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.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Happy Birthday to Me ~ Part 4
The birthday celebrations are really rolling now. I hope I can keep up the momentum through August. (yea, like that will be a problem!)
So...I got my first tattoo 5 years ago when we visited SuperHubby's family in PA. It is a cross with a shamrock in the center and it's on my right ankle. In case you were wondering. And I know you were.
Ever since then, I have become addicted. I really wanted another tattoo. Several, actually, but I figured maybe I should take things slow. Plus, they're sort of permanent, so I wanted to make sure I chose the right design, in the right spot, for the right reason.
Never one to jump into things, it took me 5 years to make up my mind about tattoo #2. SH and I went Friday, and here I am with Chuck, our tattoo artist at the Blu Gorilla.
And the final product :: a heart and Celtic knot intertwined together, shaded blue, in honor of Spanky and FrogBoy.
To quote Spanky: "Mommy, you're gonna be all tatted up by the time I graduate from high school." Out of the mouths of babes.
The birthday celebrations are really rolling now. I hope I can keep up the momentum through August. (yea, like that will be a problem!)
So...I got my first tattoo 5 years ago when we visited SuperHubby's family in PA. It is a cross with a shamrock in the center and it's on my right ankle. In case you were wondering. And I know you were.
Ever since then, I have become addicted. I really wanted another tattoo. Several, actually, but I figured maybe I should take things slow. Plus, they're sort of permanent, so I wanted to make sure I chose the right design, in the right spot, for the right reason.
Never one to jump into things, it took me 5 years to make up my mind about tattoo #2. SH and I went Friday, and here I am with Chuck, our tattoo artist at the Blu Gorilla.
And the final product :: a heart and Celtic knot intertwined together, shaded blue, in honor of Spanky and FrogBoy.
To quote Spanky: "Mommy, you're gonna be all tatted up by the time I graduate from high school." Out of the mouths of babes.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Happy Birthday to Me :: Part 3
Another thing I had on my birthday wish list was a puppy. I've been trying to convince SuperHubby this was a good idea ever since we moved back to Mt. Pleasant almost 5 years ago. We had to give up our Boxers when we moved, because they were too big for our townhouse, but a smaller dog, well...that would work.
Slight problem: SH doesn't really like small dogs. He wasn't working with me on this one. So I suffered in semi-silence and hatched my plan. After all, he couldn't refuse my ONE 40th birthday wish, right? (Yes, I know, it seems like I have a LOT of "one birthday wishes" - it's true).
Anyway, he finally started seeing things my way. I've always wanted a Boston Terrier...or a Pug was my second choice...so the hunt was on. We searched online for rescues, but they were all out of state and very expensive, and I wanted to meet the dog before I got it. So I decided to go the SPCA route.
I started looking online and found the PERFECT puppy...a Boston Terrier/Pug mix. I went to meet him and fell in love immediately. Even better, he was very obviously in love with me. I brought him home May 2.
He is 8 months old, and he's the best dog ever. He is completely house trained, crate trained, he doesn't bark, he doesn't jump...he's just great. He acts like he's been part of our family forever.
I named him Jovi.
Happy Birthday to Me...Part 2
Ok, so confession time: I have an extensive list of things I want for my 40th birthday. Hey, you only turn 40 once, right? Most of the wishes on my list are seemingly impossible, which makes this post even more exciting.
One of my dreams has been to see Jon Bon Jovi in concert. In person. In all his gorgeousness. So I was going to do that this year...for The Circle tour. Unfortunately, I didn't have the cash when tickets went on sale, and Jon's sort of a big deal, so the concert was sold out when I could swing it financially.
Fast forward to mid-April. Naeem and Ashley, who were formally on staff at Seacoast and started their own church, Mosaic, in Charlotte, were going to the concert. And had 2 extra tickets. Naeem decided to have a contest on his blog for the 2 extras. I read it and dismissed it...until I realized (1) this is my dream, and (2) you can't win if you don't enter.
Well, several people entered, so they decided to let his blog readers choose the winner. All you had to do was get the most votes. Well, apparently I took this way more seriously than the rest of the finalists, because I WON!
Yep...I was going to see BON JOVI.
I took the sis-in-law. Here we are on the way to Charlotte. Yes, we rode with the top down the whole way there.
The concert was the most amazing thing I have ever seen. Ok, I've only been to a couple of other concerts in my life (Neil Diamond, Billy Joel, and many, many Statler Brothers concerts). But this was THE concert. And man, did Jon look amazing. And he sounded even better.
I know I'm biased because he is my most favorite person on the planet, but I think what I enjoyed most about his performance (other than how incredible he looks and sounds, which frankly is just a given) is that he seems to truly enjoy what he's doing. When he smiles, which he does a lot, it seems very genuine. He thanked the audience so many times that I lost track. And, oh wow, that smile.
So yeah, best birthday present EVER.
Ok, so confession time: I have an extensive list of things I want for my 40th birthday. Hey, you only turn 40 once, right? Most of the wishes on my list are seemingly impossible, which makes this post even more exciting.
One of my dreams has been to see Jon Bon Jovi in concert. In person. In all his gorgeousness. So I was going to do that this year...for The Circle tour. Unfortunately, I didn't have the cash when tickets went on sale, and Jon's sort of a big deal, so the concert was sold out when I could swing it financially.
Fast forward to mid-April. Naeem and Ashley, who were formally on staff at Seacoast and started their own church, Mosaic, in Charlotte, were going to the concert. And had 2 extra tickets. Naeem decided to have a contest on his blog for the 2 extras. I read it and dismissed it...until I realized (1) this is my dream, and (2) you can't win if you don't enter.
