I know that I have related the nursing prowess of Mud Flap in past entries. However, I had forgotten the most memorable of times when this particular skill set became apparent. It was three years ago. We had weathered many a tough time in the 36 years we had been married at that point. I felt that we had moved to a superior plane….one that would give us the innate ability to care and nurture one another in sickness. (and health…Mud Flap had that one down anyway!)
I had been diagnosed with a “deteriorating hip joint” and was scheduled for a hip replacement. Because my doctor of choice for this procedure was located in another city, it was necessary for me to be in the hospital in that city – i.e., Mud Flap was in a hotel and had much time on his hands. I worried that this would be problematic. But have no fear. He had resolved the issue. He scheduled several “necessary meetings” to be held at that location – time wise to coincide with my hospital stay. I was asked prior to going, “Now what time is your surgery? And do I have to be there?” This, of course, gave me great comfort as it is necessary to have someone available to make any life or death decisions while I am in surgery. Not only necessary, but required by the hospital and the doctor. My response a very terse “Yes”.
This did not set well with Mud Flap who then asked “How long will it take?” My lack of ability to predict the length of the surgery was met with utter distain. Not only my intelligence but compassion for his situation was questioned. “I run a multi-million dollar company and I need to know these things!” I promised, to the best of my ability, to make sure that the surgery went well and that I wouldn’t be too much of a burden to him.
The day of my surgery arrived. We went to the hospital. I was duly prepped and sedated and the surgery took place. I awoke in my hospital room to find him pacing and doing his e-mail. “You awake?” I replied, albeit a bit groggily, that I was. “Great! I need to meet (name a name, any name) and I’ll be gone for a couple of hours. “ I nodded and watched him leave the room.
The next time I saw him was that evening, after dinner had been served and after two physical therapy sessions. “How are you feeling?” “I’m not too bad, but because I can’t take any of the medications available, I’m in a bit of pain.” “Great!” And he eyed my dinner. “You hungry?” “Not really, why don’t you eat it!” “Great” And he ate my dinner, watched television and left within the hour.
The following day began as expected – physical therapy, doctors rounds, nurses helping me bathe etc. At noon, I got my first visit from Mud Flap. He was on his way to a meeting. “Just wanted to say hello! On my way!” After a quick peck, he left, not to return until the next morning. I decided that this would be the best medicine…nap and bed rest.
But, that would not be the situation! At 1:00 pm, a mere thirty minutes after his departure, there was a knock on my door. “Are you awake?” There stood a bald, ear ringed man, wearing a tight fitted wife beater and skin tight leather pants. “Yes, may I help you?” “I’m Brad, and I work at the bar at your husband’s hotel” Silence. “He asked me to come and visit with you. How are you?” And, that began a four hour visit with a gay bartender that my husband had hired to visit me in the hospital! We discussed his love life, his future with his significant other, the décor of his apartment, and the list goes on. Nurses continued to pop their heads in, with inquiring looks on their faces. But, to no avail. I was held prisoner in my bed for the duration.
Leave it to Mud Flap to hire a gay bartender to visit me in the hospital. Florence Nightingale? I think not.
Monday, March 19, 2012
HONOR THY MOTHER….
The joys of motherhood are untold. Days are filled with the most extreme fulfillment of nurturing and adoration. To hold a small baby is a treat that is un-paralleled. But, as with cats, kittens and babies do grow up. And a teenager is born.
This transformation was never as apparent as it was with my youngest son, Grits. From being a precocious and adorable blond, green-eyed angel, he transformed himself into a hormonal teenage boy. He was brilliant which made it even more difficult for me to succeed in “lassoing” his energy and directing him into a more productive direction. His intelligence kept him on the honor roll during the 8-3 period of the school day. It was the three pm to midnight shift that was problematic.
I remember one episode which brings utter tears of joy to my eyes. It was a Tuesday afternoon. The day was sunny and spring had blossomed. The sky was a wonderful blue and all was well in my world….Until Grits decided that he needed to express his independence. “I’m going to go to Furball’s house” he announced with a determination that made me see red. “No, you are going to stay home and finish the science project that is due tomorrow.” At that point in his life, he was sixteen, driving, and bullet-proof. He was the king of his castle (his castle being the four walls of his room) and no one would “tell him what to do.” “Yes, I am!” He grabbed the keys and stormed to the front door. “Not so fast” I said quietly. I found that the quiet voice was heard much more effective than the ten decibel tone I used on other occasions. “You can go, but give me the keys. That is my car and I can determine when and where it will hit the pavement.” Incredulous, he handed me the keys. He pulled the cell phone from his hip pocket and began to dial a number while saying “I’ll have Furball pick me up! You can have your car!” “Not so fast” I said…again. “Give me that phone. I bought it and I pay for it. It stays with me.” “Screw you!” he responded as he headed toward the door – tossing the phone to the floor. “Not so fast!” I said…again. “What now! You have my car and my phone. What else do you want?” I said, “Strip. You can leave this house the way you came into this world with your birthday suit. Everything else is mine. I bought it and it stays with me. So hit the road…after you strip!” With utter confusion in his eyes, he went back into his room and slammed the door. He did not go out that afternoon.
These are the moments that make one cherish the day! I love being a mother!
