There's a myriad of controversy over whether or not men go through a mid-life crisis. I'm here to settle the debate once and for all. The answer would be a resounding YES!!!
You may ask, "How do you know this?" "Have you been doing research?" "Are you a sociologist who is working on her Ph.D?" No, no, and no! However, I am married to a fifty-year-old. Enough said.
Now, some of you may believe that the mid-life crisis begins with the losing weight, adding hair where there may not be any, buying new clothes, watches and/or cars. I am here to tell you, it's not so obvious. It's subtle. Sort of like that 40th birthday that sneaks up on you. You still feel like an 18-year-old on the inside but on the outside, you are absolutely falling apart; unless you have money and a good plastic surgeon, that is.
My husband's mid-life crisis began at say age 43. All of a sudden, he was crabby. This was something new. He was always an easy-going sort of fella. Then one day -- I think it was his birthday -- BOOM! Crabby! All of a sudden, I started thinking, am I spending the rest of my life with a crabby old man??? I always thought that was a stereotype. Who knew it wasn't? I didn't sign up for this! For better or worse? Who the hell came up with that line? It should be "for better". Period. End of story. But no -- some moron decided we should stay with someone even if something unforeseen happens -- like crabbiness!
OK, well, I could MAYBE deal with this crabby new husband....perhaps I was crabby and he was just reacting to me? A possibility? Doubtful but I was willing to give it some consideration.
Then, one day, he up and decides to go to Iraq. For a whole year. Well, not that I liked it, approved of it, or even wanted him to go, (though I would be rid of this crab for a year) -- I agreed. Not that I had a choice because he WAS going. I did manage to convince myself it was altruistic, patriotic and all that other good stuff. And it paid well (which made the sacrifice all the easier to swallow). So, I said, "Bon Voyage -- and DUCK!"
A year goes by -- we see him once -- then I get a phone call. He's signed another contract. Then another year goes by and he signs another contract. Somehow, I'm seeing a pattern here. Let's see....go to work, come home to a clean house, 3 squares a day, and no kids or nagging wife. Hmmmmm, I can see the appeal. Meanwhile, during his vacations with us, he is looking for a Corvette. Oh, and he's dropped 60 lbs. Do I sense a crisis??? There's one brewing alright but not the kind he thinks -- it's me, ready to lose my freakin' mind because I'm on duty 24/7 with two teenagers in the house.
Well, fast forward a year and a half later. We are now on our 4th year of separation. He has managed to take a job in Las Vegas -- you want to talk Paradise for a single guy -- that would be it. The only thing is he's working his ass off as an insurance agent in 110 degree heat. Ahhhh, sweet revenge.
He is planning a comeback at my behest, so I guess there is hope after all. We've been married 27 years. Oh and this year's anniversary was the best ever -- I spent it in the ER getting my ear sewed back together after our dog bit most of it off! I have to say, it was one of our more memorable ones even though he wasn't here. I sent him a text message with a picture of the bloody ear saying "Happy Anniversary"!
My husband's 50 now -- I'm 49...we're down to one teenager in the house. I'm hoping we can manage to live together. Four years is a damned long time to be separated. Perhaps the crabby is gone -- maybe he got it all out of his system. He's fat again and we don't own a Corvette, so perhaps there's hope. At least, he didn't get a tattoo or some bizarre piercing-- that's forever.
Oh, one last thing...I'm seriously menopausal -- What's that expression again? Oh yeah, turn about is fair play.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Getting in Shape
My youngest daughter is here visiting from Texas. At the behest of me, she is helping me to get into shape. You see, my 30th class reunion is coming up. There's something about class reunions that will make you do things that you wouldn't ordinarily do; such as lose 20 lbs in a month or in my case, actually engage in physical activity in the hopes of losing a dress size or two.
I can count the number of times when I was actually physically fit. In 8th grade, when I was a bona fide cheerleader (my kids still chuckle at the thought of me doing a back walkover or handspring) and when I was 30 years old and had just had my third child. Something about being 30 sparked me into action. Even as a child, running was just something I never enjoyed doing. Must've been in the genes or something.
