Men In Line Buying Flowers at the Grocery...

I always get a bit of a chuckle when I see a man in line at the grocery, with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He's standing there in his sweats, or business suit, head down, maybe slightly embarrassed?
I wonder.
What did he do?
What is he trying to make up for?
Too many late nights at the office while his wife handles 2 kids under the age of 4, while 'baking' yet another heir to the throne in her belly?
Maybe it's their anniversary...and she insists on red roses every year.
Perhaps he forgot her birthday, and is trying to make it up to her?
Maybe he hopes to 'get some' by bringing her a single red rose?
Did she just give birth? (That is a no-brainer, boys. Ya bring her flowers ASAP!)
I love flowers.
I have been a floral designer, and perennial gardener, for, (good Lord), 20 years.
Wedding bouquets, mantle pieces, floral wreaths....centerpieces. Landscape design...etc.
Flowers are alive...they are intricate sculptures of God's imagination...and if they are fragrant? Ahhh...all the better.
Flowers are selfless. They have sacrificed their lives to bring joy.
Flowers bring joy. They can't help it.
When someone is given flowers, watch their face light up.
Maybe their eyes will tear up...
(Guys, score big points and send them to her at work where she has an audience.)
All the same, flowers bring joy.
If I were a man, I would bring flowers to my gal all the time...
It wouldn't matter what day, or occasion, it was. Second Tuesday of every month? Whatever.
I would never let the ones in the vase fade away before bringing in replacements.
Flowers bring life in to any home.
I am actually not picky about flowers.
My favorites are anything that looks like they were picked from a meadow....and anything fragrant.
Gardenias (Heaven Scent...and sent from God), Star Gazer Lilies...Casa Blancas...daisies (though not fragrant) are just plain happy flowers to look at!
I am not a fan of the roses.
Being a gardener, roses are too high maintenance...and they die off quickly.
Give me some good 'ol hydrangea blossoms, some lavender,phlox, daisies, and a lily to add fragrance...delightful.
Boys, make your gal happy, and bring her flowers 'just because'....it is the foundation of love.
Don't wait for a 'special occasion'...everyday is special...and so is she.
(Just sayin'.)

It's been lovely, but....

I really have to SCREAM now!

I was recently hired by a national retail store to be a Visual Merchandiser...something I am MORE than qualified to be.
I don't make 'squat' as far as cash on the barrel head, but I love to Merchandise, and I do love my mannequins.
The 'Company' has recently made cut-backs.
So, I am delegated to the sales floor. Yuck.
I do enjoy helping people get themselves 'together'....however, as a Designer, it grates my nerves when someone holds up a pair of black pants and says: 'what goes with this?' (seriously?)
Tonight I worked 7 hours...on my feet, running my ass off because they have cut back on floor staff.
Whatever. I am working because I have to pay bills...not because it is 'fun' and I can buy clothes at a discount. OK?
But tonight, people were kinda patronizing to me....and it ticked me off.
I want to make a button to wear at work that says:
'I have a Bachelor Of Fine Arts in Fashion Design. I went to school for 6 years. I studied in Paris at Parson's School of Design. No, this is NOT my first choice of jobs right now. I have my own Jewelry Design Company, and THAT is what I want to be doing right now. However, my husband was laid off his job in August...and I HAVE to work this retail job so I can pay bills, pay child support to my Xhusband who makes over $100,000 a year. And to top it off, I have no health insurance. I am not here working this 'menial job' because it is my 'passion'...I am here because if my 5 year old gets sick, we have to pay out-of-pocket.Somehow, I have to put food on the table. And, guess what? I'd rather be at home putting my 5 year old to bed, and snuggling up with her, than folding down 500 articles of clothing, or digging through boxes to find your petite medium turtleneck!'
However, I don't think that would 'fly' with company policy.
I am more than thankful for my 'job'....however, I really wish people would see us 'retail sales people'...as PEOPLE.
Next time you are in a store, please be nice to the person helping you. Everyone has a story...and everyone deserves kindness.

My Christmas Memories (before I forget.)

(Again, yall, this is a post for my 3 kids...before I forget, or get hit by a bus.)

Christmas seems to always bring out the 'crazy' in all families. If your family has a Norman Rockwell Christmas, and yall are still speaking after New Year's Eve---well, then congratulations!
However,my family--whom I adore---puts a little crazy (the good kind) in to Christmas and the Holidays.
Ever since I was a baby, my mom and I have flown to Lexington Kentucky for the Holidays. It was the once-a-year sojourn back to her home town of Versailles....(pronounced 'Ver-SAILS', not the French version.)
I was always so excited to fly.
In the early days, it was a non-stop flight from Norfolk to Lexington---full of sailors going home for Christmas. I always got to have hot chocolate, and it always burned my tongue.(but it was still a big deal!)
When we arrived at the Lexington airport,we actually had to walk across the tarmac to the airport building. Mom's hair would blow all around, and she'd get flustered. My grandfather and grandmother (dad's parents) were there to greet us. I was always ecstatic to see Jay C.---he wore a dark overcoat, a fedora, and smelled like cigars. He had big bushy eyebrows, and a wonderful smile and laugh.
We would gather our luggage while Jay C. went and got his boat of a vehicle, and pulled around to pick us up. I remember it always being so cold outside!...and I wished and wished for snow---since I lived by a beach, and hardly saw snow.
Driving to my other Grandmother's house (mom's mom) was a beautiful ride...Keeneland, horses, and beautiful horse farms.
When we drove in to Versailles, it was picture perfect, movie set, small town magic. Everyone had Christmas lights either in the windows, or on the lawns. There are a lot of beautiful old historic huge houses that would be formally decorated...magnolia wreaths, and white candles in the windows...but I always liked the colored lights---and if they flashed? Even better!
For years, we went to mom's childhood home---a really beautiful, two story, white house on Montgomery Avenue.She had a screened in front porch, complete with a swing. I loved it there. They had stairs! (we lived in a one story at the time.)It was the coolest house...My grandmother Virginia was the best. She always looked so pretty, and was so glad to see us. She always had dinner ready for us all when we arrived...I loved her broccoli casserole...which for me, at the time, was astonishing!
She always had scented candles going. Her home was always very warm, and smelled like fresh baked goods, turkey and cinnamon. Everyone smoked---indoors---back then. So, to me, the smell of cigar/cigarette smoke was comforting...still is.
After a good dinner, I would color in my coloring books, half way listen to the grown ups talking, and play with her white cat.
Christmas Eve, my mom would go to midnight Mass and I was forbidden to go downstairs.
(It was a long night!)
(When I got old enough to go to 'late church', my mom always insisted I 'dress to the 9's'...that meant a skirt, sweater, stockings and pumps---do you know how cold it is at Midnight in Versailles? I always wanted to wear pants, but was not allowed. I was quite envious of the people in church who got to dress warmly!It took 2 days for my feet to thaw out.)
I remember Christmas mornings as a little girl...I had to wait for Jay C. and Peggy to arrive before I could go downstairs to see what Santa brought me. I remember looking out the window watching for them---for what seemed like forever! Then, they would pull up, honk the horn, and I would fly downstairs to greet them...looking sideways to see if Santa really had come! (The 'Big Man' never let me down!)
After we opened presents, and had some breakfast---mine being the little Morton heated cinnamon donuts and apple juice---we would head to Danville to see the rest of the Family---'the Greeks'.
I was always in the back of Grandmother's Buick with my new favorite doll...my mom would drive. My Grandmother would smoke, with the window slightly cracked, and my mom would complain about the smell...ha! ha!
In the early days we went to my Uncle George's restaurant, The Town House.
It had red carpeting, and Country hams hanging from the ceiling of the entryway...
My family knows how to celebrate. All my cousins, and uncles, and aunts were there...all the people I had not seen in a year. We ate Greek soup...and had a blast.
I used to play with my cousins Barry and Mike.
Barry was really funny, and Mike picked on me...(yes, you did Mike...do not deny it---I have pictures of you trying to kill me in the snow!)
Later we switched the celebration to my Uncle Bill and Aunt Ethel's home---a super cool Victorian...I remember Uncle George had a movie camera with the brightest light on it. I am sure we all look like we are staring at the sun in the films.
I thought my girl cousins, who were older, were so pretty with their straight hair, frosty eyeshadow, and cool clothes.
We would go visit Aunt Carty's house---the best Aunt ever.She loved Christmas. She was so full of joy.She was always laughing about something! Her home was Christmas decoration central---and where I got my fondness for all things sparkly and magical. I remember one year she had a white Christmas tree with blue lights...and it spun! So cool! (I will have one, one of these days!)
Carty was also an amazing cook---her fudge was to die for. She,(like all of my family), was huge animal lover, and had herds of stray cats that she fed out her back door.
We all always ended up at Uncle George and Aunt Theresa's home.
One of the funniest memories ever, was when my cousin Mike put 'loads' in Carty and Grandmother's cigarettes. ('loads' for any who do not know, are like small fire crackers you can hide in the end of a cigarette...when it is lit, the end explodes like a cartoon.)We were all sitting around having a grand time, when 'BLAM!' Carty and Grandmother's cigarettes exploded. The looks on their faces were priceless...I thought everyone was going to pass out from laughing so hard...Carty and Grandmother went after Mike...it was hilarious....
(funny thing is, the next morning, when my Grandmother woke up, and lit up her morning cigarette...BLAM! She was cussing Mike, and all the animals in the house ducked for cover!)
My birthday is three days after Christmas, so we always celebrated in Kentucky. The celebrations were always modest, but fun!
And of course, at an early age, I learned how to shop after Christmas sales with mom.We always had a really good time, and ate lunch at a restaurant. I love the malls at Christmas---again because of the decorations....and people are not nuts in a pre-Christmas rush.
These are just a few of the many memories, kids...there are many many more.
I am not able to go back to Kentucky right now because I have three kids of my own...and we 'stay put' on Christmas.
However, I do miss my family this time of year...especially.
As crazy as all the travelling, and schlepping was, it was the best.

