The very first friend I made when I moved to Georgia was a co-worker. We each had daughters that were close in age. How we met was I was walking through her office and fell. She stood up, introduced herself, stepped over me and walked away. Looking back, I should have been insulted, but strangely, I found it funny.
Over the years we have been through a lot together. She was with me every step of the way through the Autism diagnosis for Courtney. I was there when her husband lost his job. She was there when Scott and I were trying to decide if marriage was all it was cracked up to be. I was there when she decided that it was gastric by-pass surgery that was going to save her life. She got me hooked on Georgia Tech football. I got her hooked on the Bare Naked Ladies (easy, it’s a music group).
Life progressed and both of us took jobs with other companies. Kids have grown older. Houses have been sold and new ones built farther away. But, our friendship hasn’t changed. If I want to see a chick flick that Scott won’t take me to, I call her. If she wants to go see Pink in concert, she calls me. Thank goodness for e-mail, texting and Facebook; we can talk daily. And no matter what, we know that we are there for each other.
A couple of weeks ago she tells me that she isn’t sure about some things in her life and wonders if they are all that they are cracked up to be. My first instinct was to sit down and talk through it. And for her being the non talkative type, she did amazingly well at laying it all out there for me to see. She knows that I don’t side with her just because she is my friend and has let me point out where I think she is wrong. She has let me make a million suggestions as to what to do to “fix it”…..and she finally had to tell me it wasn’t my problem to fix.
What?
That’s what I do. I fix things. Everyone should be happy, especially my friends.
What do you mean it is not mine to fix?
She told me that all I can do is to be there for her.
I can do that.
But this is the hardest job I have ever had!
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Everyday People
I was raised to believe that all of us are equal. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you do, we are equal. My parents have stressed to me the importance of being a good and decent person. That we should really live by the Golden Rule and Do Unto Others As You would Have Done Unto You.
There is a long hair that doesn’t like the short hair for being such a rich one who will not help the poor one.
I really try to live my life that way. It doesn’t matter to me what color you are, what you do for a living or your lifestyle. What matters to me is how you treat me and my family. If you treat us good, you are golden in my book.
There is a blue one who can’t accept the green one for living with a fat one trying to be a skinny one.
There is a story I was told about a pastor who, when it was time for communion, went to the table and, after the bread was broken said “Don’t think that you can’t come because you are the wrong color. Come. Don’t think that you can’t come because you don’t make enough money. Come. Don’t think you can’t come because you are gay. Come.”
*GASP* Did he say the “G” word?
And different strokes for different folks.
I believe that there is nothing wrong with being gay. And I know that some of you reading this do not agree with me at all.
I am no better and neither are you. We are the same whatever we do.
We are all trying the best we can each and every day. And each and every day all of us make mistakes. What is important is that we get up the next day and try again.
I want to raise my child to look beyond. Beyond the color. Beyond the money. Beyond the lifestyle.
To the person.
I want someone to look beyond with her. Beyond the quirkiness. Beyond the obsessivness. Beyond the autism.
To the person.
We’ve got to live together….
Let’s make the best of it, shall we?
And so on and so on and scooby dooby do
There is a long hair that doesn’t like the short hair for being such a rich one who will not help the poor one.
I really try to live my life that way. It doesn’t matter to me what color you are, what you do for a living or your lifestyle. What matters to me is how you treat me and my family. If you treat us good, you are golden in my book.
There is a blue one who can’t accept the green one for living with a fat one trying to be a skinny one.
There is a story I was told about a pastor who, when it was time for communion, went to the table and, after the bread was broken said “Don’t think that you can’t come because you are the wrong color. Come. Don’t think that you can’t come because you don’t make enough money. Come. Don’t think you can’t come because you are gay. Come.”
*GASP* Did he say the “G” word?
And different strokes for different folks.
I believe that there is nothing wrong with being gay. And I know that some of you reading this do not agree with me at all.
I am no better and neither are you. We are the same whatever we do.
We are all trying the best we can each and every day. And each and every day all of us make mistakes. What is important is that we get up the next day and try again.
I want to raise my child to look beyond. Beyond the color. Beyond the money. Beyond the lifestyle.
To the person.
I want someone to look beyond with her. Beyond the quirkiness. Beyond the obsessivness. Beyond the autism.
To the person.
We’ve got to live together….
Let’s make the best of it, shall we?
And so on and so on and scooby dooby do
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Triple D
If anyone knows me, I mean really knows me, they know that I love to cook. I love to have people over or to bring something to work. I love it when people like what I made and tell me it is great. Don’t get that confused with baking. I hate baking. Meals are what I like to do.
