Summer of the Iron Man….

Now that the girls are back to school and the season is almost over, I finally have time to write about the summer.

It was a long, hot, sweltering summer – the kind where even the dogs stay inside during dog days. Dallas almost broke a record for the most days in a row with temps over 100 degrees – a mark set in 1980.  But that one day, when it couldn’t quite make it past 99, spoiled the run. Over 40 days straight the temp was beyond 100.  Not just past, hanging around 102-103, it’s been 105 or plus, all the way up to over 110.  That’s hot.  The heat has been palpable, like having a hot iron pressed down on one’s head.  A couple of days the news reported that the area was one of the hottest on the planet, hotter than the African desert and Dubai.

With all the commitments we had, it’s been a marathon of a summer.

On second thought, it’s been more of a triathlon. The time span includes the last part of April all the way through to now. A solid three months of racing toward the end of the summer.  When all the events began to cascade, it started feeling like being thrown in the drink and forced to swim to shore.

The swim portion began with hubs having to have surgery in mid-April. We had known for a while that it was coming, and it really wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.  In for a day; home for a few more days, then back to normal.  Easy peasy, right? Turns out, things were a little more complicated than the doctor made it sound which brought on an unexpectedly long recovery time.  Combined with the commencement of May, it pushed us into the deep end.

May is the month when all the school systems suddenly realize there is only one month of school time left before summer break. Everything that has not been addressed or scheduled is crammed into the month. Field trips, banquets, concerts, final tests, end of the year projects. Some events we shoved in for our own pleasure – annual trip to the Ren Faire, Celtic Woman concert, and Hannah’s 13^th birthday.  For good measure, (cause who ever has enough to do in May?), there were the unavoidable events, mainly hubs’ surgery and Liz’s driving test.

Hubs has always been one of those guys who doesn’t have much wrong with him. If he did get anything, it was usually cold/sinus type infections.  Previous to April, he had only had a knee surgery and sinus surgery, many years apart and never anything invasive to repair or remove.  He still has his tonsils. With the recovery complications, it meant I was the one who had to complete Liz’s driver training.

When I was a teen, I couldn’t wait to get my license. It was a tangible sign that one was almost grown, that freedom was in the grasp. An indelible memory is the first time my mom let me drive.  We were a few blocks from home when she swerved into the American Legion parking lot.  She put the car in park, gave me a significant look, and said, “Get out.”

Not the easiest teen in the world to get along with (I had a big mouth, imagine that!), my first thought was, “She’s mad at me and I’m going to have to walk home.”

If that was true, it was the angriest she had been with me. I hesitated, hand on door handle, heart pounding in anxiety.

“Don’t you want to drive?” she asked.

My heart pounded harder, nervous excitement replacing the tension.  We traded places and she talked me through the process, a white-knuckled grip on the dashboard. Driving that mile seemed to take hours, but I was driving.

Dad was never impressed with my driving.  In fact, one of the few times I’ve heard him swear, was on a Sunday when I was a new driver, driving the family to church. Let’s just say we had a close call.

He always told me, “The way you drive, you’re going to have a wreck one of these days,” using the firm rhetoric only a father understands.

In all my years of driving, I’ve had one wreck. I was 26, had earned a college degree, and had been working full-time for several years.  It happened during a rainstorm, on a twisty mountain road in Varnell, as I was leaving the station where I worked. On a nasty, narrow hairpin, my brakes locked and I slid head-on into a small truck (owned by a cousin of a friend who also worked at the station).

When my parents arrived at the scene to collect me, the first thing Dad said was “I told you, you were gonna have a wreck someday.”

I had only been driving every day for 10 years.

We’ve practically had to force Liz through the learning to drive process. I thought all these years mom’s anxiety during my learning year was caused by my lack of skill. Having now gone through it myself, I understand the fear for parents isn’t damage to the child, but damage to the car.

On one early drive time, Liz ran the wheels of my Mazda CX-7 onto the curb. My reaction – yelling “Move over! Back to the left!” My thoughts – “My car! My car!”  She did cause minor damage to the fender of my Mazda the first time she attempted pulling into the garage. I love that car. It’s been my favorite car I’ve owned. But now for the decision – do we pass it on to her and I get a new car? Or do I keep my car that I’ve dubbed the Momzda, and get her a slightly used vehicle?  We’re open to suggestions and advice.

Besides her reluctance, the other hurdle to jump in the quest to get her license was racking up the required number of night driving hours. Not a lot of night hours are available in Texas in May. It’s not dark till close to 9 p.m. and by 7 a.m., daylight has once again broken the horizon. Plus she still had to get all her homework completed, and it all had to work around her guard schedule.

April closed out with our annual trip to the Renaissance Festival. Hubs was still not recovered enough to make the journey back in time, but we met several friends there and a merry olde tyme was had by all.

Hannah earned a band field trip to Six Flags, which got scheduled for May (of course). Yes, Dallas has one of those.  Being the good parent I am, naturally I signed up to chaperone. The original date for the trip had to be postponed due to severe weather. The reschedule was billed as rain or shine.  Beset by a bout of optimism, I prepared for shine.

By the time we arrived, dark clouds loomed. As we exited the buses, forked lightning split the sky. Our group decided we could make it through the turnstiles before the tempest broke upon us. Again, optimism ruled. We didn’t count on a logjam at the entrance. As we stood waiting for our turn, the heavens opened and the deluge – rain mixed with hail – poured down.  Bad day for optimistic thinking.

