Yes, there really is a Santa Claus ...

Yes, there really is a Santa Claus.

I felt him residing in my heart this Christmas. As you know, my daddy has been very ill, and deep in my heart I fear that this may be my last Christmas with him. It proved to be a better day than I could have possible hoped for. Daddy came home from the Nursing Home for the afternoon. He didn't go to his home, he came to mine. It took a lot to get him here, but there were no obstacles that were so large we couldn't solve them.

I don't know who was more excited to have him home, my momma who didn't sleep at all the night before because he was coming home, me who stood in the kitchen with tears streaming down my face as he was pushed up the walkway, or my grandson who was literally screaming, "HE'S HERE! BIG GRAMPA IS HERE!!"

My boys were all here for Christmas. Ben and Larry who were at my house more than at there own when the kids were all growing up, surprised me this Christmas. Ben home from Iraq and Larry out of the service and living in Chicago decided to pay this momma a sweet visit.

My daughter and her husband bought the itty bitty ones, who were the best behaved babies I could have imagined. They ate and opened thier gifts and simply delighted everyone with their antics.

After brunch and gift opening we sat with coffee and soft drinks relishing each other with vivid stories. We talked of the upcoming birth of Miss Daisy Ray - She's coming on December 29... Brody crawled up into his Big Grampa's lap and slept, Big Grampa relaxed in the recliner and did the same for a bit.

Daddy went back to the nursing home about 5:00. My momma and me cleaned up the house and did the dishes while we waited for the men to return from taking him back to the home. I had asked Santa Claus for a good day. I got the best day I could have hoped for.

The ice held off till everyone was safely back in their own homes.

I hope that all your Christmas dreams came true as well!

One Touch Game Sites - For The Wee Ones!

My Grandson is two years old. He is becoming very interested in the computer. I found this awsome site for little tykes. Kneebouncers has one touch games that are stimulating for my little guy. They have mouse games when he moves up to that too.

I thought I'd share in case you have a knee bouncer or two of your own!

A couple other one touch game sites :

CrayMachine

Fisher Price Pre-School Games

Life - Answered Prayers

Life

It's so precious.

I learned a few things this Thanksgiving day. My daddy, who couldn't breath very well went into the hospital emergency room on the 21^st of November. He has congestive heart failure and COPD. He has had a 6 vessel bypass and a stint. He is the strongest and robust most man I have ever known. Ever. Period.

On the 24^th of November at 10:32 am, my mother called me at work. "They are going to intubate him, get up to the hospital!" I was stunned. He was doing better, he was on the rebound, we were looking forward to having him home on Thanksgiving. It was not to be. My daddy stopped breathing. There was a Respiratory Therapist in the room considering he was in the middle of a breathing treatment. He couldn’t get any air to move into his lungs. Try as he might, it wouldn’t go in. His doctor was on the way. At 10:35 a.m. I went to his side and told him I love him. He squeezed my hand. I told him that they were going to put him on a ventilator. He said to me, "Tell....them........to...................hur.....ry."

I did. I cried. I prayed.

My father has a ‘Do Not Resuscitate’ order at the hospital. I know my daddy is tired, he is plumb wore out. He hasn’t been able to breath well for three years, and it have been getting progressively worse. I know about the DNR and was thrilled to hear that it was my daddy who told the nurses that he wanted the ventilator. It is an instinctual reaction to want to breath ...

The tube went in and by 10:45 my daddy was moving into the ICU and being hooked to monitors and machines. Fluids of assorted colors and thicknesses were being pumped into him. Air was being pushed into his lungs by a machine that makes the most horrible rhythmic noises. My poor sweet, stubborn daddy was agitated beyond anything I had seen thus far in his heart wrenching ICU jaunts. This being the third time on a ventilator, I thought I had seen it all, but I hadn’t. He pulled at his IV’s, at his catheter, at his gown, at the sheets. The doctor decided it was best to put daddy in a coma. They used a paralytic and an amnesiac ‘mind fogger’ at the same time so he could let his body rest and allow his lungs to pass oxygen throughout his organs.

On the 25^th of November the doctor came into the room. He sat in a chair next to daddy. Mom was sitting on the other side, looking over my daddy’s bed facing the doctor, I was standing behind my mom when the doctor made my knees buckle and my breath whoosh out of my lungs. "We need to be serious here ladies, if this doesn’t work, I’m hopeful, but not optimistic this time. If it doesn’t, then we are going to need to have a long, hard talk. This isn’t looking good."

I spent a lot of my time with tears either threatening or streaming down my face.

Daddy lay in a coma on the 24^th, 25^th, and part way through the 26^th of November. They let the medicines that made him comatose wear off. He awoke agitated and restless. They tied him down in the bed. They tried to wean him from the respirator, but to no avail. He wasn’t strong enough to make the move that Wednesday. They would try again in the morning. Morning came and left, as did the afternoon. By early evening on Thursday November 27^th - Thanksgiving Day - the medical staff was ready to try to get the tube from daddy’s lungs and allow his lungs to breath on their own. This time all the right numbers were on the machines face. The Respiratory Therapist had my daddy do a couple of exercises. His NIF was -20. She said that was good enough, barely, but good enough. The tube came out and for the first time in four days my daddy was truly breathing on his own.

Tears of joy were streaming down my face. God had answered the prayers being said round the world for my daddy. His Vital signs were jumpy though and he was still loopy from the medication. He told me his name was John Strickland, he told me he wasn’t sure who I was. Nope, he didn’t know momma either. We were certain that the amnesia would fade. The medications he was on are incredibly strong, the effects of them were still lingering, and the doctor assured us that it is temporary.

I hope so.

As I sat down to peanut butter on bread on Thanksgiving evening, I was awed at the remarkable sights I had seen through the past few days. My daddy who by every right should have been dead, wasn’t. Not only was he not dead, he lay in the hospital breathing on his own. My prayers were answered, I just wasn’t ready to let go of him. Not yet. Not this day.

He continued his confusion but his vital signs began getting stronger and holding firm. His blood pressure and heart rate no longer jumped around, but he is weak. He can’t stand up alone. He can’t walk or dress himself. He can barely feed himself. The doctor thought a rehabilitation center would do the trick for him.

So that’s how I found myself doing what I never in my life wanted to do. I went with my mother and admitted my daddy into a nursing home.

He’s been there since Friday December 5^th. He’s disoriented, he’s confused, he sometimes isn’t sure where he is or why he’s there. The nurses put an alarm on his shirt that is attached to the bed, if he tries getting up the alarm separates from the bed and signals that he’s up. He’s tried getting up numerous times. Once, he took his shirt off and got up. Knowing he wouldn’t sound the alarm he decided to use the bathroom. He fell to the floor. He thought he could walk. He’s cranky and tired. He told my mother that his therapy started when he ate soup at lunch. It’s a good start daddy, but it’s gotta get better than that. The doctors have shared with us on Saturday that the immensely huge doses of Prednisone that was helping my daddy to breath also scrambles the brain up. He too promised it to be temporary.

I hope so.

He told me the other day that he feels cheated. He feels as if he should have died. He feels he was cheated out of the opportunity to pass on.

Call me greedy, but I’m thankful he didn’t.

I am thankful that I get him one more day ...

He needs your prayers - My Daddy

Tonight on this, the eve of Thanksgiving, my daddy lies in a hospital fighting for his life. He has Congestive Heart Failure. He has a damaged heart. Tonight he is on the ventilator for the 4th night in a row. The doctor doesn't think he'll come off the vent... they tried easing him off today, but it was a failed attempt. The doc told us today that, "The prognosis is grim." He (I, we) are in need of prayers, for strength, for God's Will to be done, for my daddy's number to be down, not up. Dear God in Heaven, I'm not ready to live without him.....

This photo was taken of him and my son on July 13 2008. I used it in Picture Perfect's 'Zest' theme. Please say a little prayer for him.

The Parrot :o)

The Parrot

A young man named John received a parrot as a gift. The parrot had a bad attitude and an even worse vocabulary. Every word out of the bird's mouth was rude, obnoxious and laced with profanity. John tried and tried to change the bird's attitude by consistently saying only polite words, playing soft music and anything else he could think of to "clean up" the bird's vocabulary.

