Kiss My Cheese Grits

After a mid-week de-stressing meltdown (something I'm finding myself having more & more of as I grow deeper into my 30's), the conversation that I was having with dear hubby shifted gears and the focus became "flaws."  He enlightened me to the fact that "everyone has flaws."  They do?  Really?  I thought I knew some folks that seemingly embody perfection.  Since dear hubby says nobody is perfect and that these folks have flaws (albeit not like mine),  I'm going to remember that the next time their perfection stuns my brain and leaves my head feeling weary.  Afterall, dear hubby is smart, and I trust his judgement more than mine most days.  He's always been my ground wire.

If you were lucky enough to grow up in a household where shows like Alice (& later Mel's Diner) and The Carol Burnett Show regularly graced your home's one & only TV screen with a channel dial  & no remote, then you just may have developed a good sarcastic sense of humor like I did.  I remember having TV dinner nights with my metal E.T. or Smurfs TV tray plopped down a body's length from the TV, and I remember laughing hysterically while watching these shows.  Today my kids occasionally use those trays, and I have the warm fuzzies every time I see this.  My childhood totally comes back to me as they spring open the rusty legs on the trays & excitedly hover over their grub - I can almost smell my family's old house & hear that old TV's channel dial clicking... 

While watching these shows as a kid, I was indeed laughing along with my Mom & older siblings that probably fully grasped the themes of said shows better than I did, but I was honestly overtaken by a guttural laugh every time Flo would utter those magic words and tell the man of the hour to well, "kiss [her] grits."  And I recall trying to imitate Carol Burnett when she would drive home a point by giving that look which brilliantly conveyed shock, anger, & annoyance with her eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.  It was the best.

One Halloween dear hubby dressed like Gone with the Wind's Rhett Butler while I tried to pay homage to Carol Burnett & dressed up like her version of Scarlett O'Hara, complete with a curtain rod for my dress.  Sadly only a handful of people at the party got it.  They were obviously deprived of nearly the best sketch comedy ever written on The Carol Burnett show. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k6bOpJ5elW8

Flo and nearly all of the characters that Carol Burnett played on her show were written with flaws, because let's face it -- other people's flaws are sometimes laughable.  However those women (the actresses) were  proudly committed to conveying their characters' flaws.  From this point forward, I am committing myself to accepting my character flaws.  I've always tried to be an open book, so why not just move on?!  I should feel like I can just be me - whereever I go. 

As a stay-at home-mom with too much time for introspection and reflection, I do realize that this whole blogging thing is semi-pathetic.  I guess I am trying to climb the self actualization pyramid as I pour a few ounces of who I truly am into this blog in hopes that if just one other person can relate & gets it, then  I'll have been helpful.  I've debated taking it down.  I've debated why I'm posting things.  I've had remorse after posting things, especially curmudgeonly things, but I've told myself that I have to be me and this is what I am reduced to at the moment.

If you take issue with the fact that I am occassionally overly sensitive, that I try too hard to be too kind, that I have a charitible heart, & that I pretend to be seasoned at domestic things & do a sad job of emulating Martha Stewart, then here's a Carol Burnett glare for you.  If you don't like that I enjoy publicly embarassing friends by being a goofball, am sporadically obnoxious, will still do a cart wheel with two hands or one, pretend I am still limber & think I can do a high leg kick, am randomly outspoken, refuse to join religious or political debates, will not pretend to be a gym rat, carry a spare tire, & refuse to give up fatty foods, am known to enjoy one too many glasses of liquid bread & make some mean macaroni, then you can kiss my cheese grits.

Thank you, Flo & Carol (& dear hubby), for teaching me to lift my chin & to accept who I am.  Thank you, Mom, for allowing me to watch those shows as a kid with you.  Thank you, Edie Brickell for singing, "What I am is what I am.  Are you what you are - or what?"  Now, I've put a good song in your head...sing it loud!
Other women, be encouraged, & be yourself -- your best self.  If you don't know who that is, then take time to figure it out.  I'm still doing that...Men, give thanks that your woman hasn't told you to "kiss [her] grits" for good, and be honest, yet encouraging, whenever possible.  If your woman asks you if her dress makes her butt look big, then man up, be her friend, and politely find the right words to tell her to change her dress.  We all only live once, so be real, be you and take time to laugh at those who are seemingly perfect.  No one is.

In the words of the Serenity Prayer commonly embraced by twelve-step programs everywhere:

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference."

And...for the record, I like my grits salted, buttered, & of course, "covered." 

**For those not privy to what "covered" means:

(1) That's unacceptable.

(2) It's the best way to eat most foods.

(3) Because I'm nice I'll clue you in -- "covered" is Waffle House slang for "with cheese."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftbm8EZZDqI

Delivering One of My Dad's Many Anecdotes

If you grew up with someone like my Dad in your life, then as an adult you may now realize that he truly was full of wisdom when he was telling you all those stories that you sometimes pretended to listen to as a kid.  No, I'm not confessing that I wasn't listening, but I will confess that I must have appeared listless at times as he would interject his own stories with a whistle, a "Hello, Operator," or a loud clap just to be certain my listening ears were on.  Clearly I was listening as I do remember most of his stories, especially the one I am going to share here.

33 Reasons Why I Adore My 33-Year-Old

On October 22, 1978 a blue eyed boy measuring 19.5 inches & weighing 7 lbs., 2 oz. was born who would someday become my 6' 2" best friend, my hubby, my babies' daddy, and my companion until the end.  In honor of dear hubby's birthday I feel compelled to share with the world some of the random things that I absolutely adore about him, and whether you know him or not you may be amused:

1.  He shares my love for The Beatles.  John is also his favorite.  This tidbit is the reason we were introduced, and the reason we'll still need each other when we're 64.

2.  His Type B personality helps to keep my highly Type A in check.  He adds some Yang to my Yin.  "Yang" refers to the sunny side, & coincidentally one of his many nicknames in life was "Sunshine."

3.  He will forever be my high school sweetheart.  Yes, people snicker when we confess this, and we've been told too many times that it's rare that these couples make it.  We'd like to think that perhaps we'll break the mold as we truly were M.F.E.O. (as no one else could really live with either of us...just kidding, of course).

