Motherhood and Mental Illness

Any of you ladies have given birth you will remember what it was like to be completely brain dead. I mean, it is as if your brain somehow became attached to the umbilical cord and was delivered along with the baby and discarded with the rest of the useless muck. I used to think it was some kind of cruel joke but I now realize that it is a defense mechanism our brains use to keep us from going insane. Think about it – sleep deprivation, someone screaming in you face that can’t tell you what’s wrong, puke, poop, going for days and weeks without getting to eat hot food. It’s like being in a concentration camp but without the luxury of solitary confinement.

The funny thing is our brain doesn’t only do this soon after the birth of a child. I have found that it can strike at any time. My mother calls these “Senior Moments” but I am not yet ready to have anything “senior”. I prefer “Motherhood Madness” as I am convinced that I would not have these mental problems if I had remained celibate (I knew I should’ve listened to my grandmother).

Let me preface this with letting you know that my Honey is out of town for work. This means that I on my own with all of the kids and dogs………OMG, I miss my Honey!!! Anyway, he left on Sunday morning and we had cheer camp all day in a gym that was about 423 degrees. On Monday, I got Baby Girl up and off to Nana’s and myself off to work. Did I remember to feed her? No – I’ve only fed her breakfast every day of her life for 7 years but for some reason it slipped my mind on this particular morning. I guess it was because I was thinking about all I had to do that day. I needed to make a deposit for Honey, make sure Baby Girl’s uniform was clean for the Redbirds performance that night, buy a video tape for Z’s camera so I can capture the entire 30 second event in living color, dole out all of the tickets for the game to family and friends and make sure she arrived at the stadium no later than 6:15pm. Not to mention that we had made some system changes over the weekend and I was anticipating major fall-out at work. I felt bad that I didn’t feed her but she would surely inform Nana and it would be rectified.

Everything was relatively calm at work – no major issues. At lunchtime I readied myself to run to the bank and Best Buy to pick up the video tape. I go to retrieve my keys from my purse and realize that I can’t find Honey’s money. I’m freaking out because I just KNOW that I put it in an envelope and stuck it in my purse. I bolt out the door and fly home to find it laying on the kitchen table……….where I then remembered that I laid it while I cleaned out the 173 receipts that were wadded up in my purse. I grab the deposit and a Diet Coke and head to the bank. I make the deposit and meander over to KFC to get some lunch. I eat my lunch in the car and drive back to the office…………..forgetting to stop at Best Buy for the tape.

At 4:45p I cut out of work so I can hit Best Buy and still beat traffic on the Interstate – we HAVE to be at the stadium by 6:15 or the Cheerleading Gods will revoke our pom poms! I stand on the aisle where the tapes are and debate over the 5 different kinds that they have. Now, bear in mind, I have written down the exact kind I am supposed to buy but decide that maybe I need to read about all of them just in case there is something better than the manufacturer recommended Hi8 (sometimes being a techie becomes a burden in a time crunch). I finally decide that maybe the manufacturer knows what it’s talking about and I grab a 2 pack or blank tapes and head to the checkout. On my way there, the phone rings – it’s Baby Girl. “Uh, Mama, where are you?” I explain where I am, what I’m doing and that I will be there shortly. She then needs to know where Best Buy is in relation to my office, our house and the friggin International Dateline. While I am trying to explain to her the exact geographical location of the Best Buy, I am digging in my purse to get my wallet and pay for the tapes. NO WALLET!!!! I tell my daughter that I have to go and will be there soon. I hang up and panic. Where could it be!?! It’s PINK – how can you misplace a PINK wallet?!!? I run out to my car only to find it lying in my console – not sure how it got there but I was dang glad to see it. I go back into Best Buy, complete my purchase and RUN to my car. I make it home at 5:20p and yell for Baby Girl to come get dressed.

She gets dressed, I change clothes and put her hair up in the standard “cheer ponytail” complete with her official black ribbon. Prissy knocks on the door (she is going with us) and I throw everyone in the car and away we go – it’s 5:32p. I notice I am about on E and I need cash to park so I whip into the gas station, pump $10 in gas and hit the ATM. Back on the road and it’s only 5:42p – I’m doing good! I maneuver the interstate like a seasoned NASCAR driver and exit on Second Street at exactly 6pm. I manage to remember the directions Mother has given me to the closest parking garage and not get lost. I pay to park and am driving up the garage ramp at 6:11 – 4 minutes to spare – woo hoo!! We get parked, gather all of our stuff, and run to the gate. We enter the park at EXACTLY 6:15 – write it down folks – I was ON TIME!! We make our way to the “designated meeting spot” and find only one other squad member. Obviously I am not the only one who has a job. We wait and wait and wait some more and finally all of our girls (all 7 of them) manage to congregate by 7p (the game starts at 7:05!!!). No problem – I was ON TIME and that’s all I’m focusing on.

All of our invitees arrived – Grandma, OB, Z, Diamond, Cranky and Sparky and we took our seats. At the end of the second inning it came over the PA, “We have a special treat for you tonight. The squads of SYS are going to perform for you on the 1st base line!!” I grabbed the video camera and headed for the wall. All of the girls ran out yelling and screaming and really working the crowd. I spotted Baby Girl and got the camera in focus. I was soooo excited for her and she looked so cute out there doing her little dance. I looked through the view finder and pressed that little red button to record this big moment in her life. Inside the viewfinder I see something flash………”NO TAPE”!!! Son of a ……….I hadn’t put the dang tape in the camera. 15 seconds later is was over and they ran off the field. I returned the camera to the bag along with the 2 unopened tapes and gave it back to my brother and thanked him for the use (lessness) of his camera.

The rest of the game was pretty good. The girls had a ball and I enjoyed spending time with my family. However, in retrospect I probably should’ve had Z play “cameraman” since he is more familiar with the equipment and probably would’ve known that the tape had to actually be put IN the camera in order to capture the images. I guess all those years I was blonde really did do some damage after all. Oh well, ,maybe one day when Baby Girl has children of her own she will understand why there is no video of her self-described “dream come true”. She can explain to her children that it is all her fault that their grandmother was a complete idiot and that one day it will be their fault that she doesn’t have the mental capacity to record their life events for posterity.

Memorial Day Madness

Did everyone have a wonderful Memorial Day? I hope that all of you had a great time filled with family, friends and food. I know mine was. Although, my Honey finally found out how completely neurotic I am this past Friday when he announced that dang near everyone he’s ever met would be filtering through our home during the three day weekend.

I’ve told you that my house is rather small and is now occupied by two adults, 1 full time child (Baby Girl), 1 ¾ child (Prissy a.k.a. Crack Head #2), 1 part time child (his 19 month old daughter – Bug) and 3 dogs (Snow, Nugget and Salty). The funny thing is I am Closter phobic so my life is now in a constant state of OMG!

I was really looking forward to a long, relaxing weekend filled with sun and fun. I had made plans to scrapbook with my girlfriends on Friday evening (yes, I’m a goober). On Saturday I figured we would hang out by the pool or do yard work, get some sun and eventually throw some burgers on the grill. On Sunday we were supposed to grill with the Patio Princesses and on Monday I figured I would relax in the sun and do NOTHING all day. That is what I’d envisioned for my weekend…………that is NOT how it turned out.

Now, I’ve mentioned Bug. She is Honey’s baby girl and she is 19 months old. She is beautiful and I love her like she is my own. She lives with her mother in Illinois and we get her the 1st week of every month. Note, I said 1st week of the month. I love having her here and really wish we could get her more often but as it is now, this is the schedule that her parents have agreed upon and it seems to be working fine.

On Tuesday, I was informed that we were getting Bug back on Friday (May 27th). Now, please don’t get me wrong – I am always happy when Bug comes home but May the 27th isn’t the first week of the month – it is the last week of the month. When I brought this up he looked at me like I was speaking Japanese and said, “It will be the first week in June when I take her back”. Uh, yeah – sorry, I assumed the first week of the month meant that the date we GOT her would be in the actual month of which we were supposed to be getting her the first week of. Either way – no big deal. So, I emailed my girlfriends to let them know that I wouldn’t be joining them to scrap because I wanted/needed to be home when Bug arrived.

On Thursday night Honey informs me that he may not go get Bug until Saturday because he to finish the job he was working on by EOB Friday. OK – I email the girls and tell them I’m back in for scrappin’. Honey calls Bug’s mom to let her know the “new plan” and was met with a little tension. On Friday morning I am informed that he is going to get Bug that evening in order to keep the peace. I send another email – sorry girls, I’m out again”. Around 2p on Friday, Honey calls to let me know that he is not going to pick up Bug and that he’d talked to her mother and everything was cool. I decide not to buy into his trickery again and do not email my girls. Sure enough, he strolls through the door a little after 6p. Dang it!!!! Too late now to gather my stuff and besides, I needed to clean house and do laundry.

As we sit on the patio discussing the “plan” for the weekend I am told that he is leaving at 6am on Saturday to go get Bug (they meet in Missouri). It takes him a little over 6 hours round trip so that puts him home between noon and 1p. Sparky’s birthday party is at 2p – so that will work. I am then told that his sister (Erin), Erin’s Hubby (Tiger), his mother (Mom) and her husband (Nelly) are coming over for dinner because they want to see Bug and Mom’s birthday is on Sunday. OK – so, I will spend Saturday cleaning house and shopping for presents. We will go to a birthday party and have his family over for dinner. I started to itch and feel a little shaky.

Now, you must note, I LOVE his family and I love to visit with them and hang out……..just not in my house. And it’s not just his family, it’s my family, friends, whoever. People in general – that’s a better way to put it and the reason is that I become a nervous wreck when I have a house full of people. It’s not that I don’t like people to come over – it’s just that the house is small and I have too many animals and children running around to allow me to relax. I always feel like I have to be doing something. It’s like nervous energy that I try desperately to use for good and not evil – sometimes it works.

He then tells me that on Sunday his father (Papa) and his step-mother (BB) are coming over to see Bug. OK – so on Sunday we will have the Patio Princesses (Amy, Nana, Harley and TJ) plus Papa and BB. That’s cool – there will be more than enough food and it will be fine. One more thing he adds – on Monday, another couple (the girl who is going to keep Bug) are coming over so I can meet them prior to her beginning her baby sitting gig. Fine – I want to meet this person before I leave my baby with her so this is a good thing…right?

Sometime Friday evening it dawned on me that my relaxing holiday weekend was going to be anything but. I had a small breakdown which prompted my Honey to finally realize that inviting the world over without discussing it with me first is probably not the best decision he can make. He assured me that he will remember my neurosis in the future thus avoiding having me go into mental overload. Personally, I just don’t think he likes snot on his shoulder or the fact that he feels obligated to try and console me when I’m having a completely ridiculous breakdown.