Finally, John was fed up and he yelled at the parrot. The parrot yelled back.  John shook the parrot and the parrot got angrier and even ruder.  John, in desperation, threw up his hand, grabbed the bird and put him in the freezer. For a few minutes the parrot squawked and kicked and screamed. Then suddenly there was total quiet. Not a peep was heard for over a minute.

Fearing that he'd hurt the parrot, John quickly open the door to the freezer, the parrot calmly stepped out onto John's outstretched arms and said, "I believe I may have offended you with my rude language and actions. I'm sincerely remorseful for my inappropriate transgressions and I fully intend to do everything I can to correct my rude and unforgivable behavior."

John was stunned at the change in the bird's attitude. As he was about to ask the parrot what had made such a dramatic change in his behavior, the bird continued, "May I ask what the turkey did?" 

 
HAPPY THANKSGIVING! J

What is a Massapequa? (Herman's Story)

What is a Massapequa?

When I was 22 years old, a friend who lived on Long Island near Massapequa, asked me to come out and share expenses with her. Her husband was going into the Army. Having just survived the most extreme year of my life, I was happy to change my geography, thinking that it might just change my attitude as well. I told her yes, I would be happy to move in with her.

There Is Something About A Man In Uniform.

I was able get a job at the 7-11 convenience store at 80 Brooklyn Avenue in Freeport, which was about 1/4 mile from the apartment we lived at. I walked to work everyday. I tried to work as many hours as possible to be able to pay my bills. I was working the 7 to 3 shift this June 2^nd Wednesday that the YooHoo man made his delivery. I was stopped in my tracks. I stared at him. Gawked is a better word for it. He went about his business not noticing me. He put away the bottles of chocolate YooHoo and brought me the packing slip. I wiped away the drool that was dripping from my chin and took a deep breath. I left to count the wares and signed the packing slip. He left without another word. He would return with more YooHoo on Friday.

Move Over Fabio.

For the next two days my fantasies had us in every romantic situation possible from riding white steeds to piloting airplanes to secluded islands. As Thursday turned into Friday, I walked to work with an extra bounce to my step. My YooHoo man was returning. He walked through the same series of steps that he had done on Wednesday. It was simply a prelude to the rest of our lives together. I counted the YooHoos and as I handed him the slip back, I asked him his name. "Herman." Getting him to say more was going to take tact. "Okay, Herman it’s nice to meet you." Ugh, meet him? I wanted to lay down in sweet green grass with this man and let him read poetry to me as we sipped Chocolate YooHoo’s til nightfall. Do better my mind shouted. "Doyouwanttogotodinnerwithmeandmaybemovieafterwardtonight?" He smiled at me and laughed. "Are you serious?" This was the most serious string of words that ever rushed out of my mouth. "Yup, serious." Oh My God Oh My God I’m sounding like a half-wit! "Sure, should I pick you up here?" At that point I think I did the Snoopy dance in front of him with a little yippee shout. I gave him my phone number and told him where I was staying.

You Call It Soda, I’ll Call It Pop.

On June 4, 1982 at 7:30 pm Herman and I went out on our first date. We saw the movie Poltergeist starring Craig T. Nelson, JoBeth Williams and Heather O'Rourke who played this really creepy five year old girl. I remember taking the opportunity that scarey movies allow to curl up close and tight next to Herman. He protected me from the fictitious demons on the silver screen and kept me safe from harm. We went to a little hole in the wall pizza joint for dinner. It was the best New York pizza I ever had. A slice of pizza pie with fresh mozzarella cheese and sweet basil on mine. I can’t remember what he had on his slice. We drank pop, he called it soda. I was in heaven. I remember what he smelled like when he put his arm around my shoulders as we walked down the street. Still some 27 years later, I remember what he smelled like.

Unfortunate Crucial Information.

It is unfortunate that I have to add the next few statements. It is crucial to the decisions that will unfold as this story is told. On September 14, 1981 I had a baby I named Christopher. She was born 6 weeks early. She lived four hours. When she died, I lost a part of myself, a part that would remain empty for the rest of my life. I think all mothers who lose children feel some part of the same way. I went wandering for a couple years, sometimes getting lost, and sometimes just hiding. I was resisting the urge to live. I was heartbroken and empty. This is what I eluded to in the first paragraph when I said, "Having just survived the most extreme year of my life ..." With that understanding I was certainly not ready to conceive another child. I barred my uterus from accepting any sperm whatsoever. I was on the pill. Knowing that the pill is only 99.8% effective, I also had a diaphragm with spermicide that I used religiously. Coupling the pill and the diaphragm might have been enough, but to add to my own sense of security I also used the ‘Today Sponge’. While still used today, it was most popular in the 80's. The whole spongeworthy concept and all. Four types of birth control used simultaneously every time I had an inkling that I even might have sex so I wouldn’t ever be put in a heart wrenching situation.

Hershey’s Can’t Make Them Sweeter.

Herman may have thought he would get lucky on our first date. I know just smelling him did things to my soul that I thought were dead to me. I was feeling again for the first time in a long time. I was wanting to feel again. He did that to me. It was instant combustion when I saw him the very first time. Whoosh - strike a match, set a fire, light up the sky with fireworks ... To my own surprise, Herman didn’t get lucky that night. We talked and held hands. We walked with his arm around my shoulders. He made me feel safe in his arms. We were both very surprised when we saw the sun coming up. We left and he kissed me goodnight - sweet, delicious kiss. A kiss I have not forgotten. A kiss that was to begin the rest of my life.

Meatloaf or Marriage?

On the beach. At night. Full moon. Water lapping at the shore. I loved him. He loved me. It was beautiful, he was beautiful. I wanted to live forever in his heart. I wanted to be the reflection in his eyes for as long as his eyes could see. I wanted him to marry me. I never said that. Asking for dinner is one thing, asking for a husband is an entirely different conversation. Our time together was coming to an end, but of course neither one of us could have possibly known that yet.

Instructions For Positively Negative.

Step 1.) Take the pill.

Step 2.) Squeeze a line of spermicide around the lip of my diaphragm.

Step 3.) Put the diaphragm in place.

Step 4.) Wet the sponge, squeeze it out, snug it up tight to the diaphragm.

Everytime. Period.

No Period.

One morning, I think it was Oct 29, of 82, I woke up knowing something was not copasetic . I was positive I was pregnant. I took a test and it showed negative. I took another, it too was negative. I was positively positive I was pregnant and did not know what to do. I felt so alone and so perplexed. How? How? How? I was 100% on my 1.), 2.), 3.), 4.). Everytime. So here is where I threw all my Baggage with a capitol B into my thought process. The way I saw it through my eyes, the same eyes that in the not so distant past had received a devastating blow to the soul was

1.) Herman would ask me to marry him. Yippee! I would have said yes, emphatically YES! Then I would spend the rest of our married life wondering if he felt stuck, forced, having no other option but to marry me, or,

2.) Herman would give me $300 bucks and point me in the direction of an abortion clinic, or

3.) Deny, deny, deny.

Dear John, err, umm Herman.

I wasn’t going to hear any of the above. I left. I skipped town. I ran away ... fast. Herman got a letter I left for him there at the 7-11. I didn’t mention the baby. I don’t remember what I wrote about, but I know it was a pack of lies. I was ‘going home’ to my mother’s house to have my baby. I probably told him something like ‘it was time to move on’ or perhaps, ‘I need to go visit a sick friend’. I don’t remember, I do remember crying the entire time I wrote. I so bad wanted to stay, but I was more afraid of what he would say. The next day I was gone.

Positively Positive Pee.

I urinated on so many sticks during the next couple of months. I was positively positive that I was pregnant, but it was showing negative on every single one of those taunting sticks. My sister in law said I was being wishful. My aunt asked me how did I know? I told her ‘I just do." My mom thought I was unbalanced. She knew what transpired within me during the aftermath of my Christopher. She fully expected me to turn up pregnant. Funny thing though, is, that I didn’t want to be pregnant, hence the overkill on the contraceptives, I just knew I was. It took 14 weeks for the pregnancy to show up on a contemptuous pee stick.

The Cowardly Lion has just received a Courage Medal.

