My right hands.....

Well, my youngest child's grad party is now just a memory.

Thank God!

I'm so happy to be over that hump.

I'm sad to say that he didn't have the turn out that the others had...it was soooo hot and humid.

He also had about 4 close friends celebrating the same day.

It still was very nice and the people that were able to make it were wonderful and incredibly generous with my son.

Right before the party started I began to suffer the effects of all my party anxiety mixed with my regular anxiety and my procrastinating personality... and about an hour before the party started the crap hit the fan.

My cute new hair cut didn't look quite like I'd envisioned... it was damp and in a goofy looking clip thingy complete with a couple of different colored bobby pins holding the strays.

And about a gallon of hard hold helmet hairspray.

Embarrassing....

Then I melted our cordless phone when I laid it down on my darling daughter's straightener....

And I forgot tablecloths for the tables that were holding the food.

And with all this other stuff going on I worried that my eye shadow was on unevenly.

I felt like a disheveled mess.

Oh well, the party was certainly not about me.

So who cares, really.

I'd rather tell you about my hands.

My right hands...

Yes, hands with an "s"..... I have more than my own pair.

I have a daughter that left this sweet coffee pot note...
 
 

 
And I have future a future son-in-law who ran home to get more tables.
 
And then ran home to get more coolers.

Then ran home to get some ice.

Then ran home to get some orange drink.

I think if I would have asked him to powder my nose he would have.

My sons and my daughter in law stepped up and did every crazy little thing I asked them to do, without question.

"Mom, you want the coffee creamer and sugar WHERE? Ooooookay, into the oven it goes.

Daddio was awesome....he worked like a Hebrew slave and then he pretended he was social.

For hours he talked and laughed and not once (not even once) did I have to search the house for him and discover him hiding under the bed in our room.

My sister made a card box on the fly and it was the nicest one I've ever seen. And she brought 3 pans of jello dessert (I'd asked her the night before if she could do one).

One of my sis-in-laws made a beautiful salad (and was thoughtful enough to bring dressings).

A girlfriend made a beautiful cake (free of charge...!!!) and on and on the list of helpful things people did for me could go...

I want to mention one little detail that had me walking light...and dancing in circles.

I would've done the sideways jump where my heels click together, if I wasn't scared I'd break a hip.

But that is how happy this thoughtful deed made me.

Here is the story....my girl, just home from running yet another errand for me said,

"Come upstairs mom when you get a minute"..

When I found a chance and caught up with her in our computer room she instructed me to "sit down, close your eyes and open your hands".

When I did, and opened my eyes she'd placed a package wrapped in pink iridescent paper, tied with a white ribbon and dotted with a little white bow.

I opened it to find....THIS......
 
 

A bracelet I'd seen and salivated over at the jewelry store the day before when we'd stopped by to have her engagement ring cleaned.

It was an expensive bracelet.... the surprise made me cry, and then I cried all the more when I thought of how hard she has to work taking care of other people's babies to earn the money she spent on it.

"I bought this for you" she said " for doing the fine job of getting three children through school. And because you are a good mom".

(Funny...these days she carries me)

All I can really say is....

Thank Heaven for little girls (and helpful sons)

And for big girls too.

Like my sister who cleaned for nearly two hours (straight) my filthy dirty kitchen and made it sparkle so brightly I almost needed sun glasses when I walked in. She did all this while I sat in the garage and shot the bull with some of my oldest and dearest friends.

Right hands....a girl can never have too many.

Holy crap...it's the 18th of June!!!

I remember having lots of conversations with my grandpa about the passage of time.

"It goes fast when you're old Babe" he'd say.

"So fast, that a week passing seems hardly more than a day going by."

Half of June is old news already.

Seriously, I'm tired of being a grownup.

And having weeks and months fly by.

I want to be bored.

And lazy.

I want to determine time by sleeping until the HOT sun is peeking in my bedroom window.

I want to play until the street lights come on,

and take more than a glance at some of these...

I want to take a moment to listen to this neighbor's song....

And I swear to God, come hell or high water...I'm going to get on top of this ball.

I will have Googie let you know to which hospital they take my stupid 50 year old self when I permanently injure my spinal cord or suffer a massive head injury. That way you can send a card or some Hershey bars.

So long for now... I need to start checking pockets and lifting couch cushions....I hear the ice cream man comes around about 2pm.

And the dirty rotten scoundrel has jacked the price of his Chocolate Éclairs no doubt.

June 18th....I promise to enjoy thee.

Waiting to exhale.....

It's 9:30 in the evening and I'm sitting in my computer chair typing this post because there is no way I can do anything else.

I'm waiting.

On pins and needles.

I have a pit the size of a basketball resting heavily on my diaphragm making it hard to breathe.

It all started with a phone call to our landline a bit ago. I didn't answer because I didn't recognize the number.

A couple of minutes later Daddio walked upstairs with my cell phone. Bear had just called.

He was calling to tell us that he was on the way to the hospital, his best friend since the first grade had been injured in a car accident.

With hands shaking so badly it was hard to hold the phone, I called Bear back.

"How bad?" I asked.

"His parents didn't know how bad mom" he answered. "They called me and weren't to the hospital yet."