My friend Kristy, who was the other parent for our group, had the smarts to bring a jacket. By the time we went through the entrance, the tickets were so wet the ink was running. The park had to track down personnel to scan them manually because the wet paper was shredding inside the reader. Once we were into the park, Hannah and I were soaked head to toe. The other members of our group were guys and it didn’t bother them to be waterlogged. Hannah is girly enough to mind sopping clothes unless she is swimming. We waded through ankle deep water till we could take refuge underneath the overhang of a gift shop.

Since the weather showed no imminent signs of letting up, I forked over $6 each for two rain ponchos. At least they turned out to be the good, heavy duty plastic kind that can be reused, not the I-paid-$6-for-a-trash-bag-masquerading-as-a-rain-poncho variety. We were a bit more comfortable but the rain endured for more than an hour, forcing the park to close down the attractions for the duration. After lunch, the rains subsided. Under the Texas sun, it didn’t take long to dry, except for our shoes, which meant we had that squishy feeling with every step all day long.  For once, the people further down the line fared better, being able to find cover before entering the park. In the end, all the students were happy with their day at Six Flags, even if it was a bit wet.

Crammed into the same weekend, we saw Celtic Woman perform. They are one of the girls’ favorite musical groups. The world didn’t end as predicted but we did hear angels sing. No matter what you think of them, their live show is an entertainment spectacular with talented singers and accomplished musicians. The girls drive me crazy playing the CDs over and over in the car, but I enjoy seeing them live.

We celebrated Hannah’s 13^th birthday on her birthday, an occurrence that doesn’t happen often (The date often coincides with Memorial Day Weekend), so we enjoyed a royal feast. By request and tradition akin to a bat mitzvah for our family, she was treated to a visit to Medieval Times, another of our favorite medieval fantasy haunts. She had been planning for and dreaming of that event for three years, since Liz celebrated her 13^th birthday at the Atlanta Medieval Times. She hosted two friends, and we let Liz invite a friend, also. To add more enjoyment to the evening, the knights did Meet & Greets afterward, sending all of the teens of our party into swoons.

After what seemed like many more than four weeks, we reached the shore of summer break. Hubs was able to get around better and almost back to his normal schedule. The girls were making plans for how to spend their summer.  Then we looked at the calendar for the next month and realized we had only completed the first leg of the race.

 

27 Dresses Later….

I had intentions of writing a post about our mad, merry, lusty month of May.  However, I’m on a bit of a soapbox on a subject near and dear. So it will have to wait another week.

My niece, Caitlin, is getting married in late June.  It’s going to be a lovely occasion which we are all excited about.  Such a stellar event in the lives of our family requires certain parameters — one of my main ones being the search for the proper, new dress. A dress that is fitting for the outdoors in late June in Georgia and flattering.

It was a regular Thursday — yoga and weigh-in, followed by a Target run.  A trip to Target also meant an after-yoga Starbucks skinny latte treat.  A Ross is beside the Target and on my list as one of the top places to search for a dress,  so I decided I’d spend a little time shopping.

It felt like I tried on at least 50 dresses as I stared at my laughable reflection time and again in the mirror.  (Yes, I know the reality was likely half that number.)  But I made so many trips to the fitting room that I developed a short-term relationship with the salesperson stationed there.

Apparently, one of the current hot styles in women’s dresses is an empire waistline.  My body is not built to be flattered by an empire waist.  I have..um.. a couple of reasons for this.  Those reasons have existed since I was a teenager, and I haven’t been able to wear smaller than an XL shirt since that time for those reasons.

I am, as it was termed in the Jane Russell pin-up days, a full-figured gal.  A buxom wench.  As we like to term it nowadays,  a curvy gal.  My shirt size is followed by an X and my dress size will never be in single digits.  Button-down shirts are one of the banes of my existence.  Either everything fits except the middle button or if the middle button fits properly, it’s too big everywhere else. A few months ago, when women on Facebook were doing “Stripper Names” for Breast Cancer Awareness, my name turned out to be Chesty.  Not. Joking.  But fitting.

Besides the proliferation of empire waists, the other choice seemed to be the  sack look.  That doesn’t work for me either. Ruffles, rosettes  and bright colored flower prints look ridiculous on me, not to mention it’s unattractive anyway. It makes me look like I’m dressed up to play Mama from Mama’s Family.  I may be one of the larger girls, but I desire to look as attractive and fashionable as the ladies who’ve been fortunate enough to inherit skeleton genes.  I don’t want to be pushed up even more or hidden under a sack. The styles clothing companies design for plus gals seem to waver between  “Carmen Miranda”, “Sackcloth and Ashes”,  “Grandma”  or  “Hello, Girls!”

Let’s face it, how many of you have ever seen a small-chested woman shopping for clothes for herself in the women’s department?  Nope, didn’t think so.

I’ve lost quite a chunk of weight over the past year – about half of all the pregnancy weight I’ve been struggling to lose for a decade.  It was nice to discover I’ve gone down 2 dress sizes, a size I haven’t seen since I was about 5 months pregnant with my now 16 year old daughter.  The measurement that has decreased the least?  Yeah, I’m still gonna be a buxom wench even when I reach my goal weight.

 

Freaky Friday…

Lots of impressive events mark this Friday, both personal and public.

The one that held interest for everyone (or at least 1/3 of the world’s population according to the news) was the Royal Wedding.  For the USA, there has been almost non-stop coverage for the past couple of weeks that turned to wall-to-wall coverage for the big event today.   This morning, I was thankful for the invention of the DVR.   Unlike the wedding of Charles and Diana in 1981, I did not have to arise at the profane hour of 4 a.m.  (which would have been 3 a.m.  Central).  In my world, that is still the middle of the night. There’s a reason those are known as the wee hours.  It’s momentous that I have experienced the weddings of two future kings of England.

