A New Life....

So those who are close to me know that I have struggled with weight issues a VERY long time.  Heavy!  Not so heavy!  Heavy!  Not so heavy!  I had a hysterectomy and turned 30 the same year and that's all she wrote! 

So it's been a decade of struggle.  10 years of not liking what I see in the mirror.  The thing is I have no vision per se of what anyone "should" look like.  I'm not one to think super skinny is always best.  It looks great on some people but not on others.  So I'm not wanting to look like a rock star, or a runway model, or even a catalogue clothing model.  I just want to FEEL good.  I want to feel healthy.  I want to have energy.  I want to have a much much better self image. 

So I went to the doctor. 

Bleck. 

I need to lose A LOT of weight.  Maybe once I accomplish it I will actually share the poundage but pure embarrassment keeps me from doing so just yet. 

Balanced Diet and Exercise is the way to go.  Duh!  I know I need to make better choices.  I know I need to partake less of the adult beverage I so enjoy during the Friday happy hour.  Basically, I've realized that I chose for the past 10 years to be unhealthy.  Sure there were times when I lost almost all that I needed to lose.  But it never stuck.  Never did I say:  "Okay, I worked this hard to drop it so I'm going to continue living this lifestyle."  Of course there were fad diets of protein, no carbs, grapefruit only and cabbage soup.  Those never last because once you stop you stop and the weight comes back. 

It's an actual lifestyle change.  I chose every bite I put into my mouth.  I chose to live in an unhealthy way. 

So now I choose differently. 

My doctor will hold me accountable.  My husband will support me.  My daughter gives me high-fives.  This is it. 

WHY you ask?  Because FREAKING 40 is staring me in the face.  May 14, 2012 I will turn 40.  I don't want to enter that decade of my life without finding a balance.  I want to feel good about myself.  I want to know I can achieve all things. 

Really - I don't want to be 40 at all.  But if I have to - then I might as well do it right. 

So here's to the next 8 months - being healthier - and gaining a new perspective on what the next ten years can be! 

Being a Mom....

I started writing today in one direction and it turned into something entirely different.  I guess I was trying too hard when I should have just let my fingers do the talking :) 

Every day on my way home from work I call my mother.  It's my time to see what's going on with her, and just give her attention so she knows she's important to me.  I hope my children will likewise stay in touch. 

More and more has my mother been complaining about her mother, Lucy.  My Gran is 86 years old, soon to be 87.  Imagine in the 30's and 40's a dark haired slight of a girl who was not just beautiful but STUNNING!  I have her graduation picture hanging in my home.  Now imagine a red cross worker, who married a sailor, and upon leaving the military this young couple settled in Northern Kentucky and the sailor answers the call to be a baptist minister. 

A couple years pass while in bible college, and this sweet, handsome couple find that they are unable to bear children.  They are distraught.  They find out what to do in regards of foster care because they want to share their love so much!  Inadvertently, the young couple learn about adoption and become convinced that they are to adopt.  Over the next 12 years as the young pastor begins his ministry they adopt four children, all from very difficult backgrounds.  They love these children, raise them as their very own, and give them a wonderful family and life. 

Fast forward.  The minister goes to be with his maker at the age of 79.  He was my mentor and one of my best friends.  My Gran was also a truly wonderful influence.  Every time he called me or I called him he would say:  Hello Miss America!  If it was Gran she would say:  Well it's the sunshine of my life - how are you honey"  I never doubted their love for me.  Never will. 

But lets face it.  Age changes you.  It doesn't matter if your 10, 40, 65 or 90.  Age has changed you.  My grandmother is easily agitated these days.  She doesn't always make sense or remember things.  She speaks about things with authority when she has no clue.  Sometimes she behaves as though she favors one child over another - obviously not her usual behavior.  Only randomly does she remember that I am the sunshine of her life.  It's painful sometimes to see this different Gran.  But it is age.  It is not her.  It is age. 

And here we are at the present.  The phone calls to my mother.  My mother can no longer "tolerate" my gran.  She's become too much for her.  My daily phone calls have become her venting sessions.  I want to say:  Would you stop!  Your mother gave her life for you even though you were born of another.  She saved you!  She handmade every birthday cake and party dress.  She made every single holiday so special.  She supported you through childbirth, marriage, divorce, remarriage.  She's done everything for you.  But now "age" has made her unloveable?  I'm ashamed.  I'm ashamed of my mother and her complaining.  I think to myself, I will not be who you are.  And then I feel ashamed about me.  Who wants to think like that about their mother?  So I said to myself, it's not that I don't want to be who she is - I just want to be better than she is.  I want to do better than she's done.  And I certainly want to take better care of her when it's time to than what she is giving my gran. 

This past mother's day, instead of waiting to receive the usual cards and gifts from my children I decided to stay up late the night before and send each of them an email.  I took careful time to make each of them individual and not just repeat thoughts.  I spent time really thinking about what it was that made each of them so special.  I wrote to them about how they honored their parents so greatly by being BETTER.  I wrote to them about the ways in which they astounded me.  I wrote to them about their strengths and how proud I was of them for overcoming any weaknesses.  I let them know in the plainest terms I could that I was truly amazed and thankful to be part of their life.  Then I hit send.  I knew they wouldn't receive it until Mother's Day was upon us, which was perfect.  The effect was amazing.  I had such joy because I knew that my children couldn't doubt how much they were loved.  I had given myself the perfect Mother's Day Gift.  And the sharing of love and time later that day after they had received their emails was incredibly rewarding. 

I also wrote to my mother.  It was, afterall, Mother's Day.   I thanked her for all she had done for me.  I thanked her for supporting me during the times I was not easy to support.  I thanked her for providing a home, an education and all that's inbetween.  I told her how much I loved her.  I told her that it is a circle and she should never doubt that I would always be there for her. 

I will continue to focus on my mother.  She is almost 60 now.  Not at death's door by any means.  But she is a bit frail and not in the best of health.   If she were gone tomorrow would I have regrets?  No.  I'm there for her.  Every day at 5:15 we talk.  She waits for my call and I do not forget her.  I will not complain about her.  I will not be irritated by her.  I will take care of her when the time comes.  I will support her when she needs me.  I will love her regardless of any imperfection. 

Though I don't always agree with her, she is my mother.  And I know how much I desire my children to love the imperfect mother they were given. 

So I guess, Reader, this blog has once again become an outlet that I was able to vent frustration but in writing, realize the true lesson. 

I love my mother.  With all of her strengths, imperfections and weaknesses, I love her.   I believe today at 5:15 I will share with her how it hurts me to hear her talk about Gran that way.  I will share with her that I hope we never exchange those feelings.  I will tell her I hope my children never feel that way about me.  I will tell her in a gentle way, that Gran is still Gran and after giving us her best for a lifetime, we should be giving our best to her. 

