What I Am Thankful For

When you get pregnant, you start picturing how your life is going to go. Once you found out what you were having, the name was decided on, the nursery pattern was picked out and supplies started being purchased. You pictured bikes in the front yard, sleepovers and birthday parties.

Then the big day comes and the child arrives. Flowers are delivered, packages received, bottles sterilized and long sleepless nights. But something is not quite right. You keep your opinion to yourself because you have never been a parent before and clearly you don’t know what you are doing. But time goes by and others start mentioning things here and there and you decide that you better have her evaluated.

The weeks leading up to the evaluation are filled with thoughts that you don’t dare say out loud. A bunch of what ifs and you are convinced that you are going to die right there on the spot should they tell you that something is wrong. Finally the day comes and they confirm that yes something is wrong. It takes your breath away. You make eye contact with your spouse as if to say you are sorry because it surely must have been something you did or didn’t do to cause this.

But you don’t die.

You are told to go see another doctor and the weeks leading up to that appointment are filled with research, research, research. You engross yourself in it and you neglect your spouse because it consumes all of who you are. Every time the child does something, even though it could be completely normal, you look it up. She sneezed twice, it could be a cold or allergies or a tumor! Your family members send you articles of what they think it could be and inside your stomach does flips. You dream about it. It consumes you.

You arrive at the children’s hospital and sit in the waiting room. You are surrounded by parents who are there to see if their child is going to make it to their next birthday and you thank God right then and there that you are not dealing with anything terminal. You take the hand of your spouse and point out that we don’t have it so bad. Your spouse looks back at you and whispers “I’ve been trying to tell you that all along.” You see the doctor and they tell you it is autism and there really isn’t anything they can do and there isn’t a cure and medicine isn’t really going to help and have a nice day.

You walk away from that appointment with a myriad of feelings. Thankful, hurt, angry, sad. Then determination kicks in and you decide that no doctor is going to tell you that there really isn’t anything you can do. You will do whatever it takes to turn this around the best that you can. You owe her that. Giving up is not an option.

So over the years you take two steps forward and three steps back in progress. You lose friends who can’t deal. You realize that family members don’t really want to know, they just ask to be polite, and some family members are convinced they know what is best. You have had complete strangers come up to you and criticize your parenting. All the while, life goes on. You try to stay connected with your spouse in an adult world, but, sometimes, you are so preoccupied, that it affects all other aspects of your life. You learn when to fight, when to back down and when you have to be a flat out bitch to get what is best for your child. You come to terms with the fact that there will be no party invites, sleepovers and the phone ringing off of the hook asking to speak with your kid.

Then….

Little by little a friend is made, an invite comes and the phone occasionally rings.

And you realize that all of your hopes and dreams didn’t go down the drain. They just changed – and that is okay.

Because you know what, it is not terminal. There are families out there that have it way worse than you.

And you thank God every day for the life and the spouse and the child that you have.

Because the spouse and the child are truly a blessing.

And that is what I am Thankful for this year!

Happy Thanksgiving.

Being Thankful

Thanksgiving.

That time of year when people set aside a week, a day or an hour to be thankful.

So damn easy to say that life’s so hard.
Everybody’s got their share of battle scars.
As for me, I’d like to thank my luck stars that I’m alive and well.

Lately on the news, in the paper and on TV you hear about things we don’t have and reasons not to be thankful.

It’d be easy to add up all the pain
And all the dreams you sat and watched go up in flames.
Dwell on the wreckage as it smolder in the rain.
But not me. I’m alive.

Sometimes we can get so wrapped up in our problems, that are HUGE to us, that we forget to take a time out.

Stars are dancing on the water here tonight.
It’s good for the soul, when there’s not a soul in sight.
But this boat has caught its wind and brought me back to life
Now I’m alive and well.

I think we might make it harder than it needs to be. Being thankful doesn’t have to be a production. It can be as simple as being thankful for enough.

Thank you for enough money to get me to the next pay day.

Thank you for enough food that I didn’t go to bed hungry this week.

Thank you for enough strength to get out of bed every day.

And today you know that’s good enough for me.
Breathing in and out’s a blessing can’t you see?
Today’s the first day of the rest of my life.
Yeah, I’m alive and well.

I am thankful for enough family and friends that I feel loved every single day of my life.

What are you thankful for enough of?

Pressed Turkey, Pilgrim Hats and Too Much Glue

When Courtney was in 1st grade, we tried mainstreaming her for part of the day. We got notice that there was going to be a Thanksgiving lunch at the school for all of the 1st grade parents. So, Scott and I both took long lunches and went to the school.

Parents were asked to wait in the hallway. As we were sitting there waiting for our yummy school lunch of pressed turkey and instant potatoes, here comes Courtney’s class down the hall. All of the kids are in a single file line. All of the kids have pilgrim hats on.