I didn’t have my fancy hat, but I did still have bedhead and upon viewing the procession of hatted ladies, I think it worked.  What is it with the English and the hats? Why weren’t the men wearing hats?  I have no problem with a tradition of wearing hats, but is there a competition on for the ugliest, strangest hat in the land?  The wedding is worth watching just to marvel at the hats.  Fuzzy and feathery,  woven and wide-brimmed, pill-boxed and petaled — every imaginable decoration in a rainbow of colors and a mosaic of shapes.

The bride was beautiful, the groom was handsome and they seemed to have only eyes for each other.  Wait a minute, royals in love with each other getting married?  Is that allowed?  Didn’t Parliament pass a law against that?  Truly, I  think it’s lovely to see the feelings they have for each other showing through.   Wills, Harry and Kate all strike me as being new, modern kinds of royals.  The two princes seem to have absorbed their philosophy of life more from their Mum than their Dad.

On a more personal side, this Friday was filled with news reports of damage from the tornado outbreak across the Southeastern USA.   This brought a genuine thankful moment.  The area hit hardest in Georgia is the area where my hometown is.  My family and many friends still live across that whole region.  Most of them came through without damage or injury.  Those connected to me who were affected had only minor damage or injuries.   One did pass directly over my Dad’s house, but did not touch down.   My step-sister and her four boys were staying the night with them because of the storms.  They had to take refuge in the inner hallway with their heads covered and could hear the roaring as it passed over.   Whether by people or places, I have ties to many of the towns severely damaged by the storms.

As I watch the TV coverage, I feel powerless to help them.  At this time, Texas seems even more of a distance than normal.  A broken tree trunk javelined into the rear door of a transfer truck will be one of my enduring images.  Tuscaloosa is a place we often travel through going back to Georgia and usually a stopping point for a break.  I have friends whose hometown is that area.   Cleveland, Tennessee has been a part of my entire life.  My hometown is a 30 minute drive away, a bit over the Georgia border.  We shopped and ate  there often.  My mom, a local bank teller, was off on Wednesdays, so we took excursions that day.  One of her favorite destinations was Cleveland, for shopping at the “Can House” and dining at a small, dingy hole-in-the wall, inexpensive but delicious Oriental restaurant. Many Fifth Sundays, when our church didn’t have service,  we journeyed to Collegedale to stock up on Little Debbies.   Summers, we swam at Parksville Lake, on The Rocks.

North Georgia is riddled with small, interconnected towns.  Most are just blips on the map.  The ones situated along I-75 feature motels, restaurants, and convenience stations. Unless you’re from the area, people don’t notice your town until something happens. Ringgold is a small town about halfway between Dalton, Ga. and Chattanooga.   Thursday morning, Ringgold made national headlines as the town in North Georgia virtually flattened by an E4 or 5 tornado.  The state closed down all the roads into town.  The reporter I was watching read a list of the buildings destroyed.  As he stated the name of each place, I  recognized each one.  When this sort of event happens, I feel much compassion for those suffering, but it’s a different sort of tragic feeling when you can clearly picture those places because you have memories of being there.

When I worked at WFLI-TV,  the studio and tower, while being licensed to the Chattanooga market through Cleveland, was located in Varnell, an even smaller town not far from Ringgold.  Traveling to and from location shoots usually required a trip through Ringgold.  If we had to run to the store or if a group went out to eat, Ringgold was the closest town that could provide those services, unless we wanted to visit the Burger Den.   (Yes, we did really eat there.)  I’ve eaten at the Waffle House — the only place still open after some late-night shoots.  I’ve filled up with gas at the Shell station, which was described as “flattened” and “shredded.”  I’ve shopped in the stores.  I’ve driven on Alabama Hwy., I-75 and Hwy. 41 without giving the town a second thought as I traveled through. The high school, which our high school sometimes competed against,  had sections destroyed.   A wide swath of a vibrant town gone in a matter of seconds — eight dead,  double-digit injury counts,  possibly hundreds losing houses, businesses and possessions.

At devastating times like this, people always wonder why God would allow such a horrible thing to happen.  I believe a lot of nature happens.  It has its course, and storms occur. I think it does present each of us the opportunity to step forward, to help others and to show kindness to others in a real, visceral way.

Originally, the last Endeavour shuttle launch was scheduled for this afternoon.  During the time I’ve been writing this post, the launch was scrubbed for today and rescheduled for Sunday.   No matter how many times the launch date is pushed back, it doesn’t change the fact that this is the last trip for Endeavour and the penultimate launch for the entire shuttle program.  A program that has no other program waiting in the wings to take its place.  That’s right, folks!  We are witnesses to the end of America’s ability to travel into space.   Yes, the country who pioneered space travel, the most powerful country in the world, the country who placed men on the moon first, will have no way to travel into space.  Progress and evolution.  If our government desires to have astronauts on the Space Station, they will hitchhike rides with the Russians.  Who will history say really won this race?

Tomorrow, we are scheduled to take our annual trip to the Ren Faire.  Lots of ugly, outrageous hats will adorn the heads of royals once again.

 

Adventures of Min & Margaret…. Tales of Two Sisters

I can’t imagine life without my sister.

Our lifetime spent together has been marked by sibling rivalry and jealousy, fighting and criticism, admonishing and expressing an opinion on every action. Yet it is also defined by the knowledge there is someone in the world who cares about your well-being, celebrates with you in the good times and supports you in bad times.  Someone to laugh and be silly with, to encourage you when the path seems dark and dreary and the soul becomes weak and weary.