However, I suppose showing up at my reunion and declaring that I still have baby weight could potentially backfire. After all, I AM old enough to be a grandma (which I will be by then), and even if people were to believe I had a small child at home, they would certainly declare me legally insane. So, no, I cannot show up with this extra poundage. I'm bound to be found out with that scurrilous excuse. Granted, it's true that my weight ballooned during my 4th pregnancy. That and the fact that I've eaten about a million gallons of junk food since the day my youngest was born!!
Anyhow, the thing with my daughter is, she refuses to understand that I'm old and decrepit. For some reason, she thinks I can move like a 20 year old. I got news for her -- I ain't no 20 year old!! And to make matters worse, she actually MAKES me move until I sweat and huff and puff. It sucks, really! She calls my bluff on everything. Even the chest pains I felt today -- NOTHING! I'm still alive so I presume those were really just stitches in my side, but the fact is...they COULD'VE been real! As we passed a park bench she said, "Don't even think about it!" This, from the gird of my loins!
The other day as we were walking endlessly on the track at our exercise hub I commented that the reason I hate to exercise is that I hate to sweat and I hate to feel short of breath. Her response? That, mother, is called EXERCISING! I knew there was a reason I hated it! So, tomorrow, as I'm huffing, puffing, AND sweating...think of me! All I can say is I better look "hot" at my reunion -- and not because it's a 90-something degree day in August!!
I can count the number of times when I was actually physically fit. In 8th grade, when I was a bona fide cheerleader (my kids still chuckle at the thought of me doing a back walkover or handspring) and when I was 30 years old and had just had my third child. Something about being 30 sparked me into action. Even as a child, running was just something I never enjoyed doing. Must've been in the genes or something.
However, I suppose showing up at my reunion and declaring that I still have baby weight could potentially backfire. After all, I AM old enough to be a grandma (which I will be by then), and even if people were to believe I had a small child at home, they would certainly declare me legally insane. So, no, I cannot show up with this extra poundage. I'm bound to be found out with that scurrilous excuse. Granted, it's true that my weight ballooned during my 4th pregnancy. That and the fact that I've eaten about a million gallons of junk food since the day my youngest was born!!
Anyhow, the thing with my daughter is, she refuses to understand that I'm old and decrepit. For some reason, she thinks I can move like a 20 year old. I got news for her -- I ain't no 20 year old!! And to make matters worse, she actually MAKES me move until I sweat and huff and puff. It sucks, really! She calls my bluff on everything. Even the chest pains I felt today -- NOTHING! I'm still alive so I presume those were really just stitches in my side, but the fact is...they COULD'VE been real! As we passed a park bench she said, "Don't even think about it!" This, from the gird of my loins!
The other day as we were walking endlessly on the track at our exercise hub I commented that the reason I hate to exercise is that I hate to sweat and I hate to feel short of breath. Her response? That, mother, is called EXERCISING! I knew there was a reason I hated it! So, tomorrow, as I'm huffing, puffing, AND sweating...think of me! All I can say is I better look "hot" at my reunion -- and not because it's a 90-something degree day in August!!
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Top 10 Airline Disasters
It's been awhile since I posted, but I decided it's time to get back in the saddle. And "Whoa, Nellie" what a tale I have to tell!!
This past week-end we went to visit my daughter in Texas. Now, I am not one who enjoys flying. In fact, I have to be heavily sedated. Pass the Xanax and Dramamine, please! But even heavy sedation cannot negate the fact that this week-end's flights land on my Top 10 list for some of the worst flights I have taken.
Now, this carrier (who shall remain nameless for fear of lawsuits) is the one that basically herds its cattle, I mean passengers, like cattle. You are given a boarding pass with a letter determining what number you are in line. However, there are NO ASSIGNED SEATS! Imagine that -- a free-for-all once you get inside the plane. What genius came up with that idea??? Perhaps 100 years ago that was a good idea -- when they actually were one of the cheapest carriers around. But those days are over, baby! They now have fares that are as high as the best of them.
