The Birth of a Sailor

One of the birthday traditions with my kids is for me to re-tell them their birth story on their birthday. To be honest, my first born is the only one who really appreciates this tradition and that is probably because she is a sentimental sap like her Mom. With your first child everything is a big deal. I started wearing maternity clothes the week I found out I was pregnant.... Well maybe not literally but I sure wanted to. The pregnancy went off without a hitch. We did the childbirth class thing, read books, did all the things new parents do to assure their child will not grow up to be twisted maniacs, like their parents. The morning of my due date I was so disappointed that I did not have  one sign the books say you will notice when the birth is near. Not a pain, not a twinge, none of the gross stuff that goes on down under.... Zip. My husband came home for lunch and I was fit to be tied. They said my due date was on the 15th of June and by gosh today was the 15th of June and time was a-wasting, according to my rules of all things must happen according to plan and schedule. Little did I know that children have their owns rules about plans and schedules. I walked my husband out the door after lunch and he held me and patted me as he assured me that it would be soon. No one likes having a hysterical pregnant woman on their hands and he was happy to be headed back to work for the afternoon. I on the other hand had wifely chores that needed to be done which included taking the laundry to my Mother-In-Law's house to use her washer as ours was out. I loaded up the laundry and headed to her house with as sad a face as you have ever seen. After my clothes finished washing, I loaded them back into the car and took them home to dry. On the way home I felt kind of.... Icky. I loaded the clothes in the dryer and laid down to rest and watch General Hospital. When General Hospital ended, I didn't feel any better so I called my Mother-In-Law to see if my ickiness could be a sign of labor, which she assured me it was. She informed me she would be right
over to take me to the hospital. I made my phone calls, had my bags ready (as per instructions from birthing class) and waited for her to arrive. Somewhere between her house and my house my quiet, meek, frail, Mother-In-Law had turned into a panic stricken drill Sergent who was large and in charge weighing in at a whole 98 pounds. I was stunned speechless as she ran in the house and grabbed everything out of my arms and ordered me into the car. What had they done to my Mother-In-Law and who was this woman impersonating her??? As we sped away in the car (like we wouldn't make it to the hospital a whole 1/2 mile from the house in time for the delivery), my husband drove up and headed in to change clothes. When we arrived at the hospital, she jumped out of the car and practically carried me into the hospital... Apparently she felt the need for urgency but I'm not quite sure why. Everybody got settled in ready for a long night, but that was not to be. My precious baby girl had the same quirky disposition for promptness as her Mother. She arrived at 8:39 p.m. on June the 15th, 1983. She entered this world jabbering like a magpie in the delivery room. When her jabbering turned to

cries, her Daddy gently bent over her, she grabbed his finger and she quieted as he began to sing the ABC song as he had done every night while I had carried her. She was spunky, she was head strong and little did we know that some day she would be a Sailor in the United States Navy. Happy Birthday Sissy!!!! We are so proud of the woman you have become.

Feather in Your Cap

I'm all about fighting growing old tooth and toenail. I have a book entitled "How Not to Look Old" by Charla Krupp which I give as birthday presents to all of my girlfriends. Even though it's warned against in the book,I've said many times, they will have to pry my stilettos and my frosted eyeshadow out of my cold dead hands. I love sparkle and bling is my thing. I do have my limits however, and I will not succumb to peer pressure to get a feather! If you are like I was, you're saying.... "Feather, what feather?" A friend of mine was sporting a new haircut the other day that was adorably cute. After commenting on her new do she turned her head and said.... "Do you like my feather?" On the side of her head she had a strand of red that streaked through her blond hair. "A feather? What the heck is that?" I asked. "It's a feather, silly. You'll have to get one next time you go get your hair done. They stay in for like 6 weeks and come in all different colors." Maybe I'm dull, maybe I'm not as edgy as some, or maybe I'm just old and grumpy,but I will not be getting a feather weaved into my hair!! The next week I went to the beauty shop to get my highlights highlighted. My stylist asked me if I wanted a feather to which quickly replied.... "NO!", she laughed at me and told me I really should get a feather. "No, no, no, feather! I'm 48 years old and I just don't think someone my age needs a feather in their hair." But according to her, "Everybody is doing it!" First of all, I've never really cared what everyone else was wearing. Second of all, I looked in my "How Not to Look Old" book and there isn't a chapter addressing the wearing of feathers in your hair after a certain age. Why would I break one rule (like frosted eye shadow) and not break them all, because even if I was 16 I don't think I would want a feather and if everybody else is doing it then that's the perfect reason for me not to have a feather in my hair. I think... And this is my own opinion, the first rule of how not to look old is to be willing to try new things while being very aware of where your style comfort zone lies. Being confident enough to set your own style trend is a feather in your cap regardless of your age.

A Moment In Time

A moment in time...

Long slipped away...

The feel of your lips...

On my lips will stay...

A moment in time...

When forever was new...

Like a night full of stars...