July 13, 1983 came and I delivered the most beautiful baby boy. He looked just like his father, even at birth I could see Herman in him. Dark hair, dark eyes. Everyone said he favored my daddy, but I knew the truth. I found the courage I needed and I called Herman on December 31, 1983. We talked and laughed together for over five hours. Straight through the birth of the New Year. I had sent him a Christmas card with my son’s photo in it. Herman’s mother opened the card he told me. When she looked at the photo she said to Herman, "That baby is yours. He is you made over again." I told him then that, yes he was my son’s father. My son was almost 6 months old at that time. I remember there was a long, quiet time on the phone, then Herman whispered, "Why?" "Why now? I just got married." I remember all my air rushing out of my lungs. I couldn’t breath. The lights went dim, then they flared with blinding light. I blew it. Blew It Big Time.

Love Letters and Roses

When my son was two years old I took him to Long Island to meet Herman. He brought me a red rose, (I still have it) and a romantic Hallmark card (I have that still as well). It didn’t turn out the way my minds eye had fantasized about it. He was aloof. He was uninterested. He cared less than I thought he might. I left New York knowing I had made the right decision, but yet, I still loved him. Still yearned for him. Silently.

And Even Though I Know How Very Far Apart We Are, It Helps To Think We Might Be Wishing On The Same Bright Star.

My son, now a man himself got married this past summer. It wasn’t long afterward that he came to me and asked me a bit about Herman. He said he found what he hoped was the right address on the internet. He had mailed him a letter. I called Herman, I wanted him to know that the letter was coming. I wanted him to answer the letter. I wanted just to hear his voice say my name one more time. I spoke with Herman’s wife. They are still married. I didn’t know if she knew about my son or not, so I thought I better not mention him to her. I did ask her to pass my phone number on to Herman. He called me two and a half weeks later. Nearly twenty seven years disappeared when I heard his voice. He apologized to me. I miss him. Funny how that is, but there it is, I miss him. I still love him ... somewhere in my heart there is a place where love resides solely for Herman. He gave me the best part of me - he gave me my son. I never asked a thing from Herman, ever. The only thing I ever really wanted from him I couldn’t have anymore. He gave it to another woman. That’s sad.

Ever After.

I don’t know how this story is going to end. I sit here writing this tonight and wishing he would call.

Strange how all this makes me imagine him riding white steeds to piloting airplanes to secluded islands ... ... ...

Several Weeks Later ....

My son recieved the letter he had hoped for. It was filled with the information he wanted to know. There was photographs of Herman's family, he has two brothers. He also saw who he looks like, something I have known all his life, but never told him. My son is happy with the news and found out that his brother wants to make contact with him has thrilled him.

Me? Well I haven't heard back from Herman, nor should I. He is a long ago, albeit important figure in my life. Hearing his voice spirited me back into a time that was comfortable and easy in memory. It's was a soft sweet place to visit.

... and I start to take things for granted.

I was worried when she told me she was pregnant again. She had Brody and 19 months later, she had Cloey. Now 14 months after Cloey we will be blessed by another baby in the family. Three babies in less that three years. She does pregnant really well. With the first two she slid into motherhood without so much as a twinge of morning sickness. I was with her during her labors, both of them, so I saw with my own eyes. She doesn’t feel the contractions. None of them. Hard labor for her is saying, "Oh, I felt that one a little." Brody was born in four hours, Cloey in two. So I start to take things for granted. I have two beautiful, robust, healthy grandchildren and I start to take things for granted. She’s flown through two pregnancies, and I start to take things for granted. Until last Wednesday.

Last Wednesday the Nurse called. She asked for Becca. I watched as my daughter’s face turned white. "Today!" I heard her say to the Nurse. A test that screens the baby for a few horribly upsetting diseases; spina bifida, Trisomy 13, Trisomy 18, Trisomy 21, anencephaly and encephalocele came back positive. The Nurse called Becca to make an appointment to come in to talk to the Doctor. Becca wanted it right then. After she hung up the phone she sat with me and told me what the Nurse had told her. Since the Nurse was not a Doctor she couldn’t say anything about the results, just that the screener came back positive. The soonest she could get Becca in was Friday morning at 9 o’clock. I started praying.

Becca couldn’t take the wait. She insisted I drive her to the Doctor’s Office on Thursday. The Doctor was out of the office and Becca, with tears across her cheeks begged the Nurse to tell her which disease her baby had screened positive for. After about 10 minutes of ‘ethics’ talk, the Nurse finally gave it up and shared that the positive markers were for Trisomy. Down’s Syndrome. Becca left the office somber, her face blanched white. "Mommy, I love it already. I’m glad the disease isn’t something that will kill it." I had to pull the truck over. She sort of fell into my arms and sobbed. I tried my best just to soothe her and reassure her, but I have to admit, I cried right along with her.

Friday morning came and we heard the Doctor tell us about the screener. It shows it’s results based on odds. There is a normal range, and Becca’s screener came back with her odds increased for the Trisomys. It doesn’t mean her baby has it, it just elevates the chance

that her baby may have it. Normal for Becca’s stats is 1 in 2000. Becca’s is 1 in 1148. So the Doctor scheduled an amniocentesis.

The amniocentesis was this afternoon. The procedure has it’s risks, but all went very well. When we left the hospital this evening she felt a little better. Becca won’t know anything for three weeks. They send the fluids to the University of Michigan and grow cultures to see all the chromosomes. They study the chromosomes to see if there are any triplets instead of the normal pairs. (That’s what causes Down’s Syndrome; that one extra 13^th, 18^th or 21^st chromosome.)

We were able to see the baby. They did an ultrasound prior to the procedure that showed us the most beautiful sight. I will never tire from the awe that I feel when I have an opportunity to peek inside my daughter’s womb and see my grandchild growing there. To not just hear, but see it’s heart beating, knowing that for the moment, all is well and good.

Becca is upstairs sleeping soundly tonight. I went to check on her a little while ago. She pulled her little ones out of their beds and cuddled up with her babies. Brody is on one side of her and Cloey is on the other ... and my tiny little precious granddaughter is safe in her mommy’s tummy tonight.

Please take a moment and say a prayer for my Becca’s baby, and while you are at it please say a little prayer that Becca finds the strength she needs to get through the unknowing next three weeks. It’s a very frightening time for her, for us, for our family. She has suffered so much emotional pain already at the hands of her husband. She is just starting to take her first tentative steps toward a brighter future. I know that when the results are in, all will prove to be just the way it was meant to be, but until then she could use a little extra prayer to see her through.

love me later~tj

Pass the Duct Tape and Kiss the Bride; A Week in the Life of Me...

Bridesmaid Dresses and Baby Bottles (Two days before the wedding.)

She called me on Thursday. Through her tears she said, "Mommy come and get Brody and Cloey and me." She never cries. Always stoic she told me over and over that everything was ‘fine’, but a mommy knows her children. Now she adds, "And hurry mommy!" I threw aside her bridesmaid dress that I was hemming for the third time. It was defeating me. I grabbed up my truck keys and headed out the door. Visions of her husband in the hospital or in jail circled my head. I knew it was bad, she never cries. When I got to the trailer, she stood there, with tears streaming down her face she told me, "We are getting a divorce." And the air was sucked out of my lungs.

Backing up to ‘The Last Straw’ (Four days before the wedding)

All her life she suffered from head lice. I used to say if she walked through a crowd the little lice bug would gather and their bugles would sound as they charged straight to her head. She’s 22 years old and she’s had lice about 22 times. I had her children at my house on Tuesday and I found some nits in my grandson’s hair. I bought the paraphernalia and took care of the issue. Anyone who ever deloused knows what it entails, so I will spare the details here. I called at the trailer she lives in and told her to check everyone there. When she told me that her boy hadn’t been anywhere, I told her to make sure that her husband checks her. When I returned her children to her on Wednesday, she told me it was indeed she that had the mother-lode in her hair and assured me that her hubby was taking care of it later in the day. I told her I would stay and help her. After all, I was a pro at nit picking... I’ve done it all her life to her. She was especially quiet, but she told me no he’d help her. As always she held a stoic face and everything was ‘fine’. I drove away wondering when her no good husband of hers would find them a home - They have been married only 3 short years and in that time they have moved 14 times. She is pregnant with my third grandchild. During part of her last pregnancy her husband thought living in a tent was a good idea, and my sweet naive Becca just said to me when I protested, "It’s fun mommy. Besides, he’s my husband." She always made excuses for him. I always looked for bruises on her, but I knew the bruises her caused her were hidden on her heart, because they were not showing on her body.