Survivor

Dear Readers: 

I find myself writing again because this blog is such an easy way to vent all my frustrations and then tuck them away.  It’s an awkward subject, this one.  It’s easier to type anonymously than trying to share it in depth to friends or family.  You know that infomercial that’s about the rotisserie and time after time during the spot they repeat the tag line:  Fix It and Forget IT!!!  Well, that’s what this blog is to me.  Type about it – vent all you want – the forget about it and move on.  Thanks for reading my random rants!!!

Some of you, but not all, know my past history.  For those of you who don’t – I’m sorry to dump this on you like this but it has to be explained before you will understand why I need to vent.  My first marriage turned into 12 years of domestic violence in the worse way.  I was very young when I married and it was exactly 30 days before our first year anniversary when he pinned me to the floor on my stomach, knelt on my back, and pummeled the hell out of me for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only 3 or 4 minutes.  I could barely move for a few days.  I remember during the beating that my mind just couldn’t comprehend what was happened so I was literally thinking the entire time that our carpet was still like new because I had carpet fuzz in my mouth.  When it was over, of course there was much wailing from the man who would become my torturer for the next 11 years.  He wailed about how he couldn’t believe he did it.  He wailed about how much he loved me.  He wailed as he asked my forgiveness.  My mind shut down, I stared, I nodded, and I think some part of me knew that it would never end but I made a decision that I would give him another chance as over 98% of all women who get hit will do.  It took me 11 ½ years longer before I would find the courage to seek help with the women’s crisis center.  Through this time I became a master at the art of hiding bruises – making up to my son and daughter the fear they would feel when mom would “get in trouble”.  I lied and then lied to cover lies to so many people.  In fact, I had learned to hide and lie so well that when the truth finally came out it took another 8 years for my mother to finally witness my ex-husband admit that he had hit me in front of a judge and FINALLY believe what I had been through.  The story of my marriage is in and of itself a book, which I am very slowly working on.  It’s a pain that runs so deep I can only confront small pieces of it at a time which means my book will be years in the making. 

And now to the reason I want to blog today.  I’ve known about certain physical damage to my body from those years of beating.  For instance, I have permanent Eustachian tube Dysfunction in my ears because my ex would come up behind me and slam both hands over my ears to scare and hurt me.  It would result in busted ear drums and bleeding.   After so much of that, I began to feel pain any time I would go under water.  It was years later that I learned from my doctor what the extent of the damage was.  To this day I cannot go under water when I swim without pain and there are certain soft tones that I have trouble hearing.  The list goes on and on and each time I find something I deal with it. 

Yesterday the list got longer.  Early spring I decided to get healthier and began walking.  About two weeks into it, I began experiencing lower back pain.  Suddenly, a few nights later I had severe hip pain that worked itself away a few hours later.  Then I found I was waking up at night due to a throbbing sciatic nerve.  I finally made the decision to go to the chiropractor.  I go and he’s such a terrific doc!  He does x-rays, makes a few adjustments, tells me he’ll get me fixed up in a couple of weeks.  I go back a few days later to review the x-rays with him.  He is astonished at what he finds and I am immediately sickened by it.  First, I have spondylolisthesis.  It’s only grade one so it “should” be treatable.  You can be born with it, or it comes from acute injury.  I’ve been to a chiro in my teenage years and know that I was not born with it.  In my head I click off a “thank you” to my ex for the gift that keeps on giving but I say nothing to the doc.  But that’s the easy part.  The second x-ray gets put on the lighted board and my stomach turns and I literally say Oh My God out loud.  The doctor confirms I’m really seeing what’s there as he begins to explain it.  My hips are not only crooked by THREE inches, but they have been twisted inside my body.  He explains that he was glad I wore jeans that day and he had me keep them on.  Although my pants had been zipped and buttoned right at my belly-button like everyone else, the x-ray shows my zipper was laying almost on my right hip.  The doctor again says he was astounded.  He explains that before he can begin to treat me properly he needs to take more x-rays.  He needs to make sure there are no fractures involved because that will affect my treatment.  We sit down at his desk and he asks me if I know what caused this. 

BAM!  Here comes the wave of humiliation.  Here comes the guilt and the anger and the pain and fear of all that happened those years ago.  I tell him.  I see that he is deeply affected.  He sees that I am close to a breakdown.  We take more x-rays.  He explains that we must wait for them to come back, could I make another appointment for later this week.  I do, he gives me a pain medicine that is topical because I am allergic to anti-inflammatories.  I leave and make it to my car before the tears flow.  I call Brian; my husband, my rock, my calm in the middle of every fucking tornado, the only one who knows how to get me back to reality before I get to far out there.  I’m sobbing.  He begins to cry.  We cry together on the phone for 4 or 5 minutes and then I take a deep breath.  He tells me how much he loves me and asks that I hang up so I can drive home.  I do.  I drive home.  My mother calls to check on the chiro appt.  I lose it again.  Brian opens a bottle of wine and we sit on the deck for the next four hours talking it through.  He listens.  I re-live every emotion and painful memory that has been stirred up again. 

We get ready for bed and he kisses me goodnight.  All he says is “we” will beat this too.  I woke up this morning grateful.  Grateful for my new husband of almost 9 years.  Thankful that even though I feel I waited too long, I still got up one morning and dialed the women’s crisis center and got help.  I looked in the mirror and said – yep – we’ll make it through……and prove one more time to that piece of scum that I am a survivor.  As much as he may have tried to beat me down – I am a survivor.  I am the winner and he is the loser.  He will stand some day before God and justice will be served.  He did not take my life, nor my family.  My children have grown into healthy and happy young adults and we made it despite his efforts to destroy us.  We are the winners. 

C'est la vie Mother Fucker!

Part II

So it happened.  I met her.  All of the alarms and doink doinks in my head were multiplied by three when she actually came in.  Seriously, Readers – I am much more sarcastic in my head than I am able to verbally express and the thoughts that passed through my mind throughout the night were not so appropriate for a first-time guest.  First, let me help you visualize:  Medium length frizzy hair that is very dark at the ends then turns to medium brown somewhere in the middle, finally ending as blond at her roots.  An interesting choice of hair colors at best.   Deep dark purple eye shadow from the tips of her lids applied heavily and evenly all the way up to her eyebrows.  You know how you might get a funny word stuck in your head throughout a day?  Mine was grapes.  All night long every time I looked at her and those damn purple covered eyelids I would think…grapes.  By the end of the night it was grapey skank but that’s neither here nor there.  It was nice that she was careful enough to make sure she applied her eyeliner in three coats so it would be just perfectly caked but yet amazingly even and un-smudged.  Better yet, was the mascara clumping those eyelashes until I thought she surely must have intended to look like she literally had short daggers protruding from her eyelids.  Whatever – she doesn’t scare me.  The shining trophy was the eyebrow ring.  I mean, really?  She’s CLASSY!!