However, I must say that the weekend went well. We enjoyed the company of our family and friends and ate TONS of wonderful food (compliments of my Honey – he is a fabulous cook) and I didn’t hyperventilate or throw up. The weather wasn’t great – cool and cloudy but it never rained so we were able to keep the party outside. That helped me a lot because it’s the crowding in the house that sends me over the edge. I managed to relax and enjoy everyone being there. Maybe there is hope for me after all……….nah, I’ll always be a freak.

Women Vs. Men....Guess Who Wins

WOMAN’S PERFECT BREAKFAST
She’s sitting at the table with her gourmet coffee.
Her son is on the cover of the Wheaties box.
Her daughter is on the cover of Business Week.
And her husband is on the back of the milk carton.

WOMAN’S REVENGE
“Cash, check or charge?” I asked, after folding items the woman wished to purchase.
As she fumbled for her wallet, I noticed a TV remote control in her purse.
“So, do you always carry your TV remote?” I asked.
“No” she replied, “but my husband refused to come shopping with me,
and I figured this was the most evil thing I could do to him legally!”

UNDERSTANDING WOMEN
(A Man’s Perspective)
I know I’m not going to understand women.
I’ll never understand how you can take boiling hot wax,
Pour it onto your upper thigh, rip the hair out by the root,
and still be afraid of a spider!

MARRIAGE SEMINAR
While attending a marriage seminar dealing with communication,
Tom and his wife Grace listened to the instructor.
“It is essential that husbands and wives know each other’s likes and dislikes.”
He addressed the man…
“Can you name your wife’s favorite flower?”
Tom leaned over, touched his wife’s arm gently and whispered,
“It’s Pillsbury, isn’t it?”

CIGARETTES AND TAMPONS
A man walks into a pharmacy and wanders up and down the aisles.
The sales girl notices him and asks him if she can help him.
He answers that he is looking for a box of tampons for his wife.
She directs him down the correct aisle.
A few minutes later, he deposits a huge bag of cotton balls and a ball of string on the counter.
She says, confused, “Sir, I thought you were looking for some tampons for your wife?”
He answers, “You see, it’s like this. Yesterday I sent my wife to the store for a carton of cigarettes. She came back with a tin of tobacco and some rolling papers…’cause it’s soooooooooo much cheaper.
So, I figure if I have to roll my own, so does she.”
(I figure this guy is the one on the milk carton!)

CREATION
A man said to his wife one day, “I don’t know how you can be so stupid and so beautiful all at the same time.
The wife responded, “Allow me to explain.
God made me beautiful so you would be attracted to me.
God made me stupid so I would be attracted to you!”

WHO DOES WHAT
A man and his wife were having an argument about who should brew the coffee each morning.
The wife said, “You should do it because you get up first and then we don’t have to wait as long to get our coffee.”
The husband said, “You are in charge of cooking around here and you should do it because that is your job.”
The wife replies, “No you should do it – and besides, it is in the Bible that the man should do the coffee.”
Husband replies, “I can’t believe that – show me.”
So the fetched the Bible and opened the New Testament…
To the Book of HeBrews.

English Is Hard

Sorry I've been so lax lately but there has been lots going on. I have so much I need to tell you guys! Memorial Day was BUSY, Baby Girl will be cheering at a Redbirds game, Bug is potty training and my job still sucks. However, I'm not posting about any of those today.........well, not right this second anyway. Right now I would like to share a list of "reasons English is hard to learn" that my mother sent to me earlier. Any of you out there that love words like I do will truly appreciate this.

Reasons why the English language is so hard to learn:
1) The bandage was wound around the wound.
2) The farm was used to produce produce.
3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
4) We must polish the Polish furniture.
5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.
6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present.
8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum
9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
10) I did not object to the object.
11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.
13) They were too close to the door to close it.
14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.
15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail
18) After a number of injections my jaw got number.
19) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.
20) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests
21) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?

I Can't Get Anything Done

I heard you missed me..........I'm back.

I mentioned before that I believe I have ADD. I have not been diagnosed but I have done some research and I think ADD is the only explanation for my poor time management skills and my general inability to carry even the most simple of tasks from beginning to end the 1st time I attempt it. For instance – right now I have about 7 incomplete rants saved that I just can’t seem to finish and post. I don’t know why – it’s not like I have to research this stuff or something. Let me tell you about a day I had not long ago and you can be the judge.

A few weekends ago I’d vowed to spend my Saturday CLEANING my house and doing the 400 loads of laundry created by my loving family (that’s the topic of one of the unfinished rants). I get up bright and early, put on a pot of coffee and retrieve my paper from the front yard. Now, I NEED my “morning time” in order to function. I sit on the patio, take 7 minutes off my life, sip coffee and read the paper. If I’m lucky and everyone else is still asleep, I get to work the crossword puzzle in peace. So, I go out to begin my “morning time” and get my game plan together. I grab a pencil and make a list (I LOVE to make lists) of everything I want to accomplish.

Laundry
Clean Kitchen
Mop Floor
Dust
Run Vacuum
Clean Bathrooms
Fold and PUT AWAY all laundry
Change sheets on all beds

No problem. I let Salty out and I read the paper while my coffee brews. I go in the house, pour a cup of coffee, put a load of clothes in the washer and head back to the patio to work my puzzle (it’s only 7:30am). I switch the dogs – Nugget out, Salty in. I find my puzzle and fold it into the precise rectangle needed to enable me to work it to completion. If it is askew in anyway I will surely mess it up within the first 5 clues – it’s true, and if you don’t believe me, ask my mother. I have my coffee and my puzzle and I am ready to get started. No pen! Someone had removed my designated crossword puzzle pen from my designated pen “spot” on the patio table. I get up to get a pen; I let Nugget in and Snow out and proceed to the kitchen where I keep my “pen stash”. As I enter the kitchen, I see that Snow has knocked over the trash. I curse under my breath (because I don’t want to wake anyone else just yet) and pick up the trash. I put the garbage back in the can and tie up the bag so it can go outside. When I remove the bag, there aren’t any extra bags in the bottom of the can so I go to the sink to get more. We’re out, so I make a mental note to buy trash bags. I start a “Wal-Mart list” and put Kitchen Trash Bags at the top. While I was under the sink I also noticed that I was low on Mr. Clean so I added it to the list. I then began going around the house to check for other things that I could put on my list. Light bulbs, bathroom spray, paper towels, aluminum foil, freezer bags, fabric softener and shaving cream made the list. I get dressed to head to Wal-Mart. I call my neighbor (Nana) to see if she needs anything – she needs Milk – put that on the list. I go out to the patio to get my smokes and see my other list. I go back in the house and put the clothes in the dryer and start gathering another load for the wash. I start the washer and notice some of Baby Girl’s clothes hanging in above the dryer. Make a mental note to have her put them away when she gets up. I go back to my bedroom to get my shoes and decide that I don’t like what I am wearing. I change clothes and pick up the band aid wrappers on the bathroom counter and pitch them in the trash. I brush my hair. While brushing my hair, I notice I’ve got a few straggly eyebrow hairs so I grab my tweezers and yank those out. By this time, Honey is up and I give him the rundown of what I need to do that day. He asks me to join him on the patio and have a cup of coffee before I head to Wal-Mart – I oblige.

I pop my now cold cup of coffee in the microwave and decide to unload the dishwasher while I wait. Before I open the dishwasher, I notice the plant on my window sill is looking a little haggard – I water it which makes me think that we hadn’t had much rain and the outside plants probably need some water too. I open the door and share my revelation with Honey who agrees and gets up to get his watering can. He asks me to come and look at some of his flowers that are starting to bloom and I oblige.

He decides he’s going to water the lawn and heads out front; I sit down at the patio table and start looking at my puzzle – still no pen. I head back in the house to get my pen and my coffee that I’d forgotten in the microwave. I restart the microwave and answer the phone – it’s Diamond. “Can you watch the boys for a little while this afternoon so I can run blah, blah, blah?” Sure thing – I get off the phone and go back outside to tell Honey to remind me I need to keep the boys at 2p. We discuss my inability to say no for a minute and then I return to the patio – still no pen. Back in the house – switch Snow with Nugget and grab a Diet Coke out of the fridge.

Baby Girl is now nested on the couch with cartoons on the big screen. I talk to her for a minute and she makes her breakfast request – muffins. I go back to the kitchen, mix up the muffins and get the muffin pan out of the dishwasher. I put the muffins in the oven and begin unloading the rest of the dishes. I get the bottom rack put away when the phone rings again – it’s Nana. I haven’t been to Wal-Mart yet so I don’t have her milk. She says no problem – she’s got to get some other stuff and she’s leaving now for Kroger. I get off the phone about the time the muffins are ready. I butter the muffins and call Baby Girl to the table. We discuss the fact that she has clothes to be put away and she needs to clean her room. She nods her head but never takes her eyes off the T.V.

I return to the kitchen to find Salty standing on the dishwasher door. I shoo her off and close the door. Now I’m hungry. I steal one of Baby Girl’s muffins, inhale it and head to the bathroom. While in the bathroom, I spray the sink and tub with Scrubbing Bubbles and gather towels for the wash. I start to make the bed but remember I need to change the sheets. I head to the linen closet. When I open the door I realize that I really need to straighten up this closet. I get the overflowing medicine basket out of the top and start going through it and throwing away expired stuff. The phone rings so I sit the basket on the counter and go find the phone – it’s Mother. She is calling to make sure that Diamond had gotten a hold of me about keeping the boys. Obviously I wasn’t the first choice but Mother was busy that day………obviously doing the crossword puzzle because she bragged that she was already finished with it. I get off the phone – I am in the kitchen – I grab a pen (Ha, Ha!) and head to the patio to take another 7 minutes off my life. It is now about 11a. I work two clues when CH 2 comes through the back yard and wants to know if her partner in crime is up. I direct her to the den but she doesn’t leave before she tells me about her kittens – she loves those dang cats. I talk to her for a minute and she finally goes in the house. Honey comes around the corner and sits down – he’s been working hard in the yard and is sweaty. I grab him a coke and we sit and talk for a few minutes. He goes back to his yard – I go back in the house.

Baby Girl is now dressed in her bathing suit because that is her favorite “weekend outfit”. I ask what they are planning to get into – they say they are going to pour water on the trampoline and jump – sounds good to me. I grab Baby Girl a towel from her linen closet and send her out the door. I go into her bathroom and pick up the PJs she just took off and notice the globs of toothpaste she’s left in the sink ………again. I grab the scrubbing bubbles and spray her sink, tub and toilet. It was then that I remembered I had done the same to my bathroom. I decided to let Baby Girl’s bathroom “soak” for a minute and headed to my bathroom to finish cleaning.