Never mind my husband didn't print off boarding passes the day before and FIVE of us (you got it -- FIVE) had to vie for seats throughout the plane, including our young son. Now, here's a little known fact. If you sit near the emergency exit -- you have to help EVACUATE the plane in an emergency. To help the all of TWO airline personnel. That's right folks -- sit near the exit and you get to exit LAST! After helping the other 179 passengers to safety. " Gee, I'll be GLAD to help. Let me grab a fire extinguisher while I'm at it and put out the flames on my body!!!"
Do you see where I'm going with this? ZERO customer service. Oh, and let's not forget that as we were coming home, we were delayed by over an hour because they were looking for 5 volunteers to fly stand-by since they overbooked! Now if this wasn't insult to injury, the airline hosts/hostesses (whatever the vernacular is today), thought it a lark to make fun and blame the PASSENGERS for the delays. "Tic, tic, tic -- that's the clock saying it's time to find a seat because you're causing us to be late." Or as they told an 80-something passenger, "Well, you didn't listen -- that's just going to take us that much longer to board our passengers." The list goes on. So, speaking of lists, I'm going to label my top 10 for suck-y flights.
1. Flight from St. Louis to NY circa 1982. This is what set off my whole fear of flying. While sitting next to an emergency exit, I noticed a huge gap around the door. It was not sealed tightlyand I sat for two hours as I watched the sky pass by my feet.
2. Flight from St. Louis to Kuwait circa 1996. Not only was my daughter puking all the way across the Atlantic but somebody actually died on the plane. Resuscitation took place from Jordan to Kuwait, since this was a member of the royal family. Oh, and let's not forget that we were held up in Chicago for 3 days before we could actually find a connection since we lost ours due to a storm.
3. Any flight from Kuwait to St. Louis with 4 small children on board. My only saving grace is and was XANAX!! That, and the fact, the kids were really stuck and couldn't run away anywhere. I'm sure the airline hosts/hostesses hated me for letting them run loose on the plane while I napped.
4. Flight from St. Louis to London. This was a direct flight circa 1994. I was pregnant and told not to carry luggage or anything heavy as I had gotten stuck in St. Louis over Christmas due to pregnancy complications. I was travelling with a 3 year old at the time who was newly potty trained. I asked a counter person for help with my carry-on bags, explaining the situation. He took me to the door of the plane, dropped my bags and said "Now, you're on your own". What an ass! A kindly passenger behind me who saw the whole thing carried my bags in. The hostesses who were obviously menopausal, judging by their spreading middles and gray hair, yelled at passengers who took their shoes off and walked around the plane, saying they could get broken glass in their feet. Oh, and I was yelled at for taking my three year old to the potty, since there was turbulence. It was up to me if I wanted to break our necks. I took my chances. Better a broken neck than pissy pants. By the way, that was the now defunct TWA. Is it a wonder they went bankrupt?
5. Last week-end's trip.
Ok, so I'm five short of the top 10 list, but in my own defense, I stopped flying between 1982 and 1993 due to what I refer to as the "Flight from Hell".
So folks, if you're planning a trip anytime soon -- take it from me. Fly a carrier that actually will assign seats and offers pretzels instead of peanuts. Or even better -- DRIVE!
This past week-end we went to visit my daughter in Texas. Now, I am not one who enjoys flying. In fact, I have to be heavily sedated. Pass the Xanax and Dramamine, please! But even heavy sedation cannot negate the fact that this week-end's flights land on my Top 10 list for some of the worst flights I have taken.
Now, this carrier (who shall remain nameless for fear of lawsuits) is the one that basically herds its cattle, I mean passengers, like cattle. You are given a boarding pass with a letter determining what number you are in line. However, there are NO ASSIGNED SEATS! Imagine that -- a free-for-all once you get inside the plane. What genius came up with that idea??? Perhaps 100 years ago that was a good idea -- when they actually were one of the cheapest carriers around. But those days are over, baby! They now have fares that are as high as the best of them.
