Our Morning Routine

Most mornings when we head out for work, we will stop at the local convenience store so Paul can get a cup of coffee with the flavored stuff in it. I usually just wait in the car, practicing my texting skills .. which are kinda lame. But one day I decided to have a fresh cup of joe myself, so I followed Paul into the store. I got my coffee and started toward the front, where Paul was next in line for the cashier. All of a sudden I hear the girl behind the counter squeal with glee – ‘My favorite customer!’ she gushed, bouncing up and down and clapping her hands … because My Husband Paul had stepped up to the counter! I looked at him, he glanced at me and turned pink. The lady kept laughing and talking, then started dancing because she is ‘so happy to SEE’ My Husband Paul..
I walked up beside him as he was taking cash out of his wallet. ‘Your money is no good here!’ she said, with her lips all pouty. I placed my coffee next to his … she rang mine up. I looked at him – his face was a deep red, and he was sputtering like an outboard motor. ‘Aackkg!’ he managed to gasp as she made change for his five. He held out his punch card, which she snatched playfully from his trembling hand. ‘It’s free punch Tuesday!’ she beamed, and then punched his card 7 or 8 times and she winked and smiled. If I had been Supergirl, there would have been 2 laser beam, smoking holes in Paul’s temple from my stare. His face was beyond purple as he crammed the punch card in his wallet and fled the store. I calmly followed him out, while the girl leaned over the counter, waving goodbye at My Husband Paul.
To be fair, he is the kind of guy who does not realize what a catch he is, so while we continued the drive to work, I explained, gently and clearly, why I would hope to NEVER have to witness a cashier flirting so openly with My Husband Paul again. He immediately assured me that I would not be put in such a position in the future.
.. now he gets his coffee AFTER he drops me off..

things you can do just for laughs

1.Every time someone asks you to do something, say ‘You want fries with that?’
2.Finish all your sentences with ‘in accordance with the Prophecy.’
3.Order a diet water when you dine out.
4.Have your co-workers address you by your wrestling name ‘Rock Bottom’.
5.Tell the drive through lady that your order is ‘to go’.
6.Tell your kids over dinner, ‘Due to the economy, we are going to have to let one of you go.’
7.When your cash comes out of the ATM yell, ‘I won! I won!’

Things Paul does that make me smile

• He sings love songs to me everyday
• When we drive by the waste treatment plant he always sniffs and yells ‘Alex!’
• He blushes when store clerks flirt with him
• When he takes a wrong turn he acts like he is just trying out a new route
• He still dances like he did in the 60’s
• He wrestles on the floor with the toddlers and lets them win
• He wrestles with the teenage boys and they don’t win
• He tells corny jokes and uses funny voices
• He runs to the bathroom when he needs to break wind – sometimes
• He gets excited trying to guess the value of stuff on Antiques Roadshow
• He loves ‘chick flicks’
• He likes to hold babies, and they always fall asleep on his shoulder
• He will wake me up early to sneak out for breakfast at the all night diner
• He is the worst liar ever, so he doesn’t even try to do it
• He is the best Grandfather any child could ever hope to have
• He thanks God for us all every night in his prayers
• And he thinks he is the luckiest man alive because he is married to me!

the Baby

Day care called.. again. About Kyeli .. again. The Little Darling already has a rap sheet a mile long! She is smart and funny and cute as a button, but she is into EVERYTHING! Last night we went to big brother Zac's first ever football game. The team colors are black and orange, so we looked like a pumpkin patch. We had even found little pom poms for her to use to cheer her brother on! I packed food, blankets, snacks, toys, scotch - everything I could think of to get us through the game. We weren't there 15 minutes until the snacks were gone, the water was poured out all over the bleachers, and Kyeli had gone head over heals twice in the stands! So much for cheering big brother on - we were just trying to keep Kyeli from breaking windshields in the parking lot with the BLEEPING high pitched scream she uses when she doesn't get what she wants. She could not have cared less about what was going on, on the field: she wanted to steal food from the people behing us and then she came up with a big wad of rock hard, already-been-chewed gum from under something... cripes!! OMG, she was a pill! Finally her Papa arrived, who was running a little late. 'Thank God!' I gasped as I was pulling her away from the railing that she was licking. Paul took one look at the scene: wet, sticky, food bits everywhere, wet blankets, water bottles strewn, toddler with orange pony tail screeching like a banshee while 4 adults try to wrestle her to the ground to get that gum away - and he just kept on walking. Later he said he didn't see us. How could he not notice me holding onto his leg while he climbed 14 sections up??
Good thing I brought the scotch!

'She's just a baby!'

Kyeli will be 2 in November. She is due to start at daycare next week for a couple of hours each day. Her mother, my daughter Elanea, is inconsolable at the thought of the little baby Sweet Sweet being handed over to strangers and suffering who know what kinds of neglect. Big brother Drake, who is 3, already goes there and survived the first few days of crying for Mom without permanent damage. But the Baby! Alone without Mom or Dad, Nana or Papa! Especially her Papa! You would think we were going to let the tribal leaders throw her in the volcano! ‘It’s just daycare, for crying out loud!’ I am the only un-emotional one in the crowd. ‘But she’s so tiny!!’ they all wail.
Yeah. She is little, but so are badgers … The thought of her being harmed in any way is unconscionable, but we are talking about the best daycare facility in town, where they know the Head of the House is a Parole Officer and the doting uncle is the Sergeant at the big County Jail; the kids are safe. Besides, are they forgetting about how things go at our house every night?? Kyeli beats the crap out of her big brothers, stomps, throws stuff, screams her lungs out, throws tantrums, runs away when you call her, tells people to shut up and tries to lie her way out of situations! She is the Prime Suspect in the missing cigarettes, the missing remote and the missing hair off the cat! She steals food and will rifle through my purse every chance she gets. Honestly, I don’t think we have to worry about Kyeli when she is at daycare with ‘them’..
I think we need to worry about them being locked in the building with HER!

Who's been sleeping in my bed??

This is the most bizarre event that has ever happened to our family, and the story you are about to read is real!
Night before last, Paul and I are sawing logs at 3 AM when I awoke. I could see the shadowy outline of my grandson, Little Zac, reaching for my cell phone on the dresser (probably so he can text his girlfriend, I am thinking.). I rose up on one elbow and said ‘What the BEEP are you doing? Go back to bed!’ and lay back down. After a few minutes I heard him in the kitchen, grabbing a midnight snack and then nothing but the usual household-of-8-people noises. Just before 6, Paul got up and there was Little Zac, asleep in the living room. Paul told him to go upstairs to his room. I was still asleep at that point, but within one minute the entire house erupted!! Screaming, running, yelling, cursing – my daughter Elanea kicked in the bedroom door like Rambo and tossed the toddlers on the bed, Little Zac sprang in the bedroom dialing 911, 11 yr old Aalyiha climbed up around my neck screaming and crying and then Medium Zac, my 17 yr old stepson jumped in, grabbed the shotgun and started loading shells as he ran upstairs! I hear Elanea’s husband Kye yelling ‘He’s got a gun!’ as I ran barefoot to the van with 3 kids in my arms.
When the dust settled, here is what happened: some time in the wee hours, a burglar decided to rob us. He managed to gain entry through the back patio door and began to gather loot ever so quietly. Since there is ALWAYS someone awake at our house, the sound of a person walking around, opening doors and such did not wake anyone up. It was the robber that was in my room, scoping it out and he was the one that got a midnight snack!! He had found the smokes and had a couple, raided the freezer and had a bag-o-meat ready to go. He was strung out on something, because he gathered our valuables and put them in piles (some in bags and such) but then he decided to take a break from robbing us and went upstairs on Little Zac’s bed and WENT TO SLEEP!! When Paul woke Little Zac up it looked like we had been robbed, and Paul, Little Zac & Kye were starting to investigate when the crook was discovered in Little Zac’s bed – WITH NEMO THE GUARD DOG ASLEEP ACROSS HIS LEGS! That dog is so BLEEPING fired! They tackled him and he had a pistol of some sort, which my Hero-Husband took away from him, then they held him there at shotgun point until the police arrived – which was in , like, 2 minutes! And evidently he fell against the dresser as they were disarming him … several times … because when the police arrived, he was begging to be arrested. LOL!! THEN he was carted off to the big County Lockdown, where my oldest son, Andrew, is the Sergeant! I almost feel sorry for the guy… He had smoked our smokes, eaten our food and slept in our bed.
Goldilocks on crack!

My Boy

We have had strep throat at our house! Terrible disease and we all caught it, with me being the last one. I had to go as a walk in to my doctor, which took forever, but I got the meds, picked up some asprin and headed home for the day. My grandson Drake is 3 and Paul and I live with him and his family. When he arrived home from daycare he was very surprised to see Nana under a blanket in her favorite chair. He and I have our own little routine. Every day, when Paul and I get home, he is already there and waiting for us. He will then tell his Papa whether or not he was good at daycare. If he was good, he gets a little piece of chocolate. If he ‘didn’t listen’, then he has to forgo the treat. After he has collected his bounty, I always say ‘Hey, I need my boy!’ and he climbs in my lap and we talk about his day. So, the fact that Nana was already home was a little confusing. His Dad said ‘Nana is sick, so she came home early today.’ Drake walked over next to my chair and gently started patting my arm.
‘Nana?’ He said. ‘Do you need your boy?’

Kyeli's will

That little brat Kyeli! That child is so strong willed! She absolutely flabbergasts me to no end! Yesterday she had a small carton of milk, the little individual sized one. She drank almost all of it, and then toddled over to show her Papa that it was ‘Gone gone’ by turning it upside down .. on the carpet. ‘It’s all gone gone now..’ Paul said dryly. ‘Kyeli’ I said, ‘go throw that in the garbage.’
‘wha?’ she said, still holding it upside down and letting every last drop hit the floor.
‘Go put that in the garbage.’ I said in a stern voice. She just smiled and stood there. ‘Kyeli! Throw that in the garbage right now!’ I used my Very Stern Voice this time. She kept smiling and started walking toward the kitchen at a pace that a snail would have called slow. ‘Don’t you make me get up!’ I put my hands on the arm of the chair as if I was about to jump to my feet. She was in the kitchen doorway, grinning, holding the carton toward the trash. ‘KYELI!’ I thundered and stood up. She disappeared around the corner. I walked in the kitchen. There she stood, next to the garbage can, holding the carton over it and grinning from ear to ear, just waiting to see if I would actually walk in there and enforce my will! I think I surprised her, because she said ‘Oh-uh!’ dropped it like a hot potato and ran to her Papa. What a brat!! Of course she cannot be disciplined, because she makes it to the Sanctuary of her Papa. At least, that is the rule that has been in place, but I came in the other day and there she was, in Papa’s lap, both of them with popsicles – but they were both very upset! Kyeli found a sewing needle on the floor, and Papa yelled for her to hold still, which scared her and made her cry, which made HIM cry! So they were both holding onto each other, sniffing and eating popsicles, looking forlorn. Paul is so tenderhearted towards those grandbabies! He is a bear of a man, a Parole Officer for Washington State and an ex-cop AND ex-military – but put a little one on his lap and he melts into a puddle of bubbly ooze.
Which melts ME into a puddle of bubbly ooze, so it works out great!

