Ok girls O mine. I'm not sure where I got it from but nonetheless, I think it's a pretty good story to pass along. It's a story about the colors of Christmas. If you've heard it already well then good for you but you'll hear it again.
Here goes:

The Christmas tree is always an evergreen. Evergreens never change color so they represent Jesus' love which is unchanging.

The color red used on a Christmas tree represents the blood Jesus shed for your sins and mine.

Blue is the color of Royalty. Jesus is King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Use this color and remember Him.

The color white is a sign of purity. Use this color on your tree to represent the virgin birth of Jesus.

Silver and gold was brought to the baby Jesus as gifts to a King. Hang these from your tree as yet another reminder of what the season is all about.

I love all the colors of Christmas but those classic colors listed above are my favorites because of this short little story about the symbols of a Christmas tree.

As time marches on you'll come to realize more and more how the stories of Christmas' meaning have gone to the wayside. When you put up a Christmas tree each year or take it out of the box, I hope you will tell your children this story as you do. It will start a family tradition that will make a difference in this world I bet. By the way Candi, purple is a color of royalty too so change up if you want! Personally, I like your teal tree! Love you all!

Blessed heavenly Father

You have given me another today and for that I am grateful. May I always see each sunrise as a gift from you to me. I will stumble and I will fall today in my efforts to walk more closely with you but you dear Lord know my heart is pure in effort and love.

For my ability to get up and provide for myself and my youngest I am grateful. For the clothes on my back and the food on my table help me to never forget that it is by your hand that I have all of these. You, merciful father have given me a piece of your earth to tend and grow. Each time I cut a flower from the yard I pray you will then remind me from where all things come. When I see other homes and wish I had better help me to never forget that you have given me all that I need.

You stood, kneeled, and laid down beside me when I was sick and I felt your healing hand. I pray dear Lord that you do the same for those who are suffering either in sorrow, addiction, pain or disease. Let them feel just how powerful you truly are.

Please change the hearts of those who don't know you and show me how I can help you to do this. Keep my eyes open for a chance to lead someone to you even if its in the smallest of ways.

You died for me Jesus & I in return have done nothing for you. Show me how to be a soldier.

Amen

Sometimes at work we get really busy. I mean we'll be in the middle of doing something like maybe putting up stock, placing stock orders, answering the phone and turn around only to find that the counter has filled up with people so all you can do is say..."Who's next?" The guys will raise their hands and we're off filling orders.
I noticed the other day an older man sitting quietly waiting for his turn. Even though he was seated on one of our bar stools he stood out in the crowd because he wore a cap that proudly read "Korean War Veteran". I made the assumption that Kenny was helping him and Kenny assumed that I was. Still he sat there, waiting, never once raising his hand to get what he needed or saying that he was next.
When it was at last down to two people, the veteran and one other bearded man the vet still didn't speak up he simply let the other customer take his turn as had how many other people?
I apologized immediately when I realize that I had over looked his position in line and Kenny did the same. I could've cried when I realized how this soldier had been treated but I could've sobbed like a punished child when I realized a whole counter full of men had allowed this to happen more than I did.
He sat there wearing his cap never asking to be made first, never asking that his position as "next" being acknowledged. Did any of those men who were in such a hurry to get their order and leave care that this elderly gentleman had helped to make it so they could work in a free nation? Had any of those men shook his hand and thanked him before they so callusly took his place in line? Was there a single man in the crowd that cared for even a split second that this gray haired man in the navy blue cap with gold lettering had made incredible sacrifices for this country that we're all a part of? Did ANY of you in this state notice this man? How many places did he go that day and get the same treatment?
This veteran of the Korean War should've been first in line even if he had been last to come in. He should've been first as a sign of appreciation in case you can't find it somewhere in your wretched soul to say the words "Thank you" to someone who could've very well died for you and your family. It's painfully obvious that the vet didn't ask to be first or next in line but I can't help to wonder...
How many times was he called first into battle? How many times had he missed a first step made by his own sons or daughters? How many first Christmases, Thanksgivings first birthdays had he missed? He missed all kinds of firsts I'm sure. Pathetically he missed his first even in line at an electrical supply store. I personally can't think of anything more sad than an entire group of people being so caught up in their lives and their livelihoods as to not even take advantage of the opportunity to make a soldier FIRST in even the smallest of ways. Why couldn't those guys have performed this one tiny gesture of appreciation? Why?
My uncle Robert Lewter wore the badge of a United States Armyman and served in the Korean War as well as my uncle Henry Long. Leggett Hurst picked up his weapon to cross the Rhine River and do battle with his colleagues of the same mind as to protect and defend freedom. I can only imagine how narrow the lines of communication were all those years ago. Just how many times did a soldier then get to say hello? Why can't we as a nation at the very least make our Veterans first above it all?
I watched that old man struggle to get himself off the bar stool and I apologized once more for my actions. His reply: 'Oh don't worry about it. My wife forgets that I'm in Wal Mart with her sometimes and leaves me. I guess I'm just a forgettable kind of person.'
He laughs at his comment and my eyes fill with water. With a split second of composure I have to ask..."She doesn't forget you really does she?" His laugh is wonderful as he replies..."No girl, I'm just kidding with you!"
I watch him shuffle out the door and quietly whisper a prayer for this old soldier who derserves nothing less than a deep and sincere appreciation from a nation of people that he's protected with this life...he will always deserve to be put first.

It's become a regular thing around here that my daughter have friends over EVERY weekend and sometimes on Thursdays. If school's out then my house is full and no matter if I've got $1000 worth of groceries 3 to 4 teenage girls weighing a combined total of no more than 130 pounds can eat every bit! Twelve pack after 12 pack of Mountain Dew and Pepsi are consumed and I think there's about 3 half empty bags of chips just hanging out while a brand new bag is ripped into. Blow Pop & Pop Tart wrappers adorn the kitchen counter mere inches from the trash can while I put on my best smirk, stare at 4 sometimes brainless acting girls & throw the trash where it goes all in a matter of fractional seconds. All 4 girls stare back at me like 'Ok? Good job with the trash thingie Mom!' and my non verbal hints are completely lost!

Every girl that comes over for the night (including my little angel) has enough hair product in tow that alone they could supply a city the size of the continent of Africa with various hair spray, hair gel, volumizer, shampoo & conditioner yet every time you see them it's one of two hair dos they're sporting. I'm confused. Why would you spend that kind of....never mind; I forgot I'm talking about teenagers, in particular teenage GIRLS!

It's scarey sometimes when they all come over because their overnight bags are the size of some of the smaller Samsonite luggage that I've seen. You know, the kind that should be on wheels that when stood on end measure 8 to 10 inches above your waist & are twice your width. I see those things and my first thought is: Her mom has made her mad and she's staying here till she's 30! I have to resist the urge to call social services and go ahead and sign up for food stamps & a place in the projects! Lots of times I've been so afraid of a permanent type of arrangement that I've been able to hear my heart beating in my head while visions of a life of poverty flash before my eyes! It's those times that I've called Pete to the side and whispered "Now how long did you say she was staying?" So far nothing permanent but it never hurts to ask right?

The stairs in my house are REALLY steep (ask Jennifer & Richard) so I wear cleets as a precaution when I go up to check the cleanliness issue that MUST be addressed when teens are in the house! Visitors of Pete's, without fail, comment on the stairs and cling to the rail for dear life both ascending and descending! Have you ever been on a plane and watched the stewardess do those funky hand motions while a voice tells you what she's doing it for? Ok, I sometimes feel like Pete should be doing those hand motions while I tell the girls how to approach the stair issue. Picture if you will, Pete at the top of the stairs hands going in this direction and that direction while I recite: "It is recommended that you take the stairs one at a time being careful to white knuckle the handrail the entire 13 stair pattern. Heels over 1/2 inch are not recommend for this journey & the idea of talking while in a forward motion is not permitted for your safety. We politely request that you maintain possession of your signed form stating that you will not sue should you break a tibular or femur while visiting. Thank you and come again!"
Some of the girls seriously have terror written all over their faces when they see the stairs! If I knew it would make sense to them I'd start singing..."and she's buyiiiiiiinnnnnngggg the stairway to heeeeaaaaavvvvveeeennnnnnnn" but they'd just think I was demented so I hum it in my head and watch them go up with my fingers crossed. After about the 2nd or third visit they're tackling the stairs in stilletos while texting and I'm sure that I liked it better when they were terrified!

