate, and load the tree with ornaments I've had for 22 years. If it weren't for the bad, I don't think the good would seem so great, so every year, I remember the hot mess holidays and sing "Blue Christmas" with a twinkle in my eye and a smile on my face.
I divorced 13 years ago after being with my ex for 13 years, and the phrase 'the truth is stranger than fiction' was invented for that marriage. I can laugh about it now, and even laughed about a lot of it then, but, a lot of those 13 years was a hot mess. Holidays were always 'fun' in our dysfunctional family. We had just moved into our new house on December 1, 1998, and went to spend a few days with my mother in Jackson. My daddy called me there and said, "Ya'll need to come home because somebody ran through your house." Now, I'm thinking 'ran through' must mean 'ransacked', so I asked him what was stolen. Daddy said, "No, literally 'ran through.' A drunk guy missed the curve and his car ran through your house. There's a big hole in your house." We pulled into our driveway 4 hours later to see a huge hole covered with plywood and a huge "Santa Stop Here" sign nailed to it (Thanks to my Daddy). Inside, my aunt, uncle, and daddy had cleaned up all the sheet rock and set my tree and gifts back where they were, but I was still shaking sheet rock out of that tree for years after that. Needless to say, Santa got to bring vinyl siding and 2x4s for Christmas that year.
The very next Christmas, we separated the second week in December (I won't go into the gory details of that, but let's just say "Blue Christmas" became my theme song for the next decade or so). I sat there and looked at those stupid stockings for a few hours, got ticked off that three people were living there and four stockings were hanging there, so I took one off and burned it. Long story short, I had to buy a replacement stocking at the day after Christmas sale.
Determined to break the "Blue Christmas" curse, we decided to decorate the tree as a family the following year. We played Christmas music and I made hot chocolate. All was 'Holly Jolly Christmas' until he put the garland on the tree. As he wound those gold balls around the tree, wouldn't you know that he didn't do it correctly. When I say correctly, y'all women know what I mean, every drape the exact length and width, perfect symmetry from top to bottom. Well, about the sixth time I asked him to redo the garland, he grabbed the tree, opened the front door, and threw the tree onto the yard. Oh, Lawd, the kids came unglued. All I remember is my ex yelling and cussing, me laughing hysterically, the kids crying and screaming, "Santa isn't going to come now because Daddy threw out the tree," and "Silent Night" playing on the radio.
Now, I know you think I'm exaggerating, but the next Christmas we were separated again. I went to the Sheriff's Department Christmas party with my daddy and my ex kept the kids for me. Guess what the band played? Yep, "Blue Christmas." That was it for me. I headed to get the kids in my daddy's truck. Now, I suck at driving in general, but driving an unfamiliar vehicle at night after hearing "Blue Christmas" was ROUGH. I was stopped at a road block within spitting distance of the house where my kids were staying. I tried to put the windows down and hit the lock instead. I tried to put the truck in park and hit the wipers instead. I cut off the lights, you name it. By this time the police had one hand on their guns and were searching my truck bed and ordering me out of the car. I finally got the door open and held up my hands and said, "I promise, I have been at the Sheriff's Christmas party all night. I had one drink 3 hours ago so I am not drunk. This is my daddy's truck and I am an awful driver and that's where I'm going (I gave a head nod in that direction because I was afraid at this point if I moved I'd be shot) and if you will just let me get right there, I promise I will not come out and drive ever again." The officer died out laughing and said, "If we did haul you in after that story, the sheriff would fire us anyway, so get on home."
The last Christmas we were married we had gone to the marriage counselor for the gazillionth time in the past decade. We finished our session and when we got home, my ex said, "Well, I think that went pretty well." I replied, "I want a divorce. We can finish out this holiday and then I'm moving out the first of the year." Then we loaded up and went to my daddy's for our family Christmas. We walked in the house, Daddy takes one look at us and said, "What's wrong with y'all? My ex looked right into his eyes and said, "I just found out your daughter is leaving me next week. Merry f---ing Christmas." After a millisecond of silence, in typical Hopkins fashion, everybody in the room fell out laughing.
You would think that after so many Godawful holidays, I would dread bringing out the decorations, but that wouldn't be my style. Instead, I crank up the radio, make hot chocolate, and load the tree with ornaments I've had for 22 years. If it weren't for the bad, I don't think the good would seem so great, so every year, I remember the hot mess holidays and sing "Blue Christmas" with a twinkle in my eye and a smile on my face.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
The Devil Can Eat Snow Cones Now Because Hell Froze Over
Sorry I haven't posted in awhile, but when you hear why I temporarily dropped out, I'm sure you will forgive me. My son, Ben, moved home!!!! He called me a little over a week ago and asked if he could move back home. That's it. He had not been in my house in 3 years and with one phone call, life as I knew it was back to normal. He showed up on my doorstep with his bow, his gun, a 90 pound Lab, a couple of pairs of boxers and shorts, 4 shirts and a toothbrush. That's it. No socks, no deodorant, nothing else. I joked with him that he may be naked and stinky but at least he can hunt.
Okay, for the next part, I post a surgeon general warning: People with heart conditions may experience chest pains and shortness of breath if they read the next section. Okay, drum roll please…..My ex-sister-in-law sent me a message on Facebook and said she was glad Ben was here and if we needed anything just ask, and then she dropped a bomb….She typed the words 'Mama wants you to call her'…. Huh? I reread that line. Yep, still said the same thing. Oh, Lawd, I wasn't expecting to EVER speak to her again. This woman was the source of more pain and grief than I could even begin to describe. This woman covered up, funded, and lied to keep my sons with their dad. This woman called DHS and reported me for child abuse. This woman systematically plotted to get me out of my sons' lives and succeeded in doing so with each of them for a period of time that I could never get back. Before I made this call, I needed a for real come to Jesus prayer session.
Ya'll know I don't lie, so believe me, this one was hard for me. I hated this woman more than almost anyone in the world. I have wished bad things on her for years (I had to pray for forgiveness afterwards, but I couldn't help myself.) I honestly didn't know if I could even stand to hear her voice. I spent I don't even know how long praying for God to give me a forgiving heart, an instinct for ulterior motives, and the words I needed to say. I mean, God had to completely inhabit me because the real me wanted to cuss this woman out, wish a thousand plagues on her, and to forbid my sons from ever having anything to do with her so she could feel a fraction of the pain I had felt. I said a quick 'Amen' and dialed the number.
When she answered the phone, the first thing she said was, "Tra, I want to start this conversation by telling you how truly sorry I am for EVERYTHING I EVER did to you and I ask you to please forgive me." Huh? I thought at best she would say, "I know we have never gotten along, but let's put that aside for the sake of the kids and at least be civil to each other." I NEVER could have imagined in a million years that I would EVER hear these words. Before I could stop myself, I said, "Did your cancer come back?" Crass, yes, I couldn't believe I let that fall out of my mouth, but this felt like a deathbed confession. Then she told me this, "No, right now they are thinking it is only scar tissue so they are watching it for signs of growth. I just have been watching my 91 year old mother and she seems so happy, so at peace within herself and her relationship with God. She KNOWS where she is going. Then I look at myself. I don't have that peace and assurance. I have high blood pressure, diabetes, have had and may have breast cancer, and many other things. I know bad things can happen to good people, but I wonder in my case if bad things are happening to me because of all the bad things I've done. That's why I ask for you to please forgive me. I need to have that peace my mother has. I need to know where I'm going."
Now, I wasn't there to see the waters part for Moses. I wasn't there to see Lazarus get up and shake off the death that overtook him. But, folks, I just witnessed a miracle as real as either of those things. And….in the twinkling of an eye….it was over. I told her I appreciated her apology. I think in time I will be able to accept it as well. I told her I would encourage the boys to visit her. We made small talk about alternative medicine and her plans for the future and then she told me she was glad we talked and that she loved me and we hung up. I still am cautious about her, but now I am cautiously optimistic that in time, all will be forgiven. The earthly me still has a splinter of resentment, but the other 99% accepts her apology and forgives her.
Now my house is bursting at the seams again. The kids are having spend the night company almost every night. My grocery bill has doubled. My credit card practically blew up after a shopping spree to get all the things Ben needed to be clean and dressed (naked hunting wasn't going to work). Now I get to fall over clothes, balls, and shoes in another bedroom to kiss my other baby boy goodnight. Now I get to yell, "If ya'll don't quit I'm going to come in there and whip all of y'all," at LEAST every 15 minutes again. Now I have 5 dogs, 6 vehicles, 5 work schedules, and 2 ball schedules, to maneuver through all day every day, not to mention 10 loads of laundry and cold showers for the next couple of years, and life is good. Life is better than good. Life is great. Thank you, Lord, for this crazy, messed up, imperfect life. Thank you for all the laughter and tears. Thank you for the love and the hate. Thank you for teaching me I am stronger, more faithful, and more forgiving than I thought I was. Most of all, thank you for being there for me. Thank you for taking my pain and heartache when I could not bear it anymore. Thank you for giving me peace in my heart in the midst of my world imploding. Thank you for helping me become a better person than I was when my world was perfect and I didn't think I needed you quite so much. I am blessed.
Okay, for the next part, I post a surgeon general warning: People with heart conditions may experience chest pains and shortness of breath if they read the next section. Okay, drum roll please…..My ex-sister-in-law sent me a message on Facebook and said she was glad Ben was here and if we needed anything just ask, and then she dropped a bomb….She typed the words 'Mama wants you to call her'…. Huh? I reread that line. Yep, still said the same thing. Oh, Lawd, I wasn't expecting to EVER speak to her again. This woman was the source of more pain and grief than I could even begin to describe. This woman covered up, funded, and lied to keep my sons with their dad. This woman called DHS and reported me for child abuse. This woman systematically plotted to get me out of my sons' lives and succeeded in doing so with each of them for a period of time that I could never get back. Before I made this call, I needed a for real come to Jesus prayer session.
Ya'll know I don't lie, so believe me, this one was hard for me. I hated this woman more than almost anyone in the world. I have wished bad things on her for years (I had to pray for forgiveness afterwards, but I couldn't help myself.) I honestly didn't know if I could even stand to hear her voice. I spent I don't even know how long praying for God to give me a forgiving heart, an instinct for ulterior motives, and the words I needed to say. I mean, God had to completely inhabit me because the real me wanted to cuss this woman out, wish a thousand plagues on her, and to forbid my sons from ever having anything to do with her so she could feel a fraction of the pain I had felt. I said a quick 'Amen' and dialed the number.
When she answered the phone, the first thing she said was, "Tra, I want to start this conversation by telling you how truly sorry I am for EVERYTHING I EVER did to you and I ask you to please forgive me." Huh? I thought at best she would say, "I know we have never gotten along, but let's put that aside for the sake of the kids and at least be civil to each other." I NEVER could have imagined in a million years that I would EVER hear these words. Before I could stop myself, I said, "Did your cancer come back?" Crass, yes, I couldn't believe I let that fall out of my mouth, but this felt like a deathbed confession. Then she told me this, "No, right now they are thinking it is only scar tissue so they are watching it for signs of growth. I just have been watching my 91 year old mother and she seems so happy, so at peace within herself and her relationship with God. She KNOWS where she is going. Then I look at myself. I don't have that peace and assurance. I have high blood pressure, diabetes, have had and may have breast cancer, and many other things. I know bad things can happen to good people, but I wonder in my case if bad things are happening to me because of all the bad things I've done. That's why I ask for you to please forgive me. I need to have that peace my mother has. I need to know where I'm going."
Now, I wasn't there to see the waters part for Moses. I wasn't there to see Lazarus get up and shake off the death that overtook him. But, folks, I just witnessed a miracle as real as either of those things. And….in the twinkling of an eye….it was over. I told her I appreciated her apology. I think in time I will be able to accept it as well. I told her I would encourage the boys to visit her. We made small talk about alternative medicine and her plans for the future and then she told me she was glad we talked and that she loved me and we hung up. I still am cautious about her, but now I am cautiously optimistic that in time, all will be forgiven. The earthly me still has a splinter of resentment, but the other 99% accepts her apology and forgives her.