4.  His undying devotion to Clemson football surely is impressive, especially when he shatters pocket radios into a gazillion bits in the stadium (probably due to one of Ron Cherry's terrible calls).  It's a fact that he bleeds orange, and he is definitely NOT a fair weather fan like those Cocky Roosters.

5.  Albeit rare these days he's been known to snore down the walls, sleep walk, sleep fight, sleep talk and sleep eat.  Ask him about White Cheddar Popcorn.  I do adore this until a shove comes my way; it's entertaining to shove back, especially at 3:00 a.m.

6.  He LOVES "Back to The Future," but I do not.  Sci-fi (& Doc) ain't my thing, but 50's McFly is oddly cute, and it's hard to dislike a movie with Huey Lewis songs gracing the soundtrack.  Quantum Leap is also a favorite of his.  If time travel were possible, then Josh would be a great candidate.

7.  We were best friends first, and we excelled at cutting school & taking road trips to the bowling alley, W.H., or Clemson.  He once cut school with a gal pal of mine, but met me at my car after school with a present, a Lennon t-shirt.  Fifteen years later it still hangs in my closet, and we're still pretty good at taking road trips, especially to Clemson.  {Kids, cutting school is bad.}

8.  He shares my fondness for bowling, and he even worked at a bowling alley when we were newlyweds.  That's right, Daddy once disinfected stylish neon shoes for a living while Mommy attempted to teach rambunctious, pubescent youth who are eerily in today's workforce.  I miss the care-free bowling league days.
 

9.  He embraces his inner-hippie just like me, and once wore the lovely thrift store purchases I would add to his wardrobe.  Corduroy & that fat tie I bought for him will may a comeback...and if not we can always wear them to Phish shows.  Where's that orange VW bus we're supposed to have bought by now?

10.  His intricate wisdom of seemingly all things on and out of this Earth still amazes me to this day.  He is quite the TEDster, and he'll even explain carbon nanotubes to your listening ears.  He did this to me last night just as I was bed bound...urgh...

11.  When he gets fixated on a task it may take a while but the task will get done right.  However anything requiring directions will probably not be complete without a few choice words about what a P.O.S. the item is.  This applies to cribs, beds, TV cabinets, bikes, toys, etc.  A trait we don't share = patience for diagrams & directions.

12.  #11 just reminded me of the "Perfect Pancake" episode...ask him how a hole ended up in one of our old apartment's kitchen walls...yes, even that episode & similar episodes have added to my adoration for him.

13.  He has the best dimpled grin, & hopefully it's gleaming as he reads this.

14.  His eyes charm me everyday as do those of our kiddos.  I can see their daddy smiling back at me in their eyes sometimes.

15.  He does have wavy hair that I'd love to see long, perhaps in retirement when we live in Asheville again...

16.  He's a man of ever changing facial hair, but he does not take the grooming of it to the level of a Backstreet Boy.  I like his 5:00 shadow and the fact that he grows a mountain man beard every winter.

17.  He's never complained that I claimed the best chair in our living room shortly after I bought it for him.

18.  He sleeps with just as many "huggie pillows" as I do.

19.  He is skilled at making beer.  While it makes a royal mess, takes up a lot of space, and turns our kitchen/garage upside down, I respect his hobby and I've enjoyed most of the fruits of his labor (the purple Blueberry Wheat...not so much...).  Someday we'll have that microbrewery...

20.  While I sometimes hear many voices in my head, he's generally the voice of reason.

21.   The most frequently used pet name he has for me is "dork."  He knows I'm proud of my dorkdom, and he respects that I sometimes enjoy flying my freak flag at full mast.  Going against the grain is healthy, and he knows I fully apologize for any embarrassment I impart.

22.   We both play well with others until we challenge each other to Scattergories or Scrabble.  War nearly ensues as apparently we're quick to have petty disagreements over word choice...Together we'll beat anyone in Taboo though!  Our mere telepathy makes Taboo too easy for us (My favorite example of this was as follows --  My clue = "I hate this."  Josh's correct guess = "Ham!").

23.  We've helped each other's pallets evolve.  Gone are the days of Ramen & Hamburger Helper.  He now eats mushrooms, olives, and onions thanks to my pushing, and thanks to him I've tried (but didn't like) antelope, duck, scallops, and gator...I still refuse venison, any meats served raw, & HAM, and he knows to dial down the taste testing pressure with these things.  Oh, and I'd never try his beloved "bologna bowls."

24.  He's a safe driver...most of the time...just don't wheel into a parking space that he's calmly waiting for...Man in the Target parking lot, you and your car are lucky I was a passenger in the car you cut off that day.  Sometimes I'm dear hubby's voice of reason.

25.  He is always "just curious," and he inspires me because he takes time to feed his big brain about the things that interest him, such as operating an all grain home brewing system, defeating the game of craps, visiting outer space, being an amateur meteorologist, being politically savvy, embracing  technological advances and reading all that he can.  He's a smart, yet cool nerd.  He's younger than me, so I can pretend I'm wiser, right?!

26.  I've referred to him as my 'ground wire' before, because well, he's grounded.  He's sensible.  You can ask him anything and generally he's a straight shooter, although I do think he occasionally is guilty of that typical male thing where he simply nods with a befuddled glance when asked a question (especially when the question is about my clothes or when a game is on).  He's the kind of H.R. guy I'd respect.

27.  Give him beer and bluegrass, and he's in all his glory...me, too.

28.  He is the family man I always knew he would be.  Our kids flock to him when he comes home.  Next to me and our dog, they're his biggest fans.   They share his love of learning, and they have learned so much from him about The Beatles, Clemson football's roster, C.J. Spiller, our President, constellations, the differences between tornadoes, tropical storms, and hurricanes, the guitar, iPad apps, maybe even home brewing...the list goes on.  He gives better airplane and horsey rides than I do.  He encourages rough housing.  He has a cooler car.  He makes time for the kids, and that time is just plain fun.  Rightfully so, the kids idolize him. 