As I pass through the living room – Salty is standing in the middle of the coffee table chewing on one of Baby Girl’s books. I knock her off the table and take the mutilated book to the kitchen to throw it away. There is not a bag in the garbage can because we are still out so I take it outside and put it in the big green can. I switch Nugget with Salty and sit down at the table. I have to stay outside with Salty or she just stands there and barks. I work 3 more clues on my puzzle and I hear Nana calling from her yard for me to come and see what she’d bought for her patio and I oblige.

I return home and realize that it is almost 2p and I need to go keep the boys. I tell everyone I’m leaving, kiss my Honey and hop in the car. I get to Diamond’s house at straight up 2 o’clock. She leaves around 2:30p to do her running. I am with the boys for the next 3 hours. They are so cute – I just love them. Diamond gets home and I leave.

I arrive home to a patio full of neighbors. Obviously it’s been decided that we are grilling tonight. I go in and change clothes because Cranky spit up all over me. I return to the patio and put my puzzle away. I enjoy my company and Honey cooks a wonderful meal. Once we finish eating I begin to clean up. I realize we still don’t have trash bags because I never made it to Wal-Mart.

I send Baby Girl to take a shower and she returns to tell me that there is some kind of “grunge stuff” all over her bathroom. Ahhh…..dried Scrubbing Bubbles. I grab a sponge and clean her bathroom. After – I return to clean the kitchen. Honey is already working on it and asks why there is a cup of coffee in the microwave…………Oh yeah – that’s what happened to my coffee. He would also like to know if the glasses in the dishwasher were clean or dirty………..Oh yeah – never finished unloading it. We finish with the kitchen and adjourn to the patio. I let Nugget out and hook her to the run. I grab my puzzle and my pen and sit down at the table. Honey brings me a Diet Coke and my smokes and I am happy to finally be able to work my puzzle. Nugget wraps her lead around the table leg and spills my Coke all over my puzzle. I swear loudly, smack the dog and throw my puzzle in the trash.

I go inside to put my PJs on. My bed still isn’t made and I still haven’t changed the sheets. The medicine basket is still on the bathroom counter and the sink and tub have dried Scrubbing Bubbles film all over them and I don’t care. I change clothes and head to the garage and turn on the T.V. Honey brings my smokes and a fresh Diet Coke (he is so good to me) and tells me to just relax. I thank him for being so wonderful and snuggle up in my blanket and prepare to veg out in front of the T.V. About then is when Honey asks if I’d washed the shorts he’d asked me to throw in the washer this morning after he saw my list. Well Hell no!

On my way to bed that night I grabbed my list. I looked at it and realized that I hadn’t accomplished one thing on it all day long. I couldn’t cross out anything (I love crossing out more than making the lists). I was starting to feel like a complete failure when a light bulb appeared over my head (or it would’ve had I gone to Wal-Mart). I grabbed my pen and added:

Baby sit boys
Host Dinner Party for neighbors

And then I crossed them off! That was better.

You know what; I’m beginning to think that I may not have ADD after all. I believe I have what is known as TMDD – To Many Damn Distractions.

WWF Comes to Arlington

I know that I have talked about my neighbor’s kid – you know her as Crack Head #2, but I don’t think I’ve mentioned any of my “adult” neighbors. The following will be my first introduction of the group that is quickly becoming known as the “Patio Princesses” because we always wind up congregated on my patio every weekend to socialize and cookout. They are a colorful bunch and I love them all but sometimes………..well, just read on.

I live on a quiet street and am lucky to have wonderful neighbors. The one directly next door is a single woman we will call Harley. She is a lovely woman. For her last birthday, she bought herself a Harley Davidson 883 and it is beautiful. Her only problem is she doesn’t know how to ride so she just talks to it in the garage. On the other side of her are CH 2’s mother and grandmother. We will call mom TJ and we’ll call grandma Nana. Both are great ladies. Nana is divorced after 25 years of marriage because her husband lost his mind and took up with another woman. TJ is her daughter, the mother of CH 2 and is a bartender at a local pub. She is also single although I’m not sure why, she runs a close second to Dolly Parton in the Ta-Ta area. Nana also has a sister who visits on the weekends. We will call her Amy. Amy is going through a divorce because her husband also lost his mind and is now living with another woman……..4 doors down from Amy. Needless to say, this causes Amy a little emotional pain which she shares with all of us every time she gets more than 3 beverages in her.

This past weekend was fairly normal. Baby Girl spent the night at her BF’s house and Honey and I went to dinner. Saturday was a beautiful day and we relaxed on the patio, and took Harley’s bike for a spin – she finally got to drive it and was sooo thrilled. We cooked out that night and everyone had a good time. On Sunday, it was again beautiful weather. I went to the grocery store, laid out in the sun while Honey did car maintenance on TJ’s car, cut and edged all 3 of our connecting yards and prepared the ribs and chicken for our BBQ. Yes, I’m spoiled rotten.

At 5pm I went to my brother’s house to keep the boys while Diamond attended a Packing Party for the mission trip Z is going on with his church. I was there until almost 8pm and then returned to “The Patio” and our group of friends. When I arrived, we had Harley, Nana, Amy, Baby Girl, her BF and Amy’s daughter on the patio. Honey was manning the grill. I quickly realized that these women had been “in the cooler” for the better part of the evening. I retrieved a beverage from the cooler and had barely gotten the top off when the drama began.

Within seconds of my arrival home, Amy’s phone rang; it was her ex (Jerko) to speak to their daughter (Sally). Sally talked to Jerko for a minute and then hung up. Amy immediately started asking Sally if Jerko’s girlfriend was with him and starting complaining about how she “couldn’t believe that he takes that whore around OUR friends”. Now, keep in mind, they have been separated for almost a year and in that time, these “friends” haven’t contacted her. I snapped my fingers at her to get her attention and told her that she had said enough and that Sally didn’t need to hear any of this mess. She got mad and walked back down to Nana’s house – oh well. We sat out on the patio and talked for a while, Honey finished cooking and started taking the food inside. Low and behold, who walks back down to the patio – Amy.

She immediately starts crying about how we don’t understand what she’s been through and how upsetting it was for her ex to take his girlfriend around “their” friends. Nana got up from the table, stormed in the back door, mumbled something to Honey about not being able to stand it anymore and then slammed the front door on her way out. Meanwhile, I’m still on the patio listening to Amy cry. Now, please understand, this is not normal, “I’m sad” crying. This is full blown, screaming, sobbing, to the point of making me want to slap the crap out of her just to get the dogs to quit barking. I apologized to her for hurting her feeling earlier but explained that Sally didn’t need to hear all of this drama and if those were really “their” friends, she would’ve heard from them in the past year. She didn’t like that much either but hey, it’s my flippin’ patio and I was trying desperately to salvage what was to be my peaceful Sunday evening.

Nana calls to tell me to send CH 2 home when she finished eating (it’s now 9pm). I had Honey fix Nana a plate and carry it down to her house. Meanwhile, Amy is in the backyard, sitting in the grass, talking on her cell phone. I heard her say that she was going to call whomever she was talking to back from her sister’s phone. Sat there and cried for a few more minutes, got up and stumbled through the back yards to Nana’s. I’m thinking, “Cool, we get to eat in peace.” I fix my plate and head to the patio. I hadn’t taken two bites when I hear a child crying from out front. I run between the houses but don’t see anyone. I return to the patio to find Nana, in her sports bra, sitting in my chair with CH 2 on her lap. CH 2 is crying and Nana looks like she is ready to chew nails. I walk up and Nana says, “I just beat the crap out of her!”. I was SHOCKED. Number 1 – Nana is in her middle to late 50’s and is one of the kindest, gentlest people I’ve ever known. Number two – this is her sister we are talking about – who is in her late 40’s to early 50’s. I was shocked that these two adult women had gotten into a brawl and nobody thought to call us to watch!

I got the recap from Nana. Obviously, Amy had gone in the house and gotten smart with Nana about something that was said earlier that evening and Nana had just had it. She said, “I don’t know what happened but when she got in my face I snapped and just knocked the crap out of her.” Nana told Sally to go down to her house because Amy was getting their stuff together to go home. CH 2 calmed down and went in the house with Baby Girl to watch TV until the coast was clear and she and Nana could go home and get in bed. It was now 9:45p.

We sat around on the patio for a while and Nana gave us the blow by blow a few times. Every time she would get to the “fight scene” she would use me to demonstrate how she had grabbed Amy and beat her up. Let me tell you, this 50 + year old lady is now fragile little woman – she about slung me out of my chair a few times during her re-enactment. Sally came back down to tell us bye; we gave her our phone numbers in case she needed us for anything and she headed to the car. I was about to go in and tell the girls that it was time for bed when up walks Amy. She’d come to say her peace and show us her brand new shirt that Nana had torn off her body. I sat back down in my chair as I figured this would take a minute. It was now 10:30p.

At midnight, I decided that this had dragged on looooong enough. I managed to get everyone off my patio before the cops were called and to their respective homes. I then took on the task of getting Baby Girl in the bed. I go in the house and now she’s crying because SHE thinks that CH 2 was crying because she got in trouble for staying at our house when Nana left! Oh dear Lord!! It took me an hour to explain that sometimes adults are complete idiots and that neither she nor her BF was in trouble and that everything was going to be fine. She finally went to sleep around 1:30am. Needless to say, I had to take a PTO day yesterday so that my Baby Girl could get some rest. It wasn’t fair for me to drag her out of bed and send her to school to have a horrible day just because we’d turned our patio into a cage match the night before.

So folks, that’s it. I was born in Frayser, grew up in Frayser, graduated from Frayser High School and never, not once, did I ever experience the kind of trailer park atmosphere that I did on my patio in Arlington on Sunday night. I’ve learned that, with enough alcohol, the mildest mannered woman can become a screaming banshee, that people will wallow in self pity as long as someone will allow them too and that even older people can throw down. I realize how lucky I am to have my Honey who would never dream of cheating on me or leaving me for another woman. But the most important things I’ve learned are don’t tug on Superman’s cape, don’t spit into the wind, don’t pull the mask off the ole Lone Ranger and don’t mess around with Nana!

Schizophrenics With PMS

What is it about getting older? It seems that the older I get, the more my body tries to mess with my mind. I have been dealing with “the curse” since I was twelve years old but for some reason, it seems that my PMS is getting worse. It’s almost like my body is trying to completely drive me insane just in time to throw me into menopause. I keep trying to blame it on birth control pills but I really believe that I’m going nuts and I think my Honey would agree. The following occurred last night. I sure hope he’s there when I go home today.