All of the kids but Courtney.

I make eye contact with the teacher and she just looks at me and kind of shakes her head. I look at Courtney, who is THRILLED that we are at her school. I notice that her bangs have something hard and crusty in them.

Finally, it is time for the parents to go into the lunch room and sit down for lunch with our kids. As I sit down I ask her where her pilgrim hat is and what in the world did she get in her hair.

“I am not wearing that stupid hat.”

“How come?”

“I’m just not.”

“Okay. What is in your hair?”

“Oh – that’s glue.”

Just then the teacher walked up and explained that Court got a little happy with the glue and when she put on her hat, she glued it to her head. Then when she tried to take it off, it pulled out some hair, and there was no way anyone could get her to put it back on.

Even today that child uses too much glue. She takes a glue stick to something with gusto I have never seen the likes of before.

Back in 1st grade, that story made me a little sad.

Today, it is one of my favorite Courtney stories.

Happy Thanksgiving My Friends!

People I HAd Encounters With This Weekend Who Shold Be Punched

Mall People – You know who you are. You are walking along, really sauntering along, and you don’t have a care in the world. The problem is, you are in the MIDDLE of the isle. MOVE OVER. We can’t go around you because you are holding hands with your lover, boyfriend or whatever it was. WE are now stuck behind you. MOVE OVER OR WALK FASTER.

Movie People – REALLY? This is manners 101. When you eat, chew with your mouth closed. It is simple, really. Put a piece of popcorn in your mouth, one at a time, close and chew. Oh and when you get that slurping sound from your straw coming from the cup you are drinking out of, it means your drink is gone. No amount of sucking on the straw is going to produce more of the beverage. Either get up and go get another drink or put the cup down. Better yet, just stay home. Clearly you are not ready to be in public.

Traffic People – Seriously, a yellow light does not mean run it and then act surprised that you are stuck in the middle of the intersection. Now, I can’t go and you have just bunched up traffic further. Oh, and if you are going to drink something in the car that causes you to go 30mph, when the speed limit is 55mph, perhaps YOU SHOULDN’T BE DRINKING IT.

And to the person who was walking up to the mall drinking you coke, don’t you worry your pretty little head. I picked up that coke can you threw in the planter and got in the trash can that was a whole 15 extra steps to the right. I don’t want you to go back later and look for that can to throw it away and wonder where it went.

GOODNESS!

Am I # 1 or Are You Giving Me The Finger?

I have this thing that I like to change cars all the time. It is not beyond me to ask Scott for a new car like every two years. Do I get it? Nope. We are on year five for the car I am in now, and I have been informed that we will be driving this until it literally falls apart. I want to downsize to a smaller car. Scott doesn’t want a car payment. My argument is that a family of three doesn’t really need a car that seats seven. Scott’s argument is that a family of three cannot afford a card payment right now. Scott wins…again. Besides, he says that every time we go car shopping, I don’t know how to negotiate. They could tell me the payments will be $1,000.00 a month for 18 years and I will scream out WHERE DO I SIGN?

I am only like this with cars. When we went to buy the house we are in now, I must have asked Scott a gazillion questions…is it too big, is it too expensive…is the yard right….and he looked at me and flat out told me that we are going to live in this house until we retire and it is fine. A three bedroom house is not too much for a family of three. Fine. Can we get a new car too? No.

When I turned 16 my parents bought a car for me to drive. It was not MY car, it was THEIR car, I was just the only one who drove it. When it was time for me to move out, I was informed that the car was not going with me, as it was THEIR car. That was fine. I had a job. I will just go buy my own car. So I tell my dad what kind of cars I like and beg him to take me shopping. He relents and takes me. So I am picking out all these cars and he is just looking at me. He told me we need to go home and re-group. I try to protest, but he is driving and I have no choice but to go with him. We get home and he and my mom sit me down with my pay stub and we calculate just how much I can REALLY afford. Seems my tastes were a little more expensive than my budget would allow.

Now armed with the all the information needed, we go out again. I find a car that I like and dad has looked it over and given his yeah you are not gonna die if you buy this car approval. This is where I stop and dad takes over.

Negotiations.

It is time to go into that little office and sign the paperwork. I am so excited. I am getting a new (to me) car. So the sales person is doing his song and dance, this is what it stickers at, this is the tag and title. Dad and him are talking price and all I remember is the sales person telling Dad that has to go get it approved from his manager. He leaves me and dad in this little room. I tell Dad that I really want this car. He tells me to just be quiet and not to say anything (hello, has he met me?). The guy comes back and tells Dad that he can’t approve it. Dad gets up to leave and I go to say something and I get the finger.