29.  He pokes fun at my quirks & borderline OCD related to dirty dishes in the sink, paper towel/toilet paper rolls hanging a certain way, items being placed in a certain space, etc., but he politely obliges my odd hang-ups...oh, except for the time that he used my apartment key without permission  in college, rearranged the entire apartment, & hid to watch my reaction.  What a gag that was!  I was so thrilled to come home to my kitchen table in my bedroom, my curtains taken down, food in my dryer, my laundry on the floor, etc.  I laughed so hard...NOT.  That was cruel, and you bet that key was revoked.

30.  We both love to cook, and as a team we can make a mean meal.  He'll even offer to clean the kitchen, and try to do it right.  Ha - See #29.

31.  We share the same warped sense of humor.  Spare the dirty jokes, sometimes the dryer, more uncomfortable, the better.

32.  Now for the mushy stuff:  He is overly considerate, uber caring, kind, sweet, appreciative,  generous, honest, mannerly, respectful, secure, passionate, honorable, humble, a romantic, a great coach, an intellectual, a true Renaissance man, and devoted to God, his family, his children, & very lucky me.   His picture could be placed by "a good man" in the dictionary.

33.  He likes to give surprises, but he can't stand getting them.  I hope you like this one, dear.

34.  One to grow on, as they say:  This list could very easily be infinite, and that is precisely why I adore dear hubby.  And he has never faulted me for being too wordy... 

Happiest of birthdays and cheers to the man I feel blessed to have in my life.  You amuse & amaze me every day, Josh.  You are my Sunshine.

You're not quite an "Old Man," but I'll still love you when you are even if you become crotchety like me. 

Our Dawg's 87.5 Priceless Human Years

On June 25, 1999 I wrote the best check I've ever written.  It was for a dog adoption fee of $45.00 to the Anderson County Animal Shelter.  On that day I also purchased about a year's worth of shredded carpet, scratched doors, chewed crates, & $100 fee in damages to an apartment where pets weren't allowed.  Add to that fee 12.5+ years of numerous squeaky toys (a.k.a. "babies"), fur covered floors & at least six new vacuums, countless vet visits, surgery, antibiotics, beds, assorted treats, bones, bowls, and special food for changing dietary needs.  Above all I paid a fee for a true best friend named Mickey, priceless memories and unconditional love.  So, the old adage claims that you can't buy love, and I'm here to tell you that in fact you can.

Here's how that day went down....

My high school sweetheart, Josh, and I were entering our senior year at Clemson University.  We were fortunate to have lived in the same apartment building.  He was in apartment #1401, and I was in #1403, one floor up.  Prior to this point not only had we survived three years of college together and gotten engaged, but Josh had suffered traumatic injuries to his leg (he tore his perennial nerve and three of the four major ligaments in his knee).   These injuries and the multiple surgeries it took to repair them landed him on crutches for at least a year.  Surely this was a good time to add a clingy, uber energetic puppy in need of potty & discipline training to the mix.

I don't recall the impulsive conversation that led us to make the drive to the Animal Shelter, but I do vividly recall what we saw once we arrived.  I demanded that we check out the older dogs first, because in my heart I felt the most horrible for them.  We walked down the rows of caged seniors where I quickly fell in love with what must have been the two eldest dogs on the block just happily lounging in their cages.  Josh quickly led me to the puppies where the first cage we spotted contained the "Pet of the Week:  Mickey."  Of course Mickey was putting on quite a show for our attention, jumping up and down as if he was exclaiming, "Pick me!  Pick me!"  His food and water dishes were both knocked over, and I'm fairly certain there was some poo in his cage, as well as some shredded newspaper which must have served as piddle pads.  Of course he had a sister who had already found a good home.  Her name was Mallory - get it?  "Mickey & Mallory" from Natural Born Killers.  Oh, brother...certainly he was predestined to wreak havoc.

He was cute though.  He was black and so fluffy with a gray butt that appeared as if he had sat in paint.  He had these tender brown eyes that seemed as if they could read your mind.  He wouldn't stop licking us and panting leaving his sweet Puppy Chow breath in the air.  The gal from the front desk moseyed over to tell us that he was the only puppy that was fixed and "ready to go home today."  Ugh....

Was there any need to look any further - our heartstrings were being forcefully tugged by this little guy.  Of course, the next thing the gal says with a leash in her hand is, "Would you like to take him for a walk?"  Well, it was odd to me that this resembled a test drive.  If we like the way this puppy drives, maybe we'll buy him!  He was so stubborn on that leash.  He held it in his mouth, shook his head, and tried to steer us.  Josh and I laughed and laughed because it was so "cute."  Hmmm....we needed to think about this.

Upon returning him to his cage and explaining to the gal that we needed to think this through she politely let us go without putting on the pity.  As we walked to the car, I saw two dogs being placed into the back of a truck.  You guessed it - it was the two old seniors that I thought would make great pets.  Only this time they looked different - drugged.  Their time was up.

As I drove Josh's old pick-up truck away (Josh was still on crutches and had a large knee brace on), I broke down crying.  We hadn't even gotten a mile away, and I had to pull over.  It was an ugly cry, folks, full of snot and those sounds that make humans sound like seals.  Josh comforted me, and said, "Let's go get Mickey, and take him home."  Those tires squealed as we raced back.  The ladies at the front desk were laughing hysterically as we trampled in.  One of them said, "We knew you'd be back!"

One Adoption Agreement and a check for $45.00 later we were the proud new owners of the Pet of the Week:  Mickey.

Off to Wally World we went to pick up supplies, our first bag of Puppy Chow, a leash, and a bowl.  His collar couldn't come from there though.  That purchase required a pit stop at Tiger Sports Shop.  Our dog had to have a Clemson collar, of course, and he always has had one. 

Then, it was time to introduce him to his new home at Cedarwood Apartments (which we lovingly called "Cedarhood" - it was not exactly a lovely place to live, but for college students it was dingy perfection).  Josh's roommate was gone and wasn't going to be privy to this for a few days.  When he found out he wasn't happy about our impulsive purchase but even he grew to love this dog.  My roommate greeted us on the porch and said, "What have you two done?"

Oh, yeah, we had to introduce him to my feisty cat, Molly, too.  She's the reason he rubs on people for attention.  He learned that trick from her.  It was because of her that Mickey mainly lived out his college days in #1401 with Josh. 