Now my house is bursting at the seams again. The kids are having spend the night company almost every night. My grocery bill has doubled. My credit card practically blew up after a shopping spree to get all the things Ben needed to be clean and dressed (naked hunting wasn't going to work). Now I get to fall over clothes, balls, and shoes in another bedroom to kiss my other baby boy goodnight. Now I get to yell, "If ya'll don't quit I'm going to come in there and whip all of y'all," at LEAST every 15 minutes again. Now I have 5 dogs, 6 vehicles, 5 work schedules, and 2 ball schedules, to maneuver through all day every day, not to mention 10 loads of laundry and cold showers for the next couple of years, and life is good. Life is better than good. Life is great. Thank you, Lord, for this crazy, messed up, imperfect life. Thank you for all the laughter and tears. Thank you for the love and the hate. Thank you for teaching me I am stronger, more faithful, and more forgiving than I thought I was. Most of all, thank you for being there for me. Thank you for taking my pain and heartache when I could not bear it anymore. Thank you for giving me peace in my heart in the midst of my world imploding. Thank you for helping me become a better person than I was when my world was perfect and I didn't think I needed you quite so much. I am blessed.
Monday, July 15, 2013
Remembering my Drag Queen Fabulous Family
My Aunt Ruby passed away this weekend. Like my grandmother, Alzheimers took her away from us way too soon. I should be sad, but all I have thought of since I heard the news is that Aunt Ruby and Mamaw are up there painting Heaven red right now. Many of ya'll knew them, so this blog will be nothing new to you, but I owe it to the rest of you to familiarize you with two ladies that were "drag queen fabulous" before DQF was cool.
As early as I can remember, the sisters were very fashion conscience. Every morning started with putting on full-face makeup. Next came the rat comb and that hair spray with the wheat on the can. (I still don't know what makes wheat/hair combo work, but EVERY old lady used it back then.) After beauty came the outfit of the day, and boy was that fun. If it was a stay-at-home day, the ladies wore short shorts with a matching top. Now, I'm not talking old lady short like Bermudas, but Daisy Duke, 1 inch inseam hot pants. The part that makes that stand out wasn't that the shorts were way too short for an old lady, but that they ROCKED those short shorts. I mean, they had some fabulous legs for senior citizens. At least once a week, the sisters loaded up for shopping, and that's when the fashions came out of the closet. If you're thinking stretch pants and flowered shirts, you couldn't be any more wrong. These ladies dolled up in leather pants, metallic shoes and purses, blazers, and a scarf or dickie (dickie- an adult size turtleneck bib worn under a shirt or sweater) to top off the ensemble.
If my cousin, Stephanie, and I were lucky, we got to tag along. The sisters would hit a half off rack like a tornado. Mamaw's favorite was "half of half" clearance. It could be the wrong size, wrong color, or wrong gender for that matter, but she would buy it anyway and find somebody that could wear it. One of the finniest things Mamaw would do is to go to Reeds and buy socks with a little alligator logo on it, go to Fred's and get a knit shirt, sew the gator to the shirt, stick it in the Reeds sack, and try to pass it off as a designer shirt. We caught on when she accidentally put the logo on upside down, but we had to give her an 'A' for ingenuity. Most shopping sprees ended with Stephanie and I hiding in the back seat while our grandmothers ate at Dudie's Diner (The name alone kept us from showing our face inside the diner.).
The sisters and their families spent every holiday together and every one could've been an episode on Jerry Springer. We could always count on several folks to bring a cooler or two of beer and then the fun would begin. My cousin and I would sneak More cigarettes from Aunt Ruby's stash and a beer or two from the cooler and head out to the woods to fake smoke and sip a beer and act like we were soooo cool. By the time we went back in the house, half the family was three sheets to the wind and the other half was mad at that half for being three sheets, and inevitably somebody would leave mad and the rest of us enjoyed the rest of the holiday. At some point, my cousin and I would talk Uncle Ottie (his name is Jerry, but was Ottie all my life) into taking us for fire works. Now the drunks and the non-drinkers didn't know this part, but Stephanie and I didn't really want fireworks, we just wanted Ottie to take us with him so he would let Stephanie drive. I mean, how much cooler could we be? We were 14 and 12 years old and riding around with Stephanie's Dad passed out in the back seat. We were WAY cool! When we got back to the house with the fire works (several hours later), we would all stand out in the road and shoot fireworks. The best part of fireworks was watching the drunk folks catching themselves on fire and being hit by roman candle shrapnel. Nowadays, folks would think my cousin and I were raised in a 'dysfunctional' family, but to us, it was more of a 'dis-fun- shun-all the people that try to rain on our parade' family.
So many adjectives come to mind when I think of Mamaw and Aunt Ruby. Loud, Rowdy, Funny, Carefree, Fabulous, Social, Self-Confident, I could go on and on. They loved life. They went out to the Gaslight on weekends and danced and had a ball. I know this because I went along sometimes and drank my Shirley Temple at the table while they cut a rug on the dance floor. They would talk on the phone for hours, about what I still do not know. They watched soap operas together. They went to the beauty shop together. They were two peas in a pod to say the least.
I don't know why Alzheimers decided to take all that life they had inside them away, but here and there, I still got to see the that spark that I loved so much. When Grant and I were dating, I took him to the nursing home to see Mamaw. Aunt Jan Jan took him over to meet Mamaw and said, "Mama, this is Tracye's boyfriend, Lynn's son." Mamaw's jaw dropped open and her eyes got big as saucers. Jan Jan quickly added, "Tra's divorced, Mama, don't worry, she's not having an affair!" Yep, my Mamaw still was hoping for some juicy gossip even toward the end. During the last days, the doctor said she didn't know anybody or anything. My Papaw leaned over and said, "Mildred, do you know who I am?" After not speaking for weeks, she popped off, "HELL, HOWARD!" in that 'OMG, you idiot, why would I not know your dumb a--?' tone she reserved especially for him. Aunt Ruby, on the other hand, wasn't shocked to meet Grant. She was ecstatic. She thought he was the cutest man in the world. When she saw us, she would hug me and then hug him and casually let her hand wander down to his butt and CUP it ever so gently. Grant was like, "I think Aunt Ruby must be in that stage of Alzheimers where she can't control her urges because she keeps grabbing my butt," but I told him right quick, "Nope. That's MY Aunt Ruby, the ultimate flirt."
I love and miss ya'll more than you will ever know, but one day we can pick up where we left off down here. Until then, Ya'll girls have fun up there. Shop 'til you drop. Dance 'til you can't dance anymore. Primp and sing, "You Great Big Beautiful Doll" all day long. Keep God laughing at your funny stories. Knowing ya'll, by the time I get up there to see ya'll again, God will meet me at the pearly gates wearing leather pants, a red blazer, and a dickie.
As early as I can remember, the sisters were very fashion conscience. Every morning started with putting on full-face makeup. Next came the rat comb and that hair spray with the wheat on the can. (I still don't know what makes wheat/hair combo work, but EVERY old lady used it back then.) After beauty came the outfit of the day, and boy was that fun. If it was a stay-at-home day, the ladies wore short shorts with a matching top. Now, I'm not talking old lady short like Bermudas, but Daisy Duke, 1 inch inseam hot pants. The part that makes that stand out wasn't that the shorts were way too short for an old lady, but that they ROCKED those short shorts. I mean, they had some fabulous legs for senior citizens. At least once a week, the sisters loaded up for shopping, and that's when the fashions came out of the closet. If you're thinking stretch pants and flowered shirts, you couldn't be any more wrong. These ladies dolled up in leather pants, metallic shoes and purses, blazers, and a scarf or dickie (dickie- an adult size turtleneck bib worn under a shirt or sweater) to top off the ensemble.
If my cousin, Stephanie, and I were lucky, we got to tag along. The sisters would hit a half off rack like a tornado. Mamaw's favorite was "half of half" clearance. It could be the wrong size, wrong color, or wrong gender for that matter, but she would buy it anyway and find somebody that could wear it. One of the finniest things Mamaw would do is to go to Reeds and buy socks with a little alligator logo on it, go to Fred's and get a knit shirt, sew the gator to the shirt, stick it in the Reeds sack, and try to pass it off as a designer shirt. We caught on when she accidentally put the logo on upside down, but we had to give her an 'A' for ingenuity. Most shopping sprees ended with Stephanie and I hiding in the back seat while our grandmothers ate at Dudie's Diner (The name alone kept us from showing our face inside the diner.).
The sisters and their families spent every holiday together and every one could've been an episode on Jerry Springer. We could always count on several folks to bring a cooler or two of beer and then the fun would begin. My cousin and I would sneak More cigarettes from Aunt Ruby's stash and a beer or two from the cooler and head out to the woods to fake smoke and sip a beer and act like we were soooo cool. By the time we went back in the house, half the family was three sheets to the wind and the other half was mad at that half for being three sheets, and inevitably somebody would leave mad and the rest of us enjoyed the rest of the holiday. At some point, my cousin and I would talk Uncle Ottie (his name is Jerry, but was Ottie all my life) into taking us for fire works. Now the drunks and the non-drinkers didn't know this part, but Stephanie and I didn't really want fireworks, we just wanted Ottie to take us with him so he would let Stephanie drive. I mean, how much cooler could we be? We were 14 and 12 years old and riding around with Stephanie's Dad passed out in the back seat. We were WAY cool! When we got back to the house with the fire works (several hours later), we would all stand out in the road and shoot fireworks. The best part of fireworks was watching the drunk folks catching themselves on fire and being hit by roman candle shrapnel. Nowadays, folks would think my cousin and I were raised in a 'dysfunctional' family, but to us, it was more of a 'dis-fun- shun-all the people that try to rain on our parade' family.
So many adjectives come to mind when I think of Mamaw and Aunt Ruby. Loud, Rowdy, Funny, Carefree, Fabulous, Social, Self-Confident, I could go on and on. They loved life. They went out to the Gaslight on weekends and danced and had a ball. I know this because I went along sometimes and drank my Shirley Temple at the table while they cut a rug on the dance floor. They would talk on the phone for hours, about what I still do not know. They watched soap operas together. They went to the beauty shop together. They were two peas in a pod to say the least.
I don't know why Alzheimers decided to take all that life they had inside them away, but here and there, I still got to see the that spark that I loved so much. When Grant and I were dating, I took him to the nursing home to see Mamaw. Aunt Jan Jan took him over to meet Mamaw and said, "Mama, this is Tracye's boyfriend, Lynn's son." Mamaw's jaw dropped open and her eyes got big as saucers. Jan Jan quickly added, "Tra's divorced, Mama, don't worry, she's not having an affair!" Yep, my Mamaw still was hoping for some juicy gossip even toward the end. During the last days, the doctor said she didn't know anybody or anything. My Papaw leaned over and said, "Mildred, do you know who I am?" After not speaking for weeks, she popped off, "HELL, HOWARD!" in that 'OMG, you idiot, why would I not know your dumb a--?' tone she reserved especially for him. Aunt Ruby, on the other hand, wasn't shocked to meet Grant. She was ecstatic. She thought he was the cutest man in the world. When she saw us, she would hug me and then hug him and casually let her hand wander down to his butt and CUP it ever so gently. Grant was like, "I think Aunt Ruby must be in that stage of Alzheimers where she can't control her urges because she keeps grabbing my butt," but I told him right quick, "Nope. That's MY Aunt Ruby, the ultimate flirt."
