Yesterday we had no internet service. That's akin to no life line, but we managed until the tech showed up this afternoon to reconnect us to the wide, wide world of internet again. I must say the experience dealing with Comcast was less than pleasant.
When Paul got home yesterday and discovered there was no internet, he did what all married men do....call the wife! I didn't have my magic wand with me, and it wasn't at home, so he had to call Comcast. Needless to say....it didn't go well, because the automated system automatically increases the callers blood pressure, which makes all systems related kick into angry overdrive.
After much button pushing, yelling into the phone, etc., we had a tech scheduled to arrive here today between 1 and 5. At midnight last night, my cell phone rang. Now I doubt anyone hears their phone ring at midnight and thinks, "Hmm, that must be Comcast calling to confirm the tech's arrival tomorrow between 1pm and 5pm." NO! The average person hears their phone ring at midnight and wonders what is wrong with one of the kids, or did that ailing relative die, or........something other than COMCAST calling.
I answered the phone to hear the automated system, with instructions to press 1 for something, 2 for something else, and 3 for something else. I hung up the phone. At 6:30 this morning, the phone rang. What now? I wondered if Julie got stuck in a snow drift. NOPE, it's Comcast again! Same automated system, so I punched all the right numbers, and low and behold a living person came on the line. I'm sure she regretted the connection, because I told her what I thought of calls from their automated system at midnight, and again at 6:30, and I had already confirmed the appt three times, not to mention that Paul had confirmed it as well!
Thirty minutes later the phone rang. Yep, you guessed it....the automated system wanting me to confirm the appt. I called back, punched in the many, many buttons, and connected to a person who spoke broken English at best. I told her that they needed to work on their automated system, and make sure it wasn't calling customers at midnight. She said, "Ma'am, I am noting on your account that you do not want the automated system to call you in the wee hours of the morning." I wish I wasn't quoting that word for word, but I am. THEN, then she had the nerve to tell me that I could have signed onto my account at www.comcast.net and confirmed the appointment there. I hung up!
Thirty minutes later.....sure enough, the automated system, and each time you are asked if you would like to complete a brief survey after the call. Oh my! They do not want to hear what I would say. I called again, and once again, I pressed one (if your first born is blond and lives in the USA). I pressed two, (if your middle child has blue eyes), and I pressed three when asked if I had ever considered blowing up an automated phone system, and then I heard........Your call cannot be completed as dialed. If you feel you have reached this message in error, please hang up and try your call again. KABOOM!
I called back, and after all the button pushing, and frustration, I connected with a live being, and of course, she spoke very broken English as well. I told her that I had already confirmed the appt more than once, and how about 7 times, and surely they had that in their system now, and would she please make sure the tech didn't show up before 1pm, because I would not be home. Of course, it was all noted in my account.
At 11:30 I rec'd a phone call from the Comcast tech, and he would be at my house in ten minutes. Noted on my account, huh? In which language, and which account? I told him I wasn't home, would not be home until 1pm. He graciously said he would come back. Lucky for him, he was a nice guy! He reconnected us, replaced the broken equipment, and went on his way. Happy Thanksgiving, and all that jazz.
Oh wouldn't you know it. Comcast just called wanting to know how I would rate my experience with the service provided. I can't answer that by pushing buttons. I just can't!
I'm thinking about calling the automated system back and seeing if I can wreak havoc with it.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Mothers
If there were a way to measure love, think of the explosive measurement that would result from the first time a mother holds her newborn baby. It's a love that is immeasurable. It's also a love that is indescribable. It's just there. It's powerful, it's explosive, and it's forever.
When we hold our babies for the first time, it's a feeling that will stay with us forever. We gaze into those squinty little eyes, and we are lost forever. It doesn't matter if the baby is the ugliest human ever born, it's a beautiful baby to it's mother.
We have no idea of what lies ahead, we just know we love. We know we will always love, and that's all we think of at the time. It's good that's all we can think of at the time. If we could see the future, we could not enjoy the present.
The future often holds things for us, and for that baby, who will become an adult, that we could not cope with, if we knew what was ahead. Life trains us, even though we think it doesn't, it trains us for those moments in time that if we knew were coming, we would just give up. When those days come, and we are living them, we often think we will not survive them, but we do. We survive them because we loved that baby from the moment we first held them, and we will love them until forever. We don't have to like what they do, or the choices that they make, or the trials they put us though, but we will always love them.
The love of a mother is powerful. A mother would rather die herself, than to lose her child in death. A mother would rather take on all of her child's pain, than to see her child suffer. For a mother to practice tough love is costly. Mothers heal, mothers fix, mothers kiss and make things better, and when a mother can't heal, or fix, or kiss away the pain, it's costly to the mother.
A mother's love cannot be measured on any scale made by man. For all those who have a mom, a mom who loves them, just understand, she will always love you, even when she doesn't like you, she will love you. When she makes you furious, or you make her furious, you feel like you can't understand her, or she doesn't understand you, you feel like she is too involved, just know this, she loves you. She loves you without measure, because that's what a mother's love is. A love without measure.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
The Empty of the Nest
Two years ago when my youngest left home, so many of my friends told me that I would not really like the empty nest syndrome. I, of course, said that I had plans, and I would enjoy the peace and quiet. That has been true to a certain extent, but there are the grandsons filling up the space and the quiet, and most of the things I had planned have not come to be.
The empty of the nest is sometimes echoingly empty. I realize that I raised my three kids to leave home. It's the process of life. Being home wasn't always a fun place to be, and having me for a mom was always just a little bit on the crazy side. I admit it, they will tell you it, and so it is. There are times though, when the empty is a cavern that seems too huge to fill.
My oldest, Sarah, is 1476.75 miles from home. If I were to drive to her house, Mapquest tells me that it would take me 22 hours and 11 minutes. In other words, it's a long drive. I go there often, in my mind. I think of what it would be like to visit her, to eat at the restaurant where she works, to see her new home, to meet Sean's parents, and all her friends. I've yet to make the actual trip, but I visit often in my hopes, and dreams, and schemes. She thinks I will never come to visit her, but she is wrong.
Sarah's room was a work of art. She drew on her walls, and even though it was hard to do, I eventually painted over all that work, and teenage emotion, and turned her room into a guest room. It's a guest room, but it's still Sarah's room. It's an empty part of the nest.
Julia lives just about nine miles from me, but there are times when it seems like she is a thousand miles from home as well. Her dad will often say, "She could at least stop in, and she could bring Greyson with her. It's a long time from Friday to Friday." Some of Julie's things are still here, but her room is empty of Julie, and is an empty part of the nest. I have plans to make that room into another guest room, and to paint it something other than shades of green. No matter the color, or that it's another guest room, it's still Julie's room.
Jacob lives 257.81 miles from home, and though he is much closer than Sarah, there are times it seems he is so much farther. Boys just don't call as often, don't share as much of their lives, operate on a need to know basis, and there is so much a mom does not need to know. In his room there are many echoes of Jacob. The hole in the wall, the scuffed up wall from his easy chair, that rubbed across the wall while he swiveled it back and forth while playing his Xbox 360. I stand in there at times, and I hear his sister yelling at him to turn down the stereo, or to stop thunking the golf club on the floor. I think I hear him lumbering down the hall, and am disappointed when it's not him, just my imagination. I have plans for his room too. Plans that involve wall repair, and paint, but no matter the repairs, of the color involved, it's still Jacob's room, and a part of the emptiness of the nest.
As August approaches, and school begins, I think of the parents who will be sending their little ones to kindergarten, and remember the tears, all mine, not theirs, as I left them there at school. School, that new world of adventure, and learning, and growing! I think of the parents who will have children, who think they are grownups, entering into middle school. I think of the parents with children in high school and remember thinking, I'm almost done. Then I think of the college kids, who are adults, but still kids. Ah what a journey.
From that first moment of conception, to the last of the apron string being snipped, it's a journey filled with joy, with sorrow, with aches and pains, the tooth fairy that forgot to show up, the agony of early school mornings, the broken hearts, drivers ed, finals, dances, homecomings, prom, cell phones, forgetting to call home, curfews, moving out, moving on, and so much more. It's a house that becomes a home filled with memories, some good, some bad, some awesome, and with all that, it remains the place called home, though empty of little ones that filled the nest, it's still home.
The empty of the nest is sometimes echoingly empty. I realize that I raised my three kids to leave home. It's the process of life. Being home wasn't always a fun place to be, and having me for a mom was always just a little bit on the crazy side. I admit it, they will tell you it, and so it is. There are times though, when the empty is a cavern that seems too huge to fill.
My oldest, Sarah, is 1476.75 miles from home. If I were to drive to her house, Mapquest tells me that it would take me 22 hours and 11 minutes. In other words, it's a long drive. I go there often, in my mind. I think of what it would be like to visit her, to eat at the restaurant where she works, to see her new home, to meet Sean's parents, and all her friends. I've yet to make the actual trip, but I visit often in my hopes, and dreams, and schemes. She thinks I will never come to visit her, but she is wrong.
Sarah's room was a work of art. She drew on her walls, and even though it was hard to do, I eventually painted over all that work, and teenage emotion, and turned her room into a guest room. It's a guest room, but it's still Sarah's room. It's an empty part of the nest.
Julia lives just about nine miles from me, but there are times when it seems like she is a thousand miles from home as well. Her dad will often say, "She could at least stop in, and she could bring Greyson with her. It's a long time from Friday to Friday." Some of Julie's things are still here, but her room is empty of Julie, and is an empty part of the nest. I have plans to make that room into another guest room, and to paint it something other than shades of green. No matter the color, or that it's another guest room, it's still Julie's room.
Jacob lives 257.81 miles from home, and though he is much closer than Sarah, there are times it seems he is so much farther. Boys just don't call as often, don't share as much of their lives, operate on a need to know basis, and there is so much a mom does not need to know. In his room there are many echoes of Jacob. The hole in the wall, the scuffed up wall from his easy chair, that rubbed across the wall while he swiveled it back and forth while playing his Xbox 360. I stand in there at times, and I hear his sister yelling at him to turn down the stereo, or to stop thunking the golf club on the floor. I think I hear him lumbering down the hall, and am disappointed when it's not him, just my imagination. I have plans for his room too. Plans that involve wall repair, and paint, but no matter the repairs, of the color involved, it's still Jacob's room, and a part of the emptiness of the nest.
As August approaches, and school begins, I think of the parents who will be sending their little ones to kindergarten, and remember the tears, all mine, not theirs, as I left them there at school. School, that new world of adventure, and learning, and growing! I think of the parents who will have children, who think they are grownups, entering into middle school. I think of the parents with children in high school and remember thinking, I'm almost done. Then I think of the college kids, who are adults, but still kids. Ah what a journey.
