Dropping a bomb and the ball....

Two days ago in my culinary class I had the loveables making cake cookies...we do this often, they're cheap and easy to make.

Most times we use an ice cream scooper to make really large cookies...they are baked in a professional convection oven.

Stressing the importance of having the cookies be uniform in size I suggested to one of the loveables that since he didn't have enough dough left to make another cookie that he should divide what he had left and add it to any of his other cookies that might be "needy"..."add it to the deserving cookies" I teased.

He proceeded to go to each cookie and comment...

"You are stupid" he said to one.

"You are ugly" he said to another.

"You are too fat already" he said to a third.

"You are black" he said to the fourth.

I was stunned silent.

I hoped his stupid comment went past my African American co-worker.

There were four staff around that large table and not a damn one of us said one word.

But I'm positive we all heard it...there was no way we didn't.

This incident took me back to something that happened to me in high school...I was in ninth grade and had a wonderful friend named Jackie.

My high school was mixed (I won't say diverse, because we weren't)..we were mixed.

There were the blacks and there were the whites.

And once in a while we mixed.

I'm Caucasian and Jackie is African American.

Back then we called ourselves White and Black.

Jackie was a tall, leggy beautiful girl.

And she was funny as hell.

We talked every day at school and often on the phone.

One day I was telling her a funny story and in the middle of it I said the "N" word...it slipped out of my mouth and before I could catch it, it landed in the middle of Jackie's and my friendship.

Like a lead balloon.

I pretended like I didn't say it.

Jackie pretended like she didn't hear it.

But our friendship was never the same.

So I stand some 30 years later around a work table with a couple of punks and the adults placed in charge of them and I pretend that the elephant in the room is not there.

I should have told the punk to shut the hell up. I should have yanked his dumb rear end out of the room and told him how stupid and ignorant what he said was.

I should have done something, anything.

Instead, I let it melt and slip through the cracks and slide it's slimy slithery self onto the floor and out of the room.

It's destruction, though mighty, was silent.

Just like the bomb I dropped so long ago.

Shame on me, times two..... :-(

Not like I'm keepin score or anything......

Saturday.....what the holy heck took you so long to get here?

What an incredibly loooooooooong week.

I think being sick made it feel even longer.

Being stuck inside a musty old school building for 10 hours on Wednesday the nicest day of the year so far, made it looooooooooger still.

Yesterday, walking into the commercial kitchen where our afternoon culinary arts class is held and smelling the distinct stench of cigarette smoke INSIDE THE WALK IN FREEER made time stand still.

Even with a terrible cold I have the nose of a Blood Hound.

How dare they!!! HOW DARE THEY!!!

PUNKS!!!!!!

I find it totally amusing that they all think the entire staff came down with yesterday's rain.

Yes sir.... we're dumber than doornails.

The loveables think they're so slick they'll be able to pull crap over on us....and sometimes they do, for about five seconds.

So as my face flushed and my heart raced I reached into my bag of "effective mothering" tricks and techniques and pulled out a doozy.

The GUILT CARD.

Sadly, with droopy eyes and a tear in my voice I told the loveable thugs that I was certain to lose my job over the Smokin in the Boys Room Fridge Mystery.

How hard being jobless would be, especially since my husband was laid off. (sniffle)

That I had every hope that the next lady they brought in to teach them to cook would care about them as much as I did. (sob)

I laid it on pretty thick.

And they bought it.

A few minutes after my little over dramatic monologue the other staff took each loveable aside and asked for information.

Every last one of them...every.... last..... one of them pointed a finger at the guilty kid.

Baby criminals aren't usually singing canaries.

But yesterday this bunch of lightweights were putty in our hands.....(hahahaha).

Juvenile Justice Day Treatment Staff 1
The Loveable Thugs 0

Till next time....

A job for a good daddy.....

I've caught a cold.

And as Daddio would certainly tell you, (if you cared to listen) I could brave an appendectomy sans anesthesia better and with less complaining than I do a cold.

I start to fall to pieces at the slightest twinge of a sore throat or one too many sneezes.

I caught this cold from one of two places.

Marmie (my darling mother) was sick and sounding like a slightly feminine man when we spoke numerous times last week.

As much as I sometimes think otherwise, germs don't travel 3000 miles over phone lines.

So it must have come from the other source, one of my lovables.

One of the youth in my work program came in sicker than a dog last week.

Sneezing, sniffling, coughing....

"I caught it from my baby girl" he confessed.

"Ya gotta stop kissin her on the mouth" I told him with a smile.

"I can't" he said " I can't stop she is sooooo cute and her cheeks are chubby. Every time I'm near her I try to eat them off her face. I can't help it. You should see how chubby her cheeks are, soooo chubby and sweet"

He continued, "You know her whole family dogged me and didn't think I'd step up and be there for my girl. I've showed them. I buy her diapers and clothes and I even got her medicine for this bad cold."