I love and miss ya'll more than you will ever know, but one day we can pick up where we left off down here. Until then, Ya'll girls have fun up there. Shop 'til you drop. Dance 'til you can't dance anymore. Primp and sing, "You Great Big Beautiful Doll" all day long. Keep God laughing at your funny stories. Knowing ya'll, by the time I get up there to see ya'll again, God will meet me at the pearly gates wearing leather pants, a red blazer, and a dickie.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Grandmother's Potty Problems Part 2
On the second go-around with Grandmother and her potty doctor, I pulled into the driveway and found Grandmother waiting on the porch for me. She opened the car door and threw a Walmart sack onto the console and climbed in. She pointed to the bag and said, "They wanted a sample, so there it is. It's solid, though, not water, but that's the best I could do." Seriously? Who knew that the cure for watery BMs was a trip to the potty doctor? After a week of 'nothing BUT water', we have a hard one! Yeah, right, but away we went with a steaming pile perched on my console. We got to the potty doctor and instead of taking her sample to the lab first, she sits it BESIDE ME in the chair along with her purse (which contained only her adult diaper, gum, kleenex, and her insurance cards) and told me, "Watch my sample and purse while I do my tests and I'll take my sample up before we go." OMG! This lady is on crack! She is leaving me with a pile of poo and a diaper to guard until she comes back?! I definitely think I am cursed by now. I mean, some voodoo doctor has put a little short and stout brown haired doll in a pile of poo and is laughing his butt off right now just thinking of the humiliation I am suffering at this moment.
After an hour of me playing poo guard, Grandmother came back, gathered her things, and went to the lab to give her specimen to them. I stared at the floor and prayed for invisibility until we got back in the car. As I cranked the car, she told me to call IMA and cancel her appointment there because she had just been there 3 days before and didn't want to MAKE THE DOCTOR MAD FOR COMING WHEN NOTHING NEW WAS WRONG SINCE SHE WAS THERE 3 DAYS AGO!! Yeah, it's perfectly fine to spend 2 days of my life in pursuit of Grandmother achieving a normal poo, watching Grandmother take poo tests, carrying poo in my car, guarding poo in a doctor's office for an hour, and describing poo to a doctor ONLY to find out that PEPTO BISMOL solved the poo problem days before I did all this?! But alas, I smiled that tight-lipped 'If I knew I had enough WWJD Jesus points to be sure I had canceled out ALL my not so WWJD moments and I could get into Heaven but I'm not 100% sure so I'm going to be nice and hope I make it but all I REALLY want to do is cuss a blue streak and head for the nearest Mexican restaurant for a margarita' smile at her, dialed IMA, and canceled her appointment. She was feeling so good, in fact, that I took her to Smith's Nursery for some 'real' tomatoes and cantaloupes (grocery store produce is a sad, tasteless version of the real thing), took her to Fred's, and then took her home so she could work in her yard. Grandmother's sickness and healing was so instantly miraculous, it even made Benny Hinn go, "Dang, there's no way she was sick at healed that quick." (Benny, I believe YOU can do that, but the poo doctor ain't no Benny Hinn hehehe so don't sue me please) (Lord, please forgive me for lying to Benny but I don't want him to sue me so I had to lie. I know you understand because you don't believe Benny heals either, so I hope we are ok, Amen). I told her I loved her, she gave me a hug, and I waved goodbye as I pulled out of her driveway. She is hard headed, high maintenance, and demanding, but I thank the good Lord every day he leaves her on this earth. For 90 years, she gave her life to others, and if she has decided now that it's time for somebody else to give to her, it's the least I can do. Maybe one of these days, I can get a halo to hang on my horns.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Does My Forcing a 90 Year Old to Poop in a Cup Make Me Crazy?
I am completely sure that, after today, I can draw a crazy check. My phone rang this morning a little after eight. It was Grandmother. She was freaking out because she had a doctor's appointment at 9:40 and no one had called to say they were on their way to get her. Grant was getting a tire fixed, so I jerked on my clothes from last night, threw my hair in a pony tail, and took off to Baldwyn to grab Grandmother and fly to Tupelo. I put on my makeup in the rear view mirror while dodging traffic and road construction and made it to the doctor with ten minutes to spare. We walked up to the receptionist's desk, signed in, and sat down. A few minutes later, the receptionist called us back to her desk and told us that…..wait for it….. her appointment was at 1:40, not 9:40 and we couldn't be worked it before then. Grandmother turned to me and said, "Grant thought it was 1:40. I guess he was right." OMG! I plastered a smile on my face, turned, and headed for the elevator.
We got back in the car and headed to my house to wait until time to go back to the doctor. I tried to make use of the few hours I had to call clients and catch up on my paperwork (I was already WAY behind because of vacation). Grandmother took a spot on the couch across from me and …… stared…. at me …… the whole time. I tried to divert her attention to tv, pictures, you name it, to no avail. I fixed her some lunch while I completed her paperwork for the doctor visit and we loaded back up to our scheduled appointment.
We walked back into the doctor's office …..and waited…… and waited …….. and waited. The longer we waited, the more anxious Grandmother got. She had to go to the bathroom. Then she started having chest pains and shortness of breath. She took a nitro pill. I finally went up to the desk (We are at the two hour waiting mark now.) and told the receptionist, "She's going to have a heart attack and/or a panic attack if ya'll don't get her in a room, so please come up with a room or place for her to lay down before we have to leave here and go to the hospital." They put us in a room and ….. you guessed it ……We waited again. At 2:45 the doctor came in the room. By this time, Grandmother had developed leg cramps and was doing toe touches, leg circles, and, for the finale for the benefit of the doctor, leg lunges. She already had her pants pulled up to her knees to show me the 'skin cancers' that had migrated from her head to her legs in the past week (It was 'eating her alive'), so imagine a 90 year old miniature sized lady, with her pants rolled up, lunging back and forth in this cube of a room, hands on her hips, moaning and occasionally grabbing her chest for emphasis.
The doctor took one look and said, "Just do whatever you feel like while I ask these questions," and proceeded to play 20 questions as grandmother lunged and I hid behind my arm and looked at the ceiling. Every time the DIGESTIVE DOCTOR stopped for a breath, Grandmother would throw a "What does this rash look like to you?" or a "If my chest hurts across here, what does that mean?" at her. The doctor kept saying, "I only deal with the tummy, so I'm not sure….." but that wasn't the answer Grandmother was looking for, so she pressed on for answers. The reason we were supposed to be there was because Grandmother had stomach cramps and diarrhea that was 'like water' for more than a week.
Just in the nick of time, Grandmother needed to take a potty break. The minute she went out the door, I whispered furiously to the doctor, "She has anxiety and I'm not saying that's her problem totally, but part may be anxiety, but if you say the word "anxiety" in front of her, she will flog you and me both, so please don't use THE A WORD! The doctor whispered back, "I'm glad you told me because I suspect IBS that is flaring due to anxiety, but I will do some tests just to make sure it's not bacteria." In the middle of our frenzied whispers, Grandmother opened the door and shut it back. The doctor looked at me with deer in the headlights eyes and mouthed, "Do you think she heard us?" I laughed and said, "No, she's deaf too, so you're good." Grandmother came back in and the doctor began telling her about the tests she would undergo. She tried to slip out "IBS" and "Nerves" but Grandmother pounced and screamed, "I don't have anxiety! My heart doctor said I don't have anxiety. I have a heart issue!!" Boy, that doctor backpedaled quickly and went back to talking about tests. Grandmother kept ranting, "I know theres something wrong that's going to kill me. I need to be in the hospital but y'all can't seem to figure out what it is but I know its something." I hid under my arm and stared at the ceiling again.
The doctor finally got to escape and sent in a tech. The tech gave Grandmother a cup to catch a watery stool in and said to bring it back the next morning. We checked out and got back in the car. Grandmother turned to me and said, "I can't just have diarrhea on command. I haven't had any since I took Pepto Bismol Saturday night, but maybe I can eat some corn, that's what caused it last time, and have some more." ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!?!?!?! It's now 4:30, my head is splitting open, I've spent an entire day at the doctor, and you don't have diarrhea right now? I looked at her and said, "Well, whatever you have to do, you better do it because there better be diarrhea in that cup when I pick you up in the morning." Yep, this, ladies and gentlemen, is a statement that I never thought would come out of my mouth. I have resorted to intimidation to force a 90 year old woman to poop watery stool in a cup, and if THAT can't get me a crazy check, nothing can.
We got back in the car and headed to my house to wait until time to go back to the doctor. I tried to make use of the few hours I had to call clients and catch up on my paperwork (I was already WAY behind because of vacation). Grandmother took a spot on the couch across from me and …… stared…. at me …… the whole time. I tried to divert her attention to tv, pictures, you name it, to no avail. I fixed her some lunch while I completed her paperwork for the doctor visit and we loaded back up to our scheduled appointment.
We walked back into the doctor's office …..and waited…… and waited …….. and waited. The longer we waited, the more anxious Grandmother got. She had to go to the bathroom. Then she started having chest pains and shortness of breath. She took a nitro pill. I finally went up to the desk (We are at the two hour waiting mark now.) and told the receptionist, "She's going to have a heart attack and/or a panic attack if ya'll don't get her in a room, so please come up with a room or place for her to lay down before we have to leave here and go to the hospital." They put us in a room and ….. you guessed it ……We waited again. At 2:45 the doctor came in the room. By this time, Grandmother had developed leg cramps and was doing toe touches, leg circles, and, for the finale for the benefit of the doctor, leg lunges. She already had her pants pulled up to her knees to show me the 'skin cancers' that had migrated from her head to her legs in the past week (It was 'eating her alive'), so imagine a 90 year old miniature sized lady, with her pants rolled up, lunging back and forth in this cube of a room, hands on her hips, moaning and occasionally grabbing her chest for emphasis.
The doctor took one look and said, "Just do whatever you feel like while I ask these questions," and proceeded to play 20 questions as grandmother lunged and I hid behind my arm and looked at the ceiling. Every time the DIGESTIVE DOCTOR stopped for a breath, Grandmother would throw a "What does this rash look like to you?" or a "If my chest hurts across here, what does that mean?" at her. The doctor kept saying, "I only deal with the tummy, so I'm not sure….." but that wasn't the answer Grandmother was looking for, so she pressed on for answers. The reason we were supposed to be there was because Grandmother had stomach cramps and diarrhea that was 'like water' for more than a week.
Just in the nick of time, Grandmother needed to take a potty break. The minute she went out the door, I whispered furiously to the doctor, "She has anxiety and I'm not saying that's her problem totally, but part may be anxiety, but if you say the word "anxiety" in front of her, she will flog you and me both, so please don't use THE A WORD! The doctor whispered back, "I'm glad you told me because I suspect IBS that is flaring due to anxiety, but I will do some tests just to make sure it's not bacteria." In the middle of our frenzied whispers, Grandmother opened the door and shut it back. The doctor looked at me with deer in the headlights eyes and mouthed, "Do you think she heard us?" I laughed and said, "No, she's deaf too, so you're good." Grandmother came back in and the doctor began telling her about the tests she would undergo. She tried to slip out "IBS" and "Nerves" but Grandmother pounced and screamed, "I don't have anxiety! My heart doctor said I don't have anxiety. I have a heart issue!!" Boy, that doctor backpedaled quickly and went back to talking about tests. Grandmother kept ranting, "I know theres something wrong that's going to kill me. I need to be in the hospital but y'all can't seem to figure out what it is but I know its something." I hid under my arm and stared at the ceiling again.
The doctor finally got to escape and sent in a tech. The tech gave Grandmother a cup to catch a watery stool in and said to bring it back the next morning. We checked out and got back in the car. Grandmother turned to me and said, "I can't just have diarrhea on command. I haven't had any since I took Pepto Bismol Saturday night, but maybe I can eat some corn, that's what caused it last time, and have some more." ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!?!?!?! It's now 4:30, my head is splitting open, I've spent an entire day at the doctor, and you don't have diarrhea right now? I looked at her and said, "Well, whatever you have to do, you better do it because there better be diarrhea in that cup when I pick you up in the morning." Yep, this, ladies and gentlemen, is a statement that I never thought would come out of my mouth. I have resorted to intimidation to force a 90 year old woman to poop watery stool in a cup, and if THAT can't get me a crazy check, nothing can.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Family Vacation Part 2- Faith and Family
I debated on writing this blog because it is not my usual light-hearted story, but I decided to tell you this story as part of my testimony. Some people have asked why I would put all of my business on the internet. For those of you who know me, you know that I live my life as an open book. I may not be proud of all the things I have done, but I do own my mistakes because I have learned from them. I don't believe I would be the person I am today without my past, good and bad, so here's my story.
