Good bye Bouncer...

HELLOOOOOO BARTENDER

Good gawd, Bear turned 21 on Saturday.

I can't remember my own 21st birthday, (no, I wasn't that drunk... I'd been legal for years, the drinking age in Michigan was 18 at the time.)

I cried while in the card store choosing the perfect birthday card for my boy.

Bear is one of a kind kind of kid... I like to tell people that when I find myself dozing on the couch and I feel a blanket being gently laid over my shoulders, when I look up, it's always Bear placing it there.

He notices when my feet ache or my heart is broken.

We spent so much time alone together when he was small.. I feel like we're pals.

Many of the cards I looked at had boys on the front that looked a lot like he did.

Dark, thick, tousled haired boys with sturdy hands and bright eyes.

Little boys playing ball, building Lincoln Log fortresses, fishing on the side of a wide stream... the kind of crap that automatically triggers the waterworks in a mother such as me.

The words below were on the card I choose...

"Along the halls of yesterday where happy memories glow, I sometimes see the little boy I loved so long ago.

He fills the house with noisy fun and laughter as he plays, banging doors in eagerness to reach his grown up days...

Today I'm proud to see a man who's grown to warm my heart even more than that small boy I loved so at the start. 


I'm going to miss having a kid around.


"21" is seriously "official" in the "I'm a grown ass man" arena.


I need to get to the mind frame that shouts "what a wonderful job you did with this kid person"...and stop wallowing in the whisper asking me how in the world "I" got old enough to have a baby that can not only drink vodka and not worry about getting caught.... but walk into any liquor store, with a bona fied ID and buy the crap...


YIKES....


Pages turn sister.....yes, yes, yes, they certainly do.


And the sooner you face facts the less you will look like a crazy lunatic.


Okay, yeah, sure.


xoxo..thanks for reading my blog!!

(S)mothering Bear....

If you are a friend (regular reader of this blog) you know that Bear has been stuck in the sharp, jagged claws of a fierce and immensly evil virus.

If you've just happened to stumble upon this blog ("Next Blog" feature, upper left hand corner Blogger blogs) Bear is my (baby boy) soon to be 21 year old son.

 Anyway, Bear has been sick as hell.

He's also been (more) ornery (than usual).

(His being ornery has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he's been sick for almost two weeks and claims to be near death due not to fever or fatigue, but rather (according to him) because he is being smothered...)

(by me)

"TOMORROW I TURN OFF MY PHONE" he spats at me..

(not literally, yo)

"YOU AND DAD burned up my phone today, you each called about 20 times to check on me" he continued.

"Uh, I only called twice and texted twice" I defended myself.

"TWICE... EVERY FIFTEEN MINUTES !!!" Bear scowled.

Every day there has been discussion (ARGUMENT) about Bear going to work.

"You CAN'T work" I order.

"I CAN'T NOT WORK" Bear responds.

"You'll hurt yourself, you'll kill yourself, you'll be maimed for life, you won't reach 21, you'll have a lifetime of problems, you will infect the entire universe, you'll fall down in the parking lot at work and fry in the sweltering sun, you'll have a seizure, a stroke"

(taking a gulp of air...)

"you will get cancer, you will need a blood transfusion, this will lead to Type II Diabetes, this could make you sterile or you could go blind

(gulp)

Or deaf...do you hear me? You could go deaf"

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-se take the mother effin day off! Please take the day off, don't do this to me or to yourself. Take some time off, get well, please!! you are going to hurt yourself, kill yourself, maim yourself, suffer lifelong consequences for this unwise behavior !!!".

"I have to work" Bear said

"I have responsibilities, they count on me there, no one else does what I do" he continued.

"Well.... then, what are they going to do when you die at your desk...? Hmmm, what are they going to do then? Get someone else to do your job... or rely on a corpse to do the work?"

"Mom, you are an idiot"

"I have to work, and I don't want to talk about it anymore"

When my own mother called to find out how Bear was feeling I told her of our exchange and my frustration with Bear's (really amazing) work ethic.

"He is a freakin idiot" I told Marmie.

"He's going to kill himself, maim himself, create lifelong problems, develop a flesh eating bacteria...." I cried.

"Elizabeth" Marmie said "have you ever thought of giving him (back) some control over his life...?"

"MOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Bear screamed later when I brought the subject back up " ENOUGH!!!!"

"I AM GO-ING TO WORK"

"NUTHIN YOU CAN SAY OR DO IS GOING TO CHANGE THAT...UNDERSTAND???"

Doing my best Marmie impersionation I took another stab at getting Bear to lay on the davenport another day...

"Son, I KNOW you will do what is right for you. You know yourself best, if you feel strong enough to work, then you go. I have confidence that you will take good care of yourself, make the best decision about work. Sometimes I forget that you are an adult and in charge of your own life... I trust you Bear, really I do."

Bear decided he is too sick to go to work.

(Thank you dear, dear wise Marmie, sometimes a girls gotta know when to bring in da big guns)

Dear Marmie.... you rock!

XOXO

Signed,

Grasshopper

I'm deep in the trenches....

of January hum-drum.

I'm like a blob of nothingness.

A frozen dead tree stump.

Feeling a smidgen of depression creepin in.

Smack dab in the middle of good ol January and I have yet to do anything toward my New Year's Resolutions.

Okay that's a lie.

I didn't make any resolutions, since I knew I'd never keep them if I did.

So I guess I have kept my non-resolutions.

Still though, January is the perfect time to rearrange your cupboards and clean your closets.

Well, in my fantasy world, it's the perfect time.

Dreams and motions are two different things friends.

In the trenches of January hum-drums my world is viewed through a pair of baby poop colored glasses.

