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Institutionalized Chaos
“”Marriage is a great institution- if you like being institutionalized” – that’s the statement I’ve always heard anyway………
The main question in every happy marriage at some point comes down to this… “Smother him in his sleep or put the earphones in and just play happy music until it passes?” STOP- before everyone gets their knickers in a wad- I’m a woman so I used the pronoun “him”, but trust me I am well aware the feeling is mutual and he’s felt the same way about me just as many times in all these years of marriage.
Tonight I am choosing listening to the music (your release may be something besides music, but just go with me here) I am dancing to the music not because it wouldn’t be simple to smother him in his sleep or that I couldn’t hide the body. (I’m a Southern woman with access to a chipper shredder, at least 10 bottles of bleach, and miles of woodlands) I choose the music tonight because even though I don’t really “like him” right this minute I am well aware I would quickly miss him if he were gone.
Some days as I look at his face I think to myself- really “You Again”? (oh hush- you’ve all thought it at least once if your married – it’s not my fault you won’t grow a set and say it out loud) On these days there is a standard monologue that shortly flows through my conscience. It sounds something like this “RELAX- this too shall pass- you know he’s a good man, he usually makes you laugh, he’s been a great dad and you still actually love him after all these years” The first question I always have as these thoughts flow through is “where did SHE come from?” Why does my conscience always have the sweet southern accent and sound EXACTLY like my mother?? That’s a whole different topic for a later date, but let’s just say it’s sooooo not fair……………..
I remember looking at this man sleeping next to me when we were newly married with all the fascination of a new born baby. I remember feeling how lucky and happy and nothing could ever change that feeling. Almost 20 years and three parasites (children for those sweeter parents) later – nope no more fascination at all – just a snoring asshole. Luckily an asshole I would quickly miss! (Insert annoying sweet southern accent monologue here)
As women, the entertainment industry feeds us princess movies and romantic movies designed to show us what relationships “should look like”, but have you ever noticed they all end after “they get together” and never show us the everyday monotony of waking up and going to bed with the same person for 20 or 50 years. Why do you think that is????
I’ll tell you- The first reason is that would be a horribly boring movie. Can you imagine watching a movie on the drudgery of everyday life? The only thing that movie would be good for is replacing counting sheep. The main reason we don’t see that type of movie is the reality of that kind of love isn’t pretty. That kind of love isn’t all butterflies and rainbows. That kind of love takes commitment (mainly a commitment not to kill them), but a commitment just the same.
I’ve been really lucky and watched my parents hit the 50 years of marriage milestone this year. I’ve watched them do the ebbs and flows of marriage with as much grace as anyone could ever expect.(50 years is a long ass time) It wasn’t always pretty. It wasn’t a perfect marriage (there’s no such thing), but it was as good of an example as anyone could ask. I watched them love each other, dislike each other,and always come back to love. They taught me a lot about true love- true love takes commitment, sacrifice, and a complete surrender of yourself on occasion (i.e. don’t smother them in their sleep) Some days you’ll wake up and may not want to see their face, but if it’s the right one give it a few days and it will probably be different.
As I sit here tonight after deciding that I couldn’t do away with him, not because I couldn’t, but because I didn’t really want too because I would miss him- I realized maybe that’s what real long term love is….. It’s the commitment to wait the few days to see, it’s the commitment to try, it’s the commitment to the everyday chaos and monotony, and definitely the commitment to listen to the happy music and not smother them.
I guess that means if I’ve got to be institutionalized – I’ve chosen this institutionalized chaos…………………
If the Shoe Fits…….
Well here I sit on my back deck with the computer in my lap on an absolutely beautiful spring day trying to determine which one of these crazy idea’s floating around in my brain I will share with the world today. I took a hiatus for quite a while and realized after writing the other night I missed it more than I cared to admit.
I enjoy the release and the self examination that comes with writing. Some people choose to look in the mirror and reflect. As I age, I still use this method on occasion, but there is only so much evaluation I can do in the mirror. After you convince yourself those are “laugh” lines and show you’ve had a great life the reality of “I’m just getting damn old” creeps in. I find it best to move away quickly before my brain, who is still convinced it’s 15 on a good day and 20 on a bad day, explodes. It really hates that reality and I have found it’s much more fun to let it have it’s way.