A Mommy’s Interjection

Now don’t you go wondering why she wasn’t living here with me before this. I tried.... Always I was told no. Always I was told that she would stick by him because he was her husband. They lived here with me for about a year and a half, until Brody was 3 months old. I about strangled her good for nothing husband 64,975 times. When they left here, I told her she and the babies could come home, but he would never live in my house again. I meant it. Of course I did what I could, but it fell so very short of what they needed. I kept praying that one day she would see the light, before it was too late for her.

So back to Thursday (Two days before the wedding)

I was shocked when it registered in my head that Becca has no hair. Seems hubby’s way of ‘taking care’ of the lousy situation was to hold her down and shave her head. Bastard. She cried again as she told me about the last straw. I assured her it was cute, but my heart was breaking for her. So I helped her pack up what she needed for her and the kids and moved her back to my house. After we got here and put her things away, I had to run a wedding errand. I left her alone for 15 minutes. When I got home she told me she was scared her husband would come and kill her or the babies while I was gone. That one sentence said it all to me. My shotgun is out from the closet now. It’s standing in the corner of my bedroom with the shells near enough by load it quickly. It’s silently waiting to protect her and the babies if need be. It’s all so sad. But I found my smile hidden somewhere, dusted it off and super glued it on my face. She was temporarily settled. The doorbell started ringing and I opened it. Next thing I knew I was hugging my cousins from West Virginia who came to stay with me during the wedding. Ahhhh, thank God for super glue!

Duct Tape and Potato Salad (One Day Before the Wedding)

I got up early. So much to do before 6 PM. The rehearsal dinner was at 6. The rehearsal at 7 and decorating the hall at 8. I told Becca that were putting her issues on the back burner. Not that it wasn’t important to me, but this weekend was ALL ABOUT THE WEDDING. I got out the super glue and she found her smile and dusted it off. I had to help her glue the edges but she went through the day with a smile. I started my day out this particular Friday boiling potatoes at 5:30 AM. My portion of the dinner was potato salad, noodle salad, beverages, peel and eat shrimp with dipping sauces, baked beans, a bridesmaid with a hemmed dress, a ring bearer with a fitted tux, someone to watch over Tink (Baby Granddaughter) while the wedding was taking place and me. HA! So by 10 AM all the food was ready. My cousin and my daughter and my ex-husband all pitched in and we got it done, packed it all away and hit the ‘easy’ button! The bridesmaid dress was serving up another can whoop ass on me Friday, so I went to Wal-Mart for some help. Did you know that they sell red duct tape? With a ruler and some tape the dress was FINALLY hemmed. Booger’s tux was finished, my outfit ironed and we had time left to hit a couple of Garage Sale. (My cousin Mary’s idea). I made it to the rehearsal dinner 10 minutes early. I made it through the rehearsal without tears and the hall was decorated by 11:45 that night. My head hit the pillow at 2:30 in the morning wondering what the weather would be like tomorrow. The wedding was outdoors ...

Pssst ... That's me there in the teal dress

Wedding Day

We all - all 9 of us got up dressed in wedding clothes and got to the wedding early. The photographer wanted us there early to take a few shots. I had packed a picnic lunch and after the photographer was done with us we changed into play clothes. We had three hours to kill and a two year old in a white outfit - well enough said. We played in the park, ate lunch and napped under a tree until it was time to get dressed again. The weather was in the 90's but there was a really nice breeze coming off the lake that kept us cool in our ceremony clothes.

I present to you Mr. & Mrs...

They were married in Polkagon State Park in Indiana overlooking the lake. It was absolutely beautiful. She will make him so happy. She made a stunning bride. But it was my son who took my breath away. He was so handsome as he stood there ready to except her hand in marriage. Through my tears I saw a boy, a gangly teen, but as I wiped away the tears, he was indeed a man. My only son. My pride and joy. He is her husband now. She is so lucky to have him. I am so blessed. My daughter walked up the isle in her duct taped bridesmaid dress. In spite of the haircut, she was beautiful. She hugged her brother. I cried. Then all eyes turned toward Chelsea. My eyes were riveted on my Scott. The beautiful look that overtook his face said it all to me. All was right and good. The preacher was Scott’s youth minister from his childhood. It was a more than wonderful ceremony.

                        

Everything went off without a hitch. The reception was filled with fun and laughter, good food and great people. We left at 9 PM. I brought the grandbabies home with me and the young adults went to the bar. There was a party waiting for them there. They danced and drank till closing time. My daughter and her one cousin were both pregnant so they were the obvious choices for designated drivers. I heard happy funny stories the next day. My Becca needed to have a release and she danced with her brother and new sister-in-law and had a great time with her cousins. I called my son and told him all the momma things I needed to, and then I wished him a safe trip on his honeymoon. They were on their way to Paris. He told me the Eiffel Tower was waiting. I could hear that he had a smile on his face, and his needed no super glue.

>

Today... (11 days after the Wedding)

Scott called me at 8:30 this morning. He and his wife are home from Paris. We talked for over an hour about the trip. I could hear Chelsea in the background laughing and saying, "Tell her about the ..." . They were in the car driving to their apartment in Michigan City. Their life starts back up tomorrow. Back to work, and college starts again for both of then in a couple weeks. We scheduled a date to have a pictorial view of Paris, but only if I would make him his favorite meal. Of course I will.

This morning my daughter is at the local college applying for school. The babies are at daycare and my ex-husband is at work. It’s very quiet here in my house. Life moves forward, it’s rearranged, but it moves forward. There has been no upset from my grandchildren’s daddy ... yet. I will stay cautious and leery on that respect. Scott and Chelsea are starting a journey building a life together that they both are working hard to achieve. Becca has taken her first timid footstep of achieving more for herself and her children. Life goes on.... and I am smiling without the help of glue.

love me later~tj

10 Questions - Luxy's Challenge

Luxy challenged us to answer these 10 questions ... and well here are my answers!

1) What do you like about your job? The children (I teach Inclusion Head Start) oh and I get a paycheck.

2) Favorite song/group/music type? Harry Chapin, and so many others. Josh White Jr. Has a line in one of his songs that says, "Music is the way, the music of the day, the total of the awe that I encounter." It's kinda like that with me too, I am in awe of most any kinda music.

3) What nicknames have you had and why? Why TJ because my name is Tammy Jo, and my daddy has called me princess all my life, does that count?

4) Favorite car and why? 1974 Green Voltswagon Beatle. Want one bad. Still.

5) Last lie you told, to whom, and why? I can't remember, so one of two thing may be happening here ... 1.) I don't lie. 2.) I've told so many that I can't recall the last one.

6) Dream vacation spot? Bathroom. Clawfoot bathtub. Millions of bubbles. A butler to refill my drink. A book.

7) Dream date? March 11, 2006 - I dreamt of that date for years. My first grandchild was born on that date.

8) Best friend and why? Jo - she and me we been together since 1979. I met her when she was dating my friend Jimmy. We have been there and back and still manage to love each other unconditionally.

9) What was the best job you ever had and why? Being a momma. If this is meant to be a paid job, it would have to be teaching. Or being a truck dispatcher for Coca-Cola when I was 19. I used to wait for the truckers to come in and I would ride with one. It was a lot of fun. One night I drove a double clutch 13 gear semi up I-75 by the Silverdome. I was scared but I had a good teacher - Lawdy the troubles I could have gotten into!

10) If you could pick any one super power what would it be? I guess I would want to be Band-Aid Chick. I'd make those who weren't - well. Or, I remember a dog cartoon from when I was a kid. This dog carried a satchel. Anything the dog needed - anything was in the satchel. From houses to boats to money to food hed would reach his paw into the bag and pull out whatever was needed. I'd like that power.

Leave your answers in the comments or in your own blog, you choose.

The Teacher Applicant

THE TEACHER APPLICANT

 

After being interviewed by the school administration, the teaching prospect said, 'Let me see if I've got this right!

You want me to go into that room with all those kids, correct their disruptive behavior, observe them for signs of abuse, monitor their dress habits, censor their T-shirt messages, and instill in them a love for learning. You want me to check their backpacks for weapons, wage war on drugs and sexually transmitted diseases, and raise their sense of self esteem and personal pride! You want me to teach them patriotism and good citizenship, sportsmanship and fair play, and how to register to vote, balance a checkbook, and apply for a job. You want me to check their heads for lice, recognize signs of antisocial behavior, and make sure that they all pass the state exams. You also want me to provide them with an equal education regardless of their handicaps, and communicate regularly with their parents in English and Spanish by letter, telephone, newsletter, and report card. You want me to do all this with a piece of chalk, a blackboard, a bulletin board, a few books, a big smile, and a starting salary that qualifies me for food stamps!? You want me to do all this and then you tell me........