I enjoy my weekends. Doing nothing, working around the house, hanging out with the family or just plain chillin' all day in nothing but jammies. When Pete invites her friends over all that's gone and I'm up and down till 2 or 3 in the morning because I've been woken up by giggles, screams, or huge THUDS when one of the girls have fallen off Pete's full size bed. Two other EMPTY beds in the house yet there are four girls in one bed! How can you say somebody pushed you off the bed when there's 4 of you in a bed made for two?

What really makes me question brain function is when they all get ready to go somewhere. Man what an event this is! You'll never see them more focused! You'll never see any of them concentrate more on what's going on! You'll never see ever again in your life such attention to detail! Put the shirt on, take the shirt off. Switch shirts with this girl. Loan your pants to the other girl because those do more for her butt than they do for yours. Hair up...hair back down. Wet hair again...straighten hair. Ribbon doesn't match...change shirt to match ribbon. Old boots....new boots. Part to the left...back to the right. Position hair to cover pimple on chin. Pose in the mirror, stand to the side..now the other side. Look over your shoulder at your butt...make your seconds ago loaned out pants be given back..change shirts...forget the ribbon. Pull shirt up 2 to 3 inches from the EXTREMELY low rise jeans to expose some skin...pose again making this statement...."Oh my gosh! I'm so fat!" (knowing that 14 Big Mac's wouldn't put so much as an extra ounce on the scales). Friends reply: "No you're not! I am...look!" expose flawless belly and put on fake disappointment face. Group huddle...snap picture. Group huddle again..snap picture. Pete & one friend...snap picture. Pete with another friend...snap picture. Continue this process until all friends are photographed (building up that portfolio for America's Next Top Model I guess...only they know for sure!) Then it's my turn to take pictures of them all. Pete with one friend...snap! Pete with another friend..snap! Group picture. Group picture minus one. Group picture minus two. OMGosh!!! I'm blind! I'll never see Emma again! I'll have to feel out her features!
Pete: Ok ya'll what perfume do you like?
Sniff that one..then this one. Pssstt. Pssst. Pssst! My house smells like the fragrance counter at Belks and they're off! Everyone of them says "Bye Mom"...I just wave in the direction that I hear the voices coming from then feel my way to bed because I know that I'll need to get up mighty early to wash all of those clothes that were on bodies for negative 20 seconds! O the filth negative 20 seconds accumulates! Wash them for goodness sakes!

Baby books have been around for I don't know how long now & I don't know of a single mother in the world who doesn't have one. Those books have a flaw though. They should extend far past babyhood. They should go into the junior high years and even later still into the senior high years and married life. Take it one step more into motherhood for your baby's baby book. Yes, do trace your child's life slam up until she herself is a mother. I mean after all, she is YOUR baby regardless of age.

In the junior high years you could post for your precious angel a picture...the same one that's in the year book because you and all of Gods angels know she's not going anywhere with the family for a potrait it's just not cool! The year book picture would show her with hair as hard as concrete and a hard headed attitude to match. It would be nice if you could clip a sprig or two for the little envelope on the corner of the page but that would require the blade of a granite tile cutter & his skills. In these your baby's "blossoming" school years she is an Einstein & the darling girl knows it all and only listens to what you have to say if you're saying "yes". This is also the time that you as a mother will begin to lose any sense of sanity you were once so blessed with. Note this in the form of a graph right there on the junior high page of your baby's baby book so that you can begin to track just exactly when it is you'll need to take your very first Prozac dose!

In the senior high years of your little angel you'll start to see where she really does have a brain and it looks as if she may be allowing it to do other things outside of control her breathing and other involuntary reflex actions. Such pride you feel in her until she starts to hang out with HIM...the one whose soul purpose in life is to see how close he can come to making you like one of the followers of Charles Manson. Your baby thinks he's cooler than the latest IPod while you want to beat him to death with one! Who is this girl now? You had her! You raised her thus far! What happened? The only way you could possibly get her attention when he's around would be to set yourself on fire and that would only add to the already mounting expense of her being a senior. You should probably put a match to the senior high baby book page as a reminder of your rage against him and her lack of attention where you, her mother is concerned! Just set it on fire for a second or two then put it out. Years from now this charred page will serve to remind you of the fact that you would've gone to hell had you done what you then wanted. It would bring you some pleasure great or small to know that HE is by now married with 6 kids and living in a single wide with his family. What did you expect on a Sonic Burger salary? One other thing, you should probably stop and say a little prayer that he doesn't grow up to be the CEO of Samsung. Should fate throw in this curve ball then by all means be prepared to either tolerate the "I told you so" thing or move & change your identity.

Awwww...look at the baby book page now! She's getting married! Your wallet's going: "You're kidding me right?" but it's the last thing you'll do for her as your baby. At least that's what you tell yourself. So you chip in here and there. You get what you can so that her day will be special. Who cares that you have an abcessed tooth, ingrown toe nails and a bad back? You'll pay last months power bill this month and this month's power bill next month and there you go...your little darling has what she's always wanted for her wedding. You'll stand back and watch her be all giggly with her bridesmaids and bridal shower guests while you brown bag some of the food since you can no longer afford to eat unless its out of a garbage can. You'll sit back and notice how her hair is the color of yours and has the same curl to it. She'll turn to the side and you'll think how she looks like her daddy but face on she reminds you of yourself. You'll remember the teenage angst and the battles, the laughter and the tears and then she'll walk down the isle in that dress and you'll think when it's all done....ALL THAT FOR LESS THAN 30 MINUTES?!?!? ...and she's gone. The next time you see her and her husband the two of you will be almost like strangers and your heart will break. It will be the one and only time you'll wish your little angel had never met him. He helped her grow up. On this baby book page you should probably put a picture of just you and her. A picture of her right after you had her because it was in that moment that your heart was so filled with love that no one else on earth existed. Put that picture there and no other. You'll need to turn to this page more as time goes on.

The last and final page of your baby's baby book should be when she's got a baby of her own. For nine months you'll wonder what her baby will look like as much as she will. You'll watch her belly grow, watch her wobble when she walks and you'll dread for her her labor pains. He'll call you when it's time and you'll be so anxious you can hardly sit still but she doesn't want you near and every piece of advise you give her is met with a smirk. You'll wonder why. What did you do? How long has she thought of you as an annoyance? What is it that you're doing that annoys her so? Is it everything or does it just feel like it. You've never heard her speak to any other adult the way she speaks to you. You were the one who taught her not to do such a thing & so you can literally feel your heart shatter when she looks at you that way and spits out words so nasty they sting. You'll catch yourself time and again not saying anything at all to avoid that "useless" feeling. When did it happen that everything you say is immediately labeled as stupid, ridiculous, foolish or even red neck? When did this child of yours stop caring if she hurt your feelings and would often times rather hurt yours than her friends? When did you become an after thought? You will remember times when, even though she was right there you would still call her on your way home or send her an e mail from work. You'll catch yourself in a disbelieving state physically speaking the words...."we were so close". Wrestle with your memory and see if you can figure out when it was that she started giving you short answers to questions meant to spark a conversation. She once would share her news and you would share yours and the conversation always ended in "I love you". Write that down on this the last page of your baby's baby book. Write in bold red print....."I LOVE YOU" then find a picture of your baby...make it your favorite picture. It doesn't matter how old she was in it just that it's your favorite for whatever reason. Now place that picture there with the words then close the book and put it away. The world is full of things to do and you've done the biggest one already. Go and find the you that was almost completely lost in the role of being mom...but always have your phone turned on because you never know when she might call to say "I love you Mom."

This past weekend I went to see Emma in Georgia. The trip for me is about 5 or 6 hours long depending on if I'm going to be brave enough to break every speeding law in the land. I've made this trip enough times now to know pretty much what to expect. It occured to me on my way back this Sunday that I can just about tell you where the driver of a car is from before I see the tags. For example: If I see a filthy 1990 Pontiac Grand Am with a set of ears, red hair and a line of chewing tobacco spit down the drivers & passengers side doors then I know the driver is from Tennessee. He's usually going 10 to 15 miles over the speed limit and once he passes that's your two second chance to see what slogan is written beside any of the 6 Rebel flags that adorn his bumper that's being held up by the ever faithful duct tape. Seriously, I've never met anyone from Tennessee that DIDN'T have red hair. I won't even give you the reason why I think THAT might be! I will say though that you could get arrested for it!