Thick, yellowish green Grey Poop-on (yeah, I know it's Poupon) mustard ev-ery-thang...

In the middle of my January hum-drums I see filth in my house, a mess in my checkbook.

More wrinkles on my mug than a pug dog.

I'm also beyond tired of seeing those horrible smokers lines (I don't smoke) around my lips, deep lines that look like I'm puckering for a smooch (which I'm not).

My lipstick somehow defies gravity and moves upward into the vertical cracks where it stays and makes me look like a four year old who played in her mother's make-up...or a washed up movie star.

Poop colored, everything.

What brings a person out of this type of funkytown wallow...?

I was trying so hard to think of what might do it when Bear walked into the room.

"Hi" he said cheerfully "how are you?"

(wtf...? it's 6:11 am)

"uh, I gotta tell you somethin.." he continued.

"Is it bad?" I say quickly "I can't hear bad. It's too early for bad".

"I got a ticket last night" he admitted "a ticket for 5 over".

"the cop said it won't hurt our insurance"

" five over won't hurt anything"

"the one and only ticket I got was over 2 years ago"

"I will pay for this".....he declared.

Well a sure fire way to get yourself out of a January hum-drum.

And feel a zest for life once again.

Nothing quite like a blood rush to your head, a pounding heart, and some rapid gasping breaths to let you know...

I'M ALIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Those damn kids.

on being Jamaican.....

My sister Susan calls me a Jamaican.

With all due respect, she is basing her assessment of the appropriate-ness of this nickname on a skit from Saturday Night Live.

On this particular Saturday Night Live skit the Jamaicans are portrayed as an abnormally hard working bunch.

They've lots of jobs and are always thinking of ways to make a buck.

Not to get rich, but more to make ends meet.

Although I guess if one got rich on the way there would be no complaints.

Bear, my youngest son takes after me in that way.

He's not one to sit idly by and go broke, or without.

So he does what he's got to do...he tinks up big tings as a way to make "it" work.

A few years back he decided that he wanted to buy a new game system using his birthday money, the plan had a fatal flaw, he didn't get enough money in his birthday cards for that large a purchase.

If you'd been able to observe him in the days following his birthday you would have totally seen the wheels turning in his head as he tried desperately to figure out a solution to his deh pon di gully side.

Bobbaat! if that little sucka didn't think up the most crawful plan.

He'd buy up all the old games his friends wanted to get rid of, paying the same low cash price that the video game store was paying.

He then took the used games to the video store himself and turned them in for store credit which was much more generous than the cash offering.

He had enough to then buy the system and a new game....

 To di worl!!!!!

In other words...poooo poooo p freakin do...

For his real and official job Bear is employed at McDonald's where he claims he's getting lots of pimples and not a ton of cash per hour.

I think it does him good to see how the other half lives...

An honest way to make a buck, however, he's determined that this will not be his life's work.

 But for the time being it will do.

Bear has lots of aspirations and most of them require more flow than he can make in a reasonable amount of time working at MickyD's.

Things like buying his lovely girlfriend a hot meal on Saturday nights.

Or keeping a cheap gym membership going.

I had the usual mixture of pride and "what in the hell do you think you are doing now...?" feeling when I saw this sitting on the laundry room shelf...

Far be it for me to live a luu, so I left it there and filled it as I stumbled upon loose change left in pockets and found in the bottom of the washing machine.

And memba mi tell yu...dis kid gonna make it mon.


Key to Jamaican slang expressions used in this moving essay.... ;-)
Deh pon di gully side A difficult (usually economic) situation
Bombaat! Expression of awe
Crawful Outrageously good
To di worl!!!!! Expression of approval
Live a luu Spoil the plan
Memba mi tell yu Listen up, take note

PS... I missed you, and if you are reading this I thank you for coming back.

Bear goes to Boston....

"Can I go to Boston?" read the text I received yesterday at 2:45 pm in the middle of my Culinary Arts Class.

Wow, I hoped thought, wrong number.

I once before got a wrong number text.

(Googie told me not to respond, that people screw around with people like that.)

Then my work phone rang.

"Did you get my text?" Bear asked.

"You want to go to Boston?" I asked

"Boston, as in the state Boston? (my very intelligent co-workers glanced at me kind of funny when I said that..forcing me to clarify..)

"I mean, as in Massachusetts.... You want to go to Boston, Massachusetts????"

Have you been sniffing glue?

"Seriously....you want to go to Boston?"

He gave me the details and I told him I'd call his dad and call him right back.

"He never asked to go on any Girls Gone Totally Wild sex/tattoo/multiple body piercing a thon Spring Break trip" I reminded Daddio.

"And he's never been in one bit of trouble"

What the hell was I doing here??? I was talking Daddio into agreeing to let Bear leave the country.

Fly to the moon.

Be swallowed up by a tesseract...a sort of "wrinkle in time" in space and time, a fifth dimension.

"I will need every one of their full names (including any alias's), phone numbers, addresses, MySpace Facebook and any YouTube account info" I told Bear about his travel companions.

"I want parent's names too"... (a quick credit check couldn't hurt).

When everyone checked out okay and Bear got the go ahead it was a mad dash to get packed, secure some flow (that will probably be stolen when he is robbed and raped in some filthy germ infested rest stop along the way) and do all the things one does when leaving out of town.

"We don't have a small tube of toothpaste MOMMMMMMMMMMMM" Bear screamed into the phone, it was the 27th call he made to me at work, in the 45 minutes he had to get ready to leave.

This trip on the fly was starting to grate on my nerves.

"I don't know if I want to go" Bear said on call number 29.

And again with call number 32.