 

I CAN'T PRAY!!!!!!

Paying attention to my dreams, and other things.

5.29.08 Horoscope:

"Pay closer attention to your dreams -- they may help you identify patterns that could shed a lot of light on your life. Your subconscious mind is working while you sleep, playing out different potential scenarios and showing you alternate ways of looking at the world. Sure, most of the images are weird or downright disturbing, but sometimes being disturbed is the best way to wake up from the monotony of routine. Your brain is hungry for a change in your life, and your heart should be, too."

I’ve been MIA for about a month or so now. It’s not that I was ignoring my online friends and family. I haven’t been really inspired to write about anything. I’m still not – but paying attention to my dreams – I thought I’d start and see where I end up at.

On Pain.

I have been in chronic pain since November of 2007. In January I took time off work to do a medical work-up, an MRI, and to get my back better. The doctor limited me to 10 pounds, with no repetitive bending, twisting or stooping. That took me out of work for the duration. In pain with nothing to do except dwell on my pathetic situation. I became rueful and depressed. The routine was so repetitious, every day being the same as the one before it. The days became months and hazed over in my mind. November, December, January, February, March, April, May. Almost 7 months of pain, pills, physical therapy, pills, doctors, test, pills. Pain is a curious thing. It made me begin to doubt myself. In this difficult, painful near year of my life, I began to wonder if I was psychoneurotic. My mind making me ill, my mind making the pain burn in my back. Then May 22 came.

I had an appointment at the Pain Clinic. I waited six weeks to see this doctor. I wanted to ask him to help me. I wanted to tell him what the pain was making me think. I was surprised that he took my pain seriously. No one else in my life was. My friends and family began doubting my claims of pain, my declines of invitations, my lack of enthusiasm to join in on outings.

The doctor spent almost two hours pouring over my history. He had me move my body as he watched. He pressed and prodded, he made grunting noises and clucking sounds as I grimaced and moaned my way through the appointment. He made purple marker x’s on my back. He looked at a diagram and pressed my back here, and there. I hurt. That’s all. I just hurt. He wanted me to describe the pain. Shooting, burning, throbbing, achy. He listened and then he said to me the most amazing thing.

"I know what’s wrong with you."

I must have just stared at him, because he said it again. "I know what’s wrong with you, and I can help." "Okay, what’s wrong with me?" I played along.

Myofascial Pain Syndrome with Gluteal Trigger Points

"Whew",  I thought, "that’s a mouthful". After a series of shots, I did indeed walk out of the office without pain for the first time in 7 months. I came home and looked up the syndrome he diagnosed me with. It seems as mysterious as the pain.

In the week since I left that clinic I have gone on bike rides with my grandson. Take walks pushing my granddaughter’s stroller. Walked with my daughter. Drove to my friends home. I haven’t dwelled on the can’t. It’s amazing really. The pain may come back, but the treatment for the syndrome is available to me with a phone call.

On Mobile Telephone Contracts.

I use T-Mobile. I have for three and a half years. Near the end of April I got a letter in the mail that said they will no longer service me after May 28. Seems I use a roaming tower that T-Mobile rents space from to service me. I have known that I bounce my T-Mobile service off the Centennial tower, it says so on my phone, but I never paid extra for it and I got good service in my house, so I didn’t think too much about it. That is until I got the letter. I called them up. They were losing their contract to rent tower space from Centennial. Now it was going to cost way too much for T-Mobile to continue to service me as a customer. There would be no termination fees they assured me. Well, after all the dust settled, I switched to Centennial Wireless. I paid my final bill to T-Mobil on May 8^th, and haven’t looked back. Until today that is. I got yet another final bill from T-Mobile with a $200.00 early termination fee attached to it! I called T-Mobile. After MUCH explanation from me, and several ‘I need to speak to your supervisors’, I was put on hold. I was finally given a phone number to call. It’s the office of the representatives who dumped me from T-Mobil and will help me settle my bill. I’ll call that number tomorrow. I bet you can guess how that conversation is going to go huh? I can guarantee one thing... I won’t be paying a second final bill.

On Grandchildren.

I’ll love ‘em all. My daughter is expecting Number Three. She’s hoping for another girl. I’m hoping for a healthy baby. Cloey Jo is 7 months old now. She’s got two teeth and fine red hair. I took her to the shop and had her ears pierced before she could reach her ear lobes. She has the biggest smile for me. She’s giving out open mouth drooly kisses. (Yucky!) But, I accept them all gladly, and wipe away the slobber when she’s not looking. And of course, she’s beautiful.

Cloey Jo "Tink" 5.29.08

Brody is 2 years 2 months old. He’s riding his bike, with training wheels, like a champ. We ride bikes together. I ride slow and he rides fast and we both go the same speed. He adores visiting his ‘Yaya’ so he’s here everyday. Sometimes he stays for a half hour, sometimes he stays for two days. His antics keeps me stitches. He’s precocious, and fun, and of course he’s beautiful.

Brody "Booger" & Cloey "Tink" 5.1.08

Okay, enough for today. Maybe more tomorrow. I missed all y’all.

love me later~tj

Ben in Iraq

Ben is my son's best friend, my 'adopted' son as they were growing up. Ben can't make it to Scott's wedding in August, he's busy on the other side of the world. I pray for Ben's safety. Please pray for him too. I love this kid to pieces. Maya Alleruzzo U.S. Army Sgt. Benjamin Litzenberg, 26, from Hillsdale, Mich. reads from the bible during an Easter sunrise service at Forward Operating Base Marez in Mosul, 360 kilometers (225 miles) northwest of Baghdad, Iraq on Sunday, March 23, 2008. The worship service was briefly disrupted by a car bomb in the city. (AP Photo/Maya Alleruzzo)

Writers Block Challenge #34 - SNAP!

Writer's Block Challenge #34

Snap!

She is so beautiful. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have this woman in my life. In the simplest things her beauty shows. The way the sun’s rays bounce off the kitchen table and illuminate her eyes as she drinks her coffee. I have the morning paper hiding my face as I steal glimpses of her. She laughs as she catches me peeking. I watch her pick up the breakfast dishes and take them to the sink. Lust filled thoughts swarm my brain as I look at the curve of her backside hidden by her pink fluffy robe.

Snap, SNAP. Snap.snapsnapsnapsnap.

I wake up and see her pink fluffy robe hanging on the bed post. She slipped out so quietly. I can hear her in the kitchen banging around. The music is playing on the oldie station. I can see her holding a spoon like a microphone and dancing around the kitch...

Snap, SNAP. Snap.snapsnapsnapsnap.

Ahhh, this is what I like the best. She’s in the bathtub with bubbles all around her. She is so lovely and young. She blows a handful of bubbles at me and I laugh as I catch a few. I lean in to kiss her on the forehea.....

Snap, SNAP. Snap.snapsnapsnapsnap Snap, SNAP. Snap.snapsnapsnapsnap.

A room. Concrete walls. An orange chair. A man across from me is telling me something I can’t get my head around.

Snap, SNAP. Snap.snapsnapsnapsnap.

Sweet mercy, there she is holding her arms out for me to snug up in. I can always count on her for comfort. She knows me best. She doesn’t ever back down we I need her.

Snap, SNAP. Snap.snapsnapsnapsnap.

"Blood?" "Where blood?" "Who’s blood?" "What are you talking about blood?"

Snap, SNAP. Snap.snapsnapsnapsnap.Snap, SNAP. Snap.snapsnapsnapsnap.

She’s next to me holding her hand out for me to hold, I can’t seem to reach her...

Snap, SNAP. Snap.snapsnapsnapsnap.

Straps hold my wrists to the chair. "Knife?" "I did what?" "To who?"

Snap, SNAP. Snap.snapsnapsnapsnap.

She's laying on the floor, her hair is spilt across the floor. There’s red everywhere, it’s spilling from her arms, her legs, her chest....

Snap, SNAP. Snap.snapsnapsnapsnap.

"Murder?" "I killed her?" "I murdered my sweet love?"

Snap, SNAP. Snap.snapsnapsnapsnap.