Hi Ho, Hi Ho its off to work I go

We have a nice big yard radiating out from our front porch. Nice and green, very inviting for the family to play, dip in the pool, BBQ, and the like. We have about 20 feet of sidewalk running from the bottom step to the gate at the edge of the property. Each morning Paul and I get our coffee, sunglasses and briefcases and go down the 3 steps, over the sidewalk and through the gate. This morning Paul had the day off, so I was flying solo. I grabbed my gear, kissed him goodbye and started out the door. On the porch I had to step over Nemo, the golden Lab: on the steps were 2 towels, from the last dip in the pool yesterday evening. I looked at the sidewalk: there was a bike with only one training wheel, 2 skateboards, a huge Tonka dump truck, a floatie, a pair of socks and an extension cord – all on the sidewalk! Not in the grass, not by the fence, but lined up on the sidewalk, like an obstacle course laid out just for Nana. The grass is pristine but wet. My hands are full. So I have to use my best Geriatric Matrix moves to make it to the gate. The neighbors can only see me from the waist up, so it looks like I am doing Tia Chi on the way to the Lincoln.. and of course Rascal the cat was escorting me off the property like a bouncer with an unruly patron, weaving in and out of my legs like a snake! BLEEPING cat! When I finally made it to the office, my peeps greet me with ‘What’s up?’
My blood pressure.

defense mechanisms

My son-in-law, Kye came home the other day with a brand new tent. The thing is HUGE, with a main area and then 2 side rooms – big enough for the entire clan! Of course, we had to set it up in the front yard, just to make sure everything was there, and no holes or anything. The grandkids were all over it, the cat was inspecting it, Nemo sniffed it – it passed every test! Our grandsons Zac and Michael decided that they were going to sleep in the tent that night and break it in. Paul and I just shook our heads; no way were they going to last all night! There were 2 main reasons we pooh-poohed the idea: number 1, our grandkids are wieners, afraid of the dark and all things therein, and number 2, they are city slickers! Roughing it at our house means having to use dial up internet access. Sure enough, as the sun began to set, the kids started taking out their ‘supplies’ to the tent. Two extension cords, a fan, a lamp, mattresses, video games… and that is not counting the wardrobe changes and food. And the darker it got, the more apprehensive they became. Zac found a big stick, and tucked it inside the main flap, within easy reach in case of attack. They tried to get Nemo to sleep in the tent, but he is a city slicker dog, and only sleeps on his Simmons Posturpedic and so declined the offer. Finally the time came for Nana and Papa to turn in, and so the kids walked the 10 steps from the front porch to the tent and zipped in. Then we turned off the lights and called it a night. A couple of hours later, Paul got up for a bathroom run. When he returned to bed he said ‘Lewis & Clark are asleep in the living room.’ We both laughed about it and then Paul began to tell me about his first experience sleeping out and how scared HE was of all the noises and shadows. I commented on how it would have been funny to jump inside the tent and scare the kids. Paul said that he had a defense mechanism that always kicked in when he was a kid – immediately upon being frightened out of his wits, the vicinity would be flooded with .. well, he called it ‘liquid feces’. In other words, he would lay down a layer of *&^% which would cause the assailant to either run away or slip and fall down. Either way, he could escape. I thought that sphincters tightened in moments of panic, but evidently Paul is a throwback to our amphibian ancestors, such as the Squid, which also squirt out a defensive cloud when they sense danger. Just the other day, I surprised him in the bedroom and he jumped out of his skin, spun around and cut the cheese, all in a nano-second! Note to self: jumping out to scare husband may be hazardous to my health.

Pets in da Hood

As I have stated before, our family has 2 pets; Nemo, the big blonde lab and Rascal, the tiny fuzzy tom cat. The 2 get along famously, playing and napping together all day, the picture of domestic bliss. Unfortunately we live in ‘da hood’, and so our bucolic life is often disrupted by squealing tires, shouts of anger and occasionally gunfire. The Lord is gracious, so our family is safe; it’s the surrounding area that is fraught with dangers. Even our pets have acclimatized to the tense atmosphere and react accordingly: when a fight breaks out, or someone starts shooting, big Nemo will whine and claw desperately at the door, trying to get inside and underneath something. There he will stay, trembling, until the danger has passed. Then he will cautiously emerge and slip back out on the porch, nervously scanning the horizon for any new sign of danger.
On the other hand, when Rascal hears of a scrap in the neighborhood, he will demand to be let out. Then he will saunter to the fence, jump up on the rail and start throwing gang signs! More than once I have had to drag him back inside while he spits, curses and shouts taunts over my shoulder about their mothers – yikes! He was trying to tie a bandana on his head, but with no thumbs .. well, it was difficult. The neighbors have complained of spray painted paw prints on fences and garage doors, but just because the empty paint cans are in our dumpster doesn’t mean it is our cat that’s the culprit! When we adopted him, they failed to mention his felonious past. I guess we should have picked up on it when they were taking the home detention bracelet off prior to handing him over to our ‘custody’. Any hoo, innocent until proven guilty, so Rascal is free on his own recognizance and the paint is locked in the garage, and if anyone tries to assault Nemo, he just says
‘Say hello to my little friend!’

Shopping with Papa Gene

Papa was taking us shopping! It was August and the astronomical temperatures were making even the smallest tasks unbearable – but we had to go to the store. So, Papa Gene had volunteered to take the little ones & I in his new, air-conditioned van! Now, Papa Gene and I were divorced quite some time ago. We had stayed together for many years because of the kids (neither one of us wanted full custody). At first we went at it toe-to-toe. But, after a few years of legal maneuvers & restraining orders, we decided to call a truce. So I jumped at the offer of a ride in his ice cold van!
We were going to the Canned Food Store, & the plan was simple: Papa would slowly push the cart with the kiddos in it down the aisles while I darted around the store, grabbing the items that we needed. “In and out in no time!” Papa beamed. “And, if you’re good, we’ll stop for ice cream on the way home!” Immediately all 3 grandkids swore eternal obedience & sat as still as statues on the ride there. We parked close to the door and darted quickly inside before the blast of heat could affect us. And that’s when the trouble began …
At the Canned Food Store, they have special shopping carts which are designed to keep the little ones amused while the adults are relieved of their Hard Earned Cash. The carts are attached to molded plastic miniature cars, complete with tires & steering wheels. And there was one right inside the front door. The kids pounced on it gleefully, all 3 of them trying to wedge themselves in the tiny car. Aalyiha & Michael could fit inside, but there wasn’t room for 3, and since Zac was the oldest and biggest, I told him he would need to just walk beside the cart. He didn’t like it, but he realized that it would be a tight fit. So I left him and his Papa beside the cart and started to collect what we needed.
As I rounded the corner on my first trip back to the cart, I realized that Papa Gene had lost control of the situation. The little ones inside the cab were fighting like 2 cats in a sack over who would get to ‘steer’ the car. Zac, not wanting to be the only kid having to use his feet, had jumped on the car, straddling the cab with his legs & was bucking back & forth like a Bronc rider, spurring the side windows with his Nike’s and flinging one arm high in the air. He nearly lasted the whole 8 seconds, but I snatched him off by the scruff of his neck. I turned to the occupants of the car, but they had fallen silent, because the Steering Wheel had Come Off in Aalyiha’s Hand!! She climbed out of the car, held up the steering wheel, put her other had on her small hip & flatly stated “We need to tell the Manager.” Immediately Zac spun on his heel, marched to the end of the aisle & bellowed “WE NEED A MANAGER!”
Well, we got the manager, alright, PLUS the Head of Security, A.K.A. the produce guy. As I tried to explain what the ‘emergency’ was, Papa Gene was by the display of Large Print Red Letter Bibles swearing he’d never seen us before in his life. The Manager let us off with a warning, so I gave the kids The Look, stuffed the 2 little ones back in the car & started down the next aisle. Papa Gene slowly pushed the cart behind me, carefully navigating the curve. But just as he turned right, Michael shot his arm out of the cab & caught the corner of the bottom box in a display of breakfast cereal. When I heard the crash, my first impulse was to simply go wait in the van, but it was too hot so I followed the noise to the scene of the crime. Zac was laughing & shouting “Clean up on aisle 3!” while Aalyiha made Toasty-O angels on the floor. When I asked Michael what in the world he was thinking, he replied that since the cart was turning the corner, he had simply put his arm out to signal the turn. I could see Produce Boy heading our way, so I grabbed the cart with what little supplies were in it & got into the check-out line.
Aalyiha tugged on my sleeve, the universal sign for ‘I want to whisper something in your ear’. I bent down. “What are those things sticking out of Papa’s neck?” I patted her on the head
“Those are veins, sweetie.” She tugged again “They weren’t there a while ago.” She said.
“Don’t worry, Papa has medicine that he can take for that.” I tried to be reassuring, but she insisted: “Where is his medicine? Why doesn’t he take some right now?”
“He’ll take it when he gets home – besides, he prefers it on the rocks.”

Cat Hoarders ?

My parents, Randy & Daisy, are still alive and kicking. They live on about 40 acres in the heart of south central Kentucky – so beautiful! My Dad made the lawn look like a park, leaving trees and flowering plants but nurturing the grassy knolls in and around everything. There is a HUGE old barn, and a log cabin, which my parents restored and now live in. Talk about picturesque! And you should see it in the Fall! They are retired and almost self sufficient. We were ‘green’ before anyone else was. The last time I was back for a visit I went in October, when the humidity and the bugs were both at minimal numbers. There is something comforting about falling asleep in your mama’s house, and the sleep on that first night there is always fantastic! I woke up the next morning and my Dad had made coffee, so we sat at the table and visited while my Mom made breakfast; I felt like I was 12 again! While I was sitting there, looking out the big window by the table, I saw a couple of cats stroll out of the barn and up on the porch. My family has always been cat lovers, so no surprise there. But when I looked out the window a few moments later, there were 5 cats on the porch and 2 more in the yard. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I watched more and more cats appear, all headed for the front porch. And all the while my Dad was talking and laughing, seemingly oblivious to ‘The Cats’ that were silently stalking the house! Suddenly one of the cats jumped up on the window sill, then another, then another until 4 cats were perched there, staring intently inside, not blinking or moving. ‘Dad!’ I said ‘Get the gun – a herd of cats has surrounded the house!’ I kept thinking of that old movie about the birds – yikes! Dad turned around and looked outside. ‘Uh-oh, Mama, we better feed them babies!’ he said and opened the front door. Immediately a fuzzy wave of felines oozed inside, and my Dad grabbed a bag of cat food and started shoo-ing them back out with his feet while they rubbed against his legs, walked between his legs, climbed his legs, sharpened their claws on his legs.. I gotta tell you, I was a little freaked out. My Mom began to call them by their names, and tell me their medical history. Evidently they are free range cats, but have all signed up on the Lytle Health Plan so they are all fixed, cleaned, de-wormed, flea bathed, and whatever else the local vet can think of for my soft hearted parents to do for their little fuzzy friends. My Mom says more and more show up each year ‘It’s like they know they’ll be safe here.’ More like the locals ‘know’ where they can dump cats now that my parents have opened a Sanctuary. Any hoo, they weren’t keen on strangers, so I was unmolested during my visit – creeped out, but unmolested nonetheless. A cat here and there is fine – but when there are so many of them that they develop a collective consciousness, that’s when I make travel plans!