"FLIP A FREAKIN ASS COIN AND DO WHATEVER THE FRICK IT TELLS YOU TO DO OKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKAY?" I yelled, when he called again to tell me he wasn't sure.

A second later when a screwdriver stabbed me in the heart (be nice to him you idiot, if you let him go and God forbid something happens.....) I got control of myself....

"Sweeeeetheart" I purred "this is an adventure. You are going to have a blast. Make a decision, figure that there are going to be pros and cons, just like every other decision you are ever gonna make. Once you make a decision you will feel better. Just make one, make up your mind and go with whatever it is that you decide. Have some confidence in yourself. GO or DON'T GO, decide. Now, are you going to Boston or not?"

"I don't know" Bear said "should I?"

For cryinoutloud .......

OF COURSE YOU SHOULD NOT GO....an accident could happen, you guys could get so lost that you'd never make it back.

Boston is far kid, really really far.

(One step closer out the door you go.)

I'll miss you Bear, be safe and hurry home.

And don't forget, hide your money in your sock....

(I will age 20 years this weekend, guaranteed)

"My beautiful beautiful beautiful beau...ti...fulllll boooooooy"

Daddio and I always wanted three kids.

He came from three kids.

I came from three kids.

Three kids just seemed like a good number.

Then I had the Sweet Prince Buttercup....

And 23 months later Googie Monster made her entrance.

S P Buttercup was like having 6 children.

And Googie just rolled with the flow.

So for a couple of years after the two of them were born Daddio and I were content with having 7 children.

And then my brother John died in a horrible accident.

And that left just me and Susan.

And I spent lots of time wondering how awful it would be if my mother had only had two children.

And I was left sibling less.

Or Susan was left sibling less.......

I told Daddio that I wanted our third baby.

Now.... I didn't have him to replace my brother.

I had him because I realized that I felt like something was missing.

When I found out that I was carrying a boy....

I wigged out for a minute or two....

Another boy could mean 6 more children.

So with this one and Buttercup and Googie I was going to be a mother of 13.

I didn't have the patience to mother 13.

It was hard enough many days with just the 7 I already had.

I went into labor with my darling Bear at 1am.

Just after Daddio and his friend and I watched an episode of Saturday Night Live.

For a late night snack we'd had White Castle (for those of you living outside of Michigan White Castle is a little burger joint that sells theeee most addicting teenytiny flat square hamburgers for about a dime apiece...being so cheap and small you are compelled to buy at least a dozen to eat at one setting....If by chance you should ever visit I implore you to only sample one...or make sure you are very near a bathroom, as Daddio says "those babies work fast").

I was a glutton that night and in addition to a cheeseburger (or five) I ate some of their onion chips.

Onion chips....

You know the charcoal they feed you at the hospital when you ingest something horrible and poisonous....

and you need to throw-up???

I was looking for an "at home" version around midnight that night.

(I have to stop, my stomach is getting sick)

Anyway, I credit those damn awful onion chips with starting my labor.

Daddio and his friend "Dah" had had a couple of beers (not so many that driving would be an issue)....

His friend laughs and likes to tell the story this way.... I came into the room and (I Love Lucy style) told Daddio "it is time" and according to his friend (he swears this to be true) Daddio grabbed my suitcase and ran outside and then backed out the drive...

alone.

According to "Dah" I opened the door and waved at the excited father to be, letting him know he was forgetting something.

This new baby boy and I spent lots of time together....he was (and is) a joy.

And most days he was like having only 3 children.

So he and Googie and Buttecup equaled only 10 children.

And I like even numbers.

Today my baby turns 19...how did the time go so fast?

He had his girlfriend over last night and I couldn't make over him like I usually do at bedtime the day before a birthday.

Instead I left him a note on his pillow.

When I'm long gone I hope he will follow this tradition.

No matter where I am, living or dead, he and I have a date at 3:33 am on the 4th day of August.

It's not legal to eat people...

but couldn't you just eat this kid up????

Waiting to exhale......

It's 9:30 in the evening and I'm sitting in my computer chair typing this post because there is no way I can do anything else.

I'm waiting.

On pins and needles.

I have a pit the size of a basketball resting heavily on my diaphragm making it hard to breathe.

It all started with a phone call to our landline a bit ago. I didn't answer because I didn't recognize the number.

A couple of minutes later Daddio walked upstairs with my cell phone. Bear had just called.

He was calling to tell us that he was on the way to the hospital, his best friend since the first grade had been injured in a car accident.

With hands shaking so badly it was hard to hold the phone, I called Bear back.

"How bad?" I asked.

"His parents didn't know how bad mom" he answered. "They called me and weren't to the hospital yet."

Then he just about broke my heart when he asked "If he was dead mom would the hospital keep that from his parents so they could make it to the hospital?

I don't know. Do they do that? I didn't think they did that? Please tell me they don't do that.

"No, honey he's going to be fine" I said.

Suddenly I was scared for my own child.

Scared because he's driving and upset.

Scared about what he may find when he gets to the hospital.

Scared to think about how his life could change because his best friend got into a car accident.

Then I thought about his friend's mother.

And I thought about my own mother who lost her son to an accident one seemingly ordinary mid October evening.

And I thought about Bear and his friend's graduation ceremony tomorrow night.

These two boys who became fast best friends when they met in the school supply aisle at K-Mart the first day of first grade.

Bear and Metzie were in the same class and became a perfectly matched inseparable pair.

They would be best friends all their growing up years.

They planned to walk together to get their diplomas.

And now Bear was on his way to the hospital where Metzie was taken after the accident.

A couple of hours and lots of text messages later Bear called one last time to say he was on his way home.

"Anybody want any MickyD's?" he asked when he called.

"Bring your dad a big mac" I said.