The finger.

This could look to an outsider looking in like Dad is telling me that I am number 1. What it really means is shut up. Don’t say another word sohelpmegod. It still works on me and I am 40.

SO I go to say something and get the finger, which stops me dead in my tracks.

The sales person doesn’t want to lose a sale, so he starts tap dancing and dad sits back down. They are doing this song and dance for a while and every time I try to say something I get the finger.

But we left there with me being a car owner of a car that I could afford .

I drove that car until I was pregnant with Courtney and moving to Key West.

When Scott and I go to buy a new car, I stay home until it is time to drive it off the lot and then he calls me to come sign the paperwork and drive away.

Apparently, it is just easier that way.

Sainthood

Scott and I have a weird kind of marriage. Weird in the wonderful sense of the word.

I have told you before that Scott didn’t really land him the best little housewife on the west coast. When we got married, I did not know how to cook. I knew what the kitchen was for, I just didn’t know what to do once I got in there. I knew how to do laundry, but wouldn’t put it away. To this day, it is not uncommon for me to do laundry, fold it, put it in the laundry basket and then just leave it. I can clean a house if I really wanted to, but let’s face it, it has to be REALLY dirty for me to devote any time to it and I can think of a million other things I could be doing.

I remember when we were first married, I got home from work before Scott. I was back in the bedroom changing and he walked in. He told me he didn’t wonder where I was, because he just had to follow the trail of crap I left behind. I had no idea what he was talking about, so he took me into the living room and proceeded to show me where I had left my shoes (right by the front door, cause they were the first things I took off when I got home), my purse (on the back of the couch because I had to set it there to take off my shoes – duh!), my jacket (over the back of the kitchen chair…in my defense, I was going to hang it up in the coat closet that was just an extra two steps to the right when I got done changing), my nylons (on the bathroom floor, I had taken them off while going to the bathroom cause I can’t go at work because those bathrooms are gross, and I really needed to go when I got home) and my skirt and blouse on the bed (where are you supposed to put things when are changing?).

So it began, I would try to be better and he would try to overlook some things.

I know that if I come home from work and all of my shoes are lined up in a nice row, it is time for me to get them in their designated place in the closet. I know if all of my stuff is in a stack on the bedside table, that he wants me to do something with it soon. If the stack has moved to the bed, I should do something with it before going to bed that night. And he is really good about the laundry. If I take the time to do it and fold it, he will put it away.

The scary thing is, I see some of me in Courtney. She lives in the upstairs part of our house. We put her clean and folded laundry (and anything else that needs to go upstairs) on the stairs banister. That is her clue to take it up with her when she goes. She doesn’t have to stop what she is doing, she just needs to take it the next time she goes up. She will go up and down all day and not take anything with her. So, I started putting things ON the stairs. Then I watched as she JUMPED over them to go up AND down the stairs. Finally, I told her to take them up with her, and she looked surprised that they were there. SURPRISED. Really?

Whoever marries this girl is going to need to be a saint.

Lord knows that Scott has earned his seat at the right hand of God being married to me!

This Is Drugs. This Is Your Brain On Drugs

I was in elementary school. My dad played for the church softball team. They practiced on Sunday afternoons, but played on Friday nights. I used to love to go to the games, because sometimes afterwards, everyone would go to Shakey’s Pizza and my dad would give me a bunch of quarters to play video games.

On this afternoon, the whole family went to softball practice. The field was about 20 minutes from our house. It was a nice warm day. Practice was well underway when my mom realizes that she had put eggs on to boil and forgot to turn them off before we left for practice. There is nothing she can do. Practice is almost over and she just has to wait it out.

When we got home, the eggs had exploded and were all over the ceiling of the kitchen. AND DID IT SMELL! Do you know what sulfur smells like? Take a guess. It is gross. And the pan had melted to the stove, which was a whole other smell added to the mix.

Jeff and I were told to stay out of the way while she scraped the eggs off of the ceiling and aired out the house.

When Scott was in the Navy and I would go visit him on the ship to take him dinner, I would smell the sulfur down at the docks, and it would take me right back to this moment.

I can guarantee you that this only has to happen to someone once and they learn to check the stove, oven and all other appliances before they leave the house.

The Graves Attitude

There is this thing that runs in my family. It is called the “Graves” attitude. It comes with a furrowed brow and big mouth.

When I was little my dad bought a pair of cleats at Sears. He wore them several times and one of the cleats broke off while he was playing softball for the church. He decided that he was going to clean those bad boys up and return them. My mom told him there was no way that Sears was going to take back those cleats and not to even waste his time trying to return them. But bound and determined he was and I was all too eager to go with him to the store.