This transformation was never as apparent as it was with my youngest son, Grits. From being a precocious and adorable blond, green-eyed angel, he transformed himself into a hormonal teenage boy. He was brilliant which made it even more difficult for me to succeed in “lassoing” his energy and directing him into a more productive direction. His intelligence kept him on the honor roll during the 8-3 period of the school day. It was the three pm to midnight shift that was problematic.
I remember one episode which brings utter tears of joy to my eyes. It was a Tuesday afternoon. The day was sunny and spring had blossomed. The sky was a wonderful blue and all was well in my world….Until Grits decided that he needed to express his independence. “I’m going to go to Furball’s house” he announced with a determination that made me see red. “No, you are going to stay home and finish the science project that is due tomorrow.” At that point in his life, he was sixteen, driving, and bullet-proof. He was the king of his castle (his castle being the four walls of his room) and no one would “tell him what to do.” “Yes, I am!” He grabbed the keys and stormed to the front door. “Not so fast” I said quietly. I found that the quiet voice was heard much more effective than the ten decibel tone I used on other occasions. “You can go, but give me the keys. That is my car and I can determine when and where it will hit the pavement.” Incredulous, he handed me the keys. He pulled the cell phone from his hip pocket and began to dial a number while saying “I’ll have Furball pick me up! You can have your car!” “Not so fast” I said…again. “Give me that phone. I bought it and I pay for it. It stays with me.” “Screw you!” he responded as he headed toward the door – tossing the phone to the floor. “Not so fast!” I said…again. “What now! You have my car and my phone. What else do you want?” I said, “Strip. You can leave this house the way you came into this world with your birthday suit. Everything else is mine. I bought it and it stays with me. So hit the road…after you strip!” With utter confusion in his eyes, he went back into his room and slammed the door. He did not go out that afternoon.
These are the moments that make one cherish the day! I love being a mother!
BOYS WILL BE BOYS
This is an adage I have heard from the day my first baby brother was born. It covers a multitude of sins…with no explanation. And it seems to offer the boys a pass, in terms of reactions or punishment, for all their infractions, be they large or small. And their existence as men is proof that this is evident. Otherwise, we would definitely be a society of women only, for all the males would have been buried alive in their teenage years.
That certainly holds true for my two sons, Bubba and Grits. I have often said that God gave me my girls….for he gave me those boys! It was the great balance of good versus evil in my life. My children’s teenage years were a part of my life that lives on and on in my memory. Because I decided in my perfectly ordered mind and ultimate wisdom that I wanted to have my children “close in age so that they could grow up together”, I had all four of my children in six years. That made for a busy early childhood era—back to back chicken pox, diapers beyond the imaginable, teething in unison, and sleepless nights for at least ten years.
But none of that “bliss” prepared me for the teenage years. I had four teenagers. They were all different and active. Brilliant and mischievous. Head strong and curious. There were no rules that went unquestioned. No barriers that went untested. My oldest child, Bubba, was the leader in my education into the minds of a teenager. He grew to be a wonderful, wise-cracking, whimsical and wild creature. My blond headed angel transformed into a Tasmanian devil – overnight.
My first realization that my life was no longer my own was when Bubba was a junior in high school. Mud Flap and I decided to go to a 7:00 p.m. movie. Mind you, the theater was merely three blocks from home. Because he was a junior in high school, followed by a ninth grader (Sweet Magnolia, my eldest daughter – and a perfect angel), an eighth grader (little Princess, my second daughter – a delight), and finally a sixth grader (Grits, a precocious son who idolized his brother), a baby sitter was out of the question. “We won’t be gone long” was my shout out to Bubba as we backed out of the driveway. “Take care of everyone” was the dying echo of my words as we hit the street.
By the time we had gotten to the corner, the first of several catering trucks had arrived. There was a line of twenty five cars waiting for the valet parking attendant to take their cars. The “Kegs for delivery” trucks were unloading the first of several kegs. Tables were set and the band was tuning up their guitars. There must be an underground system that is so efficient that they know when a house will be parentless in less than five minutes. Millions of teenagers are tapped onto this system.
Our car arrived at the theater about the time that our yard filled with 300 hundred writhing teens doing keg stands and shots! The party was on.
When the movie ended, approximately two hours from time of departure, we got into our car. As we drove the short distance home, there must have been a most amazing team of clean up artists that arrived, for by the time we got home, our yard was empty and save for the 50 cars parked around the neighborhood, we were blissfully unaware that we had had a party – and we hadn’t been invited!
With that kind of an education, I don’t wonder that when Grits became the magic age of 17, he too acquired the skill of “Party Planner” and perfected this art form! His parties were legendary. Even some of our neighbors would attend. Now of course, the details of this wonderful evening are somewhat enhanced in my memory, but the fact that a party can erupt in a matter of seconds is a fact beyond dispute! I might have glorified my account….maybe a touch!
I’m reminded of an occasion when Mud Flap was out of town on business and I had to go to visit my Little Princess in college. It was January 27th – her birthday. I had effectively taken care of Grits – he was to stay with a friend. There was soccer practice after school and dinner was at the friend’s home. He would sleep there and go to school in the morning. The evening was a Thursday. Not a weekend evening. I felt that I had covered all bases and left my home – alone and unprotected for 24 hours.