But I tried.  Clearly, I knew this was going nowhere good.  Still I tried. 

I began asking simple questions.  Ones like, do you live with your parents?  Answer:  Well, I live with my mom but I’ve never met my father so I had a step-father but they divorced when I was nine and now I’m getting a new step-dad.   My head:  this is going to be a long night. 

Question:  So you’re 17, right?  Answer:  Well, not yet.  I’ll be 17 in July.  I’m just 16 now.  My head:  OMG I better check the fucking statutory rape laws!  (yes, he’s safe)

Question:  And how old is your baby?  Answer:  She’s almost one, yeah, almost.  My head:  So you were pregnant at 15 fucking years old.  Sweet!

Question:  Do you have any siblings?  Answer:  (smiling) Yeah, I’m one of 14 kids but I’m my mom’s only child.  The rest of thems my two dads’ kids.   My head:  I need smelling salts quick.

Question:  (to both my son and her)  So we’re not making any new babies are we?  Answer from my son:  Mommmmmm.  Answer from Her:  Oh no – I got on the pill.  My head:  Better hug her ass now, son, ‘cause she just saved your fucking dick from being cut off!

So the conversation went for most of the night as I drank too much alcohol and then they finally left.  I cried.  My husband comforted.  He actually said he was “proud” of me for handling it as well as I did.  Ha!

I have created a calendar for my desk at work as my good friend Hazel assured me today that it would be over in a month and my son would come to his senses.  A month is clearly too long but still there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.  Better yet, after creating my one month calendar I realized that it ends on my birthday.  Sing along with me readers…..Happy Birthday to me…….

Tomorrow will be a better day. 

The New Girlfriend...

Dear Readers:  I have missed you.  BUT – I am getting back on track and of course that means back to incessant writing about nothing.  If you’re entertained – that’s terrific.  If you are not – call my children because they are usually not entertained either.  What is the topic of this blog?  Girlfriends.  I laughed because the last time I blogged I had to write about Kennedy’s first crush.  That is over and done with and she’s now moved past number two and is with number three now.  Long stories that I’m sure you will be filled in on soon, but for now I have to discuss my idiot of a son who is bringing me much pain.  Yes I said Idiot.  Parents out there will know that you can refer to your children as heathen, idiots, the spawn of satan and many more names and still love them.  I love him in a ridiculous way – but….that doesn’t mean he is not making me want to scream at the top of my lungs like I’m at the top of the highest hill of the highest roller coaster and I’m crapping my pants because I do not like roller coasters anyway.  That’s how I feel about the new girlfriend.  If you’re new to my blog let me catch you up.  My husband and I have five kids total; four boys and one girl.  Technically they’re split between us but we do not use words such as “step” or “half” in our house.  We are one family.  The oldest four are all boys and the youngest is of course the only girl.  They range in age from 15 through 29.  We are also grandparents thanks to our oldest who is married with two of his own. 

Now back to the story.  Through the years we have been through some pretty interesting rides with our boys and their choices of dating material.  We loved a few and hated a lot but I think this time we are facing the ultimate challenge.  Wouldn’t it be great if we took our sons to the Girlfriend Closet and hand-picked everyone they dated until it was time for marriage?  Sounds a little “Brave New World” I know, but come on – this one’s a prime candidate for Skank of the Year and I haven’t met her yet!!!!  First let me say that I’m meeting her tonight – which is why this is overwhelmingly on my mind.  Secondly, in our family education is VERY important.  There is no choice.  You will go to college.  If you go and drop out, we will hound you and harass you until you get back in and finish.  No child of our will be left with the inability to support themselves and their future family.  It’s how we roll.  Imagine this if you will:  One of my twenty-something, incredibly smart, handsome young sons calls me and informs me that he’s dating a young lady and he would like for us to meet her!  Hooray!  It’s always great when they bring the girlfriends home because that is yet another sign that we have moved beyond total loathing and are somewhat acceptable in their lives as adults J  Therefore I’m excited.  I ask all the appropriate questions, but don’t go too far because that would be considered “prying” and thus shuts the door of communication for at least a month but we’ve experienced almost 8 weeks before.  They can be brutal.  So I’m delicately asking all the right questions and I get to:  So, what does she do?  Expecting to hear something fantastical, I instead get dead silence.  Hmm.  “Did you hear me honey?” I say.  He says, “Well – nothing right now except take care of her child.”  GOOD GRIEF – the alarms sound off right along with the Law and Order SVU doink doink that I’ve written about before.  But it’s still okay.  See – we’ve been through the “dating a baby-mamma” before and we survived.  We’re soldiers.  We march through anything!!!  So I took a breath and said,  “Oh really?  Does she have plans?”  Hold onto your hats readers because the wind that you’re about to suck in after I tell you his answer will clearly knock you off the seat you’re sitting on.  His reply:  Yeah, she has plans mom.  She’s going to back to school in August and will finish and go from there.   (Did you say big deal?  Just wait!)  I say: Oh great!  What is she studying?  He says:  Oh just general education.  Once she gets her diploma then she’ll think about college. 

Echo.  That’s all I heard.  An echo of the word diploma.  It echoed.,…and echoed.  Then I screamed.  Relax – just inside my head. 

Hmm.  “Uh, Hun?  How old is she?” 

“Oh, she’s 17.”

Echo.  Screaming.  Doink doink.  I look at my wrists.  Does it hurt to cut?

“Mom?  Mom?” 

“Oh yeah – so she’s 17, and not in high school, but has a baby?  Tell me more!”

I tried readers, seriously – but there was no way my voice was going to hide the absolutely 100% disappointment I felt at that moment.  If any of you fit the description of his new girlfriend please do not take offense.  When you’re a parent you understand that people can live hard lives and still come out on top.  I am one of those people.  However – it’s just not what you want for your child. 

So immediately I went into Mom Mode.  I asked if they would like to come to dinner so that I could meet her and her baby.  He lightened up immediately and said:  Sure that would be great.  And so that brings us to the present.  Tonight is the night.  Tonight is the night I will sit across from the 17 year old high school drop out baby mamma that is trying to actually step in on my son and his perfectly good life.  She will sit across from me and she will know.  She will know that I will be watching her.  They all do.  It’s happened many, many times before. 

