Oh, nuts!

Time to lighten it up a bit, folks...

A traveling salesman was greeted at the door by one of the sweetest little old ladies he'd met in ages. After chatting a moment, she invited him in to rest a spell and offered to bring him something cold to drink.

After accepting her kind offer, he sat down on the couch to await her return from the kitchen. On the table he noticed a bowl of mixed nuts. Suddenly realizing how hungry he was, he decided that the woman wouldn't mind if he helped himself. He'd already finished one handful and was reaching for more when the sweet granny returned with some fresh-squeezed lemonade.

"I hope you don't mind that I helped myself to your nuts, ma'am," he said.

To which she replied, "Oh heavens no, dear. I don't mind a bit. I always hate to see them go to waste after I've sucked all the chocolate off ."

Gypsies, Tramps, and Peace Thieves

Laying side by side in the wee hours of the morning, her in her hospital bed, me on my roll-away, Mother and I talked quietly about our life together.

“Were you ever sorry you adopted me, Mom?”

“Yes. If I thought I could pull it off, I’d have given you to the first gypsy troop I could find heading out of town.”

“It was when you found out about Bob*, wasn’t it.”

She laughed in that sweet, half-giggle way of hers and said, “Well, yes, that was one of the worst of them.”

“Them?” I replied in mock shock, knowing full well that during my teenage years I’d given her plenty of reasons to toss me in the nearest Dempsey Dumpster (or gypsy wagon) and run for her life. She was right about one thing, though: my first fully involved sexual relationship had nearly killed not only her soul, but also her spirit, and very nearly her body as well....

I met Bob a month or so after the beginning of our sophomore year. He was a new kid. I knew what it was like to be the new kid and never allowed another new kid to feel left out. We had science together and, since none of the “cool” guys would lower themselves to be lab partners with a new kid, I took the job on myself. It wasn’t long before we were a couple. When Spring break came, we couldn’t bear the thought of being apart for a whoooole weeeeeeeek, so we devised a plan for him to spend lots of time with my friend Sally’s boyfriend who just happened to live only a few blocks from me. Coincidentally, Sally* would be spending most of Spring break with me. Both of our mothers worked full time, so they loved the idea of us keeping each other company. They had no idea just how much company we were going to be keeping with the guys.

On Thursday of that week, after Mother left for work at 7:00 a.m., Sally and I went to work primping and preening. We shaved our underarms and legs, checked each other for unsightly blemishes, did each other’s hair and makeup. Around 10:00 a.m. two totally clueless boys arrived and were presented with what we were sure would be the best surprise of their lives.

The following week at school, the boys broke up with us. Devastated, Sally and I wrote notes back and forth trying to figure out what had gone wrong. We didn’t understand how they could be so cruel after we’d been soooo kind. Being at that “it’s none of your business, Mom!” stage of teenage pseudo-independence, I sulked and grouched around the house so much that mother was finally compelled to go on a scavenger hunt in my room to try and figure out what was wrong with me. She didn’t have to look long to find one of our notes wadded up in the trash.

As a 15-year-old, I was outraged at her invasion of my privacy. Now, as the mother of a teenage girl, my heart physically aches at the thought of her sitting there in shock and horror as she read the words that no little girl’s mommy ever wants to read. I can hardly bear to think of how she looked as she read, but I will never forget the look on her face when she drove up to where a friend and I were walking in the neighborhood and ordered me into the car. I saw the crumpled paper laying on the car seat and immediately knew that she knew.

She’d actually taken off work early to come home and take me shopping in a surprise effort to cheer me up a little, but I’d already left the house when she got there. By the time she had me in the car it was about 4:00 p.m., however, she’d already called our family doctor, obtained the name of a gynecologist friend of his, and had an appointment scheduled for me at 4:30. It had been over 4 weeks since Spring break and she didn’t want to waste one more minute before making sure that I wasn’t pregnant or diseased. Or both. When I protested she growled, “You want to be a woman, this is part of it. And don’t you DARE put up a fight. You will do whatever the doctor needs you to do. Is that clear?” It was. I knew that if she had to get my dad involved it mean another beating and I would do anything to avoid that. Thankfully, so would she.