Never mind my husband didn't print off boarding passes the day before and FIVE of us (you got it -- FIVE) had to vie for seats throughout the plane, including our young son. Now, here's a little known fact. If you sit near the emergency exit -- you have to help EVACUATE the plane in an emergency. To help the all of TWO airline personnel. That's right folks -- sit near the exit and you get to exit LAST! After helping the other 179 passengers to safety. " Gee, I'll be GLAD to help. Let me grab a fire extinguisher while I'm at it and put out the flames on my body!!!"
Do you see where I'm going with this? ZERO customer service. Oh, and let's not forget that as we were coming home, we were delayed by over an hour because they were looking for 5 volunteers to fly stand-by since they overbooked! Now if this wasn't insult to injury, the airline hosts/hostesses (whatever the vernacular is today), thought it a lark to make fun and blame the PASSENGERS for the delays. "Tic, tic, tic -- that's the clock saying it's time to find a seat because you're causing us to be late." Or as they told an 80-something passenger, "Well, you didn't listen -- that's just going to take us that much longer to board our passengers." The list goes on. So, speaking of lists, I'm going to label my top 10 for suck-y flights.
1. Flight from St. Louis to NY circa 1982. This is what set off my whole fear of flying. While sitting next to an emergency exit, I noticed a huge gap around the door. It was not sealed tightlyand I sat for two hours as I watched the sky pass by my feet.
2. Flight from St. Louis to Kuwait circa 1996. Not only was my daughter puking all the way across the Atlantic but somebody actually died on the plane. Resuscitation took place from Jordan to Kuwait, since this was a member of the royal family. Oh, and let's not forget that we were held up in Chicago for 3 days before we could actually find a connection since we lost ours due to a storm.
3. Any flight from Kuwait to St. Louis with 4 small children on board. My only saving grace is and was XANAX!! That, and the fact, the kids were really stuck and couldn't run away anywhere. I'm sure the airline hosts/hostesses hated me for letting them run loose on the plane while I napped.
4. Flight from St. Louis to London. This was a direct flight circa 1994. I was pregnant and told not to carry luggage or anything heavy as I had gotten stuck in St. Louis over Christmas due to pregnancy complications. I was travelling with a 3 year old at the time who was newly potty trained. I asked a counter person for help with my carry-on bags, explaining the situation. He took me to the door of the plane, dropped my bags and said "Now, you're on your own". What an ass! A kindly passenger behind me who saw the whole thing carried my bags in. The hostesses who were obviously menopausal, judging by their spreading middles and gray hair, yelled at passengers who took their shoes off and walked around the plane, saying they could get broken glass in their feet. Oh, and I was yelled at for taking my three year old to the potty, since there was turbulence. It was up to me if I wanted to break our necks. I took my chances. Better a broken neck than pissy pants. By the way, that was the now defunct TWA. Is it a wonder they went bankrupt?
5. Last week-end's trip.
Ok, so I'm five short of the top 10 list, but in my own defense, I stopped flying between 1982 and 1993 due to what I refer to as the "Flight from Hell".
So folks, if you're planning a trip anytime soon -- take it from me. Fly a carrier that actually will assign seats and offers pretzels instead of peanuts. Or even better -- DRIVE!
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Ode to Mom 1927-2007
My mom died December 21. It's hard to write that and even harder to imagine it's true. But it is. She fought the good fight. She spent her last three weeks of life in the hospital. Although I think she would have preferred to have been home, that was just not possible . She would have had to ask for hospice. She did not want that. After all, hospice is for people who are dying. To have been on hospice would have meant having to admit that final truth.
My mom was a brave woman. She fought as long and as hard as she could. At the end, her 90-something pound body just could fight no more. It was sad to watch the decline of a woman who was so witty and bright. As we go through the pictures of her over the years, it is hard to imagine a woman so full of life and vitality is gone.
Her words still come back to me as I silently think about calling her about this or that. "Mom, I'm sick -- should I go to school?" "Stay home and rest." "But I feel guilty!" "Don't feel guilty -- get better." "I feel like I'm dying!" "You're not dying, you're just neurotic like your mother!" And on it goes...