Because I love to cook, I spend a lot of time watching the TV Food Network. My new favorite show is Diners, Drive Ins and Dives. The host is named Guy and he is funny. He goes all over the US eating at places that people have e-mailed him about and we get a behind the scenes look at the place.
When my parents came to visit us two years ago for Courtney’s baptism, my dad got off of the plane telling me of a BBQ place that he saw on TV that he had to go try. In his suitcase, was a printed map on how to get there from my house. How can you say no to someone who has done all the leg work?
So we go to Harold’s BBQ.
Now, as we are driving there, I kept seeing signs for a prison. We pull into the parking lot and there are bars on the windows. I was actually a little nervous. Scott wasn’t with me and my parents were, let’s face it, old. How were they going to protect me from the certain death that was coming my way from an escaped convict?
When we got inside there were business men in suits, there were regulars sitting at the counter talking to the owner, there were prison guards on their lunch break and there were no escaped convicts inside at all.
The food was the BEST BBQ I have ever had.
If you are ever in Georgia, eat at Harold’s. It will be one of the highlights of your trip.
The other will be seeing me!
Because I love to cook, I spend a lot of time watching the TV Food Network. My new favorite show is Diners, Drive Ins and Dives. The host is named Guy and he is funny. He goes all over the US eating at places that people have e-mailed him about and we get a behind the scenes look at the place.
When my parents came to visit us two years ago for Courtney’s baptism, my dad got off of the plane telling me of a BBQ place that he saw on TV that he had to go try. In his suitcase, was a printed map on how to get there from my house. How can you say no to someone who has done all the leg work?
So we go to Harold’s BBQ.
Now, as we are driving there, I kept seeing signs for a prison. We pull into the parking lot and there are bars on the windows. I was actually a little nervous. Scott wasn’t with me and my parents were, let’s face it, old. How were they going to protect me from the certain death that was coming my way from an escaped convict?
When we got inside there were business men in suits, there were regulars sitting at the counter talking to the owner, there were prison guards on their lunch break and there were no escaped convicts inside at all.
The food was the BEST BBQ I have ever had.
If you are ever in Georgia, eat at Harold’s. It will be one of the highlights of your trip.
The other will be seeing me!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Rituals
So Scott and I have this thing that we do every night.
When it is time for ME to go to bed (I go much earlier than him as he is afraid he is going to miss something. What? I don’t know) I go in our room, shut the door, turn off the light and almost make it to the bed before the door is opened and the light is back on. I act mad as I am getting into bed that he has turned the light on.
As he is pulling up my covers, he tells me to quit complaining and kisses me goodnight.
The words I love you are exchanged and three seconds later I am asleep.
To anyone on the outside looking in, that is the most dysfunctional exchange two people can have. I am sure they would wonder why night after night Scott continues to come in and kiss me goodnight.
It has worked for us for the past 16 years and, truth be told, I like that routine. I go to bed every night with the last words I hear from my husband are that he loves me. I am never mad.
I would be mad if the door didn’t open back up and the lights didn’t come back on.
There are about 5 nights a year that sleep deprivation catches up with Scott and he goes to bed before me.
And there are about 5 nights a year I feel cheated out of my ritual.
Thank God for rituals that only matter to two people in the whole world.
When it is time for ME to go to bed (I go much earlier than him as he is afraid he is going to miss something. What? I don’t know) I go in our room, shut the door, turn off the light and almost make it to the bed before the door is opened and the light is back on. I act mad as I am getting into bed that he has turned the light on.
As he is pulling up my covers, he tells me to quit complaining and kisses me goodnight.
The words I love you are exchanged and three seconds later I am asleep.
To anyone on the outside looking in, that is the most dysfunctional exchange two people can have. I am sure they would wonder why night after night Scott continues to come in and kiss me goodnight.
It has worked for us for the past 16 years and, truth be told, I like that routine. I go to bed every night with the last words I hear from my husband are that he loves me. I am never mad.
I would be mad if the door didn’t open back up and the lights didn’t come back on.
There are about 5 nights a year that sleep deprivation catches up with Scott and he goes to bed before me.
And there are about 5 nights a year I feel cheated out of my ritual.
Thank God for rituals that only matter to two people in the whole world.
Monday, October 26, 2009
There's Nothing Better Than Melted Peanut Butter
Last night Scott and I were trading stories about when we were little. And by trading stories, I mean he was telling stories and I was listening.