To give you a little background, when I was pregnant with Jake, I was in a court battle with my ex-husband. My oldest son chose to go and live with his dad and the court decided to give my ex-husband custody of both of my sons so they could stay together. I had never been away from my children for more than a couple of days, so to say that my world imploded was an understatement. I began having panic attacks and it was a chore to even get out of bed. My middle son, Ben, was only 8 at the time, and would cry and beg to stay with me longer when he was at my house. Every day was torture. I turned my back on God and refused to go to church. I could not understand why God would do this to me. I had made big mistakes in my past, but for years I had been the good Christian I thought I needed to be, so why did He punish me by taking my children away? I hated living. I hated God. I hated everything except my little miracle baby I carried in my womb. But for my baby, I can't honestly say I would be here today. I was so far in the darkness, I could not find the light.
One Sunday, Grant came in my room and forced me out of the bed and told me to get ready for church. I cried, I begged, and I cursed him for making me go back there. I hated God. I hated church. I never wanted to go back but he loaded me in the car anyway and off we went. I sat in the pew crying and steaming mad as the pastor walked to the front. He said that he had planned a sermon but he felt that he needed to show us this video instead. The lights went off and a man appeared on the screen. The man offered his testimony by sharing a story about his child. They were a close, loving, Christian family at one time, but his daughter got caught up in the world and turned her back on him. No matter what he did she was lost to them and to God. He began using words that I thought only I used when talking about my relationship with God and my situation with my children- hate, shame, hurt, hopelessness, failure, confusion- As the words seeped into my brain and heart, my eyes went up to the screen. This man was talking to me! As his story went on, he shared that after having those feelings, he turned back to God and started praying for his daughter again. He renewed his faith that God was in control and placed the fate of his family in His hands. Lo and behold, it worked! Years later, his daughter came back to him. It was the prodigal son all over again.
By this time, tears poured down my cheeks. God had sent this message for me. God was trying to tell me that if I would trust in Him, He would make everything ok, but that it would be in His time and not mine. I knew as surely as I knew my own name that God was slapping me upside my head and saying, "Get over it. Pick yourself up and get on with your life and I will take care of the rest." My heart felt warmed for the first time in weeks. My soul felt light. Grant, my mom, and I hit our knees and prayed right then and there for God to take over for us and in return, we would be faithful to Him and not question His plan. Until that moment, I thought I was a Christian but I wasn't. I had more faith in myself than I did in Him, but I tell you this, when all seems lost and you can't do anything else, THAT'S when true faith begins. For me, it was like flipping a switch at that very moment. I got up off my knees knowing God was in control.
Long story short, my oldest saw that the grass wasn't greener on the other side and came back a year later permanently. My middle son visited back and forth until he was 15. At 15 he refused to come back to my house and for 3 years, I rarely got to talk to him or see him. Every birthday, holiday, etc. I would text him to no avail. I'm not going to lie and say I didn't have my moments of breakdowns. Some days were torture, but I never lost faith that God had a plan and that his plan was better than my plan every could be, and so I waited, and texted, and mailed cards for three years. If your faith has never been tested, please hear this- God knows your heart. Remain faithful even when you don't want to, even when you think it's a waste of time, even when everyone around you thinks you are crazy, remain faithful. On Ben's 18th birthday, I sent him a text (he wouldn't usually answer my calls) wishing him a happy birthday. To my surprise, he sent back and asked me to come out to his school and see him! I had only seen him a few times over the last 3 years, so this seemed to be the miracle I had been praying for. My mom, Jake, and I went and spent a few hours with him and it was probably the happiest moment I had with him since he was born. I thought that the storm had passed and we were back on track, but that wasn't what happened. For months after that, I rarely got a text and he never came around. The old me would have freaked, but the new me knew just to stay the course because this was in God's time and not mine.
Now back to the vacation. While we were in Jackson playing baseball, I sent Ben a picture of Jake as hind catcher. That was Ben's position on his team and I wanted to show him his brother growing up in his footsteps. I then sent him a text like I had hundreds of times before. It simply read 'We are heading to PCB for vacation. Wish you could come.' I never expected the response I got, 'When are you going and I'll see if I can get off work." Huh? Did I read that right? I read and reread, but the words didn't change. I sent him the details still not believing that he would go. The night before the rest of my family left Saltillo to meet us in PCB, he sent me a message, 'I got off, guess I'm going' Seriously? Is this going to happen? I called my brother and mother and told them they would have an extra passenger. They were as skeptical as I was, but we all fixed our eyes on the faint light at the end of the tunnel and waited.
I didn't text my mom until around lunch the next day. I was both excited and afraid to know if he actually came on the trip. But when I received the text 'We have him' my heart exploded! My baby boy (That's still what I call him because he was my baby for 9 years before Jake.) was going on a 5 day vacation with me!!! It was like old times, no awkward moments, no tension, just Benji and the family that missed him for what felt like a lifetime.
I don't know what the future holds for us, but through faith and prayer, I have those days with my child that I will hold close to my heart for the rest of my life. If it is God's will, this was the first of many good times to come, but if not, I will remain faithful in my Christian walk and share my story of becoming a TRUE Christian after years of being a Christian as long as God did what I wanted him to do.
To give you a little background, when I was pregnant with Jake, I was in a court battle with my ex-husband. My oldest son chose to go and live with his dad and the court decided to give my ex-husband custody of both of my sons so they could stay together. I had never been away from my children for more than a couple of days, so to say that my world imploded was an understatement. I began having panic attacks and it was a chore to even get out of bed. My middle son, Ben, was only 8 at the time, and would cry and beg to stay with me longer when he was at my house. Every day was torture. I turned my back on God and refused to go to church. I could not understand why God would do this to me. I had made big mistakes in my past, but for years I had been the good Christian I thought I needed to be, so why did He punish me by taking my children away? I hated living. I hated God. I hated everything except my little miracle baby I carried in my womb. But for my baby, I can't honestly say I would be here today. I was so far in the darkness, I could not find the light.
One Sunday, Grant came in my room and forced me out of the bed and told me to get ready for church. I cried, I begged, and I cursed him for making me go back there. I hated God. I hated church. I never wanted to go back but he loaded me in the car anyway and off we went. I sat in the pew crying and steaming mad as the pastor walked to the front. He said that he had planned a sermon but he felt that he needed to show us this video instead. The lights went off and a man appeared on the screen. The man offered his testimony by sharing a story about his child. They were a close, loving, Christian family at one time, but his daughter got caught up in the world and turned her back on him. No matter what he did she was lost to them and to God. He began using words that I thought only I used when talking about my relationship with God and my situation with my children- hate, shame, hurt, hopelessness, failure, confusion- As the words seeped into my brain and heart, my eyes went up to the screen. This man was talking to me! As his story went on, he shared that after having those feelings, he turned back to God and started praying for his daughter again. He renewed his faith that God was in control and placed the fate of his family in His hands. Lo and behold, it worked! Years later, his daughter came back to him. It was the prodigal son all over again.
By this time, tears poured down my cheeks. God had sent this message for me. God was trying to tell me that if I would trust in Him, He would make everything ok, but that it would be in His time and not mine. I knew as surely as I knew my own name that God was slapping me upside my head and saying, "Get over it. Pick yourself up and get on with your life and I will take care of the rest." My heart felt warmed for the first time in weeks. My soul felt light. Grant, my mom, and I hit our knees and prayed right then and there for God to take over for us and in return, we would be faithful to Him and not question His plan. Until that moment, I thought I was a Christian but I wasn't. I had more faith in myself than I did in Him, but I tell you this, when all seems lost and you can't do anything else, THAT'S when true faith begins. For me, it was like flipping a switch at that very moment. I got up off my knees knowing God was in control.
Long story short, my oldest saw that the grass wasn't greener on the other side and came back a year later permanently. My middle son visited back and forth until he was 15. At 15 he refused to come back to my house and for 3 years, I rarely got to talk to him or see him. Every birthday, holiday, etc. I would text him to no avail. I'm not going to lie and say I didn't have my moments of breakdowns. Some days were torture, but I never lost faith that God had a plan and that his plan was better than my plan every could be, and so I waited, and texted, and mailed cards for three years. If your faith has never been tested, please hear this- God knows your heart. Remain faithful even when you don't want to, even when you think it's a waste of time, even when everyone around you thinks you are crazy, remain faithful. On Ben's 18th birthday, I sent him a text (he wouldn't usually answer my calls) wishing him a happy birthday. To my surprise, he sent back and asked me to come out to his school and see him! I had only seen him a few times over the last 3 years, so this seemed to be the miracle I had been praying for. My mom, Jake, and I went and spent a few hours with him and it was probably the happiest moment I had with him since he was born. I thought that the storm had passed and we were back on track, but that wasn't what happened. For months after that, I rarely got a text and he never came around. The old me would have freaked, but the new me knew just to stay the course because this was in God's time and not mine.
Now back to the vacation. While we were in Jackson playing baseball, I sent Ben a picture of Jake as hind catcher. That was Ben's position on his team and I wanted to show him his brother growing up in his footsteps. I then sent him a text like I had hundreds of times before. It simply read 'We are heading to PCB for vacation. Wish you could come.' I never expected the response I got, 'When are you going and I'll see if I can get off work." Huh? Did I read that right? I read and reread, but the words didn't change. I sent him the details still not believing that he would go. The night before the rest of my family left Saltillo to meet us in PCB, he sent me a message, 'I got off, guess I'm going' Seriously? Is this going to happen? I called my brother and mother and told them they would have an extra passenger. They were as skeptical as I was, but we all fixed our eyes on the faint light at the end of the tunnel and waited.
I didn't text my mom until around lunch the next day. I was both excited and afraid to know if he actually came on the trip. But when I received the text 'We have him' my heart exploded! My baby boy (That's still what I call him because he was my baby for 9 years before Jake.) was going on a 5 day vacation with me!!! It was like old times, no awkward moments, no tension, just Benji and the family that missed him for what felt like a lifetime.
I don't know what the future holds for us, but through faith and prayer, I have those days with my child that I will hold close to my heart for the rest of my life. If it is God's will, this was the first of many good times to come, but if not, I will remain faithful in my Christian walk and share my story of becoming a TRUE Christian after years of being a Christian as long as God did what I wanted him to do.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Look out Griswolds, Here Come the Prathers/Washingtons/Hopkins/Grays/Evans Family Vacation (AKA the mine, yours, and ours dysfunction junction formally known as a modern family) - Part 1
I finally made it home from vacation. I know you missed me, but it was well worth the wait because a vacation with the family is a sure fire way to get plenty to blog about. As usual, we had to squeeze our vacation between the kids' activities. Jake had a tournament in Jackson, so we hung out there for a few days before heading down to Panama City for a few days and then speeding home for AC to head out on a church trip. As usual, the fun started before we left. I was still awake at 2 a.m. putting a vacation message on the office answering machine, gathering up bills to pay while I was on vacation, and trying to pack for 3 activities at once. Somehow we got 2 beach umbrellas, an easy up tent, 3 chairs, AC's entire wardrobe, a laundry hamper full of beach towels, 2 coolers, every electronic gadget known to man, and a handful of clothes for the rest of us in my little SUV and headed out at 7 a.m. We made it to Jackson a couple of hours before Jake's first game. He got to change into his uniform in the car while we unpacked the entire car to get the chairs and tent out (mistake number one- packed things needed first first so we had to unpack everything else to get that stuff out).