I started my “green pills” on Tuesday – Ladies, you know what that means. Yesterday I arrived home from work to my wonderful Honey, my beautiful Baby Girl, my lovely niece, Baby Girl’s best friend and our 3 dogs. On a normal day, this would be no big deal; I’m used to the chaotic life I lead. I come in and Honey and Diva are having an intense discussion about how Baby Girl can’t do her homework at school. From the den I hear Baby Girl arguing that it’s against the rules for her to do her homework at school. Crack Head 2 is rambling about how she didn’t have any homework and her kittens were learning tricks. Salty (the little dog) and Nugget (the medium dog) are barking and chasing each other and Snow (the big dog) is lying in the middle of the very small kitchen floor flat on his back.

Now, to set this up a little better you need to know a few things. Honey has always made sure that when I come home from work, I am allowed 10 minutes to myself. I am to go to the garage, patio, roof, etc. and take my smokes and the beverage of my choice. I don’t have to talk to any humans in the flesh or on the phone for at least 10 minutes – that’s the rule – his rule and I love him for it.

Back to yesterday. For whatever reason, PMS, severe mental defect, I’m just a big meanie, whatever, I stood there in the kitchen listening to all of this commotion and I couldn’t take it anymore. I yelled at Snow to get his tail out of my way, I yelled something at Salty and Nugget about breaking off their legs and beating them to death, I told Baby Girl to go her room and do her homework, I told CH 2 to go home and I told Diva and Honey to SHUT UP and quit aggravating Baby Girl. Suddenly the entire house was very quiet. I grabbed my smokes, a Diet Coke and my crossword puzzle and headed to the patio.

Now, I’ve completely shown my tail but dang it, I’m supposed to get 10 minutes! I’m sitting out there on the patio, in the 85 degree sun, in my BLACK shirt and jeans that I’d worn to work. I smoked one cigarette, worked three clues on my puzzle and was about to have a heat stroke. I decided to go in and change and possibly apologize to my family for being such a witch. I gathered up my stuff and headed to the back door……….it was locked! I knocked……….nothing. I knocked again………Nugget appears at the door, wags her tail and runs away. I knock again……..louder……..nothing. As I am walking around to the front of the house I am deciding that I am NOT going to apologize to these people. Yes, they are now “these people”.

I trip over the hose that never gets put away, pick up a towel that one of the Crack Heads had been using to dry off Lord knows what the day before, and get stopped by the neighbor. I stand there with my hands full of crap listening to my neighbor talk about how crappy HER life is for about 5 minutes. I finally make it to the front door and it is also locked. I ring the bell and low and behold, Baby Girl, Diva and Honey appear instantly – they weren’t dead after all! Better yet, they seem surprised to see me standing on the front porch with an armload of stuff. I push past them without saying a word. I make it to my bedroom, change my clothes, put on my fuzzy slippers and emerge feeling refreshed and calmer.

Now, used to when I had PMS, others noticed it but I never did. I notice it now and it’s scary. I apologized to my family for yelling and went back to the patio. Honey made dinner and he and I relaxed on the patio and ate together. Baby Girl opted to stay in the house and watch TV – yeah right, she’s no fool, she was trying to avoid me. Honey offered to take Baby Girl to practice and I thanked him sincerely. He is a wonderful man and I know I’m spoiled rotten at times but he says I deserve it so I’m not going to argue (at least not about that). I ate dinner and was once again calm.

After dinner, we adjourned to the den to watch a little TV before Baby Girl had to leave for practice. We snuggled up on the couch and I had the remote. I should be happy right? Wrong. The whole time I’m sitting there I’m thinking, “I am so angry”. I have no idea why I’m angry, I just am. Then it became like an argument between the voices in my head that went something like this:

Me: I am so angry
Me2: Why are you angry?
Me: I don’t know, I just am
Me2: Well that’s stupid
Me: Who are you calling stupid
Me2: I didn’t say YOU were stupid. Man, you’ve got PMS.
Me: Oh sure! If I’m angry, it must be PMS! Why are you bothering me?
Me2: Me bother you? You are bothering me. Why do you have to be such a haint?
Me: You just don’t understand! Just leave me alone!
Me2: FINE! I didn’t want to talk to you anyway!

Please remember, this is going on in my head while I am cuddled up on the couch with my Honey. He has done nothing, is laying there with me with his arms wrapped around me allowing me to control the TV. He looks up at me, smiles his beautiful smile and leans in to kiss me……….awwwww. My reaction to this is, “Could you move over a little, I am about to sweat to death.” God love him, he did!

By now it’s time for Baby Girl to leave for practice. Honey put his shoes on and kissed me goodbye and asked if I needed anything. “Nope, I’m good”, is my response and I tell him to be careful and I lock the door behind them. I retreat to the garage to smoke and watch TV. I flip for a while and settle on an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. I quickly realize it is the episode where Ray’s wife is dealing with major PMS and going through these God awful mood swings. I find myself laughing out loud while the voices in my head roll their eyes and sign in exasperation.

Later, Honey and I went to pick Baby Girl up from practice. We rode home and talked about her practice. She told us all about her “cradles” which I think is where the throw her in the air and catch her like a basket – I don’t know. Anyway, we get home and it’s time for her to get ready for bed. I tell her to get her PJs on and get in the bed. I stand at her door while she is getting ready and talk some more about her day. She tells me that “Daddy is going to turn off my light” and starts to climb up her ladder. I say to her, in the most loving tone, “Baby Girl, you want to turn off your laps before you get in the bed”. She does and up she goes. I tell her I love her and will see her in the morning. I go back to the garage. Five minutes later, Honey joins me in the garage and tells me that Baby Girl is having some sort of breakdown because I was “rude to her”. WHAT!?!? Rude??? I don’t think so. I asked Honey what he said and he said he told her that I probably wasn’t trying to be rude and that it was no reason to cry. I agreed that was the proper response and shut up. What I wanted to do was march in there and explain the difference between a request for her not to run my utility bill into the clouds and being RUDE – but I didn’t.

Five minutes later, the garage door opens and there stands a squalling 7 year old, holding her head. I asked what was wrong and she goes into this very weepy story about how she had hit her head on one of the other girls’ shoulder when she was doing cradles and it really hurt and she couldn’t sleep and she needed Tylenol. Now, this is the first I’ve heard of this near fatal cradle head butting but for the sake of peace and quiet, I got up, told her to go wash her face and I would get the Tylenol. I brought her back her medicine and a glass of water, she takes the pills and SKIPS back to her room and up her ladder. “Goodnight Mama, see you in the morning” she sings from her loft. “Goodnight Baby Girl, I love you”.

The rest of the evening was uneventful except for the voices in my head.

Me: Kinda funny that I didn’t hear about the accident before.
Me2: Leave her alone, she’s just a kid.
Me: She’s just a kid that is trying to stall going to bed.
Me2: You did it when you were a kid.
Me: Who asked you anyway?
Me2: Fine. You don’t want my opinion, I’ll just shut up.
Me: Good. You get on my very last nerve.
Me2: I am you, you friggin idiot.
Me: Bite Me!

I wonder if Midol has a Schizophrenic Strength gel cap?

Am I Drooling?

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have been threatened. My brother obviously doesn’t appreciate me telling stories of Sparky and his breast pump and has threatened to tell unbecoming stories about my youth. So, in order to save face, I shall beat him to the punch. The following is my rendition of my wisdom tooth extraction experience. Enjoy my pain.

Those of you whom have had your wisdom teeth pulled know that it is not a fun experience. I spent months in pain trying to convince myself that the 4 HUGE teeth in the back of my jaw would eventually straighten out and stop hurting. Wrong! My dentist took x-rays and informed me that my wisdom teeth were growing in sideways and would have to be pulled because, are you ready for this, MY mouth wasn’t big enough. I thought my mother was going to wet herself when she heard his words. Anyway, they scheduled me for oral surgery and I began to mentally prepare myself.

On the day of my appointment, I was pretty nervous. They gave me ½ a valium in the waiting room to calm me down. When they called my name, I was feeling fairly confident that I would not die and that I could possibly be interested in a valium addiction. I went back to the “operating” room and they explained the procedure. They were going to give me liquid valium to put me to sleep. YIPPEEE! Then they were going to extract my four wisdom teeth (code for rip them out of my head). After that, I would wake up in “recovery” and be sent home with a prescription for pain and instructions on how to care for my mouth. Sounds simple enough, bring on the valium!

They administered the anesthesia (code for good drugs) and told me to count backwards from 100. I counted, “100, 9…9” that was it. I assume that they then cut my wisdom teeth out – I wasn’t paying attention. Anyway, when I woke up, it turned out that “recovery” was a couch next to the back door, which is also where you exited the building. As it turns out, drunk people with swollen faces and bloody drool wandering through the waiting room isn’t very comforting to the other patients. So, my mother escorts (drags) me out the back door and puts me in the car. She gathers my prescription and my instructions and we were on our way.

Her intention was to take me home, put me in bed and go to Walgreens to pick up my prescription. My intention was to tag along with her and embarrass the crap out of her. As soon as we pulled out of the dentist’s parking lot, she starts reading the care instructions. #1 – leave packing in place for at least 4 hours. As she read, I began to remove the wads of gauze they had packed my jaws with because it was “sucking up my spit”. I am one of those people that can’t stand to even touch a dry paper towel to my tongue (I gag just typing this) so you can imagine what 11 feet of gauze was doing to me. Mother made me put the packing back in because “that’s what the instructions say”. Man, sometimes she really irritated me.

So, she then tells me her plan to take me home, I refuse. She tries to explain how much better it would be, I could lay down and get some rest, blah, blah, blah. Nope – I wanted to stay with her and I wasn’t taking no for an answer. We arrive at Walgreens and I stumble along beside my mother trying to carry on a drunken conversation while my jaws were packed with gauze. Ironically, my mother never responded to me. In fact, she seemed to be walking faster as if trying to get away from me. We get inside and she takes me to the magazine aisle and tells me to stand there and read while she gets my drugs.

I positioned myself about ¾ of an inch from the magazine rack and removed my gauze. I placed each bloody wad neatly along the edge of the rack and tried to focus on the cover of the latest issue of Hairstyles for African Americans – don’t ask it was the first thing I saw. Now remember, I’ve just had oral surgery and my entire face is swollen and numb. I looked down the aisle towards the pharmacy to “check on” Mother. She happened to be looking at me at that time so I felt inclined to ask her, in my loudest whisper (yeah, right), “AM I DROOLING?!?!?” She just looked at me like she didn’t know who I was so I repeated, a little louder this time, “AM I DROOLING?!?!”

About that time, the pharmacist called my name; she grabbed my drugs and headed my way. Meanwhile, I’d located a misplaced cassette tape holder mixed in with the magazines. It dawned on me that we needed a cassette tape holder and this one had to be purchased. I began explaining this to my mother before she reached me on the aisle, again in my delicate whisper. She finally reached me and snatched the cassette tape holder out of my hand, raked the bloody gauze off the rack into her pocket and headed to the check-out. We purchased the tape holder, my drugs and a copy of Hairstyles for African Americans I had smuggled to the register. We got in the car and went straight home.