The story went something like this:
"My favorite lunch when I was little was peanut butter and jelly on toast, Doritos, pickles and chocolate milk. I would make it for myself every Saturday.
One Saturday, when my Aunt Carol and Uncle Dave were visiting us from Chicago, I was making my Saturday lunch. I was sitting on the counter. While my bread was toasting, I would place my knife on the hot coils of the toaster to heat it up, and then plunge it into the peanut butter and watch it melt. It was fun for two reasons - 1 it was melting the peanut butter and 2 it would vibrate while it was in the toaster all the way up my arm.
Uncle Dave happened to be walking through the kitchen as I had my knife in the toaster. He yelled at me and told me never to do that again. He told me that I could get electrocuted. He was not happy with me."
So I asked him if he ever did that again and he told me no. He figured since Uncle Dave was a paramedic, that he knew what he was talking about.
There are so many reasons my husband should not be alive right now. Most of them would be because of stupid things he has done growing up.
Thank goodness there was always some sort of “Uncle Dave” walking through at the right moment!
The story went something like this:
"My favorite lunch when I was little was peanut butter and jelly on toast, Doritos, pickles and chocolate milk. I would make it for myself every Saturday.
One Saturday, when my Aunt Carol and Uncle Dave were visiting us from Chicago, I was making my Saturday lunch. I was sitting on the counter. While my bread was toasting, I would place my knife on the hot coils of the toaster to heat it up, and then plunge it into the peanut butter and watch it melt. It was fun for two reasons - 1 it was melting the peanut butter and 2 it would vibrate while it was in the toaster all the way up my arm.
Uncle Dave happened to be walking through the kitchen as I had my knife in the toaster. He yelled at me and told me never to do that again. He told me that I could get electrocuted. He was not happy with me."
So I asked him if he ever did that again and he told me no. He figured since Uncle Dave was a paramedic, that he knew what he was talking about.
There are so many reasons my husband should not be alive right now. Most of them would be because of stupid things he has done growing up.
Thank goodness there was always some sort of “Uncle Dave” walking through at the right moment!
Friday, October 23, 2009
Take Another Look at the Man Behind the Curtain
I am a lot of things.
Some words one might use to describe me:
Loud
Funny
Protective
Loyal
Overly Sensitive
But I am also a lot of things that you don’t realize:
Smart
Loving
Spiritual
Pretty
Some people, and even some family members, don’t look at me hard enough or deep enough to realize that:
Smart doesn’t necessarily come from school. It can mean learning things you never dreamed you would have to learn. It can mean teaching things you never dreamed you would have to teach. It can mean knowing that you have to (sometimes) try just a little harder to get where you want to go.
Loving doesn’t necessarily mean saying the words I love you. It can mean driving 2 hours to have a 30 minute lunch with someone who needed a friend right at that moment. It can mean taking a day off of work without pay to go to the doctor with a friend only to find out that the “news” was good and things are fine. It can mean telling the ones you love “you can do it” when everyone else says they can’t.
Spiritual doesn’t necessarily mean going to church twice a week. It can mean standing in front of the Grand Canyon or the water fall an hour from your house and being in awe and thanking God for his beautiful work. It can mean driving to work without the radio and just listening. It can mean looking into your child’s eyes and wondering how in the world your life meant anything before their arrival.
Pretty doesn’t necessarily mean stick thin and designer clothes. It can mean someone who always tries to smile when she says hello. It can mean someone who always tries to take pride in the way she looks. It can and does come from the inside.
So I guess it is true – things aren’t always as they seem. Maybe, if you think you have someone figured out, you should take a deeper and longer look.
Some words one might use to describe me:
Loud
Funny
Protective
Loyal
Overly Sensitive
But I am also a lot of things that you don’t realize:
Smart
Loving
Spiritual
Pretty
Some people, and even some family members, don’t look at me hard enough or deep enough to realize that:
Smart doesn’t necessarily come from school. It can mean learning things you never dreamed you would have to learn. It can mean teaching things you never dreamed you would have to teach. It can mean knowing that you have to (sometimes) try just a little harder to get where you want to go.
Loving doesn’t necessarily mean saying the words I love you. It can mean driving 2 hours to have a 30 minute lunch with someone who needed a friend right at that moment. It can mean taking a day off of work without pay to go to the doctor with a friend only to find out that the “news” was good and things are fine. It can mean telling the ones you love “you can do it” when everyone else says they can’t.