Well, several people entered, so they decided to let his blog readers choose the winner. All you had to do was get the most votes. Well, apparently I took this way more seriously than the rest of the finalists, because I WON!
Yep...I was going to see BON JOVI.
I took the sis-in-law. Here we are on the way to Charlotte. Yes, we rode with the top down the whole way there.
The concert was the most amazing thing I have ever seen. Ok, I've only been to a couple of other concerts in my life (Neil Diamond, Billy Joel, and many, many Statler Brothers concerts). But this was THE concert. And man, did Jon look amazing. And he sounded even better.
I know I'm biased because he is my most favorite person on the planet, but I think what I enjoyed most about his performance (other than how incredible he looks and sounds, which frankly is just a given) is that he seems to truly enjoy what he's doing. When he smiles, which he does a lot, it seems very genuine. He thanked the audience so many times that I lost track. And, oh wow, that smile.
So yeah, best birthday present EVER.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Happy Birthday to Me - Part 1
I'm gonna be 40 in August.
There, that wasn't so hard to say. Anyway, I love birthdays. I love celebrating birthdays. I personally think my birthday should be celebrated year-round.
Unfortunately, I've had some real stinkers. Many times when I was young, the first day of school was my birthday. SuperHubby has had quite a few brain surgeries on or around my birthday, and FrogBoy was diagnosed with autism the day after my birthday. SH forgot #38, which frankly made him very UNsuper that year, and he had a migraine and slept through #39. So I figure 40 has to be better.
So this year, I had big plans. I found out Bon Jovi was playing in Charlotte, and I figured they did that just for me, so I decided I'd go. Since I love Jon and he will love me as soon as he meets me and all that. Sadly, tickets went on sale in October, when I had no money, so I gave up the dream and figured it was not meant to be.
Tax refunds came and I was looking for a way to celebrate. Thought we'd do a big family trip. But SH keeps doing the migraine dance, so I couldn't really make firm plans, and everything I came up with was deemed BORING by the boys. Which squashed my ideas of family fun.
Then I hit on it. A mini-vacation for each of the boys, separately, just them and me. This past week, during spring break, Froggie and I went to the Lego outlet in GA.
Spanky's trip comes later. As for Bon Jovi, that chapter is still open...
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Aunt Freda
Last month we buried my Aunt Freda. Actually she was my great-aunt, one of many I grew up thinking was my "real" aunt, only to discover that while I have a plethora of great-aunts and step-aunts, I only have one full-blooded, true-by-definition aunt. But I digress.
My grandmother was one of 12 kids. Yikes. They were raised in Paris, Tennessee, and they were poor (with 12 kids, who wouldn't be?). Three boys, nine girls. Grandmama is #10. Aunt Freda was #11.
Her full name was Esta Freda. Did I mention they were very country people? Her sisters called her Esta Freda or Freda. To us kids, she was just Aunt Freda.
When we were growing up, we did everything as a large, extended family. I mean everything. There were 5 sisters and their families who lived in Charleston, so during the summers we all would go to Aunt MaeDell's and swim in their pool. At Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter, everyone came over to my grandparents house. We were the sort of family where 2 of us lived next door to our grandparents (those were the houses we spent the most time at as a large group, because we had the most room). We're talking 5 families, 3 generations in each family. LOTS of people. And we were never crowded.
Aunt Freda had a tiny house. But she had a big heart. She raised her granddaughter before that was the thing to do...because it needed to be done. Because of this, I spent a lot of time at her house growing up (her granddaughter, my cousin, is a year older than me).
Aunt Freda was the cool aunt. She watched soap operas and read Harlequin romance novels. We're pretty sure call-waiting was invented for her. She could keep that grapevine buzzing....always to check on her sisters, her sisters' kids, or the grands. And she was funny.
Aunt Freda had these little sayings...like "Whatever smokes your drawers." To this day I don't know what that means, but I know it's good.
And she was quirky. I love quirky, and she had it in spades. When she would make hotdogs, she would dry them off with a paper towel, so your bun wouldn't get soggy (yes, I have adopted this Aunt Freda-ism). And when she washed clothes, she would never, NEVER wash underwear with towels, because then you had nasty stuff touching stuff that needed to be clean when it touched you...which just wouldn't do!
It's funny how small things work their way into your daily life and you don't really realize where it came from until you stop and think it through. In the last couple of weeks, I have chuckled more doing laundry and making hotdogs than ever before. And that's a good thing.
It's just Grandama and Aunt MaeDell now. Rather than blogging about how much I loved them after they're gone, I think I'll tell them before they go.
Last month we buried my Aunt Freda. Actually she was my great-aunt, one of many I grew up thinking was my "real" aunt, only to discover that while I have a plethora of great-aunts and step-aunts, I only have one full-blooded, true-by-definition aunt. But I digress.
My grandmother was one of 12 kids. Yikes. They were raised in Paris, Tennessee, and they were poor (with 12 kids, who wouldn't be?). Three boys, nine girls. Grandmama is #10. Aunt Freda was #11.
Her full name was Esta Freda. Did I mention they were very country people? Her sisters called her Esta Freda or Freda. To us kids, she was just Aunt Freda.
When we were growing up, we did everything as a large, extended family. I mean everything. There were 5 sisters and their families who lived in Charleston, so during the summers we all would go to Aunt MaeDell's and swim in their pool. At Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter, everyone came over to my grandparents house. We were the sort of family where 2 of us lived next door to our grandparents (those were the houses we spent the most time at as a large group, because we had the most room). We're talking 5 families, 3 generations in each family. LOTS of people. And we were never crowded.