As luck would have it, there was a snow storm. It NEVER snowed in our town, but that day brought the storm. School was canceled and soccer practice was called. My friend told the boys that they could have dinner out and enjoy the evening. My house was unattended and now very available for every junior in high school in the entire city. A party happened.
Unfortunately, the house did not fare well at the hands of that group. Unbeknownst to Grits, I had booked several contractors to come on Friday morning to repair a door and cabinet in the house. When they arrived on Friday morning, they refused to come in as they thought that the house had been burglarized. They were about to leave when Grits drove up. After discovering the problem, he begged them to stay and do the job. In the meantime, he began to clean, and clean, and clean, the house. The trash was not only gathered but taken to the city dump to prevent me from seeing an overly full trash can. Because the workmen could not work as efficiently as planned because of the mess, Grits volunteered to cook for them if they would stay and finish. He raced to the store to buy only the finest steaks and potatoes. The grill was lit and a dinner of epic proportions was served on my best china to the ravenous contractors.
As they finished the job, Grits finished the last of the cleaning. The house was quiet. I pulled into the driveway fifteen minutes later. All was well. And I would have gone to my grave with that wonderful knowledge that “Grits” minded me! Except for one thing….my neighbor had also enjoyed the party and came over to share his excitement with me!
One would think that the 30 day restriction that served as his punishment would have somewhat dampened his zeal for a party, but Party Planner Grits was not to be deterred. When he went to college, he perfected this talent and during one Christmas vacation wanted to share this new knowledge with all of his childhood friends.
“Mom, I want to go to the lake for New Year’s Eve. Could I have a few friends up there? It would be better to be there and safe than driving in town. I will only have a couple of guys. Anyway, I really haven’t kept up with anyone at home. So no worries about too big a gathering.”
After a few moments of consideration and a discussion with Mud Flap, we agreed. Because he was in college and obviously so much more mature. We talked ourselves into a blissful state of stupidity in which we gave this man-boy the most admirable of traits! My, how he has grown up. And he is so responsible!
The day came. Grits took his car and left with a wave and “I love you guys, Happy New Year!” We sighed with a smile on our faces. How lucky are we? Our last child and we are able to live our life – without worry.
We donned our finest as we were going to a formal debutante ball. Tuxedoed and formaled, we drove our way to an evening of champagne and dancing! The evening was wonderful until the first of about 200 people came up to me. “Thank you sooooo much for opening up your lake house so that Johnny (just change the name any number of times) could enjoy the evening in a safe environment!” In stunned silence, we nodded and smiled. “Oh my God, what has he done?” Mud Flap was not going to go quietly into the night. “Honey, maybe he just asked this Johnny and who knows if Johnny is actually going. He might be using Marshall as a cover!” (My ability to obviscate the truth was absolutely amazing) Mud Flap had had enough of the scotch to let me lull him into a sense of tranquility. As each advancing parent approached, I learned to ask Mud Flap to get me another drink!! “You are certainly enjoying yourself tonight” he quipped as he turned, yet again, to get me another drink. After throwing the twentieth glass of wine on the floor, I managed to get Mud Flap to dance with me. All further “thanks” were lost in the crowded room.
The next morning, I awoke and called the lake house. “Hullo” was the groan I heard on the other end of the phone. “Grits? Grits? Is that you?” “Mom? “He was suddenly alert! “Happy New Year honey! I thought that Dad and I would come up and bring you your good luck so that you wouldn’t have to come to town!” The silence at the other end of the phone was deafening. “Honey?” “Mom, I don’t think that is a good idea.” Then, Grits’ girl (we’ll call her Ratso) got on the phone. “Maam, we would love to have you come. Can you give me about 48 hours? I promise me you will be much happier then.”
Such was the last of the lake parties. All keys are now in my possession. We learned much after the fact that Mr. Party Planner had about 400 of his closest friends to the house. There were admission tickets and beer cost $1 a glass. Not only was this against our rules, it is illegal to sell beer without a license. But, no fear. The money he made on the party was used to hire a clean up crew and to cover some of the expenses of the repair to the house.
Boys will be boys…… And men???
That certainly holds true for my two sons, Bubba and Grits. I have often said that God gave me my girls….for he gave me those boys! It was the great balance of good versus evil in my life. My children’s teenage years were a part of my life that lives on and on in my memory. Because I decided in my perfectly ordered mind and ultimate wisdom that I wanted to have my children “close in age so that they could grow up together”, I had all four of my children in six years. That made for a busy early childhood era—back to back chicken pox, diapers beyond the imaginable, teething in unison, and sleepless nights for at least ten years.
But none of that “bliss” prepared me for the teenage years. I had four teenagers. They were all different and active. Brilliant and mischievous. Head strong and curious. There were no rules that went unquestioned. No barriers that went untested. My oldest child, Bubba, was the leader in my education into the minds of a teenager. He grew to be a wonderful, wise-cracking, whimsical and wild creature. My blond headed angel transformed into a Tasmanian devil – overnight.