"Nothin for you ma?" He asked.

"Yeah" I wanted to add.....go to the store Bear and get some party hats and some balloons. Stop by the church and kneel and say a prayer of thanks. Lets make a cake. And throw confetti. And blow kazoos. And bubbles. Lets dance a jig and sing some songs.

"No kid, just hurry home" I said "and be careful".

Bear's best friend is going to be fine.

Life goes on as planned.

Halleluiah, Hallehuiah......

Secrets, lies, and a damn good coffee cake....

I went to a meeting this past Friday morning. It was a steering committee meeting. (lots of e's in that sentence)...I'll explain soon what this steering committee is all about.

In the meantime suffice it to say that Beth Gump has been invited to be a member, WHY she has been invited is one of the great mysteries of her life....HOW she can pretend to fit in, may be another.

Secrets.....

                                                                          

I hope this young woman hangs around for a long time. She makes my boy a better person (which is saying a lot since I already think the kid is the shit).

I pass this sign every day on my way to work. It used to identify a busy, bustling with life hospital which is no more...a victim of this crappy economy.

The parking lot, long untended is getting weed filled and littered with bits of trash.

But the sign gives me a feeling of hope and optimism.

GOD BLESS AMERICA....a surprising, unexpected, beautiful message in a dreary cold moment in time.

Kind of like a rose in December.

Lies..... 

    

1. Baby's got back.
2. Yoga pants look good on everyone.
3. The family curse of "no butt" aka "pancake ass" has (thankfully) passed Googie by.
4. It's a sin to burn perfectly good clothing.

(Disclaimer...Googie does have back. This is how she looks every week when she's bringing her sleeping quarters up to white glove perfect.)


A few short weeks from now I will be perfectly fine sitting in a stuffy high school gym high in the bleachers watching as my last baby walks across a decorated stage and accepts his diploma.

I won't tear up or embarrass anybody by crying my heart out.  Big, gulping, body racking sobs won't cause those around me to squirm (or Daddio to threaten to pop me one in the nose), no I won't do that ...at least not out loud I won't.

Photo by Kathleen Foulkrod of Heartstrings Photography

www.heartstringsphoto.com

I know I mentioned something in the title of this post about a damn good coffee cake...not only did I leave the recipe at work, but I'm sitting here over my keyboard with leaking eyes and a boogery nose soooo I must excuse myself quick like and find some Kleenex.

Please, come tomorrow back for that recipe and a virtual bite.

And have yourself a merry little Monday....(i really really hate mondays).

My achy breaky heart....

I wrote before about Daddio's serious lack of the sympathy gene. He's sympathetic to a (very small) point, but by no stretch of the imagination could anyone ever call him a bleeding heart. Which is what he calls me.

I tease him that I must be a very important person for the cable companies to have devoted an entire movie channel (Lifetime) absolutely chock full of one heart wrenching show after the next just for me.

"You and that bleeding heart crap" he says, shaking his sensible head.

The truth is I think I may have gotten in line twice (or maybe three times) when God was passing out empathy.

I literally squirmed in Daddio's time worn Lazyboy last night when that horrible, horrible judge Simon Cowell (and his evil counterparts) from American Idol went on and on and on and on criticizing those poor singers.

Yeah, some of them were awful (gawd awful)... but still.

When Simon critiqued the one who sang "You're no good" by Linda Ronstadt, he said something along the lines of "Now that was prophetic, don't you think?".

You woulda thought Simon slugged me in the gut. I may have fallen over if I was standing when he said that snarky remark.

It hurt.

I shut my eyes in a hurry because I knew that perky little singer's eyes were welling with tears and it would make my heart ache.

I put my fingers in my ears and even sang myself.. "lalalalalalalalalalalalala" when he went for the jugular on the next one, a baby faced modern day David Cassidy lookalike.

I'm even worse with my kids.

When they hurt...I'm near death.

Daddio refers to me as a true Corsican Brother. An old Cheech and Chong movie about a set of twin brothers separated at birth. When they reunite it becomes apparent that they feel each others pain. Poke Cheech's charachter in the eye and Chong's charachter screams in pain and reaches for his own eye.

Hilarious...unless you relate.

Bear got hurt* a couple of days ago. It's his own fault and deep down I know that. In my heart it doesn't make my (or his) hurt any less though.

Bear has a hard time making his mind up on things (okay, he's a lazy azz procrastinator on occasion)...almost every year since he's been a freshman in high school the kid will decide in the 13th (25th???) hour that he wants to play a certain sport...could be Track, Football, Baseball (sometimes it's all three).

Most of the time the coaches have let him join the teams late...maybe they allow it because he's a pretty good athlete, or he's a nice kid.

Whatever...he usually gets in.

The kicker is that sometimes Bear gets on the team and for one reason or another he decides that he doesn't want to be there anymore and he quits.

Now if Daddio informs him that quitting is not a possibility (because Daddio's boys aren't quitters) then he becomes uninterested and it shows.

This is his Senior year and most all his friends are playing baseball on the school team. I'm not sure if he wasn't sure he wanted to play?...Or if he saw many of his buds were going to be playing and wanted to be a part of the socialization?...Or if he realized that this is it the last time he will ever wear a Rams uniform???

I'm not sure.

He's hard to figure out.

And he's a bit ornery sometimes.

Bear hates a parental shakedown, a Spanish Inquisition of any type.

"Would you like steak sauce with your chicken?"  I could innocently inquire

"Why do you have to ask me all these questions?" he would reply " you're always asking me questions!"

"Leave him alone" Daddio (probably)would butt in.

The bottom line is he wasn't allowed to be on the team.

Daddio says that this is a good life lesson.

He who hesitates and all that crap.