I’m standing above the mayhem. My breaths making my body heave. There’s blood everywhere. It’s dripping from the knife in my hands...

Snap, SNAP. Snap.snapsnapsnapsnap. Snap, SNAP. Snap.snapsnapsnapsnap.

Oh my God! What have I done? Oh, my love... I lay with her on the floor. I hold her in my arms ... till death do we part...

Snap! SNAP! SnapSNAPsnapsnapsnasnapSnap.......

tjs© March 30, 2008

 

Writer's Block Challenge #32 - No Better Life

 

Writer's Block Challenge #32

 

No Better Life

It was the summer of my sixteenth year. In just four months and three days I would be 17. I came to the city to fulfill my dreams. No more will I get up before dawn and help momma make the biscuits for the farmhands. I was going to be somebody. I stole away all the money I had made selling honey at the county fair for the past three years, ever since I heard my daddy talking to Harold Maynard’s pa. I heard that conversation. I was supposed to be shucking bushels of corn on the porch, but the porch made me sticky with sweat under my new tits, (Lordamighty I hated when them things busted out of my chest. Momma said it was normal, but at the time I didn’t believe her) so I took to the barn where it was cool, writing secrets in my notepad. "They’d make a handsome couple." "My Harold will treat her right good", then my daddy’s voice of reason, "When she turns 17. I want her growd up a’fore a man takes her". I know I should have stayed but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to marry Harold Maynard. Being Mrs. Harold Maynard was not who I wanted to be. I wanted to taste something more than this farm's dirt had to offer me. I was scared, sure I was. The trembling showed in the letter I left on my pillow for momma. I would miss her most.

I had rode on that bus for nearly three days, eating out of the basket I had packed and cleaning up in the ladies room at the stations and diners along the way. I wrote in my notebook about the times I would have in the city. I struck up a conversation with a really nice lady with a baby in her arms. She was taking her little baby home to visit her mother. Her mother lived in the big city, and this lady was born and raised right here in this big city. Come to find out she had moved out to the bleak place I was running from. She had married a farmer and was loving being a farmer’s wife, and raising farmer’s kids. I looked at her hands. They looked just like mine. Calloused and cracked from hard work and more hard work. Odd that we would come together on the bus ride. Two souls with contradicting dreams. I wanted what she had, she wanted what I had. It was inconceivable to me that anyone would want that life.

The bus rolled into town at 7:50 in the morning. I had never seen the city before ‘cept for in the magazines at the dime store in our dusty little town. It made the night look like day. Lights twinkling in the morning mist. Cars and busses lining the streets. Buildings taller than old man Lyman’s silo. His silo was the tallest in nine counties, but these building touched the sky. My word, I thought, wait till I write momma about the buildings. The bus driver pulled to a curb and stood up, stretching his back and scratching his head. The smell of a bus is unmistakable. To me it was a smell that filled me with excitement. I collected my suitcases from where he put them at the curb and headed to the diner I saw as we pulled into town. My face lifted high, my spirts lifted higher, I was ready to make my mark in life.

I opened my pocketbook and put a couple of quarters on the counter to pay for my pie and coffee. The waitress directed me to the boarding house for women. I was taking in the sights. I collected a newspaper on my walk. Fourteen city bocks sounded like a long walk, but in reality it weren’t no further that where the cows hang out at the back fence. Miss Mitzi’s Boarding house was a small yellow house with bright red flowers flanking the windows. My first thought as I looked at it was, sunshine. I took a deep breath and knocked at the door. Miss Mitzi answered. She had a quick smile and after I told her about the waitress sending me to her she showed me the room. All through the walk and tour of the house I heard the rules. "No men. Ever. Rent due on Wednesday. Not Thursday. No rent paid, no room no board. Period. Bathroom is shared, be quick. Roster for cooking and cleaning is posted in the kitchen. Everyone pitches in. No exceptions." I sorta stopped listening. I wanted to take a bath, put on my Sunday dress and shoes and go get me a job. Miss Mitzi looked at me and gave me an odd little smile. I wasn’t really sure what she wanted to say, but she shrugged her shoulders and with a quick laugh she said, "You might last out the month before you run home to momma."

I found the Tribune Building just where Joanie said it would be. She was a dear at the diner. I had tuna sandwich on rye bread for lunch with a Vanilla Coke. I wanted to splurge and celebrate. I never ate Tuna on Rye, even though we had a diner in our town nearby, daddy said it was sinful to waste our money buying food in a diner when we had all we needed on the farm. I felt rebellious and a little naughty as I ate the last crumbs of my sandwich. I paid for my meal and waved as Joanie wished me luck. I had to be very careful with the money I had left. I had paid Miss Mitzi for two weeks and bought 2 meals at the diner and a newspaper, all in one day. I only had half of the money from my honey stash left. I prayed I could find work at the Tribune.

There wasn’t. No matter that I could write. There was nothing I could do to convince that woman to let me talk to Mr. Harmon. He hired everyone Joanie told me. I couldn’t get past the woman who answered the phones. I told her I would do anything they had for me to do. Nothing. She just stared at my hands. I tried to hide the callouses behind my pocketbook, but she knew I was just the daughter of a farmer, raised on a farm. She told me I belonged down at the 'chicken farm'. I was humiliated and embarrassed. Now what?

I went into everyone of the buildings on that street. No one was interested in a little ol' cowpoke of a girl working for them. It was heading toward dark when I turned the corner by the diner. I didn’t expect to see Joanie, her shift would be long over by now. I walked back to the boarding house taking my time to think the situation over. I climbed in bed on my first night away from home, away from momma and cried myself to sleep. I was alone in the big city. Just where I wanted to be. I was scared. I wanted to look out my window and see the tree that had my old tire swing on it being pushed by the breeze. Instead there were cars honking and people walking the streets making noises all night long. Once I woke up to a siren rushing by. Was there a dream here for me? I slept a fitful night that first night.

I finally found work in a factory. I’m disgraced beyond words to say what my job was. I plucked chickens in a cannery. At the furthest reaches of the city there were factories. Joanie had mentioned them to me telling me to steer clear of them. After three weeks of no luck, I was out of money and nearly out of options. I just knew I would be one of the fine ladies that I saw walking into the shops uptown. I would wear high heels and lipstick to work everyday. Instead I trudged myself down to the chicken farm as it’s was called round the city and I pulled out the feathers from hot wet dead birds. I got paid enough to pay Miss Mitzi every Wednesday, and had enough left over to buy notebooks and an occasional piece of pie and coffee at the diner.

On my seventeenth birthday I bought a bus ticket. It took me nearly three days, but I walked up past the barn and smelled the dirt. Ain’t nothing in this world that smells like that. It smelled like home. Daddy saw me. He walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder, he looked me up and down, and then looked me in the eye. He said, "You’re home." I said, "I’m home." I walked up the back steps and opened the screen door. Momma was lifting a ham out of the oven and after she put it on the table she turned and looked at me. I put my suitcases down and waited for her to say something to me. She came over to me and hugged me. I hugged her fierce. When she let go of me she looked me up and down. She said, "I knew you’d come home." I didn’t know what to say. I just shrugged my shoulders and said, "I’m home." I put my suit cases on my bed and walked back into the kitchen tying an apron on as I went. There were farmhands to feed.

It’s hard for me to look at those old notebooks and recognize me in them anymore. I think sometimes that I wrote about someone else all those years ago. My husband and I have taken over farming daddy’s land. Momma helps me out in the kitchen with the cooking. Daddy is outside with my kids. He loves to tell them stories of how he used to farm this land before all the newfangled equipment came along. Never once have we ever spoke of the time I left to find a better life. What I found in that excursion of my lifetime was there is no better life than farming this land, raising these children with love, being a good daughter to my parents and loving wife to my husband. I have to run now, I hear Harold Jr. slamming that old screen door ... his daddy ain’t far behind him, and I know they’re hungry. . .

tjs© March 4, 2008

 

On Gifts ....