My first realization that my life was no longer my own was when Bubba was a junior in high school. Mud Flap and I decided to go to a 7:00 p.m. movie. Mind you, the theater was merely three blocks from home. Because he was a junior in high school, followed by a ninth grader (Sweet Magnolia, my eldest daughter – and a perfect angel), an eighth grader (little Princess, my second daughter – a delight), and finally a sixth grader (Grits, a precocious son who idolized his brother), a baby sitter was out of the question. “We won’t be gone long” was my shout out to Bubba as we backed out of the driveway. “Take care of everyone” was the dying echo of my words as we hit the street.
By the time we had gotten to the corner, the first of several catering trucks had arrived. There was a line of twenty five cars waiting for the valet parking attendant to take their cars. The “Kegs for delivery” trucks were unloading the first of several kegs. Tables were set and the band was tuning up their guitars. There must be an underground system that is so efficient that they know when a house will be parentless in less than five minutes. Millions of teenagers are tapped onto this system.
Our car arrived at the theater about the time that our yard filled with 300 hundred writhing teens doing keg stands and shots! The party was on.
When the movie ended, approximately two hours from time of departure, we got into our car. As we drove the short distance home, there must have been a most amazing team of clean up artists that arrived, for by the time we got home, our yard was empty and save for the 50 cars parked around the neighborhood, we were blissfully unaware that we had had a party – and we hadn’t been invited!
With that kind of an education, I don’t wonder that when Grits became the magic age of 17, he too acquired the skill of “Party Planner” and perfected this art form! His parties were legendary. Even some of our neighbors would attend. Now of course, the details of this wonderful evening are somewhat enhanced in my memory, but the fact that a party can erupt in a matter of seconds is a fact beyond dispute! I might have glorified my account….maybe a touch!
I’m reminded of an occasion when Mud Flap was out of town on business and I had to go to visit my Little Princess in college. It was January 27th – her birthday. I had effectively taken care of Grits – he was to stay with a friend. There was soccer practice after school and dinner was at the friend’s home. He would sleep there and go to school in the morning. The evening was a Thursday. Not a weekend evening. I felt that I had covered all bases and left my home – alone and unprotected for 24 hours.
As luck would have it, there was a snow storm. It NEVER snowed in our town, but that day brought the storm. School was canceled and soccer practice was called. My friend told the boys that they could have dinner out and enjoy the evening. My house was unattended and now very available for every junior in high school in the entire city. A party happened.
Unfortunately, the house did not fare well at the hands of that group. Unbeknownst to Grits, I had booked several contractors to come on Friday morning to repair a door and cabinet in the house. When they arrived on Friday morning, they refused to come in as they thought that the house had been burglarized. They were about to leave when Grits drove up. After discovering the problem, he begged them to stay and do the job. In the meantime, he began to clean, and clean, and clean, the house. The trash was not only gathered but taken to the city dump to prevent me from seeing an overly full trash can. Because the workmen could not work as efficiently as planned because of the mess, Grits volunteered to cook for them if they would stay and finish. He raced to the store to buy only the finest steaks and potatoes. The grill was lit and a dinner of epic proportions was served on my best china to the ravenous contractors.
As they finished the job, Grits finished the last of the cleaning. The house was quiet. I pulled into the driveway fifteen minutes later. All was well. And I would have gone to my grave with that wonderful knowledge that “Grits” minded me! Except for one thing….my neighbor had also enjoyed the party and came over to share his excitement with me!
One would think that the 30 day restriction that served as his punishment would have somewhat dampened his zeal for a party, but Party Planner Grits was not to be deterred. When he went to college, he perfected this talent and during one Christmas vacation wanted to share this new knowledge with all of his childhood friends.
“Mom, I want to go to the lake for New Year’s Eve. Could I have a few friends up there? It would be better to be there and safe than driving in town. I will only have a couple of guys. Anyway, I really haven’t kept up with anyone at home. So no worries about too big a gathering.”
After a few moments of consideration and a discussion with Mud Flap, we agreed. Because he was in college and obviously so much more mature. We talked ourselves into a blissful state of stupidity in which we gave this man-boy the most admirable of traits! My, how he has grown up. And he is so responsible!
The day came. Grits took his car and left with a wave and “I love you guys, Happy New Year!” We sighed with a smile on our faces. How lucky are we? Our last child and we are able to live our life – without worry.
We donned our finest as we were going to a formal debutante ball. Tuxedoed and formaled, we drove our way to an evening of champagne and dancing! The evening was wonderful until the first of about 200 people came up to me. “Thank you sooooo much for opening up your lake house so that Johnny (just change the name any number of times) could enjoy the evening in a safe environment!” In stunned silence, we nodded and smiled. “Oh my God, what has he done?” Mud Flap was not going to go quietly into the night. “Honey, maybe he just asked this Johnny and who knows if Johnny is actually going. He might be using Marshall as a cover!” (My ability to obviscate the truth was absolutely amazing) Mud Flap had had enough of the scotch to let me lull him into a sense of tranquility. As each advancing parent approached, I learned to ask Mud Flap to get me another drink!! “You are certainly enjoying yourself tonight” he quipped as he turned, yet again, to get me another drink. After throwing the twentieth glass of wine on the floor, I managed to get Mud Flap to dance with me. All further “thanks” were lost in the crowded room.