I can promise you the hubby and parasites (children for those nicer than me) really don’t miss their “favorite” wife and mom and her writing. After I wrote the last blog and made the announcement “I believe I’ll pick up writing again” there was a huge collective sign that I am pretty sure even Prince in heaven heard. Then their negotiations began. Things like- “Can we not document every embarrassing moment in our lives” To which I replied to these poor,, pitiful, pleading members of my family in the sweetest smart ass voice I could muster between the giggles “Oh sure, no one would EVER want to hear the story of how I set off a complete pack of firecrackers in your room one morning when you wouldn’t get up because that’s just too mundane” (Yes that really did happen and if you’re a parent who struggles with the teenager and getting up – I highly recommend the method especially if you make them clean up the shrapnel)
Since at least three of these people are stuck with me for life,whether they like it or not, I get a little more leeway than with most. This is the only advantage you get when you actually build them inside your body, spit them out of your loins and then feed them from your chest for months and then cook for them and have to hand out $20’s for years to come. (ie. parasites) Since it’s the only advantage I get I figured I should exploit it to the fullest. The hubby- lets just say that’s a whole different exchange program 🙂
So back to here I sit with all these crazy idea’s and as I evaluate each one and flesh em out in my brain I remember why I took the hiatus in the first place. Most of the things that inspire me to write my brand of comedy are either controversial or would be easy recognizable to others as to who I was “picking” on.
In this everything offends me world comedy has become really hard. I’m a person that thinks that you can find a little funny in almost everything. It’s usually all in your perspective. I choose to see the funny (remember- those are laugh lines not wrinkles- it’s my make believe world and I like it here) I do my best to surround myself with others who do the same and thank my lucky stars there are still a few, but most take themselves and their beliefs waaaay to seriously.
I don’t ever really want to hurt anyone and I definitely never mean to offend and I refuse to argue with those who do not get comedy so I’ve evaluated and I’ve decided there is only one course of action for this old Southern woman to take. I’m gonna have two different blogs. I’m going to keep this one for the mostly non controversial and the “in general” harmless stuff and create another anonymous blog for the I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks.
I’m excited about this new venture!! Somewhere I can just write, evaluate myself and the world, say what I please without the polite Southern restrictions I place on myself should be fun and hey it’s a safer release than say- running away or drugs. Those are typically frowned upon.
So for those of you who get easily offended or take everything way to seriously- if the next blog that goes viral seems to be about you and the baby shoe fits- you never know- it just might be!! 🙂
The Day The Music and My Youth Died
I remember the night vividly in August of 1977 when Elvis Presley passed away!!
I was a girl of the mere age of 9. We were at a place known as an old Southern Campground. For those of you not familiar, this is a place where a bunch of crazy southern people live in what is basically a shack with wood shaving floors for 10 days in the sweltering hot part of summer with no air conditioning, but- full kitchens, bedrooms and showers and church 3 times a day (yes I did say 3 times a day-it’s the bible buckle) If you have never been to one of these events you might believe that only one crazy family would venture to do this insanity every year and you might be right in the beginning- because it does have a family name, but to your surprise after 150 years of the event there are now over 100 different families who live in crazy proximity to each other in shacks in the misery of the southern summer heat with no air conditioning. I would continue, but this insanity really deserves it’s on time at a later date…………..
Back to the day Elvis died…. I had just turned the tender age of 9. I was at the crazy campground surrounded by many different people of all ages as we returned from evening service (Church for those not familiar with southern slang) and the radios announced Elvis Presley’s passing. Many of the women in their 40’s and 50’s began to cry. I remember becoming completely confused. These were women I had known for all my young life. I had seen them become the complete Rock of Gibraltars when family members passed and handle everything like a prize fighter (for those of you that don’t know many southern women – we handle what needs to be done and typically cry in private- Scarlett O’Hara wasn’t far off)
These strong women, who I had always seen as rocks, suddenly sat on the porches of their shacks together crying. These women who I had witness handle spouses and parents deaths, look at single motherhood in the 70’s without a second thought and conquer became weeping children because a celebrity whom they didn’t even know had passed away.
This was very confusing to a 9 year. I knew Elvis, my dad had a friend who loved Elvis- he even had the sideburns and looked like him and only played his music when we were at their house. I was aware he sang music, which to me, was tame and kinda dated. I knew he made movies- I had even seen a few and thought they were cheesy. Nothing I knew of Elvis helped me comprehend these women and their grief. I remember being a child baffled.
Well today was MY turn and I am no longer baffled!! Prince passed away today! Prince was the music of my formative youth. Prince was the music that had racy lyrics and themes we hid from our parents. He and Madonna (she’s still here) were our generations rebellion. I can’t be the only person that still remembers singing “Party Like It’s 1999” and thinking how far away that was and now it’s 17 years in the rear view….. He might of been the first to say masturbate on an album, but I doubt it- just the first one we heard. (Thank goodness for Darling Nikki) The Purple Rain album was the one we hid and took to camps and played after the chaperons went to bed. Prince was the soundtrack of my generation. When my brain still wants to be 15 regardless of my body and it’s aches the Prince and Madonna soundtracks still play.