A sister tells you the truth, knows you and accepts you, but still tries to change you. The constant presence of a sister in one’s life is a great gift even when you are separated by miles or oceans. You’re connected by either blood ties or blood feuds, always aware of each other’s presence in the universe.

My sister, Adrienne, and I have had an up and down relationship — depending on our ages and point in life.  Over the course of time, we’ve stayed the closest of friends. Min and Margaret are the nicknames we gave to each other.  Adrienne earned the name “Min” from her love of quoting the Robin Williams line from “Mork and Mindy”,  “Give me a big kiss, Min!”  She dubbed me Margaret for my amazing skill of phoning at the most inconvenient times.  Thinking she should recognize my voice, instead of “Hello!”, I ‘d start the conversation, “It’s me.”  She would respond, “Is that you again, Margaret?”, inspired by the Ray Stevens song, “It’s Me Again, Margaret!”.

One Christmas, I gifted her with a tapestry pillow adorned with the saying, “I smile when I think you’re my sister; I laugh when I think there’s nothing you can do about it.” Those words are a good summary of our relationship.

She’d lived four years before I came along to invade her life.  At first, she was thrilled, considering me like a living doll, wanting to carry me around, dress me up, and do my hair.   Then I learned to talk and walk, thereby ruining her world.

From earlier than I can really remember, she’d say to me, “Your name isn’t Davenport….” proceeding to inform me my name ended with my middle name, and that I was adopted, not actually a part of the family.  At 7  or 8 years of age, she delighted in this torture which frequently reduced me to sobbing.  She considered it her right to torture me;  I was her baby sister.  If anyone else tried to bully or tease me, she was the first one to come to my defense.  After all, it was an exclusive right; hers alone.

Adrienne has a knack for convincing me to do things no matter how many times I swear I won’t give in. Again, she ingrained this behavior into me in early childhood.

“Go on,” she urged. “Do it.”

Crossing my small arms, determined to resist, I replied, “No! I’ll get in trouble.”

“No, you won’t. Go ahead. I said it’s okay,” she continued to cajole, weakening my defenses until every layer peeled back like an onion skin.

Letting out a weary sigh, I said, “Okay.”

As I reached my hand for the forbidden object, she called, “Mom! Ava’s touching the candy jar again!”

Mom rushed into the living room, scolding and threatening to spank me if it happened one more time.

With glee, Adrienne encouraged, “Whip her, Momma, whip her!”

It’s a lesson I still haven’t learned. Although she no longer tries to get me in trouble (well, that kind of trouble), she can talk me into doing tasks or going places I have no real desire to do or go.

Sisters know how to push each other’s button — whether for good or evil.   Adrienne hit her teens while I was still a preteen – a volatile combination.  One of the worst fights we ever had was over a Bonnie Bell Jumbo Grape Lip Smackers.

As a high school senior, she was enjoying her last year as a member of the band’s Color Guard. As an eighth grader who had also chosen to be in band, I was eligible to be a band manager.  Band managers were eighth grade band members who traveled with the high school band assisting with unloading equipment from the buses and schlepping it on and off the field.

This particular Friday, before a game, I decided to borrow her Jumbo Grape Lip Smackers. Since she was already at the school for rehearsal, she wasn’t at home to ask. I never thought she’d find out, anyway. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

Before boarding the buses to return home, she stormed up to me, a snarl on her face. “You have my Lip Smackers!” she screamed, voice rising in pitch.

Slowly I pulled the 4-inch long, 2-inch wide purple tube from my coat pocket. “You mean this one?” I quipped, holding it in front of her. “So I borrowed it. It’s just Lip Smackers.”

“It’s MINE!” she screeched, grabbing the tube and stuffing it into her coat pocket.  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re gonna get in so much trouble for this! You just wait!”

I shrugged, flippant.

If smoke could shoot from someone’s ears when they’re angry, jets of flame would’ve shot from hers.

Silent, glaring daggers, she finally burst out, “I HATE YOU!”

As I turned to enter my assigned bus, over my shoulder, I singsonged, “I hate you, too!” in a high-pitched voice.

Now, I don’t remember how long our parents grounded me, but she was right about one thing, I did get in a lot of trouble.

As we grew into adulthood, got married and started our own families, we began to appreciate having each other to depend upon.  We’ve also learned another life lesson together. As Southerners like to phrase it, “When you have children, you pay for your raising.”   I seem to be raising our mini-me’s.

Over the years of my own family, my two daughters often play out the same experiences I remember between Adrienne and me.

When she was about seven, I heard Liz saying to Hannah, “Your name is not really DiGioia,” as three year old Hannah fussed and fumed, “I am SO….”

Guess my Mom was right — Genetics do win out in the end.

During February, Adrienne flew out from Georgia to visit us in Texas for a week.  Over coffee, sitting at my kitchen counter, I informed her, “You know, I’ll have to write a blog entry about your trip.”

Smiling over her steaming cup, a previous gift from her stating Life’s Greatest Gift is Having You as my Sister, she retorted, “Heck, you should write a book about us — the Adventures of Min and Margaret.”

Since I’m currently in the middle of writing a different book, I’ve decided to turn it into a feature of the blog.

When there’s a writer in the family, none of your history remains sacred or secret.

 

 

Life’s Do-Over…..

January makes me optimistic.

Sure, it’s the dreariest and coldest month in the South, but it also ushers in the brand-new year. At the beginning of every year, no matter what I am facing, my spirits are lifted.

The beginning of this January has brought a brief pause in the usual madness that characterizes the every day. A bit of time to breathe deep and take stock of the year that has been and turn toward the year that is beckoning before everything careens down the slippery slope of another year passing.