How Did We Survive Childhood?

We should all be dead---seriously.
I was born in the mid 60's,and am amazed that I, or any of my buddies, made it out alive.
Today's emotionally, and physically, bubblewrapped, 'helicoptered' kids have no idea what we 'went through' growing up...
Our playground equipment was metal...steel.
It froze your fingers off in the winter, and scalded your legs in the summer. I can still feel the blisters, and smell the metallic residue, it left on our hands. We were allowed to climb to the top of everything, and swing from it. If you fell off, you landed on compacted dirt...not 14" deep mulch or spongy rubber chips.The only goal was to NOT land in the mud puddle under the swings...or at the end of the slide.
We played on rusted out teeter-totters, and climbed trees.
We built forts...real ones constructed from found plywood, sticks and brush.
When I went over to a friends house, we played outside...the whole day.
(You were allowed to come inside---briefly for triage---if you were obviously bleeding.)
We were allowed to come in for bathroom breaks, and lunch...and that's pretty much it.
We rode on bikes that were way too big for us---sometimes with someone on the handle bars. And helmets?---nah. Why would we need helmets? We were not playing football...
We played outside barefoot...we had splinters in our feet from the dock, and we occasionally got stung by bees.
My friends and I had free range of the neighborhood.
We actually had to keep ourselves occupied!
We jumped on other people's trampolines---with no safety nets or pads around them. We 'double bounced' people.
There was a rope swing that went out over Crystal Lake that we were all quite fond of...although, in the winter we did get in trouble for swinging out over the water.
We obeyed and respected all grown ups. We followed directions. We listened.
If someone's mom made you a liver sandwich for lunch---you ate it, and said 'thank you'. None of us had food allergies...we ate peanut butter, drank whole milk, and ate food that had real fat in it...and we all hated raisins and broccoli.
We ate raw cookie dough!
We used soap and water to wash our hands...we actually had to sit at the table to eat.
We usually ended up with some kind of scrape,or skinned up knees, from rollerskating(on 4 wheels strapped to your sneakers), skateboarding (again with no helmets) or playing tag on cement.
The only 'time out' was to get a wet paper towel (handed out to you from the back door) to clean off scraped knees or elbows---the objective was to get outta there before a mom came at you with the Bactine spray, or Iodine.
We listened to the radio and played cassette tapes...we thought it was super cool when the 'boom box' came out.
We danced, and sang out loud---all of us!
The phone was attached to the wall---and you had to actually dial the number. We had to ask permission to use it...no one had an answering machine...you were either there...or not.
And the biggie? Only 3---yes three---television stations!*gasp*
(Oh, it was just 'miserable'!)
The one really good thing?
We did not have to walk 6 miles barefoot in the snow to get to school---like our parents did.

The Disappearance of Thanksgiving

Hey? Where did Thanksgiving go?
Over the years, have yall noticed that Thanksgiving has become a stepping stone to Christmas? We go from Halloween decorations being put out in July, to Christmas 'stuff' being put on display before Halloween...Thanksgiving is slowly becoming a 'non-event' in our society. It is like a dance that must be done, and instead of staying on tempo, it is switched to 'double time' to just get through it---and on to Christmas.
As a Visual Merchandiser, I have seen Christmas arrive earlier and earlier...as early as 'company directives' coming in September, and pre-season 'sales' being pushed out in late October.
This makes me sad for Thanksgiving...a real celebration of Thanks...for the basic 'gifts' of life: health, family, peace, love and friendships.

Thanksgiving is actually my favorite celebrated holiday.

(Yes, I love Christmas...fond memories abound.The season of 'good will'...the celebration of Jesus being born...caroles...cookies...and sweet snuggles under the tree at night...all that.(plus my birthday is 3 days later---mark your calenders.)

However,Thanksgiving is the most heart felt 'holiday' for me. It's not about the 'stuff' but the 'gifts' we receive from this life, and living it. The memories of family here now, and those who have left this life.

When I was little, mom and I always went to Thanksgiving at a family friend's home after my dad was killed in '68.(The posted picture is my first Thanksgiving...laughing with my dad.)
Every year was the same from the time I was 3 until I was in college.I could always count on a day of wearing church clothes, tights, and my 'noisy shoes'---I hated dresses then...dry turkey, unrecognizable side dishes---which I now crave, and Mrs. MacConachie's Trifle...which had sherry in it and I thought I was big stuff eating 'grown up' dessert! It was very formal. Classical music, starched linens, real china.(Although I do remember a break in the formality one year, when their son tried to open a jar of those little tiny pickles, and somehow they flew all over the kitchen...it was spectacular!)
I learned the proper silverware usage at a young age...and to sit up straight and keep my elbows off the table...I got in trouble one year because I took off my black patent Mary Janes under the table...(they had hardwood floors, and I was big in to 'skating' in my tights.)
I am thank-filled for their generosity, love, and teaching me how to be a 'lady'.

In college, mom and I started going to another family gathering at another friend's home.(The MacConachie's no longer had the big dinner since they were getting older and their kids had families.)
This was always more laid back. (I could wear a skirt.)The kids there were more my age, and we watched TV and ate snack foods before 'dinner'.It was buffet style, and not so many forks to navigate...and yeah, they drank beer and watched football after the meal. The 'menfolk' would retire to comfortable chairs, kick off their shoes, and let the 'turkey coma' set in. The gals would clean up the meal, trade dirty jokes and nonsense stories in the kitchen---and laugh a lot.
I am thank-filled for the relaxed spirit of that family, and the opportunity to be a part of their family celebration.
My first marriage was a return to the formal Thanksgivings again...but I was 27, and I could drink wine. (just sayin') They had 'staff' to cook and clean up...it was a wee bit pretentious I must say. My fondest memories of those days, were when I would hang out in the kitchen the 'staff'(the beloved Mary Anne), and my father-in-law,'Big Stan'. He was the epitome of giving, and love. He was a big,burly man, with a booming voice and a generous heart...sitting at the kitchen counter on his tall stool,drinking his Jack Daniels (on the rocks with a whisper of water---I know, because I was his 'best cocktail waitress') He and I would sneak hors d'oeuvres (sp?) off the trays before they were 'served'...we would laugh at the dog, trade limericks, and just enjoy being together.
I am thank-filled for those times with him, my babies, and Mary Anne.
My second husband's family is a mix of both casualness, and pretense. We usually spend the day on the beach daring each other to get in to the freezing ocean, and building the season's last sand castles. The guys drink beer and watch football all day. Then we have a 'formal' sit down meal around 3...(ok, why do people have Thanksgiving meals at weird times? I vote for lunch or dinner!)It is a good mix of everything and I am thank-filled for nice in laws, and for learning when there are too many Chiefs in the kitchen, and not enough Indians.
I hope my kids will always have fond memories, and give thanks for the things in life that cannot be bought---but are shared and given as love, generosity, compassion, grace, and humility. Family.
I am not one to ever forecast in to the future because I believe one needs to 'be here now'.
However, I cannot help dreaming of a day, sitting at my table with my 3 kids, and their kids and spouses...eating a meal that I cooked, holding one of my grandchildren in my arms,giving thanks for all the blessings of my life---and yeah....we will be wearing jeans, and eating at a real dinner time....

'Clear Butterfly Wings...'

My daughter, who is almost 5, has 'clear butterfly wings'...yes, it's true. She told me so.
And she is 'going to sneak out of the house when everyone is asleep and go to Maddy's house and teach her how to fly...'(she said that whole run-on sentence without taking a breath.)
I asked her if I could have some wings too because it sounded like fun.
She said,'...sure mom...I will give them to you when you are asleep.' (nodding very matter-of-factly.)
Well. OK then!
Be it known, as well, that 'macaroni and cheese keeps the wings clear...chicken nuggets turn them yellow.'
(I love my girl!)

Letting Go...for Good.

Yesterday I went to pick up my son in the little town I lived in with my first husband.
We stopped by my old house. My X had cleared out the attic, and 'there were things' of mine that he 'found.'...and I was 'welcome to look through them'. (Gee, thanks!)
When my son and I pulled in to the driveway...and I got that old, familiar, nerve wracking, nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach.
My old house...built in 1928.
MY house. The house that had seen my newborn babies come home, gave us shelter....watched them grow.The house I had lovingly landscaped for 7 years, helped renovate, designed and installed my kitchen and checker board tile floor...My kitchen, where I had cooked many a home made meal from scratch. The trees I had planted in the yard were now 20 feet tall. My precious gardens were overgrown from neglect...another casualty of divorce.
This house had seen much happiness, but more sorrow.
I was startled by it's emptiness when I walked through the door for the first time in 8 years.It was cold...musty. Left behind. My house had always been warm, smelled good, and seemed so big to me when I lived there with my kids. My son, who was standing next to me, was not 3 years old anymore---and almost as tall as I am now.
Maybe that was it. We had all 'grown'.
I got to task with looking through boxes....dusty, broken down boxes...with my handwriting on them...'JB Baby Clothes: 6-12 months'...'C's special dresses Newborn-6 months'...stuffed animals...toys..things I wanted my kids to have for their kids.