He was one attention craving puppy.  My favorite example of this is the time that Mickey kept putting a toy in Josh's lap for Josh to throw while Josh was trying to read the latest John Grisham novel.  Mickey sulked when Josh refused to entertain his desire to play fetch.  The next day Josh returned home from class only to find the last half of this novel torn to bits all over the apartment, and in the center of it all was one smug pup wagging his tail.

He was also notorious for eating things he shouldn't, cat poo included.  "It's a delicacy to dogs," according to his vet.  While on a trip to a friend's family vacation home on Lake Burton, Mickey disappeared and when he was found it was discovered that he had eaten TWO whole bags of Wonder Bread.  The next Lake Burton trip Mickey severely injured a claw which nearly bled all night and made for a fun cleanup of the Lake house.

We somehow survived this itchy pup's first year, and I moved into what would be our first apartment as a newly married couple.  Before our wedding I graduated (Josh's graduation was delayed a semester due to the injuries which simmered down his class load), and graduation night we nearly lost our pup.  After my graduation ceremony, we had a nice lunch catered by family.  Josh's mom had provided a variety of pies, and my favorite was this awesome, homemade German Chocolate Pie.  Leftovers remained on the kitchen counter and in the fridge of the apartment.  Family left and Josh and I hit Tiger Town Tavern, T.D.'s, and perhaps one or two more of Clemson's finest watering holes with friends to celebrate four years of college behind me and a new teaching job right around the corner. 

Friends crashed with us at the new apartment.  The next morning we awoke to a horrible stench, piles of doggie diarrhea and doggie vomit.  A licked clean pie tin sat in the center of the kitchen floor.  No!!  Our puppy had eaten chocolate and a lot of it!  Josh immediately went to the Ingles across the street to rent a steam cleaner.  Our brand new apartment's carpets were really christened that night, and it's amazing that our puppy survived.  To this day I still can't fathom how Mickey reached the pie which was so diligently pushed way into the corner of the counter where I thought for sure he couldn't get to it.  Josh's poor brother and one of my gal pal's were kind enough to help us clean up the massive mess, all the while miraculously refraining  from vomitting ourselves.

12.5+ years, various jobs, SEVEN moves including the heat of south western Georgia and the tundra of Buffalo, NY, and two children invading his space later this dog is still with us.  He loves our children dearly, even when the tug on his tail or ears, and we know he would risk his life in a heartbeat to protect them.  His health has been deteriorating more steadily over the past year, and his arthritic hips make him somewhat less spry. 

I don't think he'll be able to jump on to kitchen counters ever again, but then again he has always amazed me.  This week he suffered what I thought was a stroke and the end of his life.  I found him in a state that I hope to never see again.  He's been diagnosed with vestibular syndrome and now has a tilted head and shifty eyes, conditions which may resolve in a few weeks.  For this reason, we couldn't let him go just yet.  He's still happy as he's still panting in our faces and still nearly knocking things down with wagging his tail when he hears or sees us.  We thought we were facing a nearly impossible decision this week, and we know that that decision is imminent.  In the meantime, we are holding out hope for a speedy recovery and using a hoist to assist him with walking since his equilibrium is still mighty off kilter.  We think he would want us to at least try everything before we hug him goodbye and say, "See ya later, old buddy dawg."

We can only hope we will have lived the life he's lived that surely gets him immediate entrance into the pearly gates.  He's taught us countless lessons on life, taught us to be calm yet encouraged us to be free, & he's managed to convey unspoken things to us with his eyes that let us know he loves us and he's going to be okay.  When leashed he's always been the leader.  He leads us.  We were destined to meet him, take him into our lives, to care for him, and to be forever blessed by the memories of him.

Color Me Curmudgeon

I heard something while shopping in a department store the other day that made me want to drop my would-be purchases and incessantly box my ears while running for the door & screaming, "NOOO!"

Can you guess what it was?

I'll give you a hint - it's annoying & it stays in your head...

Doot-doot-dee-doot-doot-doot...

I don't even know the lyrics, and I don't want to.

It was...

A horrible Michael McDonald song.

There I said it - "horrible."

{This is for you, Josh.  I think you may actually care for him even less than I do, and I'm glad we agree that his voice is excruciating.}

Call me a curmudgeon for not liking the musac. 

Now, I’m going to take my turn at being a social critic & tell you what else I don't like, and you tell me if you agree:
*If you disagree, this is not a forum for debates.  Also, friends, do not use this list against me for your own amusement.  You will be sorry.