From that first moment of conception, to the last of the apron string being snipped, it's a journey filled with joy, with sorrow, with aches and pains, the tooth fairy that forgot to show up, the agony of early school mornings, the broken hearts, drivers ed, finals, dances, homecomings, prom, cell phones, forgetting to call home, curfews, moving out, moving on, and so much more. It's a house that becomes a home filled with memories, some good, some bad, some awesome, and with all that, it remains the place called home, though empty of little ones that filled the nest, it's still home.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Goodbye, Sadie Girl
Some goodbyes are just painful, very painful. Even when you know it's best, and the suffering will end, it's still painful. It's painful, and I'm a wuss. The day has come that we must take our faithful old dog, Sadie to be put to sleep. She's 14 years old, she's in pain, she's deaf, and it's so hard to see her suffer.
She was the cutest, fuzziest little puppy. She was a good mama to her litters, and I always marveled that such a pretty dog as she was, could produce such a hilarious offspring as one little pup whom we named Blue.
Sadie was gentle, yet fiercely protective of us. No one got near the kids if Sadie thought they were being a threat. She was a regular Houdini of an escape artist. Countless times we would come home to find her outside the fence and enjoying her freedom. She was as fast as a race dog when she saw us coming, and she was through the fence, and in the pen, sitting there looking so innocent.
She could hear us coming down the road, and if she was in the fence, she met us at the gate. Now she can't hear when we go outside, and as she lays there by the back door, she won't even budge until she sees us. Then she struggles to get up, and she cries in pain. She no longer barks, because her world is quiet.
Goodbye, Sadie girl. You've been a great dog. You loved us unconditionally, even when we were unworthy of your love.
She was the cutest, fuzziest little puppy. She was a good mama to her litters, and I always marveled that such a pretty dog as she was, could produce such a hilarious offspring as one little pup whom we named Blue.
Sadie was gentle, yet fiercely protective of us. No one got near the kids if Sadie thought they were being a threat. She was a regular Houdini of an escape artist. Countless times we would come home to find her outside the fence and enjoying her freedom. She was as fast as a race dog when she saw us coming, and she was through the fence, and in the pen, sitting there looking so innocent.
She could hear us coming down the road, and if she was in the fence, she met us at the gate. Now she can't hear when we go outside, and as she lays there by the back door, she won't even budge until she sees us. Then she struggles to get up, and she cries in pain. She no longer barks, because her world is quiet.
Goodbye, Sadie girl. You've been a great dog. You loved us unconditionally, even when we were unworthy of your love.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Life's Moments
I enjoy watching and listening to young mother's these days. It takes me back to when my three were little, and I was struggling to cope with all that life was throwing at me. There were moments, and sometimes even days, when I thought none of us would survive. I watch these young moms and I know that they will make it, but sometimes they just aren't too sure.
Today I was cleaning out a drawer in the filing cabinet, and I came across my youngest child's graduation cards, and a few keepsakes from school. Among the treasures was a paper he had to write for one of his classes. I think it might have been his senior speech. He wrote of memories from kindergarten through his senior year. How much he enjoyed his friends, and some funny things that had happened through the years, but the ending is what touched my heart, and made me cry. It's also what made me think of all the young moms that I know. It's so worth it to survive the childhood encounters with your children. They do hear what you are saying to them. They are watching you and learning from you, and they do appreciate you.
Here is how he finished up the paper:
My parents are the people who have shown me how to best live in this world, and I thank them for everything they have given me. The one thing I am the most thankful for is the laughter they brought into my life. I couldn't imagine going through life without a sense of humor. My mom's stories about my life, and her own have taught me how to be humble, even though sometimes I forget. My dad taught me how to be a man, and I hope that I can grow to be every bit the man that he is, and has shown me to be. My parents are the greatest influence in my life, and that is what I am most grateful for.
Now it is only fair I mention my sisters, and all the ways they have made my life interesting. I love both of them, and I am glad that they were always there for me. Julie was there for the deep talks, and Sarah was always pushing me to try new things. Now I hope to return the favor to Julie, by being the best uncle to her soon to be born son, Greyson.
It's moments in life like this that make you feel like it was worth it after all. So go change one more diaper, clean up one more spilled drink, put the toys away, and then take the time to snuggle, to laugh, and to enjoy, because sooner than you think, those little ones will be grown and gone from home.
Today I was cleaning out a drawer in the filing cabinet, and I came across my youngest child's graduation cards, and a few keepsakes from school. Among the treasures was a paper he had to write for one of his classes. I think it might have been his senior speech. He wrote of memories from kindergarten through his senior year. How much he enjoyed his friends, and some funny things that had happened through the years, but the ending is what touched my heart, and made me cry. It's also what made me think of all the young moms that I know. It's so worth it to survive the childhood encounters with your children. They do hear what you are saying to them. They are watching you and learning from you, and they do appreciate you.
Here is how he finished up the paper:
My parents are the people who have shown me how to best live in this world, and I thank them for everything they have given me. The one thing I am the most thankful for is the laughter they brought into my life. I couldn't imagine going through life without a sense of humor. My mom's stories about my life, and her own have taught me how to be humble, even though sometimes I forget. My dad taught me how to be a man, and I hope that I can grow to be every bit the man that he is, and has shown me to be. My parents are the greatest influence in my life, and that is what I am most grateful for.
Now it is only fair I mention my sisters, and all the ways they have made my life interesting. I love both of them, and I am glad that they were always there for me. Julie was there for the deep talks, and Sarah was always pushing me to try new things. Now I hope to return the favor to Julie, by being the best uncle to her soon to be born son, Greyson.
It's moments in life like this that make you feel like it was worth it after all. So go change one more diaper, clean up one more spilled drink, put the toys away, and then take the time to snuggle, to laugh, and to enjoy, because sooner than you think, those little ones will be grown and gone from home.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Don't Bring a Snake in the House
Don't pick up snakes, don't tell me about snakes,don't show me pictures of snakes, don't bring snakes into the house. NO SNAKES ALLOWED!
Those were the strict instructions at our house, still are. Did my kids listen? HA! Julie and Jacob abided by the rules, but Sarah struggled with them. So guess who brought a snake into the house? I think it should be genetically correct that all girls fear snakes.
We once lived next door to an older couple who adopted our three kids as their grandkids. Now that was really nice, at least it was at times. There were those times when Jeff gave them ideas that were less than favorable to their parents. But the snake and Sarah were all Wilma's idea. Unbelievable as that might seem, it was all Wilma's idea, and she enjoyed the outcome of her idea a lot more than I did for sure. She found the snake, gave it to Sarah, and said, "Go show this to your mom."
One fine summer day, the three kids were next door at Jeff and Wilma's. I made use of the free time, and was sitting in the bathroom taking care of business, when in walked Sarah. And with Sarah, came a snake. A SNAKE! A snake in her hands, and there I am on the pot.
Where to go! What to do! How will I get past the snake without touching it? How will I manage to exit the bathroom without killing Sarah, without touching the snake, and leaving all the walls and doors intact? All of these thoughts are running frantically through my mind, while my mouth is open, and I'm screaming a blood curdling scream. Plus, it's kind of hard to run with clothes around your ankles.
Sarah has realized this might not be a good idea to bring a snake to mom after all, especially in such a confined space. In reaction to my reaction, she feels compelled to tell me that it's just a plastic snake. To stress the point, she is waving it at me, and saying...it's plastic...it's plastic. Well guess what, the snake might be plastic, but I'm already spastic.
Once I realize the snake is plastic, and my brain manages to calm down my spastic body, I recover my ability to speak without screaming, I tell her to take the snake and herself out of the bathroom. Wilma is in her yard laughing hysterically, because she heard me screaming even with all the house around me.
Sarah and I both survived, the plastic snake went into the garbage, and I tried to laugh about it all. The rules are still the same. NO SNAKES ALLOWED, of any kind!
Those were the strict instructions at our house, still are. Did my kids listen? HA! Julie and Jacob abided by the rules, but Sarah struggled with them. So guess who brought a snake into the house? I think it should be genetically correct that all girls fear snakes.
We once lived next door to an older couple who adopted our three kids as their grandkids. Now that was really nice, at least it was at times. There were those times when Jeff gave them ideas that were less than favorable to their parents. But the snake and Sarah were all Wilma's idea. Unbelievable as that might seem, it was all Wilma's idea, and she enjoyed the outcome of her idea a lot more than I did for sure. She found the snake, gave it to Sarah, and said, "Go show this to your mom."
One fine summer day, the three kids were next door at Jeff and Wilma's. I made use of the free time, and was sitting in the bathroom taking care of business, when in walked Sarah. And with Sarah, came a snake. A SNAKE! A snake in her hands, and there I am on the pot.
Where to go! What to do! How will I get past the snake without touching it? How will I manage to exit the bathroom without killing Sarah, without touching the snake, and leaving all the walls and doors intact? All of these thoughts are running frantically through my mind, while my mouth is open, and I'm screaming a blood curdling scream. Plus, it's kind of hard to run with clothes around your ankles.
Sarah has realized this might not be a good idea to bring a snake to mom after all, especially in such a confined space. In reaction to my reaction, she feels compelled to tell me that it's just a plastic snake. To stress the point, she is waving it at me, and saying...it's plastic...it's plastic. Well guess what, the snake might be plastic, but I'm already spastic.
Once I realize the snake is plastic, and my brain manages to calm down my spastic body, I recover my ability to speak without screaming, I tell her to take the snake and herself out of the bathroom. Wilma is in her yard laughing hysterically, because she heard me screaming even with all the house around me.
Sarah and I both survived, the plastic snake went into the garbage, and I tried to laugh about it all. The rules are still the same. NO SNAKES ALLOWED, of any kind!
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Interesting: That Would Be Life
I think life is very interesting. There is not a day goes by that there is not something that I find interesting. People, the mainstay of life, are the most interesting beings. I love to observe them, to think about their actions, beliefs, listen to their hopes, share their dreams, laugh at their antics, enjoy the humans in the race of life.
The other night I went out to the side yard to take a picture of the sunset. My neighbor was out in his yard, so we had a little chat. It's so interesting what you find out about people when you take the time to listen. It's also a learning experience. You learn about them, and you learn about yourself in your reactions to their experiences.
I'm thankful for my three kids, for more than one reason, but especially for what they have taught me about acceptance, and looking beyond the surface. Granted, I am often a slow learner, and I have to be reminded, but I think I've made some progress. Often when we take the time to stop, to listen, to observe, our first impression of someone will change, and we will be softer and more generous in our care for them.
The other night I went out to the side yard to take a picture of the sunset. My neighbor was out in his yard, so we had a little chat. It's so interesting what you find out about people when you take the time to listen. It's also a learning experience. You learn about them, and you learn about yourself in your reactions to their experiences.
I'm thankful for my three kids, for more than one reason, but especially for what they have taught me about acceptance, and looking beyond the surface. Granted, I am often a slow learner, and I have to be reminded, but I think I've made some progress. Often when we take the time to stop, to listen, to observe, our first impression of someone will change, and we will be softer and more generous in our care for them.
Let's Go Fly a Kite
Let's go fly a kite, up to the highest height.....and so the song goes from one of my favorite movies, Mary Poppins. Oh to have a carpet bag like she had. Such possibilities came out of that bag.