On Gifts .... I recently had an occasion to receive gifts. It was my birthday. My (dare I say it?) 47th birthday. I started thinking about gifts and how they make you feel. Loved is the word I finally settled on. Through the years I have had many occasions to receive gifts, but, there a few that stand out in my memory. Christmas 1966 ... I was five years old. I wanted Santa Claus to bring me Tiny Chatty Cathy. That’s all. I wanted that doll more than anything in the world. I not only got her, but I got her bed and her brother Chatty Charlie too! They were sitting under the tree just waiting for me to make them real. A little girls dreams came true! There was a Santa Claus! It’s what I know now that I didn’t know then that makes this gift so special to me and makes it stand out as one of my favorites. My parents were young and in 1966 my daddy was working three jobs to make ends meet. He would land a job a Chevy the next year and life would become easier shortly, but that Christmas my parents had 3 children who believed in Santa and not a spare penny to their name. That fall my momma went to a yard sales, and found those dolls and the cradle they were in for 25¢. She brought them home and cleaned off the ink pen marking on Chatty Cathy’s face, washed and ironed the clothes, made bed clothes and a little blanket out of an old blanket she had, and was saddened that she couldn’t buy me a new one. I was getting someone’s cast off toys for Christmas. She did all this for me with 3 kids under her feet. She did it with love. My brothers both got bikes that year. Both bought a yard sales, both scrubbed down and made new through the love of my parents. Daddy scraping and painting after working 3 jobs, just so they would see our smiles on Christmas morning. We kids had no idea of ‘that horrible Christmas’ as my momma calls it, yet, each one of us have very vivid memories of that day as being our favorite Christmas. It’s so vivid in my memories that I can tell you what my mother was wearing. (A white bathrobe with big pockets that had blue flowers on them) I remember looking up into my daddy’s eyes and being so exited. He had a flat top hair cut. His face was rough with stubble, he smelled like Old Spice. So vivid the memories. It was the love that was packaged under the tree that shined so brightly that made is so wonderful for us. Birthday 1997 ... I was at my Momma’s house having ‘Birthday Dinner’ with a few family friends and my husband and children. It was 7:00 P.M. and we were sitting in the living room having coffee and chatting after dinner when my 15 year old son came into the room and sat a radio on my lap. He had it turned way up and announced to the room to settle down and listen. The DJ came on and said, "This is a dedication to Scott’s Momma. It’s her birthday today and Scott wants you to know how much you mean to him and how much he loves you. Happy Birthday Momma!" He proceeded to play Bette Midler’s ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’. When I finally looked up into my son’s eyes, they were as wet as mine. He shrugged his shoulders and with a sheepish grin said to me, "I didn’t have any money to buy you a gift." I looked around the room and there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. To have a teenaged son do something so remarkable, humbled me. It still does. To this day it’s my favorite song, as one can very well imagine. It was love in it’s simplest and purest form. It is one of my most memorable gifts I ever received. Birthday 2008 ... My ex-husband bundled up our grandson in all his winter layers and walked through the snow with my sweet baby Boog. They baby stepped the four blocks to the General Dollar Store to pick out a card. Boog choose a ‘Grandma Card’ with a cat on it. He scribbled in it, on it, and all over it. His chubby little fingers picked up Crayola Colors® one by one till he used every color in the box. There are sweet sticky fingerprints surrounding the card. When I came home that night, Boog handed me the card and said, "BookBookBookBook" I asked him if he gave me a book, and bless his sweet little heart he sat on the floor, patting the spot on the floor next to him for me to sit with him. He held the ‘book’ upside down and proceeded to ‘read’ it to me, with sound effects and all. "Titty say MEOW’, "ha-ha-ha", "I Lub Yaya", "hee-hee-hee" "Dat Peety" "I wite" "MeowMeowMeow". I got kind of misty eyed as he read me my ‘Birthday Book’. Time spent and love shared. There is an undeniably special bond between my grandson and I. It shows on all days. It shined in this ‘book’ for Yaya on my 47th birthday. It was made with love and given with pride. As I look at these memories, I see the commonality in my favorite gifts. It’s evident that the gift of love shines through in all ways. It’s the love we take with us, that sustains us and nurtures us through our lives. The gift of love shown is as great as the gift of love given.

I am smiling ... love me later~tj

There was a Dead Skunk in the Road ... I oned it, you twoed it, I threed it ...

Deer Don’t. Mice and Rabbits Don’t

Bears do. Frogs, turtles and snake do. But the one that does that I take an interest in is skunk. Skunk do. They hibernate all winter. They wait till they know it’s nearly spring and start their waddling strut about. The most fabulous thing happened in this frozen tundra I call home. I smelled a most familiar odor, and I nearly shouted with joy! My poor momma didn’t know what to think of me as I whooped it up while driving home from the grocery store with her. It was quite evident that I smelled skunk last night. It’s almost over! Whew it has been one long winter!

I Hate Traction

I have checked out of life almost completely, except for the random jaunts to the market with momma, I have been to physical therapy and the doctor’ office. Period. For nearly a month now my back has been out. OUT. It hurts ... a lot. Can’t sit, can’t stand, can’t bend, can’t lay down. I gave up on the pain medication. I still hurt, I just didn’t give a rip if I did. I know that this physical therapy thing is helping. My back is getting a softer feel to it. It felt like a concrete wall for awhile. The one thing I don’t like, that’s too kind a phrase, the one thing I HATE during PT is traction. They strap me into this automated contraption and pull me apart. It sets off spasms and pain unknown to me. Well it was unknown till that first day. Then the PT and the Doc both tell me that traction is what’s gonna get me well. UGH! I cry though it, I try not to, but my eyes leak and my teeth hurt from gritting the pain. I just keep thinking that maybe tomorrow when I get strapped down, it won’t hurt. That day will come ... just not soon enough to suit me. Driving home from physical therapy today I saw a dead runned over skunk in the road, and I just hadta smile.

Red Dresses and Curvature

My son is getting married in August to the one person I would have chosen for him if I had met her first. My new daughter to be is the perfect match for my son. She completes him, and he completes her. I love the way they love each other. My daughter and my new daughter to be went out shopping for bridesmaid dresses. They had a ball and found the perfect dress. My daughter tried it on for me and I was astounded! She’s been so busy since she was just 18 having babies that I failed to notice that she is stunning! The dress is a size 8. My daughter never wore an 8, she was a 15 (non maternity) last I knew, or noticed. She filled this strapless dress out in all the right places and I don’t really know when that happened to her. I was sort of sad, and happy at the same time. It will be a beautiful wedding for a beautiful couple of kids.

Assholes

I have got to clear my life of them. I still have these two hangers on that won’t go away. I am much, much, much too nice a lady. I have a soft place to land but he’s only gonna put up with my assholes for so long and then where will I be? Anyone out here willing to teach me how to be a bitch? I’m never too old to learn I suppose. Hey! If somebody done runned ‘em both over in the road would it make spring come faster? Chit, probably not! It would just leave a horrendous smell about the air. It was a thought though ...

Pondering ‘The Real’ Of Us

I was thinking about this the other day. We blog to perfect headshots of folks out there. Hand selected perfect photos of us all. Not a full bodied recent photo in the lot of us (‘Cept for you Karen). That got me to thinking on this a bit. I was thinking that we should have a ‘Get Real’ day and show each other what we REALLY look like. Ugly as it might be for all y’all to see me, it would be nice to know that I ain’t the only one with too many Krispy Kreme Donuts in my past. Vanity aside, I think we should stop the perfectly angled, camera covered photos of us ... if only for one ‘Real’ shot of us. I’m game. Anyone else?

Shop Victoriously

I sell on eBay. I have a little store on there. Well the other day I put on a soap dispenser. It was a cool old thing from the 50's but it was a powdered soap dispenser. Metal instead of plastic. Stainless and enameled. It was sweet. It was a soap dispenser. So a fella emails me. He tells me he wants it and how much to end the auction. So I write him back. This is exactly what I wrote him, "$35.00 I pay shipping." He writes me back, now I ain’t making this up, this is verbatim his email to me. "Thanks for the kind reply. I WOULD like to purchase it. Can we make it $45 inclusive of item, postage and PayPal payment? If so, how would you like to proceed?" Is he joking? I say $35, he says $45. Should I come back with "NO! I said $35, now it’s $33.50 mister!" In hopes that he goes up to $50? I marked it sold at $45 for my Vintage 1950's LURON Heavy Duty Powdered Soap Dispenser. Last week I put a 10¢ Kotex Dispenser Coin Operated Machine on eBay from that was made in 1951. I thought, if someone buys this, they will buy anything. It sold the same day for $50. People continue to scare the hell outta me.