•   Spam.  The meat product AND the unsolicited kind.  Both are bad.
• The usage of the non-words:  "AnywayS" & "Irregardless" -- Look them up, because you're wrong-o.
• Sales assistants that hover & comment on my selections - Once upon a time I was one, and I know fake when I hear it.
• Wait staff with no charisma - I once heard a friend say he had a tip for his awful waitress and that tip was "Don't paint your toenails with your pantyhose on."  I intend to use this line only once in this life time, and I will reserve it for the most unpleasant server I encounter.
• Cashiers who sigh, don't acknowledge my children, and/or hand me my receipt crumpled with my change without counting it back to me.
• Passersby who stare at my itchy kids and stop me only to say, "Looks like ya got your hands full."  Duh.
• Josh, I love you, but please stop leaving me with a napkin sized piece of sheet when you roll over like a cocoon in the covers.
• Taxi drivers that take the long way and take advantage of us tourists - Karma, Mr. Las Vegas...
• The biggest fashion faux pas of them all - socks with sandals.  This physically pains my eyes.
• Racial slurs - Archie Bunkers, there's no room for bigotry in 2011.
• People who wear sunglasses inside - I'm sorry, are you Madonna?  She's the only one allowed to pull that off.
• A car salesman in a bad tie that won't let me just walk the lot
• Poor grammar - If you wanted to cross the "desert" would you do it twice?  NO, there are NOT two S's in deSert!  Dessert = cake, not the Sahara - certainly you might eat TWO pieces of cake.   Also, over “there” is a place, “their” is a possessive pronoun, and for Pete’s sake “they’re” is a conjunction for “they are!”
• People who take zero pride in their jobs – iron your shirt, be happy that you have that job, and remember you DO receive a pay check.
• People with access to a bath that refuse to take one - please, do humanity a favor.
• Fluorescent lighting - ouch…
• Noisy eaters - close your mouths, or maybe I should sit near you while eating at every meal as you help me lose my appetite.
• Scab & boogie pickers (and eaters of said dried bodily fluids) - just being honest, folks, they're annoying.
• Pajamas in public.  Gross.
• Slippers in supermarkets - put some SHOES on, please.  Some of us are germaphobes, and we don't want to ponder the bottoms of those things on your bedroom carpet after they've just skidded over squashed grapes & Lord only knows what else on Wally World's floor.
• While we're on the subject of shoes, please take yours off before walking on my carpet.  Thankfully we gained this habit while living in the tundra of Buffalo, NY.
• Political debates - leave those at my doorstep, too.  They're not allowed in my house.
• Parents that ignore their children's misbehavior not as a behavioral tactic but because they're lazy - Hop to it, Mama - Little Johnnie's a bleeder!
• Parents who drag their children by one arm in public - come on!  Let me do that to you and see if you like it.  What?  You're shoe came off two aisles back?!  I witnessed this at well, Wally World, of course, and in retrospect I regret simply picking up the shoe and returning it to the angered parental figure.  I should have chucked it at her big noggin'.
• Double dippers.
• Parents who spank in public - if you're going  to spank your kid repeatedly, then please note the rest of us don't want to see what a demon you look like while doing it (Is my stance on spanking clear?  Sorry - I'm not trying to start any debates over here).
• Kids who consistently bully other kids - reserve the spankings for those punks.
• People who are cruel to animals - seriously, grow up.
• People who don't wash their mitts after a pit stop - again, grow up.
• Stating "add cheese" only to find a hamburger in my basket...you charged me $0.25 for it; where is it? 
• Follow the arrows, folks, stop driving the wrong way in parking lots and don't drive slow in the LEFT lane.
• People who snag a parking space from someone who was clearly waiting...my dear hubby desperately wanted to key a sports car one busy Christmas at Target...I said, "There are cameras here."
• I'll refrain from further discussing bad drivers, because my veins are pulsing and I am a self-admitted lead foot who can throw down some road rage like the worst of 'em.
• Over-insertion of one's opinion - if I feel that I need it I will ask.  And no, you are NOT always right.  Sometimes others are worthy of the last word.
• Men in skinny jeans - unless you're the lead singer of Aerosmith or a wayside '80's hair metal band, you don't have a license to do this.
• People who leave a toilet paper roll empty when new rolls are visible.  Wipe, but leave some for the next gal/guy.  Also, place the roll with the paper hanging the right way - DOWN.
• Receiving fruit or coins while trick-or-treating - Kids will chuck those at your house (my big brother taught me that trick).
• Too much yard art - save it for indoors.
• Those lacking in the common sense department.
• Those exposing too much skin poolside - I am all for expressing oneself, but not all of us can pull off string bikinis or Speedos.
• Kids on leashes - Your 2-year old is not a dog.
• When the rules of personal space are broken...ugh...
• Hotel comforters - those bad boys get rolled down at night.  I'd rather be cold than sleep under a germy DNA cloud.
• Burnt meat, especially burnt bacon and the smell it produces...
• Unmade beds.
• When people fail to RSVP by the date stated on an invite.  Come on, budding Marthas need head counts.
• Kids in public wearing only diapers - Parents, 'shirt & shoes required' applies to all ages!
• Outdated food in the grocery store - really, a moldy pie?  You bet I took that one to the Manager of Lowe’s Foods.
• People who are intolerant of other's views, particularly religious ones - that's all I have to say about that.
• Fanatics - left or right - zip it.
• Hunters illegally too close to my property - get your gun out of our residential zone, or I’ll shove it up your tookus.
• Wallpaper - ack!  I've removed enough of it to know that while you think it's pretty as you hang it - it will soon become outdated & a pain in your arse.
• People who don't make eye contact when they're talking to me.  They're hard for me to trust.  Same goes for those dead-fish-wimpy-handshake givers; respect yourself, & firmly grip my hand when you shake it, or I'll have a hard time respecting you.
• HAM.  

Alrighty, this list of my pet peeves is starting to sound absurd.  I am not a negative Nellie.  I try my best not to break the 11th commandment, but let's be honest - it ain't easy.

Next week, if you're kind enough to let me humor you some more (or annoy you with my sourpuss take on society), I'll show you that my cup can be half full by listing the things that turn my curmudgeonly frown upside down.  In the mean time, I will be outwardly tolerant, patient, and kind.

Fellowship in a DysFUNctional Village

Gone are the days of the Ingalls, the Waltons, the Cleavers, the Cunninghams, the Arnolds, the Bradys, the Keatons, the Huxtables, the Tanners, & the Seavers.  They have moved far, far away into TV history.  Do we miss them?  Were they really ideal versions of family?  As a child of the '80's, I adored them all.  I thought they were the picture of a life I would someday lead.  A life of Kraft, perfect hair, pastel colors, starched clothes, and one liners [insert laugh track]...

Today we joyfully welcome to our neighborhood the following real families:  The Addams, the Simpsons, the Bundys, the Griffins, the Conners, the Cartmans, the Botwins, the Pritchetts, & the Bravermans.  They put the "fun" in dysfunctional.  They are us, and they are our neighbors.  They do serve Kraft, but if you knock on their door without calling first you may just find them relaxing in yesterday's clothes and maybe even sporting some mean bed head.  They'll let you in without the slightest feeling of embarrassment, because there's an unspoken truth that their casa es tu casa.  They are the true salt of the earth, Middle America, & where the fun is.

They are your real friends.  They are people who have great compassion for others.  They will mastermind neighborhood functions that go down in the books, like the upcoming Olympics, Book Club until 2:00 a.m., 4th of July Festivus, St. Paddy's Pot Luck, Oktoberfest, Ugly Christmas Sweater Parties,  New Year's Extravaganza complete with fireworks that go awry, the list goes on, because they find any reason to play...er...uh...party...