Fortunately, I survived the humiliation of that first gynecological exam even though I was wishing for death the whole time. It would take a few days for any test results to come in, though, so we were sent home to wait. And wait. And wait. And the waiting was done in tense silence with the barest minimum of contact between us. A few days later she got word that everything was alright. That may have been true medically, but relationally things couldn’t have been more wrong. She no longer knew how to relate to me. I wasn’t a baby anymore, but I was still her baby. I also wasn’t a woman who could be counted as her equal with whom she could easily converse about womanly things. I was a testy, withdrawn, and thoroughly nasty-to-be-around teenager. Years later she’d told me that because there was no one she could talk to about it all, she had fallen into such a deep depression that she came very close to ending her own life.

I realized that I had tears on my cheeks when the soft beep-beep of the morphine machine shook me out of my reverie as it released the much needed pain medication it hoarded like liquid gold. I reached across the dark void between us, squeezed her hand and said, “I love you, Mom, and I’m so sorry I put you through so much hell.”

As she once again drifted off into peaceful oblivion, she whispered softly, “You were worth it. I’m glad there were no gypsies.”

Now, nearly 25 years later, I am comforted by the fact that eventually this very difficult, painful, gut-wrenching, maddening, yet somehow wonderful job of parenting an emotionally damaged and behaviorally challenging teenage girl will be worth it. And I, too, am very glad there are no gypsies in town. Today.

*Names changed

What's that sound?

It is the sound of the other shoe finally dropping. It is not a good sound. It may mean that, if she doesn't turn back around soon, I'll be losing My Girl again...

I can't go into it right now; just please pray for her to recognize the dangers involved in her actions and for her willingness to accept the help she will need to come out of this.

It is the sound of Hubby's heart being broken. Again. I can't stand it when he cries. Add to this the fact that Twig is making some really poor choices again and it's the sound of the TV remote click, click, clicking because I'm having trouble finding the heart to do much more than sit and stare at the boob tube most of the time wondering when we get to get off of this train through hell. Right now it doesn't seem like we ever will.

I'll be around more again when I have a chance to grieve this current loss and find a way to cope. Until then... I don't know.. just, until then.

THE OLD LADY WEARING MY CLOTHES

I hate shopping. So much so that when my mother died in 1984, my aunt was actually worried about my boys having proper clothes to wear. She would even to call me and remind me to make sure their stuff still fit right and wasn’t wearing out. (Thank God she did because without her badgering me there’s no telling what they’d have gone to school wearing.) I still dislike shopping in general, but shopping for myself? Pure misery. Especially if it requires entering a mall.

This aversion to all things Mall has made me the window shopping queen of Texas. The only way I typically buy anything for myself is if I see it in the window and they have my size on a rack close enough to the door that I don’t have go on a scavenger hunt to find it. My penchant for buying the displayed outfits has led me to the very unscientific conclusion that I’m not alone in my totally non-traditional-female-person world because occasionally I run into someone else wearing the same outfit. It doesn’t happen often, but it does occur frequently enough for me to be comforted by the recognition of kindred spirits. Ever since I realized this, whenever I see a woman sporting the same outfit I’m wearing (or any part thereof), I endeavor to make a point of trying to catch the woman’s attention and grin like an idiot when she realizes that we have on the same clothes. It’s a fun game for me because I think most women act ridiculously stupid when faced with another woman wearing the same thing. So the ornery little sadist in me takes great pleasure in seeing if she’s going to grin or grimace. Yes, I know that I am WAY too easily amused!