I am a 'saver'...some say 'pack rat'...I prefer 'family historian'.

Looking through the boxes and bags was like a time warp. My sons train set he got for Christmas when he was 3.(I can still see him clearly with his red flannel robe and footy pajamas,little boy 'just out of bed' hair, making train noises.) My daughters ragged out, and dearly loved, dolls in various states of 'undress'(Why do barbies always end up half naked with only one shoe?)...her little dresses, and baby sleepers.Books I read to them in the rocking chair before they went to sleep in my arms...I could still smell the baby shampoo on their clean, warm,little heads. It was overwhelming.
I was both sad and happy remembering.
I have one of those weird brains that remembers everything---usually trivial things to an outsider. Each saved stuffed animal, book, or piece of clothing had a special memory to me. A story.My son seemed to take comfort in my memories of the good times.
Eventually, he and I carried the boxes down the 28 stairs to the driveway---(I know it is 28 steps because my mom would remind me every time she visited.)
We walked through the house one more time before leaving. I said my 'goodbyes' to the house out loud. I hope she was listening.I thanked her for being good to me and my kids.
My home was alive when I lived there...with laughter, noise, and kids...not to mention 3 cats and a dog. This house was not my home anymore...and not my kids home. It was still, quiet...asleep.
A new family has bought my old house.They will be only the fourth family to live there in 81 years...81 years! I hope they will bring her back to life.
So,yesterday,finally, I let go of my house for good. No more 'what if's'....no more regrets, or wishing things had gone differently.
Letting go, for 'good'...for better...moving forward. It felt ok...closure.
Some times it is good to let go...I am a slow learner...and I will always have the stories to share with my kids---and their kids.That cannot be taken away, or lost.
I am learning to make room for 'the here', and 'the now'...and the future.
No more dark sadness.
Just light...and love.

Yeah. I love professional HOCKEY!

Before I moved to Hurricanes Country, I was never a fan of hockey.
My idea of hockey was the 'I Love Lucy' version, where Ricky and Fred go to a game, smoke cigars, yell at the refs, and get in fights with fellow fans. Hockey was barbaric. Hockey was 'gross'.
All that changed when the 'Canes made it to the playoffs in 2001...(I think that was the year.)
I actually had the time to watch the games as I was sequestered in a hotel every Tuesday night during my divorce--so my X could come stay in my house one night a week with my kids...(totally nuts, invasion of my privacy...a whole other story--but I digress.)
I was drawn to the quick pace of the games, and the physicality.(I wanted to body check some people too!) Hockey is like lacrosse, football, and track all rolled in to one. I am still amazed that the players can manipulate a hockey stick, chase a tiny puck, and evade death...all on ice skates! With ginormous pads, helmets and gloves...and some do not even have face masks on their helmets!
(Have you ever felt a hockey puck? Can you imagine one hitting your face at 100mph?)
These guys are tough---and may I add, very cute out of uniform.
OK, yes, the reason I love hockey is not only the sport itself, but also the cute boys. (There. I said it.)
I have a total crush on team captain Rod Brind'amore...'my Roddy'.
Reading his physical stats is enough to make a girl weak in the knees. He has a banged up 'hockey face'---scars, broken nose...beautiful! And, from the interviews I have seen, a really good person. I really want him to teach me how to skate backwards---it's on my 'bucket list.' (my kids totally make fun of me...but being the 'mature' adult, I just let that roll off my back.)
The energy of a hockey game is contagious. If you are lucky enough to sit near the glass, you will be amazed. My son and I sat close to the ice last year. It was awesome! We could hear the skates cutting the ice, the audible grunts during body checks and some of the 'colorful' conversation on the ice.
It's a party---it's LOUD! The energy is infectious! We always leave a game 'pumped up'.
(Plus, for you boys out there, the Canes Dancers are pretty cute as well.)
So, before you judge me because I love hockey---go see a game! You will be hooked too! LET'S GO HURRICANES!

Germ Warfare

With all the stuff flying around the media recently regarding swine flu and various other germy type illnesses it got me thinking about germ warfare.
(No, not the type where some freak drops the small pox on Minnesota, and suddenly there is a pandemic...)
I mean, my own personal war against germs.
Sometimes people get carried away.
My mom is a certified germaphobe...and I say this lovingly. She is the type now, that won't let me---her own daughter---take a bite of something she is eating without first cutting whatever it is away from what she is eating....and good Lord, I would never think of using her fork! There is a guttural sound of disgust that she emits when my kids drop something on her super clean floor, and then they eat it anyway. Her mantra is 'did you wash your hands?' (which I understand...because people in general just do not.)Luckily my 5 year old is a big hand washer...another excuse for her to say,'I can do it MYSELF'...my older kids, 11 and 14, still have to be reminded---and I still have to say,'if I smell your hands right now, will they smell like soap?' Of course this does backfire at times as they shove their hands in my face to prove a point!
I guess I never really thought much about it before I had kids.
The first baby drops her pacifier, and that one cannot be used again until it has been boiled in scalding water, air dried and sealed with some hermetic device. The second child drops a pacifier and you may rub it on your jeans, pick off some dog hairs, and then it's good to go. The third child drops a pacifier, and you might blow on it...and back in it goes.
Being in public with a new baby is always fun.
Why do people who you do not know, and do not ask if they can, want to touch newborns faces and hands...hello? New human here, building immune system---do NOT touch the baby...please. People! Do NOT touch the baby! (as you smile sweetly through gnashing teeth.)A friend of mine even had a woman---she did not know---stick her FINGER in the baby's mouth to see his teeth---now that would have deserved a roundhouse kick to that woman's head from me!
I guess my germaphobia does come out in a public restroom though.
I travel with my kids a lot...so, there are 'pitstops' on the road. I can tell you all the clean restrooms along my routes.Even still, I use my elbow to turn on/off the water, and I am teaching the girls the craft of 'hovering' and flushing with your foot.(I can also open doors with my foot---years of dance training.)My mantra with little people in luscious places like that is 'DON'T touch ANYTHING!' which draws snickers from stalls nearby...and yes, I have used the facilities holding a crawling age baby and hovering...what mom has not? Port-a-johns at public events are a lot of fun with children as well. Not only are they 'cozy', and smell delightful, but my kids are always afraid they will fall in to 'that hole'...(actually, so am I. Can you imagine?)For occasions like these it is best to just fumigate them with Lysol spray and dunk them in antibacterial gel...it is alcohol based, so, the kids do dry pretty quickly.
I am teaching my kids to cough in to their elbows...Dracula style...and to sneeze the same way. I get squirrelly when I see a kid at preschool with green snails hanging outta their nose. I can spot a fevery kid a mile away---and do not think that I don't know that that 'allergy' is really pink eye!
Preschool is a playground for the germs, however I can't send my child to school in a little hazmat suit. I mean really, it would severely impede her movement on the playground...and all the kids would want to try on the respirator for sure.Kids lick, bite, chew on everything, and each other. One must accept this and pray that no kid came to school with a case of flu.
After having food poisoning on more than one occasion, I am wary of food that I personally have not prepared or have seen being prepared. I have been a waitress...I know what goes on in the kitchen...and may I remind everyone, it is in your best interest to treat your wait staff kindly.
'Pot luck' dinners are hard for me now. If I know everyone who prepared the food, then I can call them the next day and see if they were hurling all night as well from 'Aunt Ginny's famous chicken salad'...and no, I do not buy stuff at bake sales outside of grocery stores.Some people seem to have cast iron stomachs and are not effected by anything. I can look at mayonnaise based potato salad sitting in the sun, and get ill...a trait I hope my kids do not get from me.
So far, so good this season...we have not started the cycle of illness. One kid gets sick, then after passing it on to the second, feels better while child three starts getting symptoms...then child one gets well, child two is really sick, and child three is going down hill. Then child one gets sick again, child two is better...you get my point. ('Who's on First'.)
I am just keeping my freshly washed fingers crossed that we survive another season, illness free...and that my germ warfare does not send me over the edge...and I won't let you use my fork...!!!

Learning To Trust 'Girls' Again...(maybe)

Raising girls is scary....period.

I have 2...one is 14 and the other turns 5 in December.
My 4 year old is a 'pistol'! She is the embodiment of joy.
I watch her on the playground with her other girl friends...
I cringe when they all do not get along. My heart sings when they do.They are such a juxtaposition of wide open innocence and inborn modesty and femininity. They love bugs and baby dolls equally right now.

My 14 year old rocks!
She is beautiful...with a Spirit to match. She is an athlete, and seems to have a lot of good friends....so far. She is not one of the 'mean' girls---thank God. Beneath the eye rolls and the 'gosh MOM!'---she digs me. She and I have a really open and honest relationship. She knows she can talk with me about anything...I hope she never forgets that!
Neither of my girls are 'girly girls'...but I have raised them that way.
Don't get me wrong.
We have our share of princess wands, baby dolls, and lipgloss around the house....and they both enjoy smelling nice.
However, they can both hold their own when playing rough with the boys, or sprinting to a soccer ball...no doubt! When they fall...they get up. The do not linger over the dirt on their knees. They move forward. No worries. (Yet.)
I was never a 'girly-girl'.
I guess I was a 'tomboy'...building forts in the dunes, playing tag football or riding waves.
My 'girlfriends' surfed and played lacrosse. Over the years my 'girls' were in musicals with me (some of those boys were 'girlfriends' too),in the design studio with me at all hours, and, even later in life, were not 'tickled pink' over birth and breast feeding either.
My 'girls' were independent thinkers,spoke their mind, a bit edgy, feminine---to a point--and not scared of a dare or getting dirty.
I did not join a sorority in college because auditions for the musical 'Peter Pan' were the same week as 'Rush' at ECU....(which actually turned out in my favor as I made the cast and became good friends with Sandy Bullock---but I digress.)
I have always had friends who were girls...no, we did not hug, and say,'love you, boooo!'....and we NEVER jumped up and down squealing and clapping when we saw each other.