The next morning, I awoke and called the lake house. “Hullo” was the groan I heard on the other end of the phone. “Grits? Grits? Is that you?” “Mom? “He was suddenly alert! “Happy New Year honey! I thought that Dad and I would come up and bring you your good luck so that you wouldn’t have to come to town!” The silence at the other end of the phone was deafening. “Honey?” “Mom, I don’t think that is a good idea.” Then, Grits’ girl (we’ll call her Ratso) got on the phone. “Maam, we would love to have you come. Can you give me about 48 hours? I promise me you will be much happier then.”
Such was the last of the lake parties. All keys are now in my possession. We learned much after the fact that Mr. Party Planner had about 400 of his closest friends to the house. There were admission tickets and beer cost $1 a glass. Not only was this against our rules, it is illegal to sell beer without a license. But, no fear. The money he made on the party was used to hire a clean up crew and to cover some of the expenses of the repair to the house.
Boys will be boys…… And men???
THE CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN….
This adage is one that has been around for the ages. Its implied meaning is that one can judge a “book by its cover.” Maybe and then maybe not. But. what fun it is to look at the fashion world and adjudge some of the more bizarre designer moments. The three piece suits and the GQ moments are sometimes a thing of the past. But oh what a statement they make…especially with a well-toned middle to set off the look!
Well, not one to be outdone -- ever, Mud Flap loves to make a statement. The world of fashion be damned, that has never dictated what he wears or how he wears what is in his closet. He is always on the cutting edge of questionable and over the years has raised several eyebrows. Never mind that the combinations that emerge from the depths of his closet have never been seen in daylight. Never mind that summer attire and winter fabrics might not be the way to go. Never mind the circumstance or the situation. What he finds is what he wears…..however he finds it! And wherever he goes!
One of the most memorable times was one Easter. We were celebrating the holiday at our lake home and going to early morning church in an open-air chapel on the water. Because it was Easter and we were attending a service, we all donned an appropriate manner of dress. The boys wore long pants and sleeved shirts. The girls, summer dresses. We were bathed and ready to get in the boat—which was the way in which we were traveling to this sacred event. After gathering the group – I, the Prom Queen (I aptly name myself this as I love to think of myself in that way) – led them to the boat. We boarded and awaited our captain.
We all talked as we waited. At the sound of a bang of the screen door at the house, we all turned our heads to see Mud Flap. Donned in his blue jean shorts, a denim shirt, denim baseball hat , tevas and wool socks, he bounded down the stairs and leapt on the boat.
“Are we going to the same party?” I asked him as he cranked the boat. “Hell, if you all want to get ALL DRESSED UP (comparatively, we were) and make yourselves uncomfortable at church, suit yourself. I’m at the lake and I’m wearing my lake clothes! And anyway, I won’t know anyone there! So, who cares?”
Glances all around was the only response to the dangling participle he left in the air, and off we went! We not only arrived at the chapel, but he decided to make sure we were seen by all by parking the boat next to the altar of the church. We debarqued and moved quickly to an empty set of seats. We were desperately trying to distance ourselves from Mud Flap who looked more like Gomer Pyle in his garage in Mayberry than the head of our clan.
Suddenly, from the crowd, I heard a voice saying, “Hey, Mud Flap! How are you?” This was followed by several more words of greeting! At least half of the congregation not only knew us, but knew Mud Flap very well! They were in their Sunday best and smiled at the teva-ed, jort clad, baseball capped gremlin. How proud we were to have him sit in our midst. Our hero….
The clothes certainly do make the man. What does this tell you? And to think that he is now in the textile business!
Well, not one to be outdone -- ever, Mud Flap loves to make a statement. The world of fashion be damned, that has never dictated what he wears or how he wears what is in his closet. He is always on the cutting edge of questionable and over the years has raised several eyebrows. Never mind that the combinations that emerge from the depths of his closet have never been seen in daylight. Never mind that summer attire and winter fabrics might not be the way to go. Never mind the circumstance or the situation. What he finds is what he wears…..however he finds it! And wherever he goes!
One of the most memorable times was one Easter. We were celebrating the holiday at our lake home and going to early morning church in an open-air chapel on the water. Because it was Easter and we were attending a service, we all donned an appropriate manner of dress. The boys wore long pants and sleeved shirts. The girls, summer dresses. We were bathed and ready to get in the boat—which was the way in which we were traveling to this sacred event. After gathering the group – I, the Prom Queen (I aptly name myself this as I love to think of myself in that way) – led them to the boat. We boarded and awaited our captain.
We all talked as we waited. At the sound of a bang of the screen door at the house, we all turned our heads to see Mud Flap. Donned in his blue jean shorts, a denim shirt, denim baseball hat , tevas and wool socks, he bounded down the stairs and leapt on the boat.
“Are we going to the same party?” I asked him as he cranked the boat. “Hell, if you all want to get ALL DRESSED UP (comparatively, we were) and make yourselves uncomfortable at church, suit yourself. I’m at the lake and I’m wearing my lake clothes! And anyway, I won’t know anyone there! So, who cares?”
Glances all around was the only response to the dangling participle he left in the air, and off we went! We not only arrived at the chapel, but he decided to make sure we were seen by all by parking the boat next to the altar of the church. We debarqued and moved quickly to an empty set of seats. We were desperately trying to distance ourselves from Mud Flap who looked more like Gomer Pyle in his garage in Mayberry than the head of our clan.