Shortly before The Dream came to a crashing end, I was lucky enough to happen on an outfit that I really liked. Since it was in a strip center, thus requiring no mall anxiety, I took the opportunity, to actually go in and try on the outfit before purchasing it. (My other shopping-related aversion is to clothing store dressing rooms. I have nightmares about having one porcine appendage stuck in a pair of pants when a fire alarm goes off requiring me to either waddle out nearly naked or risk dying a slow, burning death while I try in vain to either get the one leg out of, or the other leg into, pants that are almost inevitably the wrong size. This has led to me having donated a massive number of brand new, price-tag still attached, clothing items because they hung in my closet or languished in the trunk of the car in the shopping bag awaiting my next trip to the mall for so long that the act of returning the item became, in and of itself, simply too humiliating. Sorry – that wasn’t where this story was supposed to go. So anyway...) I was pleasantly surprised to find that the first permutation of size combinations fit. (Remember, I haven’t easily seen my feet since I was about 13 so I always have to buy coordinated outfits. Suits with the same size tops and bottoms will NOT work.) I loved the way it camouflaged some of the more unsavory aspects of my physique so, of course, I bought it. In 2 different colors. YAY!

Until our blissfully normal shopping spree last week, I haven’t had much occasion to dress up to leave the house. I was thrilled to get to wear my new duds on our outing. We’d had a lunch and were laughing as we headed into the store. The last thing I expected to see as I was walking up to the doors was a woman wearing the same outfit already inside. “What fun!” giggled my inner sadist.

Once inside My Girl headed one direction and I took off in the direction it looked like the lady was going. She must have been in a real hurry because the next time I caught sight of her was at the dressing rooms. As we were walking in for MG to try on some shorts, I caught quick glimpse of her heading into another stall. I didn’t want to bother her while she was trying on clothes (I know I always hate having strangers try to talk to me while I’m half naked!) so I just stood there outside of MG’s stall waiting for either one of them to emerge. MG took forever because she had several things to try on, but none of it worked. She had pretty much scoured the racks the first time, so we decided to leave that store because there was nothing else that MG was interested in looking at. I was sad that I hadn’t been able to talk to the lady with my clothes on, though. When I saw her that second time I noticed that she was really too “shapely” to be wearing that type of outfit. It really wasn’t very flattering on her at all. I was hoping to be able to do my mothering thing and gently suggest that maybe she should think about finding clothing more befitting her age. But that lady must have had a load of stuff to try on because she never did show back up before we headed on to the next store.

We all know that great minds think alike, right? Well, that lady and I were seriously on the same wavelength because a little while after entering the second store I spotted her again. This time she was across the aisle looking at the jewelry. I only needed to see the side of her head and part of one shoulder out of the corner of my eye to instantly know it was definitely her because I recognized that hair. I made a mental note to also mention that she might like to try my wonderful $14 stylist if I ever caught up with her. Sadly, MG called me to come look at something, and by the time I looked back up she’d disappeared.

A little later, while MG was looking at shoes, I spotted the poor old dear again. She was over by the hats and handbags looking right at me. Seeing her pale, wrinkled face confirmed what I’d originally thought about her being much too old and out of shape to be wearing the layered tank top look. Now I also knew that I should recommend my wonderful Merle Norman dealer’s makeup makeovers. However, by the time I got across the aisle and around the mirror she was standing behind she was GONE AGAIN!

For the rest of the day I caught sporadic glimpses of her. Once I saw her reflection in a plate glass window as she stood behind me staring at my back. Another time, I caught her peeking around a corner through the glass door of the shop I was entering. The last time I saw her was in a furniture store looking at bedroom suits. I caught a peek of her reflection in the mirror on the dresser. By then, though, we were leaving and I had given up hope of having any kind of meaningful conversation with her. I’d concluded that she was, after all, a grown-up, and if she could remain in denial about her looks after spending so much of the day seeing herself in mirrors, nothing I could say would have helped.

So, the next time you bow your head in prayer, please send one up for that, out of shape, wrinkled and pasty faced, new-hairdo-needin’ old fat woman wearing my clothes. I KNOW she will appreciate all the help I she can get.

Wishing you Peace, Blessings and appropriate purchases for all the days you live to shop.

Glimpses of true normal

Today was a really great day with My Girl. I picked her up at work at 11:30 and, since we were both starving, headed to get something to eat. As usual, she fell asleep in the car. When we got close to the restaurant I nudged her so she could start waking up. In that moment of half sleep, with her eyes still closed, she said, "I love you, Mommy. Thank you for everything you do for me."