Why would the beginning of the year cause this reaction? To me, it’s life’s way of granting us a do-over. It’s another chance to do well, regardless of the bad actions and choices that marred the previous year.

It’s the opportunity to right the wrongs we have inflicted on others. Another occasion to give back a portion of whatever fortune one has been granted in life, be it wealth, health, good spirit, talent, a shoulder to lean or cry on or an ear willing to listen.

I believe every person has something good to offer their world thereby making their corner of the universe just that bit better than it would have been otherwise. When we say we cannot or will not, we lessen the good impact that can be made. Every person and event we come into contact with in the course of the year brings possibilities to make a difference in someone’s life. Many times what you have to offer, even if you think it is insignificant, is exactly what is needed.

So I encourage you to step out this year and make the most of every moment, because at any given time, the moment is all we have.

Let me offer this word of wisdom quoted from one of my younger daughter’s favorite movies:
Yesterday is history;
Tomorrow is mystery;
Now is the present,
That’s why it is a gift.

And another immortal truth from the wise Jedi master, Yoda:

Do or do not; there is no try.

To all who journey this way, I wish for you in this year that you would find the courage and the strength to do well.    May I be able to do the same.

 

11 Step Program for those Thinking of Having Kids…

A friend sent this to me on Facebook.. I don’t know who the original author is.  It’s not me although I wish I had come up with it!! Enjoy.

 

Lesson 1

1. Go to the grocery store.

2. Arrange to have your salary paid directly to their head office.

3. Go home.

4. Pick up the paper.

5. Read it for the last time.

Lesson 2

Before you finally go ahead and have children, find a couple who already are parents and berate them about their…

1. Methods of discipline.

2. Lack of patience.

3. Appallingly low tolerance levels.

4. Allowing their children to run wild.

5. Suggest ways in which they might improve their child’s breastfeeding, sleep habits, toilet training, table manners, and overall behavior.

Enjoy it because it will be the last time in your life you will have all the answers.

Lesson 3

A really good way to discover how the nights might feel…

1. Get home from work and immediately begin walking around the living room from 5PM to 10PM carrying a wet bag weighing approximately 8-12 pounds, with a radio turned to static (or some other obnoxious sound) playing loudly. (Eat cold food with one hand for dinner)

2. At 10PM, put the bag gently down, set the alarm for midnight, and go to sleep.

3. Get up at 12 and walk around the living room again, with the bag, until 1AM.

4. Set the alarm for 3AM.

5. As you can’t get back to sleep, get up at 2AM and make a drink and watch an infomercial.

6. Go to bed at 2:45AM.

7. Get up at 3AM when the alarm goes off.

8. Sing songs quietly in the dark until 4AM.

9. Get up. Make breakfast. Get ready for work and go to work (work hard and be productive)

Repeat steps 1-9 each night. Keep this up for 3-5 years. Look cheerful and together.

Lesson 4

Can you stand the mess children make? T o find out…

1. Smear peanut butter onto the sofa and jam onto the curtains.

2. Hide a piece of raw chicken behind the stereo and leave it there all summer.

3. Stick your fingers in the flower bed.

4. Then rub them on the clean walls.

5. Take your favorite book, photo album, etc. Wreck it.

6. Spill milk on your new pillows. Cover the stains with crayons. How does that look?

Lesson 5

Dressing small children is not as easy as it seems.

1. Buy an octopus and a small bag made out of loose mesh.

2. Attempt to put the octopus into the bag so that none of the arms hang out.

Time allowed for this – all morning.

Lesson 6

Forget the BMW and buy a mini-van. And don’t think that you can leave it out in the driveway spotless and shining. Family cars don’t look like that.

1. Buy a chocolate ice cream cone and put it in the glove compartment.

Leave it there.

2. Get a dime. Stick it in the CD player.

3. Take a family size package of chocolate cookies. Mash them into the back seat. Sprinkle cheerios all over the floor, then smash them with your foot.

4. Run a garden rake along both sides of the car.

Lesson 7

Go to the local grocery store. Take with you the closest thing you can find to a pre-school child. (A full-grown goat is an excellent choice). If you intend to have more than one child, then definitely take more than one goat. Buy your week’s groceries without letting the goats out of your sight. Pay for everything the goat eats or destroys. Until you can easily accomplish this, do not even contemplate having children.

Lesson 8

1. Hollow out a melon.

2. Make a small hole in the side.

3. Suspend it from the ceiling and swing it from side to side.

4. Now get a bowl of soggy Cheerios and attempt to spoon them into the swaying melon by pretending to be an airplane.

5. Continue until half the Cheerios are gone.

6. Tip half into your lap. The other half, just throw up in the air.

You are now ready to feed a nine- month-old baby.

Lesson 9

Learn the names of every character from Sesame Street , Barney, Disney, the Teletubbies, and Pokemon. Watch nothing else on TV but PBS, the Disney channel or Noggin for at least five years. (I know, you’re thinking What’s ‘Noggin’?) Exactly the point.

Lesson 10

Make a recording of Fran Drescher saying ‘mommy’ repeatedly. (Important: no more than a four second delay between each ‘mommy’; occasional crescendo to the level of a supersonic jet is required). Play this tape in your car everywhere you go for the next four years. You are now ready to take a long trip with a toddler.

Lesson 11

Start talking to an adult of your choice. Have someone else continually tug on your skirt hem, shirt- sleeve, or elbow while playing the ‘mommy’ tape made from Lesson 10 above. You are now ready to have a conversation with an adult while there is a child in the room.

This is all very tongue in cheek; anyone who is parent will say ‘it’s all worth it!’ Share it with your friends, both those who do and don’t have kids. I guarantee they’ll get a chuckle out of it. Remember, a sense of humor is one of the most important things you’ll need when you become a parent!