Aunt Freda had a tiny house. But she had a big heart. She raised her granddaughter before that was the thing to do...because it needed to be done. Because of this, I spent a lot of time at her house growing up (her granddaughter, my cousin, is a year older than me).
Aunt Freda was the cool aunt. She watched soap operas and read Harlequin romance novels. We're pretty sure call-waiting was invented for her. She could keep that grapevine buzzing....always to check on her sisters, her sisters' kids, or the grands. And she was funny.
Aunt Freda had these little sayings...like "Whatever smokes your drawers." To this day I don't know what that means, but I know it's good.
And she was quirky. I love quirky, and she had it in spades. When she would make hotdogs, she would dry them off with a paper towel, so your bun wouldn't get soggy (yes, I have adopted this Aunt Freda-ism). And when she washed clothes, she would never, NEVER wash underwear with towels, because then you had nasty stuff touching stuff that needed to be clean when it touched you...which just wouldn't do!
It's funny how small things work their way into your daily life and you don't really realize where it came from until you stop and think it through. In the last couple of weeks, I have chuckled more doing laundry and making hotdogs than ever before. And that's a good thing.
It's just Grandama and Aunt MaeDell now. Rather than blogging about how much I loved them after they're gone, I think I'll tell them before they go.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Different Day, Different Brain Issue
Two weeks ago we had some excitement in the Fitzgerald household. SuperHubby had been sick for a few days, nothing unusual, just a little stomach thing (okay, a big stomach thing...but it always seems little when you're not the one barfing). It started on Friday and lasted through the weekend. He didn't have migraine symptoms, or shunt symptoms, so I figured I'd let him just take the weekend and sleep it off.
Well, sleep he did. He slept from Friday night straight through to Sunday. Only got up when he had to barf, which frankly was way more than I could tolerate. I can handle a lot of things; that's not one of them. So when he wasn't puking, I let him rest, and I brought him pain and nausea meds as often as he could take them. I thought that was mighty nice of me.
Well Sunday he just seemed off. It occurred to me that most of his symptoms possibly could be shunt symptoms after all, including the sleeping for 3 days straight, and I started to grow concerned. When he got up at one point, he fell over, taking me with him, and bounced off the wall and the bed before landing in a heap on the floor, unable to move. Spanky had to help me get him back in bed. It was time to call in the big guns.
One of our pastors came over and helped me load him in the car. This was a good thing, as he was dead weight by this time. I couldn't handle him. I took him to MUSC and we hung around our home away from home for the next 9 1/2 hours. While the security guard at the door seemed to recognize the severity of the situation, the doctors, sadly, did not.
Immediately upon arriving in the ER I asked that they check his shunt for malfunction as well as infection. Since they were doing tap of the shunt for CSF, I also asked that they check for meningitis. A friend of mine recently had meningitis and the symptoms were eerily similar. I figured it was either shunt or meningitis. I was assured they would test for both.
After 7 hours, they decided to send SH home. I wasn't in the room at the time. It was the one time I had left. Coincidence? I think not. Once I got the word, I was none too pleased. I explained to the nurse that I'd been down this road before, many times, and I felt like I knew what I was talking about. Not to say he didn't, but he didn't. Anyway, I had to deal with the nurse, because I never saw the doctor. So I was ticked.
I pointed out that when a woman comes into the ER with a typed medical history, and it takes a whole page in 8-point font, you might want to consider listening to her opinions. Maybe. The nurse agreed. Poor guy, he actually was on my side. He just wasn't getting any slack from the doctor, who really just didn't want to be wrong.
So I showed my butt. For 2 1/2 hours. I fussed, loudly, about every single reason SH shouldn't go home, how I couldn't manage getting him there, how if he died it would be on them, just not nice things at all. Finally they agreed to let him walk down the hall first to test his steadiness. He failed miserably. I then pointed out that he'd run 55 miles exactly 1 month earlier, and now he couldn't walk 3 rooms down the hallway. He got to stay.
So he was admitted at midnight. He ended up staying from Sunday until Friday. Diagnosis? Meningitis. Yes, I said that. Yes, they ignored me. Yes, they pumped him full of heavy-duty antibiotics anyway, just in case, which quite possibly saved his life. (go me)
So, that's the saga of the newest brain "hiccup." Just to keep things fun.
Two weeks ago we had some excitement in the Fitzgerald household. SuperHubby had been sick for a few days, nothing unusual, just a little stomach thing (okay, a big stomach thing...but it always seems little when you're not the one barfing). It started on Friday and lasted through the weekend. He didn't have migraine symptoms, or shunt symptoms, so I figured I'd let him just take the weekend and sleep it off.
Well, sleep he did. He slept from Friday night straight through to Sunday. Only got up when he had to barf, which frankly was way more than I could tolerate. I can handle a lot of things; that's not one of them. So when he wasn't puking, I let him rest, and I brought him pain and nausea meds as often as he could take them. I thought that was mighty nice of me.
Well Sunday he just seemed off. It occurred to me that most of his symptoms possibly could be shunt symptoms after all, including the sleeping for 3 days straight, and I started to grow concerned. When he got up at one point, he fell over, taking me with him, and bounced off the wall and the bed before landing in a heap on the floor, unable to move. Spanky had to help me get him back in bed. It was time to call in the big guns.
One of our pastors came over and helped me load him in the car. This was a good thing, as he was dead weight by this time. I couldn't handle him. I took him to MUSC and we hung around our home away from home for the next 9 1/2 hours. While the security guard at the door seemed to recognize the severity of the situation, the doctors, sadly, did not.
Immediately upon arriving in the ER I asked that they check his shunt for malfunction as well as infection. Since they were doing tap of the shunt for CSF, I also asked that they check for meningitis. A friend of mine recently had meningitis and the symptoms were eerily similar. I figured it was either shunt or meningitis. I was assured they would test for both.