Suddenly, from the crowd, I heard a voice saying, “Hey, Mud Flap! How are you?” This was followed by several more words of greeting! At least half of the congregation not only knew us, but knew Mud Flap very well! They were in their Sunday best and smiled at the teva-ed, jort clad, baseball capped gremlin. How proud we were to have him sit in our midst. Our hero….
The clothes certainly do make the man. What does this tell you? And to think that he is now in the textile business!
HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS
I love holidays. All holidays. Birthdays, the Fourth of July, Easter, Halloween, Christmas, New Year’s, St. Patrick’s Day, Memorial Day, and Labor Day. I think that there are probably more holidays that I love to celebrate, but these are the one’s that come to mind. And, being the Prom Queen, I find it my queenly duty to decorate for each occasion. Big decorations. From the smallest of details….appropriate salt and pepper shakers for each event….to the splashiest of decorations….lights, banners, dyed food and drinks, and of course costumes! This is a big responsibility and I take it very seriously.
Mud Flap hates holidays. I’m not quite sure why, but he does not share my love of these moments. In fact, the more I celebrate, the less he enjoys it. This was not obvious to me when we were first married. Early on, I just noticed that I was doing all the “remembering” of all occasions alone. He would certainly “show up” – and take the glass of scotch which I placed in his hand. He would nod his head as I gleefully showed him what I had done to the house…or the yard…or baked in the kitchen…or made for any costumed event. Mud Flap would love that I had done all that I had done. Or so I thought. After several years, his smile was not as obvious and I began to realize that he would rather be buried alive than to celebrate these wonderful moments.
Did that stop me from celebrating? Never! So, the holidays became moments of dueling emotions for the family. The Prom Queen and her crew (the children)…Bubba (my eldest son), Sweet Magnolia (my eldest daughter), Little Princess (my second daughter), and Grits (my youngest son)…would celebrate with great aplomb while Mud Flap would growl appropriately from his chair. This made for interesting moments.
One most memorable one was around the Christmas dinner table. After a morning of present unwrapping, laughter and screams of delight over the goodies that “Santa” brought, we gathered around the table to enjoy the feast which I, the Prom Queen, had prepared. We toasted our great blessings and said the grace. Before we could even pick up the first fork, or cut the first bite, Mud Flap turned to Grits and growled “If you don’t stop leaning back in your chair, I am going to ram your F…g head through the F…g window!” Grits leaned forward and the chair banged down to all four legs on the tiled floor. All eyes turned to Mud Flap. You could cut the air of anticipation with a knife….would he throw him out the window? Would we all get it? The sounds of our Christmas C.D. wafted through the room.
Well, not to let all the goodness be “sucked out of the room”, I raised my glass and with a great flurry of what could only be called ‘overly emoted exaltation’ I declared “A Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night!” The moment passed and laughter ensued….Mud Flap was always good for a laugh! We just let the wine flow and dinner continued. We’ve always remembered that moment with great warmth and affection.
I’ve always thought that holiday perfection was overrated. And, anyway, it is all in the eye of the beholder. What could be more perfect than Grits and Bubba beating each other up and driving off in drunken huffs on Christmas Eve? And what says Happy Holidays more than the Christmas tree falling over after Santa has perfectly placed all the presents around it? Or forgetting to put out all the presents? And finding them the following year….where they were hidden so that one wouldn’t forget them? Or, after much heated discussion one Christmas Eve, Mud Flap decided to sleep under a boat tarp in the garage after napping on the neighbor’s porch for a time? Don’t you just love a little excitement during the holidays!
Is there really a “Father Knows Best” Christmas?
Mud Flap hates holidays. I’m not quite sure why, but he does not share my love of these moments. In fact, the more I celebrate, the less he enjoys it. This was not obvious to me when we were first married. Early on, I just noticed that I was doing all the “remembering” of all occasions alone. He would certainly “show up” – and take the glass of scotch which I placed in his hand. He would nod his head as I gleefully showed him what I had done to the house…or the yard…or baked in the kitchen…or made for any costumed event. Mud Flap would love that I had done all that I had done. Or so I thought. After several years, his smile was not as obvious and I began to realize that he would rather be buried alive than to celebrate these wonderful moments.
Did that stop me from celebrating? Never! So, the holidays became moments of dueling emotions for the family. The Prom Queen and her crew (the children)…Bubba (my eldest son), Sweet Magnolia (my eldest daughter), Little Princess (my second daughter), and Grits (my youngest son)…would celebrate with great aplomb while Mud Flap would growl appropriately from his chair. This made for interesting moments.
One most memorable one was around the Christmas dinner table. After a morning of present unwrapping, laughter and screams of delight over the goodies that “Santa” brought, we gathered around the table to enjoy the feast which I, the Prom Queen, had prepared. We toasted our great blessings and said the grace. Before we could even pick up the first fork, or cut the first bite, Mud Flap turned to Grits and growled “If you don’t stop leaning back in your chair, I am going to ram your F…g head through the F…g window!” Grits leaned forward and the chair banged down to all four legs on the tiled floor. All eyes turned to Mud Flap. You could cut the air of anticipation with a knife….would he throw him out the window? Would we all get it? The sounds of our Christmas C.D. wafted through the room.