When I lived in Atlanta, after college, I became 'one of the boys'...I was the token chick who hung with about 10 guys...cute ones, mind you....as in all-American, UNC Lacrosse player cute boys. 'We' were a pack. I was the 'wing man' for a lot of them---checkin' out chicks in the ladies room to see if they were 'worthy'...
Of course, I, personally, never had a date.
Well, I take that back. I had 10 dates (when we all went out) but none were interested in ME...although they were fiercely protective. All the 'girly girls' who wanted to date 'my dates' were always ridiculously jealous that I was always around. It was hilarious how many 'sucked up' to me, to get to my 'guys'. Whatever.
Thus began my mistrust of all 'girly girls'.
When I got married, the first time, my (now X) husband told me 'I love you because you're NOT like all the girls in this town'...and I was cool with that.(hahah!)
The girls there were 'girly girls'...ex-sorority sistahs(the squealy jumping clapping kind), Junior League-ers(who chatted about birth stories at meetings instead of getting their hands dirty with something notable like helping homeless mothers),social climbers(hanging with the 'right' people and keeping up with the 'Jones's was key). Back stabbers. The kind of women who only have sex with their husbands to get a new piece of 'bling' or a kitchen remodel.
(Hey, I know how harsh that sounds, but it was reality in the tiny town I lived in.)
The 'girly girls' all circled the wagons around my X when we were going through the divorce. (I was an 'imported wife', they were all married to other wealthy hometown boys---their social standing was at stake, by God! and what is more important than that? Certainly not truth and the well being of my small kids.)
They all testified against me...purgering themselves...and I lost my young children.
(Apparently, while I was staying home taking care of my 2 little ones---and even theirs at times---I was 'doing drugs, drinking, and not concerned for the welfare of her children because she is so narcissistic, and has a skewed perception of reality'...Man, I must have REALLY been 'wasted' because I don't remember any of that!...if you really know me, that should give you a giggle.)
My very very best friend even turned against me...5 years of close friendship---'poof', gone because she 'did not want to upset' her husband who was my X's childhood friend...??? Really?
My trust in women flew right out of the window, and up came my very high stone wall.
When I moved to where I live now, I was very wary of making friends with women.
Slowly, but surely...my wall started coming down. My new sister in law is actually nice to me...and I have neighbor women whom I adore.
My new 'girlfriends' here have helped me develop trust again...I watch our girls play together. We talk about real social issues, as well as the latest funny stories about our families...I am so grateful that I have had a second chance to learn to trust 'girls' again...hopefully this will last a long time!
(But, sorry yall, I still won't jump up and down, squealing and clapping when I see them!)

Love and Tenderness

The other day I was waiting in the line at the grocery....blindly perusing the latest headlines of the tabloids.
I noticed an older couple in line ahead of me.
He was quite dashing and had a white beard... a beautiful 'old world' profile. His kind eyes were gazing upon his wife with such love and admiration---it took my breath away.
She was a petite, 'well put together' beauty. You could tell when she was younger, she must have been a 'knock out'.They both easily had to be in their late 80's.
I know I was staring...and I tried not to...but they were so beautiful together...and SO in love! He kept leaning in to talk to her---he was very tall. She would gently touch his hand as they spoke, looking up at him. He tenderly put his arm around her with such pride...and protection.
She was his...and he was hers.
I wondered how long they had been married. I wanted to know their story. They both had foreign accents...maybe French? I knew they had made it through the journey of life together...and were there, now, as each other's soul mates. There was such mutual tenderness and respect.
When I left the store, I noticed them in the parking lot. She was gently putting the groceries in the back seat...he was holding the door open for her...his hand on her back.
He then shuffled around to the other side of the car, opened her door for her, held her hand, and helped her in to her seat...How many times had he done this for his beautiful girl?
He walked around, and got in to his seat. As he started the car, I saw her lean over and kiss him.

'Baby you can drive my car...'

Today was a big day!
I finally got a new (to me) car...a 2007 Pacifica...Navy blue---(GO NAVY!)
It was weird and refreshing all at once to drive a car that actually had a working gas gauge, a driver's seat that did not lean to the left...and did not smell like foul milk. I have a 'grown up' car.
My 'new' car is 'mac daddy'...to me at least. Granted, my mother owns it, and bought it...so, once again,at 43, I am driving 'my mom's car'...visions of being 16 again dance in my head. But, whatever...it will get me from point A to B in leather wrapped style.(I did not want leather seats because they make me hot, and my legs stick to the leather when wearing shorts...plus when you move around it sounds like you are passing gas...but I will deal with that!)
I miss my 10 year old Blazer though.
I have always had a love affair with my cars. My first car was a VW Golf...ah, college in a city, parallel parking expertise, and all the fun that college life entailed...
When my first daughter was born, I traded that one in for a smokin hot Teal Ford Taurus wagon...then, when my son was 18 months old I got my Blazer.
I loved my truck! Living in the mountains, on the top of a very steep hill, my 'Blaze' could handle ice, snow and all the slippery leaves. I could throw mulch in the back, transport a muddy slobbery dog, and still feel good about it. Men admired my 4 wheelin' style, and I NEVER got stuck in the mud...plus, being a tomboy, I always wanted a 'TRUUUCCKKK' anyway.
My X father in law---one of the kindest, most wonderful men ever to grace this earth---bought it flat out for me. He wanted me to be safe---I was transporting precious cargo! (me,(he adored me) and his 2 grandchildren!)
In my divorce settlement with his son, I had to chunk out $11,000 to my X for it. My father in law had passed on by then, and I KNOW he was twirling in his grave knowing I had had to repay his gift to me...
Anyway...my Blaze and I went through a lot together in 10 years.
Moving to a new city,picking up and dropping off my kids, being 'hit and runned'...but I always took comfort in it's safety and durability. It was indestructible. Liberal bumper stickers, surfing stickers, Navy stickers, Moms Rule! stickers...Save the Bay...you name it. It was my rolling testimonial that we all needed to get it together!
This summer I had a radiator leak, and the engine flat out cooked on me.(I hate to think that the really deep puddles I drove through to create a huge wake may have contributed to the leak...but it was fun!)
I was driving home from the beach,with 2 of 3 kids, and it just started steaming...I pulled off and put more coolant in. A homeless guy helped me out, and I gave him $20 for his help. My son was like, 'MOM! I can't believe you just GAVE him $20!'...hey, he was down on his luck, a really nice person...and perhaps an angel in disguise. I hope I set an example for my son...he still talks about 'the homeless guy you gave $20 to'...
We got a little further down the road, and the engine got hot again...and just went. I was on I-95,it was getting dark, and was NOT going to pull off there! (They would have found our dead bodies in Missouri in a shallow grave...95 is notoriously dangerous, and with 2 gorgeous blonde children, I was NOT going to advertise to the next 'Bundy' that we needed aide!)
So we rolled in to the 'Oasis' Travel Park.(Yes, I sang, 'midnight at the oasis...send you camels to bed...')
We did not make it all the way in...so, my son, who is 11, had to sit in the drivers seat and steer while I pushed my truck. I was putting all I had in to it, and the car was NOT budging...my son had forgotten to take his foot off the brake. (Thanks, dude!) Two men came and helped me push it...checked the engine...and went,'ahhh'...(not a good 'ahhh'.)
'Yer injun eeus cooked, ma'am.'
Huh?
'It ain't gonna do nuttin for ya, eeits deeuhd.'
Oh, SWELL! I was about an hour from home, in the dark, 2 kids...S#^%!T!
Called AAA...and they sent a tow...I was relieved when the guy got there...and really enjoyed 'Derby's' Satan tattoo on his neck. He was cool though...and we waited for my H to get there to pick us up. I think my kids ate 4 donuts each---but at that time, I did not care...'here! look at the sparkly object! No we are not in peril, do not freak out...we are fine!'
Nothing says togetherness like being a one car family. It is like being 16 again---'hey, can I take the car? I gotta go to bank and the store...'

3 months later I have a new handsome Navy man in my life...my 'mac daddy'...
I wonder what will transpire over this next 10 year relationship?
A Navy man never let's his girl down...right?

(Now, I did have a '59 Edsel...Ed. He was a knock out...but that is another story...)