 

Christmas Musings…

A great debate has been raging in Dallas this holiday season.  First Baptist of Dallas has made a list which many people have been checking at least twice to find out who’s been naughty or nice.  Dubbed the “Grinch List,” it separates area businesses into two categories — those who say Merry Christmas to their customers (nice) and those who only say Happy Holidays to their customers (naughty).  It’s the latest chapter in the on-going saga of the “Keep Christ in Christmas” movement.  I know a lot of people care about this issue because I have seen them driving around town with their “Keep Christ in Christmas” magnets affixed to their cars as they search for the right Christmas presents and the perfect Christmas tree.

Don’t get me wrong.. To me, keeping Christ in Christmas is important.  I am proud to be a born-again, evangelical, committed Christian.  For me and my family, Christmas is about Jesus.   It’s all about the attitude.   If you want Christ in your Christmas, keep your focus on him.  It doesn’t matter how many signs you put on your car or how many campaigns you join, if you personally aren’t honoring Christ at Christmas, then you don’t have Christ in your Christmas.   It’s not anything that laws, society or businesses can take from you.

I love everything about Christmas — the decorations, the tree, the light displays, the joy, the excuse to eat chocolate and not feel guilty.. this list could go on a while.   My mother, Ruth Ann, loved Christmas.   I think that’s where I got it.   She would carefully plan out our Santa lists and how she would decorate the house.   She believed in matching items to the recipient.   She had special recipes that she only cooked at Christmastime.  I can close my eyes and I’m back in that blue kitchen, helping roll date nut balls or dropping oatmeal candy wads onto wax paper smelling cinnamon and cloves while pies bake in the oven.   More than anything else, Christmas was about celebrating the coming of Christ to the earth.  She taught my sister and I to associate all the trimmings of Christmas with a Christ-centered meaning.

Even though Christmas brings a lot of joy to my whole family, it also includes one of the most painful moments in our lives.  Fifteen years ago, on December 22, my Christmas-loving and joy-filled Mom died of breast cancer.  She fought her best to hold on for one last Christmas, but didn’t quite have the strength.  Her funeral was on Christmas Eve, during one of the coldest Christmases ever in the small town where we lived.   The previous evening, people lined up circling the funeral home outside in sub-freezing temperatures to say one last good-bye.  Family, friends and others whose lives had been impacted by a woman who knew how to keep Christ in Christmas.   Because Christ was in her every day.

True, Christians did not invent Christmas.  Since ancient times, this time of year has been one of celebration, probably starting with a focus on the winter solstice.  Early Christians wanted to be able to join in celebrations; but they wanted to celebrate their new-found way of life.   Given that they possessed the greatest news ever known to man, they chose to make their celebration about the birth of Jesus because God sent his Son to be the Savior of the world.   As a Christian, I find it interesting and telling that Christmas has overtaken all the other types of celebrations throughout history.    Okay, it was a long time before people called it Christmas.

I have read that most of our modern traditions of Christmas were influenced by German immigrants like the decorated, lighted evergreen tree and the exchanging of presents.  For Christians, these items have come to represent characteristics of Jesus.   The evergreen tree is a symbol of eternal life offered by Jesus.  The lights represent God’s light and spirit.   The star or angel that tops the tree is taken directly from the account of Jesus’ birth.   Decorations even have meaning ascribed to them.   Red ornaments or ribbons are for Jesus’ sacrifice.   Bells ring out the “good news.”  Bows are about the ties that bind us together in families.  Wreaths stand for eternal love.    Exchanging gifts is symbolic of the gifts given by the magi to the child Jesus, and the spiritual gifts each one receives from God.

Many people love to create theme trees.   Some have only a certain kind of ornament, like angels, bells, birds or Santas.  Others choose color schemes like all silver, gold or blue or a certain style like Victorian or Art Deco.   Our tree boasts all these types of ornaments and even more. A few weeks ago, reading the Sunday comic Luann, the mom and dad are decorating the tree.  As each ornament is unloaded, the mom knows exactly where it came from and how it relates to the family.  I hadn’t thought of it before, but our ornaments are a sort of history of our family.   We have acquired or been gifted with ornaments for many of our milestones — first christmas, baby christmases, an ornament for each year our family has been established, ornaments that belonged to both our mothers and those precious ornaments our daughters created for us when they were very young.

One of the girls’ favorite ornaments to this day is one of Santa kneeling at the manger.  It is one of the ornaments they both hope to have the privilege of hanging on the tree.   We bought ours at a gift shop in the Smokies when Liz was a small toddler.   We both grew up enjoying the concept of “Santa”  and wanted our daughters to have that experience, also.  The breathless excitement on Christmas Eve, the hope we could stay awake long enough to catch a glimpse of Santa or hear the bells on the reindeer,  the wonder of a tree in the early morning light surrounded by presents.   My sister and I would wake up very early on Christmas Day, sometimes before dawn broke.   We would awaken our parents so we could explore all the goodies Santa had given.   At times, we wondered why our parents appeared so tired, as if they hadn’t enough sleep.  We would shrug and pass it off as the fact that parents, after all, are quite old.  As parents, we spent a handful of sleepless Christmas Eve nights, grappling with those phrases parents dread: “Some assembly required” and “Batteries not included”  as we sat in a sea of gift wrap, boxes and tape, trying to be as quiet as possible and not wake up curious eyes and ears.   Interestly enough,  our girls were never early risers.. Some Christmases we had to make them get up!