Mr. Jiggles

Our grandson, Zac is 14 now and turning into a fine young man. Well, he is beginning to turn into .. Ah, well, he is trying.. Never mind, he is a dork to the 99th power and proud of it. Every day he does something new that makes me reach for the Tylenol bottle. In the last 2 weeks, he has done the Erkle Dance on the front porch for the neighbors, complete with pants pulled up under his armpits and a WWII flying ace hat on his round head. Then he discovered ‘Mr. Jiggles’, where he takes his shirt off and shakes his white, rotund midsection as fast as he can, which produces waves of blab like throwing stones in a pond… which he also did on the front porch for the neighbors.. The latest installment of dork-dom was the Mohawk Haircut.. Just 3 weeks before school starts back, and his first time ever in High School. The neighbors gave it 8.5 out of 10, but I am thinking GUARANTEED wedgie, swirlie, beat down in the locker room (sigh). He is one of a kind, though, keeps us in stitches and his friends think he is the greatest! His Papa says ‘He’s a natural entertainer! One day he’ll be big in Hollywood!’ His Mom says ‘Pass the Tylenol.’ My life would be so dull if my Red Headed was just one of the crowd!
Besides,what would the neighbors do for entertainment on Friday evenings?

Why I love taking Paul with me to Wal-Mart

He likes to prance through the store singing ‘I’m FAB-u-lous!’
He always wants to buy candy ‘for the grandkids’ …
He holds up women’s clothing and says ‘does this make my butt look big?’
He likes to ride on the cart when I am not looking.
He likes to put cookies in the cart when I am not looking.
He likes to put power tools in the cart when I am not looking.
He waits until we are in a crowded aisle and then yells ‘Alex! Stop grabbing my butt!’
He wants to see if the Pharmacist has any free samples.
If they are playing music in the electronics section, he will start dancing like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.
He waits until we are all checked out and then says ‘I thought YOU were paying!’
Everywhere we go, he makes people forget about their problems for a few minutes and just laugh. It is so much fun to go shopping with him - he is my best friend!!

Kyeli's Routine

Wake up: 7:30 AM
Cereal and milk with big brother Drake: 7:45
Cereal and milk on the table, chair and floor: 7:47
Cleaning up Kyeli: 7:50 – 8
Combing Kyeli’s hair: around 8 AM
Catching Kyeli in order to comb her hair: about 10 minutes
Finally letting Kyeli just do it herself: about 20 seconds
Keeping Kyeli off the cat, out of the garbage & toilet: rest of the morning
Nap Time! Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em!
Change Kyeli’s diaper: 1PM
Kyeli running through the house naked: 1:01
Kyeli shooting out the door on the front porch naked: 1:03
Cornering Kyeli on the porch with new diaper: 1:05
Kyeli peeing on the porch before you can get the diaper on: 1:05 and 30 seconds
Feeding Kyeli: 1:15
Kyeli’s food on the floor: 1:17
Dog & cat eating Kyeli’s lunch: 1:20
Kyeli eating off your plate with her grubby little hands: 1:25
Keeping Kyeli off the computer, the remotes, Moms makeup and the litter box: rest of the afternoon
Papa’s home! 5:15
Handing over Kyeli: 5:16
Peace and quiet until time for Night Night: about 2 hours
And the next day you start all over again!

my life as a pig farmer

Our family is famous for good ideas gone awry. We will have a plan, a good one, but there is always some detail that we have overlooked which brings everything to a screeching halt. For instance, there was the time we became pig farmers…
My former husband Gene (may he rest in peace) came in one evening from a trip to Idaho with his ‘partners’. Don’t ask me what they were partners in, but it was 50/50 all the way! He burst through the door and announced to the family that he had a sure fire money maker which would make the family fortune solvent again. He led us outside to the back of the pickup and there, in a cage full of straw were 2 small pigs. ‘We can fatten them up, then sell one and put the other one in the freezer!’ Gene explained as he lifted the cage gently onto the porch. The kids were aghast until I started naming pork products: bacon, ham, sausage, chops… soon we were all in agreement about the fate of the little pork-ettes. So, we made a makeshift sty and I started reading on how to fatten pigs. After about 6 weeks, we noticed that they were only slightly larger, and not exactly fattening up. I called a friend of mine over to see what I was doing wrong. She took one look and started laughing. ‘Those are not regular pigs, they are pot-bellied pigs, they’re not the eating kind!’. Just our luck! So we tried to sell them, but this was right after the ‘pig as a pet’ fad had passed and we couldn’t even give them away! All the while, I had to feed them and clean up after them – and they may have been miniature, but the BLEEPING smell was massive! This went on for about 2 months. Then one day, we pulled in the driveway from church, and there stood the pigs on the porch. They had broken out of their enclosure and were munching on my flower box contents. The kids piled out of the car amid shouts of ‘We’ll catch ‘em!’ and rushed the porch. But this is what happened; ever see birds in flight, how they all turn at once and go in a new direction? That is what those pigs did – at the speed of light! They were running so fast their little hooves were just a blur! And they were screaming their lungs out!! High pitched, shrill – sounded like I was murdering an entire pre-school class! They were weaving and bobbing, around and around the house, the kids right behind them laughing and yelling. One of the boys yelled for me to get the hammock and use it as a net. I grabbed it from the tree and stood at the corner of the house. Here came the 2 little race horses, and I dropped the net, but they were so fast I could NOT let go of the net quick enough to catch them! This went on for about 15 minutes, then they did an extra turn around the property to gain momentum and shot out the driveway and down the street… screaming like banshees, with all my kids in hot pursuit. The neighbors who had all come out to be eyewitnesses to whatever I was doing to my victims now joined in the pursuit, and after about half an hour they were rounded up and returned to my loving care. We couldn’t eat them and couldn’t find a buyer for them, so I was at my wits end! Two weeks later, we returned from church - again - and found the pig pen was empty. It was still intact, but someone had purloined our pigs! My son Andrew sized up the situation and said ‘Someone has stolen our pigs – Mom, you need to call the police!’ I thought a minute and then said ‘I will, son, I will… in a week or so.’ The next morning I placed the large bag of Pig Feed out by the curb with a note on it that read ‘You Forgot This’. It was gone when I returned home from work. From then on we had a new family motto: never invest in anything that eats.

Kyeli Strikes Again

Kyeli loves to swim and does it almost every day. Most 20 month old toddlers are fearless, and so is she. She tries to climb the little ladder like big brother Drake to do cannon balls, but she mostly just paddles around, splashing everyone and then tries to use the net to get the grass out that she carried in the pool on her feet. She will spend an entire afternoon getting in the pool, then getting out of the pool to grab the net and use it, then getting back in the pool – with more grass on her feet. It is hilarious to watch. And she already knows the sound of the ice cream truck, and will run grab her Papa by the hand to get some ‘keem’. Since she is still in diapers, the first thing her Mom does when she brings her out is strip her down and then turn her loose. Of course, we have had a few ‘accidents’, much to the horror of the older kids, but nothing’s been left floating in the pool or anything like that. Yesterday we were in the yard while she and Drake were swimming. Drake was acting like a dolphin, jumping in and out of the water, and Kyeli was circling the pool, buck naked and brown as a biscuit, trying to get the grass out with the net. After a few minutes she walked over onto the sidewalk, picked up one of the pool toys – and casually proceeded to pee on her feet, legs and the concrete. Her Mom ran over and grabbed the hose we were topping off the pool with and hosed her down from head to toe. Kyeli was left standing on the sidewalk in a puddle of water. As her Mom started back up the step to the porch, Kyeli knelt down - and started licking water from the puddle!! The neighbors had to come outside to see what all the screaming was about, as me, Mom, Dad, Papa and older brothers all chimed in, trying to stop little Sweet Sweet from Licking the Pee Water!! Aagghhrr!! How can such an angel be so nasty?? She just looked at us all like ‘wha..?’ as she wiped her chin and toddled back to the pool and jumped in.
Just thinking about her makes me smile and gag at the same time.

The (other) Cat in the Pool

Summertime at last! This time of year is so much fun, with cookouts and fishing trips and just setting on the front porch in the evenings, watching the grandkids play in the pool. Our family LOVES having a pool and every year we get it set up and ready for fun at the first sunny day that comes. When my kids were little, we had a HUGMONGOUS above ground pool, 18 ft across and 4 ft deep, which we practically lived in during the hot spells. They are a hassle to upkeep, though, because water does not just stay clean and clear on its own. As a matter of fact, the big fight every year was getting the pool ready to go in the spring – no one wanted to help me un-winterize it or clean it or fill it, so every year it was my job. Straightening the vinyl liner and scrubbing it would take 2 days – what a pain! One fall I had the bright idea of just leaving some water in the pool so in the spring I could just stir in some Clorox, give it a scrub and we’d be ready to go. So I left about a foot and a half of water in it, covered it tightly and let it marinate until May. The cover was just a couple of big tarps with weights on them, which worked pretty good, but by the time spring came around they had disintegrated and the pool was open for viewing. The clear blue water had turned into a brackish soup, and it had a bad smell. My kids and I were standing around it, trying to decide how ‘we’ were going to get THIS clean. My son, Noah, grabbed the rake and stuck it in the foul liquid and began to stir it around a little when suddenly something bubbled to the surface. Noah hooked it and started to reel it in, and then we saw what it was: a slimy bloated carcass of a stray cat, all grizzly and green, its twisted, foamy form rocking gently on the waves! Oh, Gawd, it was too horrifying for words to describe!! I am gagging just thinking about it!! Its eyes were still open and its lips were drawn back over its teeth like ghastly grin!! We all started screaming and gagging while Smiling Jack bobbed ever closer to the edge of the pool! So slimy and green – I can still see it! So repulsive was the object that it was the next day before we could overcome the gag reflexes and remove it from the pool. And if I had had trouble in the past getting volunteers to help me clean it, you can bet NO ONE would go NEAR it that spring! By the time I had the pool ready to go, there was so much bleach in it that birds flying overhead would hit the toxic cloud above our pool and nose dive into the back yard, totally overcome by the fumes. There was one good side effect – that year, none of the neighborhood kids even asked if they could swim !