After 7 hours, they decided to send SH home. I wasn't in the room at the time. It was the one time I had left. Coincidence? I think not. Once I got the word, I was none too pleased. I explained to the nurse that I'd been down this road before, many times, and I felt like I knew what I was talking about. Not to say he didn't, but he didn't. Anyway, I had to deal with the nurse, because I never saw the doctor. So I was ticked.
I pointed out that when a woman comes into the ER with a typed medical history, and it takes a whole page in 8-point font, you might want to consider listening to her opinions. Maybe. The nurse agreed. Poor guy, he actually was on my side. He just wasn't getting any slack from the doctor, who really just didn't want to be wrong.
So I showed my butt. For 2 1/2 hours. I fussed, loudly, about every single reason SH shouldn't go home, how I couldn't manage getting him there, how if he died it would be on them, just not nice things at all. Finally they agreed to let him walk down the hall first to test his steadiness. He failed miserably. I then pointed out that he'd run 55 miles exactly 1 month earlier, and now he couldn't walk 3 rooms down the hallway. He got to stay.
So he was admitted at midnight. He ended up staying from Sunday until Friday. Diagnosis? Meningitis. Yes, I said that. Yes, they ignored me. Yes, they pumped him full of heavy-duty antibiotics anyway, just in case, which quite possibly saved his life. (go me)
So, that's the saga of the newest brain "hiccup." Just to keep things fun.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
All I Can Say Is "Wow"
Ever think something is your fault, but convince yourself that maybe it's not, and even if it is, there's nothing you can do to change it, so you decide just not to worry about it? That's what I've pretty much done for the past 12 years. I've always felt like all of FrogBoy's medical issues were somehow my doing, related in part or in whole to the medicine I took while I was pregnant with him. I remind myself that the doctors told me it was better to take the medicine and roll the dice than to not take the medicine and have a seizure while pregnant. I remind myself that I love him exactly as he is, and God gave me this child for a reason. I remind myself of a lot of things. Then I spend a little time not thinking about it, and eventually start blaming myself all over again.
This week, I discovered that it actually is all my fault. Indeed. Well, not really my fault; more the manufacturer of the medicine I took way back when. (Actually, I still take it, but that's not the point, now, is it?) Anyway, turns out this particular medicine causes birth defects...many of the issues Froggie deals with...some much, much worse. When faced with what could have been, I realize we are truly blessed.
Still, this cuts deep into my core. I am wounded, broken, raw. I wonder if he will forgive me. Will I forgive myself? I don't know...
So, finally, after 12 years, I have answers. I've been wanting answers. Not these answers, especially not these answers, but it is what it is, and now I know. Now I guess I have to live with what I've learned and move forward.
Ever think something is your fault, but convince yourself that maybe it's not, and even if it is, there's nothing you can do to change it, so you decide just not to worry about it? That's what I've pretty much done for the past 12 years. I've always felt like all of FrogBoy's medical issues were somehow my doing, related in part or in whole to the medicine I took while I was pregnant with him. I remind myself that the doctors told me it was better to take the medicine and roll the dice than to not take the medicine and have a seizure while pregnant. I remind myself that I love him exactly as he is, and God gave me this child for a reason. I remind myself of a lot of things. Then I spend a little time not thinking about it, and eventually start blaming myself all over again.
This week, I discovered that it actually is all my fault. Indeed. Well, not really my fault; more the manufacturer of the medicine I took way back when. (Actually, I still take it, but that's not the point, now, is it?) Anyway, turns out this particular medicine causes birth defects...many of the issues Froggie deals with...some much, much worse. When faced with what could have been, I realize we are truly blessed.
Still, this cuts deep into my core. I am wounded, broken, raw. I wonder if he will forgive me. Will I forgive myself? I don't know...
So, finally, after 12 years, I have answers. I've been wanting answers. Not these answers, especially not these answers, but it is what it is, and now I know. Now I guess I have to live with what I've learned and move forward.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Home for the Holidays
Several years ago, when I first started blogging, I wrote a post called "The 12 Irritants of Christmas." It was a great post, if I do say so myself (and I do). It's one of my favorites. And it helps that every Christmas I pass the inspiration for many of those irritants. (Tacky yard displays? Check. Decorated cars? Check. Freaky people in the mall? Double check.)
This year, the holidays are a little bittersweet for my family. In June we lost 2 people that were close to us ... as much as either of them could be close to anyone.
At the beginning of June, our friend David died from pancreatic cancer. He'd been diagnosed last Thanksgiving. David was a small, quiet man who worked with us at the church, and SuperHubby and I kind of adopted him. He spent most holiday dinners with my family. He didn't say much, but when he loved you, you knew it. I hoped he knew we loved him. When he died, I was given a gorgeous scarf he'd made for me and set aside to be gifted only after he was gone. Yeah, he knew.
Then at the end of June my grandmother's husband, Van, died. He'd fallen at their assisted living facility, hit his head on the sharp corner of a wall, and never recovered. He was married to my grandmother for 20 years, and in all that time he never complained when we talked about how much we loved and missed my granddaddy. He knew my grandmother could never love him as much as she had Granddaddy and he was okay with that too. He didn't say much, and often grumbled when he did say something. He was in hospice near my house, and I really didn't want him to die alone, because I wanted him to know that he was loved. True to his nature, he passed away right after the nurses had checked him. He was totally alone. I got there about 20 minutes too late. I was afraid he'd never known I cared. My grandmother told me later that he told her he loved me. He knew.