Obviously this is a two-part post.  God help me tonight.  I will try to behave.  If I am unable, my shins will be bruised from under-the-table kicking, and somewhere my son end up comforting a 17 year old high school drop out baby mamma because his mother was a brutal bitch. 

Lord Have Mercy On ME!!!

The Crush....

For those of you with grown children do you remember what it was like when they had their first crush?  Of course I've been involved with many crushes when it comes to boys liking girls as my husband and I have four of them.  However, our youngest, my baby, is our only girl and now that she is in high school has discovered the opposite sex.  No longer are they nasty and stinky.  Nope - now suddenly she says to me:  It's weird but I really like hanging out with guys better than girls.  I don't know why but I just have a lot more friends that are guys than are girls.  Suddenly I have alarms going off in my head.  They sound like police sirens strangely mixed with the doink doink sound of Law & Order.  Instinctively I say to myself:  "just keep a closer eye on her - it's fine." 
Then comes the call - from her bedroom.  "MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM" yells Kennedy.  "CAN YOU COME TO MY ROOM?"  For those of you with younger children please note right this minute that an invitation into the bedroom by your teenager is something that you must never turn down.  It's the moment in time where for some reason their disgust for you has become tolerant enough that they believe they want to actually have conversation with you.  I run.  I do not hesitate.  I need not think of why.  I don't care.  I have been invited.  I run up the stairs as fast as I can and into the bedroom across the balcony - of course it's the farthest one from me :)  She's sitting on her bed and I ask calmly (like it's no big deal) "What's up cutie?"  she says kind of shyly, "Well, I guess I should tell you.  You know that thing you said I should always let you know about?"  I'm searching my mind like an un-folded load of laundry that has swallowed your one matching black sock.  Outwardly I stay calm.  "Oh yeah?  What's that?"  Kennedy is smiling sheepishly and I'm seriously beginning to wonder if she's reached a new stage of dork when she lets it drop.  "I'm GOING with a guy" 
Readers - at this point you need to know that my parenting style is one of always always ALWAYS keeping an open line of communication.  It's pretty simple.  If you talk to your children they will talk to you.  If you treat them with respect they will in return respect you.  If you show them your love often, they will eventually treat you with love in return......after the "my parents are retarded" stage is finally over.  That being said - when I hear these words I draw a blank.  I'm seeing snow in my head - I have no words to say - I got nothing.  Tick tock goes the clock.  Kennedy is staring at me and I am wondering why I'm staring at her in return because I am 100% completely blank.  She brings me back.  "Did you hear me?"  I smile and shake my head.  I find my voice.  "Really? Who is it?"
I sit down on her bed and she lets me.  Wow.  This is serious.  From this point on she tells me about the boy.  How dreamy he is - how nice he is and the information comes to me in fragments as I'm only able to wonder what "DAD's" reaction is going to be.  This is another story, Reader, but it will be interesting.  As for now I am only reveling in this moment and in the fact that my daughter has chosen to deem me worthy of conversation.  We chat.  She smiles.  I smile.  I'm very open and frank about reminding her that even though she is in high school, the fact still remains that she is 14.  The age 14 still means: no dating, no "I love you" notes, no hanging on eachother.  None of it.  Of course she says she knows and wouldn't do that anyway.  My inner "me" is laughing her ass off because I know she will at some point.  Hopefully not yet.  Hopefully not for quite a while.  But I know this is where one of the hard parts of parenting comes in.  The part where you have to care - A LOT - because now you're going to be at ALL functions and hanging out with a large group of teenagers until after graduation because that's what it takes to be involved and aware of what's actually going on. 
Football game comes and I meet him.  He's in the marching Band with Kennedy.  I say "Hello" and quickly inform him of the ground rules for hanging around my daughter (I cannot bring myself to say boyfriend/girlfriend yet).  He says yes, ma'am to me multiple times.  He is cute as she says.  Polite as she says.  Manners, talent and a brain.  Okay - I get it.  However, that night at home I remind her that it's more important than ever to stay grounded and realize that all of the teenagers running around saying I LOVE YOU to every boy they date, hanging on eachother, and getting serious when they haven't even figured out what their life is about yet is a very dangerous thing to do and that I would not tolerate this behavior.  She agrees.  WHAT?????  Yes.  She agreed with me and reminded me that I had raised a very level-headed daughter. 
TIME WILL TELL.  I am watching like a hawk.  My house will not be clean for another four years because now it is yet again the "hangout" place for teenagers.  I'm okay with that.  It's the price of being a parent - a good one anyway. 

TO BE CONTINUED........