Then he just about broke my heart when he asked "If he was dead mom would the hospital keep that from his parents till they could make it to the hospital?

I don't know. Do they do that? I didn't think they did that? Please tell me they don't do that.

"No, honey he's going to be fine" I said.

Suddenly I was scared for my own child.

Scared because he's driving and upset.

Scared about what he may find when he gets to the hospital.

Scared to think about how his life could change because his best friend got into a car accident.

Then I thought about his friend's mother.

And I thought about my own mother who lost her son to an accident one seemingly ordinary mid October evening.

And I thought about Bear and his friend's graduation ceremony tomorrow night.

These two boys who became fast best friends when they met in the school supply aisle at K-Mart the first day of first grade.

Bear and Metzie were in the same class and became a perfectly matched inseparable pair.

They would be best friends all their growing up years.

They planned to walk together to get their diplomas.

And now Bear was on his way to the hospital where Metzie was taken after the accident.

A couple of hours and lots of text messages later Bear called one last time to say he was on his way home.

"Anybody want any MickyD's?" he asked when he called.

"Bring your dad a big mac" I said.

"Nothin for you ma?" He asked.

"Yeah" I wanted to add.....go to the store Bear and get some party hats and some balloons. Stop by the church and kneel and say a prayer of thanks. Lets make a cake. And throw confetti. And blow kazoos. And bubbles. Lets dance a jig and sing some songs.

"No kid, just hurry home" I said "and be careful".

Bear's best friend is going to be fine.

Life goes on as planned.

Halleluiah, Hallehuiah......

* 22 hours later I had the pleasure of watching Bear and Metzie walk side by side during their high school graduation ceremony. Metzie just a bit worse for the wear.

Dear Flat Rock Schools….,

In a couple of days my youngest child will take his last high school final, turn in all his books and march across a decorated stage bidding adieu to Flat Rock schools, probably forever.

For the most part, I’ve really enjoyed our long time relationship.

My husband and I chose to move our family to Flat Rock when our oldest son was about to begin 7th grade, Jr High. Not the easiest time for a kid to change schools. Our daughter was to be a 5th grader and our baby was beginning his 1st grade year.

Our children previously attended a small Catholic school, where they passed each other in the halls all day long.

All three of them, together under one roof, certainly gave this over protective mother peace of mind.

We’d already signed on the dotted line with the mortgage company when I learned that the kids would be in three different schools.

I cried, literally bawled like a big baby when the secretary broke it to me that they would be separated.

“Come on in, bring the kids and look around” she said “you’re gonna like it here”.

I was still carrying on when I went to visit Barnes Elementary to register my daughter. Dr. Charlene Coulson the Principal, took us on a tour of the building.

She was warm and kind and in looking back, a precursor of things to come.

What a wonderful first impression I had.

My admiration for you began to deepen when my small son was lucky enough to land Mrs. Michelle Peters (now Tanner) as his first grade teacher.

And my daughter was placed into an interesting and fun Mr. Degrosky’s 5th grade class.

My oldest child loved your Jr High school and its wonderful group of colorful, creative fun teachers…Mr. Elliott and Mr. Schott, Mrs. Rinehart to name a few.

It was a very good year. They all thrived. And I began to relax.

Like with any relationship ours had its ups and downs, its bumps in the road.

But, never, ever did I love you more than the 2001/2002 school year.

September 11th found me just days into a new job when the terrorist piloted planes hit New York’s Twin Towers.

Like every other mother in this entire nation being away from her children and watching this horror, I wanted to run and gather my babies and head for home, where I planned to hide under the bed with them until it was all over.

Our youngest two children were kept safe from seeing or hearing even one little detail about this horrific act until they were home with their dad and I.

Our oldest son, in high school watched as the events that would change our country forever unfolded. He sat on a floor and held a large pillow in his lap and listened as he and his classmates questioned their teacher.

We had a lot to talk about, once they were home, safe in our nest.

One early morning in April 2002 I received a tearful phone call from my daughter. She was calling from school, one of her teachers, a young man she interacted with every day had been killed in an accident on I-75.

I rushed to the school to find my daughter and the rest of the student body being nurtured by grief stricken teachers and school counselors.

Putting their own grief aside to take care of their hysterical students.

You kept my child and a whole lot of other children safe, again…. I was smitten.

Flat Rock Schools you did lots of other things to make me love you…you brought on board caring, good men and women to teach my children in the classrooms and coach them in sports.

You brought on wonderful Art and Music teachers to nurture their creative sides.

From bus drivers to lunch room monitors…so many were beyond awesome.

Literally….you hired a near perfect village to help me to raise my kids.

Great Schools a school rating site gives you a score of 6 out of 10...I think this is much too low for you.

In my eyes you deserve more like a 9 out of 10...

Our relationship is about to come to an end but I hope you know that you will always hold a special place in my heart.

Thank you! Thank you Flat Rock Community Schools for all that you did to help raise my children…they’ve turned out quite well and we both should be very proud.

PS…To Mrs. Beth Stapleton, a public apology….The minute I was able to keep a straight (serious) face I really gave it to “you know who” for bringing that battery operated fart machine to school.

He was truly sorry.

Love,

Beth Kobylasz