I know the road to manhood is long and hard....(believe me , you should see my feet, they are killin me.)

(* Bear did not once express to me that he was hurt, this is my take on things and my blog and I am allowed to write anything (within reason of course) that I want to write...however, I wish to ask those of you who may know my sensitive darling man/child that you not discuss this post with him or any of his friends or coaches. It would embarrass him to death, and with me certainly feeling that pain coupled with the one inflicted upon my scrawny neck by his big ol hairy knuckled hands, in response to the pain brought about by his mother's betrayal of his innermost feelings (which of course I happen to be privy to, in my own mind at least) I would be dead too. I would very much appreciate it if you did not breath one word, not one. Merci).

It's all relative.....

This tiny ladybug, maybe I should call her a babybug was making the rounds of my kitchen counter a few days ago. I normally kill anything that walks on my counters, but she was so damn cute, I just let her be.

She was the smallest ladybug I'd ever seen, and I delighted in watching her explore. When she climbed aboard a penny I ran for my camera.

I thought I'd post the picture on my Picture a Day blog . The ironic relativity of this little itty bitty bug being dwarfed even further by this little money had me thinking I wanted to use this picture somewhere else.

Tomorrow my baby boy will play his last high school basketball game. He'll be playing in the Playoffs, but Thursday will be the last home game.
 
I've dreaded this day for as long as my boys have played ball.

I wondered if I would sit in the stands, tears running down my cheeks hoping no one was looking. I was quite sure that that is how our last game would play out.

My son has had a really hard year, basketball wise. His brother was a high school basketball star and he too was a standout. Their three point shots a family tradition and source of pride.

Until this year.

We all tried to figure out what the hell was up with the kid. Daddio blamed the fact that he didn't practice much over the summer. I blamed the coach. I wanted to jump on his back and sink my buck teeth into top of his balding head (he really is a nice man, but you know how mothers are, right?). My son's girlfriend's father blamed his very own daughter for Bear's surprisingly poor game average. And coach said it was a problem with confidence.

Either way, about 8 games back the coach benched my son. The co-captain of the team was no longer a starter.

He'd been a starter since 3rd grade.

Ouch, this hurt. REALLY REALLY BADLY.

It hurt all of us. During the singing of the National Anthem, I'd sneak a peek at him, while he stood in line waiting for the song to end and the game to begin, I watched for signs of where his heart and his ego stood.

It hurt to think he was embarrassed. Or, disappointed in himself.

When it first happened, I ordered Daddio (if you know Daddio personally, you would know there is no ordering him to do anything) to call the coach and talk with him.

When he refused, I rattled his cage. I poked at him. I ranted and raved.

"Call that asshole and call him NOW!!!" I hissed.

Daddio told our son that if any call was going to be made it should come from the boy himself. That if he was unhappy about his bench warming/non starting position that he needed to call the coach and express his feelings.

This wasn't a small thing Daddio was asking his son to do.

Step up, be a man, take care of your business.

As stupid as this sounds, I cried (seriously cried) for two hours after this conversation. Daddio had gone to rehearsal and the boy had left to visit his girlfriend and when I was all alone I held one of the biggest pity parties of my life.

Never in a million years did I think Bear would make that call. An hour or so later he called to let me know that while his sweetie tanned, in the privacy of his car,  he called his coach and asked "why? and "for how long?" and all the other questions he needed answered.

In my eyes my soft spoken, shy boy became a man that night.

Tomorrow night I'll be so sad to see it come to an end.

But I'll also be so happy that it's over.

I can't believe I made such a big deal out of high school basketball. In the grand scheme of things...it is only high school basketball.

I am so proud of the way my son handled this bump in the road.

With patience, and grace and maturity.

Much better than his mother actually.

I hope he realizes that his life will be filled with things (problems, situations) that feel incredibly large and complicated, but when put into perspective are really quite surmountable and of course never as large as they may appear.

My wishes and hopes and dreams for him go sooooo much deeper than him doing well in basketball.

With that said, I'm still hoping for a three point jumper tomorrow.

Thanks, as always, for listening. xoxoxo

My son, the incidental hero.....

"Mom" he whispered, touching my cheek.

Nothing and I mean nothing moves me faster than a kid, inches from my sleeping face in the middle of the night whispering "mom".

"Something happened" he said

"What? What? What happened? What's wrong? Is it something bad? What happened" I asked as I jumped out of bed. Noticing the clock said midnight.

"I just saved somebody's life" he whispered.

Daddio began to stir and wonder aloud why in the hell we were carrying on a conversation whilst he was trying to get a bit o shut eye.

"He wants to tell me something, I'll be right back" I told him.

I followed my big hairy man child into his sister's room, where she sat in her bed, waiting for us.

"I told him to wake you up" she said.

His story begins at the railroad tracks near our home. On the way home from his girlfriend's house he was stopped by a long train. A nightly occurrence on this road. The tracks lead to a train yard on one side of this intersection. Trains go back and forth between three different tracks. It's common to see them unhook some of the cars and then send them up a different track to meet and connect with a different train.

As my son waited, he watched as the two trains' separated and jockeyed around. As the new neighboring cars were about to connect to each other my son saw a man on a bike become tired of waiting and begin to cross in-between the two railroad cars.

"He just made it to the middle mom" my son said "when one train sped up to connect with the other. The guy's tire stuck in the track and he fell off the bike. I watched as the train grabbed his bike and bent it in half. I got out of my car and ran and pulled him off the tracks".

Did you ever see someone laugh and cry at the same time?

My heart split into two totally separate parts.

"Oh my GOD...YOU SAVED A LIFE", proud mother of a real live hero exclaims.