THE BLACK DRESS

Shopping for what is, in essence, a costume with a teenager is probably listed as one of the top ten reasons you get a migraine.  My adorable, beautiful, stunning, angelic princess Kennedy (stop laughing) is in the choir.  She is a stickler for following “choir” rules which leads me to think that I should name our house “CHOIR” in order to get her to follow my rules at home.  Anyway, to sing in the women’s choir at school you must be adorned in a long sleeve floor length black gown or shirt/skirt combination.  SERIOUSLY?  Where in the world do you find a fashion piece such as that, which is also appropriate for someone under 90 years old?????  I panicked the minute I found out her needs and proceeded to put the shopping trip for this “costume” off until the last minute.  I mean – come on – do you think I seriously WANT to visit hell?  No.  Finally, we’re just 2 days before her first choir concert and she is in serious panic mode about her dress.  Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to put it off so long after all because now I get to shop for this horrid outfit with a teenager who is in the middle of a panic attack while have that monthly visit from Aunt Flo.  Open Hell – Welcome Renae.  We go to the Mall and begin our search.  First Macy’s.  There is a relatively decent gown in their formal department that I secretly believe was made for an 80 year old woman’s last New Year’s Bash but I hold my tongue and look for Kennedy’s response.  I don’t get one.  This is because while I’ve taken the time to actually look at the dress she came, she saw, she immediately walked away.  I dare to say: Kennedy – did you see this one?  She flips her head around – I get the “glare of death” and she continues to walk away.  Simply put – I’m a dumb ass for even asking.  Reader, if you’re unfamiliar with the dumb ass reference, please refer to a previous blog where I explain this in more detail.  Back to the story.  I let go of the dress and follow my daughter who appears to be promptly leaving Macy’s.  They have nothing that would approach tolerance level with her.  We move on.  Next is Forever 21 because apparently she shops their web site and saw a dress.  However, we quickly find out they do not keep that particular gown in the stores as it doesn’t really sell that well.  Go figure.  We leave and I try to cheer up my beloved monster.  “No worries!” I say.  “We’ll find something.”  Kennedy immediately responds, “Mom – please – just – don’t”  She says all of this in broken sentence form without so much as a glance in my direction.  So much for cheering up.  I walk ahead a little bit and begin to guide us to JC Penny’s.  As we get closer I believe my brilliant daughter begins to realize this and says:  “Uh – Mom – stop – where ARE you going?”  I smile and cheerfully say:  JC Penny’s of course!  They always have lots of formal wear.  She stops.  So suddenly the person behind her almost collides with her almost causing an avalanche of mall rats.  She is staring at me like I have horns.  “What?” I innocently say?  Kennedy scowls and informs me viciously, although very quietly, “you are not making me go in that store.”  Another smile from me as I happily reply: “Oh, but yes I am doll – because this is probably the only place that’s going to have what we need.”  I don’t wait for a reply this time.  I might be a dumbass to a 14 year old but certainly not when it comes to mothering.  I head on to the store not daring to glance back and see if she is following.  That would give her reason to believe she has control.  Not anymore.  This bitchy momma has taken the reins and I’m getting this done whether she’s on board or not!!!  Off to JC Penny’s I go heading straight for the formal section.  I arrive and begin looking.  I don’t even look for Kennedy – although I believe she is there because I hear a sniff and some long nasty sighs (yes sighs can be nasty) behind me.  I see something.  It’s a floor-length gown, not too bad, but we’ll have to buy a long-sleeve shoulder jacket to go with it – who cares.  I grab the dress and the first one is Kennedy’s size.  It’s a sign.  I turn around – and yes, she’s there.  She looks at the dress and about knocks me over with her reply:  It’s not so bad.  I go with it.  “Take this and go try it on.  I’ll find some long-sleeve jackets to go with it and see if we can get out of this place!  I grab 5 different jackets and run to the dressing room.  The dress fits perfectly, except for the fact that it shows cleavage which is not allowed.  NO PROBLEM!!!!  I will sew a peace of material in that tear drop and we’re good.  She goes through the jackets and we agree on an acceptable one.  WHEW!!!!  We’re done and it only took an hour – I AM NOT KIDDING!!  We buy our purchase and Kennedy actually spies a coat she likes – SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!!!!!!!!  I get the dress without a nightmarish fight, and actually get to avoid the winter coat war too?  We’re on!!!!!!!!!!  “Throw the coat on the pile!”  I say.  WHAT’S THAT I SEE???  Kennedy is smiling!!!!  OMG – I’m not in Hell – I’m in Heaven.  THANK YOU GOD!!!!

The Pretties....

Dear Reader - I'm so sorry for my absence from the blog.  Literally, I think exhaustion overtook me for a few days.  In addition - there really hasn't been anything going on but the same of everything.  Work, kids, sleep, repeat.  HOWEVER, this past weekend my hubby and I decided to treat ourselves to a weekend away from it all.  Friday we packed up the car after work and headed to the Belterra Casino Resort and Spa for two nights.  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!  It was awesome.  We had incredible dinners at Jeff Ruby's, great wine and gambling where for ONCE in my life we came out several hundred dollars ahead - Woohooo!!!!!  However, I have to interject at this point that I have another name for BCRS. I call it "House of the Pretties."  Yes - you will see the occasional couple of wealth - the 80 year old sugar daddies with their 25 year old arm candy.  The women who wear fur when it's 85 degrees outside because they can.  But seriously, if you sit at the corner of the main entrance at one of the starbucks tables and pretend to sip your coffee you will get an amazing show of the "pretties".  These are people who range in age from 25 to 95.  Some have no teeth, some have no hair.  Some are so tiny they look like skeletons with a layer of skin and others are so large that they can apparently no longer find shirts that will cover their bellies.  Some have obvious talent with makeup and others - well - there are others who believe their talent with makeup is so worthwhile that all should be able to see them coming from half mile away.  Then there's the hair.  This weekend proved to be very giving of stylish do's.  For instance, it was not unusual at all when the grandmother who was celebrating her 86th birthday at BCRS showed up in style sporting hair that was of three colors, the most vibrant being fuschia and going great with the other stripes of natural gray and black onyx.  A little gel to spike it up and gma was one heck of a hotty at the House of the Pretties.  There were long braids to the knees with stunning butterfly pins poking out here and there.  And while I didn't take the time to ask if the butterfly pins ever stuck her when she sat - I was truly amazed at how well they stood out.    There was a particularly interesting man who decided the hair on his head was better off staying gray but surely his beard needed to be jet black.  And his lovely long blue dress socks really showed off his shapely legs when matched with the red plaid shorts and brown plaid jacket.  Where oh where was his lucky woman??  But alas sitting at Starbucks is not the only place you can see the performance of The Pretties.  Nope - you can pretty much see them anywhere.  We grabbed breakfast at the buffet one morning and while sitting eating a mediocre morning meal the gracious hostess seated a family at the table next to us.  I immediately felt complete sympathy and concern for the mother.  God love her.  I'm not sure WHY stupid WalMart does not understand the needs of the "well-endowed" woman but it was obvious to both my husband and I immediately that she could not shop at WalMart and find a shirt large enough to cover her 16th and 17th roll for they were peeking out underneath her shirt moving and jiggling and assaulting us from 5 feet away.  Clearly WalMart saw the need to provide ample coverage in shirt sizes for her husband and son who were both larger than she.  What was good old Sam thinking when he decided to be so transparent by obviously catering to our largest men but not our largest women? Each time she picked up another kiebalsa sausage with her fingers and finished it off in one bite while being able to chew and lick her fingers at the same time, my heart went out to her.  Obviously this is a wounded soul.  I left breakfast early.  Sometimes The Pretties becomes a very emotional show and a viewing break may become necessary in order to avoid nausea and gagging.  There was definitely a time of learning this visit to BCRS.  I learned that The Pretties come with a wide variety of accessories.  What fun!!!  Everything from canes to self-whittled walking sticks.  They ride in on wheelchairs or use walkers that can convert into seats that give them an excellent view of any table or slot mahcine.  They carry oxygen tanks or attach them to their wheelchairs.  They even use the oxygen tubes to help carry the Rewards Card BCRS offers.  They have bags galore and fill them with the most amazing items.  One lady dropped her diaper as she was moving towards the bathroom.  She wasn't concerned though.  BCRS is a very clean place.  She picked it up and proceed to the bathroom where undoubtedly she put her hidden accessory to good use.  A new trend is to wear clothes with holes.  There was a very stylish man who had at least 3 or 4 good holes in his shirt placing awesome bets at the blackjack table.  He was not winning but the intensity was great.  I completely understood when he turned to me and asked me if by chance I had any cigarettes he could borrow.  Seems they are very expensive at BCRS and he certainly couldn't take any money away from his betting.  I completely understood and dug through my purse but much to my chagrin had to decline when I remembered I no longer smoke.  Sweet sweet man completely understood and just turned his toothless grin to the person on the other side of him.  Awwww - I love The Pretties.  Finally it was time to leave and as we strolled towards the exit I stopped one last time to take a look at my people.  I smiled at the shemale walking by and grinned even bigger when I saw the 23 year old couple with all four of their kids struggling to get to the buffet.  I got a couple of nods from smoking pregnant lady and her apache medicine man.  Goodbye for now my pretties.  I'll see you soon.

