Bark at the moon.....

I knew it, I just knew Daddio was wrong when he answered "No" to my question "is the moon full?" a week or so ago.

People act weird when the moon is full, myself included.

I drift into other lanes on the highway.

I forget words.

Except four letter ones.

Which I spit outta my mouth like discarded sunflower seed husks.

And it's all because I'm so aggravated at....um, well, everything.

And it appears as if the entire human race has joined me.

It's like the whole world has pms and dementia combined.

Full moons have me channeling late comedian George Carlin on the highway when I scream at anyone going slower than me calling them assholes "a-holes"  and anyone daring to go faster is certainly a "maniac".

It's a no win situation.

The only one driving properly is, well, actually none of us.

Nothing seems to go right...when it's a full moon phase.

While making dinner, I cut myself.

I run to the garage with a dish cloth tightly wrapped around my bleeding finger Daddio bellows "What did I tell ya? I knew this was gonna happen. You think you are some kind of fancy chef tossing those big knives around..I told you...I TOLD YOU.."

(Just for the record, Daddio has been predicting this exact tragic event for over 27 years, every time I cook and he watches.)

I've done a bit of predicting myself over the years buddy...Predictions like "one-a deeze days Alice...POW to da Moon"....

And speaking of POWS to somebody's kisser.....

As Googie was getting ready to leave the house she leaned in to kiss me goodbye.

She's famous for presenting a cheek for a peck...I often follow suit and we'll give a kiss-kiss in the air like debutantes or old Italians.

Today she decided to give me a real peck on my cheek.

And I decided to give her a real peck on her cheek.

At the same time we puckered up and turned toward each other...

SMACK....right on the old kissers.

"EWWWWWWWWWWWW" we screamed in unison, then wiped our mouths.

It's not everyday your daughter tries to French kiss you....

That damn crazy ass full moon.....

(PS...I later sent Googie a text message saying "I kissed a girl and I liked it"....she probably read it while stopped at a red light, since she'd never read a text whilst driving.)

When da moon hits da sky like a big pizza pie dat'ssssssssssssssss amore.
 

“Misty water colored mem-reeeeees light the corners of my miiiiiiiiind”

Like any mother I don't like to see my babies suffer. Nevermind that my babies are (mostly) grown people who can and do make their own bed decisions and should have to lay in it deal with the consequences.


My step mom likes to tell me that if you do help them too much you rob them of their memories.

Hard times are usually the ones we remember most.

Unless you're like me and like to block all that crap out.

I think my rose colored glasses fit me perfectly.

My sister Susan can always be counted on to jog my memory about our growing up years.

When I complain about a kid of mine skipping out on doing their chores or not getting the concept of saving or paying bills Susan reminds me that the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree...

"Don't you remember?" Susan will ask "that whenever you owed mom money you would tell her she couldn't get blood from a rock"

"And when she asked you to clean your room, you'd hide all your junk in the closet or under the bed and then call her in and show her what a wonderful job you did."

"You're lucky mom let you live to see adulthood."

A bit before Daddio and I married my mom made a move to Arizona. We'd all been invited to join her and her husband. When we balked at leaving our "oh so very" established lives she said "you can stay in the house and pay the bills if you don't want to come".

Well that sounded like one hell of an adventure and we took her up on it.

And while we loved the adventure often times were tough....really tough.

A strange thing happened during those times, I came to the realization that sometimes you can get blood from a rock.

So Susan reminds me of a time when a desperate time called for a desperate measure.

We really were dirt poor early in our marriage and for a short time right after our wedding my sister lived with us. One day not long after our wedding she was in the bathroom and started hollering for me to bring her some toilet paper.

We had not one square.

“Ok, how bout some tissue?” she asked.

“Nope” I replied.

”A paper towel?” she pleaded .

“We're out” I reported.

“Wait a minute” I yelled outside the door…I just remembered, I had a whole bag of leftover tissue flowers that you shape like an accordion and puff out, the ones that we’d put on our” Just Married” car.

I banged on the door, it cracked open a bit and her skinny arm poked out, palm up. I placed a couple of the flowers in the center of her hand and closed her fingers around them.

She screamed when she saw what I’d given her.

"Hey" I said "they even have a little string on the bottom to make them easier to hold."

“Freak” she yelled.

We used that bag of flowers to wipe our cans for at least a week…before they ran out my dear sister suggested that they shouldn't be kept in a paper bag on the floor, so she found a pretty basket to put them it.

She always was the classy one.
 

Coupons???? Off with her head.....!!!

Last week Daddio offered to take me on my grocery rounds. This usually means a trip to the fruit market and to some kind of large grocery store. I had an awesome coupon for Meijers. One of those “use the pharmacy, get twenty bucks off deal“, so to Meijers it was.


As usual the place was packed. And I should know better that when poor Daddio starts to complain while still in the parking lot that maybe I should limit my trip to a loaf of bread and some milk.