I was an almost Mary Poppins sort of mom. Sometimes though, I was George Eubanks, and stifled the kid's imagination, not because I wanted to, but because I got caught up in the cares of life, and forgot how fun it is to be a kid. I lost patience with them, and made up rules for the moment, and lost my temper, and so on. There were other times though, the good times, the times when I thought playing in the mud was just the thing, or digging a hole, maybe even digging a hole to China was a good plan. There were the times when I made ramps for bikes, and tents for camping, and drove a van that could morph into a "heckacockter", or a motorcycle, or an airplane....fasten your seatbelts ladies and gentlemen, we have been cleared for take off. Those were the times I almost had a carpet bag full of possibilities.
I have another opportunity to have a carpet bag. I can be open to the possibilities for fun with Greyson and Aidyn. I can slow down, I can get down on the floor with them and play, I can take them for a flight in the minivan/airplane. I can have water fights with them, I can play in the mud, I can help them find bugs, and slugs, and snails. Well maybe not the snails. Can't think if I've seen a snail here lately. I can teach them the snake dance, and the jumping lizard/skink jump. I can be a fun and loving grammy, and I can enjoy the moments of their childhood, and be thankful they love me.
Don't call me tomorrow. I will be playing in the mud with Greyson, and we might just make up a mess of mud pies! Don't look up in the sky for me. I won't be floating with my umbrella, holding onto my carpet bag. I will on the ground....in the mud....with my bud!
I was an almost Mary Poppins sort of mom. Sometimes though, I was George Eubanks, and stifled the kid's imagination, not because I wanted to, but because I got caught up in the cares of life, and forgot how fun it is to be a kid. I lost patience with them, and made up rules for the moment, and lost my temper, and so on. There were other times though, the good times, the times when I thought playing in the mud was just the thing, or digging a hole, maybe even digging a hole to China was a good plan. There were the times when I made ramps for bikes, and tents for camping, and drove a van that could morph into a "heckacockter", or a motorcycle, or an airplane....fasten your seatbelts ladies and gentlemen, we have been cleared for take off. Those were the times I almost had a carpet bag full of possibilities.
I have another opportunity to have a carpet bag. I can be open to the possibilities for fun with Greyson and Aidyn. I can slow down, I can get down on the floor with them and play, I can take them for a flight in the minivan/airplane. I can have water fights with them, I can play in the mud, I can help them find bugs, and slugs, and snails. Well maybe not the snails. Can't think if I've seen a snail here lately. I can teach them the snake dance, and the jumping lizard/skink jump. I can be a fun and loving grammy, and I can enjoy the moments of their childhood, and be thankful they love me.
Don't call me tomorrow. I will be playing in the mud with Greyson, and we might just make up a mess of mud pies! Don't look up in the sky for me. I won't be floating with my umbrella, holding onto my carpet bag. I will on the ground....in the mud....with my bud!
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Writings from the Kids
Today as I was dusting, I stopped to read Sarah and Jacob's senior speeches from their FFA banquet. They read them to us at their banquets, and then gave them to us on a plaque.
Sarah's from May 2007:
Mom and Dad, Thanks for the crazy moments. You made life interesting. Mom, I suppose it turned out okay that you don't know how to be boring. It provided tolerance. If there's anything to be said about our life, there was never a dull moment. The things learned at the dinner table have been enlightening. I suppose I love you. Dad, it's been a rough road, but we've made it, and we're all still together in spite of ourselves. Sometimes it didn't look so good for us, but I think we got through the worst of it. I love you.
Four years later, we heard from Jacob, May 2011:
Mom and Dad, I want to thank you guys for all that you have done for me. Mom, for all the times you brought me to school at ridiculous hours of the morning. Also, for all the times you were there with one of your stories that just makes everything just a little bit funnier. Dad, thanks for everything you've taught me, whether it be for Ag Mech, or just life. You have been an amazing role model, and I hope that I can become as good a man as you have shown, and taught me to be. I love you both. Thank you,
Jacob Bittner
In answer to a poem I wrote about me, Julie's answer was this:
SHE
She wanted to be
a child someone would love.
Instead she was just her.
She wanted to be a daughter
her mother would love.
Instead she was just her.
She wanted to be a beautiful woman
a man would love.
Instead she was more than any man could ever deserve.
She wanted to be a mother
that her children would love.
Instead they loved her more than life.
She wanted to be a friend
another could cherish.
Instead she went above and beyond for her friends.
She wanted to be a singer
a voice clear and true.
Instead she sings to me.
She wanted to be an artist
beauty she would capture.
Instead she inspired her daughter.
She wanted to be
and so she was.
She was just beautiful, amazing, talented, and best of all she is my mother.
Julia
I love my three kids, and they have enriched my life in many ways. When I read over these writings, I remember t times that they referenced to, and yes, we had some rough patches, and yes, there were times things looked bleak, but we all pulled together, and we made it through. Sometimes people ask the question: If you had it to do over again, would you? If you could do things over, what would you change?
I would do it all over again, but what I would change, if I had the opportunity and the wisdom, would be the way I reacted to some things, and I would certainly be more loving and kind. I would like to say I would be more patient and less sarcastic, but really, saying I would be more loving and kind is really stretching it. To say I would be more patient and less sarcastic is like saying I could change copper to gold. I would just be me, for what's it's worth, and hopefully be me better than I was the first time around.
There are many things I should have taught my children. Missed opportunities that I can't get back. I feel strongly that they know Paul and I love them. They always knew they were loved. Today while reading these things the three of them wrote, I feel loved by them, and I'm thankful for the written reminder of a strong family, and that I am a part of each of them, as they are a part of Paul and I.
Sarah's from May 2007:
Mom and Dad, Thanks for the crazy moments. You made life interesting. Mom, I suppose it turned out okay that you don't know how to be boring. It provided tolerance. If there's anything to be said about our life, there was never a dull moment. The things learned at the dinner table have been enlightening. I suppose I love you. Dad, it's been a rough road, but we've made it, and we're all still together in spite of ourselves. Sometimes it didn't look so good for us, but I think we got through the worst of it. I love you.
Four years later, we heard from Jacob, May 2011:
Mom and Dad, I want to thank you guys for all that you have done for me. Mom, for all the times you brought me to school at ridiculous hours of the morning. Also, for all the times you were there with one of your stories that just makes everything just a little bit funnier. Dad, thanks for everything you've taught me, whether it be for Ag Mech, or just life. You have been an amazing role model, and I hope that I can become as good a man as you have shown, and taught me to be. I love you both. Thank you,
Jacob Bittner
In answer to a poem I wrote about me, Julie's answer was this:
SHE
She wanted to be
a child someone would love.
Instead she was just her.
She wanted to be a daughter
her mother would love.
Instead she was just her.
She wanted to be a beautiful woman
a man would love.
Instead she was more than any man could ever deserve.
She wanted to be a mother
that her children would love.
Instead they loved her more than life.
She wanted to be a friend
another could cherish.
Instead she went above and beyond for her friends.
She wanted to be a singer
a voice clear and true.
Instead she sings to me.
She wanted to be an artist
beauty she would capture.
Instead she inspired her daughter.
She wanted to be
and so she was.
She was just beautiful, amazing, talented, and best of all she is my mother.
Julia
I love my three kids, and they have enriched my life in many ways. When I read over these writings, I remember t times that they referenced to, and yes, we had some rough patches, and yes, there were times things looked bleak, but we all pulled together, and we made it through. Sometimes people ask the question: If you had it to do over again, would you? If you could do things over, what would you change?
I would do it all over again, but what I would change, if I had the opportunity and the wisdom, would be the way I reacted to some things, and I would certainly be more loving and kind. I would like to say I would be more patient and less sarcastic, but really, saying I would be more loving and kind is really stretching it. To say I would be more patient and less sarcastic is like saying I could change copper to gold. I would just be me, for what's it's worth, and hopefully be me better than I was the first time around.
There are many things I should have taught my children. Missed opportunities that I can't get back. I feel strongly that they know Paul and I love them. They always knew they were loved. Today while reading these things the three of them wrote, I feel loved by them, and I'm thankful for the written reminder of a strong family, and that I am a part of each of them, as they are a part of Paul and I.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
I'm Sick
The other day I was ranting, yes I do rant, periodically....throughout the day....
I told Paul, I'm sick. Don't they know that? To which he replied, "You don't act sick, so they don't think about you being sick." I don't act sick? It's not an act, it's reality. How do you act sick? Visualize me, the back of my hand to my forehead, sighing in a dramatic way, "I'm such a failure! I can't even act sick."
I've thought about that for a few days now, and wondered why I don't act sick. Maybe it's from childhood, after all, most things that are "wrong" in our lives, date back to childhood, right? I do know that we didn't whine, heaven help us if we even thought about whining. We sure didn't cry. Well, I cried, because I'm a rebel that way, but it was a costly rebellion to be sure. STOP CRYING, OR I WILL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT. WHACK. Really, I thought you just did? I knew not to smart off like that, but I sure thought it.
I remember having a severe case of the measles. So bad that I was hallucinating. That meant a call to the dr, who said...come to the hospital. We had to go in some backroom, didn't want to expose the general population. I remember my dad carrying me, wrapped up in a quilt. When they laid me on the exam table, I can still see all of this in my minds eye, the doctor said they would have to give me a shot. The nurse said that she would go get a few others so they could hold me down. My mom said, "You won't need to hold her down. She won't move, and she won't cry." Yep, mom had spoken, the rules were set forth, and I would not move, and I would not cry. The nurse looked at me, thought about this very sick three year old, and went for reinforcement. The nurse did not know my mother.
I, however, knew the rules. I did not cry, and I did not move. I wonder if somewhere along the way of growing up, Mom told me not to act sick. That's probably the only three rules I ever actually obeyed. Oh there was one more rule I learned it paid to obey. Call home! So, that's four rules I obeyed. Don't whine, don't cry, don't act sick, and call home.
I don't mean to imply mom was mean. She was just strict, and you better listen. What's kind of funny now, she gets frustrated at me, because I don't act sick, even when I'm sick. Life is funny, might as well laugh, and don't whine, don't cry, and don't act sick.
I told Paul, I'm sick. Don't they know that? To which he replied, "You don't act sick, so they don't think about you being sick." I don't act sick? It's not an act, it's reality. How do you act sick? Visualize me, the back of my hand to my forehead, sighing in a dramatic way, "I'm such a failure! I can't even act sick."
I've thought about that for a few days now, and wondered why I don't act sick. Maybe it's from childhood, after all, most things that are "wrong" in our lives, date back to childhood, right? I do know that we didn't whine, heaven help us if we even thought about whining. We sure didn't cry. Well, I cried, because I'm a rebel that way, but it was a costly rebellion to be sure. STOP CRYING, OR I WILL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT. WHACK. Really, I thought you just did? I knew not to smart off like that, but I sure thought it.
I remember having a severe case of the measles. So bad that I was hallucinating. That meant a call to the dr, who said...come to the hospital. We had to go in some backroom, didn't want to expose the general population. I remember my dad carrying me, wrapped up in a quilt. When they laid me on the exam table, I can still see all of this in my minds eye, the doctor said they would have to give me a shot. The nurse said that she would go get a few others so they could hold me down. My mom said, "You won't need to hold her down. She won't move, and she won't cry." Yep, mom had spoken, the rules were set forth, and I would not move, and I would not cry. The nurse looked at me, thought about this very sick three year old, and went for reinforcement. The nurse did not know my mother.