After the game, we unpacked and repacked the car again (found out the reverse of first first wouldn't fit) and headed to our hotel. We piled everything on the wheelie thing that carries the luggage and it promptly slid off between door number one and door number two in the lobby. Grant threw a couple of bags back on the cart and walked on as if it never happened while I tried to grab another cart, dodge the automatic door, and guard the rest of the luggage. Luggage piled high, I headed for the elevator. I've never pulled a luggage thing before, so I shoved, pulled, and manhandled it all the way to the elevator door where my family patiently waited as if they had no idea who I was or why I was following them. Grant took one look at me and informed me that I needed to turn the cart around the way it was supposed to go and then I wouldn't have to fight it. (Thanks for the tip after the fact, dear.) We finally made it to our room and set up camp.
I always find it strange to stay in a hotel with my family. You would think that people who have lived together forever would know each others' quirks and habits, but until you share a single room and bathroom, you really have no clue. Grant is the homesteader. The second he enters the room, he unpacks everything and places it in the exact place it would be if he lived there. I am the vagabond. My things never touch a single surface in the room. I live out of my suitcase and the thought of putting my clothes in a drawer never occurred to me until I married Grant. I thought the dresser was just a place to put a tv and not to put my clothes. AC is the loner. She is appalled that she has to share air, must less a bed and toilet, with anyone, and takes every opportunity to tell you so. When it's her bedtime, it's everyone's bedtime, and woe be unto anyone that moves after she has put her head on the pillow. Jake is the tornado. He explodes into the room with clothes, shoes, and toys flying in every direction. He never can knows what is clean or dirty and loses a shoe at least twice a day.
After 3 days, we packed up to head toward Florida. The plan was to stop in Mobile overnight, sleep late, and finish the drive the next day. Grant called a company he uses for travel arrangements from the car to book a room. We pulled up to the hotel in Mobile and the first thing I saw was what looked like a prostitute (Grant said not to assume, but a lady wearing short shorts, a tank top, and heels while strolling back and forth in front of the hotel is either for rent or for free but she ain't there for sleep). My caution light in my head went off that MAYBE this wasn't the hotel for us, but it was 10:00 at night so we checked in. The room was just what I should've expected based on the clientele. As soon as I opened the door, I saw a burger wrapper on the dresser. Upon further inspection, I found used soap and towels in the bathroom and the air conditioner didn't work. Jake took one look and refused to touch anything. He stood like a statue in the middle of the room while I had a germophobic breakdown and started bathing in sanitizer. We gathered up all our bags, repacked the car (for the umpteenth time) and began looking for another room in the Mobile area. I literally pulled up a hotel list and called the entire list to no avail. We finally found a hotel in Pensacola an hour later. Yet again, we unpacked the car, dropped our bags at the door, and crashed at an Econo Lodge at 1:00 a.m. The next day, we repacked the car and finished the drive to sunny Panama City. Oh, Lord, was I excited to see sand and water.
That's all for today. Grant's making me get back to my job that actually makes money, so check in with me tomorrow for, as Paul Harvey said, "the rest of the story."
After the game, we unpacked and repacked the car again (found out the reverse of first first wouldn't fit) and headed to our hotel. We piled everything on the wheelie thing that carries the luggage and it promptly slid off between door number one and door number two in the lobby. Grant threw a couple of bags back on the cart and walked on as if it never happened while I tried to grab another cart, dodge the automatic door, and guard the rest of the luggage. Luggage piled high, I headed for the elevator. I've never pulled a luggage thing before, so I shoved, pulled, and manhandled it all the way to the elevator door where my family patiently waited as if they had no idea who I was or why I was following them. Grant took one look at me and informed me that I needed to turn the cart around the way it was supposed to go and then I wouldn't have to fight it. (Thanks for the tip after the fact, dear.) We finally made it to our room and set up camp.
I always find it strange to stay in a hotel with my family. You would think that people who have lived together forever would know each others' quirks and habits, but until you share a single room and bathroom, you really have no clue. Grant is the homesteader. The second he enters the room, he unpacks everything and places it in the exact place it would be if he lived there. I am the vagabond. My things never touch a single surface in the room. I live out of my suitcase and the thought of putting my clothes in a drawer never occurred to me until I married Grant. I thought the dresser was just a place to put a tv and not to put my clothes. AC is the loner. She is appalled that she has to share air, must less a bed and toilet, with anyone, and takes every opportunity to tell you so. When it's her bedtime, it's everyone's bedtime, and woe be unto anyone that moves after she has put her head on the pillow. Jake is the tornado. He explodes into the room with clothes, shoes, and toys flying in every direction. He never can knows what is clean or dirty and loses a shoe at least twice a day.
After 3 days, we packed up to head toward Florida. The plan was to stop in Mobile overnight, sleep late, and finish the drive the next day. Grant called a company he uses for travel arrangements from the car to book a room. We pulled up to the hotel in Mobile and the first thing I saw was what looked like a prostitute (Grant said not to assume, but a lady wearing short shorts, a tank top, and heels while strolling back and forth in front of the hotel is either for rent or for free but she ain't there for sleep). My caution light in my head went off that MAYBE this wasn't the hotel for us, but it was 10:00 at night so we checked in. The room was just what I should've expected based on the clientele. As soon as I opened the door, I saw a burger wrapper on the dresser. Upon further inspection, I found used soap and towels in the bathroom and the air conditioner didn't work. Jake took one look and refused to touch anything. He stood like a statue in the middle of the room while I had a germophobic breakdown and started bathing in sanitizer. We gathered up all our bags, repacked the car (for the umpteenth time) and began looking for another room in the Mobile area. I literally pulled up a hotel list and called the entire list to no avail. We finally found a hotel in Pensacola an hour later. Yet again, we unpacked the car, dropped our bags at the door, and crashed at an Econo Lodge at 1:00 a.m. The next day, we repacked the car and finished the drive to sunny Panama City. Oh, Lord, was I excited to see sand and water.
That's all for today. Grant's making me get back to my job that actually makes money, so check in with me tomorrow for, as Paul Harvey said, "the rest of the story."
Monday, June 17, 2013
Don't Judge Until You've Put Your Butt in Another Man's Underwear
In honor of Father's Day, I would like to introduce you to my Daddy, Petey. Many of you know him, but for those of you who don't, you are in for a treat. I've always been a Daddy's girl. I fondly remember my parents getting into a argument and Mama loading up my brother to go to my Grandmother's house. It's a fond memory because at that age, I didn't understand that my parents were feuding, I just knew it meant making a run to the Hub Grocery for sardines, rag bologna, hoop cheese, and crackers. Daddy and I would sit on the couch eating and watching "Beretta" until my Mama cooled down and came home. I remember Daddy coming home half lit, Mama yelling, and Daddy grinning and dancing to make Mama laugh. I remember going hunting and fishing and shoplifting gum at Downs Grocery when I was 5 (and having to confess to James, the owner, which affected me so much to this day, I have never taken ANYTHING again). I remember so much about my childhood with my Daddy, and all of it was great. My parents divorced when I was a teenager, but, unlike most kids of divorce, I don't remember the 'bad' as bad, just different from 'the usual'.
When Mama and Daddy were married, Mama was successful with suppressing a lot of Daddy's 'quirks', but without her to keep him in check, his 'quirks' became 'eccentricities.' (trying to come up with words that mean crazy, embarrassing tendencies but doesn't sound as bad). The first time I knew I was in for an experience, Daddy got a bit tipsy and decided to call his cousin, but he didn't know her number. He got on the phone with the operator and said, "I need the number for MaryAnn in Houston." When the operator told him she needed a last name, Daddy replied, "She used to be a Hopkins, but I don't know her name now. Just give me the numbers for all MaryAnns in Houston." From then on, I unplugged the phone when Daddy got an urge to call somebody. In just a couple of years, both Daddy and I remarried and without me there to make him behave, he went into overdrive, but in a WHOLE different way. He started trying to save money. Now, he had aways been a cheapskate, but his second wife allowed him to spiral down into the depths of cheapness. He would make a pot of coffee on Monday and reheat it every morning for a week. He started buying his clothes at yard sales. He started ordering water instead of tea at a restaurant and filling up his own cup in the bathroom of convenience stores to keep from buying a drink. But, the cherry on top came when he started…for the people with a weak stomach, just skip this part……dumpster diving. He would go to the store on the day they threw out groceries that expired or wilted and dig them out to take home. He even got dead plants out to landscape his yard. It was so bad, Grant refused to eat when we went to Daddy's house because he was afraid it came out of the dumpster. If Daddy had been poor, I would've understood, but he was, if anything, comfortably middle class, to say the least. To him, it was fun and a challenge to see just how much he could save.
As the commercials say, "But, wait, there's more!" His 'eccentricities' have evolved over the years. He does the extreme couponing now. He even has a contest going with a friend each year to see who saves the most each year. Daddy buys stuff he doesn't even want just to beat his buddy at the end of the year. When cigarettes went over $3, he started rolling his own. Not rolling papers and a little tobacco, but an actual machine and a bag of tobacco that looks like mulch. For holidays, we actually give him a real pack of cigs that he saves to take to the cafe so they will think he's "high dollar." My aunt wraps up her husband's hand me downs and Daddy LOVES them. If I buy him new clothes or shoes, I have to remove the tags and scuff the soles or he will return them, and he's still depressed that I spent money on new clothes when I could've gotten it at a yard sale for a quarter. Need more evidence that he's eccentric? He gets extra salt and ketchup at restaurants and FILLS UP BOTTLES AT HOME with them. That's his Sunday afternoon activity for fun. I could tell you these money saving tips by Petey all day long because, trust me, even I can't believe the lengths he will go to save a nickel (literally lengths, he has a specific amount of toilet paper to use and not a square more, no sense wasting 4 inches of paper).
Though Daddy has gotten penny pinching down to a science, when it comes to electronics, let's just say, his ingenuity doesn't carry over into other fields. He has a DVD player that he has never played a DVD in because he doesn't know how. He has a cell phone, but doesn't know how to text or check his messages. He sent me his first text for my birthday. It said, "Hapqy Brthcdx." (He doesn't know how to change from the first letter to the next letter yet, but at least he's trying.) When I texted him back, he had to call me to tell him what it said because he can only read what pops up on the screen and when it goes away, he can't find it again. When I wrote the blog about getting caught at Grant's house by the police, somebody asked why I just addressed my Mama and not my Daddy, and I laughed out loud. My daddy still thinks a 'mouse pad' is what a girl mouse needs to wear a week out of the month if she hasn't been through menopause. I could put porn, bomb blue prints, or a recipe for ricin on his computer and he would be one of those people on TV that says, "I didn't know I was living with a psycho until the FBI showed up at my door," and everybody watching the story yells at the tv because there's no way he didn't know. Yep, that's my Daddy.
Through the good and the bad, he's the greatest. I know that he would be there for me no matter what, where, or when. He might bring his own glass of water or can of viennas so he won't have to spend a dollar while he's there, and, more than likely, he will have on clothes that some other guy had on a week ago that cost Daddy a quarter, but he will be there, nonetheless.
When Mama and Daddy were married, Mama was successful with suppressing a lot of Daddy's 'quirks', but without her to keep him in check, his 'quirks' became 'eccentricities.' (trying to come up with words that mean crazy, embarrassing tendencies but doesn't sound as bad). The first time I knew I was in for an experience, Daddy got a bit tipsy and decided to call his cousin, but he didn't know her number. He got on the phone with the operator and said, "I need the number for MaryAnn in Houston." When the operator told him she needed a last name, Daddy replied, "She used to be a Hopkins, but I don't know her name now. Just give me the numbers for all MaryAnns in Houston." From then on, I unplugged the phone when Daddy got an urge to call somebody. In just a couple of years, both Daddy and I remarried and without me there to make him behave, he went into overdrive, but in a WHOLE different way. He started trying to save money. Now, he had aways been a cheapskate, but his second wife allowed him to spiral down into the depths of cheapness. He would make a pot of coffee on Monday and reheat it every morning for a week. He started buying his clothes at yard sales. He started ordering water instead of tea at a restaurant and filling up his own cup in the bathroom of convenience stores to keep from buying a drink. But, the cherry on top came when he started…for the people with a weak stomach, just skip this part……dumpster diving. He would go to the store on the day they threw out groceries that expired or wilted and dig them out to take home. He even got dead plants out to landscape his yard. It was so bad, Grant refused to eat when we went to Daddy's house because he was afraid it came out of the dumpster. If Daddy had been poor, I would've understood, but he was, if anything, comfortably middle class, to say the least. To him, it was fun and a challenge to see just how much he could save.
