Friday, November 04, 2016

What's in a Name?

Whenever anyone hears my given name for the first time, I always get the same reaction: "Huh. I've never heard that before." It's almost like a nice way of saying "Wow, that's weird." My standard response has always been, "Yea, it's an old lady name." Which of course is met with nervous laughter and a "No, it's really...pretty." Of course, sensing discomfort and wanting to draw it out as long as possible, I turn it into a conversation and continue with "No, really. It was my grandmother's name. It's ok. She was old."

Now clearly this makes no sense. She wasn't old when I was given her name. She was in her 40s; probably around the age I am now. Basically the opposite of old.

When I was younger, I hated my name. No personalized key chains or pencils or souvenirs of any sort for me. Eventually it got to where Lori was a popular enough name where you could find it branded on certain items - which I take full credit for - but Lorene has never really taken off.

Then a few years ago, after my grandmother died, I realized I loved having her name. And she had her mom's name. Which means I have her mom's name. No one else in my family has my great-grandmother's name. And in a family that has about 5 names on heavy rotation and not much else, I think that's pretty pretty freaking great.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

In the Blink of an Eye

This post might not be funny. Then again, it might be hilarious. You won't know until you read it.

An interesting thing happened to me last month. I was running early morning errands -- my most favorite time of the day to run errands. The first thing on my list was running by my new pharmacy; I was just getting started.

Side note: CVS sucks. Discuss amongst yourselves.

Anyhoo. I run into the pharmacy, chat it up with everyone as they fill my prescription while I wait (hello...what a concept!), and then I head out. I had a cold, was feeling generally lousy, so I just wanted to cross everything off the list and get home and in bed. My day did not go as planned.

I walked outside and got inside my van. Immediately upon my butt hitting the seat, a huge branch falls from the tree next to me and crashes into the roof of the van. It sounded like an explosion. People poured from the businesses in the shopping center and came to check on me. Frankly, it was a little surreal.

The entire roof of my van was caved in. It jarred the van so hard that every light inside came on, the visors all fell open, the rearview mirror fell all wonky...but the windshield didn't break. I can't explain it but I'm thinking that would have freaked me out, so I'm glad it stayed intact.

So it was a craptastic morning. And it got me thinking... what if that had been someone in a smaller car? (The car next to me was a little Mazda). What if I still drove the convertible? What if it had been a couple of seconds earlier and I wasn't in the van when the branch fell? Those are some scary what-ifs.

All of this thinking led me to more thinking. This is how it goes with me sometimes. I cannot be stopped. But I got started on the whole "the day Spanky was born" thing. How if I'd had my first seizure when I was driving, I would have crashed my car. How if I hadn't called SH less than 5 minutes prior to the seizure, we wouldn't have been on the phone when it happened, and no one would have known how to reach him. How just a matter of seconds meant all the difference.

Surely you can see God is all over this. How can you not? And yet, there are those who will believe this is yet another instance in which "luck" played a part. Nope, sorry guys, but we are blessed. Believe it.

So, I lied. This post wasn't hilarious. Not even remotely funny. But someone who reads this might have needed the reminder: God's got your back. Always.

Friday, November 22, 2013

Live Like You Were Dying

Frogboy asked me the other day what I would do if I only had a month to live. I immediately asked him, "Well, what condition am I in?" Frankly, that's going to make a big difference in how I answer the question.

If I'm confined to bed and unable to communicate, I think it's pretty obvious. I'm just gonna lay there, no matter how long I have.

And if I'm kinda sickly and I can't get out and do the fun stuff, then I guess I would spend a great deal of time gathering the people I love around me and talking about good times and telling them I love them. I can talk faster depending on how bad I feel.

Door number 3 is obviously the door of choice. This would be where I'm amazingly healthy up until the moment I stop breathing. Behind this door I would like to think I would do all sorts of fun things and make all sorts of incredible memories for my loved ones. Things I would remember for the rest of my very short life. (Although, let's be honest, if I'm dying in a month, even a good solid poop will land on that list.)

But then I think again. Do I want my kids to come to the end of my life and say, "Hey, remember how awesome mom was the month before she died?" Or do I want them to remember my entire life, hopefully in the same "awesome mom" vein?

The night before my aunt slipped into a coma she never came out of, she told my uncle, "If I die tonight, I will die a happy woman." It's been a little over a year, and we haven't come anywhere close to exhausting the "awesome mom" stories from her life. I want to live my life like she did. No matter how long I have. No matter what I have happen. I want to live a life of love.

Wednesday, November 06, 2013

Purse Ponderings

There are certain events in every woman's life that mark her. Events that outshine every other boring, blah day of her existence.

The day she walks down the aisle to marry the man of her dreams.

The day she gives birth to her first child. And the second. And - I'm almost certain - all subsequent offspring. That sort of thing rarely gets old.

But let's face it. One of the highlights in every girl's life is the search for - and discovery of - the ultimate joy of the perfect purse. It's true.

Now I've been criticized a lot over the years about making too much out of this whole perfect purse phenomena. This has generally been done by men, therefore I have completely ignored it and them. Statements such as "Why do you need so many purses?" (um, because they're there!) and "What's the point in getting a new one; you only use it for a couple of weeks before you get tired of it and put it in the trunk" (yea, kid, careful with that...and be glad I have some scruples where you're concerned).