I, however, knew the rules. I did not cry, and I did not move. I wonder if somewhere along the way of growing up, Mom told me not to act sick. That's probably the only three rules I ever actually obeyed. Oh there was one more rule I learned it paid to obey. Call home! So, that's four rules I obeyed. Don't whine, don't cry, don't act sick, and call home.
I don't mean to imply mom was mean. She was just strict, and you better listen. What's kind of funny now, she gets frustrated at me, because I don't act sick, even when I'm sick. Life is funny, might as well laugh, and don't whine, don't cry, and don't act sick.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Sunflowers Versus Moving Cars
I was talking to my cousin Sarah Bassett, and I said the following to her:
I'm off to the store. Watch for me. I might fly by. The wind is strong enough to blow me clear to Austin.
Don't try to catch me, I would rip your arm off. Kind of like the time I had the brilliant idea to grab a sunflower as mom was driving down the road. Not a good idea. It's painful when the arm slams into the door frame because the sunflower is stationary, and the speedy little toyota is not. Learn from me, for I am now wise about many things, due to scientific study in idiocy. I've proven many things to be painful in my scientific study in idiocy.
Sarah asked me to post this, because she thinks it's hilarious. She mentioned that I could even post it as an event in someone elses life, but really, I might as well own it. It's who I am, and when you have a Masters in something, you should just say so.
I'm off to the store. Watch for me. I might fly by. The wind is strong enough to blow me clear to Austin.
Don't try to catch me, I would rip your arm off. Kind of like the time I had the brilliant idea to grab a sunflower as mom was driving down the road. Not a good idea. It's painful when the arm slams into the door frame because the sunflower is stationary, and the speedy little toyota is not. Learn from me, for I am now wise about many things, due to scientific study in idiocy. I've proven many things to be painful in my scientific study in idiocy.
Sarah asked me to post this, because she thinks it's hilarious. She mentioned that I could even post it as an event in someone elses life, but really, I might as well own it. It's who I am, and when you have a Masters in something, you should just say so.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
ER: The Entertainment of
I would prefer never to set foot into an Emergency Room, but if I have to be there, I will be entertained. You see it all there. The very sick, the not even sick, the drunk and disorderly, the injured, the lonely, the lost. Let's not forget that significant group of young men who don't know what size clothes they wear. I wanted so bad to act out that cartoon that was recently circulated, the old woman who said to the young man wearing pants with the waist that was cinched at his knees, a shirt that was made for Paul Bunyon, "You must be so proud to have lost so much weight." That's hysterical in a cartoon, but in real life to say that, it's suicidal. I kept my mouth shut, but my brain was frantic with comments.
My favorite group for entertainment was the Italian family who had set up camp in the corner. I mention their ethnic background, not as a slur against them, but as is necessary to define them as the family in the corner. They were obviously ER frequent flyers. They came prepared. Pops, who was the patient, was connected to an IV bag, which was hooked on a pole. The daughter, probably my age, maybe a few years older, had a large bag containing a laptop, a Tablet, and various other items. Her son, I'm sure his name was Joey, named after Papa Joe, was equally prepared with his laptop, iphone, mega headphones, which he wore on his head, but not quite on his ears.
The daughter set Pops up with her laptop and a card game. She set across from him with her Tablet and her flip phone. I had to love that. She must be of the same mindset as me. Not paying for the internet on some smartphone that I don't understand. The grandson, Joey, he was rocking to the music he was hearing through his head, not his ears, and playing a video game. He was probably early to mid twenties.
The card game ended, and Pops didn't know how to start another game, so the daughter puts down her Tablet, gets the laptop from Pops, and starts touching the screen trying to get it to work. She gets frustrated, mutters under her breath, then realizes it's her laptop, not the tablet. Laughs about it, uses the mouse pad, then promptly tries to get things to work by touching the screen. Gets the game started, hands the laptop back to Pops, and picks up her tablet again.
Sets her tablet down, and starts rummaging through her Mary Poppins bag. I really thought she would pull out a floor lamp before the evening was over. Much to my disappointment, she never did. She whips out a fan, flips it open, and starts fanning herself. Her son never notices. Must happen all the time at home, especially if she thinks to keep one in her Mary Poppins bag. Probably has the a/c on all year round while everyone else in the house walks around in arctic temperature rated clothing. She picks up her tablet, flips her hair off her forehead, and fans herself at a steady rate. Pops looks up, watches her, says "What's a madda with you?" She looks up, flips her hair of her forehead again, and says, "I'm having a moment, Pops." To which he replies, "Huh", and back to the card game he goes.
Ah, the circle of life.....
My favorite group for entertainment was the Italian family who had set up camp in the corner. I mention their ethnic background, not as a slur against them, but as is necessary to define them as the family in the corner. They were obviously ER frequent flyers. They came prepared. Pops, who was the patient, was connected to an IV bag, which was hooked on a pole. The daughter, probably my age, maybe a few years older, had a large bag containing a laptop, a Tablet, and various other items. Her son, I'm sure his name was Joey, named after Papa Joe, was equally prepared with his laptop, iphone, mega headphones, which he wore on his head, but not quite on his ears.
The daughter set Pops up with her laptop and a card game. She set across from him with her Tablet and her flip phone. I had to love that. She must be of the same mindset as me. Not paying for the internet on some smartphone that I don't understand. The grandson, Joey, he was rocking to the music he was hearing through his head, not his ears, and playing a video game. He was probably early to mid twenties.
The card game ended, and Pops didn't know how to start another game, so the daughter puts down her Tablet, gets the laptop from Pops, and starts touching the screen trying to get it to work. She gets frustrated, mutters under her breath, then realizes it's her laptop, not the tablet. Laughs about it, uses the mouse pad, then promptly tries to get things to work by touching the screen. Gets the game started, hands the laptop back to Pops, and picks up her tablet again.
Sets her tablet down, and starts rummaging through her Mary Poppins bag. I really thought she would pull out a floor lamp before the evening was over. Much to my disappointment, she never did. She whips out a fan, flips it open, and starts fanning herself. Her son never notices. Must happen all the time at home, especially if she thinks to keep one in her Mary Poppins bag. Probably has the a/c on all year round while everyone else in the house walks around in arctic temperature rated clothing. She picks up her tablet, flips her hair off her forehead, and fans herself at a steady rate. Pops looks up, watches her, says "What's a madda with you?" She looks up, flips her hair of her forehead again, and says, "I'm having a moment, Pops." To which he replies, "Huh", and back to the card game he goes.
Ah, the circle of life.....
Life's Stupid Moments
For lack of anything better to do, I was just remembering some of life's stupid moments. I've tried to forget them, but they just resurface to humiliate me when I'm trying to sleep. It would be very beneficial for me if I could just lie down and go to sleep, but my brain doesn't have an automatic shut off.
I have more stupid moments than I'm willing to write about, but this one is a doosey. This one still shames me when I think of the degree of stupidness it entails. I would like to say that it happened because I was young, naive, nervous, (terrified), whatever. In reality, I was just stupid. I had a doctors appointment with a type of doctor that all women learn to dread seeing, but are resigned to the yearly visit. At my young age of 16ish, I surely was dreading it, but had not yet learned to be resigned about it.
Mom was with me, so that was a small comfort. When my name was called, or as most often happens, mispronounced, I slowly got to my feet and started that nigh unto death and humiliation in my immediate future walk. I was consoling myself with the fact that at least I knew how to pronounce my name. The nurse might have a higher education than me, but she sure didn't know squat about name pronunciation.
We arrived at the exam room, and the already minuscule room shrunk in diameter by at least five feet. There was room for me, the nurse, the exam table, a rolling stool, a sink and cabinet combo, and last, but certainly not least, the SCALES. The scales alone will cause a room to shrink, add fear and humiliation to the factor, and mega shrinkage occurs. The nurse then hands me the designer gown with instructions to change into the lovely garment, to be tied in the front, and she exited the room. What she failed to acknowledge was the fact that the gown is known as a designer gown, due to the fact that it was designed to be worn by a anorexic midget on Prozac. The only thing I can identify with in that sentence is Prozac. An anorexic midget I'm not, and never will be. After this visit I would need Prozac. It hadn't been invented yet, or I would have overdosed on it.
The nurse returned to the room and mentioned that she would need to get my weight. She wouldn't take my word for it, so I had to prove to her that I'm reverse anorexic. Let the humiliation begin. I stood on the scales and took it like the woman that I was to become. Very sober faced the nurse moved the weights around, back and forth, upside down and backwards, just to be sure that the humiliation was complete, (little did she, nor did I, that this was only the beginning). Then she said she would need to get my height.
I know that this should have been the easy part, and the least humiliating part. Let's remember who we're talking about here. It's me! Nothing is ever easy with me. Remember what I said about the shrinkage in the size of the room. It's a very small room. The scale was situated between the exam table and the wall. I don't really remember how much space there was between the scales and the wall, but it wasn't very much. I do know however, that there was enough room for me to stand wedged between the wall and the scale. It took some work, but I managed to get myself, looking so pretty in the "tie in the front" designer gown, wedged between the wall and the scale.
While I am working so diligently at this task, the nurse is standing there watching me with the most bewildered look on her face. I'm thinking she is a nut case, and surely she has seen people get into position to have their height measured. Finally she said, 'What are you doing?" Well DUH!!! I'm stacking B B's in a corner, what does it look like I'm doing?" I didn't say that, but I thought it. I said, 'I'm standing up against the wall so you can get my height." How stupid can this nurse be? Pretty dumb. She can't even pronounce my name. She then very seriously said, "I need you to stand back up on the scales so I can use the measuring device." I knew that! I was 5' 6" when I arrived for my appointment, but by the time I got up on the scales to be measured, humility had caused me to shrink an inch. I was now 5' 5".
Now the room had become so small there was barely any room for me to stand on the scales. The temperature in the room had risen to the point of boiling hot. Made so from the heat of embarrassment. The room was not only small, but boiling hot. The nurse hurriedly measured me, wrote my height in the chart and fled the room. The designer gown got tighter, didn't close quite as well in the front, and I was burning up almost to the point of having a heat stroke.
All of this and the exam was yet to happen. Some twenty to thirty minutes later the nurse and doctor came into the room. Needless to say, a tense and dreadful experience (without stupidity added into the equation), was dreadful, tense and beyond humiliating. I was then instructed to get dressed, leave the idiotic, stupid designer gown in the laundry basket, and come to the front desk. The neat and lovely bows that I had tied on the gown, became double knotted scraps of designer threads. May they be overtaken by moths!