I don't think my mom suffered like most people with cancer do. She seemed comfortable until the end. God was merciful to her in that way. The strongest pain medicine she ever took was a Darvocet N-100 and it relieved what little pain she had. I thank God for that!
In the end, she died with her loved ones surrounding her. Her room was very quiet and we all just sat and talked with her until she passed into the next life. When I entered her room and saw her labored breathing, I whispered in her ear, "Tonight, you'll be dancing with the angels, Mama!" I was right.
Last night, I had a dream she visited me. She thanked me for helping her spiritually and told me it (Heaven) was all I said it would be. I asked her if she was with her friends, and she said, "No, I will see them in a few days." One last visit and a final good-bye.
Whenever I feel sad, I think back to her illness and all the challenges she faced. She never let anyone know how she really felt. I'm sure she felt scared, and lonely, and missing us before she even left this earth. And I'm sure she felt sick. The day she was admitted to the hospital, as she laid in the emergency room, she looked at me and said, "I'm not going to be here much longer." I told her, "Don't say that, you don't know..." She pointed at her heart and said, "I know." She did know.
I wish this blog were funny or silly or even somewhat poetic. It's not but it's from the heart. Those other words will come later. So as I dry my tears on my sleeve, and write this final "good-bye" know that you were loved, Mom! And that we'll miss you forever....
My mom was a brave woman. She fought as long and as hard as she could. At the end, her 90-something pound body just could fight no more. It was sad to watch the decline of a woman who was so witty and bright. As we go through the pictures of her over the years, it is hard to imagine a woman so full of life and vitality is gone.
Her words still come back to me as I silently think about calling her about this or that. "Mom, I'm sick -- should I go to school?" "Stay home and rest." "But I feel guilty!" "Don't feel guilty -- get better." "I feel like I'm dying!" "You're not dying, you're just neurotic like your mother!" And on it goes...
I don't think my mom suffered like most people with cancer do. She seemed comfortable until the end. God was merciful to her in that way. The strongest pain medicine she ever took was a Darvocet N-100 and it relieved what little pain she had. I thank God for that!
In the end, she died with her loved ones surrounding her. Her room was very quiet and we all just sat and talked with her until she passed into the next life. When I entered her room and saw her labored breathing, I whispered in her ear, "Tonight, you'll be dancing with the angels, Mama!" I was right.
Last night, I had a dream she visited me. She thanked me for helping her spiritually and told me it (Heaven) was all I said it would be. I asked her if she was with her friends, and she said, "No, I will see them in a few days." One last visit and a final good-bye.
Whenever I feel sad, I think back to her illness and all the challenges she faced. She never let anyone know how she really felt. I'm sure she felt scared, and lonely, and missing us before she even left this earth. And I'm sure she felt sick. The day she was admitted to the hospital, as she laid in the emergency room, she looked at me and said, "I'm not going to be here much longer." I told her, "Don't say that, you don't know..." She pointed at her heart and said, "I know." She did know.
I wish this blog were funny or silly or even somewhat poetic. It's not but it's from the heart. Those other words will come later. So as I dry my tears on my sleeve, and write this final "good-bye" know that you were loved, Mom! And that we'll miss you forever....
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Hubby's homecoming
Due to my mom's illness, my blog has been on hold. However, things are getting back to normal, so it's time to get back to work.
Where to start? Hubby is home after an eight month absence. Too long. When husbands and wives are apart that long, you have to re-acclimate to everything. For instance, who's in charge? You've both been bosses of yourself and the world around you for so long. Now, you come back together and each wants to continue to be the boss. AND to complicate matters, the kids pick up on this VERY quickly and use it against you. It's tough.
As if that's not enough, then there's the snoring. I've had blissful rest for a full eight months and here comes a locomotive roaring through the bedroom. Do I kick him out now? Would that be considered rude to ask him to sleep in a spare room? Not sure what the etiquette is on that one.
Oh, and let's not forget the leaving a sliced tomato on a newly cleaned countertop, oozing seeds and juice everywhere. Hmmmm, funny how I had forgotten that annoying little habit. It's almost as bad as leaving cheese wrappers (as in Kraft singles) everywhere.