They will also bring your family a warm meal complete with dessert when your child or spouse has been hospitalized, they will organize the best surprise birthday party you've ever had, they will put a Boo Bag on your doorstep full of candy (not flaming poop) ring your doorbell and feel an adrenaline rush as they dart away only to hide so they can see your face as you discover your family's Halloween prizes, they will put their kitchen table along side others in the street for an impromptu pot luck dinner, at play dates they will give your kids that extra sugar cookie when you're not looking or buy Fritos because they know your kids love them, they will keep juice boxes & freeze pops on hand at all times for those sweaty headed kids tearing up their back yard, they will pick up Chinese if you bring the wine, when you're away they will take pride in getting your mail, watching your house and leaving flowers in your kitchen for you to find when you return, take your pet into their home as if it were their own, they will dress ridiculously for your amusement, they will spend a weekend's free time to help stain your mammoth fence, they will pull your weeds & ask to prune your trees, they will fertilize your plants to prove a point, they will meet you on the front porch for adult conversation once the kids are sleeping, they will rearrange their schedule in a second to watch your child when an emergency arises, they will pick up your kid at the bus stop if you can't get there in time, they will not speak - only listen - as you cry it out over things that will pass, they will put a drink (or two) in your hand when your week has been a doozie, they will laugh with you -sometimes at you- until it hurts, they will, they will, they will.  They are like the Olive Garden - when you're with them you're family.

I consider our family pretty lucky to be one of these pictures of imperfection living next door to other great dysfunctional parents and their oodles of sweet, mostly mannerly kids.  Even though we don't live on a prairie, we don't brush our hair 101 times like Marsha, & we're not raising members of the Young Republicans like Alex P. Keaton, we do occasionally don ugly patterned sweaters for fun like Cliff & Claire, and I am hopeful that we all must be doing something right.  

I know one thing - our kids childhood memories will be scattered with big smiles & messy puddle jumping, scraped knees, bike falls & encouragement from neighborhood dads, ridiculous costume parties, popcorn picnics, Flarp, legs covered in sidewalk chalk, sticky hands, play dates where rough housing is occasionally ignored & where play guns knock out teeth, impromptu dance parties to '80's tunes, relay races involving surgical tubing, bras, & raw eggs, shaving cream & sprinklers, catching frogs & racing them down the slide, wearing lizards for earrings, big eyes & jumping with glee at fireworks, & countless cuddles (some even stolen from their neighborhood moms). 

It all sounds a little nutty, but the imperfection makes this neighborhood family perfect.  If you haven't met your neighbors, you should.  They may just be the bestest friends you've never had who will be there for you in an instant, and they will help to parent  your kids.  It does take a village.

**What you might find next to the word dysFUNctional in the dictionary.  Fun, yet not absolutely perfect**

Breaking the Rules of Jell-o

During today's after school treat, my son (5) looks at my daughter (3) with a look of disgust & shouts:  "Use a spoon, Abbey!  You're breaking the rules of Jell-o!!!"

That's one of the many things that's seemingly fun about life at the ripe age of three - the rules of Jell-o and the like.  Can they really be broken? 

At lunch today I watched my daughter stick her spaghetti noodle into her straw shortly after she had shouted at my lunch date to return the parmesan cheese shaker on the table back to the basket in the table where it's friends, salt & pepper, were lonely.  That's right - my three year old told an adult to put something where it belongs after she had just stuck a noodle down her straw...

Wouldn't life be slightly better if we could occasionally play with our food, if we could occasionally leave something out of place, crumbs in corners, and dust on bottles?  It's like that old country song that said we shouldn't let a little dust on the bottle fool us about what's inside, because it only gets better with time.

I'm not saying that we can't clean up the messes we make, but it can be fun to make them...messes make life more entertaining and more interesting. 
See evidence below:

Exhibit A - A meal at the grandparents' house is much more exciting for all if there's a show:

"Spoon, what spoon?"

Exhibit B:  Should only our first birthdays be reserved for such fun?

Exhibit C:  Clearly spaghetti is much more fun, maybe even more tasty, without utensils...both of my kids refuse to eat it these days unless it is PLAIN.

Exhibit D:  Big Brother, you were once a messy kid, too.  Don't pick on your little sister.

Exhibit E: A Yogurt Beard = Awesome. 

Mommy loves you, Miss Mess (even though this clean up took at least an hour)!

And finally...

Exhibit F:  Witness my husband enjoying this mess with his childhood dog, Nicky.  Looks like he was caught having fun.  Did he eat Nicky's food?  Did he enjoy it?

*Permission for this incriminating photo was granted*

That's right, kids, even we "adults" made messes at one time or another in our lives.  Someone helped us clean them up when we were little.  Now, that we're big we're sometimes forced to take care of them on our own. 

Enjoy your messes!  Be proud.  Make them as BIG as you can. 

Break the rules, especially the rules of Jell-o, while you can.

First Day Jitters & Yellow Submarines

As I prepare (<-- ha, ha -- that's funny - as if I could "prepare" myself for all of the upheaval, stress, & constant heartache that is my BABY going to KINDERGARTEN)...

*clearing my throat*

....I'll try this again...as I sit here thinking about the last five years, how much they've meant, how much has changed in our family's life, and how much my son has grown from a newborn baby with his foot fitting in my palm to a rough housing boy, I can't help but feel anxious, a little sad, and so overly excited for him.  Tomorrow will be a day of many firsts for him - first bus ride, first desk, first pencil box, first lunch box, first lunch in a school cafeteria, first FULL day of Kindergarten....

My little boy, the one we tried for years to conceive, the one who fought hard to stay in the womb, the one who's been dubbed Mr. Safety, the one who has such a kind heart, the one with one sharp wit & memory, the very loud one, the picky one, the one who is so very inquisitive that asks questions that make us think, and the one who will forever be my first born, my only boy, & one of two of my little blessings, is going to go to school for the next 13-17+ years!  Whoa.

So, it begins.

I have the first day jitters, but clearly he does not.