Surprisingly enough I managed to get my clothes on without them being wrong side out. I fleetingly thought of kicking the scales just for good measure (no pun intended) and fled to the front desk. I hoped and prayed that the story of the stupid teenager in the exam room hadn't been spread throughout the office. No such luck. The receptionist, who before had been friendly, would now barely talk to me. The nurse and doctor were nowhere to be seen. Mom wondered at the change of behavior from the staff, but I knew the answer. The soberness and the unfriendliness was a front. The entire office staff was making an effort to contain the laughter that was threatening to burst forth the minute I stepped out of the office. Once I told mom what had happened, I thought I would have to carry her to the car. She was laughing so hard she could barely walk. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Needless to say, I never again stepped foot into that doctor's office. I would rot from any female disorder known to womankind before I would be weighed, measured, and fitted with a designer gown in that shrinking, stifling office again.
I have more stupid moments than I'm willing to write about, but this one is a doosey. This one still shames me when I think of the degree of stupidness it entails. I would like to say that it happened because I was young, naive, nervous, (terrified), whatever. In reality, I was just stupid. I had a doctors appointment with a type of doctor that all women learn to dread seeing, but are resigned to the yearly visit. At my young age of 16ish, I surely was dreading it, but had not yet learned to be resigned about it.
Mom was with me, so that was a small comfort. When my name was called, or as most often happens, mispronounced, I slowly got to my feet and started that nigh unto death and humiliation in my immediate future walk. I was consoling myself with the fact that at least I knew how to pronounce my name. The nurse might have a higher education than me, but she sure didn't know squat about name pronunciation.
We arrived at the exam room, and the already minuscule room shrunk in diameter by at least five feet. There was room for me, the nurse, the exam table, a rolling stool, a sink and cabinet combo, and last, but certainly not least, the SCALES. The scales alone will cause a room to shrink, add fear and humiliation to the factor, and mega shrinkage occurs. The nurse then hands me the designer gown with instructions to change into the lovely garment, to be tied in the front, and she exited the room. What she failed to acknowledge was the fact that the gown is known as a designer gown, due to the fact that it was designed to be worn by a anorexic midget on Prozac. The only thing I can identify with in that sentence is Prozac. An anorexic midget I'm not, and never will be. After this visit I would need Prozac. It hadn't been invented yet, or I would have overdosed on it.
The nurse returned to the room and mentioned that she would need to get my weight. She wouldn't take my word for it, so I had to prove to her that I'm reverse anorexic. Let the humiliation begin. I stood on the scales and took it like the woman that I was to become. Very sober faced the nurse moved the weights around, back and forth, upside down and backwards, just to be sure that the humiliation was complete, (little did she, nor did I, that this was only the beginning). Then she said she would need to get my height.
I know that this should have been the easy part, and the least humiliating part. Let's remember who we're talking about here. It's me! Nothing is ever easy with me. Remember what I said about the shrinkage in the size of the room. It's a very small room. The scale was situated between the exam table and the wall. I don't really remember how much space there was between the scales and the wall, but it wasn't very much. I do know however, that there was enough room for me to stand wedged between the wall and the scale. It took some work, but I managed to get myself, looking so pretty in the "tie in the front" designer gown, wedged between the wall and the scale.
While I am working so diligently at this task, the nurse is standing there watching me with the most bewildered look on her face. I'm thinking she is a nut case, and surely she has seen people get into position to have their height measured. Finally she said, 'What are you doing?" Well DUH!!! I'm stacking B B's in a corner, what does it look like I'm doing?" I didn't say that, but I thought it. I said, 'I'm standing up against the wall so you can get my height." How stupid can this nurse be? Pretty dumb. She can't even pronounce my name. She then very seriously said, "I need you to stand back up on the scales so I can use the measuring device." I knew that! I was 5' 6" when I arrived for my appointment, but by the time I got up on the scales to be measured, humility had caused me to shrink an inch. I was now 5' 5".
Now the room had become so small there was barely any room for me to stand on the scales. The temperature in the room had risen to the point of boiling hot. Made so from the heat of embarrassment. The room was not only small, but boiling hot. The nurse hurriedly measured me, wrote my height in the chart and fled the room. The designer gown got tighter, didn't close quite as well in the front, and I was burning up almost to the point of having a heat stroke.
All of this and the exam was yet to happen. Some twenty to thirty minutes later the nurse and doctor came into the room. Needless to say, a tense and dreadful experience (without stupidity added into the equation), was dreadful, tense and beyond humiliating. I was then instructed to get dressed, leave the idiotic, stupid designer gown in the laundry basket, and come to the front desk. The neat and lovely bows that I had tied on the gown, became double knotted scraps of designer threads. May they be overtaken by moths!
Surprisingly enough I managed to get my clothes on without them being wrong side out. I fleetingly thought of kicking the scales just for good measure (no pun intended) and fled to the front desk. I hoped and prayed that the story of the stupid teenager in the exam room hadn't been spread throughout the office. No such luck. The receptionist, who before had been friendly, would now barely talk to me. The nurse and doctor were nowhere to be seen. Mom wondered at the change of behavior from the staff, but I knew the answer. The soberness and the unfriendliness was a front. The entire office staff was making an effort to contain the laughter that was threatening to burst forth the minute I stepped out of the office. Once I told mom what had happened, I thought I would have to carry her to the car. She was laughing so hard she could barely walk. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Needless to say, I never again stepped foot into that doctor's office. I would rot from any female disorder known to womankind before I would be weighed, measured, and fitted with a designer gown in that shrinking, stifling office again.
Hot Wax (2009)
Remember Mel Gibson in the movie: What Women Want? That was very funny. What isn't funny is when you get hot wax in your nose. Well... I guess that depends on who is the waxee and who is the waxer. If you are the waxer, it is indeed very funny.
Julie decided she wanted me to put hot wax on her upper lip. The last time she let me near her with the hot wax I waxed off half of her eyebrow. Oops! isn't a word she wanted to hear at the time. So her eyebrows were off limits, but she thought she could trust me with her upper lip. I thought she could too. I mean, it's not like you have to worry about taking her top lip off with the wax. What could possibly go wrong?
What could go wrong is wax flowing into the nostril. Did you know that your nostril has millions of tiny hairs lurking there? Julie found that out, and she also discovered how painful the removal of those tiny hairs can be. Her eyes were watering, my eyes were watering. She was really crying, and I was really laughing. In her pain and agony, her ability to swallow became hampered and she drooled all over the table.
Poor Jules! She has much to endure having me for a mom. Life is tough sometimes
Julie decided she wanted me to put hot wax on her upper lip. The last time she let me near her with the hot wax I waxed off half of her eyebrow. Oops! isn't a word she wanted to hear at the time. So her eyebrows were off limits, but she thought she could trust me with her upper lip. I thought she could too. I mean, it's not like you have to worry about taking her top lip off with the wax. What could possibly go wrong?
What could go wrong is wax flowing into the nostril. Did you know that your nostril has millions of tiny hairs lurking there? Julie found that out, and she also discovered how painful the removal of those tiny hairs can be. Her eyes were watering, my eyes were watering. She was really crying, and I was really laughing. In her pain and agony, her ability to swallow became hampered and she drooled all over the table.
Poor Jules! She has much to endure having me for a mom. Life is tough sometimes
Wrinkle Free (2010)
I decided yesterday to do what I could to stop the aging process, so I bought some anti-wrinkle cream. I have just enough intelligence roaming around in my thick head to know that only a miracle, and visits to the plastic surgeon, will stop the aging process, but I can dream. I also decided yesterday that I was tired of being awakened at night with pain in my knees, so I bought some Arnica cream to help with the pain.
With great anticipation last night, I began my new and improved beauty and pain free regiment. I opened the tube of Arnica and generously slathered it on both knees. Ahhh, looking forward to a pain free night. I then washed my face and picked up the tube of anti-wrinkle cream. It was open? How did it get opened? I haven't even used it yet. It was obvious that the tube had been tampered with. I then noticed the tube of arnica sitting on the counter, so I picked it up and removed the cap. No tampering here, which means that it had never been opened. Which also means that I had just generously slathered anti-wrinkle cream all over both of my aching knees.
I have never considered the ugliness of wrinkled knees, but now that I thought about it, that would be very unattractive. Especially when I ventured out in public in a very short skirt. Now there's a visual I didn't need. I think I will avoid slathering anti-wrinkle cream on my knees from now on, and continue to wear long skirts that hide a multitude of uglies, and two slightly less wrinkled knees.
A Child Must be Informed (2010)
Julie was scheduled for a nuclear scan, and being a progressive thinking parent, I felt it best that she understand the reality of the scan, and the procedure. The week before her nuclear scan I told her that the medicine that they injected would make her glow. I'd been telling her that all week, but I had no idea she believed me. She is supposed to be intelligent after all. So we arrive at the hospital early in the morning, and Julie lies down on the table. The tech is explaining the hour long procedure to her and then asks if she has any questions. She said, "Will I glow?" The tech is somewhat taken aback by this question, but very kindly says, "No, you won't glow." HA HA HA HA. I was crying I was laughing so hard. She looks over at me and says, "YOU ARE SUCH A JERK!"
Middle Aged: Accompanied by Aging Parents
I'm dwelling in the land of middle age, and trying to acclimate myself to the landscape. I'm thinking I should have done a sneak preview before entering this land, but how could I? The land of wrinkles, sags and bags, is quickly taking shape, and although my eyes see the landscape, my mind rebels at the journey. With the new terrain, comes an aging parent along for the ride. What vehicle is the best to navigate the journey? I'm thinking an all-terrain vehicle. This vehicle would be one with standard features which include, understanding, patience, endurance and most of all, a sound system of HUMOR. After all, it's a journey through unknown land, so the more we have on our side, the better the trip.
We all know that to keep our vehicle in good running condition, we have to have regular maintenance. What is necessary to keep the understanding, patience, endurance and humor all in good working order? The research is still underway, and in the meantime, we just keep dealing with whatever comes our way. Keeping in mind that this journey is just as new to my aging parent as it is to this middle aged woman that I have become.
This weekend, after spending time at the hospital in the surgical waiting room with Mom and Aunt Dell, I could see that the trip ahead was going to get a little rocky. I left the hospital with some reservations about leaving the two of them on their own. I knew that by the time they left the hospital it would be dark, and that the two of them would then have to drive home in the dark. Aunt Dell driving in a car that was new to her, and Mom through the canyon. I heard myself being my mom, in the fact that I continued to caution them to be careful, and to call me when they got home. They kept assuring me that they would be fine. I didn't trust that, and turns out I should have trusted that lack of trust.
Aunt Dell tripped and fell in the parking lot, spewing the contents of her purse far and wide. For those of you who have seen Aunt Dell's purse, you would know that the search and rescue of strewn items would be intense. Add to that all of Uncle Albert's personal belongings, and the search and rescue is intensified ten fold. Luckily Aunt Dell wasn't hurt, all contents of her purse were recovered, and they were on their way.
They arrive at their cars, and after reassuring one another that they would be fine, they head out of the parking lot. Aunt Dell won't drive the interstate, so she heads up Central Avenue. No worries there. She will just travel through the UNM area, the war zone, and the land of crazies. Mom prefers the interstate, so she makes her entrance onto the interstate and is in the proper lane to switch from I-25 to I-40, which she did, but she failed to move to the far left lane to keep on an eastward direction on I-40.