As the commercials say, "But, wait, there's more!" His 'eccentricities' have evolved over the years. He does the extreme couponing now. He even has a contest going with a friend each year to see who saves the most each year. Daddy buys stuff he doesn't even want just to beat his buddy at the end of the year. When cigarettes went over $3, he started rolling his own. Not rolling papers and a little tobacco, but an actual machine and a bag of tobacco that looks like mulch. For holidays, we actually give him a real pack of cigs that he saves to take to the cafe so they will think he's "high dollar." My aunt wraps up her husband's hand me downs and Daddy LOVES them. If I buy him new clothes or shoes, I have to remove the tags and scuff the soles or he will return them, and he's still depressed that I spent money on new clothes when I could've gotten it at a yard sale for a quarter. Need more evidence that he's eccentric? He gets extra salt and ketchup at restaurants and FILLS UP BOTTLES AT HOME with them. That's his Sunday afternoon activity for fun. I could tell you these money saving tips by Petey all day long because, trust me, even I can't believe the lengths he will go to save a nickel (literally lengths, he has a specific amount of toilet paper to use and not a square more, no sense wasting 4 inches of paper).
Though Daddy has gotten penny pinching down to a science, when it comes to electronics, let's just say, his ingenuity doesn't carry over into other fields. He has a DVD player that he has never played a DVD in because he doesn't know how. He has a cell phone, but doesn't know how to text or check his messages. He sent me his first text for my birthday. It said, "Hapqy Brthcdx." (He doesn't know how to change from the first letter to the next letter yet, but at least he's trying.) When I texted him back, he had to call me to tell him what it said because he can only read what pops up on the screen and when it goes away, he can't find it again. When I wrote the blog about getting caught at Grant's house by the police, somebody asked why I just addressed my Mama and not my Daddy, and I laughed out loud. My daddy still thinks a 'mouse pad' is what a girl mouse needs to wear a week out of the month if she hasn't been through menopause. I could put porn, bomb blue prints, or a recipe for ricin on his computer and he would be one of those people on TV that says, "I didn't know I was living with a psycho until the FBI showed up at my door," and everybody watching the story yells at the tv because there's no way he didn't know. Yep, that's my Daddy.
Through the good and the bad, he's the greatest. I know that he would be there for me no matter what, where, or when. He might bring his own glass of water or can of viennas so he won't have to spend a dollar while he's there, and, more than likely, he will have on clothes that some other guy had on a week ago that cost Daddy a quarter, but he will be there, nonetheless.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Chubby Chasers and Big Fluffy Females: This One Is For You
We are going on a family vacation in a few weeks. Unfortunately, this year we are going to the beach. Don't get me wrong, I love the beach like a fat kid loves cake, but going to the beach means wearing a bathing suit…in public….surrounded by scores of toned, bronzed, beach bunnies that make me look like an albino sea lion that washed up on shore. I came up with several plans to alleviate some of my self loathing, but at this point, I know I'm doomed.
Plan A was "Distraction." I was going to invite people that looked FAR worse than I do so when strangers looked toward my group, their eyes would zoom in on the largest, whitest person in the group and I would kind of blend into the background. Unfortunately, Grant was the biggest, palest person I could come up with, and, though he is both pale and big, he does not have the 'ewwww' factor needed to draw attention away from the other big whities in the group, so Plan A was aborted.
Plan B was "Camouflage." Plan B meant bathing suit shopping. I'd rather get a gynecological exam simultaneously with a root canal than to shop for a bathing suit, but, like all things torturous, it must be done. I opted to order online from a company that allows easy returns so I could do all my crying and self-loathing at home in the privacy of my own bedroom and not in the dressing room at the store (which ALWAYS results in me in a heap on the floor and the sales lady bringing me tissues and calling security to get me out of the dressing room.) My stomach knotted up when I saw the UPS driver pull into the driveway, but I forged ahead. Bathing suit 1 was kind of an animal print with ruching and a tiny ruffle around the hem of the top and a sold black skirt. The description on the website said the print would camouflage, the ruching would hide rolls (or some politically correct word for rolls), the ruffle would help make my not there anymore tush look rounder, and the skirt would hide my little flap of skin that rubs together if I walk too much. Well. let me tell you, when I put this pig in that tutu, it was LOL hilarious. I looked like a bumble bee minus the stinger- moving on….Number 2 was gathered on the sides for extra belly room, same skirt, and a different pattern that promised to practically make me invisible on the beach. WRONG!! Note to bathing suit manufacturers- pay attention to the placement of pattern on a fat lady suit. One of the flower's center looked like a bulls eye directly pointing to my belly button. I'm talking big sunflower thing right in the middle of my Buddha belly that screamed 'LOOK AT THIS BIG BELLY!!!!"- moving on….Number 3 was same skirt (I'm liking the skirts, no visible leg flap or belly shed line) with a top with an A line for extra room for the belly. Well, it did give me belly room, but because my belly actually used the room, the top rode up in the front so I looked like the fat kid in a shirt a size too small- Finally, Number 4 was same skirt and the top had ruching and a black and brown pattern. When I got it on, from the front. it actually wasn't that bad. From the side was another matter because at that angle I kind of resembled a killer whale, but I figured if I laid on a dark towel and never turned sideways, this was the only one that was even an option. Plan B was a go.
I came up with a few other plans that I will try in case of emergency (like if Megan Fox pulls up a chair beside me). I am taking several cover-ups and have some sunburn colored makeup to fake my way back indoors. I think I may even pay Jake to pretend to drown if worse comes to worse. Oh, well, it is what it is, and, though I keep hearing my own version of Chris Farley's "Fat Man in a Little Coat" which goes more like "Fat Girl in a Little Suit," I figure after I drink a few cocktails and listen to the waves, in my mind Megan Fox won't have NOTHING on me!
Plan A was "Distraction." I was going to invite people that looked FAR worse than I do so when strangers looked toward my group, their eyes would zoom in on the largest, whitest person in the group and I would kind of blend into the background. Unfortunately, Grant was the biggest, palest person I could come up with, and, though he is both pale and big, he does not have the 'ewwww' factor needed to draw attention away from the other big whities in the group, so Plan A was aborted.
Plan B was "Camouflage." Plan B meant bathing suit shopping. I'd rather get a gynecological exam simultaneously with a root canal than to shop for a bathing suit, but, like all things torturous, it must be done. I opted to order online from a company that allows easy returns so I could do all my crying and self-loathing at home in the privacy of my own bedroom and not in the dressing room at the store (which ALWAYS results in me in a heap on the floor and the sales lady bringing me tissues and calling security to get me out of the dressing room.) My stomach knotted up when I saw the UPS driver pull into the driveway, but I forged ahead. Bathing suit 1 was kind of an animal print with ruching and a tiny ruffle around the hem of the top and a sold black skirt. The description on the website said the print would camouflage, the ruching would hide rolls (or some politically correct word for rolls), the ruffle would help make my not there anymore tush look rounder, and the skirt would hide my little flap of skin that rubs together if I walk too much. Well. let me tell you, when I put this pig in that tutu, it was LOL hilarious. I looked like a bumble bee minus the stinger- moving on….Number 2 was gathered on the sides for extra belly room, same skirt, and a different pattern that promised to practically make me invisible on the beach. WRONG!! Note to bathing suit manufacturers- pay attention to the placement of pattern on a fat lady suit. One of the flower's center looked like a bulls eye directly pointing to my belly button. I'm talking big sunflower thing right in the middle of my Buddha belly that screamed 'LOOK AT THIS BIG BELLY!!!!"- moving on….Number 3 was same skirt (I'm liking the skirts, no visible leg flap or belly shed line) with a top with an A line for extra room for the belly. Well, it did give me belly room, but because my belly actually used the room, the top rode up in the front so I looked like the fat kid in a shirt a size too small- Finally, Number 4 was same skirt and the top had ruching and a black and brown pattern. When I got it on, from the front. it actually wasn't that bad. From the side was another matter because at that angle I kind of resembled a killer whale, but I figured if I laid on a dark towel and never turned sideways, this was the only one that was even an option. Plan B was a go.
I came up with a few other plans that I will try in case of emergency (like if Megan Fox pulls up a chair beside me). I am taking several cover-ups and have some sunburn colored makeup to fake my way back indoors. I think I may even pay Jake to pretend to drown if worse comes to worse. Oh, well, it is what it is, and, though I keep hearing my own version of Chris Farley's "Fat Man in a Little Coat" which goes more like "Fat Girl in a Little Suit," I figure after I drink a few cocktails and listen to the waves, in my mind Megan Fox won't have NOTHING on me!
Monday, June 10, 2013
Birthdays and Belly Rolls
On my birthday eve each year, I think of how my life has changed over the years. I thought I'd share a few of the things that have been running through my mind when I think of Tra back in the day and Tra today.
- Back in the day, summer meant finding a cute bikini, rubbing iodine and baby oil all over my body, and my biggest fear was peeling from the sunburn I usually got. Today, summer means finding a bathing suit that doesn't make me look fat (like THAT has ever happened in the last couple of decades), rubbing sunscreen all over my body, covering my face with a hat so I get get even more wrinkles, protecting my hair so my color doesn't fade, and my biggest fear is finding a melanoma (but I'm more afraid of being pale, so I take the risk).
- Back in the day, it took a couple of hours to get dolled up to go sit in the grocery store parking lot for a couple of hours. Today, half the time, I don't even take the time to put on real shoes (house shoes will do), must less makeup, and hopefully a bra to go to the store to get milk and bread and pray nobody sees me.
- Back in the day, I loved to work out and looking cute in my clothes was a bonus. Now I hate working out, but when I can't button and breathe, it's my only choice, and not looking like the Michelin Man with a blue tint to my oxygen deprived body is a bonus.
- Back in the day, the fun started at 9, and if I over indulged, I could pop a couple of Tylenol and grab a couple of hours sleep and I was good to go. Today, I'm ready to go home at 9, and if I overindulge it takes me a couple of days to get over it (kind of feels like I was in a car wreck) and I gave up on Tylenol doing ANY good centuries ago.
- Back in the day, I had NEVER had a discussion about fish oil, leafy greens, home remedies for aching joints, brands of probiotics, and had never even heard of triglycerides. Today at least one of these topics comes up in conversation every single day.
- Back in the day, I had just gotten a cell phone, my computer was on a desk at home and I only used it for research papers, and if I wanted to watch a tv show, I had to build that time into my schedule. Today, I never go from one room to another, must less from one destination to another, without my iPad and iPhone and get p.o.ed if my TIVO doesn't record my show for me to watch at midnight when I finally get down time.
- Back in the day, I don't remember ever staring at my face and body in the mirror and thinking, "OMG!!! This is hideous." Today, I look in the mirror and not only think, "OMG!!! This is hideous, but also, OMG!!! I have old lady skin, I look 5 months pregnant, my knees have skin overhang, my butt moved around to the front (hence, the pregnant look), when did I get that line between my eyes, when did I start having to pick my boobs up to put them in my bra, what is that hanging under my chin…." Well, you get the point.