I poo-pooed my gut warning and stupidly proceeded.

"The walk of the living dead" he growled, barely missing hitting a wide fannied woman wearing dingy white polyester pants and carrying six black garbage bags filled with plastic returnables.

He found a space about a mile from the entrance. "A walk will do us both good" he said in defense of his crappy choice.

I think he does this on purpose, he knows that if I were driving, we'd go round and round and round until one of the first parking spots opened up.

I don't care if it takes thirty minutes to find that perfect spot, and I usually don't realize that I've gone around so many times until I notice my gas gauge starting to go down.

"Mom, I'm getting dizzy" the kids used to say. "Please…pleeeeeeeeeeeease just pick a spot."

Inside the store Daddio went for a cart and he didn't even flinch when his mitts grabbed the dirty cart handle.

I shudder to think of all the E.coli he's probably just touched.

Oprah once did a show about E.coli and the places where it can be found.

Believe it or not public toilet seats don't have a ton of microscopic poop on them.

Bowling balls and shopping carts were found to be much worse...yuck

I've not stuck my fingers into a bowling ball since I saw that show.

Unfortunately, I can't say the same about shopping carts. Therefore I'm forced happy to use the sani-wipes the store provides.

Daddio gave me the evil eye as I searched (in vain) for the alcohol wipes.

"Forget it" he barked "I don't need those things."

"You're going to get sick" I warned.

"That's why I have such a superior immune system" Daddio brags "I'm not scared of germs."

Daddio doesn't really understand how aggressive one needs to be to successfully navigate a Meijer store on a Sunday after church.

Trying to be mannerly gets you nowhere besides stuck behind a lady with a coupon filled shoe box, six unruly snotty nosed children and two full carts.

Or an old gray buck carefully studying the entire 129 different varieties of Campbell's soup looking for Mrs. Grass chicken noodle.

Arrghhhh.....

So as Daddio (beginning to look brain dead) waits behind the gang, I scurry ahead grabbing items as I go.

Needing to get some tomato sauce for spaghetti I stop when I see Hunts Sauce and begin searching for the big cans.

Of course, as usual, they only have the eight ounce size and all of them seem to be dented.

When he catches up to me Daddio gets perturbed watching me feel out each can trying to find an uninjured few.

"What the hell does it matter?" he asks "just grab a couple."

I'll be sure to remind him of this little exchange a couple of days from now when he is suffering from stomach cramps.

We make it to the check out with me knowing that I certainly have forgotten something...you can't shop properly under that kind of pressure.

I choose a good lane and place our groceries onto the belt. Daddio was in front and didn't know what to do when the cashier passed him one of those grocery separating bars like a baton in a race.

"What?" he asks, holding it in the air "Do I run with this thing?"

When the cashier is almost done ringing our order I see that there is a great possibility that I may be able to use my $6.00 off $60.00 coupon as well.

I started getting giddy.

$26.00 off my grocery order!!!!

When the total hit $60.53 I almost screamed "BINGO", but for Daddio's sake I just stood mute and handed the cashier the coupons.

A little history here, over the years Daddio has gone to the grocery store once, maybe three times by himself. The couple of times that he did was because I was totally unable...I had a day old newborn at home or I was projectile vomiting and had a temperature of 103.

So only when he HAD to, did Daddio ever step foot into a grocery store.

I always gave him coupons and good directions about using them.

The following day I'd find them in a soggy ball at the bottom of the washing machine.

When I handed the blob to Daddio he'd just shrug and say "I forgot."

That was not a truthful statement...Daddio would rather hang by his earlobes than use a coupon. Using one is like asking for charity. Stealing money from the cashier's pocket. Trying to redeem a clam shell from the Great Depression....

He was beyond horrified when the cashier swiped my first coupon and the machine did nothing.

She swiped and swiped.

Without even looking I could feel Daddio pain.

"Buy any alcohol?" she asked.

If we had Daddio would have cracked it open by now and would have been in a much better frame of mind.

"Nope, no alcohol" I answered.

"Ohhhh...it doesn't count your bottle deposits" Miss Cashier finally figured out, "You need to buy something else."

Daddio's embarrassment and the line behind us was growing by the minute.

"Gum!!" I yelled "I'll take some gum."

Since the people behind us in their impatience had invaded our personal space, I couldn't reach the gum display and had to ask the cashier to choose a pack.

The first pack didn't cost enough.

"Okay, two then" I told the cashier who obviously is also a Libra and was having a hard time making a choice for me.

"ANY KIND" I yelled "ANYTHING!!!!"

The second pack didn't do it either.

"Charge me for two eight packs of Pepsi, I'll run back and get another." I suggested.

Finally, the machine took the coupons.

I sent Daddio and the other groceries to the car and I ran to the back to get my extra eight pack of pop.

It was a long walk which gave me plenty of time to plan my defense.

I was mighty tempted to ask the cashier for that baton and directions to the nearest exit.

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