She then found herself sitting at the light at the off ramp at Carlise. Now she is thoroughly confused as to how she got there, so she turned North and drove along Carlise to Menaul. Still confused she turned left and headed down Menaul. She is now going back West when she needs to be going East. She made it to Sunset Memorial Park, which happens to be the cemetery where her parents are buried. She then knew where she was. She turned around and headed back East on Menaul, but she was still very unsure of where she was going. She said she passed Coronado Mall, and thought it very strange that JC Penny's had moved to the other side of the street. She made it to Edgewood, but was following a semi truck, whose driver seemed a little hesitant about his journey as well, and in her concern over his confusion, she almost missed the exit. By now it's ten o'clock at night.
She has since told me this same story, with all the same details 3 times. She then will tell me that I don't need to worry about her. She is fine. This morning I saw more wrinkles on my already lined face, the bags under my eyes are carrying a heavy load, and the ulcers that I think might be shaping up in my stomach, were a little more painful. This is my future in the land of middle aged, so you see my need for the right vehicle? The path ahead will be a challenge.
I will just climb in, fasten my understanding around me, turn on the patience to light the way, and give thanks for the endurance, all the while tuned into the humor channel. Wish me luck. We're off....
We all know that to keep our vehicle in good running condition, we have to have regular maintenance. What is necessary to keep the understanding, patience, endurance and humor all in good working order? The research is still underway, and in the meantime, we just keep dealing with whatever comes our way. Keeping in mind that this journey is just as new to my aging parent as it is to this middle aged woman that I have become.
This weekend, after spending time at the hospital in the surgical waiting room with Mom and Aunt Dell, I could see that the trip ahead was going to get a little rocky. I left the hospital with some reservations about leaving the two of them on their own. I knew that by the time they left the hospital it would be dark, and that the two of them would then have to drive home in the dark. Aunt Dell driving in a car that was new to her, and Mom through the canyon. I heard myself being my mom, in the fact that I continued to caution them to be careful, and to call me when they got home. They kept assuring me that they would be fine. I didn't trust that, and turns out I should have trusted that lack of trust.
Aunt Dell tripped and fell in the parking lot, spewing the contents of her purse far and wide. For those of you who have seen Aunt Dell's purse, you would know that the search and rescue of strewn items would be intense. Add to that all of Uncle Albert's personal belongings, and the search and rescue is intensified ten fold. Luckily Aunt Dell wasn't hurt, all contents of her purse were recovered, and they were on their way.
They arrive at their cars, and after reassuring one another that they would be fine, they head out of the parking lot. Aunt Dell won't drive the interstate, so she heads up Central Avenue. No worries there. She will just travel through the UNM area, the war zone, and the land of crazies. Mom prefers the interstate, so she makes her entrance onto the interstate and is in the proper lane to switch from I-25 to I-40, which she did, but she failed to move to the far left lane to keep on an eastward direction on I-40.
She then found herself sitting at the light at the off ramp at Carlise. Now she is thoroughly confused as to how she got there, so she turned North and drove along Carlise to Menaul. Still confused she turned left and headed down Menaul. She is now going back West when she needs to be going East. She made it to Sunset Memorial Park, which happens to be the cemetery where her parents are buried. She then knew where she was. She turned around and headed back East on Menaul, but she was still very unsure of where she was going. She said she passed Coronado Mall, and thought it very strange that JC Penny's had moved to the other side of the street. She made it to Edgewood, but was following a semi truck, whose driver seemed a little hesitant about his journey as well, and in her concern over his confusion, she almost missed the exit. By now it's ten o'clock at night.
She has since told me this same story, with all the same details 3 times. She then will tell me that I don't need to worry about her. She is fine. This morning I saw more wrinkles on my already lined face, the bags under my eyes are carrying a heavy load, and the ulcers that I think might be shaping up in my stomach, were a little more painful. This is my future in the land of middle aged, so you see my need for the right vehicle? The path ahead will be a challenge.
I will just climb in, fasten my understanding around me, turn on the patience to light the way, and give thanks for the endurance, all the while tuned into the humor channel. Wish me luck. We're off....
Don't Worry, I'm Fine (2010)
Don't worry, I'm fine. Right! Those very words I have been hearing from my Mom in recent days. She tells me this after she just told me that she got lost in her house the night before, and that wasn't the first time. Of course I'm not worried. Why would I be? Her house is three small rooms. A kitchen/dining/living area is one room. A bedroom and a bathroom are the other two rooms. Easy to get lost in three small rooms, so I'm not worried.
It doesn't worry me that she got up in the night to use the bathroom, which is just a hop, skip and a jump from her bed. When she attempted to return to her bed, the windows had moved to the other side of the room. Those were some busy windows, and they were quite fast in switching walls in the five minutes she was in the bathroom. I'm not worried. I've known all along that windows can move around and switch walls. No worries! Mom is fine! She found her bed... eventually, and the windows moved back to where they belong.
Not long before the windows switched walls, mom decided in the middle of the night that she might have forgotten to lock her front door. Rather than lie in bed and worry about that, she got up to check. No need to turn on any lights, because it's a small house, and she knows where she is going. She knew where she was going, but she didn't know how to get back to where she had been.
Her front door was locked, and when she turned around to head back to bed, her living /dining/kitchen area had flipped around and she was confused. The stove was on the wrong side of the room, and she couldn't understand how that had happened. She felt along the wall until she found the light switch. Once the light was on, the room was in the correct order.
I'm not really worried about my mom. She is fine! I'm worried about her windows and her appliances. I think they are possessed. I can't think of any other reason for them to be moving around in the night.
It doesn't worry me that she got up in the night to use the bathroom, which is just a hop, skip and a jump from her bed. When she attempted to return to her bed, the windows had moved to the other side of the room. Those were some busy windows, and they were quite fast in switching walls in the five minutes she was in the bathroom. I'm not worried. I've known all along that windows can move around and switch walls. No worries! Mom is fine! She found her bed... eventually, and the windows moved back to where they belong.
Not long before the windows switched walls, mom decided in the middle of the night that she might have forgotten to lock her front door. Rather than lie in bed and worry about that, she got up to check. No need to turn on any lights, because it's a small house, and she knows where she is going. She knew where she was going, but she didn't know how to get back to where she had been.
Her front door was locked, and when she turned around to head back to bed, her living /dining/kitchen area had flipped around and she was confused. The stove was on the wrong side of the room, and she couldn't understand how that had happened. She felt along the wall until she found the light switch. Once the light was on, the room was in the correct order.
I'm not really worried about my mom. She is fine! I'm worried about her windows and her appliances. I think they are possessed. I can't think of any other reason for them to be moving around in the night.
Pigeons at the Bank (2010)
Yesterday Julie, Jacob and I were sitting at the drive through at the bank, and we were very entertained by the pigeons that gather there. Before long we were naming them and making up stories about their life. I love that my kids have my crazy sense of humor and vivid imagination.
Susie and Bob got in a tiff, and we knew right away who was who in the pair. Of course, Bob had the prettier feathers, and Susie was rather dull, but she had a fiery disposition to make up for the lack of beauty. Bob strutted off, and Susie was right behind him. She was chattering away in pigeon speak. They were both strutting across the drive, their heads just a bobbin. The faster Bob went to avoid Susie and her pigeon fury, the more Susie chattered at him. She told him what for, and he could not get away from her.
There were other couples in the flock who seemed to be having the same relationship issues. Maybe it was a group counseling session that we happened upon. Whatever it was, we were very entertained. Julie finally said, "Mom, it's springtime, which means mating season. Lets get out of here before things get out of control."
We left the pigeons to their bobbin and spatting, and were off to other adventures. We had a good laugh about our story telling abilities, and we were all glad that an otherwise dull five minutes of waiting in line at the bank, was instead five minutes of stories and laughter.
Life is good, laugh about it!
A Cappella
I was just listening to an A Cappella group, Straight, No Chaser, and remembered one of many stupid moments in my life.
Someone was telling me about singing A Cappella at a wedding. My thought....I've never heard that song. Must be something special for a wedding....Lucky for me it was a thought I didn't express out loud. That was one time the filter between my brain and my mouth worked.
Someone was telling me about singing A Cappella at a wedding. My thought....I've never heard that song. Must be something special for a wedding....Lucky for me it was a thought I didn't express out loud. That was one time the filter between my brain and my mouth worked.
Age Spots Be Gone
I know you all love to hear about my latest adventures, so I'm going to share the latest with you. I'm not sure yet if I recommend that you try this at home or not. I'm debating whether it needs a warning label.
I found this remedy for lightening age spots, and since I have an abundance of them showing up, I got a little excited. There were a few minor problems. One being, there isn't a recipe for the mix. It simply states that you combine yogurt and horseradish together. No directions as to how much of each, or how long mixture is to be left on age spots. I think I'm pretty smart, so I can figure that one out. I will mix equal parts of horseradish to equal parts of yogurt. Just to be on the safe side, I bought plain Greek yogurt. It taste too bad to eat, so it would be great to use on my face.
On this fine morning I decided it would be a good time to embark on the age spots defying adventure. I mixed the yogurt and stinky horseradish together and began. I can tell you this, Rudolph, that little red nosed reindeer, had nothing on me. You've heard of someone's face flaming with embarrassment? Well I'm here to tell you that horseradish has a flaming affect on skin. Don't know what it does to age spots, but it surely can set fire to facial skin. I was feeling the burn. Since there were no directions as to how long to burn the age spots, I decided to remove the mixture before my face ignited. That would not have been a pretty scene.
It's possible the age spots had faded, but it was a little hard to tell, since my face was fire engine red. Not only that, I was suddenly craving a big, juicy, rib eye. Must have been the smell of horseradish lingering on my face.
Cretia
Pre Surgery
A year ago, my mom had to have surgery. I accompanied her on many a frustrating doctors visits, pre-surgery appointments, and procedures. At the best of times, mom, doctors, medical forms, do not mesh.
The day I took her in to see the surgeon, she was filling out the paperwork. Usually I do that for her, but this day she was filling it out on her own. She gets easily aggravated when she is feeling good, and when she is feeling really bad, it's even worse. So she is griping about this "stupid" paperwork, and the question is about sexual orientation. Choices are: heterosexual, same sex, homosexual and bi-sexual. This question really set her off. She is sitting there with the pen poised over the paper, and I said, "Mom, you're heterosexual." She said, "No! Same sex...no wait." I about fell off my chair. That was so funny. She told me it wasn't funny. She was right, it wasn't funny, it was hysterical.
Then she continues the questions. Next question that stumps her. "Do you use recreational drugs?" She marks yes. Then she scratches that out and marks no. Then she turns to me and says, "Do you have an eraser." I am dying here. I find out, in the matter of minutes that mom is confused, even at 80 about her sexual preferences, and she may or may not do recreational drugs. I told her that they would not think she used recreational drugs, to just leave it scratched through and not worry about it. She is so flustered by all these personal questions that she can't think what DOB means. Does that mean Date Of Birth? I said, NO! It means dead on a bike. Just write 3/30/31. She told me to shut up.