A modern trend among a lot of Christians is to not allow pretend/fantasy elements of Christmas to mix with the spiritual.   Friends have told us that they were concerned if they let their children believe in Santa Claus then their children would also think the Christmas story is fantasy too.   First off, I still believe in Santa Claus, and I know who he is.  My Dad is Santa Claus!  I mean literally.  He played Santa for many years at our church Christmas pageant.  Yes, my Dad, the Bible-thumping, King James version only dedicated deacon, and one of the godliest men I have ever known.   My parents understood something — Santa can be a useful tool for teaching godly concepts to small children.   It teaches them about caring about others, giving without receiving,  doing good and being filled with joy.   That kneeling Santa ornament helped us reinforce that for our children.   They remember their Santa days positively,  and both have since made conscious decisions to follow Christ.

The problem with people not believing the “Christmas Story” is that we Christians have pretty much mythologized the account.  When was the last time you read the actual account, not just a storybook or a movie or television show?  Do you tell your children that Christmas is Jesus’ birthday?  Do you tell your children that the wise men worshipped Jesus at the manger (like all our nativity sets show)?  So what are you personally doing to keep Christ in Christmas?  Putting a magnet on your car?  Displaying a lighted manger scene in your yard?  Nothing is wrong with any of these things, but keeping Christ in Christmas is about how one displays him to the world in one’s life every day.

You can’t force people to believe the way you believe any more than morality can be legislated.   If someone tells you “Happy Holidays,” just smile and respond, “Merry Christmas!”  I have many friends of different faiths.  It does not bother me to wish them a Happy Chanukah or a Happy Yule, Season’s Greetings or a Happy Holidays.  Most of the time, I wish them all a Merry Christmas, because,  in the end, Christmas is about celebrating peace and goodwill to all men (mankind)  who dwell on Earth.

 

What’s going on…

The crazy reigns.

Most of the fall has been about band and ball.  I signed up to be one of the band parent “roadies”.   I chaperone a bus, presumably with the intention of keeping the teens from acting like teenagers.  I am on the crew as a screener and plumer.   The plumes have to be placed in each band member’s hat before a performance and taken out after.  They are feathery, fragile, expensive items so the members are not supposed to touch them.  We wear white gloves while handling them. The screens are backdrop for each performance and have to be carried onto and off the field each time, sometimes running.   That’s a pretty sight.  At least the screens help hide all the action.

At competitions,  the whole production has a certain amount of time to set up and exit the field.   Being a state competition year for our band, this year’s show is quite elaborate.   Even more crazy, the band has a realistic chance of being selected for state.    Because Texas is such a big state, competitions for each area are held every two years.  When it’s your year, it’s a Big Deal.   When you’re a young upstart school like ours, and you have a chance like this, it’s a Very Big Deal.

There is buzz the football team will be making the playoffs.  Yep, the band goes with them to those games too.  We’ve been in a new district this year where they’ve been able to be more competitive.   The drawback is most of the away games have occurred on Thursday nights.  They all have to go to school Friday too.  That time also changed this year.  Now, school starts at 7:30.   There’s an away game tonight.  This roadie will be traveling along.

Saturday is the big Area competition for the band.  It’s a long day, beginning at 6 am.  I’ve become the “stylist” for the color guard.  Their director decided he wants them to resemble fairies and that fairies have long curly hair.   He’s a very straight guy, but very talented in designing work for shows.  Sometimes the finer points of “girl life” go completely over his head.   There are over 20 girls in the guard.

The band

Daughter in action (middle one)

Color Guard

The younger daughter is in the middle school band and has reached the level where that band starts doing events.  They even played at one of their football games.

The older one recently had a bout of probable mono.   The one blessing was the time she missed included a weekend.  Otherwise, she would have been absent an entire week of school.   She did have to skip, on doctor’s orders, a couple of ballgames and a competition.   Thankfully, it has been a mild case, and she is close to resuming her normal schedule.   When you read normal, think crazy.

Hey, the Rangers should be in the World Series!!  Hubby had season tickets so he’s been able to get post-season tickets.  And if they do make it, he will be able to get World Series tickets.  Yeah, we’re gonna be popular.   He’s a big-time baseball fan but he’s never been able to go to a World Series before.   Because of the girls’ crazy schedules, I haven’t been able to go.  So he does have extra tickets for some games.

This Rangers team reminds me a lot of the early 90s Braves.

At Ranger Stadium

The Rangers

I was attacked by the new kitten.  I decided to take him with me on an excursion to the garbage can.  The neighbor’s dog came next to the fence and began barking.   He got scared, but turned on me!!  When he freaks out, he goes all Tasmanian Devil.  Not the cartoon character;  a real Tasmanian devil — all teeth, claws, loud snarling.   Like a snapping turtle, when he gets hold, he doesn’t want to let go.   He bit me hard enough to draw blood several places on my arm.  And I had deep gouges on my shoulder where he tried to climb Mt. Ava to escape.  The older one had to get out of bed to treat and bandage me.

Percy, the Tasmanian devil cat

We get revenge on him with his laser light he enjoys chasing.   If one moves it around in a circle quite fast, he tries to watch it.  Makes him look like a bobble-head cat.   Yeah,  we are guilty of humorous cruelty to animals.

I’m still suffering from delusions that I am a writer capable of writing a novel.  I’ve been attending a few conferences and have joined a Writer’s Group.

 

Been a while…

This summer is the busiest I can remember.   More trips than usual, activities for the girls and a higher level of stuff to get done has left little time to devote to writing.  August is beginning and things should calm down a bit.  The girls each have band camp. Plus we will be concentrating on other back-to-sch0ol tasks.  School starts for us the last full week of August.  I will be traveling to Georgia the week before Labor Day to visit family and friends.