Well, not to let all the goodness be “sucked out of the room”, I raised my glass and with a great flurry of what could only be called ‘overly emoted exaltation’ I declared “A Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night!” The moment passed and laughter ensued….Mud Flap was always good for a laugh! We just let the wine flow and dinner continued. We’ve always remembered that moment with great warmth and affection.
I’ve always thought that holiday perfection was overrated. And, anyway, it is all in the eye of the beholder. What could be more perfect than Grits and Bubba beating each other up and driving off in drunken huffs on Christmas Eve? And what says Happy Holidays more than the Christmas tree falling over after Santa has perfectly placed all the presents around it? Or forgetting to put out all the presents? And finding them the following year….where they were hidden so that one wouldn’t forget them? Or, after much heated discussion one Christmas Eve, Mud Flap decided to sleep under a boat tarp in the garage after napping on the neighbor’s porch for a time? Don’t you just love a little excitement during the holidays!
Is there really a “Father Knows Best” Christmas?
IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH
was the vow I took on my wedding day. I assumed that, honestly, it would be more for me and my future needs than my husband’s. However, at that point, I did not realize that I had married “Dr. Mud Flap” (this is my nick name for my husband as he is a southern man and this fits him to a tee!). He is a person who is so susceptible to any new disease that comes down the pike and loves to research his aches and pains. As a result, he spends an inordinate time at the doctor’s office, explaining and describing his maladies. He has a stache of amazing drugs – prescription and over the counter. His knowledge of these drugs is limited to what he read in the sixties – thankfully – and he proclaims to know all remedies available. For, don’t you know, he is smarter than any doctor and can make his own diagnoses. Unfortunately, he is not able to write the necessary prescriptions – in his mind this is a problem, in mine it is a godsend – and must rely on the unreliable people to whom he pays many thousands of dollars for the cure!
This being said, it is only natural that he must have full attention at all times, with regard to his health. This has made my life wonderful – for I have never been ill. Just ask Mud Flap. I can have four children, nurse them through all childhood diseases, take care of all his maladies, and never suffer a day of illness in my life. I remember a time when my fever reached 104 and I was having difficulty getting off the couch when he arrived home from work. He slapped his palm on my head, pronounced me fine and told me to rest after I served dinner and did the dishes – he’d be fine. The next day, he came down with the flu and stayed in bed for a week. Coincidence? I think not…..
This past week, after going to his doctor for his annual physical, he came home and was most put out with the doctor. “He did not even consider giving me a referral for an upper G.I. Even when I described the pain in my esophagus.” I asked what he had said. Sniffing in distain he replied “Take the Nexium he had prescribed to me. “ “Well,” I answered, “Isn’t that a good answer? Don’t you have to take it consistently for it to work….not just on occasion (he had already told me that, but I counted on his faulty memory and his spin on what he wanted done.) “ “If that was the problem I’d know. I know that I need an upper G.I.”
Then came the kicker. “Honey, aren’t you going to the doctor for a colonoscopy next week?” I replied in the affirmative. “Well, why don’t you let me have your appointment and you can remake yours?” (A side bar: it took me three months and a referral to get to the doctors office and it was strictly for me) When I looked at him in utter disbelief, and received the expected “you are sooooo selfish” reply, he then said, “Well, I’ll just go with you and talk to her!”
Such is life with a medical wizard! It is amazing that his knowledge knows no bounds. Such expertise is just unbelievable. And to think that I live with this genius.
How lucky can I be?
This being said, it is only natural that he must have full attention at all times, with regard to his health. This has made my life wonderful – for I have never been ill. Just ask Mud Flap. I can have four children, nurse them through all childhood diseases, take care of all his maladies, and never suffer a day of illness in my life. I remember a time when my fever reached 104 and I was having difficulty getting off the couch when he arrived home from work. He slapped his palm on my head, pronounced me fine and told me to rest after I served dinner and did the dishes – he’d be fine. The next day, he came down with the flu and stayed in bed for a week. Coincidence? I think not…..
This past week, after going to his doctor for his annual physical, he came home and was most put out with the doctor. “He did not even consider giving me a referral for an upper G.I. Even when I described the pain in my esophagus.” I asked what he had said. Sniffing in distain he replied “Take the Nexium he had prescribed to me. “ “Well,” I answered, “Isn’t that a good answer? Don’t you have to take it consistently for it to work….not just on occasion (he had already told me that, but I counted on his faulty memory and his spin on what he wanted done.) “ “If that was the problem I’d know. I know that I need an upper G.I.”
Then came the kicker. “Honey, aren’t you going to the doctor for a colonoscopy next week?” I replied in the affirmative. “Well, why don’t you let me have your appointment and you can remake yours?” (A side bar: it took me three months and a referral to get to the doctors office and it was strictly for me) When I looked at him in utter disbelief, and received the expected “you are sooooo selfish” reply, he then said, “Well, I’ll just go with you and talk to her!”
Such is life with a medical wizard! It is amazing that his knowledge knows no bounds. Such expertise is just unbelievable. And to think that I live with this genius.
How lucky can I be?