Personally, I think when she finally had the surgery that her and I both should at least have been allowed to use marijuana. You know, for medicinal purposes, and anxiety over medical forms. We wouldn't have to inhale.
Fruit Loops
Just because she's a fruit loop, she wants us all to jump in the cereal bowl and swim in the milk. That just stirs me up. I'm not swimming around in the milk with a bunch of fruit loops.
Being Thankful
In the daily scheme of things, I often forget to be thankful. I forget to be thankful for Paul, who works hard to provide for me, and for our three kids. Yes, they are all grown, but he still provides for them in many ways, big and small. I forget to be thankful that he doesn't insist that I work. He could insist that I work, but instead he tells me it's okay if I don't. I forget to be thankful that, because of Paul's generosity, I can stay home and help others. I can be available for my mom, for Julie, and for others that might need my help. I need to remember to be thankful for Paul. He's a good guy, and through the years of being married to me, he's been a trouper.
I need to be thankful for my oldest daughter, Sarah. There have been times when we didn't agree, and there are still those times, but I'm thankful that she is my daughter. She has taught me many things, and some of them I resisted the lesson, but I'm thankful she taught me. Sometimes it's hard for Sarah to say she loves me, but I'm thankful that I know she loves me.
I need to remember to be thankful for Julie, my daughter, the mother of my first grandchild. Julie has been a joy through the years, and like Sarah, she has taught me many things. And like always, I resisted the lesson, but she just kept teaching me. She taught me to be accepting, and to see beyond the surface. She taught me that stubbornness doesn't go away, so I might as well just give it up and let her be. She gave me the gift of Greyson, and I love him so much.
I need to be thankful for Jacob. My son, the youngest of three, the one who said he held my heart in his hand, and he would hold my heart forever. Yes, he will, and so will Sarah and Julie. Jacob, the quiet one. Jacob, the one who moved away, and is content not to come home. I need to be thankful that he is content, that he is working, supporting himself. I need to be thankful that he never fails to tell me he loves me when he finally calls home.
I need to be thankful for my mom. She's the one who made sure my brother and I had a home to live in, not just a place to live. She made sure we had food, even when we didn't have much. She taught us respect, honor and love. She is still helping us, and still loving us. I'm thankful for my mom.
I need to be thankful for my dad, and though he was never a father to us, as a father should be, he gave us life, and because of that life, I have all of those I have mentioned, and they have given me so much to be thankful for.
I need to be thankful for my oldest daughter, Sarah. There have been times when we didn't agree, and there are still those times, but I'm thankful that she is my daughter. She has taught me many things, and some of them I resisted the lesson, but I'm thankful she taught me. Sometimes it's hard for Sarah to say she loves me, but I'm thankful that I know she loves me.
I need to remember to be thankful for Julie, my daughter, the mother of my first grandchild. Julie has been a joy through the years, and like Sarah, she has taught me many things. And like always, I resisted the lesson, but she just kept teaching me. She taught me to be accepting, and to see beyond the surface. She taught me that stubbornness doesn't go away, so I might as well just give it up and let her be. She gave me the gift of Greyson, and I love him so much.
I need to be thankful for Jacob. My son, the youngest of three, the one who said he held my heart in his hand, and he would hold my heart forever. Yes, he will, and so will Sarah and Julie. Jacob, the quiet one. Jacob, the one who moved away, and is content not to come home. I need to be thankful that he is content, that he is working, supporting himself. I need to be thankful that he never fails to tell me he loves me when he finally calls home.
I need to be thankful for my mom. She's the one who made sure my brother and I had a home to live in, not just a place to live. She made sure we had food, even when we didn't have much. She taught us respect, honor and love. She is still helping us, and still loving us. I'm thankful for my mom.
I need to be thankful for my dad, and though he was never a father to us, as a father should be, he gave us life, and because of that life, I have all of those I have mentioned, and they have given me so much to be thankful for.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Bird in the House
A few nights ago, Sarah reminded me of the time a bird flew into our house, and this happened before I had begun my Book of the Bittners, so I think I must share the story now.
I don't recall exactly how the bird got into the house, but most likely the sliding glass door was left open and the bird flew in. The poor little bird. It had no idea it was about to become the focus of all out war. I would imagine that it's Tweeter account went well over it's monthly minutes, but then Tweeter hadn't been invented yet, but if it had been.....oh what a bill that poor little bird would have had when it escaped and lived to tell the story.
Paul, bless his heart, does not tolerate birds in our house. He is very firm about this. No birds, no spiders, no centipedes, no snakes. Okay, I'm really the one firmly against snakes, but Paul takes a stand when a bird, spider, or centipede dare to venture in. Our house is a NO FLY ZONE, no creep, or crawl zone. Don't spin any webs, or you will be de-webbed and crushed. I'm sure if there were bylaws, it would be written in bold, black ink. NO FLY, NO CREEP, NO CRAWL, NO WEB ZONE.
Well this hapless little tweeter flew into the no fly zone, and immediately incoming unauthorized object warnings went off in Paul's head. He jumped into action. We were all ordered to our stations, and we manned them with seriousness. Not really, but that sounds better than saying we manned them in amazement, mouths wide open, and laughter bursting forth at the show developing in front of us. Paul won't think this is funny, because birds in the house is not funny. It's serious. Birds carry disease, they randomly drop poop bombs, and they are not clean.
I was instructed to bring him the necessary weapons to take out, take down, dispose of the enemy that had infiltrated the NO FLY ZONE. I must bring a sheet, a pillowcase, and a towel, then I was to keep the front door open, without being seen by the enemy, and he, Paul would remove the enemy. The three kids were to remain out of sight. Yeah right, not when all the action was in the living room. And how was I to remain out of sight when I needed to see what was happening?
Paul would throw the sheet in the direction of the flying bird, and the bird would dip, swerve and dodge the sheet, and it's heart rate, its poor tiny heart, would race and pound, and it would crash into the wall. No exit there. Then an all out mighty cry from the crazy human, and a pillow case would fly at the bird, who would swoop, dive, and avoid, only to be bombarded with a flying towel, and a mighty warrior yell.
The bird was losing it's ability to keep up the diving, swooping, flight for life, but it flew on. It was remembering it's mother telling it, as it flew from the nest....never fly three sheets to the wind, and now it understood what she mean. STAY OUT OF THE NO FLY ZONE!
I stood by the front door, silently cheering the little bird to swoop, dive and dodge, and come my way. I'm here, offering you freedom from the crazy, wild, leaping human who is yelling at you. Come my way.... The kids were watching in amazement and awe, and in between Paul's yelling, leaping leaps, and flying linens, he yelled at them to go back to their rooms.
The bird finally saw it's escape route, and flew fast and furious out the front door. In exhaustion and relief, it flew to the nearest telephone wire, and perched there in thankfulness. If twitter had been invented, he would have tweeted to his friends that he had survived an outright attack by a crazy, wild human, who yelled and leapt about, throwing linens.
I don't recall exactly how the bird got into the house, but most likely the sliding glass door was left open and the bird flew in. The poor little bird. It had no idea it was about to become the focus of all out war. I would imagine that it's Tweeter account went well over it's monthly minutes, but then Tweeter hadn't been invented yet, but if it had been.....oh what a bill that poor little bird would have had when it escaped and lived to tell the story.
Paul, bless his heart, does not tolerate birds in our house. He is very firm about this. No birds, no spiders, no centipedes, no snakes. Okay, I'm really the one firmly against snakes, but Paul takes a stand when a bird, spider, or centipede dare to venture in. Our house is a NO FLY ZONE, no creep, or crawl zone. Don't spin any webs, or you will be de-webbed and crushed. I'm sure if there were bylaws, it would be written in bold, black ink. NO FLY, NO CREEP, NO CRAWL, NO WEB ZONE.
Well this hapless little tweeter flew into the no fly zone, and immediately incoming unauthorized object warnings went off in Paul's head. He jumped into action. We were all ordered to our stations, and we manned them with seriousness. Not really, but that sounds better than saying we manned them in amazement, mouths wide open, and laughter bursting forth at the show developing in front of us. Paul won't think this is funny, because birds in the house is not funny. It's serious. Birds carry disease, they randomly drop poop bombs, and they are not clean.
I was instructed to bring him the necessary weapons to take out, take down, dispose of the enemy that had infiltrated the NO FLY ZONE. I must bring a sheet, a pillowcase, and a towel, then I was to keep the front door open, without being seen by the enemy, and he, Paul would remove the enemy. The three kids were to remain out of sight. Yeah right, not when all the action was in the living room. And how was I to remain out of sight when I needed to see what was happening?
Paul would throw the sheet in the direction of the flying bird, and the bird would dip, swerve and dodge the sheet, and it's heart rate, its poor tiny heart, would race and pound, and it would crash into the wall. No exit there. Then an all out mighty cry from the crazy human, and a pillow case would fly at the bird, who would swoop, dive, and avoid, only to be bombarded with a flying towel, and a mighty warrior yell.
The bird was losing it's ability to keep up the diving, swooping, flight for life, but it flew on. It was remembering it's mother telling it, as it flew from the nest....never fly three sheets to the wind, and now it understood what she mean. STAY OUT OF THE NO FLY ZONE!
I stood by the front door, silently cheering the little bird to swoop, dive and dodge, and come my way. I'm here, offering you freedom from the crazy, wild, leaping human who is yelling at you. Come my way.... The kids were watching in amazement and awe, and in between Paul's yelling, leaping leaps, and flying linens, he yelled at them to go back to their rooms.
The bird finally saw it's escape route, and flew fast and furious out the front door. In exhaustion and relief, it flew to the nearest telephone wire, and perched there in thankfulness. If twitter had been invented, he would have tweeted to his friends that he had survived an outright attack by a crazy, wild human, who yelled and leapt about, throwing linens.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Weighty Matters
Weight, it's a weighty matter. It's a frustrating matter as well. I came to the conclusion today that I gain weight when I breathe. I gain weight when I hold my breath. I gain weight when I sneeze, when I cough and when I laugh. I gain weight when I think, when I don't think, when I don't think about gaining weight. I gain weight when I'm sleeping, when I'm reading, walking, and thinking about running. I'm pretty sure that I will be the first person in all of medical history to gain weight when I die.
Paul, my poor grieving husband, will be handed my cremains, and they will say, "Mr. Bittner, here are your wife's cremains. At the time of death she weighed 940 pounds, but after cremation, her ashes weighed 1080 pounds." I guess when the fat is in the fire, it gains density, and ashes are weighty matter.
Oh what does it matter, it's only weight, and if I'm dead, it won't matter.
Paul, my poor grieving husband, will be handed my cremains, and they will say, "Mr. Bittner, here are your wife's cremains. At the time of death she weighed 940 pounds, but after cremation, her ashes weighed 1080 pounds." I guess when the fat is in the fire, it gains density, and ashes are weighty matter.
Oh what does it matter, it's only weight, and if I'm dead, it won't matter.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Ode to a Septic Tank
You bubble and brew
and draining is not
something you do.
You back up,
do the back stroke,
and pumping you
makes me go broke.
You're poopy, and
stinky, and full of
crap. In dealing with
you my nerves are
about to snap.