Heartache....

Heartaches come in all shapes and sizes.  There’s good heartache and bad.  There’s the smile of my 20 month old grandson that completely breaks my heart in two.  There’s the moment when your son tells you that he no longer wants to hug you goodbye at school.  There’s the moment when you realize your child has lied to you for the first time or the first time they tell you that they can’t stand you because you grounded them.  I’ve sent a kid to military school as punishment and cried for hours and hours after I dropped him off.  I’ve lost my father to an illness that could have been easily prevented and screamed at the chief of surgery because I couldn’t understand the fairness of it all.  I’ve been the victim of domestic violence and survived only to have a Judge tell me that I was required to subject my children to this horrible man twice a month.  I’ve suffered heartache - in small ways and in large ways.  I’ve been told I’m tough though I personally don’t think so.  I know some of my choices were more tough than others. I can look at all of these things and see the ones that were hard and the ones that were not so hard.  However, I cannot compare any of the previous aching that I’ve suffered to what happens to my heart every time I see her smile in my mind or hear her voice in my head.   If you’ve read any of my previous blogs you’ll know that my best friend, Bonnie, was killed in a car accident on August 7^th, 2010.  It’s been almost 2 months now and still I have moments that take my breath away because the heartache is so great.  Two nights ago I went to bed missing her so much I just laid on my husband’s shoulder and cried.  Not a hard cry - just a weepy soft cry.  Then last night I had a terrible nightmare where I was trying to reach her in a crowded room to tell her not to drive her car because there was going to be an accident.  She was across the room being her usual lovely self with friends and people wouldn’t get out of the way so she left and I woke up yelling for her.  It was devastating.  I don’t know quite how to process these moments.  I don’t know what behavior is acceptable.  I’m able to laugh and joke around with friends.  I’m able to kid around with my children and husband.  Then suddenly I find I want to scream to the world that Bonnie is dead and I won’t ever see her again.  Is that normal?  I don’t know.  I am addicted to pictures of her which kind of creeps my husband out.  I have her beautiful smile all over my house now and on my desk at work.  I constantly pull more up on my computer and just remember what we were doing at the time it was taken.  I talk to her on the way to work.  I suffered great loss before, but it was loss I could prepare for.  My grandfather was a great man who collapsed at my house but God still gave me another three weeks to be able to say goodbye to him.  My father became needlessly ill but I was given two months to prepare myself and tell him how much I loved him.  Nothing in the world prepares you for going on vacation with your best friends one week and then losing one of them just five days later.  It’s insane and I’m not sure that I can wrap myself around it yet.  I find myself wondering if she knew how much I loved her.   I can’t remember if I told her how thankful I was for her – although that was standard conversation on our little trips together.  What would I say if I had five more minutes?  I think this is at least part of it:  Bonnie:  You’re beautiful and crazy all at the same time.  You’re the most understanding, attentive, loveable friend I’ve ever had.  I’m so thankful that you’ve been there to give me good advice when it comes to my children.  I’m so thankful that you let me vent and cuss and say things I shouldn’t then you let me tuck it away and act like I never did it.  THANK you for loving me so much that you stood up for me even when you knew I was wrong.  Thank you for not always telling me when I was wrong because I know there have been many.  Thank you for all of the home-made gifts you’ve given me like my FBI badge, the beach ball, the hat, the pictures – gosh you put in a lot of time and effort just being my friend…  Thank you for laughing so much and making me laugh right along with you.  Thank you for coming into my life when you did and blessing me for so long with the type of friendship I never knew existed until I met you.  I love you.  I need you.  Please don’t leave me.  Life without you around will be gray….  

I know there is more to say – my mind just floods and then stops thinking altogether.  Today is not an exceptionally sad day.  I still have friends making me laugh.  But in the background – where I try my best to keep it – is that terrible ache that I’m not sure will ever go away.  It’s the ache that fills the hole in my heart that was once filled with her every day antics.  I miss you sweet girl. 

Dumbass

If you are the mother of a teenager you know why sometimes animals eat their young, right?  Seriously – all joking aside – you know why, right?  It is very evident that my 14 year old thinks I know nothing at all.  It is only because I remember feeling the same way when I was her age that I have not strangled her and roasted her like a pig.  I do realize that some day she’ll think I’m smart enough to come to for advice.  However, this stage where I’m a complete dumbass is a bit irritating to say the least.  I am good for only a few things at this point in her life.  That is paying for her needs, driving her places and fetching whatever she needs if she feels sick.  I am good enough to cook for her, but not to explain to her that when cleaning the kitchen you might want to use an actual cleaner on the counter.  I’m a dumbass.  I’m good enough to turn the temperature down at night, but a complete idiot if I feel the temperature should be higher than 68 during the day.  I’m a dumbass.  I am absolutely excellent at going to the mall and pulling out my bank card, but good grief what was I thinking when I suggested she might look cute in that shirt????????  I’m a dumbass.  What?  You need your hair cut?  Not a problem because I know exactly where the best hair dresser is.  No – I won’t suggest any styles to you because it is obvious I have no taste at all.  I’m a dumbass.  I will be there to cheer you on during your competitions because I ROCK at being supportive, but I had no clue that using your actual name therefore allowing people to know that the mom with the painted face and pompoms is your mom is an outrageous thing to do.  I’m a dumbass.  THANK GOD that I know exactly the right medicine that helps you when you’re in the midst of painful pms but for freaking sake how could I even begin to suggest you take it BEFORE the pms begins to be preventative?  I’m a dumbass.  Telling you that you need to get more sleep in order to not be so tired – how do you put up with the dumbass that’s your mother?  Wanting you to do the laundry before the entire 2^nd floor of the house smells like your dirty socks?  Dumbass.  Suggesting that you shut your bathroom door during your menstrual cycle so I do not have to pull another tampon out of the dogs mouth is proof that once again, I am a complete and total dumbass.  Of course the list could go on from here to eternity but I think, Dear Reader, you are beginning to pick up the frustration that I am so graciously laying at your feet.  Therefore, I’ll stop.  This dumbass mother must wrap up the day and go take my brilliantly smart and wise teenager for her hair appointment and Halloween costume.  Clearly I will try to think of ways not to burden her with my dumbassiveness.  