After lunch we went shopping for a while and she was as much concerned with me finding a new pair of shorts as she was about finding some for herself. When she mentioned wanting to look at the shoes (she's a shoe-aholic!) I said that was fine, but we weren't buying any because she doesn't need anymore shoes. She didn't whine, beg, pitch a fit, or even complain!

Tonight, Hubby took us out to our favorite Italian place. She was delightful. She even told her new male interest that she'd have to call him back after we finished eating. I nearly choked on my lasagna!

When we got home I told her I'd really like her to at least attempt to clear an emergency exit path in the room from hell. She not only did that, she cleaned picked up her bathroom and did a load of laundry.

Ok, now I have to admit I'm beginning to get a little worried about what she may have done that she's buttering me up for. But I'm going to revel in the moment and try not to hold my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop. I can't dwell on it. I have to believe that today is a small ray of light shining in what has lately been a pretty dark time.

Days like today keep me hanging on. These small glimpses of true normal make it worth the fight.

Don't laugh at a youth for his affectations; he is only trying on one face after another to find a face of his own. ~Logan Pearsall Smith, "Age and Death," Afterthoughts, 1931

Update on My Girl

As promised ...

In the week before the oblivion we spent a lot of time going to appointments with her doctor, counselor, probation officer. We also picked up applications at every place we thought might be willing to hire a 16 YO. The end result of it all is that:

1. The PO agreed not to put her back in lockup as long as she is working, attending GED classes, and following all her court orders.
2. SHE GOT A JOB! YAY! I am now the proud parent of a Kroger bagger/basket pusher.

At home she alternates between her traumatic ages (3, 8, & 10) and being a normal snot-nosed bratty teenager determined to move out on her own as soon as she can get enough money together to pay for her own place. I handle the latter much better than the former.

It is getting harder and harder for me to deal with her regressions because I know that if she doesn't decide to get a handle on them soon they will interfere with her job and probation status. Nobody in the outside world is going to put up with a kid her age throwing an 8 YO tantrum when she doesn't get her way.

Did you ever hear about the time when the speaker at a preachers' conference asked folks to stand and tell everyone their favorite bible verse? Well, this old, rugged, gray-haired preacher stood and said, "I've lived a long life. Been at the pulpit for more than 50 years. In all that time I've learned a thing or two, and through all I've experienced I've held onto one phrase that is repeated over and over: It came to pass." All the other younger, smarter, better educated preachers just stared at him. Finally, the speaker broke the silence when he asked why on earth he'd chosen that particular phrase to hang onto. The wise old preacher replied, "In times of trial it keeps me strong because I know the good book said that it came to pass, not that it came to stay."

That's kind of where I am right now. Hanging onto the fact that it came to pass. That God has a plan for her and for me, and He's not going to let it stay this hard forever.

I leave you with a few of my favorites of late:

Joshua 21:45: Not one of the good promises which the LORD had made to the house of Israel failed; all came to pass.

Psalm 105:19: Until the time that his word came to pass, The word of the LORD tested him.


Adolescence is perhaps nature's way of preparing parents to welcome the empty nest. ~Karen Savage and Patricia Adams, The Good Stepmother

Back from Oblivion

In the immortal words of Minnie Pearl


I’m more or less back. Thanks to lots of wonderful prayers and well-wishes it’s more more than less. OK – so that didn’t make a lot of sense. Maybe the drugs still haven’t completely worn off?? Muddling on...

For those of you who emailed me wanting to know what the heck I did to myself, I have one thing to say: I HAVE NO FREAKIN’ IDEA! It started Thursday with something that felt like a cramp on the outside of my right calf. By Friday, it had expanded to my thigh and felt more like a charliehorse. Saturday the charliehorse got worse after I mistakenly tried to work it out by doing yard work. On Sunday morning I couldn’t move my leg more than a few inches and my foot started tingling so I decided it was time to visit the nice people at the emergency care place up the road. They are very lovely people who gave me wonderful drugs so that even though the pain wasn’t all gone, I diiiiduuunt caaaaayeeeerrr.