So Thanksgiving was tough this year, and Christmas will be hard too. We have 2 empty chairs around our holiday table. But Van and David both loved the Lord, and they knew where they were going, and so did we. We rejoiced in their homegoings. There may be 2 empty chairs around our holiday table, but they are both spending their holidays at home.
Several years ago, when I first started blogging, I wrote a post called "The 12 Irritants of Christmas." It was a great post, if I do say so myself (and I do). It's one of my favorites. And it helps that every Christmas I pass the inspiration for many of those irritants. (Tacky yard displays? Check. Decorated cars? Check. Freaky people in the mall? Double check.)
This year, the holidays are a little bittersweet for my family. In June we lost 2 people that were close to us ... as much as either of them could be close to anyone.
At the beginning of June, our friend David died from pancreatic cancer. He'd been diagnosed last Thanksgiving. David was a small, quiet man who worked with us at the church, and SuperHubby and I kind of adopted him. He spent most holiday dinners with my family. He didn't say much, but when he loved you, you knew it. I hoped he knew we loved him. When he died, I was given a gorgeous scarf he'd made for me and set aside to be gifted only after he was gone. Yeah, he knew.
Then at the end of June my grandmother's husband, Van, died. He'd fallen at their assisted living facility, hit his head on the sharp corner of a wall, and never recovered. He was married to my grandmother for 20 years, and in all that time he never complained when we talked about how much we loved and missed my granddaddy. He knew my grandmother could never love him as much as she had Granddaddy and he was okay with that too. He didn't say much, and often grumbled when he did say something. He was in hospice near my house, and I really didn't want him to die alone, because I wanted him to know that he was loved. True to his nature, he passed away right after the nurses had checked him. He was totally alone. I got there about 20 minutes too late. I was afraid he'd never known I cared. My grandmother told me later that he told her he loved me. He knew.
So Thanksgiving was tough this year, and Christmas will be hard too. We have 2 empty chairs around our holiday table. But Van and David both loved the Lord, and they knew where they were going, and so did we. We rejoiced in their homegoings. There may be 2 empty chairs around our holiday table, but they are both spending their holidays at home.
Sunday, December 06, 2009
God's Provision
So my previous post was about Froggie getting braces, and all that will entail. Anyone who draws breath knows we can't afford to pay for braces, so I thought I would explain how God provided them for us.
We've been discussing the need for braces for Froggie with his dentist for years, but we needed to get to a certain point in his growth before we could moved forward. Over the summer, it was finally time to take him to an orthodontist for a suggested plan of attack. After a couple of hours, the plan was in stone...and boy was it gonna cost us!
I felt horrible, because the orthodontist kept stressing how important it was to start as soon as possible to prevent loss of permanent teeth, the need for dental implants, etc. I felt like a failure as a parent when I had to tell him, "I just can't afford it." They offered us a 10% discount for SuperHubby being a minister. Still no. We couldn't even handle their payment options. They changed them - very graciously - but I still didn't feel like it was something we could take on. I hated myself for letting down my little Frog Man.
Then it dawned on me. Maybe I could get a grant. I contacted the grant folks, and got a big fat no. But I also got a big fat referral to an agency specifically designed for Froggie's type of dental need. I got in touch with them and the ball started rolling - fast.
In order to qualify for this program, you have to have a serious, life-altering issue. They take all sorts of measurements of your mouth, and you're graded based on that and some other criteria. Base score to qualify is 35. Most kids score around 36 - just hovering over the minimum. Froggie scored a 42.
Since I'd already taken him to the orthodontist, the paperwork was easy to do, and the case worker came out to the house shortly thereafter. She pushed him through at the cranial facial clinic at MUSC and what could have been a 6-month process was about a 3-month process.
Our contribution? We have to make sure Froggie takes care of his braces. We have to let them know every time he has an appointment (so they can approve payment). Basically, we have to be adults.
When I found out Froggie needed braces, I felt horrible for not being able to provide for him. Through prayer, I was led to the program I needed, and God has provided abundantly more than I could have asked or imagined.
Never think He won't do the same for you.
So my previous post was about Froggie getting braces, and all that will entail. Anyone who draws breath knows we can't afford to pay for braces, so I thought I would explain how God provided them for us.
We've been discussing the need for braces for Froggie with his dentist for years, but we needed to get to a certain point in his growth before we could moved forward. Over the summer, it was finally time to take him to an orthodontist for a suggested plan of attack. After a couple of hours, the plan was in stone...and boy was it gonna cost us!
I felt horrible, because the orthodontist kept stressing how important it was to start as soon as possible to prevent loss of permanent teeth, the need for dental implants, etc. I felt like a failure as a parent when I had to tell him, "I just can't afford it." They offered us a 10% discount for SuperHubby being a minister. Still no. We couldn't even handle their payment options. They changed them - very graciously - but I still didn't feel like it was something we could take on. I hated myself for letting down my little Frog Man.
Then it dawned on me. Maybe I could get a grant. I contacted the grant folks, and got a big fat no. But I also got a big fat referral to an agency specifically designed for Froggie's type of dental need. I got in touch with them and the ball started rolling - fast.
In order to qualify for this program, you have to have a serious, life-altering issue. They take all sorts of measurements of your mouth, and you're graded based on that and some other criteria. Base score to qualify is 35. Most kids score around 36 - just hovering over the minimum. Froggie scored a 42.
Since I'd already taken him to the orthodontist, the paperwork was easy to do, and the case worker came out to the house shortly thereafter. She pushed him through at the cranial facial clinic at MUSC and what could have been a 6-month process was about a 3-month process.
Our contribution? We have to make sure Froggie takes care of his braces. We have to let them know every time he has an appointment (so they can approve payment). Basically, we have to be adults.