I am glad he's home, though. At least, when I say I haven't been able to save money he can see where it is actually going...like for inflated grocery and gas prices. He picked up a little tiny coffee creamer today that was $3.66! No way!! I picked up the non-name brand and said, you get this one,which was $2.50 less. He, of course, said it's only $2.50. Whereas my response was, yes, on ONE ITEM only!! He didn't want Chex Trail Mix but wanted to make his own out of Chex Sweet & Salty and then add $10.00 worth of nuts and a sprinkle of M & M's. Tell me, does that NOT sound like Chex Trail Mix?!! But, he likes it his way.
OK, I admit it...I'm willing to put up with his little nuances and annoyances if he will just say "uncle" and stay. All of this depends on his finding work. Tough at middle age. So, I will hold my breath and say a prayer because
1. The kids are REALLY happy he's here.
2. I'm happy he's here. (altho' we still have to determine who's in charge ...ahem...ME!!)
3. The dog's SUPER happy he's here (he got eggs and potatoes AND meatloaf today)
and the best reason of all.....
4. All of us sleep a little more soundly and easily since he got home.
Where to start? Hubby is home after an eight month absence. Too long. When husbands and wives are apart that long, you have to re-acclimate to everything. For instance, who's in charge? You've both been bosses of yourself and the world around you for so long. Now, you come back together and each wants to continue to be the boss. AND to complicate matters, the kids pick up on this VERY quickly and use it against you. It's tough.
As if that's not enough, then there's the snoring. I've had blissful rest for a full eight months and here comes a locomotive roaring through the bedroom. Do I kick him out now? Would that be considered rude to ask him to sleep in a spare room? Not sure what the etiquette is on that one.
Oh, and let's not forget the leaving a sliced tomato on a newly cleaned countertop, oozing seeds and juice everywhere. Hmmmm, funny how I had forgotten that annoying little habit. It's almost as bad as leaving cheese wrappers (as in Kraft singles) everywhere.
I am glad he's home, though. At least, when I say I haven't been able to save money he can see where it is actually going...like for inflated grocery and gas prices. He picked up a little tiny coffee creamer today that was $3.66! No way!! I picked up the non-name brand and said, you get this one,which was $2.50 less. He, of course, said it's only $2.50. Whereas my response was, yes, on ONE ITEM only!! He didn't want Chex Trail Mix but wanted to make his own out of Chex Sweet & Salty and then add $10.00 worth of nuts and a sprinkle of M & M's. Tell me, does that NOT sound like Chex Trail Mix?!! But, he likes it his way.
OK, I admit it...I'm willing to put up with his little nuances and annoyances if he will just say "uncle" and stay. All of this depends on his finding work. Tough at middle age. So, I will hold my breath and say a prayer because
1. The kids are REALLY happy he's here.
2. I'm happy he's here. (altho' we still have to determine who's in charge ...ahem...ME!!)
3. The dog's SUPER happy he's here (he got eggs and potatoes AND meatloaf today)
and the best reason of all.....
4. All of us sleep a little more soundly and easily since he got home.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
For My Mom
My mom asked me to write a blog about her today. Currently, she is in the hospital where she is receiving treatment for pneumonia, COPD, and lung cancer. They say laughter is the best medicine, and all I can say is that she is not only doing her best to live up to that saying, but she also has kept me and the hospital staff in stitches (no pun intended) for most of her hospital stay. They say "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." I hope they are right. She is a most unique mother, and this is an unusual request -- not wanting to disappoint her, I have decided to oblige.
My mom is not your usual mother. She seldom baked, and certainly, never cookies. She could change out the toilet works, spray for bugs like a professional, clean gutters, and iron shirts on an old-fashioned mangle. And she could entertain like no other. Move over Martha Stewart, you've met your match! My parents had literally hundreds of friends and they all took turns having parties. I don't think there was a week-end in my life growing up that they weren't at someone's house or someone was over at our house. My mother could throw together a pile of crap, call it D'Knedrick (named after one of my father's patients), and have people rave over it.