I am flying, even though I hate flying.  I always say I hate flying, because at my age people give you those funny looks when you’re completely honest and say, “Flying terrifies me.”   I could say, “Spiders, snakes, bees, etc. terrify me,” and people would be sympathetic.  Because my irrational fear is flying, people’s comments tend to run along the lines of “That’s a stupid fear.”  But, hey, that’s what mine is.

Even though I will be making that trip by myself, I am confident that I will be all right.  After all, I’ve just had the experience of flights back and forth to New York City with a group of Girl Scouts.  Neither flight was non-stop.  Going up, we stopped in Milwaukee.  That flight really wasn’t bad at all.  On the way back, I was confronted with several of the things that tend to freak me out about flying.  The first leg from NYC to the Philly airport was a small, 4 prop engine commuter plane.   I did freak out at first, calling the hubs, sobbing hysterically into my cell phone.  But I relied on my faith, and peace came.   The plane was a bit late, so we had to run through the Philly airport to make our connection, which we barely did.   My seat was between two strangers.  I was not near anyone else in our group.

Every time I do confess to my fear of flying, people try to console me by saying, “Oh, flying is safe. The plane is not going to crash.”  What I have is not a fear of crashing.  My brain contains enough knowledge about airplanes to know that is not a likely scenario.  And I guess most people who say they are afraid of flying are really afraid of dying in a crash.   But what triggers the anxiety and unease in me is the actual flying.  I find the floaty, falling, stomach-in-my-toes sensations fear-inducing.   It messes with my equilibrium by giving me extreme dizziness, a severe headache and a hyperventilating feeling of breathing.   Liz tells me what I have is a fear of the falling feeling, especially when I get up very high.  It’s strange for such a big sci-fi fan that I would not make a good astronaut or superhero.

I also don’t do roller coasters, ferris wheels, towers of terror or chair lifts/gondolas for the same reasons.  Last time I tried conquering a thrill ride,  I ended up at the top of a ferris wheel screaming, “Let me off!” like a 5 year old.   It’s sort of like George Jetson being caught on the treadmill.  For every thrill ride, I echo his sentiment, “Stop this crazy thing!”

And for me, planes count as thrill rides.   So, my faith will give me the courage to get on the plane.  My drugs from the doctor will get me through the ordeal my favorite way to fly, unconscious.

They bribed me to get on the plane to New York with Phantom of the Opera tickets.  It’s my all-time favorite musical and seeing it on Broadway was definitely a Bucket List item for me.  I was in no way disappointed. The quality of the performance outweighed by far the agony of getting there from and back to Texas.  Now, it is absolutely and will probably always stay my favorite because it was my first Broadway show.

 

The May Sweeps…

In television, May is known as a “sweeps” month, and ours has certainly swept by.

Being the last month of school, May has become one of the most hectic months for us.  Not only are activities ending, but the summer ones are beginning.  Even before the official last day of school, we are scheduling into next school year’s first months. (end of August for us) But we were able to squeeze in a few fun moments too.

Our time has been filled with field trips, band performances, banquets, parties — the social agenda is leaving me exhausted!  Liz and I attended a Celtic Woman concert.  Very fabulous performance; worth the money for the ticket.  They are her favorite singing group along with Mediaeval Baebes.  No, that isn’t misspelled or a typo.

After a couple of postponements, we were determined not to miss the Ren Faire.  Glad we made it a priority.  Made sure not to miss Zilch the Tory Steller.  For a great, smart laugh, look him up online.  Tells classic stories like Romeo & Juliet in crazy ways and sings songs like Lay of the Unfettered Fowl.  Of course, we went to the bird show.  When it’s the same, we still enjoy it every year.  I had the inevitable Turkey Leg along with an assortment of Fryed Veggies (mushrooms, zuchinni and cauliflower).  For fair food, it was quite tasty. But was disappointed that they didn’t have the chocolate-covered strawberries on a stick.  Hubby was surprised that girls only wanted to do a few activities and watch a few shows.  What they didn’t want to miss was visiting almost every shop.   We’re still adjusting to teenage priorities.  Except ours prefer to shop for swords and bows.  Both like jewelry, though.  Can’t go wrong with jewelry, can one, ladies?

Robin Hannah, my merry maid

Liz gets a medieval "Do".

Hannah, my younger daughter, turned 12. (Yikes!)  All her friends couldn’t come over at the same time, so she ended up doing an activity with each of them.  Cake and movie; Laser Tag; Make your own pottery shop.  Fantastic for 12.

Time needs to slow down.  Good thing I’m not aging as fast as they are.  At this rate, when they are both grown, I will only be, say, 35?  After all, I’m still 29, aren’t I?

I wish I could take credit but this is store bought! Cheesecake.

Always good to have fun with friends on your birthday

She must be having a good time!

Hubs bought a season ticket package to the Rangers’ games.  I accompanied him on a Sunday afternoon and brought back a bad sunburn as a souvenir.  My knees got sunburned!  The rest of my legs were covered by my shorts and the seat in front of me.  Guess I will have to endure having knees darker than the rest of me all summer.  Started peeling in the past week.  Fun to do it in front of girls and gross them out.

Liz and I did get to play dress-up for the band banquet.  She wore her medieval hair jewelry.

All the activities has not left a lot of time for writing.  Still working on the entry about the cat, who is rubbing against my legs as I type, and meowing for attention.  Worse than the kids when I talk on the phone.  For vacation, we are road-tripping to the Grand Canyon!  Anyone know who the Griswalds are?  Yeah, we have family disasters adventures, too, on our trips.