The cat - again

We thought we were getting an inside cat when we adopted Rascal, the cute little black and white ball ‘o fur. He likes to eat inside, and sleep inside, but he would much rather be on the streets with his posse than chasing mice in our house. He slips outside every chance he gets to meet up with the neighborhood toughs, and when we try to call him in, he acts like he doesn’t know us. (Kind of like when you take your teenager to the Mall..) But, boy howdy, better not let that food bowl get empty! Then he starts yowling like the 3 minute warning on a missile launch! But he and I are not on the best of terms; I don’t like being shredded like cheese when he wants to ‘play’ and he does not like my foot up his BLEEP. So we have a wary truce, which I would NEVER violate.. Voluntarily. Paul and I left the house yesterday morning on the way to the Salt Mines. Paul opened my car door and up popped Rascal, stretching and yawning, evidently sleeping one off in the front floorboard of the car. I shooed him out, because we were a little late. I got the seat belt on and shut the car door suddenly when a 7.0 magnitude earthquake hit! The car was rocking back and forth and the noise was like a thousand fingernails on chalkboard with banshees singing backup! I peered over the edge of the car’s open window, expecting to see a gaping hole full of molten lava. Instead I saw the cat, clawing through the cold steel of the undercarriage like a chainsaw, ricocheting off the ground and the side of the car like a blurry fur covered pinball, and screeching his lungs out because I had CLOSED THE DOOR ON HIS TAIL!! ‘What the BLEEP!’ I quickly opened the door and he was gone in a flash. ‘Oh my gosh! Is he alright? Where did he go??’ I asked ‘I bet he is 2 counties away by now!’. Paul nodded toward the corner of the driveway. ‘There he is, by the fence, convulsing’ he said as he started up the car. ‘Oh no!’ I cringed. Paul just laughed. ‘No, just kidding, he’s just sitting there.’ As we pulled onto the street, I looked back toward the house. There was Rascal, peeking out from behind the fence, shaking his furry little fist at the retreating car.
I didn’t even know cats HAD middle fingers!

life from Kyeli's point of view

• Your Papa always buys ice cream and he keeps chocolate hidden in his bedroom.
• Teenage big brother Zac will give you whatever you want if you cry.
• The easiest way to carry a cat is by the neck.
• I can get water on my face in the tub, but you’d better not splash me in the pool!
• Cereal tastes better out of big brother Drake’s bowl.
• Making Drake yell is fun!
• Wiping my hands on my dress gets them clean enough.
• Why do you get upset when I stick my hand in your glass and get a piece of ice?
• You mustn’t say ‘no!’ to Mom… and if you do, even Papa cannot save you!
• .. but he will hold you when it is all over.
• Sharing suckers with the dog makes Mom and Nana yell.
• So does licking almost anything..
• They also yell when you bite, kick, scratch or pull hair.. or when you say 'BLEEP'.
• Moms and Nanas like to yell a lot.
• And Papa tries not to laugh out loud when they start yelling, or they will yell at him, too.

The Talk

When my grandson, Zac, was about 10 years old, he and I were having a quiet evening at home when he turned to me out of the blue and said “Nana, do you know what sex you are?”
‘YIKES!’ I thought ‘He wants to have The Talk!’

Immediately my mind began to race, trying to come up with a way to avoid this conversation. It’s a known fact, in our family, that if you give a kid money, he will shut up and go away – but all I had was a $20! There had to be another solution. I remembered when the day came for my Mom to have The Talk with me – only she didn’t say a word, she just handed me a little booklet with something about flowers blooming in the spring. To this day, I have no clue what that meant…. When my own sons were old enough, I took each one aside individually and calmly told them the truth. I would say “Son, sex kills. Avoid women at all costs for as long as possible!” (Needless to say, 12 grandkids later, that dog didn’t hunt!) Zac’s persistent little voice broke in on my thoughts and jerked me back to the present crisis.
“Nana – do you know what sex you are or not?” With a sigh of resignation I reached for my wallet.
“Yes, I do. I’m a female.” (Please, let him drop it! Please, let him drop it ...)
Zac stuck his little chest out proudly and gave it a resounding thump. “Well, I’m a male!” he proclaimed.
We sat there in silence for a moment, while cold sweat tricked down the back of my shirt. After what seemed like an eternity (about 30 seconds) I turned to Zac and asked “Did you want to say anything else about the subject?”
“Naw.” He picked up the remote. “We have been learning about stuff like that .. Oh! Wait!” He turned to me excitedly. “Do you know how babies are made?! A boy finds a girl he really likes, see and then they – “
“Whoa! Twenty dollars! Thanks, Nana!”

Juliard, here we come!

We have 3 ‘Zac’s in our family; Big Zac, the father of Kyle & Kayla, Medium Zac, Paul’s 16 yr old son, and then Little Zac, the 14 yr old grandson. Little and Medium reside here in our big house with the rest of the inmates. Medium is at the stage where he is almost an adult, and so has extra privileges, such as a later curfew that the others. One Friday evening he had been out past our bedtime, and when he came in, he simply crashed on the living room couch. So, Saturday morning, there was Medium, sprawled all over the couch snoring away. Now, if you want to sleep in at our house, it has to be away from the main living area, because most of us are early risers, including 19 month old Kyeli & her 3 yr old brother, Drake. That Saturday morning was no exception. By 8:15, 6 of us were awake and in the living room, sipping coffee and wondering where to sit. ‘Medium!’ Paul said, gently shaking his son. ‘Get up and go to your room.’ The only reply was a low groan and the covers pulled up over his head. ‘Zac! We need the couch!’ Zac just rolled over, burying his head further in the couch cushions. Just then Little Kyeli walked over to her Papa. She had a small white box in her hand, and she wanted her Papa to open it for her. Paul looked down at the package and started laughing. ‘Here you go, Sweet Sweet!’ he said as he opened the case and pulled out his harmonica. He handed the instrument to Kyeli (who LOVES playing the harmonica!) and she began to inhale and exhale with gusto. Uncle Medium pulled the pillow over his head and emitted a muffled expletive, which Kyeli mistook for ‘Louder, Kyeli, louder!’ She toddled over to the couch next to Medium’s covered head and renewed her efforts, only an octave higher. This went on for another 15 minutes, when finally Uncle Medium sprang up, cursing and stomping, and went to his room, slamming the door behind him. After a moment’s pause, Kyeli simply strolled over to his bedroom door, took a deep breath ..
‘And a One, and a Two..!’

Noah and the Numchucks

We were watching our granddaughter, Sofya, the other day while her Dad was at work. She is her Daddy’s best friend! She always says ‘My Daddy makes me laugh!’ Who knew that my macho son Noah would melt into a fuzzy puddle as soon as that little Angel came into his life! I remember when Noah was a kid: he channeled Chuck Norris for years, karate-ing anything in sight! When he was about 13, he talked us into buying him a real pair of numchucks with his hard earned savings. He was ecstatic! No human has ever had more joyous anticipation of being beaten and bruised than Noah on the day he received the numchucks! The idea behind using numchucks is to be able to swing them around in a precise manner, carefully choreographed and at a furious pace, which would scare the BLEEP out of anyone who wanted to do you harm! That way you can uphold the true Ninja code of doing no harm unless absolutely necessary while still proving that you are an apex predator! Noah’s confidence was such that on the very first day, he arranged for a demonstration for the family in our front yard. We all got our lawn chairs in a big semi-circle and proceeded to watch the show. Noah began his routine slowly, explaining how the whirling sticks would strike fear into the most dangerous criminal and would be the best deterrent ever! As the weapons spun faster and faster, we broke into spontaneous applause, marveling at such skill in a novice. Noah was in his element, the numchucks a blur in the wind when he misjudged a move and whacked himself Right Square in his manhood! Immediately the show was over, and his siblings started howling with laughter! His Dad looked at what was left of his son, writhing on the ground and said ‘He’s right – that would scare the BLEEP out of me! If he is man enough to knock his own BLEEPS off, ain’t NOBODY gonna’ mess with him!’
When Sofya is older, we will tell her the tale of her funny Daddy and his numchucks.

Nemo's Delicate Constitution

The 4th of July! What a weekend! We had the usual suspects over both days for food and playtime, grandkids up the whazoo, their parents acting like they are still 14 (‘Mom! He’s touching me’ … from the 30 year old!). Like always it is controlled chaos, but this weekend, there was gunpowder! Nemo, the dog, was a nervous wreck all weekend from all the firecrackers popping; and yes, they are illegal, but that did not stop anyone from using them in our neighborhood. You would think he would be used to hearing gunfire by now since we live in ‘da hood’, but it still made him jumpy. And, for some ungodly reason, 19 Month old Kyeli would not stop licking stuff! I am hoarse from screaming ‘No-no, Kyeli!’ as she slowly raised her brother’s sweat sock/my sandal/the cat/the mop to her lips. What the BLEEP is with licking every BLEEPING thing she comes in contact with?! Then she got an emery board, and wanted to file everything down – toenails, teeth, eyebrows – by the time she went Night-Night, I was exhausted! Saturday night was normal, gunfire and sirens in the distance, the usual. Sunday morning we were all up bright and early, little ones running around in pajamas, Nana in the kitchen, cleaning up from the night before. I had Little Zac give Nemo the left over spaghetti, got another one on the dishes, and started making breakfast. I love the sound of a house full of family! Paul was sleeping in, and the other adults were stumbling around like a scene out of ‘Dawn of the Dead’, lined up for coffee, when we heard the dog at the front door. Nemo was yelping and clawing at the door, desperately trying to get inside! One of the kids ran to open it for him, and he nearly knocked them down as he sprang inside. ‘Nemo, what the BLEEP!’ I thundered. I stuck my head around the kitchen doorway just in time to see Nemo leap to the center of the living room – and barf a stomach full of spaghetti on the carpet! For about half a second everyone froze – the only sound was saliva dripping from Nemo’s chin. Then the room exploded, grownups bellowing curse words, teenagers screaming and trying to flee the scene, younger kids gagging… and Kyeli, standing there, looking at it. She took one step toward the steaming mass and I flew into action. Well, maybe not ‘flew into action’, but I DID start screaming at the top of my lungs for somebody to kill the BLEEPING dog and someone else to clean up the BLEEPITY BLEEPING blob of barf. By the time I finished the sentence, everyone had evaporated into thin air, including Kyeli, who was scooped up by big brother as he dove thru the plate glass window and barrel rolled to safety. All the while, there stood Nemo, giving me the stink eye. This was not his first offense: for some reason he thinks that when his stomach is upset, he can only barf IN the house. The expression on his face read ‘Man, I almost didn’t make it this time! You guys need to get it together!’ He turned and strolled out the storm door that was still open from the mass exodus. Just then the bedroom door opened and in walked my Hero, my Best Friend, and the Legal Owner of the dog – my husband Paul. He ALWAYS remains calm and takes charge in perilous situations – it is his Coast Guard training. He took in the scene: retreating dog, steaming pile of barf, hysterical wife, and took immediate action by locking himself in the bathroom My only solution was to pour gas on it and set it on fire but my daughter Elanea came to the rescue and took care of it. The rest of the day was uneventful compared to that, and we had a safe and joyous Independence Day. But the BLEEPING dog is on borrowed time.