Now if I happen along beside a jet black 2010 Cadillac Escalade with midnight black window tint then I know two things: 1. WATCH OUT! This guy has a total eclipse going on right there inside his ride and probably thinks its night which means he could very well fall asleep at any moment! 2. The driver is no doubt about it dealing and delivering cocaine and is bobbing his head slowly to some Lil Wayne tune as he laughs at the blue collar workers he's passing along the way. Where's the driver from? Where else...Florida! Most likely Miami. He's jammin' to Lil Wayne and I'm humming the Miami Vice theme wishing Crocket and Tubbs would pop up out of the back seat of that Escalade and snap some cuffs on the driver and the posse that I know is in there somewhere with the head bobbing dude! I missed my calling. I should've been undercover vice cruising 95 in a metallic gunpowder grey Charger with a scoop! .

When I see someone coming up beside me I look down in their car and if it's like cold enough to see your breath and/or to hang a side of beef and the driver, his wife and the 3 kids in the back seat have on T shirts and micro mini cut off shorts then I know that those people are from Maine! The dead giveaway is the black one strap Nike swoosh flip flops with tube socks. When in doubt, check the feet out! Riddle me this: What would possess you to get in your car (a 2009 Toyota Yaris by the way) and drive 14 to 16 hours with 3 kids??? Are the kids really asleep in the back seat or did you knock them unconscious oh say around about New York? I bet they are unconscious because they asked the dreaded question one too many times, the one every child asks on a long trip: "Are we there yet?" Should I call 911 for child abuse? Nah, they've done this before. Mom has smelling salts waiting for them. Those yankees are just so smart!

A red truck, a black truck, a Ford or a Chevrolet. Jacked up a little higher than usual or so high you've got to buy a step ladder as an accessory; if you see a cartoon white bulldog baring his teeth sticker anywhere on this vehicle you can bet the grandkids inheritance the driver is from Georgia. If that's not enough of a clue then look for the elbow or forearm dangling from the drivers side window. This guys going to drive beside you for a mile or FIVE so that you can't hear yourself think because of the WAH, WAH, WAH, WAH from his tires! WAH, WAH tires =manly man in Georgia! If this truck slows down it's so the WAH, WAH from his tires doesn't drown out the George Jones CD he just put in! This is your chance to get as far away as possible or end your trip with ringing ears and a migraine!

So, you're trying to come off an entry ramp back on to 95 and you and the guard rail are about to get to know each other a little more than you ever wanted to because the as*hole in the red convertible Sebring won't let you over even though the highway is currently like the population of Mars! Three lanes to choose from and he's not moving...he's smirking for sure but he's not moving. Where's he from? No where else but New York! Maybe I should add that to my list of "Why I dearly despise the New York Yankees" don't you think? It's times like these that I wish they sold bottled pee in the convenience stores off of 95 so that I could keep me some under the seat for New York drivers in convertibles! Hmmm...I could be an entrepreneur! Hire me a pitch man...go on QVC and sell my bottled pee by the millions! I could call it SAY MO! (Stupid Ass Yankee Move Over) I would out sell Joan Rivers and her Family Dollar Store looking jewlery for sure! I'll hit the patent office up first thing tomorrow! "Say Bro...don't you need some SAY MO?" How's that for a slogan?!

Here comes a white, well ok, it's dirty but it's supposed to be white van! The spare is being used so it's lopsided. All of the windows look like they have that sticky paper on them. You know that paper you can buy to make a window look like it's etched? That's what it looks like all over the vans windows but it's just that dirty...for real! Of the 6 people in the van that you can count none of them are moving. I mean they're not talking to each other, not looking at each other, not playing the ABC we've got a long trip ahead of us game nothing! They're all, even the driver, like manneqins! My first thought: They all ate at that truck stop that also has XXX rated DVDs on sale and they've gotten food poisoning which is effecting their muscles! When the Rottweilers head pops up barking like crazy and slinging foam and STILL the people don't move is when I know it's time to press the old gas pedal with some gusto and get out of the way! West Virginia tags...I don't think I need to say more! How far can you go on a dough nut spare anyway?

On the front of a Beamer coming along beside me is a UNC Chapel Hill tag! The Tarheel colors are proudly displayed by the driver and she fits the college girl image. How cute is she? Blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail, petite compact cheerleader body. A necklace is what it looks like is hanging from her rear view mirror. It's probably some sorority thing huh? Clean, nice car! I wonder where she and her parents are from? I bet she's driving to see them. Her mom is probably a professor somewhere while her dad is some lawyer who has commercials on every tv station south of the Mason Dixon. Both of them went to UNC so the obvious place for Buffy to go is UNC as well! I mean she's a shoe in after the huge dinner party hosted by bejeweled mom with all of the who's who in admissions at UNC. She drives on past me...GASP! Say it ain't so! NO! This can't be! The tags PLAINLY read: SOUTH CAROLINA! Blasphemy! There should be an eleventh commandment about this! I'm immediately disappointed in Buffy and believe wholeheartedly that she should be grounded for the rest of her life! You're either a Tarheel or a Gamecock fan Buffy...You can't be both! Make up your mind or the maid will no longer do your dirty laundry!
Now you can't tell me you've never paid any attention to people as they're driving! You haven't? Really? Well then, might I suggest I95 north or south...it really doesn't matter. O the things you'll see...surely something to write home about!

I haven't been walking like I should. For pretty close to a month I was walking at least 3 times a week for 30 minutes up to an hour. Since I've got off today I figured I go walk around the cemetary and be done with the exercise idea for the day.
Mr. Daskall's gravesite is always the first one I notice. Not just because it's the biggest one near the parking spaces but also because it's the headstone me and Jan used to sit on to watch the cars go by & to catch our breath before we got back on our ten speeds to wander the neighborhood. Yeah, I know that's awful but we were 14 and the headstone was cool to our butts in the summer. At first I thought the whole idea of sitting on someone who was dead was pretty eerie but Jan, whose daddy was a mortician, saw nothing wrong with it (imagine that) so when in Rome I guess.
Jan & I were always making plans to do something together during the weekends. I would spend the night with her or she'd spend the night with me. We'd go to the movies or drive around in her moms car illegally (we were 14 remember?) or the aforementioned...ride our ten speeds from sun up till just about sundown. I remember one weekend in particular that we had really big plans! We were going shopping AND we were going to the movies! We were both so excited we could hardly wait! Thursday afternoon rolls around and Jan and I are parting ways at Rockingham Junior High all smiles and giggles because Friday's almost here and lots of fun awaits us! At last it's Friday but I don't see Jan. I've not passed her in the halls not even once. Oh no, I hope she's not sick! That would ruin EVERYTHING! What if she changed her mind and invited Pam instead and just hasn't told me? THAT'S not going to happen...I'm WAY more fun than Pam! I'll just call her when I get home. When school's out and I'm finally home is when I learned why I didn't see Jan. Mama told me as soon as my feet hit the back door. "Looks like you won't be going to Jan's this afternoon."
"Why?" I said. "Jan's grandma died of a heart attack last night." I felt so sorry for Jan but being so young I had no idea what to do or what to say to Jan. Mama said "You should just call her up and tell her you're sorry to hear about her grandmother." I didn't want to do that! Ewww, her granny just died! I'm not saying anything! What if Jan's crying? What if I can hear her whole family crying? In my household we all live forever I'm not doing the "die" thing EVER!
After a considerable amount of nudging from Mama I finally did call Jan and I was fortunate that she answered the phone. My hand was shaking as I held the phone, my voiced cracked and my eyes began to fill with tears as my not so steady voice said, "Sorry to hear about your granny Jan. Is there anything I can do?" For as long as I live I'll never forget Jan's response. In fairness though I have to remind you that Jan's dad was a mortician. Jan said:

"She just had to die on a day that we had plans! She just ruined EVERYTHING! Mom said the whole weekend is SHOT all because GRANDMA had to DIE!"