When I found out Froggie needed braces, I felt horrible for not being able to provide for him. Through prayer, I was led to the program I needed, and God has provided abundantly more than I could have asked or imagined.
Never think He won't do the same for you.
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Braces!
It's been about a year in the making, but on Tuesday, December 1st, Froggie started the process of getting braces. I say "started" because, of course, nothing is simple in our house.
Because of the seriousnes of his jaw problems, it turns out that there is a very extensive plan for fixing said problems. Tuesday was just the beginning.
Froggie now has braces on his upper teeth only. This is to get things aligned and straightened enough to have oral surgery to pull down an upper tooth that's killing it's next door neighbor. I found out Tuesday that when he has the surgery, they will put him completely under anesthesia. This does not make me happy. I am trying not to dwell on that aspect of the process.
Once he has the oral surgery, they will put a little pulley system on that particular tooth and hook it up to the braces and pull that tooth out. In addition to the braces not being comfortable, that little dealio will probably be painful for him. At some point after oral surgery, they will add the bottom braces.
Supposedly he will have the full braces on for 2-3 years, at which time they will remove the braces and figure out which jaw should be broken to fix THAT problem. At this point the orthodontist is 98% sure he will have to have the jaw surgery, which will require breaking his jaw and wiring it shut. After that fun, he will get to be in braces yet again, probably another 1-2 years.
Seriously.
To top things off, his underbite is so severe that they had to put a bumper brace on the back of his bottom front teeth. It's halfway up and would annoy me like nobody's business. It's there to keep him from closing his mouth all the way, because if he did, he'd knock the braces off the upper teeth. This means that even when his mouth is closed, he has about an inch of space between his upper and lower back teeth. It feels like he can't chew his food.
Really.
He did pretty well getting the braces on - which took over an hour - although he did try to talk the entire time. He has asked about a dozen times a day since then when he's getting these stinking braces off. Could be a long adventure.
I rewarded him with a Lego for his troubles. He seemed pretty happy about that at least.
It's been about a year in the making, but on Tuesday, December 1st, Froggie started the process of getting braces. I say "started" because, of course, nothing is simple in our house.
Because of the seriousnes of his jaw problems, it turns out that there is a very extensive plan for fixing said problems. Tuesday was just the beginning.
Froggie now has braces on his upper teeth only. This is to get things aligned and straightened enough to have oral surgery to pull down an upper tooth that's killing it's next door neighbor. I found out Tuesday that when he has the surgery, they will put him completely under anesthesia. This does not make me happy. I am trying not to dwell on that aspect of the process.
Once he has the oral surgery, they will put a little pulley system on that particular tooth and hook it up to the braces and pull that tooth out. In addition to the braces not being comfortable, that little dealio will probably be painful for him. At some point after oral surgery, they will add the bottom braces.
Supposedly he will have the full braces on for 2-3 years, at which time they will remove the braces and figure out which jaw should be broken to fix THAT problem. At this point the orthodontist is 98% sure he will have to have the jaw surgery, which will require breaking his jaw and wiring it shut. After that fun, he will get to be in braces yet again, probably another 1-2 years.
Seriously.
To top things off, his underbite is so severe that they had to put a bumper brace on the back of his bottom front teeth. It's halfway up and would annoy me like nobody's business. It's there to keep him from closing his mouth all the way, because if he did, he'd knock the braces off the upper teeth. This means that even when his mouth is closed, he has about an inch of space between his upper and lower back teeth. It feels like he can't chew his food.
Really.
He did pretty well getting the braces on - which took over an hour - although he did try to talk the entire time. He has asked about a dozen times a day since then when he's getting these stinking braces off. Could be a long adventure.
I rewarded him with a Lego for his troubles. He seemed pretty happy about that at least.
An Interesting Month
Yes, I realize this is a couple of months late in coming, but that's life. Especially with the month we had in October.
It started with a visit from one of our New York cousins at the beginning of the month, when Grandpop came home. We had a lot of fun hanging out with Matt and the rest of the family.
Needless to say, we were happy to see October come to an end!
Yes, I realize this is a couple of months late in coming, but that's life. Especially with the month we had in October.
It started with a visit from one of our New York cousins at the beginning of the month, when Grandpop came home. We had a lot of fun hanging out with Matt and the rest of the family.
Then SuperHubby left (in the middle of Matt's visit - poor planning!) for a conference in Atlanta. The day he left, FrogBoy was injured at school. He was walking to the back of the school, and the automatic door opened FAST and smacked him in the forehead. He had a huge bruise, a dent running down the length of his face, and a serious "head-ick." So while SH was gone, I got to study him for a concussion for 3 days.
We had about a week of calm, and then Froggie had to go to MUSC for a scheduled visit with the cranial facial clinic about his jaw issues and getting braces. Not to be outdone by his little brother, Spanky picked the EXACT day and time as that appointment to get injured at school. He was tripped in drama class, landed on his wrist wrong, and ended up with a major sprain (which was determined after 2 visits to the ER, a CT scan and an MRI). Yes, only Spanky could get hurt in DRAMA class.
Needless to say, we were happy to see October come to an end!
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Lessons from My Dad
My dad is nuts. Absolutely, positively, don't-bother-calling-back-cuz-he'll-be-the-same -(or worse)-tomorrow looney.
Back in the day, before we realized he was crazy, Dad used to impart his wisdom at regular intervals. He actually still does, but we just say "Yes, Dad" and move on. However, when I was a bit younger, I learned a few lessons from my dad. I notice remnants of these lessons sneaking into my life every so often. I shall share them now.