Things I learned from Kyle & Drake

LESSONS ABOUT 3 YEAR OLD BOYS:
1. They can be brave enough to jump off the high dive but still yell for Mom to kill a spider.
2. Even though they are toddlers, the sound of a motorcycle makes them sit up & listen.
3. A cat litter box can be mistaken for a small sand box – yikes!
4. It is very, very important that the ladies in their life think they are ‘strong’.
5. They don’t have a ’10 second rule’ for food on the floor – it is more like a ‘10 day’ rule.
6. The best way to identify an object is to lick it.
7. Even if Nana has her hair up in rollers she is still ‘pretty’.
8. Girls are called ‘grills’, and they are NOT to touch Big Brother’s stuff – EVER.
9. If you tie something around your neck, it makes you a super hero.
10. If it bounces, then you must try to make a basket with it..
11. .. this includes the cat.
12. Watching a ball game or looking at muscle cars with Papa is the best way to spend an afternoon.
13. The only girls you would ever kiss are Sister, Mom & Nana… and maybe Aunt Liz if you are Drake.

The Landlord

It was time to drop off the rent check. Our landlords are nice folks, but evidently they live a secluded life. When we go to drop off the check for the monthly stipend, they will physically pull me in the house and make me stay a while. These are not elderly people, just … very glad to see us, I guess. As soon as I press the door bell, they will both jump for the door, knocking over stuff in their haste to greet me. And it does not matter what they are in the middle of, answering the door is the priority! They have answered the door half dressed, half asleep, and with food dripping off their chins. Their doorbell might as well be the starting gun at the race track, ‘cause They’re Off! And they both talk, at the same time, different subjects - AND they stand at the door to watch me get in the car and drive away. It kind of gives me the creeps. I am not sure why, but it does. I can feel them watching me as I drive down the little lane they live on until I round the curve out of sight. It’s not that they are smiling and waving, they are just … watching. So I usually have Paul drive me over there, and then after a couple of minutes I say ‘well, Paul is waiting in the car, so I’d better get going (insert big smile here)!’ and then they both walk me to the door and they watch me walk over and get in the car. Yesterday was no exception; I ran the check up to the door & Mr. Landlord appeared as if he had sprung up out of a trap door. The Missus was nowhere in sight. He had brown, gooey looking stuff on his chin and no shirt on .. and he is the kind of guy who should definitely wear a shirt.. He reached to pull me in the house, but just then his phone rang, so he was trying to grab my arm with one hand and stretch backwards to grab the phone with the other, all the while talking a mile a minute. I pushed the check in his hand and said ‘Paul is waiting (big smile)!’ and walked quickly over to the passenger side of the car. He picked up the phone, and was speaking into it while I reached for the handle – which would not budge! Paul had locked the BLEEPING door! I couldn’t believe it, I let go, and the lock popped up, so I grabbed the handle again – but not fast enough, he locked it again!! I was stifling the urge to claw at the window, trying to appear calm and NOT to start yelling, and all the while Mr. Landlord was watching, his eyes getting narrower as I just stood by the car, the brown stuff still oozing down his chin. When Paul realized my nails were leaving marks on the paint, he unlocked it. I casually got in and we pulled away. As soon as we were out of sight he started laughing like a hyena ‘You should have seen the look on your face!’ He was almost crying, pounding on the steering wheel and slapping his knee. Such a funny, funny man! Sure pulled a good one on me, didn’t he! Ha ha!
Wonder if it will still be funny when I pick him up in front of his office this afternoon … in the rain ..

Nemo and Big Daddy

Our family consists of 7 – 10 humans a dog and a cat. The cat, Rascal, is the bane of my existence, but our dog is a pretty good ole’ dog. His name is Nemo and he is a yellow lab, about 9 years old, and wouldn’t bite a steak. He is a barker, though, which is nice in our tough neighborhood. But he is also .. what is the phrase I’m looking for? A scared-y cat. He is afraid of thunder, cars backfiring, people yelling, train whistles, helicopters, the wind blowing in the trees… but he does bark at anything that moves! Most of the time, he sleeps inside, because my main concern is – what if something tries to crawl in the window?! I realize that I wouldn’t have to out run IT, whatever IT is, but I WOULD have to out run Paul and the rest of the clan, so if Nemo will bark, I might get a head start! The other night, we were all tucked snuggly in bed and were just drifting off when we heard a noise at the door: Nemo. We had forgot to let Nemo in. Paul stirred a little, and I whispered ‘We need to let Nemo in.” I was using the word ‘we’ in the royal sense, meaning that Paul needed to let Nemo in. He sat up and then said ‘are any of the kids up?’ You see, my beloved husband is very modest, and will not step outside the bedroom without a shirt AND a tee shirt on. I am the only human that sees him otherwise. He thinks it would scar the kids to see us without full attire, and he might be right. Anyhoo, I said ‘No one is up, just slip out and open the door.’ Paul said ‘But Nemo would see me’. I said ‘…So, let me see if I can visualize the scene: Nemo, faithful hound that he is, waiting patiently for the Master to let him in. The door swings open, and there is Big Daddy, shirtless, in front of God and everybody! Nemo turns tail and starts galloping down the road, going ‘YARP, YARP, YARP, YARP..’ off into the distance until he runs into the dog catcher. He then pounds on the side of the truck until they open up, and he throws himself into a cage and assumes the fetal position!’ I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. Paul gave me a withering look and opened the bedroom door.
‘A wife who thinks she is witty is a social liability.’

Cooties

When I used to babysit for the grandkids, I tried to keep a handle on the household chores. I would throw a load of clothes in the washer, make up beds, whatever was needed. The kids would help with some things, but that usually wound up being more trouble than it was worth, so I’d just do it myself. It was the same way when my kids were little. Take doing laundry, for example. I have 4 sons, & when it came time to fold the laundry, it was a riot! Not in a funny way, I mean they would go to any lengths to avoid it. I really couldn’t blame them – with 8 in the household, we didn’t have a ‘dirty clothes pile’, we had a dirty clothes mountain range! (You could seriously see the snow line, it was that high!) We would take the snow shovel & at least keep a path cleared, but occasionally we would have to detonate explosives at the top of the slopes in order to reduce the avalanche threat. Every so often I would take an entire day & just do load after load of laundry, and after each load was dried, I would place the warm, clean clothes on my bed. Then, when the kids arrived home after school, I would march them into the bedroom and tell them to start folding. They would get their own clothes and put them away, and then start on towel, socks, etc. But there was one unwritten rule – no one would touch Mom’s unmentionables!
Now, you have to have the mental image – mounds and mounds of clean clothes, being churned over and over by 8 little hands, high on my 4 poster bed. Usually big brother Andrew would be trying to pull a pair of Dad’s boxers over the younger ones’ heads, or they’d be balling up socks to use in a pretend snow ball fight. Then, suddenly, one of they would pull something out of the pile that was silky and lacy – Mom’s undies!! Aaaugggghh!!
They had a very strict protocol for this situation, which was broken down into 3 parts:
1. The kids who had not touched the garment immediately began to yell and point at the one who did.
2. The one who had contact with it would immediately try to stop the cooties from spreading by pouring Clorox, hot coffee, battery acid, etc on the infected site.
3. Basically all the boys would flee, screaming bloody murder, trailing clean clothes all over the house, out in the yard and down the block.
I tried to explain to them that they could not be harmed by touching my underwear, but it was to no avail. They were convinced that they would be emotionally scarred, veritable social outcasts if I forced them into close proximity with lacy, girly things. (At least they felt that way for a few more years …) I would not relent, however, and a compromise had to be reached. One suggestion was to try & procure one of the Haz-Mat suits from Hanford, but that didn’t pan out. I suggested those thick rubber gloves that go up to the elbow, but they said it was not enough protection. Then one day they discovered the cure: one of the boys brought in a pool cue! Why hadn’t we thought of that before!
From then on, laundry was a snap! When a lacy, frilly under garment churned to the surface, all activity would stop while someone grabbed the pool stick. Then, with precision that you would normally see in scientists removing radioactive rods from a reactor, my unmentionables would be carefully lifted and gently deposited on my dresser. It was a win/win situation: I didn’t have to flog the boys for refusing to help with chores, and they didn’t need counseling from touching Mom’s underwear. As time went on, they boys grew older & got jobs, so they began to purchase their own clothing, and so wanted to do their own laundry. Eventually our massive laundry day blitz became a thing of the past, as so did the trauma of touching silky things. I would like to say that all of my sons grew up to be healthy, productive members of society …. I would like to say that, but too many people here know my family personally. So I’ll just say that they have all lived to reach adulthood, and most of them kept their real names.

5 reasons Grandma should not wear a 2 piece bathing suit at the city pool!

1. The sight of Old Belly flab will make everyone in the pool throw up in the water.
2. No one on the planet will put sun tan lotion on your back – ever.
3. Little kids might try to touch your bumpy varicose veins.
4. If you drown, the young, tanned life guard will NOT give you mouth to mouth.
5. If you have a wardrobe malfunction someone might shoot you on the spot.

55 - and still alive!

Happy birthday to me! I am turning 55 today, and as I told my kids, growing older is MUCH better than the alternative! It feels so cool to be me now! I don’t dye my hair, so it is white as the driven snow and healthy & shiny like a schoolgirl’s. I have no desire to be fashion model skinny, so I can get my money’s worth at the local buffet and all I have to say is ‘the usual’ at DQ’s drive up window. I know the value of a hard earned dollar, so when I find something nice at the Goodwill, I tell everyone where I got it. When it’s hot and I want to go to the pool, I do – and I don’t turn blue in the face, trying to suck my gut in all day. I don’t wear much makeup, so I look the same at night as I do when my sweet Big Daddy Paul rolls over in the morning – no surprises! I know it is way more important to have fun with the family then it is to mop the kitchen floor – chores will always be waiting. And smooching with my husband is more fun than ever, because now it grosses out the grandkids! The little things are the most important – saying prayers at night with Paul, sharing a cookie with Kyeli, having a cold glass of sweet tea on a hot summer day. I know it’s more important to be faithful than to be rich or famous. And even if I don’t like what you do, I can still love you and pray for you. I don’t apologize for my tattoos, my views on politics or religion or my social status, and if you don’t like it, well, I guess that is your problem. I love the Lord, my family and my job and my life only seems to get better every day. Yep, happy birthday to me!