Living with 'The Dead'

The summer of '87, I moved off campus to a house on Biltmore street.
A dingy little brown 1940's style bungalow, behind the Tri-Pigs...oops, I mean Tri-Sigs...sorority house. (Sorry, but they were little rich girls with really bad attitudes.)
My house mates included:
Sue, (a psych major...who was a huge fan of the Grateful Dead...Mother Earth type of girl,drove the VW van and seriously looked like a younger, prettier, Janice Joplin.)Marty,(an art history major/violin player, who looked very straight-laced, but was a lot of fun.Marty used the enclosed back porch for her 'room' as a decoy so her parents would not find out she was sleeping with her boyfriend... she was NOT a 'Dead Head'.)
Annie,(an art major,willowy and pale, big huge Dead Head.)
...and then there was me,(advertising design major, wholesome, innocent,extremely studious, and solely dedicated to summer school...(hahha)...and NOT a Dead Head.)
Don't get me wrong...I was a hippy chick with the flowy skirts and the wild long hair...and I wore patchouli...but I was more of an artsy-gypsy-hippy...and I never ever did the drugs. (THAT I am serious about.) I never dropped acid, or any of that stuff, because I was so afraid someday one of my kids would have a ear growing in the wrong place...or something horrid! Never did 'ecstasy' because it apparently messes with your spinal fluid---I was a dancer...hello! I needed my back to function properly.(I did make some yummy cheap sangria though.)
I also disliked the Dead. *gasp*! I liked the percussion jams because they were fun to dance to...but Jerry's voice was like nails on a chalk board to me. (sorry to degrade St. Jerry...)
All 4 of us were there for Summer School, so people were in and out of our front door continuously...and then, Marty would be practicing her violin, Annie would be weaving anklets in her spare time, and Earth Mother Sue...well, I'm not really sure what she was working on back in her room.
I was taking a painting studio class and a dance class...so, I was in my studio a lot....I never knew what or who I would find at our little house.
My boyfriend at the time, was in a band...he played rhythm guitar and was soooo cool.The rest of the band consisted of a drummer, a smelly german singer, and a guy named Tracy, who played bass.
Tracy was hilarious. He was super smart, and extremely talented---but not motivated in the least. He was working the summer at Burger King, and would come over to the house to practice with the band in his BK outfit. He was the first person I ever saw smoke a cigarette without holding it, and play guitar at the same time...I was fascinated by this.
Tracy and another Dead Head girl, who lived across the street, drove totally buck naked back from DC to Greenville...(I KNOW!)...and could not stop laughing about the truckers reactions.
I had a pet miniature rabbit at the time, named Winfield, and he LOVED Tracy...he would sit on Tracy's shoulder and let him walk around. (Winfield was killed by someone who fed him drugs when I was away that summer in San Francisco. Nice.)
One morning after a long evening downtown with the boyfriends band, I woke up and almost tripped over...Jesus? It was the Lord, laid out on my floor...and look, he brought apostles...and fair maidens! (Sue had invited some people back to the house.)
They ate our food and left around 3pm.
We never knew who--or what--Sue would bring back from her latest Dead Show. Mainly fellow Dead followers who apparently had not showered in years...hence they would decide they would shower off the lovely sludge in our one shower...and again, would eat all of our food and leave.
(I think this may have been when my affair with Clorox started.)
We had Indecision stay at our house...but those guys were cool. Shep, the lead singer from Awareness Art Ensemble was a staple in the menagerie. He was the first rhasta dude I ever got to know. He was really really great---and he smelled like incense...I was fascinated by his dreadlocks.
My boyfriend's family lived in Richmond, so, when the food supply got low, we'd go to his parent's house for the weekend. His mom was an angel and sent us back with food, and canned goods.(I only had $75/month to eat off of, so this was a blessing!)
Our neighbors across the street raided our pantry as well. This guy named Shane would always eat my cereal, and drink all the milk. I finally had to have an 'intervention'...and he stopped.(Which led to his frog gigging, and the BBQ-ed frog legs he would cook on the sidewalk.)
Annie's cat had kittens that summer, and my boyfriend adopted a dog named 'Ripple'...we had fish...and a rabbit---(until he was murdered.)
All in all it was a pretty good summer. It definitely opened my eyes to some things---good, and bad.

That Fall, my mom made me move back to the dorm.

'Before I Get Hit By A Bus...'

I was thinking last night about how unpredictable life can be.
You just never know what will happen in the next moment...will I be hit by a bus? Shot with a poison dart? Slip on the floor and konk my head on the counter? Who knows?
Then I started thinking, and remembering things that I want to make sure I tell my kids. Stuff about life, dating,marriage, babies, memories I have of them that still make me smile---and laugh.
So, I am starting this series of Notes for my kids.
I don't want to forget anything about them...and I want them to have references for later---when my alzheimer's kicks into full gear...
Here I go:
You 3 are the best things that have ever---ever---happened to me. Being your mom has been the coolest experience ever! I hope I make you as proud as I am of you. You 3 have beautiful souls, hearts and minds...use them for the greater good.
I will always be here for you no matter what...don't ever be afraid to ask me anything...your momma has done a LOT of living...and seen a LOT of things. Good stuff, and really bad stuff. You cannot shock me---trust that!
You 2 girls know how I feel about boys.
I pray you do not make the same mistakes I have made.
When someone shows you who they are---believe them the first time.
Sometimes being too forgiving can be a problem.
Listen to your gut...it will never fail you.
If a guy ever hits you, or knocks you to the floor---LEAVE.
(Then,call me and come over for a chat...and a drink.)
Words can be just as abusive...and hurt just as bad---LEAVE.
You will 'fall' in love many many times...and your heart will break just as many times. You will live. There will ALWAYS be that one that got away...but trust me, there are so many people in this world who will fit in to yours---right around the corner!
Searching for 'Mr. Right', instead of 'Mr. Right Now', is worth the wait.
There is no such thing as 'one true love'...(unless you become nuns.)
When you finally DO find the 'one'...have him come over. I have a few questions for him...after I finish his back ground check. He will need to bring proof of citizenship, current medical records, and the results from his AIDS and genetic testings. This is required. (Don't laugh!)
People are never really who they say they are...and I don't want you to find this out 6 months in to your marriage.(Been there, done that.)
...and for YOU, my son...in regards to girls.
Treat all females with respect.
Be kind.
Never---NEVER---lie to a woman...she will find out, and 'the wrath of the woman scorned' is not something you want to experience.
I am raising you to be a southern gentleman.You will have lovely table manners...you will NEVER chew with your mouth open.
You will be able to cook, and do your own laundry.(chicks totally dig that.)
I know it sounds 'icky' right now, but girls like flowers, kisses and good long hugs.
Of course, all the girls you go out with will, as well, go through rigorous interviews and background checks.
I'm not letting you go to just anyone. She must be as golden as you are to me!
For all 3 of my kids: You deserve the BEST.
The best life, loves, meaningful work---and I mean that.
If you want to become a female jet fighter pilot? I support you.
If you want to join the circus? Great! (I am coming to.)
You can be whatever will make you truly truly happy...
(I will put my foot down on the knife juggling or becoming a stripper...however, they do make good money in the high class joints. I may reconsider. NO!)

I will let you chew on this Note for a while...as I ponder what else I can tell you.
(and don't forget, I have your naked baby pictures...and I am not afraid to use them! hahaha!)
I love you!
Momma~ xoxoxox

9/25/93: A Comedy of Errors...

This coming September 25th, I would have been married to my X for 16 years...
(Granted the story of WHY he became my X is a whole 'nother post...)

Every wedding has it's kinks and moments...but here are mine from that long forgotten cloudy day in September.