For the next 3 days I slept. When I finally came out of my coma, my mother had a ball recounting how I had wandered around Walgreens with bloody drool all over my face looking like a drunken sow. She relished in telling each and every one of my friends how I was yelling “AM I DROOLING” at the top of my lungs in the middle of Walgreens. She took great joy in showing everyone my new cassette tape holder and the reading material I’d chosen while laughing her butt off about how retarded I looked – did I mention I was 18 years old when this occurred? I’m so grateful that I have the kind of mother that, in my hour of need, would ignore me in public and take pride in my humiliation. It is to her I owe my ability to laugh at the less fortunate and find humor in the pain of others. Thank you Mother, for instilling in me the kind of values I will need as a parent to laugh at my own children and embarrass them when the opportunity arises. You’re the best.

No B.O For Baby Girl

So Baby Girl has started Cheerleading and I can already tell that this is going to be a life changing experience. She is making new friends, gaining self confidence, learning new things, becoming more coordinated and above all, is taking quite and interest in personal hygiene,

Now, don’t be fooled, I don’t mean she has decided that bathing 3 times a day is necessary. Heck, sometimes I still have to fight with her to take 1 shower a day. She has also not come to the conclusion that writing on herself, wearing mismatched clothes or tennis shoes without socks just aren’t “right”. No, at seven, she feels that it isn’t necessary to shower unless she is completely covered in filth and she should be allowed to put tattoos on her face the morning of picture day. She also feels that she needs deodorant.

Baby Girl came home from her first practice the other night and she was very excited to tell me about all she had learned. Now, she couldn’t remember her coaches name nor the two new cheers they had learned but, she did remember the most important thing, “Mama, I need deodorant for Cheerleading”. Not, my pits stink and I need to start wearing deodorant because I don’t want the other kids to laugh at me – nope – we need it for Cheerleading.

I innocently asked her why she thought she needed deodorant – big mistake. She put her hands on her hips, rolled her eyes and huffs, “Mama, I just need it, OK”. Again I asked, “Is there a reason you think you need deodorant?” Well, you would’ve thought that I had asked her if she started her period in front of her 1st boyfriend. Her response was, “Can you just buy me some deodorant and not make a big deal out of it.”

So I thought about it. I thought about what it was like to be a little girl. I remember shaving my legs the night before I started 1st grade because I couldn’t “go to school with hairy legs”. I remember what it was like trying to fit in, going through those awkward phases and just wanting to be like all of the other girls. I thought long and hard and decided that she was still too young to use deodorant. I mean, not only does she not have a legitimate need for it, but I don’t think she is responsible enough yet. I caught her carving a bar of soap with a wooden spoon the other day and she still can’t tell me why. Last week she and her best friend were “laying out” on towels in the street on the “beach” that had been created by dirt and sand that had washed to the end of the road. And last month, she decorated her ceiling by smearing colored suntan lotion on her hands and putting prints around her light fixture. So in my mind, she’s not quite ready.

Yesterday was Mother’s Day and Baby Girl and I always get out nails and toes done. The nail shop didn’t open until Noon so we ran in the Family Dollar to kill some time. The first thing she spots is Teen Spirit deodorant in a lovely berry blast scent. She begged for a while and explained how she couldn’t be the ONLY girl not wearing deodorant. I finally caved and we checked out. She was soooo proud. As soon as we got in the car, she was smearing her deodorant on her pits. I took pictures.

Now, I haven’t read the ingredients on the label yet but I am fairly certain that there is absolutely nothing contained in this product that will prevent BO. It is merely a tube of white stuff that smells oddly like the most awful flavor of Bubblicious bubble gum that I have every encountered. But, she was happy and it seems harmless so I will deal with it.

This morning, she got up, put on her robe and made her 1st appearance in the den………carrying her deodorant. I tried to explain to her that her hygiene products should stay in the bathroom and she only needs to apply deodorant once a day. She again rolled her eyes at me and informed me that she was going to keep it in her room so that “nobody will see it”. Obviously, deodorant is one of those things that every girl wants but doesn’t want anyone to know they use. I am so confused, I could understand if it were a “feminine” hygiene product but deodorant??

I guess that every girl has different hang-ups. Me, I wouldn’t purchase toilet paper until I moved into my first apartment and even then, I would go the store in the middle of the night. I went through a phase where I would buy shoes 2 sizes too big because I couldn’t stand for my toes to touch and to this day, I can’t stand for someone to touch my face when I have on makeup. Hopefully, my child won’t be as neurotic as me. Although with my luck, she will probably develop some kind of horrible rash on her arm pits from this strawberry flavored deodorant and grow up boycotting all manners of preventing BO. Oh great, I’m going to wind up being the mother of the only 22 year old “smelly girl” at Harvard.

That's What Little Boys Are Made Of

So, I have this nephew, Sparky. He’s almost two years old and is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. He is also going to be a GREAT athlete one day. He has a rocket arm, can even throw a spiral, plays golf, has a great batting stance and his wind up isn’t bad either. One day, I am going to be able to sit in the stands and tell people all about my nephew and how much fun he was as a child. I can’t wait, but I bet my brother can.

You see, right now, Sparky lives in a house with his mother (Diamond) and his half—sister (Diva) along with Z and the new baby (Cranky). I am the nearest relative and baby sit frequently, I have Baby Girl and her friend (Crack Head 2) that is here most of the time. Needless to say, he spends a lot of time with females. Now, Sparky doesn’t talk much – he grunts A LOT but talking really isn’t his thing. He has no need for words, he knows what he wants and he points to it, you get it for him or he will smack you with a golf club – no need to bother with actual words. However, he is EXTREMELY smart. He understands everything you say to him; there is no doubt about it. He pays very close attention and can mimic anything you do. This started to become very apparent several months ago.

When I moved into the same neighborhood as Z & Diamond, Sparky started coming to my house more often. He would follow Baby Girl around and watch what she and her friends were doing. One day, he discovered the bucket of ponytail holders under the sink in Baby Girl’s bathroom. This bucket of little treasures became his favorite toy. Not because they made great sling shots……because they looked pretty in his hair. He would bring me one after the other to put in his hair. There were times when he would be walking around with 6 -8 in his hair at once. Diamond and I thought he looked rather cute. Z, on the other hand, about came unglued. I mean, here is his SON, his namesake, his “lil man” walking around with 6 ponytails in his hair. So, I had to start hiding the bucket in order to calm Z’s fear that I would turn his child into a pansy and Z bought him a set of golf clubs to try and “re-masculate” him.

About the time I took the ponytail holders away, Diva started to cheer competitively. So, she would be at home practicing her cheers and stunts and he would watch. Before long, he was trying to mimic his sister. He almost broke his neck once when she was learning to do a back handspring. It was so cute to watch him try and do what Diva did and Diamond would encourage him to try while Diva “spotted” him. Z bought him a football and a bat.

He discovered outside this year so he’s lost interest in Cheerleading but there was an addition to the house this year which leads me to the BEST part. Cranky was born about a month ago and Diamond is nursing him. As some of you well know, nursing mothers are able to pump additional milk in order to allow others to participate in feeding the baby. Diamond has started this ritual in the evenings so that Z can help with the middle of the night feedings. Sparky thinks that the pump is the coolest thing. Last night I was over there for a bit and Diamond was getting all of her “components” ready for her nightly session. I looked over and Sparky had his shirt pulled up, tucked under his chin and was desperately trying to attach the pump to his chest. I almost wet my pants! I have no idea what Z can buy for this one short of a Monster Truck or machine gun.

So, when he grows up and is employed by some professional sports franchise, I will be sitting up there in the stands, wearing my “Sparky’s Aunt” shirt, holding up my signs, cheering at the top of my lungs and punching the guy next to me saying, “You see that boy over there with the ponytails and pom poms – that’s MY nephew”!

Not Dead, Just Stupid

Well, I didn't get anything posted today because I managed to screw up my browser and it took me all bloomin day to figure out how to fix it. Anyway, I am not dead or sick or any of the other things people have called and asked today because I hadn't posted. I promise to make it up to you tomorrow. CH #1 has her first Cheerleading practice tonight so I'm SURE I'll have somethig good to write about tonight.

Hi, My Name is April Fool

I would like to take a moment to apologize to my brother for the story I am about to post. Only because he knows how much I love him and his family, am I slightly certain that he won’t be angry or offended. However, on the slight off chance that he becomes upset, I am officially begging for his forgiveness in advance.

My brother (we’ll call him Z) has been married for about 5 years. He and his wife (we’re going to call her Diamond) are now raising 3 children. Z has a 9 year old daughter (Diva) from a previous relationship as well as two sons with Diamond. The oldest boy is not quite 2 years old (Sparky) and the youngest was born on April 1st of this year (Cranky).

Now, Diamond had a fairly uneventful pregnancy. She began having contractions about 3 weeks prior to her delivery. I live around the corner from them so I was the designated “come to the house and take care of the kids if labor begins in the middle of the night” person. For 3 weeks, I got a nightly phone call to remind me to take my phone to bed with me “just in case” and I did. Every night I would take my crappy cordless phone and put it on my nightstand, anxiously anticipating the arrival of my new nephew, and every morning I would put the dead phone back on the charger to regenerate for the following evening. It finally rang at about 5:30am on April 1st. I quickly answered, “hello?!?” and on the other end my brother said, “It’s a go”. He was in the Army and sometimes reverts to “soldier speak” when there is a crisis. I said, “I’m on my way” and jumped out of the bed and threw on some clothes.

My Honey, who had also been waiting on this call, says, in a semi-panicked tone, “What do I need to do!” My initial thought was to tell him to get some clean towels and boil some water, but it was really early and I figured the humor would be lost. I told him he needed to get Baby Girl ready to school and put her on the bus, then go to work - I would call with further instructions. He shook his head at me with a look on his face like he was waiting for me to yell “BREAK” and run from a huddle. I ran out the door and headed to Z’s house, I arrived at 5:45am.

On my drive over there, it dawned on me that it was April Fool’s Day. I was about to be REALLY mad until I saw Z standing in the driveway fully dressed and looking a little frazzled. We spoke briefly and he explained that Diamond had been having steady contractions since about 4:30am. I headed into the house to see what I could do to help. I immediately heard Sparky crying through the baby monitor and Diamond trying to “pat” him back to sleep. I went into Sparky’s room and there was Diamond, leaned over his bed, holding her stomach and in obvious pain. She was patting and shushing Sparky but it sounded more like Lamaze breathing than actual shushing. I told her to go get ready and I would take care of my nephew. Z and Diamond load up in the car and head for the hospital, I got Sparky back to sleep and called my mother to let her know what was going on.