You know when
company's coming,
and you start the
back up, the back
stroke, the bubble
and brew.
Oh septic tank,
I'm so tired of YOU.
and draining is not
something you do.
You back up,
do the back stroke,
and pumping you
makes me go broke.
You're poopy, and
stinky, and full of
crap. In dealing with
you my nerves are
about to snap.
You know when
company's coming,
and you start the
back up, the back
stroke, the bubble
and brew.
Oh septic tank,
I'm so tired of YOU.
Passport to Insanity
Life is a learning experience, and if you ever want to learn things the hard way, deal with a government agency. This is true with passport applications, with renewing your driver's license, your car registration, change of address, getting a new birth certificate, filing your taxes, or heaven help us, getting a new social security card. Talking to a person in any government position is just difficult to say the least.
The first thing to be addressed in any phone call to a government office is what language you speak. If you speak English, press one. Sometimes you have to hear that question in Spanish before you hear it in English. Sometimes you hear it in English first, and sometimes you can press one for English and two for Spanish, but it's usually press two for English and one for Spanish. Please listen to the rest of the message carefully, because you know you are not going to hear your option, and if you do hear one you think is correct, it won't be, and you will have to go through the process again.
Press one for English. If you would like to speak to an agent, press zero, or sometimes nine, or sometimes you don't have an option to speak to a living, breathing human. And sometimes when you actually speak to a human, they seem to be dead, or barely breathing, or not from this planet.
I think the message should say, Press one for English. Press two for Spanish, press three to continue this call in confusion, press four if you didn't understand what was said previously, press five if you are unsure if you are a US citizen. Press six if your blood pressure is now at stroke level. Press seven if you feel this is an emergency. Press eight just for the fun of it. Press nine to return to the main menu. Press zero to hear hysterical laughing if you think that will get you an operator. Now pick up the pieces of your phone and try this call again.
I applied for a passport in February. While applying in person, at a US Post Office, the postal employee verified that my Texas birth certificate met the specifications by checking in their thick book of what to look for in a US birth certificate. The book was wrong. A short form birth certificate from the state of Texas will not be accepted. Don't even try it. You must have the long form that lists both your parents, their place of birth, your mother's maiden name, their next door neighbors at the time of your birth, the hospital that you were born in, if you were born dead or alive, that one is very important, because you might be dead, and applying for a passport to a new location. By the time you complete this process you will feel like you've at least seen the borders of Hell, if not been there.
Thank goodness there are only ten options for numbers to press on a phone. When I called Texas Vital Records and pressed all the correct numbers, I was informed by the government employee that I could expedite the process of getting the long form birth certificate by paying a small fee that cost more than your average new car, but it would still take fifteen days to process. I could come into the office, you know the one there in Austin, TX and get a copy myself. Thankfully my wonderful cousin, who lives in Austin was able to obtain a long form birth certificate for me. I had to send her my credit report, a list of all my children,my marriage certificate proving I was married to their father, how many cars I own, a copy of my driver's license, and a letter of permission for her to obtain my birth certificate.
Don't even get me started on the complications of having someone hand deliver the birth certificate to the passport office in Houston. We are treated like aliens in our own country! I'm pretty sure that soon we won't even be able to clear security in airports. "I'm sorry sir, but your left ear lobe is slightly larger than your right ear lobe, and that sir, is a national security threat. We cannot allow you through security." "Ma'am, in the x-rated x-ray we just took of your body, the one that we all looked at and laughed about, the same one that is now causing hysteria in our underground, secret viewing area, we determined that your boobs are 1/8th of an inch longer than our standard measurement for allowing you to fly. There is not room on the floor for them, so please step out of line, gather your belongings, and vacate the premises. You won't be flying the friendly skies today." To the young couple with the two well behaved children, you might hear this: "Due to the fact that an elderly gentleman, certainly a gentleman with violent tendencies, slapped a child for crying while on a flight, we no longer allow any children on planes. Please seek alternate travel arrangements."
I joke, but it's really not funny what all we have to go through.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
The Purpose of Middle Age
I don't know the purpose of middle age. I'm there now, and I feel like I have no purpose. When I was young, newly married, having children, raising children, surviving the daily struggle called life, I felt like I had purpose.
Then the children left home, made their own life, and I am where? Middle age, the land without purpose. I worked when the children were little, because it was a matter of survival. I dreamed of a time when I could just relax, work on my scrapbook projects, go to lunch with a friend, make a quick supper for two, and then read a book. Middle age, the land without purpose.
At the end of the day, I'm weary, but not tired. I look back over the day and wonder what I've accomplished. Sure, the house is somewhat clean, depending on which of the little guys have been here. I cooked supper for two, or maybe three, if Shana came by. I didn't work on a scrapbook project, because that means getting it all out, and then having to put it all away. I don't have lunch with my friends, and I don't even know the reason why. I read a few pages of a book, and then have no interest in it. Middle age, the land without purpose.
Sometimes I help my mom, or an aunt, or an uncle, but most times I just am me, me without purpose. Get a hobby? I have hobbies, they just don't interest me. Take a walk? Oh sure, I love to walk in the wind. Middle age, the land without purpose.
I think middle age, the land without purpose is a tough place to be. This weekend while we were with Jacob, I realized another door had closed, and I'm trying to figure out how to open the next door in my relationship with my son. Jacob and I were always very close, and we still are, it's just a different closeness. He's a man, he doesn't need me, and now I try to understand how I fit into his life. With Sarah and Julie it wasn't such a huge transition. Moms and daughters work through stuff as it happens, and I know the girls will always be there, always call, always want to talk, but Jacob, it's just different. I want to yell at him...I'm your mom. Remember me?
In this middle age land without purpose, I can't find me. I don't even know the me that I want to be. Would I even like me, if I found me?
Then the children left home, made their own life, and I am where? Middle age, the land without purpose. I worked when the children were little, because it was a matter of survival. I dreamed of a time when I could just relax, work on my scrapbook projects, go to lunch with a friend, make a quick supper for two, and then read a book. Middle age, the land without purpose.
At the end of the day, I'm weary, but not tired. I look back over the day and wonder what I've accomplished. Sure, the house is somewhat clean, depending on which of the little guys have been here. I cooked supper for two, or maybe three, if Shana came by. I didn't work on a scrapbook project, because that means getting it all out, and then having to put it all away. I don't have lunch with my friends, and I don't even know the reason why. I read a few pages of a book, and then have no interest in it. Middle age, the land without purpose.
Sometimes I help my mom, or an aunt, or an uncle, but most times I just am me, me without purpose. Get a hobby? I have hobbies, they just don't interest me. Take a walk? Oh sure, I love to walk in the wind. Middle age, the land without purpose.
I think middle age, the land without purpose is a tough place to be. This weekend while we were with Jacob, I realized another door had closed, and I'm trying to figure out how to open the next door in my relationship with my son. Jacob and I were always very close, and we still are, it's just a different closeness. He's a man, he doesn't need me, and now I try to understand how I fit into his life. With Sarah and Julie it wasn't such a huge transition. Moms and daughters work through stuff as it happens, and I know the girls will always be there, always call, always want to talk, but Jacob, it's just different. I want to yell at him...I'm your mom. Remember me?
In this middle age land without purpose, I can't find me. I don't even know the me that I want to be. Would I even like me, if I found me?
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
A Vacant Store Front
Life, like a vacant store front, empty, dusty, lacking in appeal. The windows, streaked and dirty, hiding the secret of emptiness within. The awning, once so vibrant, cradles dry rot, and is torn and tattered from the wind. The store front, once so pretty, so alluring with it's pretties, no longer can entice the traveler in. The store front sits vacant, silent, like a life that's incomplete. A reminder of a time when dreams and hopes were wonderful, and life was full and busy, and happiness was everywhere.
Can life be breathed once again into the vacant places? Can the torn and tattered awning, holding court above, be renewed, and shade the brilliant sun again? Can hopes and dreams, and wonderful schemes be seen through windows new and clean? Can the aging, forgotten person, who is the vacant store front, still offer something pretty, alluring, hopeful, vibrant, and enticing to the traveler who has paused to look within?
What does that vacant store front, with it's windows, streaked and dirty, really have to offer those who pause to look within? Where once there was a busy life, a purpose to fulfill, is there really emptiness, or just a forgotten store front with potential still? Are there treasures still inside, an aged beauty where wisdom resides? From those hopes, and dreams, and schemes, lessons have been learned, and though the outside seems so tattered, within the heart lies life and hope, and knowledge to be gleaned.
Life isn't always what it seems.
Can life be breathed once again into the vacant places? Can the torn and tattered awning, holding court above, be renewed, and shade the brilliant sun again? Can hopes and dreams, and wonderful schemes be seen through windows new and clean? Can the aging, forgotten person, who is the vacant store front, still offer something pretty, alluring, hopeful, vibrant, and enticing to the traveler who has paused to look within?
What does that vacant store front, with it's windows, streaked and dirty, really have to offer those who pause to look within? Where once there was a busy life, a purpose to fulfill, is there really emptiness, or just a forgotten store front with potential still? Are there treasures still inside, an aged beauty where wisdom resides? From those hopes, and dreams, and schemes, lessons have been learned, and though the outside seems so tattered, within the heart lies life and hope, and knowledge to be gleaned.
Life isn't always what it seems.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
The Lead Stick
My mighty mom has a weapon known as the lead stick. We all have a healthy respect for that weapon, because we know it only looks like the handle of a hammer. If that lead stick were to connect with your head, your obituary might read: They never knew what hit them.
Mom has had that lead stick for several years, and it abides near her when she sleeps. If ever the need arises to wake mom in the night, we all know to stand at a fair distance and call out to her. In her mind, much damage could be done to an intruder who dares to intrude. In reality, she is quite difficult to wake up, and when she does, she never wakes up swinging that lead stick, but you never know, so you respect the lead stick.
My mighty mom can slay dragons with that lead stick, as well as anyone stupid enough to break into her house. She has no doubt at all about her ability. I, however, don't think she's all that mighty. The other day she was telling me about the damage she could do if the need arose. I said, "Mom, you aren't as strong and tough as you think you are, and plus, you're old now." I said that from a fair distance, and I felt certain I could outrun her if she came after me.
She said, "I'll have you know that I'm a tough old lady, and don't you be telling me what I can't do." I told her that she is not as strong as a man, and she could easily be overpowered. She gave me that Lewis look, and it's to be feared as much, if not more, than that lead stick. I'm telling you, if looks could damage....I would be severely damaged considering the many times in my life I have been given that look.
I probably shouldn't doubt her. If perchance, some big strong guy is idiotic enough to break into her house, she would have surprise on her side. He would see a little old lady, therefore thinking he had strength on his side, and could easily overtake her. After all, it's just a little old lady. However, if she wakes up swinging that lead stick, it would be like waking up Mighty Mom, the slayer of dragons and idiots.
Monday, February 18, 2013
I love Words
I love words. Words were "green" before being green was the scene. They are constantly being recycled, and are only harmful to the environment when used with the wrong intent, spoken unkindly, and used to wound. Otherwise, words are grandly green.
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