Momma’s Got A Pimped Out Ride

I got a fix-it ticket. I couldn’t believe it! For what you wonder? I drive a white Ford Ranger. No frills, no muss about it. I put a little light up Ford symbol on the rear. It lights up when I hit the brakes. No biggie. "Woo-Woo-Woo-Woo-Woo" The cop tells me it’s illegal. It shimmers a blue light. $75 later, the damned light is turned off and my blinkers are fixed and I get bragging rites for having a truck so pimped it’s illegal! Speaking of rides, my son just bought his very first brand new car. A 2008 Chevy Cobalt. Way to go Scott! You finally got a reliable ride. I’m proud for and of you!

Okay that’s all I have to say now.

love me later~tj

 

 

And life rolls on ...

 

My cousin called me tonight. She had something to say to me, and I could hear the sorrow in her voice. I wasn’t alarmed, I had already heard the news she was going to share. I was just waiting for her to be ready to share it.

We grew up tight, me and my cousin Missy. Our mother’s being only sisters might have helped with the closeness of our families. Her daddy’s illness when we were tots threw us together and my mom would watch my cousins while my aunt took care of my uncle. Whatever the dynamics of our situation, we wound up growing up together. Missy’s daddy died when she was four and I was five. Childhood caught us like childhood does, and we grew up, loving each other.

I remember when Missy was going through her rebellious stage, dying her hair whore black, hating her step-father and all he represented, drinking, getting stupid with the boys. Missy was about 14 then, I would have been 15. I was quite a different kind of a teenager at that time. What some called a geek, I embraced my nerdiness and reveled in my parents love. Not a lick of trouble was I ever in, no drinking or boys, I was into playing the violin and doing crafts with my mom. I was earning badges as Girl Scout and writing poetry of the lover’s I might one day have. I couldn’t understand my cousin’s angst against life. I always thought she had everything going for her. Missy was beautiful, had a knock out body, and had a laugh that was quick and was so musical it made the angels giggle. I remember thinking that I didn’t know her at all during that time. We were so different. It was her dark period. Mine would come a few short years later and last a little longer, but that part of the story comes later.

Missy wound up in the Army after she graduated High School. I can’t say that I even know how she wound up there, but she did. Her decision may have been made by her mom, her life circumstances. Whatever her options were, she chose the Army. Before she went away, Missy and I spent a summer vacationing together up north in the wilds of Michigan. I remember Lake Kneff, blow-up rafts, Boone’s Farm and bikinis (hers). We had a wickedly wild evening on an Army Reservist Base. There were men involved but I remained a virgin to the surprise of even me. It was the first time I had visited what being naughty was about.

The next thing I knew about Missy was that she was married and going off to Germany. Missy had married a fellow Serviceman simply to get the heck outta Dodge so to speak. Period. She divorced him shortly after she hit German soil, and ran into the man who would eventually make my cousin a mother.

When Missy was busy getting married again and having a baby girl, I was busy spreading my wings and doing the rebellious dance that I had not experienced earlier in my life. I was a ‘late bloomer’ in my world. The year of 1981 is a very remarkable year in the story of me. It was this year that I learned that men will say anything to have sex. It was this year that I wound up pregnant and at the mercy of the world. I broke my parents heart, and was banished from them. I lost everything valuable to me in that year. I bounced around from family member to family member and finally my brother stopped the roller coaster ride for me. He took me home to face ‘it’ with my parents. I did. It was more than difficult. Inside me I had growing a child that was not wanted by anyone but me. I eventually got a little apartment in Ypsilanti and at almost 8 months along with my precious baby daughter, I went into labor. What was taking place inside me was not known until after it was too late to save her life. My system poisoned her. She lived only four hours, trying her best to cling to life. During that four hours decisions were made that would alter the course of my life. At a time in the world when death during child delivery was just about unheard of, I dangled precariously close to it. My mother was summoned to my side. She made on the spot decisions for me, that I have since forgiven her for. That was in September of 1981. I had medical issues afterward to deal with, but more pressing were the mental issues that threatened to drown me.

I was traveling and ‘finding myself’. What I ended up finding on Long Island in the summer of 1982 was a man whom I could have spent the rest of my life with. Now people shake their head at this, but I wound up pregnant yet again. It was by God’s grace I was pregnant. I was using a diaphragm, the spermicide that comes with that, the ‘Sponge" and a condom, EVERY TIME. He hated my sexual preparations, I wouldn’t go without it. A baby was OUT OF THE QUESTION! Or so I thought. God had other plans. I ran away from my love and never whispered the fact that I was carrying his child. He might tell me to get rid of the baby. I didn’t give him an opportunity to say anything to me for two years. I just slipped out of his life in the night. I came back home. To my parents. Again unwed and pregnant.

Turns out that baby saved my life. I grew up. I got on and became a momma. That experience mended fences that needed mending between me and my folks. I got real with what I needed in life so I could raise my son Scott. I eventually got married and had another baby daughter. And my life moved forward on a positive note. I took a round about course to make a family, but in the end, I did just that.

Missy was just as busy making a family for herself in Germany. A beautiful baby girl she named Mary Helen. Missy was a Momma! Then shortly afterward a bouncing baby boy she named Cheyenne. A turbulent marriage winding up in a second divorce for her left a custody battle of enormous proportions. Amazingly Missy’s babies grew her up, saved her life and she got real with what she needed in life so she could raise her children. She met a real man, who loved HER. Not for what she could do for him, but for how she made him feel, and he was monetarily responsible enough able to take care of her. I always envied that love she has with him, it is the one thing I want in life that has never found it’s way to me. But, because of him, Missy found a life with her children. Together they raised a family, and life moved on.

Missy and I got back together. We were changed women but in the end we loved each other, we were family. We raised our children close. We spent time together. We were up each others butts at times. Life was good. We both decided to go back to school. We both graduated. We shared our worries over raising children. There wasn’t much to hide between us. We carried on, hoping that our influences would weave our children’s moral fabrics. That the children we raised would become upstanding adults, free from the baggage she and I had drug into the creation of growing up. Only time would tell, and so it has.

Early teen years brought a world of emotional turmoil to my daughter’s life. My baby daughter fell into a quagmire of self loathing. She ran away, she searched for her meaning in life. She desperately sought a life of fulfillment. She needed to be needed. The torment I felt for my daughter was understandable. Then came the day that he was to be married. To a boy. A boy without a job or a pot to piss in. A boy who, it became evident to me, loved my daughter. The day that my daughter called me on the phone to tell me she was pregnant brought my world crushing down on me. My daughter couldn’t understand where my sorrow was coming from. "I thought you’d be happy for me." Eventually I would be, but for this moment in time I was grieving. I was grieving the dreams I had held for my daughter. I wanted her to have a life that was easier, and better than mine. I wanted more for her. In two little words, my dreams for her were forever extinguished. "I’m pregnant."

I needed time to say goodbye to the dreams I held for her, and took awhile longer to realize that just like me, her life will evolve into what it is meant to be. It will be what she makes of it. Not what I want for her, do for her, or demand of her. I still look back at that day I found out she was to be a momma and get a tender spot for the daughter I was going to have. I still grieve a little for that baby of mine that was going to grow up and be Someone Important! Someone of Value! Someone of Prestige! Some one of Degree! Now my Becca has her children and her husband. Turns out that those babies saved my daughter’s life. She grew up, and she got on and became a momma, and she is important, and valued. She is someone of prestige and degree. She is all that and more to me. I am so very proud of this baby girl I had a hand in raising.

Then my cousin called me tonight, and I could hear the sorrow in her voice. Missy told me she was going to be a grandma. I knew her sorrow. I felt it. I know where it’s coming from. Her daughter who is homeless, who is a recovering addict, who holds no job, is becoming a mother. Her daughter who was going to grow up and be Someone Important! Someone of Value! Someone of Prestige! Some one of Degree! Her daughter will find her own way in this world. And Missy needs to grieve the passing of her dreams. If life repeats itself like it did for me and my daughter, Mary’s baby will save her life. She’ll grow up, and get on and become a momma.

Missy? She’ll love being a grandmother. It’s the best thing in the world. Literally the best thing God has ever done for me. It’s the love you seek in life. The unconditional love that flows straight from one heart to another. Missy will bury the dreams she held for her daughter somewhere deep in her heart as all of us momma’s have to do at some point, and she will relish the new beginning she can make with her daughter ... and her grandchild.  And life moves on ...

love me later~tj