I arrived in VB on Wednesday before the wedding. I had my awesome gal pal W come in and run interference with the mother/mother-in-law. She was amazing---and kept me sane.
My mom had not seen my dress until then...she 'liked' it.
(I had done all of my wedding shopping by myself since I lived 5 hours away at the time. I even had my wedding portraits done alone...had them re-done...doing my own hair and make-up---which is posted))
My grandmother, who had passed away that July, had bought my dress for me. It was the most expensive dress I will ever wear for only 8 total hours...and will never wear again. I loved it though! Very 'old school', off the shoulder...aka: Jackie O-ish.
I made my own veil and 'head piece', and had decorated my own shoes...thrifty? Yes!
Thursday night before the wedding, my best childhood friend, V, had a dinner at her parents house for me...kind of a delayed bachelorette party since all my friends were from out of town. As everyone arrived, I thought,'Man, my girls can dress!'...Turns out the order of the evening was to come dressed as ME...V had gone to China Town in NYC and bought this hideous curly wig, that smelled. My other friends had every stage of my 'fashionista' self on display from my DeadHead days to the college days when I only wore black...and ALL had on frosty purple lipstick---which had been my signature color. It was cool, and embarrassing, all at the same time.
After the dinner, we went to my friend A's house on 61st street and met up with the 'boys'...ironically, an inmate had escaped in to the state forest and a helicopter, with spotlights, kept us company most of the night.
That's when my stomach started going nuts...uh-oh.
The next day was the rehearsal dinner and Bridesmaids luncheon.
The luncheon was lovely---given by my mom's good friends...but I was sick as a dog!
In all the photos I am as pale as my creamy silk jacket...and my bridesmaids all have that 'oh shit' fake smile on.
We all went and got our hair done at a salon...I had mine straightened and put in a chignon...very French...very Moi...and I had that 'killer' red dress...oh man. My red dress rocked the world...(too bad I will never wear it again...I was so sick, I lost at least 5 lbs. in two days!I was 'skinny skinny'!)
The wedding rehearsal was kind of weird. All of my X's groomsmen (all 12) were drunk. They had played golf all day...yeah.
I had planned to walk down the aisle alone because my dad (who was killed in Vietnam in '68) could not be there. Well. That backfired. I started sobbing about half way down the aisle and had to leave the building.(I have ALWAYS missed him---but at that point...I REALLY missed him.)
So, my X and I decided he would walk me down the aisle...we went through the 'dress rehearsal' and headed to the PA Country Club for the rehearsal dinner.
I had stopped hurling by then, and the vodka soda(with lots of limes) kept me going...mainly the coldness of it and the smell of the limes.
After an emotional dinner, with people telling stories about my dad---great, I started crying again---there was an 'after party' around the pool for 'the young people' (This is a southern thing so the grown ups can either go home and go to bed, or break out the good scotch without having to share.)
During the party, I called the Hotel I was staying in with my Maid of Honor that night...and they said my room 'had been cancelled'...WHAT!??!!!
My MOH and I left directly and went to the Hotel. I told them, 'Hello. I am the BRIDE...and about 65 people are staying at this Hotel...you HAVE to find me a room!'
Turns out they had a 'suite that just became available---and it has a hot tub!'----good for them because I would have ripped their eyes out if nothing was available...or slept in the lobby.
I started getting ill again, and my MOH put me in the suite and left....she re-emerged at 3am.(She was dating this totally hot guy at the time, and I totally understood that they needed to, um, spend some time together.)
Meanwhile, I had been hurling...and...oh yeah....popping Imodium now! *gasp*
(I KNOW!)
I stayed in the hot tub until 6 a.m. while my MOH slept...(wench).
We called a pharmacy and got the lovely sugary red anti-nausea liquid stuff for me so I could make it to the 'brunch' the day of the wedding.
It was a lovely brunch---don't get me wrong...but again, if you look at the pictures, all my gals have that 'oh shit!' fake smile...and I look like I am about to faint! Yes, I was...and yes, I was that ill!
3pm, September 25, 1993...game time...
My mom's friend B was our 'wedding nazi'---meaning she was the wedding coordinator...everything was timed to the minute.
My X's groomsmen were hurling in the woods outside the church I found out later...they stayed up later than we did enjoying contraband scotch.
I was hurling in the girls room...and trying to get dressed. I don't think I have ever appreciated ice cubes so much as I did then. I started popping cheez-itz, altoids, and chewing ice...so lovely!
The Bridesmaids bouquets arrived all rich and colorful like an English cutting garden...and there was this freakin MOUND of white roses, freesia, ivy thing---a la Princess Dianna---that I had specifically said I did NOT want for my bouquet. Well, guess what. I was out-voted...and I stared at this 40 lb. freaking Rose Parade float I was supposed to carry...really?
It was time to get dressed.
I hoisted the gown on...of course after one last bathroom pit stop...popping more Imodium, and drinking anti nausea medication like it was a martini.It was weird getting dressed in front of a 'crowd'---I am not an exhibitionist...and I had to leave the room.
My girls were awesome...and they looked great---as good as they could look in those lovely off the shoulder dark purple dresses...and I envied their flowers.
The photog showed up...took some pics, and we were off to the Church.
I stood outside the Vestibule...where I had been Confirmed...trying to soak it all in...kinda in 'la-la land'...I could still run, I thought...but mom had told me the 'reception is paid for...NO backing out now...'
(oh shit.) I felt like I was going to hurl again and hoisted my Rose Float up to my nose...smelled a gardenia...and calmed down.
(WAIT!...my head screamed... I don't think I want to do this!)
Then all eyes were on me in the back of the Church...my X took my arm...the music started...(I was glad I had brought a lovely brown paper towel from the girls room...my biggest fear was hurling at the altar!)
Before I knew it, I was at the altar with the minister and all these smiling faces...and I was trying to focus...not cry...and definitely not get sick.
--this is when the 'if I knew then what I know now' phrase seems appropriate.--
(*side note to my kids: I DID love your father when I married him---or rather what I thought I knew of him.*)
I made it though the ceremony...and out of the Church...straight to the girls room---again.
(Question: Any of yall tried to use the girls room in a wedding dress---with petticoats, no less???)
We all met back in the church for pictures afterwards...
The wedding photog was a crime scene/autopsy photog during the week---weddings were his weekend gig. Whenever he tried to take a pic, he would stand on a chair, and his lights would fall over...or he would. Nice.
The Groomsmen were patronizing and rowdy. My girls maintained their composure---and class.
My bro-in-law drove us to the Oceana Naval Base Officers Club for the reception...we rode in 'the White Shadow'---my beloved father-in-laws car...I rolled the windows down for some fresh air.
The reception was really lovely...mom spared no expense, and the food was amazing. I loved that we were on a Navy base and on the ocean.(Again, I missed my dad.)
However, the Jet-Jockeys were next door in the Officers Bar....so, besides the eye candy, I thought maybe my girls would meet someone!
The traditional dances and photographs(by the autopsy guy) ensued...we danced, sang, and my X drank...a lot. All of my extended family were there.
We had a reception line---which I highly recommend. I said hello to everyone...I hope!(Note to self: when the girls get married, designate a 'lipstick/powder person...or build pockets in to dress)
Time to go...
I went back in to the Officers Quarters with my girls, and my mom...and got out of my dress and in to my 'going away suit'---another Southern thing....my girls put my shoes on because I was so ill!
Rice in my face and an amazing vintage car to drive us away---Thank you's to mom...goodbyes to my friends...'
And we were off....
Champagne bucket in the back with us...My X drank the whole bottle himself...I ate the ice. We stopped at my mom's house and I left her a thank you note (after I got sick---again---in her bathroom)...and we were off to Norfolk to spend the night in wedded 'bliss'...and get on our flight to St. Martin the next morning...(or so I thought.)

Every bride has a mystical idea of her wedding night. I had bought this amazing ice blue gown---a la 1940's movie star---to 'present myself' in....hahahah!
Turns out...My X was smoking a cigarette in the bed, holding a bourbon drink in the other hand ---and the PHONE was crooked against his ear connected to the Hospitality Suite at the Hotel at the Beach...!!!! He had PASSED OUT.
Nice. I hung up the phone---after a few choice words with his frat brothers on the other end...put his cigarette out...put his drink on the table...and...changed in to my Tshirt and socks.
I then proceeded to eat the heck out of the reception food that had been sent with us. We slept in separate beds...Romantic, eh?
The next morning, 'Einstein' realized that he had misread the itinerary....as we left the Hotel...our flight to St. Martin flew over our heads.
How fun it was to see all of the guests catching their flights that afternoon at Norfolk International....
We finally made it to St. Martin...which in itself is 'a whole 'nother story!'
Again, I say...A Comedy Of Errors....
(Stay tuned for 'The Honeymoon')

Dear Roxy....

...When we adopted you in August of 2008, they told us you were 'a year to a year and a half old'.
Come to find out today----you were only FIVE months old.(yes, I finally read ALL your papers.)
Someone 'surrendered' you to the pound at a mere 4 months old! How could they?
I know you were the prettiest puppy...they must have had to move away....However, the scar on your nose, still remains a mystery.
Sweet sweet Roxanne Von Bacheler.
I must apologize to you.
For all the things you chewed up....and I was so angry with you.
For the time I even thought about adopting you out to another family because 'surely an 18 month old would NOT destroy my furniture'.
But, alas, you were but a 'wee lass'.
We love you Rox. With your pretty eyeliner, sweet ways, and your occasional 'badness'...I now understand. And I forgive you, my love!
Let's start over...shall we?
xoxox Your Momma 'Dog',
Kat~

My Apologies....

I realize that bad behavior trickles down....
So, for any of my gal pals who are having difficulties with their kids...I offer you my sincerest apologies...and here's how it all started.
I told my 14 and 11 year old children to STOP calling each other 'fat' as a cut-down.
The fighting continued throughout the summer, and they adopted the loving names to call each other:'muffin top'....and 'man boobs'.
Nice. Yeah, I know.
So I told them NOT to say that in front of their 4 yr. old sister---because knowing how things go, she'd get mad at a boy in her class and call him 'man boobs'.
And, that's just WRONG.
So then, my 4 yr.old spent a day with her 6 yr. old cousin...who taught her all kinds of surly and unlady-like things.
First: it is NOT funny when you poot and announce it to everyone. NO. It is NOT.
Second: the clinching of the fists, and the stomping off has GOT to stop. It's disrespectful...and by the way: when a grown up tells you to do something...DO IT---do NOT throw attitude around. You are 4!
Third: we do NOT say 'nanneeenanneeeboobooo'. Period. It is disrespectful, and unladylike.
Fourth: yes, you, my 4 yr. old, WILL wear a seat belt...you WILL sit in a carseat and you WILL wear a bike helmet---I don't CARE that your 6yr.old cousin is not required to.
Fifth: you will NOT tease your younger friends and act like you are the 'sh#t'...you have to follow the same rules she does!
So,my gals, when your child comes home and pinches the baby....because my 4 yr. old was a 'pill' and her big brother/sister were being horrible to each other and inevitably started the chain reaction---which has affected your kids...I apologize!

I Met An Exotic Dancer Today In Target...