You know, I don't have even the smallest of clues as to what I said after that. I'm sure that I spent some time getting my chin up off the floor but besides that what was my response? I'd bet Jan can't even remember. Of course I told mama what Jan said and if you know my mama at all then you know she wasn't too fond of Jan after that and so our little friendship fizzled and Pam took my place. It's funny after more than 30 years I still don't like Pam for being Jan's friend back then. Well....Jan did fun stuff. We lived on the edge driving illegally and dodging traffic on our bikes!
I thought about all of this as I walked around Eastside & it dawned on me yet again the valuable lessons I learned from Jan the day her granny died. Thing is, I didn't realize how valuable they were until decades later.
1. Death comes regardless of what you might have intended... it comes when it wants.
2. No matter how healthy, or how unhealthy, how young, how old, or how spiritual you are, you too will die.
3. Death is not something to fear, it is a part of living. From the second you are born your clock starts ticking. What makes it life is all the things that happen from that first tick to the last tock.

It's been debated among people for years and years as to weather or not they would want to know the time of their death. Having been diagnosed with a potentially deadly disease I can tell you first hand that there is a great deal of peace you find within yourself when you know you may very well be going to meet your maker. I hate to be cliche' but it's like you've waited to exhale all of your life up until that point that you learn you may be leaving. It's like...Ok Jesus, I'm ready! Take me from this place to one much better and THANK YOU so much for giving me the chance to make amends and to do a little work for you before I go! Your forgiveness and mercy reminds me of how unworthy I am of your sacrifice for me & I stand amazed! Take me when you will but please don't let my family see me suffer. Ready when you are!
I hope when the Lord calls me home for many things; not the least of which are these:

1. I hope that my mom and dad are gone before me because my death alone would cause theirs.
2. If I am to suffer, I hope my family doesn't have to see it and forever have that memory etched in their brains.
3. I hope that I've gotten the courage to do the right thing and apologize to ALL of those that I have wronged.
4. My children will miss me but I hope that they will remember that it's my body that's gone, who I am in part lives on through them (just leave the temper part of my soul out ok?).
5. I hope that in some small way I have made a positive impact in at least one persons life.
6. Don't buy a plot, vault, casket & headstone for you to come talk to or put flowers on. I hope that instead my ashes will be thrown in with the water, sand and sun where my heart is...where my fondest memories of childhood are...where I've always found peace...I hope I will be left at Carolina Beach.

One 30 minute walk reminded me of all of this. What a precious gift life is! What a waste of time it is to be angry, sad or worried! I'm going to go live for a while. I hope everyone I love does the same.

Joe Broady is this big black guy that I went to school with. In the movie The Green Mile there's this huge man who reminds me of Joe. It's the same deep voice and intimidating size that says 'leave me be' and you do just that. I don't remember Joe ever saying any more than a couple of sentences a day. He used words as if they were alloted to him and he was always teetering on the edge of using them all up. Joe walked slow, spoke slow and was slow to anger.
We were all at school waiting on the bus to come pick us up when this group of guys did their usual tormenting of Roger. The poor boy would be pushed around, punched and called all kinds of names and all he could do was take it. He was out numbered and had the odds been better he was still far to small to even attempt to protect himself successfully. Roger just took it everyday...five days a week. Five days of torture. I noticed something though. I noticed that Joe was watching what was happening to Roger and he was talking to some of his friends about it.
"It ain't right the way they do that boy! Ain't none of my business but that ain't right!"
The bullies continued to pick on Roger and I continued to watch Joe and to strain to listen when he spoke to his buddies. Finally one day I watched Joe watching Roger suffer through yet another torture session. His eyebrows went down, his lips went into a straight line and he got up off that bench at Rockingham Junior High School and he walked over to the bullies and said one thing: "From now on when you touch Roger it's gonna be the same as you touching me! Do you see what I'm saying?" One guy told Joe that it had nothing to do with and that he should sit down and shut up. You could've heard a pin drop. Only the wind moved.
Joe clinched the boys shirt in his hand and pulled him inches from his own face and he said it again: "You touch Roger, you touching me! Don't make me do this!"
Nobody said another word. All eyes were glued to what was taking place at the bus stop. We all watched Joe sit back down and unclinch his fists. Roger, needless to say was never bothered again.
Joe Broady went on to graduate from Richmond Senior High School Class of 1979! From there he went on to serve his country in The United States Marine Corps. Joe spent 20 years serving us all. He was in his youth a defender of the weak and it carried through into his adulthood. I'm proud of Joe Broady and what he did way back in 1976 & I'm proud of him now! This man was military before he even knew it!

The room that I use as an office is also the cats room and gathers dust, cat hair and cat litter pretty fast. I've been tired of the bookcase that was in here. It shrank the room and cluttered it more. There was nothing else to do today so I cleaned the room up and started throwing things away.
As I was cleaning things...dusting them off I picked up a Coke bottle full of different colored sand corked up to make it last forever. Then there was a funny shaped bottle done the same way and at last there was a plastic one filled with colored sand as well and this one had a Winnie The Pooh sticker on it. These bottles match nothing in this room but my girls made them so they'll stay for as long as I do. I'm almost certain we did these precious momentos on a beach trip.
There's a basket full of sea shells and pieces of sea shells filled to over flowing. There's another in the bathroom. In a shiney gold gift bag there are even more sea shells. Not a single one that my childrens hands have touched have been thrown away. The years add up...so do the beach trips...so do the sea shells.
When it comes to the photo albums I can't help but sit for a little while and remember those days when my kids hands did all the things that add to this room and add to my life. I see Wendi smiling as she plays in the ocean....I would guess she's 3 or 4. Candi's buried to her neck in sand and you can see the freckles across the bridge of her cute little nose. Stephie's hair is short and as usual for her and her age group she doesn't want her picture made in her cute one piece bathing suit.
All over the floor there are books. Little Golden Books, Baby Sitter Club books, Madeline and Pippy Longstockings. My favorite though is "Guess How Much I Love You". I had to stop and read it. It's just the sweetest children's story I think I've ever read.
This one room breaks my heart. It's filled to capacity with memories of my childrens childhood.
This room reminds me of all the things I didn't do and wish I could now....but of course its too late.
I'm not ashamed of the material things I didn't provide for them. I'm ashamed that as they played in the ocean, Iwasn't in it with them. When the hole was being dug for the girls to be buried in where was I? When we're walking the trails in the mountains picking up beautiful fall colored leaves was I participating? When my child was being picked on why wasn't I the first to know? What was I doing?
I let years pass me by as my girls grew up right there in front of me.
In the pictures I see Candi's solemn face and I wonder 'how does she remember her childhood'. Wendi smiles in practically all of her pictures so I think 'look how happy she is'. Then I remember when her daddy left and how difficult that was for her. I wonder if I did enough to help her. Then there's Stephie's pictures. I don't think I ever told her how proud I am of her. Even when she was small. I was just far too busy trying to be me rather than be her mom. If my tears were to be gathered, I could create a river. If my regrets were pennies....I'd be a millionaire.