He is stoked to wear new sneakers, stoked to ride the bus with his older neighborhood friends, and soooo stoked to carry his Buffalo Bills lunch box and Clemson back pack.  I'm fairly certain he'll be the first kid committing that fashion faux pas, but to us he'll look awesome.  No, he's not brainwashed, but if you ask him he does want to go to college where the Tigers play.  Did I mention he has a custom made Yellow Submarine pencil box?  Yep, he may be picked on for that, but he wanted it, and it's cool to us old folk.  Honestly, I'd try to do all within my power to give him the stars if he asked for them, especially at this very moment. 

Looking back at pictures of my first day of school ever I only remember how much I loved my saddle locks and how much I adored that lavender dress from Sears.  I had to have that dress and the purple tote bag.  My parents look so cautiously proud, but I seem to be beaming with a toothless grin, so ready to get on the bus and go.  My Dad actually looks a little like he did on my wedding day...maybe he was holding in a tear or two.  My Mom, my sweet Mom, she looks like she's proud to have just survived feeding me breakfast, answering my million questions, dressing me, & combing my bed head all in time for the bus.  She appears proud, too, but she also looks apprehensive about taking her littlest of three out of the nest, sending her off to the school abyss, & returning to the working-mom world after a lengthy hiatis as a stay-at-home mom like me.

I don't remember it.  I don't remember much at all about Kindergarten actually, except that my teacher, Mrs. Beebee had a bright blonde bowl cut, a sweet laugh, smelled like cookies, and she introduced our class to the alphabet.  Yep, that's right; we didn't have to know our letters before we entered Kindergarten.  Twenty-eight years ago inflatable letter people would visit our class once a week and they'd stay while we learned about how they sound and what words they start.  I remember actually seeing Mrs. Beebee pointing to the alphabet that wrapped around her wall and singing in a soprano voice with the students as we'd learn new letters.  My boy has known this song since he was three.

Perhaps he's smarter than his Mommy or perhaps the times have really, really changed.  Thanks, technology.  Those mammoth IBM's that I learned how to type on in a computer lab are now obsolete (as are computer labs in most schools as most classrooms are outfitted with their own computer centers).  Either way, I could never begin to imagine what he'll become someday.  All I know is that I will be proud.  My husband and I will forever be so proud of him - no matter what, and I hope he will remember that when he thinks back to this time in his life.

And tomorrow as he boards the bus and it pulls away with my baby boy inside I'll probably clench a Kleenex & hum this tune to keep myself sane:

And our friends are all aboard,
Many more of them live next door,
And the band begins to play.

(Trumpets play)

We all live in yellow submarine,
yellow submarine, yellow submarine,
We all live in yellow submarine,
yellow submarine, yellow submarine.

Best wishes for a grand first day, Gabe.  I love you.

Away I go...

Here it is.  My first official blog post.  Yep, I'm officially announcing that I am a nerd.  I'm someone who wants others to listen to what I have to say.  Well, don't just listen to me -- READ what I have to say to you. How nerdy (and sad) is that?

If you REALLY know me, then hopefully if someone asked you to tell them about me you might say, "Well, Rose is nice.  Rose is fun.  I like her.  She's a mom to two cute kids, Gabe & Abbey." 

Honestly, here's what you'd say:  "Rose!?  She's spastic.  She's random.  She's not all together."

You know why I know your answers -- they've been said before - in my presence.

Yes, I'm spastic, and I maybe too much for some more refined people to take.  C'est la vie.  I take great pride in being "random."  That was actually the best compliment anyone has ever paid me.  I love being "random."  It means that my brain doesn't stop what my mouth and body want to convey.  Life's to short for stuffiness.  So, here are my ramblings.  Take something from them or get out.