Spiritual doesn’t necessarily mean going to church twice a week. It can mean standing in front of the Grand Canyon or the water fall an hour from your house and being in awe and thanking God for his beautiful work. It can mean driving to work without the radio and just listening. It can mean looking into your child’s eyes and wondering how in the world your life meant anything before their arrival.
Pretty doesn’t necessarily mean stick thin and designer clothes. It can mean someone who always tries to smile when she says hello. It can mean someone who always tries to take pride in the way she looks. It can and does come from the inside.
So I guess it is true – things aren’t always as they seem. Maybe, if you think you have someone figured out, you should take a deeper and longer look.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Rules to Follow While Watching College Football
Rules to Follow While Watching College Football with Scott:
1. The Gators are the best team ever.
2. Tim Tebow is the best quarterback in the history of college football and shall be referred to as “Tim Terrific”.
3. Don’t chat during the game. That’s what commercials are for, and that’s only if the Gators are winning.
4. Scott definitely knows more than the offensive coordinator and sometimes more than Urban Meyer, hence all the yelling at the television set. If you can’t handle yelling, go home.
Rules to Follow While Watching College Football with Melissa:
1. Come Hungry! I’ve got some great new appetizer recipes that I am dying to try.
2. Come Thirsty! I’ve got some darling margarita glasses that need to be broken in.
3. Look at Urban Meyer; he is kind of cute, huh?
4. Just ignore Scott. He’ll be fine eventually!
1. The Gators are the best team ever.
2. Tim Tebow is the best quarterback in the history of college football and shall be referred to as “Tim Terrific”.
3. Don’t chat during the game. That’s what commercials are for, and that’s only if the Gators are winning.
4. Scott definitely knows more than the offensive coordinator and sometimes more than Urban Meyer, hence all the yelling at the television set. If you can’t handle yelling, go home.
Rules to Follow While Watching College Football with Melissa:
1. Come Hungry! I’ve got some great new appetizer recipes that I am dying to try.
2. Come Thirsty! I’ve got some darling margarita glasses that need to be broken in.
3. Look at Urban Meyer; he is kind of cute, huh?
4. Just ignore Scott. He’ll be fine eventually!
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
A Girl of Few Words
When Courtney was little, she used to say things twice …”What did you say? What did you say, mommy?” She used to chatter to Scott and I about all sorts of things.
Before bed every night, Scott would read her a book. She always got to pick it out. There are two that come to mind right away when I think back to those days. Are You My Mother? and Go Dog Go. Scott would read them to her and she would say her favorite parts out loud right along with him. Both of them would be on her bed on their stomachs, Courtney’s chin in her hands and her knees bent with crossed ankles. I think that was her favorite part of her day.
Every day when school gets out and Scott picks her up, she calls me to tell me about her day. What used to be a 20 minute conversation from everything she had for breakfast all the way to what her dad said to her when she got in the car, has turned into 3 or 4 words at best….
Me: How was your day, Courtney?
Her: Fine.
Me: Do you have homework?
Her: Yes.
When did she go from a little girl to a teenager? Or maybe the better question is when did she quit talking to me?
Everyone says this is normal. This is what teenagers do.
I long for the days of bedtime stories and dissertations about her days! For footie pajamas and Sippy cups. For the days when I was her hero and could fix anything with a bowl of ice cream.
Before bed every night, Scott would read her a book. She always got to pick it out. There are two that come to mind right away when I think back to those days. Are You My Mother? and Go Dog Go. Scott would read them to her and she would say her favorite parts out loud right along with him. Both of them would be on her bed on their stomachs, Courtney’s chin in her hands and her knees bent with crossed ankles. I think that was her favorite part of her day.
Every day when school gets out and Scott picks her up, she calls me to tell me about her day. What used to be a 20 minute conversation from everything she had for breakfast all the way to what her dad said to her when she got in the car, has turned into 3 or 4 words at best….
Me: How was your day, Courtney?
Her: Fine.
Me: Do you have homework?
Her: Yes.
When did she go from a little girl to a teenager? Or maybe the better question is when did she quit talking to me?
Everyone says this is normal. This is what teenagers do.
I long for the days of bedtime stories and dissertations about her days! For footie pajamas and Sippy cups. For the days when I was her hero and could fix anything with a bowl of ice cream.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Family
When I was little we went to church every Sunday. And by every Sunday, I mean unless we were out of town or on our death beds. Otherwise, we were there.
My mom would get us up on Sunday mornings and make sure our hair was washed, body clean, no dirt under our fingernails and, usually, my brother and I were in color coordinated outfits.