When we arrived, we went to the Sporting Goods Department. Back then, they didn’t have stores that just specialized in sporting goods like they do now. Let me set this up for you….he gets in line at the register that is directly in front of the escalator. I know he didn’t do that on purpose, but this will play an important part later in the story. So he is standing in line and I am with him and I am like 8 years old. I am standing there, with my dad, happy as can be. When it is our turn, my dad tells the cashier, who is like maybe 18, that he would like to return these cleats because one broke off, blah, blah, blah. The cashier opens the shoe box and can tell that these cleats have been worn. Very kindly he says that he cannot give my dad his money back because company policy and yada, yada, yada. My dad informs the kid that he was sold defective cleats and he wants his money back. Again, the poor guy explains policy to my dad.

Dad then asks to speak to his manager.

This is where it gets interesting.

Keep in mind where we are standing. Also keep in mind that not one member of the Graves family knows how to speak in a low tone unless you are my mom and then it is only in church and through clenched teeth.

The cashier tells my dad that he IS the manager. Dad proceeds to tell him that he doesn’t believe him and wants him to get a manager.

People that were going to go up the escalator have stopped and gathered. People that made the mistake of taking the escalator have come back down to see how this is going to play out. All the while I am standing there in my pony tails and wire rimmed glasses not uttering a word but looking at all these people watching US.

“I am the person in charge”

“There has got to be someone here other than you that is in charge”

“Nope, just me”

“You are MR. SEARS?”

Mr. Sears. He said that and people busted out laughing.

The kid gave my dad his money back and we left the store.

We drove home in silence.

When we got home, my mom asked what happened and dad told her that they refunded his money.

She looked at me and I burst out with the entire story.

She shook her head and didn’t have much to say.

I never went with my dad to return anything ever again. But I guarantee you that I have called on him to use that attitude on my behalf plenty of times!

I'm Bored

There is a story that my mom tells about how I came home from second grade all in a tizzy because my teacher wanted me to read a book and then write a report to tell her about it. I told my mom that if she wanted to know what the book was about she could just read it herself. My mom explained to me that I will be reading the book and writing the report and I am to always do as the teachers instructs.

I could tell you about the time Courtney was in kindergarten and she had enough for the day and just packed her book bag up and told the teacher to call me to come and get her.

I could tell you about the time I got a call at work explaining that Courtney was participating in field day at school and, while she came in first, her partner came in last causing them to lose, so Courtney punched her. And after I explained to her that I got a call at work about her hitting she asked me if the school called the other girls’ mom because “SHE CAME IN LAST”.

I have a million other stores I could tell you, but I will tell you this:

Courtney has been asking her teacher in her 6th period class (the last class of the day) to go home. This has been going on for about 3 weeks now. It has ranged from a headache, stomach ache, just not feeling “good” to last week's excuse:

“I am just bored.”

Bored?

She told her teacher that her class was boring. This is Language Arts. You don’t tell THAT teacher you’re bored. You tell your Social Studies teacher you are bored! She is getting an A in the class. The teacher absolutely adores her.

I guess it is not enough to be doing well in the class. Apparently, she needs a three ring circus too!

Afternoon Delight

When I was a little girl, I used to love the song Afternoon Delight. And when it came on the radio I would sing along. Although, I just googled the lyrics and I had a lot of them wrong. My parents never said anything to me. They let me sing. Clearly, I had no idea what the song was talking about.

Rubbin’ sticks and stones together makes the sparks ignite and the thought of rubbin’ you is getting so exciting.

When I got older I started listening to my own kind of music, not what my parents had on the radio when we were in the car. The Beastie Boys were a favorite of mine, as were LL Cool J, Tone Loc, Madonna and a myriad of others. I then knew what the songs were talking about and still my parents never said a word. They would let me watch MTV when I got home from school. They never told me not to listen to something. I can’t think of even one time either of them told me I couldn’t listen to something.

I have a 13 year old. Her daddy raised her on Devo, The Beastie Boys, and Rush and Jimmy Hendrix. I introduced her to Country and silly pop songs that her dad can’t stand. We both introduced her to The Beatles, The Mama’s and the Papa’s and others I can’t think of right now.

But lately, I have noticed that she has been listening to songs I am not too sure I want her listening to. It started last year when she was singing a Katy Perry song about kissing a boy and liking it. Then she was singing a Brittney Spears song where she was wondering if you seek Amy, but it didn’t sound like that was what she was wondering. She loves her some Lady GaGa.

So the other day in the car, I decide that she needs to listen to something different. I pull out my Simon and Garfunkle CD. Her favorite song? Cecilia!

Making love in the afternoon with Cecilia up in my bedroom. I got up to wash my face when I come back to bed someone’s taken my place.
THAT is the song that she likes.