Oh well, I can't really complain about catching a cold from a juvenile offender who has admitted to being a kind of father to his baby girl that every daughter should have...one who smothers her with love and kisses, diapers and clothes and calls her fat cheeks the sweetest things he's ever seen.
 

 

PS...Dad, thanks (and I love you) for paring (nibbling) these mammoth babies down to a normal size ;-)

The best (twilight) sleep she ever had…..

My daughter Googie has been suffering from some stomach problems and was advised to get a colonoscopy.

Yesterday was the big day.

Both of us were dreading the prep done the night before the procedure. As we expected she almost didn't make it through.

She tossed out at least two cups of the laxative laden Gatorade, pleading ....."no more".

She was sooooo green, I had to agree.

In the morning we didn't speak too much on the way to the surgery center, I did reach my hand over the seat a few times to hold her hand.

When we got to the front desk to check in Googie was carded..."You are 18, right?" the desk clerk asked.

At 4'11" and 90 pounds Googie fools lots of people.

It didn't take long for a nurse to come and get her to take her in back to change into a gown and have a quick interview with the doctor who would be doping her up.

He commented, jokingly "All of 90 pounds, huh? Won't take much to put you under."

When the prep nurse came to get Daddio and I she apologized in advance for hurting our girl.

"Her veins are so small, and she is so dehydrated it took me three tries to get her IV in. I ended up having to get one of the docs to do it" she explained.

Googie was being a good sport. I knew she had to be hurting, I could see swelling and bruising on her little hands.

"She's a trooper" said the nurse.

Yeah, this kid who had refused to swallow a pill until she was 20 was surprising us all.

We had a lot of time to joke around in the room waiting for them to come and get Googie and after more than an hour with empty stomachs (in support of Googie) and frazzled nerves Daddio and I began to snipe at each other.

Seinfeld character George Constanza's parents or Everybody Loves Raymond's Marie and Frank Barone quickly come to mind.

"Your mother is a know it all" he informs Goog.

"If she were in that bed she wouldn't need the doctor to put her to sleep" Shecky Green joked "she wouldn't even need the nurses to push her down the hall, her arms would reach around back and she would even carry her own IV pole, while pushing pulling herself (and the bed) along the wall, with one arm".....

(Arrrghhhhh shut up!!!!)

They finally came to take her away and fifteen kisses later my girl was being wheeled down the long hall and Daddio and I were ushered back to the waiting room.

"See you soon" the nurses said.

My legs shook, and bounced and were restless.

And I asked Daddio at least ten times if 15 minutes had passed yet.

After the 10th time he said "relax, it hasn't been that long".

I started watching the door like an expectant father in the old movies....every time it looked like someone was walking out I sat forward in my seat.

Finally, they came for us.

I tried to read the nurses face, to see if Googie was okay.

"How is she" I asked.

"Ohhhh, she's enjoying her anesthesia" was her response.

Daddio and I walked into the room and Googie was slumped sideways on her hospital pillow, her eyes tightly closed and a grin from ear to ear.

It was obvious that Googie was not only fifty sheets to the wind, she was loaded and stoned.

Her antics had Daddio and I cracking up. The nurse was laughing too.

With her eyes closed she'd use her IV heavy hand to search the tray for a cookie, she'd finally locate one, bring it to her mouth take a bite and then forget to chew.

"GOOGIE!!! You are gonna choke. Sit up and chew" I ordered.

She just giggled.

And waved her arms in the air, making circles with both wrists.

"I luuuuuuuv this stuff" she slurred.

The Ellen show was on in the background and when Ellen started talking about people who were graduating Googie took the message personal and started her little fist pumping

Up and down she pumped.

Then she started waving only one hand and when I asked her what she was doing she replied "conducting".

The dope doctor came in to check on his pint sized patient. She was laughing pretty hard when he came in and when he asked her "how ya doin?"

She answered "YOU tell me!!!!" then giggled.

"Ohhhhhhh boy" the Candy Man said.

"This is just like a regular Saturday night!!!!" Googie yelled.

"She doesn't drink, honestly she doesn't" I truthfully said, trying to clear Party Time Charlie's name.

The nurse told us to take it slow getting her dressed.

Daddio said he'd go warm up the car and pull it around front to pick us up when we were ready.

I helped Googie's underwear onto her feet and she came around enough to pull them up. Then came her yoga pants. When she had them pulled over her hips she kicked off the blankets and spread her legs widely side to side. If she were on the floor she would have been doing the splits.

"GOOGIE!!! What are the heck are you doin???" I asked.

"Stretchin mom, I'm stretchin".

She slap happily staggered to the waiting wheel chair and on the way down the hall she had a few more words to say to nurses getting in our way.

"Excuse us" one said politely, pushing another patient by.