Out of the five of mama's children I'd have to say that I was the one that caused her and daddy the most grief. Mama reminds me that from the very beginning she knew I was going to be trouble....I was born breach. Yep, showed my ass before I even saw the light of day !
About two weeks later I was kidnapped! My sister took me out of the crib when I was little and put me under it so that she could see just how close she could come to having mama institutionalized when she couldn't find me. After that it was third degree sunburns and that deathly under tow at Carolina Beach, dog bites, multiple bee stings, mud to my armpits, and stitches in my knees and heal from where my sister PUSHED me down the stairs! She tells a different story. Ignore her if she ever brings it up. At fifteen I'd sneak mama's station wagon keys up to my bedroom and wait for them to go to sleep. When the window panes rattled I knew they were snoring up a storm and I could stick dynamite under their beds and they'd barely roll over. Down the front porch rails I'd go carefully putting my foot in the deepest curve of the "S" shape pattern. I'll never know why I didn't fall and break my neck. I guess it was my purpose on this earth to test the patience of my parents and I just wasn't anywhere near being finished with my job! I was cool in that wood grain station wagon cruising up to Raider Deck with no drivers license, hardly any gas at all (daddy likes to see how far he can push a tank of gas...always has) and not one brain in my body! I'd pull up in that bus of a ride, park it with the rest of the cars out there and walk in like I owned the place. I'd leave when I wanted to and if my friends needed a ride and were near by I'd go get them too all with the fumes daddy left for me!
Then there was the time I jumped off Ledbetter bridge. I thought that was so cool that I went home and told daddy....a week after the fact! I didn't bother to tell him that I did it when we were skipping school and I sure didn't tell him that we skipped school in a friends car and that none of us in the car had even the first sign of a VALID drivers license (I now see a pattern after all these years...do you??) So after the devil flew all into daddy and he proceeded to give me that glare that makes you go potty on yourself he and I went back out to the bridge! Imagine this trip. I'm sitting on the passenger side praying that we'll get four flat tires and daddy will have something else to be mad at besides me. My fingers are crossed, my legs are crossed everything I can cross is crossed wishing for luck! We get there...daddy pulls over...he makes me get out...I'm expecting him to tie cinder blocks to my ankles and throw me over but instead he says..."Look!"..and points at the water. It's summer and there's been a draught and the water level is lower so all over the place are stumps that look like sharpened pencils! Seriously, if you didn't know better you'd swear that someone got out there with a giant pencil sharpener and got those stumps to the finest point you can imagine! "When do you think you'll be jumping again Rita?" Of course I couldn't answer him, I was too busy looking in the back of that same station wagon I stole on the weekends for two cinder blocks and some rope! I didn't know what to do and my voice box was for sure on strike so I just shrugged my shoulders! Ooooh. Wrong answer! I don't remember everything daddy said but let me put it this way. There was some mention of having my IQ tested as well as increasing some life insurance policy and I heard something about putting me on the bus with Rusty. I was also put on restriction till I was fifty. Of course when I heard that I thought..."you've got to sleep sometime" and immediately thought..."It's a good thing my voice box ain't working or that would've came right out!"
From that it was sneaking cigarettes. Me and a friend of mine would get us some of Mama's Silva Thins, matches, an ash tray and of course the car keys and head upstairs to go to bed early because we were "tired". Actually we went to bed so we could get up later in the night and listen out for the sonic snoring indicating it was cool to exit the premises via the roof/porch rail!
My friend's a chicken so she scooted her way across the roof dragging every crumb of the shingles face off into her skin and clothes. I've got half my body off the roof feeling around for the railing with my foot when she says..."I can't do this, I'm scared I'll fall". "Yes you can just come on hurry up!"
"I can't do it!"
" I can't do it!"
"CAN'T!"
"CAN'T!"
Ok, now the chicken is yelling to the top of her lungs and she's almost directly over mama and daddys room! This is great! "Ssssshhhhh! Ssssshhhh! Shut up! Shut up!"...foot still looking for the railing....on go the next door neighbors lights! Both of us freeze and FINALLY she shuts that chicken mouth of hers! I inch my way back to her like a spy so no one sees me and then I realize it..... Oh yesss...the neighbors are drunk AND they're fighting! Now THAT'S entertainment! So we sit on the roof like it's a front row seat to some huge boxing event, smoke our stolen cigarettes and mock the neighbors. This one was going to be a good one....a good long one. "Hmmmm" my friend says..."didn't I see some beer in your refrigerator?"
I sat on the peak of the roof while the chicken sat holding on to the storm window we climbed out of with one hand and a Natural Light with the other. The next time I saw her was when we had HER mama's stolen cigarettes (we kinda took turns stealing cigs so the guilt was split...that's what friends do right?) in my bedroom smoking them as if our intent was to single handedly pollute the world. We hear my mama just as she rounds the top stair and shove burning cigarettes in my night stand drawer. I remember thinking..."Just get me out of this one without the fire department having to be called in and that's it for me and the chicken! I told her to go out on the roof!"
When I'm ready to rip out every strand of Pete's hair because she's so...so??? so teenagerish I force myself to stop and think...well has she ever jumped into a bed of sharpened pencils? Has she driven all over the place without a license? How about sneaked out on the roof for a puff off a stolen cigarette? No, she hasn't done any of those.* I wonder though if she'd do a little better at being more well behaved if she felt the threat of cinder blocks?

*disclaimer: Pete's not done these things AS FAR AS I know.

We were sitting around Stephie's house the other day talking about the differences between me and my sister Kim. See now, I think me and Kim are a lot alike but when I said that Kim's head spun around like Linda Blair's in The Exorcist and she said: "I don't know where you get that from!" I expected her to spew green pea soup at any given second and her eyes were just short of rolling back in her head. Needless to say, my feelings were hurt and to add injury to insult Stephie agreed! So that got me to thinking. Just how different are me and Kim anyway?

Lets see.

Kim was pretty much an A/B honor roll student all through high school. Me: If I was at school, it was a good day. If I was at school and awake it was an excellent day.

Kim always did, to the letter what mama and daddy said. Me: In the midst of either of them telling me what to do I was figuring ways to get out of it up to and including faking some rare sickness like malaria or scarlett fever.

Kim would always babysit the brothers so mama and daddy could go out. Me: I always secretly hoped they'd get lost when we weren't looking.

Kim has always known how to save some serious money. Me: The U.S. mint will make some more and for all I know Jesus might be back tomorrow. Lets go somewhere and shop!

Kim's a pretty serious disciplinarian with her son. Me: Go ahead and see if you can start a fire with a book of matches and a 5 gallon can of gasoline! Here's a fire extinguisher & some burn cream I'll listen out for the ambulance so I can motion them in.

Kim just loves old people. Me: It's just the funniest thing in the world when they say: "HUH?" and fart from the strain of talking so loud!

Kim works hard and won't call in sick if she's got the flu, strep throat and has dialated 8 centimeters. Me: Sometimes the call of I95 is more than I can handle. We'll count that as a mental illness. Illness=sick so there you have it!

Kim has plans to do housework and/or yard work on her days off. Me: I just did my 40. Don't look for anything special.

Kim's been married for more than 25 years. Me: If I chained them to the bed and padlocked the doors from the outside they'd still find a way to divorce court.


There's this one experience that really sticks out in my head. Rusty, our 30 year old childhood friend with the mind of a 2 year old (my nice way of saying he was mentally "challenged") was told one day to show both me and Kim his penis. Timmy and Jimmy (yes that is their real names) our skeleton friends who both were the spawn of the devil, told Rusty that he should. Now keep in mind that up until then all we had seen was the tiny winkies of Wade and Nick, the third itsy bitsy teeny weeny penis hadn't been born yet. So Timmy and Jimmy are acting like they're at some sort of pep rally and both of them are going: "Show 'em Rusty! Show 'em Rusty!"
There's Rusty, standing there with his tee shirt on wrong side outwards and backwards smelling like french fries and chihuahua trying to decide if he should show us or not. Kim's looking at me I'm looking at Kim, we're both looking at Rusty and all the while Timmy and Jimmy are doing the pep rally chant..."Show 'em Rusty!"
I didn't hear his zipper unzip probably because of the chant. I didn't see him fish his tallywacker out but in the blink of an eye there it was just hanging there outside of Rusty's cut off knee length shorts. I think there should've been a drum roll or something. Maybe a brief introduction because we had no idea what we were about to be shown. It happened just all of a sudden like. Maybe a "TAH DAH!" would've been sufficient.
Timmy and Jimmy were doubled over laughing while Rusty stood there with his hands on his hips airing out his peepee for a private showing! He just stood there grinning like a cheshire cat.
Kim saw it and screamed and burst into tears like Jason from Friday the 13th was after her. "MAMA! MAMA!"...and in the house she goes to tell Mama about Rusty's penis. I can still see the look of sheer terror on her face as she ran inside. Me: I'm standing there thinking..."Jeepers Crow! I didn't know they made them that big! Wade and Nick sure don't have one like that! Is all that chihuahua hair down there? Wonder if it smells like french fries too? Could a bee sting have made it that big? You know, it kinda looks like a King Kong size grub worm.

Timmy and Jimmy scattered like roaches when you turn the lights on as soon as they heard Mama yelling "Rusty go home right now! I'm calling your mama!" Me and Rusty just stood there. He wasn't finished with his free show & opportunities like this one didn't come along everyday! "Rita! What is wrong with you? Get in here damn it! Rusty...GO HOME NOW!"
All because of Kim being scared of a penis none of us got to play with Rusty for weeks and weeks and even then we had to sneak!
I guess this one experience is the one that truly shows the differences between me and Kim. I wonder why she doesn't want to be like me?