What I realized today was those women, who were my age now, I saw crying in the 70’s were children of the 50’s when Elvis was racy. He was the music they hid from their parents when they were teenagers. He was the music they danced too when no one was watching and sang loudly when no one was listening and everything was ahead of you and anything was possible. Elvis was a person they did not know. They were not crying for the death of Elvis the man. They were grieving for the realization of their youth being gone. They grieved for the innocence and immaturity of youth. They grieved for the brutal realization of adulthood which had always been there, but as long as that ICON was there could somehow be recaptured. The death somehow made it permanent.
Getting old has it’s advantages (age and treachery over youth and enthusiasm an all), but damn some days the knees hurt!
Every generation has a “Day the Music Died” which actually should be translated to “The Day My Youth Died” because that is how we actually react and grieve. One generation had the day Buddy Holly and others passed in a plane crash, the next generation had Elvis passing and based on my 40 and 50 year old friends reactions today ours is Prince’s death.
To all of my friends floating with me in the same boat of middle age grieving our youth and all of those possibilities that we feel passed with Prince today just remember- “We are gathered here today to get through this thing called Life” so the next time you see a Purple Rain just dance and embarrass the kids- it’s all we got so might as well enjoy after you had your cry!!!
Oh- and don’t forget to keep on partying like it’s 1999- it’ll confuse the young folk until they’re at least 45 when it’ll be there turn too!!!! 🙂
All Girls Should Have And A Line And A Strong Safety
One of the advantages, or disadvantages, of having a teenage daughter is the plethora of teenage movie and television drama’s. Just take a look at the CW or ABC Family which cater to the teenage girl. There is a vampire show for every love torn teenage girl’s fantasy boy and/or a show based in fantasy land high school where love conquers all and the mean girl always loses.
As a mother who chooses her battles wisely, I was aware I would never win the battle of the teenage girl heart and taste for the love torn so I bribed instead. She is watching and learning football with mom and I, in exchange, watch teenage girl shows and movies with her. The bribe does seem to be working in my favor. We have passed the basics of football and she is moving right along in learning positions and plays. God bless some poor teenage boy who thinks he’s getting off easy with the dumb pretty blonde. Oh wait- her favorite restaurant is Waffle House, she likes the taste of beer and she knows football. Maybe the teenage boy is getting off easy and we should all be blessing her father and brothers instead! 🙂
So back to the teenage girl drama’s. Since I haven’t watched this many since I myself was a teenage girl I am finding myself in a quandary. On one hand I am very nostalgic. It’s similar to listening to the radio and an old song comes on which brings a smile to your face. You listen and remember a certain party, old boyfriend or experience and suddenly you are back to the age of 17 and all the emotions come rushing back and you smile because if only you had the wisdom of today. I watch and remember my youth when cute boys, parties, and small drama’s made up everyday and I thought life was difficult. The only difference now is I smirk.
On the other hand do I pass on my wisdom to my baby girl? Do I tell her they are fantasy land? Do I tell her the reality of sometimes the mean girl does win and sometimes, by accident, you are her or that teenage boys are not pining away in their rooms for you because they have “other” interests and by other interest I don’t mean football? Should I tell her their brains come back at 25 and it’s in her best interest just to wait? Should I tell her that life is much more complicated than a movie and that sometimes love doesn’t conquer all at 16, but when she thinks her life is over it’s just getting interesting?
To alleviate my quandary I decided to spend a little time sharing with my baby girl the teenage movies of my age. We watched Breakfast Club, About Last Night, St Elmo’s Fire and so on. Then I decided to watch the teenage movies of my moms generation. I watched Where the boys are and Beach Blanket Bingo (yeah for Netflix and On-Demand) and I had a epiphany.
Teenage movie’s have had the same message forever and who am I do try to change the message or teach a different perspective. Even if I could would she even listen or get the point? I remember how I thought my mom had “NO IDEA” of what I was going through. I remember thinking “She’s old and married what does she know about teenage boys”
Well it turns out now that I’m old and married and it may of taken 30 years and a teenage boy of my own that I now know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I do know a few things about teenage boys. I got all excited and was planning my speech to my teenage girl and then I surprisingly had an epiphany.
Who am I to tell her the reality? These movie’s and drama’s have had the same message since Shakespeare. What if there is a valid reason for the message? What is wrong with letting her believe he’s pining away for her in his room? What is wrong with letting her believe the mean girl always loses or that love conquers all? Reality will be here soon enough and maybe my job is to just be her mom.
My job is the shoulder to cry on and the voice in her head that says Prince Charming will be here soon and she’s better than him. Maybe I am supposed to be here for the moral compass when she’s accidentally the mean girl and tell her it’s o k when the other mean girl wins. My job is really just to watch them with her, be sweet to her when she’s confused, and get her through the next 10 or 15 years so when she’s nostalgic she can smirk.