"NOOOO EXCUSE US!!!!" Googie yelled.

The nurses looked knowingly at each other and laughed.

Googie came home and slept off the rest of her high.

Ohhh, a couple more things before I end my story......

1. Googie's colon is sparkling healthy.

2. God is Good!!!!!

3. And Googie now knows she can fly, minus wings.

Ohhhh boy!!!

She shoots, she scores!!!!!

Last Mother's day was one of those rare occasion when I got a “perfect” score

We'd invited Milly, (Daddio's mom) to come for dinner for Mother‘s Day, but she declined.

So what the heck do we do to make this virtual shut in’s day special???

Flowers, boring.

Candy, she’s got diabetes.

A blouse, she has a closet full, many with the tags still attached.

Out to dinner?

"No, not feeling up to it“ she explained.

Part of the “not feeling up to it” stems from the fact that she is nocturnal and so dinner time is just about the tail end of her sleep cycle.

I suggested to her son that we stop at Kroger and get all the fixings to make her breakfast in bed.

He thought I was nuts.

“She never eats breakfast. She‘ll never just sit in her bed and eat” he assured me.

“Yeah she will” I told him, not knowing if he was going to be right and seriously hoping he wasn’t.

Many of my unsuccessful “bright ideas” are often revisited for the mere purpose of rubbing in that I was wrr wrrrr wrong.

When we got to her house, grocery bags in hand. We were greeted by our niece and her two small children. They’d spent the night with grandma.

Grandma’s bedroom door was almost closed and her fan was on.

Through the crack I could see the blankets rising and falling with her even breaths.

I got to work on Rip Van Winkle’s breakfast in bed.

My little great niece helped me with the French Toast. We also made scrambled eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, toast and coffee.

Sliced fresh oranges and some juice made it a feast.

We put the breakfast on a platter and my husband and his pixie sized, brown haired great niece carried it in and woke up Sleeping Beauty.

She jumped up, startled when they called her name.

I could see a moment of confusion as she took it all in. “Happy Mother’s Day…breakfast in bed” they both yelled.

“I've never had breakfast in bed…EVER” Milly said, throwing back the covers and sticking her pillows up behind her back.

She ate like it was the best meal she’d ever eaten.

“Thank you honey” she whispered in my ear as she hugged me close.

As we pulled away from her house Daddio reached over and caressed my hand.

“What a great idea” he said.

You miss 100% of the shots you never take….this day I had a slam dunk.

(Take a shot this weekend and score big with the mommas in your life....we are a hard workin bunch.)

What was that?

I scamper over sleeping Daddio and a smothering pile of sheets and blankets like a Jesus lizard running on water.


Seriously, I took about three giant leaps, flew up off the bed and onto the floor in seconds flat.


Then I stopped dead in my tracks.


Did I just hear what I thought I heard?


I stood silent and waited.


I cocked my head toward the sound.


My eyes scanned the clock.... 2:03 am


Then the sound came again.


The phone!!!


"THE PHONE IS RINGING AND IT IS TWO O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING"... I screeched at Daddio.


See, the thing is, I have a BIG problem with answering a phone that rings in the middle of the night...it may have something to do with the fact that I got the news of my brother's fatal accident by phone. That call came on a Sunday night around nine or nine-thirty.


For a long time I couldn't and wouldn't answer the phone on Sundays.


Phone calls after 9 pm usually bring nothing but trouble...unless you're expecting a baby in the immediate family, which we aren't.


As quickly as I was scaling Daddio and the mountains of covers I was doing a mental tally of where my children should be.


In bed.


In bed.


In bed.

All the commotion had Daddio out of bed as well and in the split seconds it took for me to locate the ringing phone he had thrown back the blinds of our bedroom window to see if the kid's cars were where they should be too.


Reaching the phone, which had just stopped ringing , I ordered my eyes to focus and my fingers to find the TALK button.


I fumbled for the call log button.....WHO was calling in the middle of the night??????


Before I looked down to see WHO.... I remembered.


BEAR....!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Bear and his friends had gone to see a midnight flick (yeah, I know it was a school night..and your point is???)


The opening night for the remake of Nightmare on Elm Street.


"Hello? Hello? Hello" I cried into the phone.


Nothing. Dead silence.


My fingers, on auto pilot, dialed Bear's number.


"Ma" he answered, his voice a whisper,

 "Can you come open the door? Googie locked the deadbolt".


When Bear stepped in the door I kissed and hugged him like he was returning from War.


"I can't take much more of this" Daddio said when I crawled over him to get back to my spot in our bed.


"People like us shouldn't have children".


Silently I thanked the Lord for safe children, the man sleeping next to me, and our strong aortas.


Aortas that have really been put to the test these past twenty four years that we've been parents.


I went to sleep thinking of home defibrillators.