Several of you suggested taking the time to read a good book. I would have loved that! However, after a thorough and lengthy inspection of the inside of my eyelids I determined that there are no holes in them that would allow for such taxing activity. And since the nice drugs made it impossible for me to keep my eyes open, no reading. I birthed two babies – an 8-1/2 pounder and a 7-1/2 pounder. And I did it the hard way with no pain meds. None. (Well ½ a shot of Demerol with the second one, but that’s another story – tee hee hee!) And I was induced both times which, I’m told, produces a harder labor than normal (whatever “normal” might be). But I am here to tell you that pushing those two watermelons out of my body was NOTHING compared to the pain associated with that pinched nerve thing. There was no way I was going to give up my pain meds for a little literary indulgence.

There was one really bad side effect to all the muscle relaxants and pain killers. Ummm, apparently several weeks of 16-hour, 130 mile round trip days isn’t the only thing that can cause a Colorado River sized log-jam of constipation. I discovered that the combination of drugs I was taking works even faster. Usually when I have a problem it’s related to tension and if I just sit there and relax a little, things start moving. So I sat. Waiting. And waiting. As I relaxed I closed my eyes and tried to visualize a calm, peaceful river running through my body carrying all the timber downstream toward a waterfall. Suddenly, I was startled from my exercise in guided imagery by my dog pawing at my lap. Yep, you guessed it: I fell.asleep.on the toilet! How doped up does somebody have to be to fall asleep on the john?? You can now understand why I’m glad to be back and almost drug free. I’m going to continue to take the Flexeril and the Motrin and save the Vicodin for the next time I need to take a nap. On the pooper.

Again, thank you for all your prayers. It’s wonderful to feel so loved!

Coming tomorrow: An update on my Girl. I promise.

Peek-a-boo

That's what I feel like I've been playing since my last post. I managed to pinch a nerve in my back and have been mostly out. Drugs are gooooood. But they haven't dulled the pain enough for me to spend much time sitting at the computer. I'm feeling better now, though. Some. I'll be back around to check on everyone as soon as I'm able.

Thanks for the prayers that I know you are sending up for me right this moment 'cuz that's just the kind of loving people you are.

Peace and blessings for you. And sweet Oblivion for me.

Distinctive and Blingy Awards

It's great being blonde - with such low expectations it's easy to impress. Pamela Anderson

I guess we need to raise the bar or something, because I’ve been honored with a couple of really wonderful awards:

This was given to me by Debby Yost over at THREE WEDDINGS or Die Trying.

It was created by Working Mum On The Verge to honor blogs that make you, "think, laugh, cry or sigh." The only rule is you should pass it to another 5 blogs. This will be difficult since so many blogs I read fall into this category. I will pass it on to:

Jill at Thou Shalt Not Whine because I cannot go there before I take a potty break or without a box of tissues because I know I’ll be laughing so hard I’m leaking from one end or the other OR BOTH before I leave!

Jules at Just Because because I’m touched not only by her words but by her wonderful photographs.

Jennifer at Siguiendo Mi Catracho because any woman who is brave enough and strong enough to move her 7 children all the way to Honduras to be with her husband and to try to make life better for the children there, and who can maintain her sense of humor in the process, has my undying respect and admiration.

Angela at angelawd because she is smart, funny, talented, loving and strong.

Kalynne at The Philosopher-Mom because anybody who can stay sane while raising 9 kids and wrangling 135 students AND be hilarious in the process is one amazing chick!

This tiara is what Angie over at Keep Believing called BLING. Nobody but Hubby ever gave me BLING before! Thanks, Angie, I’ll wear it with pride.

There are a couple of others that I can see wearing these crown jewels, too.

Lisa over at Rollin’ With The Punches does this mommy thing the hard way: From a wheelchair. Her 6 wild injuns insaniacs angels are really cute, too.