Southern Belle (or was that 'bellhop')

We love going home at night! Most folks do, I know, but at our house it is especially good to walk through the front door after a long day at work. Paul and I ride together, so we arrive at home together, and as he is opening the front gate for me you can hear the kids start yelling ‘Nana, Papa!’ and scrambling off the porch, out of the pool, running from all directions to greet their Nana and Papa! Right behind them is their beautiful Mom, our daughter Elanea, usually wore out from work herself but still lined up for hugs and kisses from Mama. Her husband, Kye, usually has something on the stove for dinner so I don’t have to race home to cook – thank goodness! Not that I am not a GREAT cook, it’s just that my favorite thing to make for supper is reservations, so they have all learned not to expect too much from my corner. So when I make it through the front door, I can just relax, watch TV, play with young 'uns or get on the computer. Usually after a little while playing with the babies, Paul will head for the Scotch and I will head for the computer. Elanea will join me occasionally, and we will surf the web and Google stuff together, just generally enjoying each other’s company. Elanea is so beautiful, just like her big sister Angie, and sharp as a tack. Of course we come from a long line of Southern Belles, so her beauty and sophistication is no surprise. Just the other day, I was at the computer, finishing a blog installment when she walked up. I noticed that she did not have her glasses on, so I said, ‘want me to read it to you?’ She smiled and burped the reply ‘yes, please!’ as she wiped her chin on her sleeve. I had a catch in my throat – Mama’s Angel, all growed up! And it looks like her daughters are going to be just like her!(sniff)I’m so proud!

Liquid Cat

I was the babysitter one summer for 3 of my grandchildren – Zac, Michael & Aalyiha. This was a few years back, when they ranged in ages from about 5 – 9 or so. On this particular Tuesday, we were having a nice, quiet day. It reminded me of my childhood, which was B.C. (before cable). Children made eye contact with each other and the only electronic device was the flashlight that we used to play hide & seek in the dark. We explored the creeks and hills surrounding my childhood home of Woodbury, KY without fear of perverts or drive-bys; we climbed trees and rode bikes with no safety equipment, and lived to tell about it! That was the kind of day we were having – a peaceful, dreamy, drowsy day.
Little Aalyiha was playing tea party in the living room floor as I sat on the couch by the picture window, monitoring the activity in the front yard. Big brother Zac had turned his bicycle upside down and was pedaling the rear wheel with his hand, making a soft ‘Wwwwhhhzzzz’ sound. Little brother Michael was standing nearby, mesmerized by the spinning spokes one finger up his nostril, with the family cat draped over his arm.
This cat was absolutely the most laid back creature I had ever seen. It was constantly drooped over the arm of a chair or thrown over a child’s shoulder carelessly, like a wet dishcloth. He was like a liquid cat, never walking, just oozing from the couch to the floor and then out the door. The only time I ever saw him upright was when he jumped the fence on the neighbor’s herb garden – the one with barb wire on top & 3 locks on the gate. They sure were nice folks, though, constantly smiling & ordering pizza. The cat always made a stop there on his morning constitutionals. But other than that, he was usually in a semi-liquid state, slung over handlebars or oozing over the edge of a window sill. And so there stood Michael, cat neatly folded over his arm like the head waiter at a fancy restaurant. A boy and his semi-solid cat – it’s a beautiful thing.
So, Zac’s pumping away, the wheel is spinning faster & faster, when suddenly a light goes on in his eyes. Without looking at Michael he nonchalantly says “Hey, Michael. Put the cat’s crotch on the wheel.”
I hate myself, but the truth is, when I heard him say that, my first thought was ‘Where’s the camcorder?’ But in the next instant, I could see tomorrow’s headlines:
CAT WITH FLAMING CROTCH BREAKS SOUND BARRIER ON
WEST NOB HILL BLVD
ASPCA to investigate
So, I sprang off the couch (i.e., I got Aalyiha to help Nana up) & ran outside, snatching the unsuspecting victim & saving him from the WORST RUGBURN EVER.
“What on earth are you thinking?” I scolded. “We don’t harm innocent animals – that’s how Dahmer got started!”
“Who?”
“Never mind.” I dropped the flexible feline on the top step of the porch, where he slowly oozed down to a little patch of sunshine on the bottom step & promptly fell asleep. Again.
Michael reinserted his finger & looked up at me thoughtfully for a moment. Then he slowly shifted his gaze to the swimming pool.
“Nana? Do cats float?”

Bedtime for Bonzo

The best time to talk with a guy is at night, right before they go to sleep. A guy will tell you exactly what is on his heart, if you wait until that quiet time, when night is closing in, and the house is quieting down. When Chase was little, we would snuggle on my big bed for a while and talk and tell stories and plan for the future. Then his big brother Zac would come and get him, and take him to bed in their room. My room was at the front of the house and had a large screened window facing east. We didn’t have air conditioning, so in the summer months I would have the side of my bed right against the window, to get all the fresh air I could. One evening, when Chase was about 5, we stretched out on my bed for our nightly time together. The only light was from a small lamp in the far corner of the room. Chase was lying between me and the window, half asleep, listening to me tell a bedtime story and enjoying the cool night air. All was blissfully calm and quiet.. Suddenly, out of nowhere – there was a MASSIVE crash against the window, and in the moonlight, we could make out a hairy shape, plastered against the vibrating screen, screaming like a banshee! It took a couple of seconds before my petrified brain could assimilate what my popped-out eyeballs were seeing, then I realized – it was only the $#@! family cat, yowling like crazy, trying to get someone to let it inside! ‘Bleeping cat!!’ I thundered, kicking at the window – then it dawned on me – Chase had vanished! Before I could yell for the Big Brothers for help, I felt something move underneath me. I rolled to the side, and there was Chase! In the nanosecond when the hairy apparition sprang onto the window, Chase had somehow managed to deflate himself to about the width of a sheet of paper, and had shot underneath his Mama for protection! How in the world could he have done that?? And on top of that, he had managed to lift my weight up high enough for him to tunnel beneath! He would need a car jack, for that feat alone! But he did it, and when I jumped up, his body slowly inflated, and by the time Zac came for him, he was his usual size and shape, no harm done.
Course, I DID have to change the sheets...

Roughing it

When I was a teenager in Kentucky, my Dad would save up all his days off and we would go to Florida for a couple of weeks in the summer. Sounds great, doesn’t it? Hahahhoohahaha! Let me give you the rundown: we stayed in a tent, a CANVAS tent, which no breath of air could penetrate. We traveled to Florida in a VW bus, in the heat and humidity, with no air conditioning and my 2 brat little brothers yelling ‘She’s touching me!’ every mile of the way. And we lived off the land (and bologna sandwiches) for the entire 2 weeks… ‘roughing it’, they called it.. I would return with a good tan, but I always lost weight and all my religion on the trip. AND this was before all the super freeways were completed, so we drove through Nashville, Atlanta and other quaint little spots, with Dad white-knuckled (and using the one and only curse word I ever heard from him)and Mom a screaming banshee by the time we got past the city limits. It was not what it was cracked up to be: YOU try spending 2 weeks, walking around with your gut sucked in 24/7, trying to look like a beach babe with your Mother following you around collecting seashells, using their Latin names, cause she is smart like that. I needed a vacation when my vacation was over – and GET THIS – my Rat-Fink cousin, M, would steal my boyfriend every vacation! I would have a boyfriend when I left, and SHE would have the boyfriend when I got back! This was before cell phones, so I would be blissfully ignorant until I returned – and by then, she had worked her abundant feminine charms on ole’ Buford and I was #$!@ outta luck! But M & her womanly ways is fodder for another story… Anyhoo, after our first trip through Atlanta, Mom decided she needed some ‘relaxation aid’ to get her through that ordeal again. So, as we neared the Big City Limits, she confidently popped 2 COMPOSE tablets, thinking she could stay relaxed and calm while Dad dodged traffic like it was incoming shrapnel. In just a few minutes, she began to yawn and rub her eyes, and before you know it, Mom was out like a light. She slept through Nashville, and then down through the top corner of Alabama, straight through Georgia… when we made a pit stop, she slept. When we stopped for gas, she slept. When we pulled into the camp ground at Flagler Beach, Florida, she was still sawing logs like a lumberjack! My Dad set up the Canvas Fortress, and then we helped him drag Mom inside, out of the sun. I was put in charge of the bologna sandwich supplies & Dad had to keep an eye on the 2 BBs. (Brat Brothers). Mom finally woke up 2 days later, cranky as heck and dying for a bologna sandwich… which we just happened to have in the cooler. ‘What happened?’ she asked, through the fog that had settled over her brain. ‘You took those (insert the only curse word here) sleeping pills, that’s what happened, and these (insert said bad word) kids have been driving me nuts!’ Dad growled. I must add the One and Only Curse Word that my Dad ever used starts with a ‘D’, so you don’t have to censor this too much. Soon Mom regained her sea legs, Dad was freed of his babysitting duties, and I was once again cruising the white sands, looking tanned and lithe.. With my Mom right behind me.. “Oh, look – a Turritella Gastropod!’
Now my idea of roughing it is ‘no cable’.

Gotta Dance!

How cool it is to be delighted by simple things! Yesterday we had a huge Father’s Day/Birthday cookout at our house, and all the usual suspects showed up. We had kids and grandkids up the wazoo, lots of fun, food everywhere, kids in the pool, playing video games, reading Moms blog and cringing.. Good times! We all spent the day together, laughing and playing until evening and we kissed them all goodbye and settled down for a little quiet time before bed. Little Kyeli was wore out, and wanted some special time with Mom before Night-Night, so they decided to do their nails. Kyeli LOVES having her nails done! She says ‘Pretty, pretty!’ when each nail is finished, and then she runs to show her Papa, who also says ’Pretty, pretty!’ each time. Papa does not say no to his Sweet Sweet: this is written in stone. He can be dogged tired, trying to drag himself over the front door stoop, and she will reach up and take his finger and pull him back outside to play, or go bye-bye, or catch the cat – and he NEVER says ‘later’ or ‘I’m tired’. So when Kyeli was finished getting her toenails done, she came over and took Papa by the hand and lead him over to where Mom had all the nail salon equipment laid out. ‘Pretty Pretty’ she said, and patted the stool that she had been sitting on. ‘You want Papa to have his toenails done?’ asked Mom, with a $#!% eating grin. Kyeli nodded yes and tugged on his hand. ‘Oh, ah… Kyeli, that’s not for Papas, that’s for the Baby.’ Paul said, as he tried to pull away. ‘She ain’t gonna take no for an answer’ I laughed. She reached for his shoes. Paul began to dance around the room, trying to keep his toes out of Kyeli’s clutches. ‘You look like Michael Flattley, Lord of the Dance!’ I chimed in. Paul kept high stepping. ‘The difference is..’ he gasped, ‘.. that it’s Paul Fattley and it’s ‘Lord, please don’t dance!’. After 2 or 3 more minutes of pirouetting, Kyeli’s Mom scooped Kyeli up for kisses and then off to bed for Night-Night. Paul did the Fox Trot back to the couch and sat down. I reached up and pulled the calendar down so I could make a note: ‘first time Papa ever said ‘No’ to his Sweet Sweet’. Paul snorted. It might not appear manly to be at the beck and call of a curly headed, chubby, sticky little angel but the truth is that Kyeli has the Best Papa in the Whole World, and I also married the best Dad and Step Dad a family could ever HOPE to find!
Even if he can’t Riverdance.