MY LIFE IN DISFUNCTION
When we all enter this life, we are given two certitudes. One, a mother – a person to whom we are bound by an umbilical cord – and someone who with any luck, loves us and takes care of our needs. Two, a donor to the genetic composition in the form of a male – and one might hope that we could call them father- who lent himself to your inception. These are the two basics. All else is gravy!
My entry into this life was fairly uneventful—for me anyway! I was born in a blizzard and after twelve hours of labor, I decided to make my presence known. My mother was involved but asleep. Back when I was born, twilight sleep was the preferable means of delivery. So, she slept while the room of professionals cleaned me up. My father was at work and was informed of my arrival via telephone. I’m not sure how timely this was, but I was told that bets were being placed regarding my arrival and that he lost!
I remember some of my childhood. Wonderful adventures with my neighborhood friends, wetting the bed for an inordinate amount of time, babysitting my sister and brothers, getting in trouble for the actions of my younger siblings, being hot in the summer and cold in the winter, and loving school. These are just glimpses into the day to day of my younger years. But, the one constant in my memory and upon which all my vivid images are based is the time I spent with my grandmother. I was fortunate. I spent most summers with her, and my aunt who lived around the corner, in a town two hours drive from my home. These were the most wonderful times—cozy dinners, learning to set the table, shopping as a big girl walking down Broadway, the main street of the town, staying up late, and listening to the cicadas as they sang their summer songs. I lived through the mumps, chicken pox, and measles at my grandmother’s house. I had a gigantic bed (in retrospect, it was merely a full size mattress, but huge in comparison to my twin at home) and all the pillows I wanted. I had popsicles for dinner, as long as I said “I have had my excellent sufficiency” – lisp and all – to the delight of my grandparents! I danced for them in my grandmother’s lingerie, as they sipped their 5:00 p.m. bourbon and water. My life was full and wonderful.
I thought that nothing in the world was more wonderful than my life. I envied no one. I only realized that this might have been a dysfunctional existence much into my adulthood. I think that when this realization came about, I began to look at my day to day and see it as the dysfunction that it was – my norm. What an amazing moment that was….and after much soul searching, I have come to accept it for what it is and relish the excitement of living in this way. I like to be dysfunctional. I like the excitement of never being able to predict behavioral patterns. Boredom is an emotion I never suffer.
So, as I begin my journalistic endeavor, I start by the thought that my life might be of interest to someone. It might bring a smile to someone and laughter to their lips. At the very least, it might cause them to nod in agreement and “get it”! What a great deal of excitement this might cause in the ordinary person’s day. And, by the way, what is ordinary? What is normal? I’m not sure any of us is normal. And certainly, no one is ordinary….by choice! So all of you exceptional people, laugh with me, for this will be my solace when the key of D becomes the D minor portion of my sonata!
My entry into this life was fairly uneventful—for me anyway! I was born in a blizzard and after twelve hours of labor, I decided to make my presence known. My mother was involved but asleep. Back when I was born, twilight sleep was the preferable means of delivery. So, she slept while the room of professionals cleaned me up. My father was at work and was informed of my arrival via telephone. I’m not sure how timely this was, but I was told that bets were being placed regarding my arrival and that he lost!
I remember some of my childhood. Wonderful adventures with my neighborhood friends, wetting the bed for an inordinate amount of time, babysitting my sister and brothers, getting in trouble for the actions of my younger siblings, being hot in the summer and cold in the winter, and loving school. These are just glimpses into the day to day of my younger years. But, the one constant in my memory and upon which all my vivid images are based is the time I spent with my grandmother. I was fortunate. I spent most summers with her, and my aunt who lived around the corner, in a town two hours drive from my home. These were the most wonderful times—cozy dinners, learning to set the table, shopping as a big girl walking down Broadway, the main street of the town, staying up late, and listening to the cicadas as they sang their summer songs. I lived through the mumps, chicken pox, and measles at my grandmother’s house. I had a gigantic bed (in retrospect, it was merely a full size mattress, but huge in comparison to my twin at home) and all the pillows I wanted. I had popsicles for dinner, as long as I said “I have had my excellent sufficiency” – lisp and all – to the delight of my grandparents! I danced for them in my grandmother’s lingerie, as they sipped their 5:00 p.m. bourbon and water. My life was full and wonderful.
I thought that nothing in the world was more wonderful than my life. I envied no one. I only realized that this might have been a dysfunctional existence much into my adulthood. I think that when this realization came about, I began to look at my day to day and see it as the dysfunction that it was – my norm. What an amazing moment that was….and after much soul searching, I have come to accept it for what it is and relish the excitement of living in this way. I like to be dysfunctional. I like the excitement of never being able to predict behavioral patterns. Boredom is an emotion I never suffer.
So, as I begin my journalistic endeavor, I start by the thought that my life might be of interest to someone. It might bring a smile to someone and laughter to their lips. At the very least, it might cause them to nod in agreement and “get it”! What a great deal of excitement this might cause in the ordinary person’s day. And, by the way, what is ordinary? What is normal? I’m not sure any of us is normal. And certainly, no one is ordinary….by choice! So all of you exceptional people, laugh with me, for this will be my solace when the key of D becomes the D minor portion of my sonata!
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