- Back in the day, I would've went for a run, stopped eating carbs, and hated myself until I got myself back on track. Today I just say, "Oh, well," turn my back on the mirror, put on a bigger shirt, and eat another donut.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
If the cops have never come to arrest you while you are in your undies, you can't appreciate this blog.
Mama, I know you know the boys were conceived by immaculate conception, so put your hand over the next couple of lines and skip to the end.
The rest of you, if premarital stuff bothers you, skip this blog.
Now, I should be down to the little nasty folks like me that have a little tilt on their halo, so let me tell you about one of my most embarrassing moments in my entire life.
The first time I spent the night at Grant's house (there's the premarital part), before we went to sleep, he told me he had an early appointment, but he would be back before lunch, so I just could hang around the house until the got back. Grant got up the next morning and went to work and I slept in. When I got up to go to the bathroom a while later, I set off the MOTION ALARM!!! This idiot that I loved up to this point had cut on his house alarm along with his motion detector. The phone rang and it was the security company asking for the password. I told them I didn't know, but I was calling the owner to tell me what it was. I put them on hold and ran over to cut off the siren and call Grant. About this time I hear a knock on the door. I look through the window and see the freaking police! I open the door in a t-shirt and undies (not matching even fyi) to see two uniformed cuties with huge smiles on their face. To make it even worse, one of them was a former boyfriend of Grant's ex-wife, so he KNEW Grant and knew I wasn't his wife (I hope at least he knew she was an ex by then, but I didn't ask.)
I was trying to explain to them what happened when I remembered the security company on the phone. I left the door and called Grant's cell phone on my cell phone as the security lady waited and the cops let themselves in to watch what happened next. I got Grant on the phone and asked him the password, and he……wait for it……wait for it……he said, "Uhhhhh….." Now here I am half naked with two cops and a lady just itching to say, "Book her, Dan-O," and I yelled at him, "I'm standing here with two very amused cops in your shirt and a smile, so you better give me that damn password." He reluctantly gave it up (we are freaking engaged and he later told me he was worried about giving me the password because if we didn't work out I could break in. Yeah, like I would break in and steal your green plastic couch and egyptian gold table. Sorry, I got off track) But wait, the most embarrassing moment of my life hasn't happened yet.
I finally was finished with the security lady and was escorting the by now blushing cops to the door when……oh yeah, it's that bad……Grant's Granny pulled up!!! The security company called her because she was his alternate contact person and she came to investigate. Now, not only does the security company and the Tupelo P.D. know that I am THAT kind of girl, but also an 80 year old lady that doesn't like anybody and now HATED me for being THAT kind of girl at her grandson's house. Well, the cops held up, again to see what happened next, while I explained, now on the front porch in my undies and a shirt, the whole story again. Conveniently, Grant's appointment supposedly lasted a tad longer than expected, just about 30 minutes after everyone left. Oh, boy, did we have a DISCUSSION!
And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, was the most embarrassing moment of my life.
The rest of you, if premarital stuff bothers you, skip this blog.
Now, I should be down to the little nasty folks like me that have a little tilt on their halo, so let me tell you about one of my most embarrassing moments in my entire life.
The first time I spent the night at Grant's house (there's the premarital part), before we went to sleep, he told me he had an early appointment, but he would be back before lunch, so I just could hang around the house until the got back. Grant got up the next morning and went to work and I slept in. When I got up to go to the bathroom a while later, I set off the MOTION ALARM!!! This idiot that I loved up to this point had cut on his house alarm along with his motion detector. The phone rang and it was the security company asking for the password. I told them I didn't know, but I was calling the owner to tell me what it was. I put them on hold and ran over to cut off the siren and call Grant. About this time I hear a knock on the door. I look through the window and see the freaking police! I open the door in a t-shirt and undies (not matching even fyi) to see two uniformed cuties with huge smiles on their face. To make it even worse, one of them was a former boyfriend of Grant's ex-wife, so he KNEW Grant and knew I wasn't his wife (I hope at least he knew she was an ex by then, but I didn't ask.)
I was trying to explain to them what happened when I remembered the security company on the phone. I left the door and called Grant's cell phone on my cell phone as the security lady waited and the cops let themselves in to watch what happened next. I got Grant on the phone and asked him the password, and he……wait for it……wait for it……he said, "Uhhhhh….." Now here I am half naked with two cops and a lady just itching to say, "Book her, Dan-O," and I yelled at him, "I'm standing here with two very amused cops in your shirt and a smile, so you better give me that damn password." He reluctantly gave it up (we are freaking engaged and he later told me he was worried about giving me the password because if we didn't work out I could break in. Yeah, like I would break in and steal your green plastic couch and egyptian gold table. Sorry, I got off track) But wait, the most embarrassing moment of my life hasn't happened yet.
I finally was finished with the security lady and was escorting the by now blushing cops to the door when……oh yeah, it's that bad……Grant's Granny pulled up!!! The security company called her because she was his alternate contact person and she came to investigate. Now, not only does the security company and the Tupelo P.D. know that I am THAT kind of girl, but also an 80 year old lady that doesn't like anybody and now HATED me for being THAT kind of girl at her grandson's house. Well, the cops held up, again to see what happened next, while I explained, now on the front porch in my undies and a shirt, the whole story again. Conveniently, Grant's appointment supposedly lasted a tad longer than expected, just about 30 minutes after everyone left. Oh, boy, did we have a DISCUSSION!
And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, was the most embarrassing moment of my life.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
My husband knocked me out in the fourth round.
I wrote my blog quickly yesterday before a ball game, and realized when I read back over it that I left out a crucial part of my story. The reason Grant was late for our date was because he went and actually bought that outfit and wore it out of the store so he would look 'hip and trendy' for our date. All these years later, that still cracks me up. Moving on---
Grant and I have been HAPPILY married for 11 years. The first year, not so much, and it was all my fault. For those of you who have never been through a divorce, it's called the 'awww, heck naw, I let one man walk all over me and I'll be danged if I'll let another one' disease, and I was eat up with it. The first time my disease flared up, I threw an empty tea pitcher at Grant. Now, for those who don't know us, Grant is over a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than me, so when I threw the pitcher, he laughed and laughed and said, "Look at my little bantam," (for all of you city folks that is a little chicken). I didn't know what to do after that, so I just walked off. Round 1 went to Grant.
My next flare up, I decided I would go to my room and slam the door. He walked in behind me. I went to the bathroom and locked that door and the slide lock so he couldn't get in. Sitting on my throne , I was feeling pretty smug when I heard a knock on the door. Grant said, "Where's the screwdriver so I can take the door off the hinges?" I KNOW this idiot is bluffing, so I wait him out. Then I hear him hitting the screwdriver on the hinge and he said, "Uh oh, I'm scratching up the hinge bad, but oh well, I have to make you come out so we can talk." I got so tickled I laughed out loud and he heard me. Round 2 went to Grant.
Well, fighting and hiding hadn't worked so I resorted to leaving. I piled the kids in the car and took off. He called on my phone and when I finally answered he said, "Ok, I've never been in this situation before but I THINK when you leave, you're not supposed to take my kid too." Yep, I forgot to only take my own kids. Round 3 went to Grant.
Now that I had perfected my plan, the next time, I planned to run away while the kids weren't there. I went for my keys and he snatched them before I could reach them. Well, I wasn't losing this time, so I took off walking. That jerk got in MY car and followed me all the way down the driveway and to the end of our subdivision. I couldn't keep a straight face, so I had to go home. This guy was wearing me down, but I still wasn't laying down for the count.
By this time, I had given up on fighting running, and hiding, so all I was left with was shunning. I went to sleep on the couch. He walked in the room with a pillow and blanket and laid down on the floor beside the couch. I said, "What do you think you are doing?" He replied, "I didn't get married to sleep by myself, so I will sleep in here beside you until you go back to bed." Aw, I knew I had this one. I could wait out ANYBODY, just ask my parents. Well, he tossed, and he turned, and he punched his pillow, and he moaned about the hard floor, it went on and on until, once again, I laughed.
This time, I went down for the count.
It took a solid year of laughter therapy before I got over my 'aww, heck naw' disease, but I've been in remission so long, I consider myself cured. Grant can make me madder than anyone has ever made me in my entire life. I imagine myself choking him until his little squinty eyes pop out and look like mine at LEAST once a day, but every time I imagine it, I chuckle a little to myself and know I never will…..But a girl can dream….
Grant and I have been HAPPILY married for 11 years. The first year, not so much, and it was all my fault. For those of you who have never been through a divorce, it's called the 'awww, heck naw, I let one man walk all over me and I'll be danged if I'll let another one' disease, and I was eat up with it. The first time my disease flared up, I threw an empty tea pitcher at Grant. Now, for those who don't know us, Grant is over a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than me, so when I threw the pitcher, he laughed and laughed and said, "Look at my little bantam," (for all of you city folks that is a little chicken). I didn't know what to do after that, so I just walked off. Round 1 went to Grant.
My next flare up, I decided I would go to my room and slam the door. He walked in behind me. I went to the bathroom and locked that door and the slide lock so he couldn't get in. Sitting on my throne , I was feeling pretty smug when I heard a knock on the door. Grant said, "Where's the screwdriver so I can take the door off the hinges?" I KNOW this idiot is bluffing, so I wait him out. Then I hear him hitting the screwdriver on the hinge and he said, "Uh oh, I'm scratching up the hinge bad, but oh well, I have to make you come out so we can talk." I got so tickled I laughed out loud and he heard me. Round 2 went to Grant.
Well, fighting and hiding hadn't worked so I resorted to leaving. I piled the kids in the car and took off. He called on my phone and when I finally answered he said, "Ok, I've never been in this situation before but I THINK when you leave, you're not supposed to take my kid too." Yep, I forgot to only take my own kids. Round 3 went to Grant.
Now that I had perfected my plan, the next time, I planned to run away while the kids weren't there. I went for my keys and he snatched them before I could reach them. Well, I wasn't losing this time, so I took off walking. That jerk got in MY car and followed me all the way down the driveway and to the end of our subdivision. I couldn't keep a straight face, so I had to go home. This guy was wearing me down, but I still wasn't laying down for the count.
By this time, I had given up on fighting running, and hiding, so all I was left with was shunning. I went to sleep on the couch. He walked in the room with a pillow and blanket and laid down on the floor beside the couch. I said, "What do you think you are doing?" He replied, "I didn't get married to sleep by myself, so I will sleep in here beside you until you go back to bed." Aw, I knew I had this one. I could wait out ANYBODY, just ask my parents. Well, he tossed, and he turned, and he punched his pillow, and he moaned about the hard floor, it went on and on until, once again, I laughed.
This time, I went down for the count.
It took a solid year of laughter therapy before I got over my 'aww, heck naw' disease, but I've been in remission so long, I consider myself cured. Grant can make me madder than anyone has ever made me in my entire life. I imagine myself choking him until his little squinty eyes pop out and look like mine at LEAST once a day, but every time I imagine it, I chuckle a little to myself and know I never will…..But a girl can dream….
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
I found my future husband holding a sign on the side of the road
Before I start telling stories of all my dirty little secrets (Don't get excited, they won't be Fifty Shades dirty), I wanted you to get to know my dys'fun'ctional family.
My husband's name is Grant. I've known him since I was 5 years old. Grant used to hide under the table and watch me practice dancing at his mother's dance studio. In junior high, Grant was my boyfriend and took me to the fair. I remember him holding my hand because his pinkies were crooked. He swears he kissed me, but other than the deformed pinkies, so either he has me mixed up with someone else (He said that's why he called all his women 'baby', to keep from calling them the wrong name) or there was nothing memorable for me at least. As time went on, we went our separate ways, but always were friends but nothing more.
I'll skip all the gory details of my first marriage and pick up the story 10 years later. I was going through a gut-wrenching divorce and was on my knees praying that God would give a a concrete sign that I was doing the right thing in getting a divorce. In the middle of my prayer, the phone rang and it was my ex, drunk and cussing me like so many times before. I got off my knees, dried my eyes, and said, "Thank you, Lord," and that was that.