What salespersons my girls are! I guess I should be proud of their selling abilities but the thing is they're selling to ME and I'm a sucker for their ??? stuff is the best way to put it here online I'm sure but you get where I'm coming from.
All three of my girls know that I love to travel. I don't really care where I go as long as it's not in Richmond County I'm game.
"Oh mama, you should look into a cruise they're just so much fun! Really you can't beat the price! The food is included and everything! And Oh My God!...the islands are just beautiful! You'll never travel cheaper than you will on a cruise!" That's Stephie telling me about what a bargain it is to cruise. This coming from my oldest who had me paying for her groceries while she travelled on piggy bank scrapings and couch diggings down to Florida with her wonderfully spontaneous, absolutely irresponsible friend Julia. I love Julia's attitude but I would've been jailed for child abuse if she were mine.
I still can't figure out when it was that Stephie got to be such an Aunt Kimmie type of person and truthfully, it's beginning to worry me that she's so frugal. I think I might have to find ways to put a op-stay on the phone calls to Immie-Kay. So I made up my mind that I'm just not listening to Stephie about the cruise because she's looking at it way to much from the savings side and that is far to boring to me. Granted I don't make six figures a year but by gosh I want to go have fun and not worry about the money!
Not going on a cruise! Not going on a cruise! I'm just not! Stephie took the fun out of it!
It should come to no surprise at all that my seventeen year old wants me to go on a cruise. Even if it means she misses a pair or two of Hollister pants she's all but pushing me out the door! She's been so sweet (please note sarcasm). "You deserve to go Mama. Don't worry about the money or me I can take care of myself." I can see it in her eyes. She's thinking 'Hmmm...I wonder how many times I'll be able to see Cody when mama's gone'. Little does Wendi know that I've already alerted the Penis Patrol as to the dates that I will be gone. This means no gangster looking Gumbyish boyfriend gets to linger around taking up air and space while I'm unable to supervise! Why yes indeed Wendi will hate me for this and I will get the customary eye roll as proof of her disgust. Surely my world will stop revolving.
What made me go out shopping for clothes for the cruise then? Good question.
Candi talked me into the whole idea of a cruise and all its trappings by virtue of her patience.
"Mama, if me, you and Tony all go together your price will be an amazingly low $350 for a week and that includes all of your meals!" I think she's watched too many game shows thus the Bob Barker pitch but you know, Candi just says it different and makes me want to go. Of course
Stephie's already said frugal words so now I'm thinking: 'Maybe I shouldn't go that's still a lot of money" but Candi is persistent and calls I think about 47 more times until she's talked me into it. So I give her the money for my part of the trip. My stomach is in knots as I do this but she's got it now so I'm in...no turning back!
Gah Lee Pete! What have I done? I just remembered something very critical to my enjoying this trip! I'm so claustrophobic and they've said the the rooms on the ship are like the size of my closet give or take a couple of inches! Now I'm mentally going into panic mode! I can feel myself starting to hyperventilate! My heart is beating at the same rate as the speed of light....I can feel it in my EARS! A cold sweat breaks out all over my body and my clothes are sticking to me! I look at my hands and my fingers are drawing up like claws and then the twitch starts! There's that high pitched ringing in my ears and I'm about to press the last 1 in 911 before everything goes black! WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THE ROOM SIZE!?
I'll be in a saltine cracker box with TONY and his funky big toe! I'll have to fight the urge to shave off his beard! How will I fight him in a saltine cracker box? How will I breathe in there? I'm feeling like a fish out of water! At some point Tony will take off his shoes and theres the TOE and all the smells that go with it and I'm in a saltine cracker box with that?!? Why didn't I think of this before?

Ok, I'm not thinking about that anymore! I just can't! If I do...there goes the trip for me! Not another second on the room size or Tony's toe.

I'm going to have tons of fun!
I'm going to look good at the Captains Dinner in my red dress that I got today. For as long as my granny panties don't inch their way over my fat rolls till they're hanging from the heel of my shoe I'll be fine.
A spray tan should hide some of those ugly veins caused by my pregnancies. Really kids, it's not your fault mama's ugly now.
I'm getting my hair done soon but I'm kind of worried about the humidity so I'm packing Crisco in the lard form that oughta do it don't you think?
Im tossing around the idea of changing my foundation color from Crayola Crayon peach to something more realistic like the Summer Barbie doll tones.
Do tell, what else do I need for this cruise?

Well, I was hoping for more like 10 to 12 inches of snow but all we got was about 4. My boss is from Alaska so getting him to call a snow day is next to impossible. Every time the weather channel predicts snow and we all start talking about it at work you can just see the "Oh my god they're only calling for INCHES of snow not feet" look come over his face. Most times though he just rolls his eyes and walks away...enough said with the eye roll I guess.
So with the snow comes memories of our trip to Loon Mountain, New Hampshire. Gerry, this yankee guy I used to date had this habit of taking us country hicks everywhere you can possibly think of along the east coast. Why I never saw him use food stamps or coupons is beyond me. Anyway....Loon Mountain. Now Gerry, being from Massachusetts already knew how to snow ski so after the hustle and bustle of renting skiing equipment off he went but not before buying me and Stephie skiing lessons. How embarassing...skiing lessons for me! I should know how to ski even if I do come from a town that all but shuts down entirely at the first flake of snow and besides how bad is this going to make my hair look? How am I going to look period! I already didn't have the proper ski attire. All I had was jeans. Stephie and Jennifer go no where without the latest fashion in tow so they had their little ski suits with matching hair bands, nail polish and lipstick. I was so aggravated to have to do the bunny slope thing. I mean really...what's the incline on those things? Two degrees? Four maybe? At one point I was having to stand there all bow legged and rock back and forth trying to get my skis to move an inch! End result...I'm on my butt looking straight up! The lodge was looking better and better. What I should've done was go to the lodge first. There I could've had a couple of draft beers and blamed my inability to ski on the drinks but it was morning so all they had was orange juice and a bad attitude.
Jennifer, Stephie's cousin is like on skiing commercials she's so good so her and Gerry are on the mountain that goes up and brushes the feet of Jesus while me and Stephie are on the bunny slope built by Tonka trucks. Needless to say I'm not a happy camper. Next thing I know little Miss I Can Do This makes her way to the lift with the aid of Jennifer. Jennifer helps Stephie up twice but Stephie is determined she's going to play with the big kids. This is what you need to know about Jennifer and Stephie. They will sometimes get so mad at each other it turns into a yelling match. I've more than a couple of times thought it best to hire a referee for weekend trips with the two of them. So Jennifer, resident snow ski professional knows how to do the lift thing and Stephie doesn't....she just got off the bunny slope how could she? There's a battle between Jennifer, Stephie, snow skis, snow tongs (what do you call those sticks you ski with anyway?), scarves, boggins you name it they get all tangled. I don't think I even need to tell you that the yelling match between them turned into the lift operators asking:
"Are you guys ok?" "YES!!" they yelled back and off they went.
So I'm praying for a valium as I watch that ding-a-ling daughter of mine go up into the clouds to ski back down. Just off the bunny slope. I'm shaking my head but it's too late now. Gerry's been by a couple of times and he's asked me how the lessons went. Every time I think about this ski trip I think I should write him a check for the cost of the lessons and mail it off. "I can't do it" I said just like a two year old only without the tantrum.
"Where's Stephie Ann and Jennifer?" Gerry asked. All I could do was point upward and blink back the tears.
"WHAT? They went to the top?"
"Yes! Don't say it like that! You're supposed to be the one to say 'they'll be ok!"
He didn't say another word. He just skiied off. Well!? Well!? Has he gone looking for Stephie and that awful Jennifer who dragged my child up the mountain??? Has he gone to bring Stephie's lifeless or paralyzed body back down the mountain?? Can he bring both of them down?? Hmmm, I wonder if they have St. Barnards for rescue here? Valium! Beer! Valium! Beer! Oh Stephie! Please come back down in one piece! Jennifer, that's it! You're not going with us ever again! This and the escalator (another story there buddy) has sent me over the edge with you!
Then I saw the three of them. Stephie, Gerry and Jennifer. All of them. Laughing and having a grand ole time while I shivered in soaking wet jeans from falling so much! Three year olds who I'm sure sprang forth from their mothers wombs with skis strapped to their feet seemed to circle around me mocking me and Stephie, Jennifer and Gerry were joining in!
I don't know when they came in. I left them out there to have a good time while I went and nursed a good pout. Too bad the bar wasn't open!