At about 6:30am Z calls to tell me that they forgot both the regular and video camera. I told them that I would bring them to the hospital once I took Sparky to the baby sitter’s and got Diva off to school. It was about that time that I realized that Diamond hadn’t packed a bag for the hospital. She had been calling me every night for 3 weeks telling me “I don’t know if I will make it through the night” but it never dawned on her to pack a bag. So, I start looking for her small suitcase and gathering up her clothes and bathroom “stuff”. By this time, Diva is up and getting ready for school and Sparky is still snoring soundly. The phone rings again, it’s Z. It’s 7:45am and he is calling to let me know that they will be doing a C-Section at 9:00am. Now remember, I have the cameras so I HAVE to be there by 9:00 or there will be no pictures of this child being born. I pack Diamond’s bags, grab the cameras, and put them in my car. I get Sparky up and dressed, push Diva out the door for the bus, throw Sparky in the car and head for the baby sitter’s house – its 8:15am.

So, there I am on the Interstate in rush hour traffic, driving like a maniac to drop off Sparky. I arrive at the baby sitter’s at 8:30, and rush in to deliver my nephew. Now, this woman knows that Diamond is in labor and that I have to be at the hospital by 9:00am with the cameras but that doesn’t stop her from talking my bloody head off for 5 minutes. I jump back in the car and head to the hospital. All I know is that for once in my life, I have to be on time and it wasn’t looking good. There is NO quick way to get from the baby sitter’s to the hospital at 8:30am. So, I’m in gridlock on Germantown Parkway, on the phone with my mother, and contemplating the story that I am going to tell the officer that pulls me over. “Yes, sir, I know I was speeding but my brother and his wife are having a baby and I have the camera”, my only hope was for the officer to have children and understand what kind of tragedy it would be to not have those precious pictures of a cottage cheese covered alien for the scrapbook.

I finally hit Poplar and I am in the home stretch……..so I pass the hospital. Yes, I’ve been to this hospital many times but I was under duress and obviously not focusing very well. In my defense, I think Germantown’s rules about keeping all street signs low and of neutral colors should not apply to medical facilities. I think hospitals, especially those that are hidden in the woods, should have HUGE neon signs for idiots like me. Anyway, I take a U-Turn in the middle of Poplar and make it back to the hospital, its 8:50am. Do you think I can find a parking spot………Nooooo! So I drive around the lot, which was designed by some dope smoking moron, and I call my mother. She is outside waiting on me and trying to give me directions to parking spaces only visible to her. I finally find a spot, grab all of the bags and RUN into the hospital – it is 8:55am. I make it to the room with seconds to spare, I am so relieved, I wasn’t late, I didn’t miss them, I’d fulfilled my duties as the Aunt/Servant and delivered the cameras on time. We spent the next 30 minutes, hanging out with Diamond in her room waiting for the doctor to get there. That’s right, 30 minutes, no doctor, heavy labor, lots of heavy breathing (I was out of breath from my journey from the parking lot) waiting and waiting. While we waited, I took pictures of EVERYTHING. I took pictures of Diamond in pain, Z in his blue booties and hair net, the nurses, the fetal monitor, everything. I figured those cameras HAD to be there by 9am, SOMEBODY was going to take some friggin pictures.

They finally took Diamond back to the delivery room and we all went to the waiting room to wait (duh, what else are you supposed to do in the waiting room?). Cranky was born and everyone was healthy. Everyone was thrilled and Z was hungry so I left and went to Wendy’s to get him some food. I returned with the food and was asked to go get Sparky so that he could meet his brother. I obliged. I returned with Sparky, and he ran around the room for a while, ignoring his mother, not at all interested in his brother but pitching an absolute FIT for the many balloons that had been sent by family and friends. By this time, it was time for the school bus to drop off Baby Girl and Diva. Z asked if I would take Sparky back to the baby sitter’s and bring the girls to the hospital to see Cranky. I obliged. I drove back to Z’s house and packed a bag for Sparky, I then drove to my own house and picked up the girls, we all headed to the baby sitter’s to drop off Sparky and then to the hospital. However, it was now like 6pm and the girls were hungry. We stopped at Wendy’s to get more food and arrived at the hospital around 6:30pm. The girls held Cranky for a while, and visited with Diamond and Z and then we left. I headed to a spot about 2 blocks from the baby sitter’s house to drop Diva off with her mother. Baby Girl and I finally arrived home at about 9pm and I was EXHAUSTED.

Now, there is no question that I love my brother and I am crazy about my niece and nephews but I sometimes wonder what would happen if I ever told him no. Would they have made it to the hospital in time? Would there be any pictures of his new born baby? Would his wife have had clean underwear and a toothbrush? Would his other children been left to fend for themselves? Absolutely not because anytime I say no to him, he suckers my mother. For whatever reason, we are incapable of refusing him anything and I have no idea why!! Makes me friggin crazy! Sometimes I just want to ………..oh, wait, my cell phone is ringing, oh, it’s Z, gotta run, he is at work and needs me to bring him a can of Skoal.

Don't Cry Over Cold Grease

I’ve lived in Memphis my entire life. It is a wonderful city with lots to offer in the way of entertainment. We are the home to an NBA team, a AAA Baseball team, wonderful museums, Beale Street, Graceland, fabulous dining, a great Zoo and Tunica is just down the road. However, my favorite form of entertainment in Memphis is the drive thru of any fast food place. All you have to do is pull up to that little speaker and you too can experience The Dance of the Drive Thru Dimwits.

First of all, let me say that not all people that work at fast food restaurants fall into this category. There are many that are out there, taking pride in their jobs, working their way through school or retirement. They are helpful and courteous and I am in no way trying to degrade them. Then, there are the ones that always seem to be working the drive thru when my car pulls through. I can always count on the Dimwits to lift my spirits and make me feel extremely intelligent.

In my life, I have been through the drive thru of hundreds of fast food places. What I have found is that although it would seem that all of the Dimwits are trained at the same school, they aren’t all doing the same “dance”. For example, Krystal specializes in putting the one person on the speaker that is completely deaf while McDonald’s tries to make sure that the person at the window stays busy chatting with her fellow fry flippers instead of talking to the customers. Burger King says you can “have it your way” but they NEVER get my order right. Wendy’s usually puts the one person they employ that can’t make change at the window. Sonic………I have nothing bad to say about Sonic. But, my all time favorite drive thru experience occurred at Jack Pirtle’s Chicken on Jackson Ave. near Hollywood.

My mother and I had decided that it was a good idea for us to drive to the hood for fried chicken late one evening. We got to the drive thru at around 7:30 – ok so it wasn’t so late but it was dark. We get to the speaker and order 3, 3 piece meals, all white. Easy enough, right? Wrong. The guy taking our order came back on the speaker, repeated our order and then said, “Pull around, I’m gonna see if I can hook you up”. Now, being that my mother is not as hip as I, she asked me what that meant. I explained to her that the he phrased his sentence, would indicate that there is a possibility that he could NOT “hook us up” How the heck am I supposed to know what he meant!

We pull around to the window and because I am stupid, I lean across and ask, “What do you mean you are going to see if you can hook us up?” He then explains, in a language that I had to interpret for my mother, that they were out of chicken. Come again??? Jack Pirtle’s CHICKEN is out of CHICKEN? I’m sorry, but I’m a bit confused. He went on to explain that “the grease is off”. Obviously, this is an acceptable excuse for not having the only entrée that an establishment sells. It is also not an option to turn the grease ON and possibly cook some more of the only thing you friggin sell. It then occurred to me that maybe this was a business strategy, they cook a bunch of chicken in the morning, turn off the grease to avoid a fire hazard and then close when they sell out – brilliant! This kind gentleman then tells us that, “the other place (I assume he meant another Pirtle’s) might still have some”. Not, I’m very sorry for your inconvenience or we’d be happy to make some more. Nooooo – this guy’s customer service training led him to tell us to go somewhere else. Nice.

So, because we are intelligent women, not to be outdone, my mother and I took a stand. We looked that man right in the eye and said, “Where is another Pirtle’s close to here?” and then we DROVE to a different location in a part of town I had never been in before or care to return to again. All of this, for fried chicken and not even GREAT fried chicken. In fact, the chicken isn’t really that good but the gravy is awesome. I guess the chicken would be better if they weren’t frying it in cold grease.

This is only one of my favorite experiences with drive thru windows. There was a time when the woman at Krystal was so completely out of touch with reality that even my daughter was yelling at the speaker from the backseat. And there was another time when I was forced to throw pickles at the window at Burger King after they made my sandwich wrong 3 times but those are stories for another day. Just remember, chicken places don’t always have chicken. Most fast food employees are idiots and if they guy on the speaker says he will, “see if he can hook you up” just drive away because there is no way you are getting what you came for.

Idiots and Embolisms

Well folks, I really thought that I was going to have an embolism this morning. Every now and again, the sheer stupidity of other people drives me to the point where I just know blood is going to shoot out of my eye. This morning was one of those times. It began with traffic and continued when I arrived in my office. So, please excuse me but I have GOT to get this off my chest!

Fist of all – I woke up this morning to rain. Wasn’t supposed to rain but it did. Of course, my window is down because I am a bloomin’ retard! So, I drag my towel out to my car and cover my seat so that I don’t have to have wet pants all day. I pull around the corner to the front of my subdivision to go to work and both sides of the street are lined with trucks. BIG trucks dump trucks, equipment trucks, you name a truck and it was sitting in the entrance of my subdivision this morning. As I tried to maneuver my way through the parade of heavy machinery I was cut short in my efforts because there were 5 “laborers” standing in the middle of the only clear path. I realize that they are looking at the muddy pit on the side of the road where it appears they had gotten a backhoe stuck. I honked my horn and they turned to me and WAVED! I opened my door (because I still haven’t fixed my friggin windows) and yelled, “You want to get out of the friggin road?!?” They moved to the side and I proceeded to make my way to Hwy. 64.

I pull onto 64 and drive for about 8 feet before being met by a traffic jam. Apparently, there was a wreck up ahead some place. All traffic was merging into the far right hand lane to avoid the pile-up that was in the left lane. I merged right, like a thinking human, and proceeded to putt along in bumper to bumper traffic for the next two miles. All the while, there were people in the left hand land, jockeying for position and trying to cut in “closer” to the front of the line, one of which is a woman in a silver minivan. This really makes me mad but I am willing to let a few people in ahead of me. I allow 3 or 4 cars to merge in front of me and I finally make it to the end of the line. Just as I get to the spot where the left lane is blocked, the minivan lady starts honking her horn at me. I look over at her and she is YELLING at me to let her over. Now, remember, this idiot has been cruising along in the left hand lane for two miles. She KNEW she had to get over but wanted to skip to the front of the line. My first instinct was to ram the front of her stupid minivan. But, being that there were two cops sitting there, I decided against it. So, I went with my second instinct, I smiled, told her she was “#1” and hit the accelerator preventing her from merging. When I got to the next light I could see her still sitting there, waiting to merge – serves her right. I hope she ran out of gas.