Gran's Visit....

So my Gran came to dinner for her birthday.  I spared no expense putting together something that I thought would please her palate.  All of my effort was to be truly rewarded to say the least.  First – I was out until late late on Friday because my usual stop for happy hour became an all night rendezvous when my friend Hazel called me and begged freakishly, in fact, almost in a harassing manner, for me to stay so her husband could join Brian and I.  We stayed.  OUCH!  Saturday came along with the headache and nausea that too much drinking gives even the most seasoned of us.  Blah!  Not only was I a bit under the weather but Kennedy had an all-day competition!  It took until about 6 that evening for me to feel relief from the previous night and I still had 6 hours to go before I would be home again and laying on my sweet pillow in bed.  However, Kennedy’s team won grand champions so I couldn’t be anything but overjoyed for her (on the outside anyways).  I climb into bed and close my eyes only to open them what seems like mere seconds later when morning comes and I must prepare for Gran’s visit.  This is when I realize I haven’t bought her a present yet.  Off to the store I go.  Grab the presents, forget the wrapping.  Oh well – the Macy’s bag will do because the card I got ROCKS!  Run home and for the next four hours I am cooking my @ss off.  Menu:  Appetizers: Tomato Basil Goat Cheese crudités and gourmet cheeses w/ crackers; First course: Mango prosciutto salad on mixed greens with lemon vinagarette; Second course:  Pesto stuffed chicken with roasted tomatoes and Onions served with a white wine sauce and stuffed mashed potatoes.  Dessert:  Chocolate Mousse with Vanilla Cream and Raspberries.  Yes I was a bit obnoxious with it all but I always want my gran to feel special.  Well – did I ever know how special she felt after dinner.  Reader – I could go through all the crazy things she said individually like when she said that my ex convict, drug dealing aunt had been through “so much” or when she said that I was so blessed to have such a hard working family while I was the only one standing in the kitchen sweating my ass off for her;  However it was one comment in particular that made me realize that growing as old as 85 is probably not going to be the goal I set for myself in the future.  While relaxing in the living room after dinner my gran and I are chatting.  I ask her to share some memories with me – things like her most embarrassing moments or something she was especially proud of.  This is when my gran looks me straight in the eye and says:  Renae – Sunshine – you will realize some day that memories are only for yourself because no one really cares.  The truth is that no one thinks about anything but themselves.  They do not care about your memories at all.  People are just selfish and that’s the truth.  Then my gran proceeded to say she was tired, but was there any more of that chocolate mousse left before she goes?  I gave my gran more chocolate mousse.  I walk her to her car and hug her goodbye, tell her I love her, blow her a kiss as my aunt drives her away…..and as I turn to walk back in the house I think to myself “looks like white castle is going to be serving the dinner for birthday #86!”  While what she said made me sad I knew it was coming from an 85 year old woman who truly didn’t mean it.  She knows that I love her and I know that she loves me.  This was a test of the crazies.  I passed.  And of course I’ll start planning the next dinner we invite her to. 

GRAN......

I love my gran.  When I was younger she insisted on hosting every birthday party for me with elaborate cakes she would make herself.  I remember when I was 9 it was a carousal with incredible detail.  Gran has always been the kind of gran that they write books about.  She taught me how to bake cookies and pies, had me spend the night whenever I could.  She would take me shopping for silly treats.  I remember once she wanted to get “healthy” so I went with her to a woman’s workout center where they let me lay on the jiggle table next to her.  No kidding – we were laying on a table for like 20 minutes just getting jiggled back and forth.  My gran was so excited that she could lay down and slim down at the same time.  Of course after we worked out together we went to McDonalds and got a strawberry shake because we’d lost so much weight.  Ha!  While my grandfather’s pet name for me was Miss America, my gran’s pet name for me was Sunshine of my Life.  Still to this day when I call her she will say – Oh My – It’s the Sunshine of my Life!  I love my gran.  However, that is not the point of this blog.  Reader – I wrote this introduction paragraph so that you would understand how I feel about my gran and not be offended at the next paragraph.  Nothing in the world will ever make me treasure this wonderful lady any less than I ever have because she has done so much for me and been there for me so many times through my life.  She is my safe haven, a mentor, a class act that I hope to model my life after.  Of course there’s an exception – one thing that I hope does not take over as I age like dear gran.  That, dear reader, is THE CRAZIES!!!

Okay – so let’s get to the point.  My conversation two nights ago with Gran about drove me F’N crazy!!!!  No kidding.  Starts out like this -  G:  Hi Sunshine of my Life!  How are you?  R:  Hi Gran – I’m doing good.  How are you doing?  G:  Oh honey it’s so good (now with tears) to hear your voice.  It’s been soooooooo long!  (keep in mind that I talk to my gran at least several times a week.)  R:  Gran – don’t cry!  We just talked the other day.  Guess What?  I’m calling to remind you that I’m picking you up Sunday to come to my house and spend the afternoon with me!  Remember?”  G:  Oh honey that’s so much work on you.  You don’t have to do that.  I’m fine here sitting on my couch all alone.  R:  Gran – it’s your birthday!  Of course I want to spend your birthday with you.  G:  Oh Sunshine – you spoil me so much (again the tears) I do not know what I’d do without you.  I tell everyone how you spoil your grandma so much.  All my friends are so jealous of me.”  R:  Well Brian and I will pick you up at 1:00pm on Sunday.  Will that be okay with you?  G:  Oh sunshine – you don’t have to do that.  Why, you’re so busy working.  I’m fine here sitting on my couch all alone.  R:  Well Gran – don’t you want to come?  G:  WHAT?  Now don’t you say that Renae Lee (now angry) of course I want to come – how could you think I don’t want to come?  R:  I didn’t mean that Gran.  I just wanted to let you know that Brian and I would be there to pick you up on Sunday at 1pm.  Will that be okay?  G:  Oh Sunshine I don’t know what I’d do without you.  You spoil me so much.  I tell all my friends about you and they’re all just as jealous as they can be.  R:  Okay Gran – I’ll see you Sunday at 1pm.  G:  (now tears again)  Oh Sunshine Of My Life – I love you so much!  R:  Bye Gran! (and then I hang up the phone quickly before she can again tell me that she is fine sitting on the couch all alone) 

Most recently my gran has taken to explaining her new 85-year-old body functions.  In the middle of a phone conversation I will be interrupted with a “BYE RENAE I GOTTA GO!”  Interesting I say – someone must be at the door.  NOOOOOOOOOO.  15 minutes later my gran will call back and tell me things no granddaughter should ever have to hear in her life.  G:  Oh Sunshine – thank goodness you’re still home and we can talk!  I’m sorry about that.  R:  Are you okay Gran?  G:  Oh Yes honey – you know – when you get older some things just don’t wait and, well, I hate to tell you about it but since you asked, I had dinner a little while ago and my body decided it was time to let it all go.  Your grandmother barely made it to the bathroom in time.  Gosh – Sunshine I’m sorry I told you that – why that’s disgusting.  (angry voice now) Why do you let me go on like that?  Call me tomorrow.  (and she hangs up the phone).   I know, dear reader, that she has not hung up on me because she’s mad at me, but rather because she realizes she just explained to me that she had a severe dumping episode and is now embarrassed.  Protocol calls for our next conversation to be started out acting like we haven’t spoken in ages so that she can believe I’ve forgotten all about it. 