"Oh my GOD...YOU WERE ON THE RAILROAD TRACKS WITH A TRAIN"...hysterical mother of a kid who challenged a train screeches.

"Right when I got him off, the trains connected, and then they cleared the tracks" he explained.

"He was all bloody, his mouth was cut and his finger was bleeding and looked broken" he said

My son went on to tell us that the man thanked him and said "bless you young man". He then left his bent, broken bike and started walking".

"I picked him up and took him home mom" my hero said. "He was hurt and it was cold".

My heart's split personality was at it again.

GOOD BOY, I thought. You listened when I said to be kind and giving.

YOU IDIOT, I thought...didn't you hear a word I said about strangers and dangers?

He tells a good story and we couldn't help but laugh when he got to the part of the stranger being in his car "yeah ma, the minute the door closed and we started on our way, that short ride turned into one of the longest of my life while every scary movie I ever watched replayed in my head. You know where the dumb kid lets the murderer into his car?"

"He was high or drunk, wasn't he" I asked

"Yeah" he said "I could smell booze".

It took me hours to get back to sleep.

I wrestled my conflicted confused heart all night.

My son is a hero.

My son could have been hit by a train.

My son is kind and generous.

My son could have been a statistic.

Finally I came to a conclusion....

My son is a hero.

God handles the rest.

A friend like Ben......

"Ben, most people would turn you away
I don't listen to a word they say
They don't see you as I do
I wish they would try to
I'm sure they'd think again
If they had a friend like Ben"..... Michael Jackson

For those of you too young to know, this song is about a rat. A little beedy eyed nocturnal rodent.

According to Wikipedia the song Ben was originally written for Donnie Osmond. It is the music for the movie Willard, which is about a killer rat.

It was the first of 13 number one hits for Jackson...

The song creeped me out. Rats creep me out.

Well as much as I hate rats, I love my son. So when he asked about getting a beedy eyed creature for a pet, I cringed.

This child and I have some history concerning his pet wants. He wanted some and I didn't let him have them.

He did for a short while have a bubble eyed fish he named "Flip". Flip lived with us for two days. He went belly up for reasons unknown in the wee hours of his second night at our home.

The kid was heartbroken....

That was 11 years ago.

"You are 18 years old" my son's sister yelled at him. "You're not eleven. Eleven year olds get hamsters. Not grown men. Grown men don't get hamsters!!!"

I can't really say why I caved and agreed to him having this critter as a pet...but I did and before the sun set the night he asked he was the caretaker and loving master of a Chinese long tailed Dwarf hamster.

He didn't have to buy anything (other than the rat itself). His friend gave him a huge set up that included an awesome rat house, food and treats.

My son's girlfriend, the braver of the two, agreed to coax Hugo out of his traveling box and into his nice clean new home.

Should have been easy enough given the size difference between she and the pint sized Stewart Little look a like.

Hugo quickly asserted his authority and chomped a couple of times on her hand.

Hugo may have some issues. ADHD perhaps? He appears to not be interested in much for too long. He runs around the cage a lot and runs on his wheel almost nonstop.

He only stops long enough to stretch out on the wheel for a second or two to catch his breath and then he's off and running again.

Hugo and I may become friends...we have a lot in common. We sometimes bite the hand that feeds us, we're both pretty high strung and we spend lots of time spinnin our wheel(s).

Hugo spinnin his wheel(s)

Believe it or not...I AM the mother.

Watched my sonny (sunny?) boy play basketball the other night through my fingers...(you know "OMG, I can't watch this" style.) They were playing their arch rivals and it was for a beginning season trophy.

My son has been suffering from a severe and devastating case of HesitatingtoshootandwhenIdonothinggoesinitis…very hard to witness.

While he’s not completely gotten over this bug, it appears as though he may be starting to recover.

He shot a couple of threes, had many assists and played some pretty good defense.

Thank God.

He left the house that morning on the list…you know what list I’m talking about.

I’d loaned him his brother’s family pass to get into a ball game. “Where is yours?” I’d asked him when he told me of his need.

“Don’t know” he said “you probably didn’t give it to me in the first place”.

Of course, I thought…my fault.

He’d borrowed the pass and now it was missing.

“I gave it back to you” he insisted.

“No you didn’t” I insisted right back.

“Yes I did”

“No you didn’t”

“Yes.I.Did

“NooooOOOO….you….didn’t”

“Yes”

“NOOOOO”

“KNOCK IT OFF, QUIT BICKERING” boomed the Daddio from the living room.

We both shut up.

(I hate it when he plays my dad.)

“She always looses stuff and then SHE blames me” he yells to his dad.

“The kid is full of crap…he didn’t return ANYTHING!!!” I hollered back.

“Yes I did”

“No you didn’t”

“I put it right there on the counter” he said “in the middle of one of your piles”

Daddio gets worked up when we start talking about my piles…

(While I do have a real big problem with piles, I’m not a “Hoarder” contender just yet.)

Daddio came into the kitchen to add his two cents to the argument.

“Don’t raise your voice at your mother” he said, like a good husband.

“Yes, she is quite disorganized” he said “and she does lose everything…but, she’s still your mother”

“I’m sure he did give it back to you and it’s lost in a pile somewhere”,  Daddio said to me.

Thanks Daddio, for that back up…(I guess for a fat girl, I don’t sweat much, huh?)

When the kid left for school, I did a little sniffing around and found his wallet in a pair of his pants balled up on his bedroom floor.

It contained his license (Uh, kid shouldn’t that be in the car with you?), it held $10.00 (I thought you were supposed to put that in the gas tank last night?) a picture of his girlfriend and him at the prom last year and HIS BROTHER’S ATHLETIC FAMILY PASS…

Oh man, I was going to have a field day with this one.