I finally get to my office and am informed that one of my projectors had been stolen out of a conference room. I hate thieves! I sent an email to our facilities person to let them know that, once again, my equipment had walked away. He told me that he was going to the security company to, “find out if they saw anything”. Now I ask you, IF they saw something, wouldn’t my friggin projector still be in the conference room????

I get off that call only to get another from one of our managers who is furious because our Data Security person has gone and changed the login ids for half of her staff. We have some departments that are going away and employees from those departments are being transferred to a newly formed department. They weren’t new hires or even re-hires, these are folks that have been working day in and day out for years and all of a sudden today – our Data Security Idiot (that is his official title) decided to just up and change their credentials. Makes sense to me….NOT! I spent the next 20 minutes undoing what he had done so that these people could get back to work.

I then get an email from our Procurement system, telling me that I have orders that have denied. I go in to see why and find that they are saying I used an “out of date” form when I submitted the requests. I originally submitted these requests way back before the holidays. They have been going through our wonderful system now for over 4 months. I have been back and forth with these people, providing additional information, documentation, blood, sweat and tears to get the equipment I need. Today, the request is to use the NEW form. I open the NEW form and it looks EXACTLY like the OLD form except the NEW form doesn’t have as many boxes for people to approve it! Better yet – the NEW form was put into use AFTER the original submission date of the requests.

So, please forgive me if my post is short today, it’s been a rough morning. I’ve got 5 orders that I have to fill out NEW forms on and get them resubmitted before the form is revised. I have more user accounts that have to be fixed, I have to locate the serial number of the projector that walked away so that the police can……….not find it. I also have to fill out the requests for a new projector, which I’m sure will be denied because the procurement lady hates me. I wish I could just go home – but my friggin car seats are still wet and so is my towel!!! MAN – I need a smoke break.

The Oldest End User

When I first began managing Desktop Services at my company, we were still running a mixture of Windows 95 and 98. We were in the process of renegotiating hardware contracts and were moving from Gateway to Compaq. We decided, since most of our equipment was past end of life, to begin upgrading both the hardware and the OS at the same time. So, little by little, we would purchase new equipment and upgrade the “neediest” users first and eventually distributing new machines to all 900 users.

As you can imagine, everyone immediately became the “neediest”. If a computer crashed in Customer Service and we replaced it, we would have problems reports out of everyone in the department within an hour. Everybody wanted the new machines because they were 10X faster than the old ones and they looked really cool (at the time). Anyway, we had a machine crash in the Accounting department one day so we replaced it with a new unit. The lady sitting next to the user who got the new PC (we will call her Fanny) was about 102 years old. When Fanny started in the Accounting field, they were still carving numbers in stone tablets so let’s just say that she isn’t the most computer literate individual on the planet. However, once Fanny saw the new PC her co-worker had received; she began her calculated mission to get one of her own. Now, Fanny is old but she is far from frail. In fact, I would go so far as to say she is a feisty little heifer.

Fanny began calling me at least once a day to tell me of some other “ailment” her computer had none of which could be recreated when a tech arrived at her desk. She finally wore me down when she called for the 10th time to tell me that “the computer had deleted her spreadsheets”. I threw up my hands and conceded to issue her a new machine. It was installed later that day and all was quiet in Ms. Fanny’s cube for the remainder of the week.

The following Monday morning, I was walking past Fanny’s desk and she says, in her best angry grandmother tone, “Come here and look at this”. I went over to her desk and stood over her shoulder while she explained her problem. She opens an Excel spreadsheet that she used for weekly balancing. She says, “Every Monday I have to create a new spreadsheet for the previous weeks’ numbers.” I nod knowingly, having no idea where this is leading. She goes on, “I open this spreadsheet and I go up here in the corner and click this little box and the whole sheet turns gray” and she demonstrates. “Then I go up to File and press Copy.” I say, “Yes ma’am”. “Then, I go down here and click on this tab to open a new page.” Again, I shake my head in agreement. “Then I go up here and click on File and Copy and nothing happens.” Now, bear in mind, she is using a tone with me that only my own grandmother would get away with and she is giving me this look like I have done something wrong. I say to her, “Ms. Fanny, you have to Copy then Paste to get your data to appear on the new spreadsheet.” “NO I DON”T! I’ve been doing this a long time and I think I know how to do my job.”

How am I supposed to respond? This woman is 102 and it’s obvious that she is convinced she is performing the correct functions. I can’t just say, “Well, you’re an idiot.” I have to be tactful and kind in this situation. I took a step back and pretended to be looking under her desk. I said, “Ohhhh, we upgraded your PC last week.” She said, “Yes you did and this one doesn’t work any better than the old one. What are you going to do to fix it?” I said, “I am so sorry. On the new computers you have to Copy and Paste. I apologize for the misunderstanding”. She huffed at me and said, “You know, you technical people should really let us know when you are going to make changes like this. SOME of us have very important jobs to do and don’t have time for this kind of error.”

For a split second I contemplated the repercussions of smacking this woman in the back of the head but decided against it. I hear that they don’t take kindly to people who abuse the elderly in prison. Instead I just smiled and apologized again for my oversight and returned to my office. Ms. Fanny was with our company for 5 more years after this happened and up until the day she left she swore that I personally had changed the way that MS Excel functioned. Bless her heart…………..old hateful heifer.

Who Done Passed?

My mother and I have this odd hobby. We like to read the obituaries in the local paper and keep track of the odd nicknames that appear. Everyday we call each other to keep the other informed of “who died today”. Now, for those of you who haven’t met me, I grew up in Frayser and am fluent in Ebonics. In order for this list to have nearly the impact on you as it does on us, you have to “hear” it in your head in a tone that is not of the Caucasian Persuasion. If you find this offensive or think this to be a racial – you don’t know me at all.

This is a list of our favorite dead people’s nicknames thus far:

Moonrunner,
Main Main,
Pop,
Turtle,
Pluke,
Bamama,
Cry Baby,
Big Baby,
Stick,
Dude,
Slick,
Weed,
Lil Mo,
Mr. Popcorn,
Rock City,
Baby Sister Blue (also Blu),
Boy Blue,
Bing Bong,
Sparky Brylcreem,
Square,
Hacksaw,
Pookie V,
Moon Pie,
Lil Man,
Chief,
Son (mother's name was Mae Thelma),
Foot,
Bobo,
Bootsie,
Spool Head,
Black,
Red,
Boo,
Prescious Tootsie Pie,
Baby Bro,
Hornie,
Aunt Bill,
The River Rat,
Rooster,
June Bug,
Swindock,
Squirrel,
Tater Bug,
Pistol Pete,
Daddy Jack (daughter's name was Acquanette),
D-Man,
Cool Papa,
Doo Lit,
PeeWee,
Whiskey,
Poone,
Jelly Roll,
Junebug Hardtimes,
Loveangel,
Santa Claus (wife's name was Sweetie),
Good Rockin' Daddy,
Tipping Willy,
Popeye,
Mother Tootie,
Kitty Bill,
Fruitjar,
MaGoo,
Nig,
Boy Man,
Po-Boy,
Hambone,
Nuddie,
Tenn,
Autolene,
Toddie,
Frog,
Ma-Dear,
Big Momma,
Dankey,
Beauty Black,
Pluto,
Boo,
Shakem-up,
Fat Fish,
Snow,
PoorBoy,
Pig,
Boss Ugly Bob,
Wimpy,
Moochie,
Nunu,
Pie,
C-May,
Big Daddy,
Duck

Now, I know that people are “known” by other names. For example, if your name is Robert but you are known as Bob, it’s only fitting to have that published in the paper when you die. I find it hard to believe that they had to publish “Junebug Hardtimes” in a man’s obituary in order for the world to figure out who he was. I’m sure he fought his whole life to get away from a name like that and there goes his wife, putting it out there for one last humiliation. However, I would like to thank these people for providing what has been an on-going source of entertainment for my family. Even my Baby Girl is in on it now. She always asked me “who done passed” when she sees me reading the paper. Poor kid, she better hope her uncle doesn’t write her obit – he calls her “Pooter Head”.

I Swear It Was Water

When I was 16 years old, you could say that I was far from the model child. My mother would say that I was a B!@*% - but nobody really cares about her opinion. Most of the conversations that I had with my mother while I was growing up occurred in the bathroom. It was the only place that I could have a captive audience for whatever I was trying to get over on her that day.

On this particular day, my mother was in the shower and I was standing in the bathroom trying desperately to convince her that I should be allowed to spend the night with one of my girlfriends. Now, bear in mind, I’m 16, I have a steady boyfriend, I’m asking to spend the night with a friend that I probably hadn’t hung out with in 6 months or so and my mother had audacity to say NO. Uuhhhh – MO-THER – Why not? I mean, it was sooooo obvious that I was telling the truth, how dare she deny me?!? Anyway, the entire time my poor mother was in the shower I’m standing out there, in the steam, frizzing my hair going on and on about how unfair she is, how everyone else gets to spend the night, I PROMISE I’m going to be at my girlfriend’s house, blah, blah, lie, lie.

Finally she turns off the water and opens the shower curtain to grab her towel. She is drying off and I’m steady griping. “You don’t understand me, why can’t I go; you never let me do anything, why can’t you just let me, whine, gripe, beg.” The whole time I’m carrying on, my mother never said a word, she just kept drying off, trying to ignore me. Finally, I guess she’d listened to enough. All of a sudden, I heard this noise come from her – the kind people make when they are trying to clear phlegm from their throat and the next thing I knew she had SPIT in my face. That’s right folks, my very own mother, the one who carried me in her womb, cared for me and nurtured me, nursed me through sickness, fed me and clothed me, SPIT on me! I was shocked!

I stood there in silence (which is what I believe she was shooting for) and disbelief for about 10 seconds before I calmly said, “You SPIT on me!” Now, the look on my mother’s face was priceless. I could tell that she was trying desperately not to laugh but she kept her composer, looked me right in the eye and said, “No I didn’t. That was water from my hair.” Like I had all of a sudden been stricken blind and didn’t SEE her spit in my face. It wasn’t like she waited for me to turn and leave the room before she hurled saliva on me – Nooooo. She spit directly in my face – on my right cheek next to my nose to be exact. I was LIVID! I turned on my heels, marched to my room and slammed the door.