I was standing in the line at Target. M was about to melt down, and I was thinking---'get me outta here!'
The girl in front of me (petite, mousy, wearing librarian glasses...looked like a nerdy Jewish girl I knew in High School) was buying funky nail polish colors, extreme make-up colors, and a make up trunk---by 'trunk', I mean a metal, opens to 50drawers, make-up TRUNK.
I commented on how cool her nail colors were...and how that was a 'mac-daddy make-up case'...
She said, 'yeah, I am always looking for something different...and my make-up bag ripped the other night.'
'Oh, really?' I say,'I used to do professional theatre and was always jealous of the girls with the trunks like that...'
She said,'Yeah! I know! I was always thinking what the heck? Why do the girls I work with need a trunk?...then I realized I needed a trunk for all my different looks...'
'So, are you a dancer?' I asked...
'Yes, I am'....she said.
'Wow! What kind of dance do you do?' I asked, thinking she is part of a ballet company or something---she is so tiny!
She looks down, pauses and sheepishly says, 'I am an exotic dancer...'
'Really?' I say, concealing my...ummm...amazement.
I asked her 'how did you get in to that?'...because I am obnoxiously chatty....
She said she used to work at PetCo, and she went swimming one day with a friend who was a waitress at 'The Foxxy Lady' here in Raleigh....and the girl said she should consider dancing...and she did!
'It's not 'me'...it's a persona...' she said.
(I nod in agreement...as a performer, I understand.)
'I would never ask my real life friends to come watch me, and I would never invite any of the girls I work with in to my private life...'
'Cool, I get it...' I say.
She went on to tell me she works in Raleigh, Durham, and Wilmington....
She said she likes to 'change up' her looks because when she is 'gone for a week at a time, they miss me...'
Of course, vicariously, I am seeing myself at some high class strip bar wearing a brunette wig and hot white platform hooker pumps....and I start laughing at myself---I could never do that----well, at least not after having 3 kids...but I could bartend...and be a bouncer, sort of!
Anyway, we said our good-byes, and off she went.
M and I walked out to the parking lot, and damn if she wasn't pulling out in a brand new Honda Accord...with plates that said 'Miss Prissy'...
'Exotic Dancing' apparently pays well.
Then I got to thinkin'....NAAAHHHH!
(hahahaha!)

The Luna Moth

Last night my family and I had the absolute thrill of seeing a Luna Moth.
I say 'thrill' because I can only recall seeing one three times in my life.
The first time I was at Camp Alleghany, about age 13...it was on the side of the tennis shed.
The second time, it was on our front porch light fixture. I remember getting my kids, then about 5 and 3 to come out and see it...I was 34.
Last night was the third sighting...
I made my husband, son and daughter come and see.
The Luna Moth is one of the most beautiful creations I have ever seen. It has a fluffy white body, and it's antennae look like small ferns. The wings are very large, and delicate...with 'eyes' on them....and the color of the Luna is the most magical green.
A friend told me this morning, that in some cultures, it is considered a 'good omen' to see one...I hope that is true!
According to my personal time span between sightings, I should be in my 50's the next time I am lucky enough to see one.
I wonder what I will be doing then?

Our Night at the ER...(Happy 14th, NaNa!)

The day started out great!
NaNa was 14 on the 14th---Bastille Day! Viva la France! Viva la NaNa!
(my 3 kids have all been born on holidays....Bastille Day, Pearl Harbor Day, and Leap Year, but, I digress.)
We finished our Day Camps, picked up Mia and Mimi D and headed to the Mall to do some birthday shopping and eat dinner...simple, yet festive!
We shopped a bit, and then went to enjoy a meal at Max and Erma's...everyone was excited for the special gourmet cupcakes waiting for us at Mimi's house later!
Our meal was good, the kids got along, everything was great.
Mimi went to the ladies room while we waited for the check...20 minutes went by...no Mimi.
I went to go check on her, jokingly saying,'I'll go make sure she hasn't passed out or something'...telling the 3 kids to wait at the table.
Holy COW!
She was ill in the bathroom...and I mean, ILL....and dizzy and about to pass out!
(for a brief second I imagined myself a psychic.)
Over the next 45 minutes, things got worse.
I got the kids out strolling--trolling---the Mall, so I could help my mom.
Have you ever been in that weird place...wondering if you should call 911? I was there.
I got Mall Security, and we decided to call in the paramedics...mom was mortified---and I knew she would kill me later....but for now, she needed more help than I could give her.
I am sure the customers wondered 'what the heck' when the gurney came rolling in all jangling with equipment, paramedics, oxygen tanks....good Lord!
(and no, no hottie EMS guys....but the man and woman were pleasant enough.)
By this point my mom was so dizzy, and kinda out of it, so she was 'non-combative'...(I only say this because later, CJ---the girl EMT---told us the call before that she had had to duck for cover and restrain a patient.)
This moment may be one of the only ones in which I am glad my teenager has a cell phone....we were calling and texting each other the whole time with updates...
So, they wheel mom out of the back of the restaurant, and I go find my kids...they were on the verge of a little tiny freak out...but this 'is going to be an exciting adventure...and we get to follow an ambulance---COOL! Right?'
Yeah!
The Mall Security guy---who was 7 feet tall, and had on a Hello Kitty' bandaid---was really nice...(and he was a Tarheel fan.)He waited with us while the ambulance got started up. Hey! And a guy on one of those 2 wheeled things---a la Paul Blart Mall Cop---whizzed by...the kids were thrilled.
NaNa was texting up a storm,and the kids in the back were 'maintaining'.
We finally arrive at the NGeneral Hospital Emergency Room.
I had to park in a sketchy ER parking lot...telling my kids 'move quickly and stick close to me---and DON'T touch anything!'
Ohhhhh. The joys of an ER waiting room...with 3 kids. I told them they better NOT have to pee because they were NOT using this restroom! Thank God for the vending machines as I broke all the rules and let them have 'brown sodas' and Doritos...
Mom had been checked in to a room in the back....triage I guess.
It was around 9pm.
I sat with my kids for a bit...assuring the kids 'MiMi has a bad tummy ache, but she will be ok...' I snuck a few Doritos and pillaged the Dr. Peppers...again, breaking my own food rules.
There were police officers everywhere.
I was not scared...really---but my vivid imagination was contemplating a drive by shooter or two women breaking in to a knife fight over a man...and then there was the guy looking at dirty pics on his cell phone with the oozing wound on his hand...now THAT scared me.
I called my friend Mary after I got my wits back together. I needed someone to be with my kids so I could go back and check on mom. ('Oozing Wound Guy' was freaking me out.)
It was dark out now...and the 'unusuals' were emerging.
My kids eyes were like saucers watching a cussing, drunk, homeless lady being rolled out on to the street...then there was the charming 'lady' who was asking around,'hey...you got a cigarette?' in her low gravelly voice...
I told my kids to 'stay small and quiet...' Mia piped in,'like a mouse, momma?'...(YES!).
Somehow I can never get her to sing her 'Jesus Song' from Bible School when I ask, but she decided now was a good time...and she was really 'giving it her all'.
So then my giggles started.
I hate it! Whenever I get super stressed, I start giggling...I get the giggles at 'inappropriate' times...after a car wreck, injury, church, funerals, court...I can't stop.It was handy now though, because then my kids started to laugh---wondering why---but still we were all 'cheery'...if anything, we looked like we were waiting for the 'special van' from the asylum to come get us...
Mary arrived---thank you Jesus---and I got to go back to see mom.
(oh, but not before a charming picture badge was made for me, and THEN the nice policeman---wearing rubber gloves--- let me through the locked door...I wondered if I could have some rubber gloves...or a jumpsuit?)
Poor mom was in bad shape.
She was hooked up to an IV...nausea meds dripping in. She was shivering and I got her more blankets. I took off her jewelry for her, and found a nifty ziplock Specimen bag to stow it all in...
Gee, and lucky for us, 'Big Brother' was blaring on the tv...and no one could find the remote---or reach the off button. Seriously?
(I was amazed at how 'blasse' the ER nurses were. I know they are over worked and underpaid, but this was my mom...ok? I was glad I was there to be a 'patient advocate' for her....but I digress.)
My daughter was texting me from the waiting room...'I am tired....when can we go'....etc., etc....Mary was an angel and took my kids back to her house---she has 3kids also...probably had nothing else to do but to bring 3 more home...ha!
It was 10pm.
Mom's blood work FINALLY came back---everything normal. 'Gastroenteritis...'
I had this affliction a month before my first wedding....was hospitalized for 3 days...it ain't pretty.(although it is a great way to lose 10 lbs in 3 days.)
Well, I thought, at least they will keep her over night to hydrate her, and watch her.
No.
(WHAT?)
No...the nurse said they'd 'release her in a few hours'...
(again, WHAT?)
Mom could not even sit up without getting ill...and I was going to be driving her 30 minutes back to her house at the Beach...and how the heck was I going to get her in to the house, up stairs...she was so weak! Mom did suggest bringing lots of beach towels and garbage bags...lovely.
(Maybe Mia would sing me the 'Jesus Song'.)
CJ ,the EMT, came and checked on mom...she was really sweet.
There was a ruckus in the hall and lots of police and detective looking guys...I pulled the privacy curtain...one of the policemen said, 'One more arrest this week and I get a toaster oven'...I saw dirty feet roll by on a gurney.
Mary brought the kids back to me at the ER...and thankfully waited and watched us load up in to my truck.
(Turns out, there had been a stabbing in that very parking lot an hour before....wonder if it was over a man? See! I was not far off, huh?)
It was 11pm.
...and we headed back to mom's. I was going to 'get the kids settled'--ha!---and turn around and go get mom from the ER. (My 14 year old would be in charge of holding down the fort.)The kids were jacked up on Doritos and Dr. Pepper...and all were thrilled to be up past bedtime.
1130-ish, I got everyone in bed---not asleep---but 'in' bed.
I was so tired I could not even form sentences correctly...and I was calling my kids by each other's names, pets names, 'you---boychild', etc.!
Then the phone rang---it was Mom!
She said the Doc was keeping her over night because she was so dizzy...and I did not have to drive back (the 30 minutes)to Norfolk and get her....
(pipe in Mormon Tabernacle Chior singing,'Aaaaalllleeeelllluuuuuuuu-YAAH!')
Holy COW!
Wow...I finally got to exhale...then everything was replaying in my head...as I hosed myself down with antibacterial gel.
Mom came home the next morning---thanks to her friend Lou for driving, and stocking the freezer with Jell-o, Ginger Ale and Pediasure popsicles!
I took Mia to my Altered Books Camp with me, and my kids went on to Day Camps...