My niece called me the next day and asked me to go to her dance recital. I had a date lined up for that night, but decided I would run by the recital for a minute before heading to Tupelo. Well, I ran in and sat down next to my brother and sister-in-law, quickly looked around, and saw Grant sitting a few rows behind me watching his daughter dance. My sister-in-law whispered and told me that she thought his wife had left him and I should give him my number. Well, I thought about it the whole time I was there, and when I left I stopped by his seat and dropped the 'I'm single and ready to mingle' vibe on him. He told me to call him sometime (like I would EVER call a boy first) and I gave him my number and said he could call me if he wanted to go out but I wouldn't call him. I headed to meet my other date and didn't think about it again.
Well, the other date was just a 'meet for drinks' and he was a joke, very cute and very smooth, but I was on a mission for a husband, so I wrote him off and thought of Grant again. I had known him all my life, he would be the perfect 'break-in' date, after all, I had been with my ex 13 years, I needed to wade before I swam, so I decided when he called, I'd go out with him. He didn't call- not that night or the next day. I got to thinking if he didn't hurry up, my kids would be back from their dad's and I wouldn't be available for another week, so I broke my rule and called him. As soon as he picked up the phone, I said, "My kids will be back in 2 days, so if we don't go out tonight, we won't get to go out." Oh, Lawd, what jingle bells I had grown!
I get all cute, shaved legs, put on matching undies (like it mattered, he'd never see them on a first date, blah, blah, blah), and….nothing…..waiting…..waiting….45 minutes later, he shows up. I wanted to give him a 'who the heck are you, I'm very desirable etc. etc' but when I opened the door, I had to reign myself in because I almost laughed in his face. This guy I knew for nearly 3 decades, the most preppy, athletic, all-American looking guy EVER and he is standing there in painter's pants, a t-shirt with a gecko on it, and open-toe sandals!!! Despite the surfer dude being late, I got in his Malibu (yeah, surfer dude drove a Malibu) and sat on a PILE of papers in the passenger seat that he didn't bother to move before he got there.
The date went great. He found it amusing that I told him I needed to interview him to see if he was husband worthy before I spent time dating him. I explained that I was approaching 30 and had 2 kids, so I was looking for a husband, not a good time, I could find plenty of one and not so much of the other. He caught on quickly and decided to interview me back. Since we met all the important criteria, we moved forward at lightening speed. 3 months into the relationship, I got cold feet. I had just gotten out of a long relationship, never lived on my own before, never went to a bar legally (illegally we won't talk about), and all the other things that happened in the lives of people between 15 and 28 that weren't married with kids. I broke it off.
I called him on the phone, said I wasn't ready to give my heart to anyone, and hung up. He called, I didn't answer. He came by, I didn't answer the door. That was it for me. The next morning, I headed off to work. I got off the bypass on Veteran's and as I approach the baseball fields, I see a blue car….then I see a guy standing on the road…..and there's a little girl there too….he's holding a sign….It's Grant!! I slow down and read the sign. It simply said, "I love you." Beside him was his little girl and she had picked flowers and made a bouquet. I stomped on my brakes, turned into the parking lot, and that was it for me. At that moment, I knew that for better or worse, no matter what, this man would never break my heart.
3 weeks later, he gave me a ring. 1 week after that, I gave up planning a wedding because every place I picked he had been with some hoochie or another before. 1 week after that, he told me he had the wedding planned and all I needed was a dress. 5 months after my break-in date, we were married in Lake Tahoe. Now, don't get all gooey on me because it wasn't all hearts and flowers. Grant was late getting us to the airport and we sat not speaking for 5 hours waiting on another flight. I thought it was a sign from God that we weren't supposed to marry. He thought it was a sign from God that the plane would crash, so he basically saved my life. 13 years later, it seems we both got our signs wrong.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Wanting to go full force into my new stay-at-home mom job, what was my first job? Since my kids were 6,7,and 10 at the time, I figured I needed at least one kid at home to make my new job plausible, so I decided to let the baby making begin! Grant was on board before I could get the words out of my mouth, but my body balked at the idea. After 11 months of 'Bugs Bunny' every day, a surgery, and enough drugs to insure I would never ride in the Tour De France with Lance, my doctor advised that nothing was working and IVF may be my only option. Well, to heck with that, we went on vacation.
We decided to take the kids to Universal Studios in Orlando, and Grant came up with the brilliant idea of staying with his aunt and uncle and taking Grandmother with us to visit while we vacationed. If I hadn't done so much wrong in my life that I was worried I wasn't going to get into Heaven, I would've said no, but I needed to get some brownie points with God just to hedge my bet, so I said ok. So here we go, Grant driving, Grandmother shotgun 'on account a her car sickness,' and me and the kids in the back. When Grandmother walked out with a picnic basket, I knew we were two wood paneling stripes away from being the Griswolds. I won't bore you with the details, but 18 hours later, after 50 potty breaks and an hour long picnic at an 'appropriate' picnic area, we pulled into the family driveway.
I went straight to one of the guest rooms to escape the fussing, feet, and frustration of the trip and to try and calm MY 18 hours of car sickness before we loaded back up to go to Universal Studios. After an appropriate amount of family time, we headed out to start our vacation. The park was amazing. Our family loves roller coasters and U.S. did not disappoint. For a solid week, we rode and rerode everything in the park. At the end of the week, we packed back up and headed back to Mississippi.
On the return trip, it was JUST as much fun as it was before without the anticipation of a great vacation ahead of us. Yep, the party was over and that trip back was LOOONG. 16 hours later (amazing how a picnic and potty aren't nearly as important as getting back home and away from each other), we pulled into Grandmother's driveway. The minute she shut the door, the fireworks began. You see, in my family, if somebody doesn't get a good cussing at least once a week, they don't feel normal, so an entire week's worth of nice had to end.
I had fought motion sickness the entire time we were on vacation, but even after I got home, I couldn't shake it. Finally, I took a pregnancy test despite the fact that the doctor said I wasn't pregnant just a week before. Any wouldn't you know it, I was pregnant. My fetus had rode every dang ride at Universal Studios! I just knew he would be born with his toes coming out of his ear from being shaken so much when he was getting put together, but luckily, he came out beautifully normal.
Just a few months back, Grant's aunt and uncle came for a visit with Grandmother. While reminiscing about our fun family vacation, Aunt Jeannie bursts out, "And to think, Jake was CONCEIVED at my house in Pam's old room!" My jaw hit the floor and bile rose in my throat. WTH was she thinking? For 8 years she thought I….did the bunny hop…..in her house…..in Pam's old room…..surrounded with plastic flowers and kitty figurines…. What on God's green earth would possess her to think that 3 octogenarians and 3 kids in a 3 bedroom house would lend itself to baby making? When I told her I was pregnant BEFORE we came, relief washed over both her and Grandmother. Needless to say, I'm pretty sure I was a harlot in their minds for nearly a decade until I set the record straight.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Many friends and family encouraged me to start a blog, but I have no idea why. I am a typical stay-at-home mom doing the things stay-at-home moms do. Maybe it's because my way of not taking life so seriously appeals to people. Maybe it's because I like to laugh when crying seems like the more logical response. Maybe it's because I am a realist (or honest to the point of brutality, whichever you prefer). Anyway, for whatever reason it is, here I go.
I'll start with where my stay-at-home journey began. In my former life, I was an elementary school teacher. For 7 years, I took great pride in teaching children how to believe in the possibility of being whatever they wanted in life. Yes, I taught reading, math, and such, but my goal was to to encourage, accept, and love my students. In return, my students gave all that and more back to me. They are part of the reason I learned to go with the flow, laugh a lot, and when business is done, have fun.
I taught at a school next to a trailer park. More kids than not came from homes that were more dysfunctional than even my family was (we will get into that on a later blog), and, Lord, did they bring it to school with them. A mom came to my class and told my students she was hunting me down to "whoop her a-- like she whooped my kid." One student (He had an imaginary pet duck that quacked under his desk.) ran away from home in a stolen car at the age of nine. One asked me what an 'orgasm' was because "my sister was talking about getting one and I don't know if I have one." to which I replied, "Oh, I think you mean organism, any living thing, so yes, you have one." (dodged a bullet with that one). Another child thought the definition of 'collapse' was 'a disease my cousin got from a nasty girl.' Yeah, I learned to think quickly, never show fear or surprise, and roll with the punches (literally, when breaking up a fight).
In order to teach at a school like this, the instructors had to be a little dysfunctional themselves. My partner in crime was my BFF, Terri. More than once, we ran and hid in the gym lockers when the principal was on the prowl so we didn't get caught playing hooky from cheerleader practice. With the help of our favorite coach, we rigged a tv with paperclips that stretched out the window so we could watch soap operas in my room. Another teacher had a speech impediment and called one of her students 'Howard' instead of 'Harold' so much, when the office called for 'Harold' to go to the office, he didn't go because he thought they were calling someone named 'Harold' and his name was 'Howard.' This same teacher forgot that a visitor was blind, and accidentally ran her into a door frame while taking her to a classroom. I loved these ladies like family and loved every minute with them and the kids.
All good things must come to an end, and my end began when a new assistant principal decided to pee on the parade. The day before school started, she called me and told me she was moving me to first grade (aka the pee pants, green snot, and vomit at will grade). I was mortified, to say the least. When I got in the room with these little terrors, the ass-p (assistant principal, but ass-p fits her better) also informed me that I would have no assistant, and that assistants did recess and all activity classes. Basically, ass-p told me that my life was filled with snot and pee for 8 hours straight. In the words of my teenager, my life was over. I struggled through the first couple of months but every day was awful. These kids sucked the fun out of me like that tornado sucked up ToTo. And then it happened. Picture it, Halloween 2002, a first grade classroom, me and 20 little demon spawns, and me. As I look down the hall, I see Halloween candy, streamers, you name it, as far as I could see. I asked my next door neighbor what was going on and she told me that on Halloween the kids went room to room trick or treating and partying. Guess who told the newbie about this tradition? Nope, not a soul let me in on this little tidbit until one hour before the festivities. Well, since I had no assistant, I did the only thing I could do and called Grant (my hubby) to bring everything needed for a party and quickly. Just as I was hanging up, in walks ass-p and scolds me for being on my phone. I explained what happened and thought she would have mercy on me, but. of course, that didn't happen.
A few minutes later the ass-p came back to my room and said she would watch my class so I could go talk with the principal. That heifer turned me in to the principal! I couldn't believe it. After all I had done, changing grades, buildings, no breaks, no friends, no fun, and now I'm heading to the principal's office because of this tattle tail? Well, at that moment, my 'don't give a crap' flower was in full bloom. I walked into the office and the principal was holding a reprimand in his hand. I explained the whole situation to him, but he said to keep the peace between him and the ass-p, he wanted me to take the reprimand and that would be the end of it, no further action would be taken. Before I could cover my mouth, I popped off, "Well, then you can take that reprimand and shove it along with this job because I quit." Now, in my head I'm thinking, "Oh, crap, what did you just say? WTH are you thinking? You've REALLY lost it this time." But to my boss, I hear myself ranting about the ass-p, the demon spawn, it was ugly. Somewhere in the middle, my brain registered my boss saying, "You can't just quit. You're under contract. You have to submit a letter of resignation to the board for their approval." I see my hand reaching across his desk, him leaning back as if he thinks I'm swinging on him, and my hand grabbing a pencil and a sticky note off the desk. Then I see my hand write, "To Whom it May Concern: I quit. Sincerely, Tracye Prather." My hand throws it back on his desk, and I turn and walk out.
My brain started working again about 15 minutes later, and when it did…..I laughed…..and I cried…..
and I laughed again. Driving in my car, windows down, radio up, sun on my face, life was still good. Then and there, in the middle of my nervous breakdown, a plain, simple, ordinary stay-at-home mom was born, and so it begins…..
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