Floaties

A few years ago I had the dubious honor of babysitting for 3 of my
grandchildren over the summer break. I would say the names have been changed to
protect the innocent, but since the little beasties are anything but innocent, I
won’t bother: they were Zac, age 8, Michael, age 6 & Aalyiha who was 4. These
are their stories:
It was August & we were roasting! I tried to keep the kids inside, under
the fan, but to no avail. Then one day cousin Andrew called & invited all the little
cousins up to swim in his big old cool, inviting pool! He us to be there at 11AM, & we gladly accepted!
Of course, by 7:15AM, the kids were in their bathing suits, standing
outside of the van, yelling for Nana to get the lead out. Trying to get the
concept of ‘waiting 4 hours’ over to kids who can’t tell time is a losing
battle. So, I managed to stall until about 9:30, then we piled in the van & were
off.
We had to make a couple of stops along the way, so we didn’t actually
arrive there until about 10:30 - & wouldn’t ya’ know it, they had run to the store.
So, we parked in the shade & settled down to wait. One of the stops
we had made was at the local Dollar Store, where we had purchase about $8 worth
of flippers, goggles & floaties.... which needed to be inflated.
“Nana!” Aalyiha’s little voice floated up from the recesses of the van.
“Blow up my floatie!” A plastic package gently bounced off the dash board. Big
brother Zac, who was sitting up front reading a comic book, ripped it open &
handed it to me.
I want it on record that I hate any inflatable device, but the most insidious
are cheap-o floaties! You not only have to be able to purse your lips tighter than the seal on a submarine hatch, but then you have to bite down on the stem in order for the air flow valve to open while you pump precious oxygen into the plastic void. But look at that sweet little face! So, I puckered up & began to blow.
After about 3 or 4 deep breathes I began to see the little sparkly
thingy-s & had to stop. Aalyiha said “Why are you stopping? Blow some more!”. “I
can’t” I gasped.
“It’s not full enough, Nana – blow harder!” By now sweat was rolling off
my brow as I lay back in the seat, gasping & coughing. “If I blow any harder,
I’ll have an aneurysm!” Little Michael leaned forward from the back – “What’s an
any-ism?”
“It’s where your head explodes.” Zac stated matter of factly, without even
looking up from his comic. Immediately 2 little horrified faces popped up from
the back seat – “Is that true?!” they whispered.
“No, your head doesn’t explode, but a vein in your head bursts & your
brain is affected”.
“What happens then?” I tried to think of a way to explain – “You might not
die, but sometimes it could make you act … different.”
“Like how?”
“Well, it might make you dumber.” I drew in another ragged breath & slowly
raised the loathsome floatie to my trembling lips. I managed to pump 2 more
puffs of air into the plastic pariah before I collapsed again.
“Nana – what’s 8 plus 8?” Aalyiha’s little face pressed close to mine.
“16 – Why do you ask?”
“Just checking to see if you’re dumb”
The half inflated floatie slid from my feeble grasp, & a few peaceful
moments of silence fell on the van …
“Hey, Nana.” Zac nonchalantly flipped the page…..
…… “Why do you light one cigarette off another?”

IHOP

This is the story of one of the most horrifying events our family has ever had to endure – and every word of this is the true!!
We have a large family, and when the kids were all younger, money was a little tight. We didn’t go out often, so when we DID get to have a family outing, it was a Very Special Event. Early one Friday evening, we decided that we would load the whole family up and go out for supper. The problem was that everyone wanted something different: burgers, spaghetti, biscuits & gravy. We decided to go to the one place in town where you could order anything at any time of the day – IHOP! Since it was still early in the evening the place wasn’t yet packed, so we pulled 2 tables together in the back of the room and put in the orders. Soon the food started arriving – and it was GREAT!! We had spaghetti, burgers and onion rings, chocolate milkshakes, pancakes and coffee, nachos - piles and piles of delicious food! The youngest, Chase, was about 4 at the time, and he was circling the table like Helen Keller, taking samples off everyone’s plate. We were having a blast! After about 45 minutes, we were all stuffed to the gills and asked the waitress for some doggy bags (not that the dog was gonna get any of it!). She brought a stack of those hinged Styrofoam deals and we started shoveling in the leftovers. At this point Chase was sitting in the middle of the table, being very, very quite. I was right across from him, and I suddenly noticed that he looked a little green.. his oldest brother, Andrew, was beside him, shoving a foam container in front of him so Chase could save his fries. All of a sudden, Chase began to barf – tons of barf, chunky, spewing – oh, Gawd! Luckily the foam buckets caught it – but when someone in our family barfs, it starts a domino effect – immediately there were 8 people, packed tightly around the table, trying to claw their way to safety, gagging and coughing – it was HORRIFYING!! And those poor folks in the booth next to us!! To this day I can still see that old lady’s face!! My hubby at the time, Gene, did what he usually did in situations like this – yell ‘I’ll start the van!’ and shoot out the door like he had a rocket strapped to his @$$, a flutter of 20’s cascading slowly down like leaves in the Fall behind him. Andrew, being the athlete that he was, managed to long jump over the table and ran outside and around the corner, where he sagged weakly against the building & tossed every cookie he had consumed for the last week – and then looked up to realize with horror he had just spewed in front of the plate glass window of the restaurant! Gasps of horror, sounds of retching and gagging – and that was just from Andrew, magnify it by the 99th power, and you’ve got an idea of what was going on inside the building!! We did the only thing we could do: run like hell! Gene had the van revved up and all the doors open wide, so we dove in while he burnt rubber off all fours, out of the parking lot.
I liked IHOP, but since they had security photos of us and the van taped up at the front door, we could never return…
Do they still use those foam buckets?

The Disadvantage

When I was in High School, they still used corporal punishment (aka they would beat your @$$). Girls never got spanked, but the threat was always there: everyone could see the HUGE paddle the Principal had leaned up in the corner, wooden handle shiny from years of use. Occasionally there would be a girl that was so ornery and stubborn that the paddle would be brought out, just as a show of force. I was that girl. I was a straight A student, and would even do extra credit and have A+’s, but I was always just on the cusp of disaster as far as behavior went. Talk about the wrong place at the wrong time – but on a weekly basis. And I had this huge disadvantage – whenever I am nervous or scared, I couldn’t stop laughing. I can be staring straight into the gaping Maw of Death and I will be laughing like a Hyena! I can’t help it, I can’t stop it, and to this day it causes me grief! Me and my Cohorts would be caught red-handed, and we would be marched to the Principal’s office. He had 3 or 4 old wooden straight-backed chairs, and we would be lined up, staring at the closed door, awaiting our doom. My ‘friends’ would wait until the door started to open and then suddenly they would turn on the waterworks, sobbing and covering their angelic faces, pointing trembling fingers at me, while I howled with laughter. I can still hear the Principal:
‘Oh, so you think this is funny? You think this is FUNNY!? I am going to call your Mama – she will tan your hide when she hears about THIS! We’ll see how funny it is then!’
No one every believed that I could not control it, and no one ever believed my protestations of innocence. And time has not changed it. We will be in a classy restaurant, waiting to be seated, and someone will sniff, then start looking around and whisper loudly ‘what is that smell?’… all I gotta do is be quiet and act like nonchalant, but guess what –
‘HahahaHooohaaaahah!’

geography

When my oldest son, Andrew, was a lad, he would always look forward to the monthly arrival of our subscription of the National Geographic. By the time he was 5, he was an avid reader and he would grab the magazine as soon as it arrived and pour over the articles and fascinating photos. Since he was so young, though, he mispronounced ‘Geographic’ instead calling it ‘Geography’, so the periodical was known at our house as the National Geography. The whole family loved reading it, and we always kept a huge stack of old issues, because they were worth reading more than once!
We were sitting in church one Sunday morning, and Andrew was next to me, idly thumbing through the hymn book as the Pastor thundered from the pulpit. He was expounding on the sins of the world, and began to weigh in on the evils of pornography. Andrew snapped to attention, turned to me with a horrified look and blurted out ‘Mom! We have stacks and stacks of those books!’ … the Head Deacon’s wife did such a sharp intake of breath that she sucked 3 hymnals out of the holder on back of the pew in front of her.. Which everyone heard, cause at that point, you could hear a pin drop.
‘Wha..what? What are you talking about??’ I stammered. Little Andrew was in tears by now ‘The National Geography - Pastor says reading Geography is a sin.’
.. just one more reason I was white headed by age 30..

Silverback

One of my sons is hairy – VERY hairy. We are talking Sasquatch league hair on chest, stomach and back, hair that could be parted and styled, and it started when he was about 12. Now that he is grown, he doesn’t give it a second thought, but when he was younger, he was self conscious about it, and would often try different ways to remove it… much to the delight of his siblings, who would watch and offer advice.. his nickname was Silverback.
We were in the middle of exfoliation one summer afternoon when my oldest son emailed me. (This time we had purchased the industrial size tub of cream remover, and had about an inch of the stuff slathered over the beast’s shoulders. His younger sister was trying to remove the carpet of hair, using a paint stick as kind of a straight razor and leaving clean swathes of hairless pink flesh visible with every flick of her wrists.) I sat the computer to answer the email. It went like this:
ELDEST SON: hey, mom, what are you guys doing?
ME: well, we have Naired-up Silverback and your little sister is troweling the fur off as we speak.
ELDEST: .. And let me guess: you are rubbing his nipples with a leather towel…. I was adopted.
Good times, good times!

Mama's Little Helper

I have 6 children: 4 boys and 2 girls. Now that they are all grown, life is easier in some areas.. but not all. The Baby, Chase, is getting married, and that is turning out to be kind of hard for me, because even though he is in his mid 20’s, 6’5” tall and WAY over 200 lbs, I remember when he was just a wee one, wearing his thick glasses and goofy smile, terrorizing his older brothers at every chance. And how many times did he get caught? Not many, because he was The Baby, so naturally suspicion would not fall on him! It had to be one of older ne’er do wells, trying to place the blame on Poor, Innocent Chase. And Chase would drop a dime on them on a moment’s notice – he was Mama’s Little Helper, snitching when the Band O’ Brothers snuck in cigarettes or a girly magazine. Of course they would threaten him with every form of death imaginable, but Chase knew His Mama would protect him! It seems like it was only yesterday I was lining up the usual suspects, with the evidence laid out in front of them, demanding an explanation while Little Chase hid behind my skirts snickering to himself as Judgment was Passed. For some reason it seemed like I was the only person who believed that Chase would be innocent of any crime. After the sentence was handed down, I would hear the boys in the back yard, talking to each other:
CHASE: (hanging out the window, giggling) Woo, woo – you got in trouble!
ZAC: You little punk! YOU’RE the one who did it! I can’t believe we got in trouble for that!
NOAH: You little BLEEP, you are gonna wish to BLEEP you had never BLEEPING done that!
ANDREW: Please, God, tell me that I was adopted…
CHASE: (sounds of a struggle) Mama! Noah’s got the duct tape – help! Help!He-uummmph!!
.. And the cycle starts again

40 Grit

Since the day I could walk, I have always loved to go barefooted. Even in the dead of winter, I will pad around the house in bare feet. After 50 plus years of this, my feet look like flat rectangles with pink polish. As I have gotten older, it has been more and more difficult to tend to my feet – my arms have evidently shrunk, making it harder to ‘reach’. Since my husband and I live with my daughter Elanea and her family, when she sees me trying to do my own pedicures, she will usually offer to assist me. (She says the sight of me rolling around the floor in a ball, grunting & gasping for air makes her feel sorry for me, but I know she does it ‘cause she loves her Mama!) Filing and polishing is no big deal – the problem is the calluses on my feet. I have tried lotions and oils – no improvement. Then I got a pumice stone – slight improvement, but once it got past the first layer, it just couldn’t cut it. The next attempt was the metal thing-y that looks like a file, only in pastel colors. It kinda works, but took so long to get to bedrock, I just gave up. In desperation I was checking out hoof nippers on line when it dawned on me – sandpaper! I am somewhat of a woodworker, so we usually keep wood supplies in the garage, and sure enuf, I had a stack of sandpaper on the shelf. For all you ladies that have heels hard enough to crack walnuts listen up: the sure fire way to make those heels feel smooth and soft as a baby’s behind is 40 Grit! Just cut a strip about an inch and a half wide and 6 inches long, grab the ends and start sanding away. (Best to do it outside, so the ‘sawdust’ doesn’t make a pile on the carpet.. grosses the family out.) I am now in the planning stage of attaching a belt sander to the bottom of my massaging foot bath so I can have an all-in-one hoof station! Then I can sand ‘em, soak ‘em and rub ‘em down, all from the comfort of my recliner!
(And I wouldn’t have to miss ‘Cops’!)