Pictures!

Grandma Barbara's thinking: "I hope these two don't act like their mama's!"

Pa has reverted back to his Greek shipping captain days...we just play along.

It's "gucka" and "boon" time for Emmie!

We should've put up a sign: "Please don't teach the Grandma new tricks."

I KNOW Emma is showing us how close her boggin comes to matching her baby's. Yes, she is that smart.

Carolina Beach is the beach that we all went to when we were kids. This is the place that I so looked forward to going every summer for a week or two. Daddy would rent an ocean front house no less and would make it a point to take his vacation from the railroad in the summer so that he could spend time with all of us. Why? You've got me on that one! I would probably HAVE to have a bare minimum of 2 weeks vacation withOUT the kids for the sake of my sanity forget the relaxation aspect! I mean really, how can you call it a vacation when you're taking with you: 4 kids (the accident, I mean my baby brother wasn't born yet), a wife, a grandma (my mothers mother), and a siamese cat named (insert drum roll here) Snoopy.
Talk about fun though! Those were absolutely the best years of my life. We would get to the house and immediately jump out of the car and run in checking out the best hiding places as we went. All through the house you heard, "This is my room and I'm not sharing!" along with the sobs from the kids who didn't get the room they wanted or who had to share. In the mean time Mama, Daddy and Grandma are doing the UNfun things like unpacking the car and planning the next meal. We didn't want to eat, we wanted to go out on the beach and get gingerbread tan as we played in the sand and collected shells. It never failed, we had to wait to eat and then wait on Mama and Daddy to change into their bathing suits. Waiting on them was like waiting on the seaons to change...or it was to us as kids anyway. Over and over again we'd say...."Can we go now?" , "What about now, can we go?" After hearing that about 4 times from all 4 kids I can see where it would get on your nerves and you'd finally hand out the verbal threat..."IF EITHER ONE OF YOU ASK ME AGAIN WHEN WE'RE GOING OUT ON THE BEACH I'LL PACK OUR STUFF RIGHT BACK UP AND GO HOME AND I MEAN IT DAMN IT!!" That was Mama. Daddy could flip on his "ignore" button with the best of 'em back then. That worked for about 5 minutes then we were whispering that same question to each other. But we had to have them with us so they could be our personal lifeguards since one of us every summer ended up being knocked down by the waves, dragged under and hauled out about a half mile into the ocean which sometimes left us all but requiring mouth to mouth and cardiac resusitation.
I remember one year my oldest brother, who has always been THE most hard headed was told to get out of the ocean because we were going in. Never mind that we'd been out there till we were dehydrated, had third degree sunburns and were delusional with heat stroke none of us kids were ready to go in! We'd fought our battles over the rooms and played hide and seek till all the good places were as well known as the nearest Wal-Mart. We had already tortured Grandma by doing all the things we knew aggravated her to the point of dreaming of life in a rest home as a luxury. We had even touched her dentures as they soaked in a glass on her night stand. What else was there to do inside?

I guess when you're an eight year old hard headed boy you don't think you need your personal lifeguards so my brother decided to linger for a while in waist deep ocean water as we headed back to the house with our sand toy finds and sea shells (all to fight over later). Mama turned to yell at my brother once more this time with a threat telling him to get out of the water "right this second!"
I'm so glad that I realized that I had dropped my yellow plastic sand shovel. The instant I bent to pick it up I saw a wave that was at least the height of the house we were in come up behind my brother like a black cloak and wrap itself around him! I saw knees...feet...blonde hair...panicked expression...hands...knees...feet...blonde hair...panicked expression...knees...expression. Roll after roll crash after crash the waves just kept coming taking with them by brother in all his hard headedness!

Mama was marching in place, pointing toward my brother and screaming to the top of her lungs "VON! VON! WADE! WADE!" I stood there transfixed on this sight. Nothing else in the world was going on but my brothers battle with the ocean and so far the ocean was winning! Daddy calmly sat the lounge chairs down, told mama to shut up and casually walked down to the shore and plucked my brother out of the ocean like you'd pluck a flower from it's stem...just another day in paradise. We all just stood there & watched my daddy bring my brother back up to where we were by the same arm he'd managed to grab from out of the waves. His feet never touched the ground and he was covered with tiny shells from the very top of his blonde head to the very bottom of his feet. He had that awful cry face and it was then that I realized that even his teeth were covered with tiny shells!
My brother was in trouble because he'd made my mama march in place and scream profanities in front of complete strangers! I didn't lose it though. I knew that even the smallest giggle would mean that I'd be getting the same beating that my brother was about to get! Oh but I followed him and Mama. I followed him and his crying sea shell covered body straight into the house...down the hall to the bathroom and I watched him get a spanking while Mama reminded him: "YOU ARE THE MOST HARD HEADED CHILD I'VE EVER SEEN!" With each word she said, she added a spank. I'm standing there, yellow plastic shovel in hand laughing my head off on the inside at what all I'm getting to see. This beats Grandmas dentures & fighting over the rooms! I wondered with each spank if the shells on my brothers body were like needles when Mama spanked them into his skin. Don't dare laugh, I thought. Ooohh...don't dare smile. I bit the sides of my mouth as Mama ran some bath water while she told my brother that he could stay inside with Grandma for the rest of our vacation. Don't laugh, don't laugh! No! Don't laugh!
Then she did it! My mama pulled my brothers skin tight swim trunks down and there where his butt crack should've been was nothing but sea shells! I lost it! I laughed so hard at him I nearly lost my balance!
I couldn't control my head going back as I laughed! I couldn't control it at all until Mama said..."VON!"...and I heard daddy coming down the hall. His footsteps were like thunder and I knew I was going to get it! "Do you think that's funny? Your brother could've drowned!" "No" I whimpered trying my best to look angelic. Too late. He'd heard me laughing.
Sometime later me and my brother stood on the screened porch watching the waves and the seagulls. He had the snubs still and so did I. His butt was red under his summer pajama bottoms and mine was too. I had to say it. To me it was the only thing that I could say to my brother at the time....


"It's all your fault I got a spanking sea shell butt crack!!"

I was down at Mama's yesterday (I wonder why NOBODY ever calls it Pa's?? I mean it's not like he's the hired help around there!) for some Sunday dinner and was sitting there shoveling it in when Josh started to speak. I think those braces have ruined his speech forever but it was the t.v. that made it worse. Josh was like: "Pa, sching mala puter urt?" To which Pa replied, never touching the stone deaf volume of the t.v.; "What?" Now to make Pa understand him Josh has to bob his head. Don't ask me how that helps, I'm simply the observer. So again frustrated head bobbing Josh says: Sching mala puter urt GOD?!" Only because Josh pointed to the computer did I finally figure out what the conversation was all about. "No Josh, I don't know what's wrong with the damn thing. I think I'll just take it to the dump the next time I go up there." To which Josh replied: "Whadda shu wanna dun da for? So ula muh braq eet reet bla ere?" Whatever he said was funny cause he laughed. I continued to shovel my food down and Pa stared at me and his expression said: "What the hell did he just say?" Still, he didn't touch the volume on the t.v. It dawned on me by my second plate of everything what Josh had said but my moment to prove myself as a translator had by then slipped away.
Filled to the gills and with ringing ears I headed to the den to talk to mama for a while. "Was it good?", she said. To which I replied, "Yes, especially the mashed potatoes". Never reaching for the remote control to turn the t.v. down she said..."What?!?" Josh is witty. He proved that when he laughlingly said: "Er fot er wuz guddin wa frum eet deed ent ya?!" (you thought you were getting away from it didn't you).