And, in my traditionally non-traditional way of doing things, I’m awarding this to Mylhibug – the DADDY blogger over at Bug Tries Again just because I get a kick out of his wit and willingness to be silly. And any man who can hold his own in the mommy blogverse deserves a crown!

Thank you, Debbie and Angie. I am so honored that you deem me worthy of your praise.

Peace, Blessings, and Honor to you all.

Miracle Monday: Ordained Employment

In December 1979 I was the proud, almost single, totally unemployed, mother of a 6-month-old baby boy. After complaining about the unwanted advances of a manager with 4 kids and a wife at home I was told that my services were no longer necessary. In those days there was no such thing as sexual harassment or wrongful termination lawsuit fear. If women complained, they were fired. And if they dared to raise a stink, they were blacklisted. Couple this experience with the devastation of my marital meltdown and any relationship with men was understandably not high on my Christmas wish list. Thankfully, I was living in my parent’s home and didn’t have to worry about how to care for my little Bug. After Christmas, I hit the bricks running, hoping to find a job that paid enough for me to be able to move us out on our own as soon as possible. In His infinite wisdom, however, God had already decided that I needed some more time there and arranged it so that I didn’t find another job until the perfect one that met His plan’s requirements presented itself.

I was so sick of going on interviews that I almost didn’t accept the one at the big steel fabrication company that was over 20 miles away from home. The employment agency lady (I wish I could remember her name!) was so sweet and had worked so hard for me, though, that I didn’t really have the heart to turn her down. Like her, they thought that I was perfect for their junior buyer position since I had both purchasing and previous steel fabrication shop experience. They hired me on the spot, pending the outcome of my background and employment history verifications which would take several days to complete. The next Monday, I was thrilled to be finally starting the new job.

Upon arriving I sat in the Personnel Department lobby talking to a woman who was also starting that day as the secretary for the engineering group. We were both glad to have met so that we’d have someone to grab lunch with on that always scary first day. I was thrilled to hear that she’d wanted to work at this company so badly that she turned down another very nice job in order to get into one more in line with her career plans. It lessened my fears that I’d made a mistake in going to work for yet another male dominated company.

After about an hour of us sitting there, the manager of the Personnel Department took me in his office and informed me that a woman who had been out on medical leave had returned. He had just learned that she wanted the position and, since they had a strong policy of promoting qualified staff from within, they were obligated to give her the job. He was so very sorry and embarrassed by the whole thing, but his hands were tied. I wanted to claw his eyes out, but instead I took a deep breath and let him off the hook. I knew that if I had been that woman, I’d have wanted the same fair treatment. All I needed to do was call my agent and tell her what had happened and let my new friend know that she’d need to find another lunch buddy.

After spending what seemed like an eternity on hold, I was finally put through. She answered in an excited, out of breath giggle. “I’m SO glad you called! I just hung up with the people who have YOUR job.” When I’d first signed up with her we talked at length about my strong interest in the emerging data processing field. There was just something about computers that made sense to me. I loved the new technology and my fondest wish was to find a way to get into that world.

“Are you dressed for an interview?” she asked. Well, yes, I had just been dumped at the employment altar, so I really was all dressed up with no place to go. “Great! I want you to go across the freeway and talk to the Director of Data Processing. They don’t know it yet, but their position has just been filled!” Her excitement was contagious and I found myself actually feeling really good about my job prospects for the first time in weeks. The woman knew her stuff. They hired me on the spot, accepting the agency’s background and employment history investigations. I started work immediately.

So where’s the miracle? It is in that fact that this past weekend I celebrated 27 years of mostly blissful marriage to one of the three men I went to work for at the company that God had prepared for my arrival. As it turned out, the woman who was supposed to be starting that day as their data processing secretary had called Friday afternoon to say she’d found a better job. At a steel fab company across the freeway.

More of today's Miracle Monday posts.

If you would like to share your life's miracles, or just read about those in other people's lives, please join us at A Mom's Life every Monday. Believe me, you will be blessed and uplifted by the experiences shared.