Every dream was of you...

A moment in time...

As sand in a glass...

Precious and few....

Too soon it did pass...

A moment in time...

Like a dirt road at night...

When the moon spread it's beauty...

Your arms held me tight...

A moment in time...

I will never forget...

Just a moment in time...

I would love to re-live...

Homesick

There are times, as a friend I feel so inadequate. This morning I was getting ready for work, making my bed, doing all the things you do in the morning before you leave for the day. My phone rang and I knew instantly from the caller ID that this was not going to be good news. A good friend of mine had called a few weeks ago to tell me her Father-in-law had been diagnosed with Lymphoma. This morning she called to let me know he has lost the battle. My heart just sunk to my knees. She has lost so many immediate family members in the last few years... It's hard to understand. I'm a fixer and would do anything in the world, absolutely anything to make things easier for her and her family. But sometimes, regardless of how much you love someone, all you can do is love them. On my way to work I was thinking... "What can I do? What should I do?" In my heart I know all I can do is love her and pray for the family. The fixer side of me will make a big batch of macaroni and cheese tonight to take over to them. I can only hope that in every once of cheese, butter and cream, the depth of my love can be felt. I know with each passing day she has more and more reason to feel homesick like never before.

Consistent With Just a Tad of Flash

Saturday I had the pleasure of participating in the annual golf scramble for the company I work for. I was on a different team this year and there wasn't quite the same level of unhealthy competition as I enjoyed last year. LOL! Our team did come in 3rd, which may not give me bragging rights (and all the production office says AMEN), but it's still pretty good for someone who is way more worried about her outfit than her swing. Shallow, I know! One of my teammates was a retiree who turned 90 in May. I wondered if he felt remotely as sore as I did this morning and that is just sad! He's a little bitty guy about the size of a toothpick. He gets around pretty good for a 90 year old.... Slow but sure. When he would tee off, he looked barely able to swing the club. He didn't swing hard and fast, he did it slow,deliberate and straight as an arrow every time.  I don't think we had to hunt his ball down one time (or retrieve it "out of the shade" as I call it)! He nabbed us 3 birdies (why do they call it that?).He didn't have any flashy moves, no elaborate stance, just sharp, steady, consistent playing. When I got home, I thought to myself... "That's a good way to approach life"... Sharp, steady and consistent(but I need to add a little flash once in a while just to keep it interesting).

Tangible

It was faint, it was fragile, it was crystal clear, seldom from my mind. Locked beneath a treasure chest, a capsule of captured time. Intangibly it sat upon, yet hidden in clear sight. Surrounded by  my tight gripped hand, protected with all my might. A symbol of the tides of life, washed upon the shore. Guarded so the memory dear was precious but nothing more. I took from that which never was a tangible delight, and displayed the thing which meant the most from a love I could never hide.

Hair's the Deal of Self Expression

I grew up the baby of the family which is a pretty sweet deal. Of course I was the baby out of two kids, so I'm sure that makes a difference. I didn't have to struggle to find my place in the family dynamics because all I had to do was be polar opposite of my brother and title myself as unique. I will totally agree that the oldest child has the suckiest position, even in my little nest of three (sorry child with the middle child syndrome). Everything with your first child is a HONKIN' big deal... The first steps, the first tooth, the first everything is just huge. As far as discipline goes, I wanted my first to be perfect. I didn't want a child no one else wanted to be around so I was way more strict with her than the other two. Plus the first child has to break the parents in.... Kids don't come with instructions so it's trial by error and the first child gets stuck with most of the bad parenting decisions (this according to the parenting book of Jackie). By the second child you are pretty much just trying to keep your head above the water and keep them from killing one another, not much time for a big honkin' deal about anything. With the third child there's a little bit of the, "been there, done that" feeling added to the exhaustion of parenting period till it's a hope and prayer they make it through childhood alive. My two oldest kids, who are now both adults, freely admit the baby got all the breaks. They paved the way for him, wore me completely out, and he got the a shell of the parent I once was.... Sweet deal. He's probably had a little more trouble distinguishing who he is against two, not one, polar opposite personalities. His biggest distinguishing mark is he is super, super, quiet!!! I'm not sure he really embraces that as his unique trait. So he's doing what a lot of kids do and is using his hair to make a statement. His older brother tried this trick, but when he let his hair grow out it grew into beautiful shiny ebony ringlets. Everybody loved his hair, me included, which totally stole his thunder and took the joy out of the whole deal. So the baby has let his hair get long. It's been dark, it's been light and just recently I dyed it black. The black actually looks pretty good. It's really shiny, he got a cool cut, yet it's still funky long. If I had my rathers, it would probably be cropped short and left his natural color. In looking at the great scheme of things (and really being too tired to argue), his hair is nothing less, nothing more than a means of self-expression.... A way of distinguishing himself from the rest of the pack. I know deep down inside he secretly hopes it drives me bonkers, but sadly I went there years ago.