Over the course of the next 12 years, every time I would recount this story in my mother’s presence, she would stick to her “water from my hair” defense. She denied the fact that she has accosted me with a bodily fluid for over a decade. About 5 years ago, we were at a family gathering and one of my aunts was talking about trials she was experiencing with her then 14 year old. My mother was trying to comfort her by telling her stories of my wayward teenage days when I finally heard the words I’d been waiting to hear for 12 years. She said, “Just wait until she’s 16. If you can make it through 16 without spitting in her face, you’ll be lucky”. FINALLY – vindication! After all of those years of her trying to convince me that I was a complete nut job, “I’m your mother, why would I spit on you?” she had finally admitted it.

My mother loves to tell this story now and when she does she always gets the same reaction from her friends, “You spit on your child”. To which she proudly replies, “I sure did, spit right in her face. It shut her up though and she stayed out of the bathroom after that”. Over the years, the laws on child abuse have changed dramatically. You can no longer spank your children in public without someone calling the cops. You can’t yank a branch off a tree and whip them with it even if you call it a “switch”. But you better bet that it’s not against the law to spit on a bitching teenage girl – Nope – you can cover that little heifer in phlegm and there’s nothing anybody can do about it. So all you teenage girls out there who think you can get away with smarting off to your parents – make sure you wear a mask – you never know when your mother might snap.

Love you Mother.

Thank God I Didn't Kill Her

When I was growing up my Mother always knew she had two sure fire ways of keeping me in line. One was to tell my Daddy on me and the other was to guilt me with “if your Grandmother knew the stunts you pulled, it would kill her”. I’m still not sure what “pulling a stunt” is. I’ve heard of people performing stunts but the actually pulling of a stunt isn’t completely clear to me – perhaps we will discuss this term later. Needless to say, if you tell a child often enough that it’s behavior could possibly cause the death of a family member; eventually they will internalize that information.

In my life, I’ve done A LOT of stuff that I’m not very proud of but none of which I ever thought would actually KILL my grandmother. That is, none but one. When I was 19 years old, I became pregnant - out of wedlock. In the South in a Baptist family, this is like THE biggest no, no ever. Not because it can ruin your life, or because it’s immoral, noooo. The reason it’s the #1 worst thing is because the ladies at church will whisper about you. Yes Lord, a good ole knocking up will cause way more buzz than Ms. Ethel singing off key or Brother Larry’s drinking problem. If your child/grandchild becomes impregnated by some heathen boy, you can be removed from the congregation and forced to give up your spot on the Heaven Express if so voted by the Deacons.

Imagine my horror when that little stick turned blue! I just knew that I had finally done it. I had finally pulled the one stunt that would cause my grandmother to drop dead. I was pregnant and not married. Now, being from the Bible Belt, I immediately knew that not only was my grandmother going to die but that I was going to burn in Hell. There was no way out of it. I could beg for forgiveness but once the church ladies start that whispering, I believe they can actually drown out the prayers of the “sinners” if they want to. So there I was, 19, pregnant, unwed, about to commit homicide and going to Hell – there was only one thing to do – pretend it wasn’t happening. For 4 months I did just that, pretended it wasn’t happening. I finally told my mother in February and my Father in March (the baby was due in July). Finally on my Birthday (April 21st) I knew I was going to have to tell her because I was going to her house after work that day. I was 6 months along and had definitely been practicing the “eating for two” philosophy in my diet. I’d gained about 40 lbs and there was no way she wasn’t going to notice. I sat at work all day, trying to get up the nerve to call her. At around 3:30 in the afternoon, I realized that I had to do it – I was going to have to kill my grandmother on my Birthday. Man, when God punishes you – he really lets you have it.

Anyway, I picked up the phone and called……Pizza Hut. I was going to need strength for this. My pizza arrived; I stuffed my face and made the call. I cried and cried as I told her how sorry I was and how much I was going to miss her. From the other end of the phone I heard, “bring that boy to my house tonight” and she hung up. I was overjoyed – she wasn’t dead! Thank God, I didn’t kill her! Thank you Lord, thank you Lord! I was dancing around my desk when it dawned on me………she isn’t dead………that means I have to face her and “bring the boy”. Crap – maybe I’ll get hit by a bus – come on Lord, just a little bus. I don’t want to die but I do want to avoid the wrath of my grandmother. I left my office and walked across the parking lot without looking for cars……nothing.

That evening, as I sat in my grandmother’s living room, I had never been so uncomfortable in my life. For one, I was carrying a lot of water weight but most of all; it was because “he” was there. That boy – “he” – that’s what she called him. The first thing out of her mouth was, “when are you getting married?” I explained that I didn’t want to get married. That although I loved my boyfriend (who later turned out to be my husband), I wasn’t ready to get married and didn’t think that getting pregnant was a reason to wed. She looked me right in the eye and said, “the least you can do it get married so that the child can have a name”. AHHHHH – now I get it. Obviously, in the state of Tennessee, in order to name your child you must first be married. I had no idea!

However, the more I thought about it, it started to make sense. I knew a girl named Female (pronounced Fe-ma –ly) and I went to school with a kid we called Lil Boy. It never dawned on me that maybe their parents weren’t married. How sad. I really don’t think it’s fair that children be penalized for the sins of their parents but obviously in the South it’s common. However, I resigned that I would not allow that kind of stigma be put on my child. I continued with my pregnancy, making list after list of baby names. I had narrowed it down to several and finally decided on the perfect one before I went into labor. On July 31st I gave birth to a beautiful little boy. He was perfect in every way. They wheeled his bassinet into my room and placed him close to my bed so that I could see him for the very first time. I checked is hands and feet to make sure he had 10 fingers and toes. I was overjoyed. But my joy was short lived when I looked at the end of the bassinet and saw that my secret was out. There, on a little blue card, printed in permanent black marker on the “name” line it said “BABY BOY ZUENDEL”.

To this day we joke about me having to tell my grandmother about my first pregnancy. One of the things that I learned in all of it was that my grandmother wasn’t nearly as frail as my mother wanted me to believe. I learned that I was not capable of killing a family member with the “stunts I pulled” unless the stunt involved shooting one of them. I learned that “eating for two” is just an excuse to become a COW. But the most valuable lesson I learned was, if you live in Tennessee and get pregnant out of wedlock, you’d better buy a bus ticket to Illinois if you want to name your own kid.

Hidden Treasures

Several years ago, I made a conscious decision to become a parent. I dreamed of having a beautiful little person that I could love and adore. Someone who needed me that I could nurture and care for and one day, send off into the world to be a contributing member of society. What I got was a beautiful, sensitive, intelligent, loving, con artist.

We had a satellite installed at our home several months ago. The package came with 3 receivers – one in our bedroom, one in the den and one in the garage (that’s a whole other story). The point is we didn’t feel that a 7 year old needed a satellite connection in her room so she only has, GASP, local TV stations. This is a bone of contention with her as she is somehow of the assumption that her body requires at least 5 hours of Cartoon Network a day. When she is good and has earned the privilege, I allow her to pile up in my bed and watch her cartoons on the weekends. The rule is, she can lie in my bed, build her nest with the 37 pillows I require for sleep and watch her shows but under no circumstances is she to go through my stuff. This means, stay out of my bathroom, my closet, my nightstand and my dresser drawers. She has a tendency to “misplace” things like my hairbrush, tweezers, the plunger and birth control pills so it’s just better if she be restricted to the bed. She is very aware of these rules and knows that her violation of said rules will prohibit her being able to hang out in my room and melt her brain with television.

Yesterday afternoon she had been very good and asked if she could watch TV in my room. I was doing laundry and watching something on E! which she was completely bored with so I agreed. After about an hour, I went to check on her and put some clothes away. She was standing on the far side of my bed kind of crouched down. I said, “What are you doing”? She replied, without ever taking her eyes off of the screen, “watching TV”. I told her to stand up and she did but kept her hands conspicuously hidden behind the bed. I asked, “What is in your hand”? She held out her hand that was full of little wadded up candy wrappers. I recognized these as a few Hershey Miniatures I’d put in my nightstand drawer. I asked her where she got the candy to which she replied, in her most innocent voice, “I found them”. She found them………ahhhh. Obviously my child wanted me to believe that she had been on some sort of archeological dig in my bedroom and unearthed the secret tomb of Willie Wonka. I told her to go to her room. On her way there, she remembered where she had found them, “they were in your nightstand drawer”, she says, as if sharing the location of the hidden treasure with me would get her out of hot water. I explained that in order to FIND something it has to be LOST and I suggested she FIND her way into her room before I FOUND my hand on her backside.

I went outside to smoke a cigarette and try and remember why it was that I had agreed to let her watch TV in my room in the first place. The reason I had allowed the privilege that day was because she had followed all of the rules, she had asked permission before riding her bike all over the neighborhood looking for stray kids to play with, she had come home when she was supposed to, she wore shoes and socks without having to be told (this is a BIG deal at my house) so that’s why I had agreed to let her invade my bedroom. Baby Girl had set me up. She knew that because she’d been so good all day and followed all of the guidelines, that I would let my guard down at some point and I did. On a normal day, I would never have allowed her to be in my room for an hour without looking in on her 50 times to see what she was doing. She played me! I couldn’t believe that I had been outsmarted by a 7 year old.

I finished my smoke, wiped up the puddle of drool on the table and preceded back in the house. Baby Girl met me in the kitchen with her head hanging low. She apologized for breaking the rules and swore she would never do it again, all while looking at the floor. I was about to explain again the need to be able to trust her not to break the rules, when I realized she was smiling. I tilted her head up and asked what was so funny. My beautiful, intelligent, loving Baby Girl smiled sweetly and said, “You’re always saying that you’re fat so I knew you shouldn’t eat that candy. I was just trying to help”. What the heck am I supposed to say to that?!? I can’t beat her – she’s my child, I love her and I would never do anything to her……….that could be proven in court. So, I decided to be the adult. I said, “Baby Girl, you always tell me that I’m not fat when I say those things”. To which she replied, “And you always tell me not to argue with you.”

I went back out to the patio to smoke and count. I try to count before I react when I am angry or upset. It’s supposed to let you calm down and not say or do something rash in the heat of the moment. So, I’m out there counting……..46, 47, 48……….and she opens the door………..49, 50, 51. “Mama, I’m getting hungry”…52, 53, 54…., “What are we having for dinner” …55, 56, 57…….. I look at this beautiful, precious little angel standing in my doorway. She is everything I could’ve ever wanted in a child. She is my entire world and my heart sometimes aches with the abundance of love I have for her. I look at her and say, “Look around in there and see what you can FIND”. I’m sorry, I’ve said that I am grown; I never claimed to be mature. However, because she is my child and bears half of my DNA she quickly responded, “Does that mean you LOST our dinner?” then smiled and shut the door…………. 436, 437, 438………