The Chicken Snake

When I was a child, growing up in rural Kentucky, we actually lived on a miniature farm of sorts. Our house had been built before the Civil War, so it was a grand, gracious home with tall ceilings and ornate trim around the doors and fireplace. Almost every home in Kentucky has a huge front porch with a swing, and ours was no exception. Even though we lived in the town of Woodbury, we had a couple of acres, complete with hen house, barn, old brick smoke house, shop and garage. We had room to roam! My parents would plant humongous gardens every year, which the indentured servants/ children had to tend. We also owned:
A few goats, which we milked (and then later bar-b-qued – delicious!)
One sheep that my Mom got wool from to spin on her spinning wheel, (Yes, she really did that.)
Assorted outdoor cats
And my dog, Ladybug, a small collie mix.
And then there were the chickens…. We must have had ten or twelve of the beasts, and each one would produce an egg every day. It was my job, each morning, to go and gather them for our family’s consumption. I cannot express to you how much I hated gathering the eggs! Whenever I opened the gate on the wire enclosure of the chicken yard, the hens and roosters would all pop their little heads up and then freeze. I would slowly enter and latch the gate behind me, trying to keep my back to the fence. Then I would edge my way towards the coop, carefully placing each step, trying not to enrage the creatures. It was so eerie, the only sound would be the occasion ‘skriiitch’ of a little hooked chicken hoof on the hard dirt. I could feel their beady little black eyes boring holes in me as I edged toward the hen house. My heart would be racing and my palms sweating – my Gawd, I was terrified of them!
As soon as I entered the coop, I knew that attack was imminent, and would try to grab the eggs as fast as I could. But there was only one door on the hen house, and once I was inside, there was no escape. Now, I had been gathering the eggs every day for years, but the way the hens reacted, you would have thought that this was the first time a human had entered their domain. As soon as I was inside, they would immediately begin to squawk shrilly and rush the hen house, where they would swarm me like bees! They would jump up on me and peck and scratch, sending feathers flying everywhere! I would try to protect myself, but I was outnumbered 12 to 1, so my only hope of salvation was to get the eggs and get the Hell out of Dodge! The din inside the little building would be deafening: the demon-possessed hens were screeching and squawking, and I was flailing about, shouting and cursing, trying to grabs eggs and then fight my way back through the enemy lines to safety. When I could at last stagger out of the enclosure and slam the gate shut, the raptors would stick their little ruffled heads out the door and give the chicken equivalent of a snort which I took to mean ‘good riddance!’ Invariably, one or two of the eggs would have been cracked during the melee and so I would have to face the Wrath of Mom when I dragged my mangled body back to the safety of the house. It was a lose/lose situation for me!
This scenario went on for months and months. But then one day I noticed that there were not as many eggs as usual. Mom accused me of using them for ammunition against my attackers, but I assured her I was innocent. For the next few days, careful tabs were kept on exactly how many eggs were harvested and the results were definite: our egg supply had dwindled significantly.
My Mom decided to investigate and would sit on the front porch in the evening to watch what transpired at the hen house. Just as the sun was setting one evening there arose a din from the chicken coop. Mom raced down there and opened the door to the hen house and, sure enough, there was the culprit: a huge, black chicken snake was disappearing out a crack near the base of the back wall. Mom returned to the porch and told me what she had seen. Then she looked at me solemnly for a moment and said, “I’m going to have to tell your Dad.”
Let me first go on record as saying that my father is a real man’s man! He can hunt, fish, trap and lumberjack with the best of them. No one on earth could ever accuse my father of being anything other than a red-blooded, All - American male. But he is absolutely terrified of snakes ... doesn’t matter if they are big or little, lethal or harmless: if my Dad catches sight of a snake anywhere in his immediate vicinity he will begin to leap like Baryshnikov, all the while screaming at the top of his lungs for my Mom to rescue him. I always thought it was hilarious that my big, strong Dad would shoot straight up in the air every time I hollered “Snake!” Of course, what goes up must come down, and when he caught me, I’d pay, but the effect was very satisfying to a smart-alec, tomboy-ish 12 year old like me, and well worth the cost!
So when my Mom said she was going to tell my Dad about the snake, I immediately had a feeling of foreboding. My parents spent the next few evenings watching the hen house, and they soon realized that the snake seemed to time his visit so that he would be finished with supper and home before it was completely dark. They shaped their plans accordingly.
The idea was simple enough: Mom and Dad would establish a base camp just inside the gate of the chicken yard and wait there until the snake made his presence known. Then my Mom would jerk open the hen house door, spring inside and to the right, leaving the entry unobstructed for my Dad. Mom would then shine the flashlight onto the target as my Dad leapt inside, shouldered the shotgun and blasted the thief to smithereens. It looked good on paper, and since my Mom was going to be right beside him (and he was carrying a gun), my Dad signed on. They agreed to put the plan into action the following night.
They reconnoitered the subsequent evening on the front porch just as the sun began to dip below the hills. Mom stepped outside carrying the big flashlight, and behind her came Dad. He was carrying the shotgun, alright, but he also had on his hunting vest, with enough ammo strapped on it to defend against a native uprising!
“This can’t be good!” I whispered to my brother, Bo, as they headed off to the hen house. I had declined their invitation to watch the ambush, electing instead to stay on the porch and ‘watch the young uns’. Mom and Dad eased into the enclosure, latched the gate and settled down to wait. Minutes began to tick by, and I was about ready to go watch TV when I heard the chickens begin to squawk and flail about. In the waning light I watched my parents glide noiselessly to the henhouse doorway. My Dad gave my Mom the nod, and she sprang into action. In a move that would have made Rambo proud, my Mom jerked the henhouse door off its hinges and jumped inside and to the right, as planned. She whipped the flashlight up and the yellow shaft of light caught the black culprit, oozing his way up the plank that the chickens used to reach the nest boxes. Immediately my Dad sprang inside like a tiger, shouldered his weapon – and the flashlight went out.
For what seemed like an eternity, all I could hear over the sound of the shotgun blasts was what seemed to be a young girl’s shrill screams. Then I heard my mother yelling ”For the love of Mike, Randall, stop screaming!” I ran to the hen house just as Mom managed to get the flashlight to come back on. There stood my Dad, white as a ghost and shaking from head to foot, both barrels of the shotgun glowing red in the dim light. There were pieces of chicken bodies everywhere, and the walls of the hen house looked like it was made of Swiss cheese. Evidently when the flashlight went out, my Dad panicked and tried to blast every shadow that moved. My quick thinking Mom had simply froze like a stature, knowing that eventually he would need to reload, and she could have the chance to escape. We helped my Dad back up to the house, and Mom said we would wait until in the morning to survey the damage.
When we returned to the scene of the crime the next day, we found a few survivors, but there was no sign of the snake, not even a scale. The only evidence we found was a thin furrow that was almost burned through the dirt and over the hillside where evidently the snake had shot out to freedom when Dad started blasting away. The remaining hens were nervous wrecks and not a one of them ever laid another egg. In fact, to my immense satisfaction, they wound up in our freezer before the summer was over! The hen house was beyond repair, so my Mom resigned herself to having to use store bought eggs and declared that “We will raise chickens no more forever!”
From that day forth, I have never suffered abuse at the hand of a chicken again. Chicken snake, wherever you are, God bless you!

Kyeli

This is Kyeli. Kyeli is 19 months old. She is Master of All she Surveys. Kyeli’s Mom tries to teach her how to behave, how to share and how to wait her turn. See Kyeli stick her tongue out at Mom. Kylie likes to touch the DVDs. Mom yells “No, no, Kyeli!” Kyeli laughs and knocks the whole BLEEPING shelf over. Kyeli reaches for Mom’s 44 oz. pop. Mom yells “No, no, Kyeli!” Kyeli grabs it and runs into the living room. See Kyeli pour 44 BLEEPING ounces of pop on the couch. Kyeli sees the Kitty sleeping in the corner. See Kyeli holding the Kitty. She is holding it by the throat. Mom yells “No, no, Kyeli!” See the Kitty try to slice Kyeli like a block of cheese. Kyeli puts Kitty down. Kylie goes into the kitchen. She wants to see the garbage. Kyeli finds something yummy to eat in the garbage. Mom yells “No, no, Kyeli!” Kyeli knocks the garbage can over and it spills all over the kitchen floor. See Mom jump up and down. Hear Mom yell ‘BLEEP!”. Hear Kyeli say “BLEEP” just like Mom did. “I’ve had it!” Mom yells. Mom starts running towards Kyeli. Just then Papa comes in the front door. He has been at work all day. See Kyeli run to her Papa. Run, Kyeli, run! Papa scoops up his little Kyeli. Mom is cursing. Kyeli is jabbering. Papa asks what is wrong. Mom and Kyeli start yelling and pointing at each other. They are telling Papa! Papa says ‘oh, no, not my little Kyeli!’ Mom says ‘Your BLEEP-ITY BLEEP it was Kyeli!’ Kyeli starts to cry. She lays her curly little head on Papa’s shoulder. Papa melts into a puddle of ooze. “I give up.” Mom says. She goes out on the porch for a smoke. Papa puts Kyeli on the chair. Kyeli grabs his glasses out of his pocket. Before Papa can get the glasses, Kyeli breaks them in two. She smiles up at her Papa. Papa just smiles back and pours a glass of scotch. “Let’s sit here by the window and wait for Nana!”