The curling iron.
The flat iron. Indecision prevails.
Two kinds of deodorant. Does one work better?
Hair gel.
Hair mousse.
Aerosol hair spray.
Pump hair spray. Sometimes environmentally conscience...sometimes....eehhhh!
12 shirts two sizes too small. Med. in juniors and Med. in kids is confusing you know!
5 pairs of skin tight jeans. $85 with no knees. Bargain shopper huh?
18 pairs of panties. Again with the size issue.
one dingy bra.
4 pairs of shoes. None of these are under $100
2 tubes of mascara. Why do you keep the ones that are dried up?
1 toothbrush. I think it's seen better days...like about 5 years ago.
6 pairs of socks. Half with holes.
1 hairbrush. with a full head of hair left in it.
nail polish remover.
nail polish.
nail clippers...fetish I guess. Who knows?
toothpaste.
mouthwash. This bottle has travelled everywhere in the world...UNopened.
shampoo.
conditioner. There's always less conditioner than shampoo. Can you say over usage?
2 pocket books.
2 wallets. Why?
1 bed pillow. Other parts of the country have no pillows.
1 blanket.
1 book. Knowing full well it won't be read.
1 big bowl of dog food
1 bowl of water with a lid
1 black schnauzer.......
For a 3 night trip Pete's packed & we're off to Stephie's. I hope among all this stuff she didn't bring her driving permit. Pete on 95! Picture the cats in the cartoons when they're scared. They're poofed up like a cotton ball, their eyes are like saucers, they have their nails dug into the floor or ceiling. That's me on the passenger side.
(sung to the tune of Over the River)
Over the little stream and through Hamlet's woods
To Steph-a-nies house we go
Pete does know the way but
"You're not driving!" I'll say
Then she'll pout for the rest of the daaayyy!

The boss is gone!

I'm sorry that he doesn't feel good but oh boy does it make my day when he's not here! So far I've looked at flights to Colorado and New Hampshire for a ski trip and I've read some e-mails and forwarded some that were pretty funny while I was at it. I've shopped QVC and Bath and Body works to finish up my Christmas online and I've checked out Youtube. My nails look pretty good since I've had the chance to file them and I've gotten to take a peek at a few 30 minute recipes that I might try out this evening. My desk is loaded to the point of over flowing, it's raining outside, customers are staring at me wondering if I'm going to wait on them and I'm sitting here singing....ZIP AH DEE DOO DAH ZIP AH DEE AY MY O MY WHAT A WONDERFUL DAY...PLENTY OF SUNSHINE HEADING MY WAY ZIP AH DEE DOO DAH NO BOSS MAN TODAY!
Just think, if he's got the flu...it's at least 3 glorious days of this!

THE Christmas Party

It would be completely two faced of me, totally false of me if I didn't first say that I do enjoy going to THE Christmas Party. The age group is pretty good...ranges from 10 years younger than me to 10 to 15 years older than me. Sure there's a lot of prep time involved in going to such a social event but I just feel so special that I got an invitation that I wouldn't miss it for the world! I can hardly wait to see Ms. Fashionista aka the squirrel from the movie Ice Age wearing that dress that she'll swear is a knock off of what Jennifer Anniston wore on the red carpet! Why I may even be graced by a conversation with her on the latest styles of Christmas apparel, pocketbooks, eyeliner and lipsticks! Ahh...how lucky I'd be! And how could I miss seeing Ms. Dontyouwishyouwerecoollikeme, the hostess with the mostest ass in the world as she plays her role to a "t". I always wonder if I'm supposed to curtsey when she approaches or just stick a dollar or two in her bra strap! I like her ! Then there's Mr. badcombovergirlieattitude who occassionally goes in to and out of PMS stages for no apparent reason. Hopefully he'll remember to bring along his bipolar meds and forget to bring his girl friend! Ms. Eyebrows will be there along with her husband. When they go onto the dance floor someone really should roll out a cot or something for them to just go ahead and have sex on! XXX rated! Cover your eyes or stand there with your chin to your knees as your drink unconsciously slides to the floor!
And who is that girl with the bowl hair cut anyway? Every single year she's there. Sipping, sipping, sipping...I know she's not drinking not really. She just wants the drink in her hand so that when she does something to make herself look really stupid she'll have something to blame it on the next day. Ms. Iwannabeyoungagain will be there too! Go ahead, ask me if she'll be ashamed to wear that micro mini sequened dress at sixty years of age...ask me! Dye her hair red and BAM...you've got Ronald McDonald! Amazing what a whole bottle of hair spray will do! I've been divorced for about 10 years now but I can count on Ms. Marge Simpson asking me if I'm still married to Mark. I don't doubt that it's not an accident that she asks me this same question as she sees me talking to a man. It's like she insists that I 'fess up as to how many times I've been married so as to scare the living day lights out of who ever I might be talking to. It makes me want to tell her to shut up and smoke another cigarette right quick before your voice goes to sounding feminine again! Then there's Stanley and Ollie. When they're done with drinking almost to the point of poisoning themselves they'll call a cab or their teenage cousin to come take them back to their mommies home before she comes looking for them. Refer back to the beginning and note the age group. You'd think they'd know better.
Mr. PleaseletmetellyouhowmuchmoneyIhave will be there with his live in girl friend who really is pretty but has the personality of a 2 by 4 and the attitude of satan.
Ahhh...then there's my personal favorite Ms. Myteetharesobigmylipswontcoverthem will be there for sure. She's a sipper too. She can make a 12 ounce Bud Light last for the same number of hours if necessary! But that's her excuse for standing over in a corner, her mouth agape as she stares down each millimeter of every person passing by! That's got to be some sort of talent!
One year I went to The Christmas party and some bridge people came...now that was funny! That was true entertainment! Honestly, that was the highlight of the entire evening! They just busted up in there and ate to their heart's content! They got by the door Nazi's! How did they do that? My invitation clearly states: "Must present invitation at door". Maybe they tipped somebody off who knows? The bartender could've been in on it! Maybe they should do a background check on every guest and do cavity searches before they allow entry into this THE Christmas party. All I know is I can hardly wait to see all the people there...all dressed up...acting different....being something or someone they're not. Just playing that same ole "social role". It'll really make me appreciate the next party I'll be going to. At that party we'll all be wearing jeans and sweaters or sweat shirts and worn out tennis shoes or boots not $200 dresses and high heels. We'll stand out in the cold weather huddled around a barbecue pit not caring that our hair and clothes will smell like smoke. At the next party we'll drink anything from colas to beer straight out of an iced down Igloo cooler and it'll be perfectly fine if we choose not to get drunk because we have personalities when we're sober. This party will be open to anyone who might hear of it and want to join in. The only requirement will be that you chip in a six pack or allow us all to divide ours with you if you can't afford your own. We won't judge you for what you wear, where you live or the size of your bank account. We won't care what you drive or how many times you've been married. At this party after THE Christmas party we'll like you for who you are or we won't like you at all. We won't act as if you're a friend when we really don't care if we don't see you again till the same time next year. The kind of folks at this party will pick you up when you fall instead of making you the center of gossip. The good people at this party are the kind of folks who will send you a card on your birthday, randomly take you out to lunch, call you when you're sick or be a shoulder when you most need one.
One of the saddest things I think people do to THEMSELVES is to pretend to be something or someone they're not. THE Christmas party makes me appreciate those people at the next Christmas party. For that...I sincerely thank the person who sent me that golden invitation. I'll see you there.

You know, having 3 girls should mean that at the end of your job rearing them you get a medal or at least a reward of sorts. Something like an hour with the current president of the United States to tell him exactly what you think should be done would be a start. You should get free flight & hotel accomodations to anywhere in the world you want to go. Private jet only please. Moms of 3 girls should get a week long romance with oh lets say George Clooney or Jon Bon Jovi. Jon and George should be wild with enthusiasm over this because it is such an honor.
There should be masterpieces done of you with a shawl drapped over your legs as you sit in a rocking chair. And by God this picture should even grace the walls of the Smithsonian! Diane Sawyer should interview moms of girls & Oprah should do shows on the subject. Just think of the ratings! Somewhere on that mountain where the presidents faces are carved there should be the face of a mom with 3 girls. Of course she'd look a bit haggard, maybe even a little wild eyed but the Bud Light and Valium concoction required to get through raising nothing but girls will do that to you.
Danika Patrick gets out of her race car to tons of cheering fans. Moms of girls should get the same response as they're walking to their cars to go to work. General Patton was considered one of the toughest men ever in the military. He'd bark out orders to his troops and they'd jump without hesitation still his vocal cords are nothing in comparison to a mom of girls yelling "DO NOT LET THAT BOY TOUCH YOU AND BE HOME BY 9!"
Lots of people think Hillary Clinton is just the bomb in as far as strong women go. Oh no, remember she only raised ONE girl. And you wonder why she didn't make the presidency.