Hurricane Survival for Wads like Me

"I survived Hurricane Hugo," but my parents wouldn't buy me the t-shirt to prove it. With Irene supposedly approaching, I can’t stop thinking back to Sept. 22, 1989 when the eye of Hurricane Hugo hit Charlotte, NC (just 20 minutes from my childhood home) & wondering if any preparations should to be made for Irene's potential visit to my home this weekend. My Dad came home from work early that day - something he never does, even to this day as a 69-year old hard working man - and he flipped off our MTV & tuned into Bill Walker on WSOC-TV.  Then, he proceeded to put massive duct tape X's over all of the big windows in our house. My sister, Cheri (then 17) and I (then 11 - wow!) were beyond mortified and begging him to stop, because "the neighbors can see, Dad!" Naturally we just wanted our MTV. My Mom & brother, Charles, took a seat by the TV and for the remainder of the evening we listened to meteorologists claim that Hugo's eye wouldn't come near us and that the most we'd experience would be minimal tropical storm conditions. "Dad, really, duct tape?  How are you going to clean that off?"  No one predicted that we kids would be out of school for two weeks doing manual labor to restore our yards, that we'd have no warm water or power for those two weeks, that businesses would shut down for months, that ice would be an insane $10/bag, gas would be $5+/gallon, chainsaws would be sold for 3x their value, and that we would be subjected to dinners of potatoes tossed into the fire that was burning the nearly dozen trees that fell on my parents lot.  No one expected how bad it would devastate our small town of Monroe, NC at the heart of Union County. Flash back to more complaining from my sister and me as my parents gather candles, flashlights, and extra batteries for my beloved lavender boom box "just in case." I can't quite recall the series of events that sandwiched us all in our first floor hallway in the middle of that horrible night with blankets, pillows, & our ears fixated on the ferocious winds howling through the air vents which we could also feel gusting in and the last scrambled words on my boom box before towers failed & we lost my boom box -- "It's here!"  I definitely do recall how LOnnnnnnnnnG that night was, how wretched 99 mph winds sound, the pops of shingles flying off our roof, the grumblings of our house's poor frame, the splits & kerplunks of trees, & how unsettling it felt to not know how bad it really was outside - "Kids, stay away from the windows!"  We barley slept, and we spent the whole night anxiously huddled in that 12 ft. hall. When my Dad finally deemed it safe to leave the hall - basically in the wee hours of the morning - he opened the front door & before stepping out into what looked like a wasteland of green, through his hands which had covered his mouth in reflex to what he was seeing he muttered, "Dear, God..."  Fallen trees, limbs, odd pieces of housing materials, including insulation, my Mom's beloved pear tree was barely uprooted but standing completely sideways, more fallen trees, and our neighbor, Sam, the most deep voiced, manly sounding man on the street, was in his backyard nearly sobbing as a tree had hit his man cave of an out building.  Choice curse words intertwined with the various names of our Maker were being used as he shouted to my Dad who couldn't see Sam, due to all of the tree tops now in the way of the path between our two yards.  We even found pears on the opposite side of our two acres.  My friend's yard across the street lost its biggest oak, and its top branch was ever so graciously touching their living room window and leaving it & her family unharmed.  I called Laurie (yes, miraculously the phones worked) to make sure she was okay, and lo & behold I woke her family up, "Have you looked out your window?"  She replied, "No, why?"  "WHAT?!?!  How did you sleep through that?"  Her father and brother wasted no time arming themselves with chainsaws and getting to work and when they were done in their yard a few days later they did one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for our family and made their way to ours.  Thank you, Larry & Jeff for helping us to reclaim a yard we could see through.  It had to be done; the clean-up had to take place, and we were in for days of some tough manual labor.  Cheri's new spiral perm (those were still en vogue at the time) smelled nice and ripe as there was no hot water to properly wash it the first time.  Thankfully the other preparation my Dad did was fill the bathtubs with water; you need that to flush your toilets, especially the temperamental one in my bathroom.  Dead birds were found here and there in the yard, and the bees weren't happy with our clean-up efforts.  They were everywhere, and so was smoke from the hundreds of fires being set to burn down the fallen trees.  Our yard had two LARGE fires going for at least a week.  We'd drag and carry limbs, cross sectioned trunks, etc. to the fires all day.  I remember my collecting of acorns wasn't very impressive or necessary.  Our neighborhood, properly called "White Oaks" was a mess.  I'd venture to say that at least 1/3 of our one mile loop of white oaks were down, and they had taken over the street.  Very fortunately, one neighbor, Arnold, owned an auto body repair shop, and he used his tow truck to pull the trees to the side of the road.  He said he stopped counting after he had moved thirty, but he had to get to work & help others get to work.  You bet some autos needed repairing thanks to Hugo.  As soon as my family and I could get out of our yard & take a break from our work to take a walk, we quickly realized how very lucky we were compared to others who lost roofs, cars, and windows (no duct tape on their's I guess...).  As soon as my brother, a Harris Teeter bag boy working his way through Wingate College at the time, was able to drive his Ford Escort out of our neighborhood he did.  He made it to work in more than double time, and you would have thought he brought my mother gold when he came home with a banana box full of coveted ice that the Manager was kind enough to secretly bestow upon each employee.  All my Mom wanted to do was salvage some of our food now rotting in the fridge; I remember her sort of crying as she tossed out a freezer full of meals and meats.  Thankfully she had that 10 lb. bag of potatoes that we literally wrapped in foil and tossed in with the trees.  It would take about an hour to cook one, and to this day I've never had a baked potato that tasted so good.  Maybe I was hungry, maybe it’s my Irish heritage, or maybe wood smoke makes all things better?!  We were out of charcoal for our grill, so we threw wood in that, too.  I can't remember eating anything other than those potatoes for days, but certainly there were dry foods in the pantry we munched on. With my parents and brother finally back to work with drives much longer than normal, they came home with more stories of destruction and an even greater appreciation for what our house had survived.  The only trees that fell close to our home were a beautiful set of white oaks that looked like two fused together in an embrace, my favorite trees in our yard.  When they fell their embrace was shattered, and their limbs cautiously laid atop our carport.  We were LUCKY.  Thanks to GA Power making the hike to NC, our electricity was restored 14 days after that awful night.  At school everyone looked rough but hopeful.  I remember being envious of those with "I survived Hurricane Hugo" t-shirts; seeing the red eye in the center of their shirts coming towards me in the hall only added to depth of green in my eyes.  Those shirts were cool.  As a sixth grader, you might imagine that the stories I had heard were embellished or that my memory of my own stories is embellished, but I assure you they weren't.  There's no way to describe what went through my head that night and the next day when my eyes took it all in, and there's no proper way to document my memories.  So, I'm hoping that this "story" - the one I've told here - will do just that.  I tried sharing some of what I experienced during Hugo with my 5 year old son, Gabe, last night.  I found myself being very selective as I didn't want to make him any more nervous about Hurricane Irene who is supposedly coming "near" us tomorrow.  He has such a big heart and is such a worry wart.  One of our neighbors lovingly nicknamed him "Mr. Safety."  He keeps asking about Irene and wants to know when she's coming and how windy she will be.  He says that trees may come down near our house.  God, I hope not, because I'm looking at the biggest oak that looms over our back porch right now, and it looks a little top heavy.  My three year old daughter, Abbey, could care less as she wrangles herself out of her cowgirl costume and demands that I assist her with her Supergirl transformation. I pray the meteorologists are right when they say that we will experience tropical storm like winds of 30-40 mph.  I pray that the 1/2 bathroom is the safest place for my husband, kids, stinky, old dog, and I to bunker down in when and if Irene's eye comes anywhere near our humble town of Clayton, NC.  After writing down this recollection, I have deemed that "making preparations" isn't a waste of time, and it's not something to be laughed at or taken lightly.  I will buy batteries and decent flashlights, maybe even a camping lantern.  I will gas up my car in anticipation of sky rocketing post-Hurricane prices.  Dare I buy spare duct tape? I may even put a bag of ice in our freezer, so I won't have to pay the 80% mark up if Irene tries to take my frozen veggies & meats, and you bet my husband will fill our tubs with water.  He's done that before when tornadoes have visited our area.  He's suggested bringing down our son's mattress and adding it to our already claustrophobia-inducing 1/2 bath so we can cover ourselves should the roof blow off, etc.  He's good like that, although always the eternal optimist.  He trusts the meteorologists on this, while some might accuse me of getting my panties in a wad.  Maybe my glass is sometimes half empty, but this wad is heading to Walmart like the other wads that don't trust Irene.  This wad isn’t planning on leaving town.  This wad is riding it out, maybe even on a mattress...Lord, I hope not.