Nothing good ever happens at 3:00. Of course, this statement was almost always accompanied by examples. "What are you going to do at 3 AM?! Nothing! Nothing good can happen at 3 AM!" "Why would you want to be out at 3 PM? You'll just get caught in pre-rush hour traffic! And that's NOT GOOD!" Apparently regardless of whether it is 3:00 AM or PM, it's either too early or too late for anything good to happen. He's almost right. Almost.
Never trust a blinker. Okay, I'm going to confess, I still use this principal. Basically Dad's theory was you should never turn in front of a car with it's blinker on, because the idiot driving said car probably either doesn't realize their blinker is on or doesn't really mean it, and if you turn in front of them, you'll get hit, and it will be your fault and you'll probably die, and that's not good.
Always carry emergency money. Before debit cards, Dad felt like my brother and I needed to have "emergency cash" on us at all times. For important things, like if the car broke down or we were going to be 3.2 seconds late getting home. Dad provided the emergency cash, which was generous. For my brother, it was $20. For me, a shiny quarter. But I'm not bitter.
Naps are good. Another Dad-ism I like. Dad has always been a lover of his naps. Back in the day, he'd take an hour nap daily (perk #1 of owning your own business...extended lunch hour that includes a nap!) and a 2 hour nap on Saturday and Sunday after golf. As the years have gone by, Dad's naps have grown a little longer. He's currently napping about 18 hours a day.
Fun will kill you. I know, it sounds like a real downer, and sometimes, honestly, it is. But he's right. Planes crash. Cruiseliners sink. People get shot while hunting. Fair rides fall apart and kill everyone on board. It's a dangerous world we live in.
Sometimes you just have to walk away. No, not a divorce reference. When I was 18 and getting my first car (I was a late bloomer in the driving department, what can I say? See the previous Dad-ism for a possible explanation), I found my Dream Car. It was a fire engine red Sundance, adorable, and in my price range. Dad was putting down $1500 and I had to pay the rest in payments. The dealership didn't like Dad's price and Dad didn't like their price; so he wrote them a check for $1500 and tore it up in front of the salesman and forced me to leave. I cried all the way back to our office. He insisted they would call before we got back. When we got to the office (a 10 minute drive away), we had a message to come back for the car. Quite possibly the smoothest thing my dad ever did.
There's plenty more from Looney Tunes Land, but I prefer to meditate on these lessons - the ones that really stuck. They aren't pretty, but they ARE 100% Dad.
My dad is nuts. Absolutely, positively, don't-bother-calling-back-cuz-he'll-be-the-same -(or worse)-tomorrow looney.
Back in the day, before we realized he was crazy, Dad used to impart his wisdom at regular intervals. He actually still does, but we just say "Yes, Dad" and move on. However, when I was a bit younger, I learned a few lessons from my dad. I notice remnants of these lessons sneaking into my life every so often. I shall share them now.
Nothing good ever happens at 3:00. Of course, this statement was almost always accompanied by examples. "What are you going to do at 3 AM?! Nothing! Nothing good can happen at 3 AM!" "Why would you want to be out at 3 PM? You'll just get caught in pre-rush hour traffic! And that's NOT GOOD!" Apparently regardless of whether it is 3:00 AM or PM, it's either too early or too late for anything good to happen. He's almost right. Almost.
Never trust a blinker. Okay, I'm going to confess, I still use this principal. Basically Dad's theory was you should never turn in front of a car with it's blinker on, because the idiot driving said car probably either doesn't realize their blinker is on or doesn't really mean it, and if you turn in front of them, you'll get hit, and it will be your fault and you'll probably die, and that's not good.
Always carry emergency money. Before debit cards, Dad felt like my brother and I needed to have "emergency cash" on us at all times. For important things, like if the car broke down or we were going to be 3.2 seconds late getting home. Dad provided the emergency cash, which was generous. For my brother, it was $20. For me, a shiny quarter. But I'm not bitter.
Naps are good. Another Dad-ism I like. Dad has always been a lover of his naps. Back in the day, he'd take an hour nap daily (perk #1 of owning your own business...extended lunch hour that includes a nap!) and a 2 hour nap on Saturday and Sunday after golf. As the years have gone by, Dad's naps have grown a little longer. He's currently napping about 18 hours a day.
Fun will kill you. I know, it sounds like a real downer, and sometimes, honestly, it is. But he's right. Planes crash. Cruiseliners sink. People get shot while hunting. Fair rides fall apart and kill everyone on board. It's a dangerous world we live in.
Sometimes you just have to walk away. No, not a divorce reference. When I was 18 and getting my first car (I was a late bloomer in the driving department, what can I say? See the previous Dad-ism for a possible explanation), I found my Dream Car. It was a fire engine red Sundance, adorable, and in my price range. Dad was putting down $1500 and I had to pay the rest in payments. The dealership didn't like Dad's price and Dad didn't like their price; so he wrote them a check for $1500 and tore it up in front of the salesman and forced me to leave. I cried all the way back to our office. He insisted they would call before we got back. When we got to the office (a 10 minute drive away), we had a message to come back for the car. Quite possibly the smoothest thing my dad ever did.
There's plenty more from Looney Tunes Land, but I prefer to meditate on these lessons - the ones that really stuck. They aren't pretty, but they ARE 100% Dad.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Oh Happy Day
Today has been an amazing day. Well, not amazing, but really, really good. We like good days around our house.
I had a meeting at Froggie's school to review his IEP and discuss his progress so far in middle school. I figured since he's been there 2 weeks, they've had time to come up with a laundry list of questions for me...and I wanted to check on him.
I was a little concerned going in because yesterday one of his teachers emailed me and let me know he'd used a couple of racial slurs against a little girl in his class. This girl has been in his class for several years, and they get along great, so I was surprised. But I was afraid of what that might mean during the IEP meeting.