I am torn. Do I say something? Do I not? My parents didn’t say anything and I turned out just fine. Should I follow their lead? I try to think back when I was her age and listening to what I was listening to.

I can handle the whole autism thing. I can juggle a job and meetings at the school and doctor appointments with the help of my husband.

But this music thing – it’s got me stumped!

You Know Who You Are!

Dear Person Who Thinks You Are Above The Rules:

I see you every morning on my way to work so I know that you know what you are doing.
You know damn well that the left lane is for turning, the middle lane is for going straight and the right lane is for turning only.

Why, tell me, WHY do you insist on not waiting in line like the rest of us good folks on the way to work for your turn to go through the light in the middle lane? What makes you so freakin special that you get to pass all of us on the right and then put your blinker on and wait for someone to let you in? Hmm?

And to all of those who let this asshole in, SHAME ON YOU! He does this daily, DAILY I tell you and you keep letting him in. Stop it! He is not special. He can wait in the long line like the rest of us.

And you know what, above the rules guy? You better hope to hell that I am not the one at the front of the line that you are trying to get in front of because I will Fried Green Tomatoes your ass and ram my car into you over and over again.

I am not kidding. I learned to drive in California. I can road rage with the BEST of them.

Consider yourself warned!

Veterans Day

Today is Veterans Day.

A day to celebrate those who serve our country and to remember those who laid down their lives for our country.

It takes a special person to serve in the military. Lord knows I SO could not do it. I am married to a former Military man who served in the Gulf War. I have worked with men who served in Viet Nam and have stories that they can’t share because the memory is still too painful. My daughter’s Godfather served in the current war. He was on one of the first ships that was deployed after the 9/11 attacks.

I don’t care what your views are of the war or our President. None of that matters today.

Today is a day to say thank you. Thank you for caring enough about your country and the people who live in it to spend countless months away from your family. Thank you for experiencing the horror of war so we don’t have to live in fear and can feel safe. Thank you for keeping those memories and stories to yourself so we don’t have to experience the pain. I am honored to know and love you and am humbled by your service.

Thank you for being so selfless.

God Bless You and God Bless America!

Space Cowboys, Nail Polish and New Tile

Let me tell you about the kind of house I grew up in.

It was spotless at all times.

It was well decorated.

There was a room that my mom would vacuum herself out of so there were no footprints on the carpet. We were not allowed to go into that room. That was for company.

Our bedrooms were to be kept clean at all times.

We all had assigned seating; at the dinner table and in the living room.

My mom decided that she was going to have the linoleum pulled up and tile put down in the entry way and the kitchen. She also had the kitchen counters and backsplash replaced with tiles, smaller in size and a different color of grout. The reason I remember this so well is on the day that the tile was to be installed, I was not in school and home alone with the “tile guys”; which is no big deal, except I was watching Wheel of Fortune and they didn’t really play by the house rules. See, because I couldn’t guess the puzzles as quickly as my mom and brother, we had to make a rule. The rule was you were not allowed to yell out the answer. You could yell out “I know it”, but not the answer. This would give me time to have all but three letters on the board so I could get it figured out. Well here I am minding my own business and the tile guy, who, quite frankly, should have been working, yelled out “Space Cowboy”, which ruined my chance of figuring it out. The Bastard.

But I digress.

So the tile was laid and the house looked beautiful.

The family was getting ready to go to an engagement party for one of the Van Winkle boys. All of us were cleaned and in our Sunday best. Since we weren’t leaving for a few minutes, I get the novel idea to paint my fingernails. I am walking down the hallway talking to my mom, which is not allowed, because she has a hearing problem and when you talk to her from another room, she can’t understand what you are saying she just knows you are saying something and you have to repeat yourself when you get in the room. But that didn’t stop me from attempting it every single time. As I cross the threshold of the hallway into the entryway on my way to the living room, the nail polish bottle flies out of my hand, hits the front door, shatters and splatters all over everything, including the brand new tile.

Did I tell you it was red?

Not just red, but bright red. The kind you might find on one of those women who hang out on the corners in Vegas red.

The next all happened within 3 seconds:

I stop talking and stop walking and just stand there staring at the mess.

My dad comes flying into the entry way prepared to kill me right where I stand.

My mom comes flying into the entry way to wedge herself between my dad and me certain she was my only hope of survival.

Jeff doesn’t move. Just observes from where he was.

My mom was able to get it cleaned up, all while wearing a winter white wool suit.

I was instructed to go to the bathroom and re-apply my makeup that I had just cried completely off.

Dad was instructed to go outside and breathe.

And Jeff?

He just looked at me and shook his head.

Payback Is A Bitch

I was in elementary school and Jeff was in junior high.