I had to disturb the crime scene to get it downstairs to show Daddio.

“I want you to witness this” I told him….”See” I said as I pulled the card out.

“In here the whole time” I continued

I challenged Daddio to a little bet.

“You wanna bet that he’ll say I planted it? “ I offered.

Later, after the ball game he called to say he was on his way home and to ask me to dish him up some tacos.

He’d gone to Taco Bell with his teammates, but didn’t eat there.

When he came home I showed him the wallet and the pass.

“You planted it didn’t you?” he asked.

“Did not” I replied

“Yeah, you did” he shot back

“NoooOOOO. I . DID. NOT. PLANT.THAT. CARD”

“YES”

“NO”

“KNOCK IT OFF IN THERE YOU TWO” Daddio boomed from his lazyboy.

“no I didn’t.” I said

“yes you did” he whispered back.

"noooo".

"yesssss".

Emoting through art.....

Being a stay at home (mostly) mom as my babies were growing up has been a joy of my life. I can remember standing in the smoking lounge at school (wow...a public high school that not only allows its students to smoke on campus, but provides them with a lounge in which to do it. Those crazy 70's ;-) and talking about how I wanted to have two children, one of each, of course.

And  I wanted a career too.

I wanted it all.

Or so I thought. ( I really had no idea what "all " was exactly, but I envisioned myself in a red power suit, snakeskin briefcase, and a baby on my hip.)

Bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan.

Well that didn't work out so great...many were the times that I resented leaving my babies to go to work for even one hour.

I wanted to be home....I needed to be home....I had to go home (this was especially true the first day back to work after the birth of The Sweet Prince Buttercup. I suffered a great embarrassment, when I heard a stranger's baby wailing and my milk let down. With wet spots, the size of fifty cent pieces (and spreading by the nanosecond) on the front of my shirt, I ran to the receptionist's desk, leaned over for some privacy and before I could utter the words "I gotta go" one of the spots grew so heavy it started to leak and the leak had no place to fall but onto the back of her hand...."ewwwww" she said as she wiped her hand on her pants.."I'll cancel the rest of your clients.")

This was confirmation that I shouldn't be this far from my child.

I was out the door and home in minutes.

I've always been a homebody.

Ask my mother. I hated school and skipped every chance I got. Even in kindergarten. Even now, I can remember the feeling I had having to leave the security of my home and my mom.

School sucked.

They say what goes around comes around and so with the karma of the universe working against me it makes perfect sense that I would have a similar experience with my own children.

The Sweet Prince Buttercup hated school, but he really didn't hate school. He hated the academic part. And Goog didn't hate school at all, in fact, she loved school. Every part.

Well my "come around" came around and manifested itself in my baby #3.

If I thought I hated leaving my mother...I hadn't seen anything yet.

He would wail at night when I put him to bed..."I don't wanna go" and "Please let me stay home with you".

"Please mama, please mama, please mama, PLEEEEEEASE"

Daddio and I would tiptoe around in the morning hoping for a bit of calm before the daily storm.

"I hate school. I don't wanna go. I'm not gonna go. You can't make me. I won't go."

"I'll miss you too bad" he would cry and scream every single morning.

Each year when I bring out the Christmas decorations my heartstrings tug a bit when I pull out the first Christmas ornament Bear made in school.

Art imitating life.

What can I say? The fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.

T'd off at getting T'd up.....

I've spent countless hours as a spectator in the stands, on the bleachers, at the sideline watching my boys play sports.

I've had moments of such intense pride that I thought my brains would shoot out of the top of my head, fireworks style.

Brain splatter that sparkled and sizzled and popped. In yellow and red and purple and blue.

I've also had seconds (that felt like hours) and minutes (that felt like whole days) when those fools have embarrassed the holy crap out of me as I sat in the bleachers trapped like a deer in the headlights.

Last night was one such night.

Now, I know I have an over active imagination and that in reality I'm totally making this worse that it probably really was...but still.

I wanted to slip through the slots in the bleachers and fall to the ground where I could slither out the back, unnoticed.

It was early in the fourth quarter, and my ball player was not on game. He'd been displaying signs of frustration and frankly this mama was getting worried.

The kid can be a loose cannon.

When the cannon was in the fourth grade Daddio had to become a coach...not so much because of his undying love of the game or his desire to be near our child. No, Daddio had to become a coach so that he would be on the court and therefore be within striking distance of this little madman.

Daddio could squeeze his neck or pinch his ear and bring him back to reality when he began to unravel.

When he was just about ready to blow...which he did every chance he got.

"WE SUCK" he would scream at his teammates when they were losing games.

"WE ALL REALLY SUCK" he would yell at the little angels sitting, saucer eyed on the bench waiting to be put in the game.

"YOU'RE CRAZY" and "YOU NEED GLASSES!!" he would bellow at the refs when they called a foul on him.

I could have written a book "Tales of a Fourth Grade Poor Sport".

Last night early in the fourth quarter the cannon shot.

A foul was called and it was on him.

His third.

I could see the fire starting to shoot out of his eyes.

I could see the look of disgust on his face.

And in slow motion I could see his mouth open.

I didn't need to hear the words that came out...they turned the air blue.

And the ref made a sign that looked like this.....

And a hush came over the gym.

And all the other mothers looked at me.

With questions....

"How could she raise such a heathen?"

"Where did he learn language like that?"

And statements....

"That is why some animals eat their young"

"That kid needs some medication"

"He has a working mother, you know"

The other team got to shoot 4 baskets. And then had possession of the ball.

By some stroke of luck the shooter missed all four shots. And they turned the ball over.