Never a dull moment, yall. Ever.

How To 'Shop' Rodeo Drive

You may think I am crazy---but this is how my friend and I 'shopped' Rodeo Drive, had a blast---and we did not, in the least, feel intimidated.
About 12 years ago I was out in Hollywood visiting my actress girlfriend who is 'in the business'. Her temporary digs were right behind the Mann's Chinese Theatre. Her husband is a 'camera guy' in major motion pictures, and TV as well...(he also stands on his head to get rid of a cold---but that is another story.)
Nina and I had a blast doing all the touristy things around 'the Wood'...some people even recognized her on the street.
Remember 'Dawson's Creek'? She played Katie Holmes' big sister in that show!...(I met Katie---she was really beautiful and sweet...and blew me away when she asked Nina for a cigarette...again, another story.)
After spending a few days hiking past Madonna's house, going up to the Observatory, checking out hand prints outside of Mann's, riding bikes at the beach,walking Hollywood Blvd looking for hookers, we decided to go in to Beverly Hills.
Wow. I mean really...wow.
As a designer I was salivating over the store windows....and over the amazingly plastified women walking down the street. Nina and I played the 'guess what kinda work she's had done' game...aka: 'Fake or Real'.
Now, here is how we survived the 'intimadators' aka: sales people---
Being that both Nina and I are good actors, we assumed the roles of bored wealthy housewives....and dove in. Gucci, Prada, Harry Winston, Hermes,Givenchy, Chanel,etc.etc.etc!
I watched the sales people cringe and look around when we walked through the doors...(I was wondering if they were secretly calling security.)
We were not dressed like bums or anything, but we were not 'to the 9's' as the 'ladies' we passed on the street.
As we perused the racks, or cases, we maintained a dialogue about such things as my 'husband's' estate in Monaco', and how 'he hated the new Jaguar he bought and tried to give it to me, but I did not want it because it was silver and did not impress me', and how 'our new Belgian nanny was NOT working out', and how 'I thought she was having an affair with my stable boy'...and how Nina 'really needed to come by some weekend because the guest house is always open for her'---and we 'had just renovated the pool'....
We were subtle about it...mainly just quiet conversation amongst friends...but it was hilarious to watch the sales people...they became more interested in 'helping' us as we went on....
I remember picking up an amazingly gorgeous Hermes bag---a '5 mortgage payments' one...and saying to Nina,'I like this...but I already have one similar that I got in Cannes.'
I don't know if the sales people really believed us...but it was fun to play act...and neither the looney bin van, nor a police car, ever pulled up the street to take us away.
I mean, really. Everything out there is fake, made up, or an illusion in some sort of way....right?
We had a great time...'shopping Rodeo'...and laughing our heads off!

Wave Rider Turned 'Equestrian'...

I have always loved horses.
I started riding when I was about 5...on and off for years.
I was never the obsessed girl who could only think of her horse, and collected the plastic ponies...but I loved horses, and riding.
My mom and I used to go up to Camp Carysbrook, when I was about 5, with the Cumisky family....they had 6 kids and ran the camp in the summers. I wore my riding hat from the time I got up in the morning, until I was forced to take it off to sleep.
It was a good look with my cutoff shorts, 'peace' tshirt, and tennis shoes. It made my head sweat, but I did not care...I was cool. Everyone knew I rode---because I wore the hat...all the time. Yeah.
When I was 12, I was lucky enough to go to Camp Alleghany...and I got to ride---for real! I remember having to leave during the Blue/Grey Team 'sing off'...and hike up the hill to the stables for class.
There was a creepy part, on that path through the woods, just after you passed the Dining Hall, and before you could see the Stables---and we used to run through there like bats outta hell.
My ensemble' was a bit different this go 'round...
We had to wear jeans,riding boots...and the famous riding hat. My black velvet riding hat was more like a huge mixing bowl with a strap to hold it on to my huge head.(we all have big heads in my family...it's a curse.)
My rubber riding boots came up to my knees...offered no real protection to my feet, and were hot as heck! Plus, after class, I had to get someone to help me get them off because they were much like a 'chinese finger torture' when removed alone. (Thank you counselor Trudy for letting me use your butt to get them off!)
I weighed all of 90 lbs that summer, and they gave me the biggest horse: Tonic Water, aka: 'TW'...he was HUGE...and stubborn...and lazy.I always had to use the steps to get up on him...I think the Counselors had pity on me the first day when I had to repeatedly hoist my leg up, like a Rockette, to reach the stirrup.
TW and I had a love/hate relationship.
One day, after a good ride, while I was giving him his water, he casually stepped on to my foot....and leaned. I could NOT get him off my foot! and thanks to the chinese torture/no protection boots, my foot was being crushed. I put my whole 90 lb. self in to trying to get him off...he never even raised his head...instead, he eyeballed me from the side and kept slurping his water. (I think he was smiling...really. I do.)
I imagine, to the observer, this had to have been hilarious to see...like a cricket trying to move a sleeping dog.
I have never been a 'girl-girl' and I was not going to cry...but wow, did my foot hurt! Finally a friend came and practically body slammed him from the side and he moved his hoof over 6 inches like, 'oh, sorry, was I standing on you?'
Then the ultimate insult, TW raises his head out of the water...big spitty horse water dripping off his face...and sneezed on me.Horse snot. Nice.
I still loved my horse.
I learned how to groom him, braid his mane and tail, and muck his stall. I could saddle and bridle him by myself...I was in Heaven.
At the Camp Horse Show I got 1st place---and a fat blue ribbon---in Showmanship. TW was gorgeous! However, I think I got first place because I actually got him to trot while I ran next to him....everyone was laughing and cheering when I got his lazy ass to trot...I was practically sprinting next to him because his stride was 4 times mine! I loved my horse.
Another day, I volunteered to go to the lower pasture and bridle up the horses and bring them all the way--- through camp---back to the stable. No saddles, just a bridle.I was proud that the riding teachers thought I could do this...next stop, the Kentucky Derby?
I got in to the field with TW...lazily chewing on his grass...and he did that sideways look at me. He would NOT raise his head so I could get his bridle on.I had the bridle over my shoulder, struggling to get his big fat head up and get the bit in his mouth before he went back to his snacking. TW had a bad habit of thrusting his bit forward, with his tongue, so it was not placed properly---it would end up on the top gums of his front teeth, not back behind his back teeth. He was good at faking me out....(this will come in to play momentarily.)
My Counselor flung me up on his back---he was still eating...and I jerked his head up, got him under my control...and we were all off. We had about 6 or 7 horses...some on leads, others being ridden. We started through the Camp...getting close to the tennis courts. A 'cease fire' was called for all tennis balls as to not spook any of the horses. I felt super cool because none of my friends from home rode, and there I was, bare back, like I was riding in the Rose Parade...waving. Yeah.
Then...somebody (idiot!) yelled at another girl on a horse...the horse she was leading got loose, and started to take off.
Suddenly, TW, Mr. Lazy Ass, decided he was at Church Hill Downs and the gates had just opened...Oh crap! I thought. No saddle, no stirrups...just the reins.
(This was one of those moments you 'never forget'.)
I was pulling back on TW's reins...to no avail...he took off at a full hand gallop after the loose horse...who luckily was headed up the path to the stables.
I was holding on for dear life as tree branches were smacking me in the head.(Thank goodness I had my black velvet mixing bowl on my head!)
I assumed the 'jockey position' and put my head down next to TW's neck. Still trying to rein in my idiot 'thinks he's a derby contender' horse.
I can still hear Cooper Dawson---who ran the camp---yelling 'SLOW DOWN!
All I was thinking was 'please don't trip on the rocks TW!'...then for a brief---and I mean brief---second, I felt like Liz Taylor in 'International Velvet'.
When we reached the stables, TW came to a dead stop almost throwing me over his head. I slid off his head and hit the ground on my feet.
And I did, I am sorry to say, cry...and I punched him in the neck out of frustration and adrenaline overload! (which, coming from a 90 pounder, did not faze him as he walked over to get water.)
I know my instructors were freaking out as they rode up...
Turns out, TW had thrust his bit out...so as I was pulling him back, I was pulling on his front teeth and gums...and that had to be uncomfortable...then I felt bad.
I finally calmed down...enough to stand with TW while he got some water...yup. He was looking sideways at me...I moved my foot away from him. He continued to slurp his water---(a sound I love!)and when he raised his head, he did not drop spit all over me, or sneeze.
I led him to his stall, closed the gate, and hung up his bridle in the tack room.
I went back to see him before I walked back down the hill. He came over and put his head up so I could reach him. I scratched him between his eyes and rubbed the top of his velvety nose. He sighed...and did that horse 'coo'...not a neigh, but like a human would say 'ahhhh.'
We were friends again...and I loved my horse.