The power had gone out in California that night. I don’t remember if it was a storm or wind or what. I don’t know how long it was out. And truth be told, none of that matters at all.

What matters is Jeff was taking a bath by candlelight.

Let’s recap, shall we? The power was out, Jeff felt dirty and wanted to take a bath and what better way for a junior high school boy to feel pretty? Bath by candlelight.

During the course of this pampering event, the power comes back on.

Jeff was finishing up with his whimsical delight and I guess just didn’t want the moment to end. Instead of blowing out the candle, he set it on the counter right underneath the handle that holds the towel to dry your hands after a quick wash before dinner. And what happens when flame meets towel?

Fire.

The rest of the family is in the living room and we hear this coming from down the hall:

“Oh no!”

“Pwh, phw, phw”

My mom jumps up and runs to the bathroom to find Jeff trying to blow on a towel that is on fire. The flame has jumped from the towel to the wallpaper. She pulls the towel into the sink and drowns it with water to put that part of the fire out. I still have no idea how she got the wallpaper fire put out because I got yelled at for continuing to walk up and down the hall trying to find out what was going on. But rest assured, she handled that too!

And telling this story, my friends, is payback for all of the times I had to sit on the sunny side of the car during long ass trips.

Do You Know the Way to San Jose?

I have a guest blogger today. He is one of the funniest people you will ever meet. He has got a great wife and fabulous kids. He lives in Florida with the best backyard ever!

Did I mention he is my brother?

So sit back and read this post. Then you will understand why I am such a mess!

Hey. Melissa’s brother here. The chosen-one, the favorite, the king, the prince...”D” - All of the above.

Melissa asked me to guest post for her today. Not sure why. She knows I’m just going to try to embarrass her.

If you haven’t put two and two together...we come from a pretty crazy family. There were just four of us. The standard Mom, Dad, Brother, Sister. A few animals along the way (fish, dog, cat, rabbit, turtle-that-ran-away-from-home). But basically a normal type life.

We were also jokesters. Running jokes, family fun. Like the hidden water gun that could come out at any time (probably early on a Saturday morning while you slept). Or my dad telling every friend (who had a name) that called, “I told you not to call here”. There were others.

One such “family fun” that my dad and I decided would last FOR-EVER was the “Which side of the car do you want to sit on” debate.

See, we had family days and family vacations and long trips to have dinner with people. Up hill, both ways. Dad would drive, mom would run the volume on the radio and we, would sit in the back seat, not seat belted in.

Whether we were in the Dodge Dart, the Volarie Station Wagon (with the now non politically correct wood on the side), or the tin can Toyota Corolla, the debate on who sat where in the back seat started before we left the house.

Seems for the longest time Melissa would wind up sitting on the side of the car that received the most sunlight throughout the trip. Thereby getting hotter and hotter and more uncomfortable along the way. Whilst I, sat on the other side cool, comfortable and smiling (“does this bother you?”).

As she got older, she decided that God had dealt her a bad hand, but she was gonna take control. So, one day before a long drive, she proudly exclaimed “I’M GONNA PICK WHICH SIDE OF THE CAR I WANT TO SIT ON! I’M NOT SITTING IN THE SUN!”

Me: “Ok, loving sister...I think that would be nice”

So she goes out to the car, still parked in the driveway, finds the side of the car not bathed in sunlight and sits down.

Me: “You good?”

Her: “Yes..tellmeimsittinginthesunimnotdoinitigettoodanghot”

I glance at my dad, roll my eyes, get in car.

Ok...everyones in their place. Dad driving, mom on the volume, Melissa in the cool shade and me in the hot, hot, swealtering sunshine. Before starting the car, dad looks at me in the rear view mirror (which you never touch), I nod....and we back out.

Back, turn, 80’s navigation system (the steering wheel) takes over and we are now headed in a southerly direction. The sun in all it’s glory, moves, by the hand of God, off of me and over to the other side of the car, directly on my sister. (I think I saw blisters form on her legs).

Yes...the entire trip, we travel South, and it’s before noon. So that nice yellow ball is right outside my sisters window.

ME: “I’m sorry loving sister...I thought you had picked the correct side of the car”

We arrive at our location, my sister crazy from the heat. Me collar up, topsiders-no socks, fake Vuarnet sunglasses, madras shorts....looking good Mr Kotter.

As we get set to go home. My sister decides she’s gonna “call” which side of the car to sit on, again.

Dad. Glance. Fine.

She deduces that since we are going the opposite direction back home on our trip, that the side of the car I was sitting on will now be blasted with sunlight...so she chooses, happily to sit in her same seat.

We get in the car (facing south). Shade is abundant on her side of the car. She is so lucky. Now I must sweat it out all the way home. (hee hee)

Back out, turn, head north.