Turns out, FrogBoy's doing great. To the point that all of his teachers placed him in the top half of his class as far as making the transition to middle school and coming to class prepared and doing grade level work. The extra accommodations we put in his IEP last year don't even seem to be needed at this point...he's handling things that well.
The best part? His science teacher said he's so talented in science she would like to move him to the Honors class. She's not, but only because it's a larger class than the Advanced class, and she wants to be able to offer him more individual attention. But she's bringing in Honors work for him so he won't get bored. And he's smart enough to handle the work.
In our house, this constitutes a VERY GOOD DAY.
Today has been an amazing day. Well, not amazing, but really, really good. We like good days around our house.
I had a meeting at Froggie's school to review his IEP and discuss his progress so far in middle school. I figured since he's been there 2 weeks, they've had time to come up with a laundry list of questions for me...and I wanted to check on him.
I was a little concerned going in because yesterday one of his teachers emailed me and let me know he'd used a couple of racial slurs against a little girl in his class. This girl has been in his class for several years, and they get along great, so I was surprised. But I was afraid of what that might mean during the IEP meeting.
Turns out, FrogBoy's doing great. To the point that all of his teachers placed him in the top half of his class as far as making the transition to middle school and coming to class prepared and doing grade level work. The extra accommodations we put in his IEP last year don't even seem to be needed at this point...he's handling things that well.
The best part? His science teacher said he's so talented in science she would like to move him to the Honors class. She's not, but only because it's a larger class than the Advanced class, and she wants to be able to offer him more individual attention. But she's bringing in Honors work for him so he won't get bored. And he's smart enough to handle the work.
In our house, this constitutes a VERY GOOD DAY.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Don't Look a Gift Card in the Mouth
Can I gripe for a bit? Can you really stop me?
I have a simple question: Whatever happened to people actually thanking you when you give them a gift? I have always believed it was right and proper to send a thank-you note toot suite upon receiving a gift, and I have instilled such in my boys. Not that they would ever think to do it on their own...but with a little guidance (and threats), it always seems to get done.
I have found, however, that I may be the last of a dying breed. I have given many gifts in the past few years, and unless I am standing right there when it is opened, I don't get so much as a "thanks, nice gesture, crappy gift, whatever." Just no acknowledgement whatsoever. And that ticks me off. Bad.
I personally don't think people should expect gifts. I know a lot of people who do, whether its their birthday, Christmas, or just because they are all around awesome people and feel they should be rewarded for it. And you know what? If people don't mind giving you gifts, then good for you. But at least be appreciative.
I used to hate giving gift cards. Too impersonal. But then I realized if I just put some thought into the gift card, or gave cash (for those hard-to-shop-for teens), I would be doing everyone a solid. Learned that one the hard way - from a niece who was refreshingly honest about a purse I thought was cool but was clearly NOT.
These days, I'm stumped. If I send gifts in the mail, or put them on a gift table at a reception of some sort, and I don't get a thank-you, how do I know my gift was received? How do I know I was properly credited with giving a great gift? I can't very well say something. THAT would be tacky.
That said, I don't think you should give gifts expecting anything in return. A gift is just that, a gift. And yet, I wonder what it says about society that we don't thank people anymore. I personally try to thank every single serviceperson that helps me throughout my day: at the store, at the pharmacy, at the doctor's office...this week I even thanked a creditor who called to tell me I would be turned over to collections for a whopping $4 bill. He was, after all, just doing his job, and he wasn't rude about it...so why not thank him? I can honestly say he sounded a little surprised...and I'll bet he was nice to someone later because of it.
I guess my main point is, let's not take each other for granted. Good manners are a great thing.
Can I gripe for a bit? Can you really stop me?
I have a simple question: Whatever happened to people actually thanking you when you give them a gift? I have always believed it was right and proper to send a thank-you note toot suite upon receiving a gift, and I have instilled such in my boys. Not that they would ever think to do it on their own...but with a little guidance (and threats), it always seems to get done.
I have found, however, that I may be the last of a dying breed. I have given many gifts in the past few years, and unless I am standing right there when it is opened, I don't get so much as a "thanks, nice gesture, crappy gift, whatever." Just no acknowledgement whatsoever. And that ticks me off. Bad.
I personally don't think people should expect gifts. I know a lot of people who do, whether its their birthday, Christmas, or just because they are all around awesome people and feel they should be rewarded for it. And you know what? If people don't mind giving you gifts, then good for you. But at least be appreciative.
I used to hate giving gift cards. Too impersonal. But then I realized if I just put some thought into the gift card, or gave cash (for those hard-to-shop-for teens), I would be doing everyone a solid. Learned that one the hard way - from a niece who was refreshingly honest about a purse I thought was cool but was clearly NOT.
These days, I'm stumped. If I send gifts in the mail, or put them on a gift table at a reception of some sort, and I don't get a thank-you, how do I know my gift was received? How do I know I was properly credited with giving a great gift? I can't very well say something. THAT would be tacky.
That said, I don't think you should give gifts expecting anything in return. A gift is just that, a gift. And yet, I wonder what it says about society that we don't thank people anymore. I personally try to thank every single serviceperson that helps me throughout my day: at the store, at the pharmacy, at the doctor's office...this week I even thanked a creditor who called to tell me I would be turned over to collections for a whopping $4 bill. He was, after all, just doing his job, and he wasn't rude about it...so why not thank him? I can honestly say he sounded a little surprised...and I'll bet he was nice to someone later because of it.
I guess my main point is, let's not take each other for granted. Good manners are a great thing.
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