Here's the thing with purses. As evidenced by the plethora of offerings everywhere you go, clearly we women need choice. You've got to choose a lot of things. Style. Color. Shape. Fabric. Can it hold all my crap, but not require me to hire a chiropractor? Is it cute but not girly, or adult but not trampy? And if you're like me, am I going to see every other person with the same bag? Cuz I don't want that. I'm an individual, just like everybody else.

I have some general ideas when I'm looking. I personally like an open top with a zipper, which I will never, ever zip up. Two straps, long enough to carry on my shoulder but not so long it bonks my butt. Big enough for extra stuff if I want to tote extra stuff, but not so big my stuff gets lost inside if I'm just carrying my regular junk. And of course I have to like how it looks, which is a crapshoot from day to day.

So last week Spanky somehow got roped into shopping with me, and I spent well over an hour perusing the purses in a certain store. He was no help at all by the way. He refused to give opinions except to say, "It's ugly" to everything I even thought about picking up. We could have left a lot sooner if he'd given me some positive feedback. He did not, and I left the store praying God will bless him with many, many daughters.

So now I've found some great bags. And they're great for a reason. They cost $600 and more. I find that insane and simply cannot even think of that in a real-world type situation. After all, it's just going in the trunk in a week anyway.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Things I Learned from Rocky

I couldn't sleep last night. Nothing new there. And for some reason I can't explain, I started to think about Rocky. Yep. Rocky ... the movie. Actually, all of them. Which you can technically lump under one heading, because let's be honest, they really were all the same movie anyway.

So I was thinking about how Rocky actually taught me a lot about life. True statement. Big life lessons. Such as:

1. Old people die {Mickey}
2. Cocky people die {Apollo}
3. Cheaters never win {Ivan Drago}
4. Mean people suck {Clubber Lang}
5. Survivor wrote some awesome tunes {yes}
6. If you screw with the US, we will kick your butt, and you'll thank us for it {Rocky 4}
7. If you borrow someone else's shorts, you need to launder them before you give them back {Rocky 4}
8. If you forget your place and say something negative to your fake husband {"You can't win!"} you will be subsequently killed off by some mysterious "lady disease" {Rocky 6} - which frankly, I think took WAY too many movies
9. It's generally a good idea to quit when you're ahead {Rocky 5 and 6 - those were hard to watch, and I prefer to think the series ended at 4}

There are few movies I will watch over and over; any Rocky {1-4} is on my list. Nothing feels as good as when Rocky starts pounding the other guy's face and the music starts to build. Now that's a feel-good movie.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Is It August Yet???!!!

Ok, so we all know I'm counting the days until August 25, which is my birthday. But recently I've started counting down to August for reasons I never foresaw at the beginning of the summer.

SuperHubby was in the hospital twice (yes, twice) in June. First he spent a couple of days in East Cooper with a massive migraine. That was mid-June. Then at the end of June he spent a week at our old friend MUSC with - wait for it - meningitis. Yes, it is terribly rare for the same person to get meningitis twice. Yes, even more so within 6 months of the first bout. Yes, SH managed to pull it off.

So he spent a week with the second round of meningitis, which frankly wasn't nearly as bad as the first, and when he got home all was well for a couple of days. But he still seemed off. After much discussion, we took a trip back to MUSC and asked them to check the shunt. Long story short, he had a shunt revision on July 4.

The doctors checked the valve in his head, which was working fine, but once they crack open your head they have to replace it anyway because now they've introduced bacteria and all that jazz. However, in an incredibly enlightened moment, the doctor decided to check the tubing that runs through his chest and into his heart, and it turns out it was clogged with scar tissue. They snipped that little piece out and put Humpty Dumpty back together again.

Meanwhile, I already had scheduled FrogBoy's oral surgery for July 7. I was told he needed several weeks to completely heal before school started, so I didn't have a lot of options. And when things started going in the pooper with SH, I decided to just have a crappy week and go ahead with Froggie's surgery anyway.

He was AMAZING. I didn't give him nearly the credit I should have. (Do I ever?) He didn't stress or freak or anything. The only issue we had was the IV, and no one likes an IV, so I understand his feelings there.

We were at St. Francis (yes, totally different hospital from SH, just to make it fun) for 3 hours. He came home, slept on the sofa for an hour, and was back to my normal FrogBoy later that day. Several days later I was finally able to give him real food, and a collective sigh was let out by us all.

So yes, August, I greet you with open arms. I need a break.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Stop Touching Me!

There seems to be this common misconception that I don't like to be touched, and I particularly don't like to be hugged. That is simply not true. However, if you think that, I probably just don't want to be touched by YOU.

I actually really like hugs. From people I'm very close to. I think hugs are appropriate behavior when some gets married, or when you're consoling someone at a funeral, or you're greeting someone you haven't seen in 3 years. I do NOT think hugs are necessary when you see the person every day, or even every week, and definitely not if you've never met them before. (Although I will break this rule when meeting family members for the first time).

I also don't have issues with the whole touching thing, when appropriate. I will sit so close to my best friends that we're practically in each others' laps...which is fine. But that's never a good idea if you're not on my unspoken, unwritten, highly important Touching Allowed List.

I'm not trying to be cruel, or even uppity. I won't hug some of my best friends...because the NOT hugging is part of our relationship. But I WILL hug some of my other best friends...again, because it's part of our relationship. I just don't think you can go carte blanche on hugging. There are too many factors involved. People that go around hugging willy nilly have no boundaries.

And people who say I don't like hugs are just plain wrong. I love hugs. It's the people I don't like so much.