It’s now after 12 noon in beautiful So. Cal, and the sun has lovingly moved across the sky to begin it’s setting. About eye level, bright as can be, and blasting right inside my sisters window. (I’m laughing now just typing this out)

*sigh

This went on for years. I mean years.

It’s simple really. Everything in So. Cal is north, south, east, west. The sun does what it has done since the book of Genesis. Up in the east, down in the west. Almost DUE east and west.

AND, when you pulled in our driveway, the car is facing west. Almost DUE west.

This isn’t rocket science people!!!!!!

But, it became one of the longest running annoyances my dad and I pulled on my sister.

Where was mom in all this?

After a while she would take dad and I aside and scold us before we even left for a trip...we would graciously say “yes mamm”, let my sister choose the side, respond with “are you suuuurrre?” and play the game again.

It never ended....I’m in the shade right now.


J

What Are YOU Doing Home?

When Scott and I were first married, he was in the Navy and we were living in a little apartment in San Diego. I had to quit my job in order to move to San Diego, so before I could find another job, we were poor. Poor because we were not living in military housing, because there was a 2 year waiting list. Poor because he was only a 3rd class at the time and didn’t make diddly squat for money. That kind of poor.

Before I had actually landed a job, Scott’s ship was going to get underway for a week. It was about 2 days until payday. I told him that I needed a new purse. He said that was fine, but that I needed to wait until payday to buy it. So I kissed him good-bye that morning and immediately went to the mall to get a new purse. What would he know? He was gone. I paid the bills. He would never be any the wiser.

I bought a darling little black purse and was sitting in the middle of the floor transferring my stuff from the old purse to the new purse when in walks Scott. I was caught red handed! I can remember this like it was yesterday:

Scott: Umm….what are you doing?

Me: What are you doing home?

Scott: Is that a purse?

Me: What are you doing home?

Scott: Did you go shopping?

Me: WHAT ARE YOU DOING HOME?

Try as I might, I could not get that man off of the fact that I had bought a purse. So I had to concede that yes I bought a purse and no I didn’t wait until payday…blah, blah, blah.

So I distracted him with other things…*wink, wink*

And later that night, as I was admiring my new purse, he told me that someone sabotaged the ship and they couldn’t get underway until the next day.

And by the way, he now pays all of the bills, so there is no chance of me sneaking a purse, or anything else for that matter, without him knowing.

But every once in awhile, the distracting thing can still work in my favor!

Come Out of the Closet and Wash Your Hands and Face

I think she was in 3rd grade, but I could be wrong on that. She was young and she was little.

At night before we went to bed, we always went into her room to make sure her covers were pulled up and that she was okay.

It was December and her room tended to be colder than the rest.

With only the hall light on, we go into her room. I can’t see her. I start to feel around for her and I can’t find her. I thought maybe she was wedged between the mattress and the wall but she is not there.

I look at Scott and with panic in my voice tell him she is not there.

We are standing there just staring at each other. I don’t know what Scott was thinking but I know what I was and it wasn’t good.

Just then her closet door opens up and out she walks.

She puts her hands on her hips and asks us just what are we doing in her room.

I notice there is something all over her face.

And her hands.

“What were you doing in the closet?”

“Nothing.”

“Something. What is all over your face?”
“Nothing.”

Meanwhile Scott has opened the closed and found a big old cane tube filled with Shrek M&M’s. Green and brown ones. She was in the closet eating them. She had a stash!

Now, she went to bed at 8:00pm. It was now 11:00pm. As she is washing her face and hands and re-brushing her teeth, I am trying to be mad at her. But I can’t. This was just funny. I couldn’t let her know I wasn’t mad, so I had to fake it.

But when Scott and I went to bed, we laid there and laughed.

This child so should have come with an instruction manual.

Just Call Me Susie

When Scott and I were first married I didn’t have a lot to offer in the domestic wifely way.

I couldn’t really cook.

I hated to clean.

I’ll do the laundry, but I won’t put it away.

He didn’t really marry a prize of woman.

We did, however, get great wedding gifts. My Aunt Deanna got us a great set of pots and pans. The Van Winkles got us all 10 places settings to my everyday dishes. One of my ex-boyfriends got us a food processor. A lot of relatives got us place settings to our china. My cousin, John Renaker, got us a toaster oven.

Here we were all set in the kitchen arena.

So, I decided I better learn how to feed this man. What is the old saying, a way to a man’s heart is through is stomach?

I don’t think they had the TV Food Network back then. They did have this English guy named Graham something or other and I would watch him.

One day I got all jiggy with it and decided I was going to make beef stew. I got out the crock pot given to us by my cousin, Bob. I was cooking with wine and garlic and meat and spices. I was getting the hang of this. Just call me Susie Homemaker.