Again, Reader – know that I love my gran to pieces and don’t know what I’ll do when the time comes for her to be with my grandfather.  However – I’m sure on Monday I’ll have a nice blog about the antics of Sunday’s birthday dinner with gran.  Until then….cheers!

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

I just want to scratch her eyes out and I don't even know her name!!!!!  Seriously!  Some bitchy little "my shit don't stink" insignificant RECEPTIONIST trying to put me in my place by telling me the doctor would not be “interested” while using her sarcastic little sneer should consider herself extremely lucky at this moment in time because I would be totally slapping the sneer right off of her face before she took another breath if she were within reach.  That she actually has no hesitation to answer for the doctor and doesn't give him the right to choose for himself whether or not he'd like to be featured in the TOP THREE FREAKING LADIES PUBLICATIONS IN THE NATION is about as presumptious as it comes.  Oh - be sure that I will find a way to contact the doctor and when I do I will let him know that the nasty little snot he has answering his phones is abnoxiously rude and he would be much better served if he found himself a new gal friday to take care of answering calls in a polite manner.  I will inform this doctor that Presumptious Patty actually chose to refuse the opportunity for him to have a published article read by almost half a million readers IN HIS AREA ALONE!!!!!!!!!  The amount of new patients and credibility this nasty cat just cost him will undoubtedly cost him an immeasurable amount of monetary gain and the respect of his peers.  After I tell this doctor what dowdy doody did, he will for sure fire her and make an example to his staff with regards to the treatment of people as important as I. 

F’N C**T BETTER WATCH WHO SHE MESSES WITH.  Some people will cut a b!tch for behavior like that! 

THANKS!

I know someone named Hazel

She’s really into Basil

She thinks she is so awesome

With eyes just like a possum

I’m not sure if she’s sane

I’m not inside her brain

But she is so fun

And I’m her number one

We like to drink and text

What will she tell me next

She gives me much relief

From all my recent grief

Her husband’s not a banker

I wrote this poem to thank her

EXHAUSTION....

Last night I reached a new level of exhaustion that I was amazed to have achieved – until this morning.  It all started a couple of weeks ago when I volunteered to cook for 150 people that participate in the Ryle Marching Band.  My daughter is on the color guard team and I’ve been so impressed with all their hard work I just wanted to help in some way.   So after careful planning and estimation – I started cooking on Thursday for Saturdays dinner.  I literally finished cooking 1 hour before the food was to be delivered at the school for transport to the competition.  Crazy.  I then proceeded to volunteer to be a bus chaperone.  Go ahead and say it – I agree with you – I’m a dumb ass.  Excellent observation.  So I hop on the bus already tired and sporting an awesome headache that will not leave for the remainder of the day.  After the 45 minute obnoxious and loud ride to the competition my headache is far superior than any recent one I remember.  I help organize the food area with plenty of time left over before dinner service.  Terrific!  I get a chance to go to the field – sit in the bleachers – and watch Kennedy and her awesome color guard team win BEST color guard out of 20 schools.  The entire band’s performance was so incredible I was once again brought to tears.  Hip Hip Hooray!!!  Hurry – it’s time to serve the food before finals.  My beloved hubby and I head over to Ryle’s area and finish setting up food just in time to begin service.  150 people later we realize that as usual – I’ve made way too much.  Not a problem!  There’s a family in need so the food will not go to waste – yeah!  We help clean up feeling sooo drained.  Then of course we find out about the trophies received and I love seeing my daughter so incredibly psyched out and happy!  It’s time to go back to the field and watch the bands perform at finals.  It’s apparent that not only are the parents fatigued but so are the teenagers in the band.  I immediately know the performance is not as good as the one in the preliminary portion of the competition.  The color guard has a rifle drop and a flag drop.  The marching band has a few uneven lines.  I keep my fingers crossed because I see other teams are dropping also and not marching as well.  What can they expect when the day started at 8:30am and it’s 10pm???  All in all we still did terrific.  Ryle came in 3^rd – congratulations to them.  It’s over – it’s almost 11pm.  I’m completely whacked.  We all stumble back to the buses and I literally have to wake myself up on the way home.  I’m supposed to be chaperoning – so I do a quick look around – HAND CHECK!!!!  We get back to school, unload the buses – reload up our car.  The entire day is summed up in one moment for me.  We’re walking back to the band room and my daughter is talking with friends.  Suddenly I hear:  “Hey everyone – it’s my mom and dad!  I LOVE YOU MOM AND DAD!!!”  Unexpectedly there are 20 or so teenagers shouting out their love for us and I know without a doubt that, though I feel done-in, I would do it all again in a heartbeat just to hear my child exclaim her appreciation in such a manner.  This is what it’s all about.  I cry a little and grin a lot.

Reader – did you think I forgot to finish my story about my exhaustion?  Not at all.  We collapsed at home in bed and woke up early-“ish” the next day.  By Noon I was wide awake, showered, and out doing my normal weekend errands such as grocery shopping etc.  At 3:00 I realize the exhaustion of the past three days has not left me.  Being the smart assertive girl that I am, I listened to my husband suggest an energy drink and immediately agreed.  Zip fizz is the best – so we partook.  At 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5am this morning I was cursing this company for their excellent product and positive that contacting an attorney with intent to sue would be the best path of revenge to seek. 

I sit here now, sharing these events with you, and wondering if there’s any fix good enough to keep my eyes from doing the “I’m so tired I wiggle” dance that they’ve been participating in all morning.  Seriously – exhaustion – it’s not underrated.  It’s not anything but pure agony.  Of course it’s also Monday morning.  The combination is almost too much to bear.  But of course I will be fine.  I will run my “after work errands” and then go home and throw the trout I set out this morning in the oven.  After dinner I will kiss everyone goodnight and collapse for sure.  Tomorrow’s another day!!!!!!