What Is That in The Driveway?!?!?

Yesterday I had one of those most embarrassing "You're a bad Mom" moments. I've had a lot of those over the last 28 years. I was sitting at break enjoying a game of brick breaker on my cell phone, listening to my co-workers chat about this and that. I wasn't paying close attention, just enough attention to add my wisdom when and where I thought it seemed appropriate (so mostly I was sitting there with my mouth shut). The subject turned to school activities, when one of the girls asked me what grade my youngest was going to be next year. hmmm, uhhh, regardless of how hard I thought, I couldn't remember. Than one of them asked... "Was last year his first year of high school?" I know I had to have looked stunned when I said... "I don't remember anything about his school year last year." and they certainly looked stunned. Hey! I was trying to recover from that stupid head injury! The rest of the afternoon I sat at my desk trying to dig out some remnant of memory I had about school last year. Notta, zip, zilch! And The World's Worst Mother Award goes to...... Me. On their death beds Mothers are suppose to remember every pet name you had for every little thing. They are suppose to remember the month, hour and second of when you got your first hair cut and have snippets of hair with details of the event written up and preserved for your childrens childrens children to read. Any yes, Moms are suppose to remember what grade you are currently in regardless of how much of their brain is or isn't functioning. That's just what is expected of good Moms (insert pouty face here). When I replayed break for my husband after work, he wrapped his arms around me and tenderly assured me that I was a good Mom (in spite of my pitiful memory... my words not his). This morning I hesitated at the breakfast table while I was on my way out the door. I reminded my husband that our baby boy (who is currently a sophomore in high school), would be headed to Oklahoma City to work with his brother at The Plant Stand after school, and that he would be gone all weekend. This is his first out of town trip by himself and I am a little uncertain about it. He carefully ran over all the reasons why everything would be fine and why this would be a good experience, then asked me what I thought.... "Well, I don't even think he should be allowed to drive because he's just a little baby.... That's what I think!" He laughed and said it did seem like just yesterday when he would pick him up from daycare and give him little Star Wars characters as an afternoon surprise. He's growing up and we have to start letting go. "Fine, just fine!" I thought as I walked out the front door. I may not be the best Mom in the world but I'm pretty certain that if I lay prostrate in the driveway so he would either have to run over me to leave or just stay home this weekend, that he likes me enough not to floorboard it and plow over my pitiful self. But then again, I'm not really certain I should take that chance. Ugh, being a Mom.... even a mediocre Mom is difficult.

The Power of Love

We enjoyed a beautiful, although hot weekend. My son and his two best friends opened a seasonal flower shop (The Plant Stand). We went to see how things were going and of course to pick up some flowers for the front flower bed. They were busy little bees buzzing around taking care of customers and their plants. It was quite heartwarming to see them doing what they've always said they wanted to do.... Have a business together. My son gestured to his shorts, tee shirt, and flip flops and said... "This is my working attire." with a big grin. Indeed, the boy has never had a desire to hold a job that required him to wear shoes. I'll admit that I'm as green thumbless as a person can be. There is a large brick planter I acquired when I began working where I now work. When I started there was a huge tree (of sorts), and some fern things planted in it. They weren't thriving, but they were alive (were being the key word there). After everything was dead and gone I could work guilt free because I had nothing struggling to survive in my area... Until.... The other day a co-worker noted.... "Oh, you planted plants!" Hmm, no I really

No shoes, no problem

didn't, but heaven help the person who did. Why would someone do that do me? The culprit was found and will be severely punished by being the one responsible for the, well whatever is required to keep them alive. That being said, I had to buy plants from my son. A few years ago for Mother's Day he brought me a trunk full of flowers and built a flower bed. The fact that I diligently watered, fed, and maintained the flowers through the season, speaks volumes about the power of a Mother's love. I'm hoping the fact that I bought the plants from him will give me the same determination to keep these alive as well. I did find that shopping for plants for a sunny flower bed is much more enjoyable than the actual planting of said plants in the Oklahoma hot weather. I guess it's like a lot of things in life... The thinking of doing it is more fun than the actual work of doing it. But love conquers all things and I'm hoping that includes my greenless thumb condition.

The Quiet One

3 years and 2 days after the birth of my first child, we eagerly awaited the birth of our second child. This time around I wasn't leaving anything to happenstance, so I asked the doctor to induce labor on my due date. Things were so different when I was expecting my second child. I had to make arrangements for my Mom to be here to help with my daughter, and I felt like everything had to fit into everyone else's schedule... So being induced seem the most logical thing (Ha!). While the nurse got me settled in, my husband goes down to the gift shop to get some magazines and maybe something to eat. When he comes back, the drip is going, I'm hooked up to all of the monitors and everything looks like a go for the launch sequence to begin. Since the birth of my daughter went so smoothly and quick, I'm expecting the same will be true for this birth as well..... After all, I'm a pro now. My husband was way more relaxed this time around as well. In fact he may have been just a tad bit cocky about the whole thing since he survived the last birth with no physical injuries. He sat over in the chair next to my bed flipping through his magazines when the contractions began. When a contraction would come along, he'd watch the monitor, then casually go back to his reading. It didn't take long before the contractions started to hurt. It all started coming back to me about this point..... Somehow over the last three years I had forgotten that labor feels like someone has a vice grip around your middle and they are trying to squeeze you till your head pops off. I'm starting to get, well.. to get a little pissed off at this point. Hubby's over there reading his magazine like a king on his throne while I'm having the ever loving guts squeezed out of me!!! He is being way to calm about this and I'm just about ready to tell him just where he can put those friggin magazines when the nurse runs (and I do mean run)into my room. Her eyes are wide as she grabs the oxygen mask and slaps it on my face and tells me to breath deep. She throws the head of the bed all the way down and jacks the foot of the bed all the way up and runs out of the room only to run back into the room bringing more people with her. She seems a little frantic which is kind of freaking me out and she tells my husband the baby is in distress and they are going to do an emergency c-section. The anesthesiologist comes and with great urgency grills my husband about how many ice chips I had so far... hmmm, guess someone should have been paying closer attention. In what seems like a matter of seconds we went from calm and collected to praying desperately for our baby's life. Before I knew it I was in the surgery room as the lights began to fade and all I could think about was if my baby would make it....   I just have one question.... Why the heck do nurses scream at you when you are waking up from surgery. There you are in this nice dark place feeling so cozy and carefree and they walk over to your bed and is it my imagination, or do they say in the loudest possible voice.... MRS. PATTERSON!!!!! YOU NEED TO WAKE UP!!!!! YOU HAVE A BEAUTIFUL BABY BOY!!!! MRS. PATTERSON, MRS. PATTERSON!!! (When I get out of this fog I'm going to give that nurse a wake-up call!) Then I hear the sweet voice of my husband whisper... Jac, we have a boy. Wake up Jac, we have a boy. My eyes didn't seem to want to cooperate with me, neither did my voice, but I just had to know.... I had to know now..... "Is the baby ok? Is he going to be ok?" I vaguely remember being able to see my husband through hazy eyes as he held my son over for me to see for myself that he was Perfect.Perfect little fingers, perfect little toes and a perfect button nose. The next day I'm laying in the hospital bed watching my perfect little boy sleep soundly in the bassinet next to my bed. My husband comes in and asked "How is he doing?" I look up at him with a dreamy unknowing in my eyes and say something that he has never let me forget.... "He's going to be our quiet one."