I get out those dishes and set the table at like 3:00 in the afternoon. Scott gets home from work and I am so proud of myself. I pop the dinner rolls into the oven and serve dinner. As I am buttering my bread, I notice that Scott has taken a bite, but hasn’t said a word. Not. One. Word. I finally take a bite, and it is awful. Somewhere along the lines, I used WAY TOO MUCH pepper. I look at him and proclaim that this is awful.

The look of relief that came over his face was noticeable. He told me he was so glad that I was the one to say that.

We left that crap on the table and went and grabbed a hamburger at Carl’s Jr. (That is known as Hardees for all of you reading this that live in GA)

16 years have passed and I am a much, much better cook.

Except for stew.

I just can’t master stew!

Family Vacation

I think I was in 6th grade, but I could have been younger. My parents decided that for a family vacation, we would go to The Painted Desert, Carlsbad Caverns, The Grand Canyon and The Petrified Wood Forest. And we were going to do all of this by car.

By Car.

If you really know me, you know that I do not like to travel by car anywhere. Not even to the grocery store, much less different states.

The car we had then was a dark green Volare Station Wagon. It had green vinyl seats that your legs would stick to so bad that you would leave a layer of skin on them when you got out of the car. Jeff and I had rules about how far you could go before you were encroaching on the other ones space. God forbid we touch each other, because that would just be gross. My dad put all of the suitcases on top of the car this year, so I could sit in the very back should Jeff decide I was just too much.

So, off we go.

We were still in California, heck we could have still been in Yorba Linda, when I was getting yelled at for kicking the back of my dad’s seat. I remember my mom making a rule right then and there that she would be the one to discipline me on this trip, as there was a good chance I wouldn’t have made it home with the rest of the family if dad was the one in charge. I was the type of kid that, once I was told to sit still, I would inevitably have an itch or a leg cramp or something to make me have to move. So my dad left the disciplining to my mom, but did a lot of throat clearing and looking at me in the review mirror.

I remember when we arrived at The Painted Desert. I didn’t get out of the car. I was so mad that my parents made us travel all this way to get out of the car and look at sand. I know that my dad wanted to kill me, but remember that mom was in charge and she was picking her battles very carefully.

When we arrived at Carlsbad Caverns, there was no waiting in the car. This was an all day thing. There was this awful smell. I kept asking what it was, but no one would tell me. Jeff just smiled at me, which should have been a sign that I needed to be concerned. There was a sign posted at that we would be going 15 miles into the cavern. I am sure it was probably like 3 miles, but I remember 15 miles, so that is what we are going with. I was PISSED that I would be walking that far and seriously, WHAT WAS THAT SMELL? During the trek I found out that the smell was guano. Bat poop. Really. I was smelling bat poop for the entire day! When asked later what I thought of our day, my recap was we walked forever and inhaled poop the entire day. My mom just looked at me and then asked Jeff the same question and I am sure she got a better response from him.

Now one thing my parents did do, was pick a hotel that had a pool so we could swim every night. And it wasn’t beyond me to ask how much longer we had to smell bat poop before we could go swim, and I am pretty sure I was told that if I wanted to swim that night that I should shut up and smell whatever they wanted me to smell. Clearly, they had the leverage.

When we got to The Grand Canyon, I thought it was great and everything, but didn’t understand why we had to go to different “look out spots” and look down into the hole yet another time. I could have done that day in 20 minutes tops and they just kept making me look at it over and over. I think that was the day that my mom told me that I needed to get my attitude in check pretty quickly.

Now this is the vacation that Jeff wanted to stop and eat at every restaurant that had a plastic cow on the roof.

This is also the vacation that the air conditioning went out in the car and when my mom pulled down the visor to block the sun, it was so hot in the car that the glue that holds the mirror on the visor had melted and the mirror fell right into my mom’s lap.

This is also the vacation that we were driving down a two lane highway and the case that held all of our toiletries had fallen off of the top of the car. It stayed in tact and no one else was on the road, so dad just pulled over and was going to run out into the road and get it lickity split. Dad pulls over and Jeff and I flip around in our seats and are watching him out the back window. Here comes a car. He could have just changed lanes, but no. He stayed right where he was and hit our case. He blew it to smithereens. All of our stuff went everywhere. Toothbrushes, hair brushes, razors, shampoo…everything. Man was my brother mad. He wanted my dad to go after the guy. To do what? We don’t know. But that night we had to go to the local grocery store and buy all new stuff.

But we made it home safe and sound. No one was killed and memories were made.

It just depends who you ask as to what kind of recap you are going to get. You might want to just skip me and go straight to Jeff.