More endearing than my mother's ability to entertain is what I refer to as her "-isms". There isn't a day that goes by when someone isn't full of "piss and vinegar", or she's so irritated she's saying, "oh bull's balls"! A few years ago, I learned that she is unable to eat a piece of cake unless it is lying correctly on the plate. Now what the hell is that? According to her, a piece of cake must be lying on its right side -- not left. I'm not sure why you can't just turn the plate around but according to her, it doesn't work. In fact, she called today and said, "you know, with all the shit I'm going through, I'm lying here thinking that my cake is lying on the wrong side on the plate." You gotta love that!
Her favorite show is The Wheel of Fortune and God help anyone who interrupts her watching it, including the President of the United States when he has a State of the Union address. She loves to read the National Enquirer, and no, the Star Magazine won't do. Something about their new format. I guess there's something about newsprint on her hands that makes it feel like a "real" newspaper. Oh, and let's not forget the Kleenex she has to have in her hand and the glass of water that she has on her nightstand when she goes to sleep at night -- a trait that has been handed down for generations, according to her. I can attest to that -- I do it and so do my kids.
The other day, she looked at her internist and declared, "You look like Richard Burton waiting for Elizabeth Taylor." I'm not sure what that meant but he was certainly flattered. An aide found a dime on her bedside table and pointed it out to my mom. Her response at 5 am? "Maybe I turned a trick in the night and forgot!" She has her oncologist blowing kisses at her as he leaves the room. She and the respiratory therapist share stories about Judge Judy (another of her favorite shows). Each and every person in that hospital will have a story about her to tell, I'm sure. She said to me yesterday, "Boy, I bet they think I'm a salty old bitch!" I doubt that...but I bet they will miss her when she goes home and chuckle a little as they pass by room 6713.
My mom is not your usual mother. She seldom baked, and certainly, never cookies. She could change out the toilet works, spray for bugs like a professional, clean gutters, and iron shirts on an old-fashioned mangle. And she could entertain like no other. Move over Martha Stewart, you've met your match! My parents had literally hundreds of friends and they all took turns having parties. I don't think there was a week-end in my life growing up that they weren't at someone's house or someone was over at our house. My mother could throw together a pile of crap, call it D'Knedrick (named after one of my father's patients), and have people rave over it.
More endearing than my mother's ability to entertain is what I refer to as her "-isms". There isn't a day that goes by when someone isn't full of "piss and vinegar", or she's so irritated she's saying, "oh bull's balls"! A few years ago, I learned that she is unable to eat a piece of cake unless it is lying correctly on the plate. Now what the hell is that? According to her, a piece of cake must be lying on its right side -- not left. I'm not sure why you can't just turn the plate around but according to her, it doesn't work. In fact, she called today and said, "you know, with all the shit I'm going through, I'm lying here thinking that my cake is lying on the wrong side on the plate." You gotta love that!
Her favorite show is The Wheel of Fortune and God help anyone who interrupts her watching it, including the President of the United States when he has a State of the Union address. She loves to read the National Enquirer, and no, the Star Magazine won't do. Something about their new format. I guess there's something about newsprint on her hands that makes it feel like a "real" newspaper. Oh, and let's not forget the Kleenex she has to have in her hand and the glass of water that she has on her nightstand when she goes to sleep at night -- a trait that has been handed down for generations, according to her. I can attest to that -- I do it and so do my kids.
The other day, she looked at her internist and declared, "You look like Richard Burton waiting for Elizabeth Taylor." I'm not sure what that meant but he was certainly flattered. An aide found a dime on her bedside table and pointed it out to my mom. Her response at 5 am? "Maybe I turned a trick in the night and forgot!" She has her oncologist blowing kisses at her as he leaves the room. She and the respiratory therapist share stories about Judge Judy (another of her favorite shows). Each and every person in that hospital will have a story about her to tell, I'm sure. She said to me yesterday, "Boy, I bet they think I'm a salty old bitch!" I doubt that...but I bet they will miss her when she goes home and chuckle a little as they pass by room 6713.