My dad would give us offering money for Sunday School. I always thought it was cool that my offering money was "big" - nickles. They had to be better than my brother's "small" money - dimes. Surely, bigger was better. Looking back, I now understand the look my brother and dad exchanged - silly girl doesn't realize that dimes are worth more than nickles.
At that time, my dad was a human taxi. He would drive my brother and I the 20 minutes to church to drop us off for Sunday School. Drive 20 minutes home and then him and mom would come back for "big church".
My mom wouldn't let us go to children's church. She wanted us in church with her. She would, however, let us draw on the back of the bulletin - but not until the sermon started. I used to complain that the material of the church pew cushion made my legs itch like nobodies business. I think the church still has the same cushions. Boy did they get their monies worth!
Back then church was another family. Families always did things together. If someone was in the hospital, the church family visited. If someone died, the church family made food. If a baby was born, there was a rose on the organ the first Sunday in the baby's honor. Your church family celebrated with you and mourned with you.
Now here I am 40 years old with a 13 year old. The church we attend, when we go, is big. Too big for anyone to take the time to ask me my name, or to call me if I wasn't there one Sunday. Sunday School is at the same time as church, so Courtney doesn't want to go to church with me. There is no "family".
Living in Georgia is a long way from California. The closest family we have is Scott's parents and they are 4 hours away. So there are no weekly dinners or dropping Courtney off for a couple of hours so Scott and I can go off on our own for a while.
But I do have, what we have come to call, our Georgia Family. You know who you are. The ones who make sure that we are not alone on a holiday. The ones who love my kid unconditionally. the ones who if one of us were sick, would come visit. The ones who celebrate with me and mourn with me.
For them I am truly thankful.
But sometimes late at night when everyone is asleep and it is just me and my thoughts I wonder what it would be like to have weekly dinners and drop in visits.
My mom would get us up on Sunday mornings and make sure our hair was washed, body clean, no dirt under our fingernails and, usually, my brother and I were in color coordinated outfits.
My dad would give us offering money for Sunday School. I always thought it was cool that my offering money was "big" - nickles. They had to be better than my brother's "small" money - dimes. Surely, bigger was better. Looking back, I now understand the look my brother and dad exchanged - silly girl doesn't realize that dimes are worth more than nickles.
At that time, my dad was a human taxi. He would drive my brother and I the 20 minutes to church to drop us off for Sunday School. Drive 20 minutes home and then him and mom would come back for "big church".
My mom wouldn't let us go to children's church. She wanted us in church with her. She would, however, let us draw on the back of the bulletin - but not until the sermon started. I used to complain that the material of the church pew cushion made my legs itch like nobodies business. I think the church still has the same cushions. Boy did they get their monies worth!
Back then church was another family. Families always did things together. If someone was in the hospital, the church family visited. If someone died, the church family made food. If a baby was born, there was a rose on the organ the first Sunday in the baby's honor. Your church family celebrated with you and mourned with you.
Now here I am 40 years old with a 13 year old. The church we attend, when we go, is big. Too big for anyone to take the time to ask me my name, or to call me if I wasn't there one Sunday. Sunday School is at the same time as church, so Courtney doesn't want to go to church with me. There is no "family".
Living in Georgia is a long way from California. The closest family we have is Scott's parents and they are 4 hours away. So there are no weekly dinners or dropping Courtney off for a couple of hours so Scott and I can go off on our own for a while.
But I do have, what we have come to call, our Georgia Family. You know who you are. The ones who make sure that we are not alone on a holiday. The ones who love my kid unconditionally. the ones who if one of us were sick, would come visit. The ones who celebrate with me and mourn with me.
For them I am truly thankful.
But sometimes late at night when everyone is asleep and it is just me and my thoughts I wonder what it would be like to have weekly dinners and drop in visits.
It's All Good
So, some of you have been asking for me to blog again.
To tell you the truth, I don't know if I have it in me.
BUT - It is a good way to keep friends and family updated about the goings on in the Coleman Family.
I think the website says it all - www.justthissideofnuts.blogspot.com
All three of us - and even the dog - are a little nuts.
So check back once in a while to see what is going on. Leave a comment if you so wish. Or not.
Either way - it's all good!
To tell you the truth, I don't know if I have it in me.
BUT - It is a good way to keep friends and family updated about the goings on in the Coleman Family.
I think the website says it all - www.justthissideofnuts.blogspot.com
All three of us - and even the dog - are a little nuts.
So check back once in a while to see what is going on. Leave a comment if you so wish. Or not.
Either way - it's all good!
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