When my kid came to the other end of the court I caught him looking at me, he looked embarrassed and sad....I smiled back at him, there wasn't much else I could do.

 "Fluck it", I told Daddio when we got into the car "its just a high school basketball game".

"You talkin to me?"

Giving back, my boy makes me proud

When my (grown and almost grown) children were young we used to have lots of fun doing random acts of kindness. One of our favorite random a of k was to pay for a couple of the cars behind us at the two dollar car wash. The kids got the biggest charge out of parking near enough so they could see how excited the people got when they were told they were given a free car wash by a stranger.


Another favorite was to surprise a (couple of) Salvation Army bell ringer(s) with a cup of hot chocolate (usually from McDonalds) on a frigid night or we would treat the wheel chaired Veteran, collecting funds outside our bank in the sweltering heat, to a nice MickyD's iced tea.

The recipients of our random act(s) of kindness expressed such surprise, so much gratitude that the kids and I were on a natural high for hours.

They loved doing that. And so did I.

I know that I have three very big hearted children, but my big ol hairy Baby boy (he's 18) told me something yesterday (Thanksgiving morning) that just about made me bust my buttons.

"Mom" he said "the other night when I went to Kroger to turn in all my change" (this boy works pt time on the weekends refereeing rec basketball and has been saving his pay and all of the change he can manage to find, steal from his sister or the clothes dryer to buy his darling girl friend a birthday gift).

"It had turned pretty cold" he continued” and I saw one of those bell ringers outside the door."

“I went and got him a hot chocolate Mom, just like we used to do."

"You bought the ringer a hot chocolate?" I said, slack jawed "with your own money?"

"Yeah" he answered.

I've had many, many prideful moments with my children. Watching my boys play sports or my daughter sing on stage. Hearing nice things from their teachers on conference night. Why I've even felt a strange sense of pride when they are all spiffed up and I think to myself...how in the hell did I help to create something so damned cute???

But let me tell you....when your (too many times "all about me") teen does something like this....that sense of pride, well something like that can only be described as euphoric rapture.

It really was an out of body experience. I hope you get to go there sometime too.

Thanks for listening....

I absolutely heart this boy.....*sigh*

Grandma Jan and Aunt Mick.....

This one's for you!

"MAKE LOVE.....NOT WAR!"

Three years in a row Rob, Matt and Jeremy have won first place for Group Costumes at their school's Halloween contest.

Last year they went as the Presidental candidates and their running mates. Rob was hilarious as Obama.

The year before that they went as Chippendale dancers, complete with skin tight black pants and sleevless white button up shirts, white cuffs...the teachers busted a gut.

I love that this shy, quiet boy has grown into a fun loving, outgoing young man....

Can you dig it....ain't that one bitchin get up man?

My lover boy has a girlfriend........

Well girls, looks like I’ve lost another one. My sweet baby boy has a girlfriend, and it sounds kinda serious like. He gets all spiffed up and asks to borrow his dad’s car (he must think she's too good to drive in his hoopty, an old Chrysler LHS which he calls “The Dragon“).



He looks all dewy eyed when he talks about her. And tells me silly things her mother says when she teases him.

He’s asked to buy two tickets to the prom.

I asked him lots of questions about her like when do I get to meet her?…This is a question I’ve never asked him before, since before her, I was his only long term girlfriend.

“Maybe tomorrow” he says trying to run out the door so he can go visit her.

“What does she look like?” I persist, wanting him to change his mind and stay home with me. “Brown hair and eyes, like me?” I tease.

‘She’s a blond and her eyes are light too”, he laughs and shakes his head.

“How do you know what color her eyes are, why are you that close to her?” I continue to rib the poor kid.

“I just know what color her eyes are and besides, when were makin out her eyes are closed", the brat gets me one back.

“You just remember who is your only one true love and don’t be gone too long” I get a little dewy eyed myself cause I know he has to go.

He kisses me on the forehead and out the door he goes…..

I hate a cheatin man.

(Sniffle sniffle......thanks for listening.)


This post was written last May....and the romance continues.

I can't help but like this wonderful young miss who seems to put some real serious pep in my boy's step.

Homecoming this past weekend.....

Just in time..........

I share a characteristic with a silk tulip, a milkbone, and the Mona Lisa painting....we all have the exact same attention span.

I'm shamed when one of my kids grabs my face and looks deep into my eyes and says "stay with me ma" or "I need you to concentrate here"......

Just this past Thursday one of them did just that.

"Ma, I need you to remember to pay my Pay to Play fee at school. If it's not paid by tomorrow at 3 I can't play the game".

About a minute later, while I was playing working on my computer he yelled up the stairs "Mooooooooom what do you have to do for me today?"

"Okay dumbass sweetheart..., I won't forget" I yelled back.

When the last of the troops had shut the front door I came out of hiding downstairs to start watching tv my cleaning.

I had to laugh when I looked around the house..... PAY 2 PLAY reminder notes were EVERYWHERE!

The kid had my every move down and slathered with reminder notes.

I removed all the evidence so Daddio wouldn't have a field day rubbing it in that I am a total and complete f-up screwup when it comes to remembering things.

Two thirty rolled around and I found myself buried deep in a game of Bejeweled 2 paying bills on the computer.

My growling stomach brought my computer work to a halt and I went to grab a little snack.

HOLY SHIT SMOKES!!!!!!......It was 2:45 and I had forgotten to pay the fee.....

I don't think it's proper to thank God for stupid things like choosing to snack on a pickle instead of a handful of Cheetos making me see the reminder note or for keeping all the cops busy that usually patrol the sidestreet that I sped on to get to the school on time....he's busy taking care of real problems.

"Did you remember to pay" the kid asked when he got home.

"Thank God" he replied when I said "yes".