The Letter
Yesterday, I received a letter in the mail from my son's high school. I have to tell you, he has a history of getting letters from the high school. It is never good news. Progress reports, notices of absences, you name it, I've gotten it. So, everytime I see a letter address To The Parents Of...my stomach does a little flip-flop. So what is it now? It's a big envelope. Perhaps it's from the guidance counselors, inquiring about his college plans. College plans...hmmm...is that even in the works? Let's see -- he has a "C" average at best. I don't understand this either. In grade school, he had A's & B's. As he got older, his hormones hit, a social life came into play, and school work went straight out the window. So, no, I don't think it's the counselors writing for his college plans.
I slowly lift the seal, take a deep breath, and pull out the contents. I read quickly, so as to get the pain over with as fast as possible. Hmmmm, no mention of progress reports. That's good. No absence reports. WHAT IS THIS?! I read on. "Your son has received an award" -- my eyes go back. "Award?" Now, THAT'S something new! I re-read -- "Your son has received an AWARD for having a high score on the MAP tests that were taken last spring." He is a "MAP SCHOLAR". Oh my God! A scholar, no less!! I have no clue what all this means other than he's not in trouble and perhaps he is taking school more seriously. Oh, and he gets an I.D. card that gets him free Homecoming Dance tickets and free admission to all sporting events. Yeah, let's make sure he NEVER gets a good grade again!
THEN, a voice whispers in my ear..."How come a kid who has such BAD grades has such HIGH test scores?" "Hmmmm, this voice has a point. What the heck is going on? So, I question the boy. And I find myself actually scolding him for getting a good test score. This doesn't bode well for me. I think I'm going at this from the wrong angle.
I have to admit, he had not one, but two tough acts to follow. His older sisters consistently got good grades. He has one sister who studied her butt off to get good grades, and the other never even picked up a book throughout school, other than for Pre-Calc, and managed to graduate with a 3.9 GPA. And it didn't help that in middle school, he had the EXACT same teachers as his sisters. Boy, were they ever surprised when they got him!
By his own confession, the boy gets lousy grades because he's lazy and doesn't like to do his work, much less turn it in. However, this test also confirms what I've known for years. The boy's a flippin' genius. He just doesn't like to apply himself.
If only I can get him to turn in his college application! As I told my husband the other day -- "Wouldn't it be funny if he was the one who actually got the college scholarships?"
I slowly lift the seal, take a deep breath, and pull out the contents. I read quickly, so as to get the pain over with as fast as possible. Hmmmm, no mention of progress reports. That's good. No absence reports. WHAT IS THIS?! I read on. "Your son has received an award" -- my eyes go back. "Award?" Now, THAT'S something new! I re-read -- "Your son has received an AWARD for having a high score on the MAP tests that were taken last spring." He is a "MAP SCHOLAR". Oh my God! A scholar, no less!! I have no clue what all this means other than he's not in trouble and perhaps he is taking school more seriously. Oh, and he gets an I.D. card that gets him free Homecoming Dance tickets and free admission to all sporting events. Yeah, let's make sure he NEVER gets a good grade again!
THEN, a voice whispers in my ear..."How come a kid who has such BAD grades has such HIGH test scores?" "Hmmmm, this voice has a point. What the heck is going on? So, I question the boy. And I find myself actually scolding him for getting a good test score. This doesn't bode well for me. I think I'm going at this from the wrong angle.
I have to admit, he had not one, but two tough acts to follow. His older sisters consistently got good grades. He has one sister who studied her butt off to get good grades, and the other never even picked up a book throughout school, other than for Pre-Calc, and managed to graduate with a 3.9 GPA. And it didn't help that in middle school, he had the EXACT same teachers as his sisters. Boy, were they ever surprised when they got him!
By his own confession, the boy gets lousy grades because he's lazy and doesn't like to do his work, much less turn it in. However, this test also confirms what I've known for years. The boy's a flippin' genius. He just doesn't like to apply himself.
If only I can get him to turn in his college application! As I told my husband the other day -- "Wouldn't it be funny if he was the one who actually got the college scholarships?"
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