My epiphany is sometimes you just have to learn the hard way. I have decided I’m going with this plan. First, it’s nicer than she won’t listen to me anyway and second she’ll grow up soon enough and I should just enjoy the time. All I can really do is pray that one day she’ll really understand the lessons I’ll give her this fall on the concepts of football. Every girl needs a line to block for you and a strong safety to have your back.
Maybe my mom wasn’t so clueless after all!!
It’s all In Your Perspective!!
So yesterday I had another birthday! I got out of the bed, went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror and said “Wow- so this is what 46 looks like?” Since I was reflecting, I spent a few extra minutes and low and behold I noticed those new wrinkles and pounds I had been purposely avoiding. I had seen them, but I am convinced that avoidance is a perfectly acceptable way to get through middle age. I can’t avoid the creaks in my knee’s anymore so only just glancing in the mirror is really my new survival mechanism.
I wish I didn’t, but I remember like it was yesterday being a teenager and thinking 46 was ancient! I remember listening to Prince singing “Party Like It’s 1999” and thinking I would be soooooo old (32) when it turned to the year 2000. Now it’s 2014 and it amazes me because I’m sure if I had even thought about being this age I would of pictured myself in the nursing home. I see my parasites (children for those nicer than me) faces and remember how ancient they think I am now and it makes me giggle. I get that evil age smirk every now and then as my brain says “Yes my child- please believe I don’t know what your thinking so I can bust you just for fun!!”
My brain has a remarkable way of convincing itself most days that we are still just 15 with just a little more wisdom (other than hangover days when it screams loudly “you are 40 something honey-what were you thinking??” but I don’t think those really count cuz it did that when I was 15 too!)
Since I had decided to do a little reflecting I was sending my poor 15 year old brain into a tail spin. It was doing all sorts of somersaults of justifications, excuses, and it’s best trick avoidance. I refused to listen I just kept right on looking. As I noticed the deep wrinkles I laughed as I remembered the immortal words of Dolly Parton in Steal Magnolia’s “Time marches on and eventually you realize it’s marching across your face” Yep- there were those pesky boot prints of the army of time. God bless my 15 year old brain because it kicked in immediately. It decided we should make some faces and I realized most of my deepest wrinkles are laugh lines. I realized an array of smiles have crossed this face over 46 years. I decided I wouldn’t be depressed about laugh lines- they really should be celebrated. Maybe with Botox, but celebrated just the same.
When I got around to the extra pounds I decided to listen to my young brain immediately (it was nicer). For those of us that did not get smiled on young by the breast goddess a few extra pounds can do WONDERS! I am convinced that those babies are the first place a woman gains and loses weight. That old statement that most men like curvier women makes much more sense to me. I am convinced for every 20 pounds a woman gains it equals a bra size. Now I understand most men don’t even see the extra 20 pounds, just the new boobs! It gives a whole new meaning to “give em what they want”, but me and the brain are going with it!! I think about losing the pounds all the time, but then the dessert hits the table and my teenage with wisdom brain says “yes, but those go with em” and I eat the cake anyway. Hey- I could always be gaining because I was pregnant and another year older is always better than 3 months late any day!!
As I slide down the ramp of my 40’s and reflect in the mirror on this birthday, I realize more and more it seems to be all in your outlook of life. I can be depressed about the wrinkles or I can celebrate the army of laughs and emotions that have crossed my face. I can be sad about the body, which is changing daily, or I can relish in actually getting to buy a real bra size. I can be sad that my parasites see me as ancient or be excited that my brain actually knows what they are thinking and enjoy busting them and seeing their confused faces.
So as I stood there contemplating the years I realized the only thing I have truly learned in 46 years is that the truth is always just in your perspective and so stay happy and just make it up as you go along!!!
They’ve Lost Their Marbles!!!
I am one of those people who, in my 40’s, is still lucky enough to have both of my parents. Not only am I lucky enough to still have them, they are both still extremely active. Now many days that activity can drive me crazy with the 40 phone calls to ask what size shoe’s, coats, shirts, pants, or underwear my children wear while my mom is shopping, but that’s usually because I don’t have any idea. Even on those days I still always answer because I remember how lucky I am that she is still shopping for them. Many of my friends have lost one or both parents these days so even when they are still giving me their own type of Southern loving advice (the rules) I still smile and try to live by them and require my children to live by them because I’m Southern and respect is still just respect.
This week though I am a little worried that they have completely lost all of their marbles!!
They left with my sister and 4 children (3 of them mine) to drive across country to Montana. The hubby and I will be flying out next week to spend a week with them in Montana and then we will fly home and they will drive back across the country with them for anther week. Now I love my parasites (children for those nicer than me), but even a 6 hour car drive with them can make me look like the exorcist while I turn green and my head spins completely around. A grandparents love must have a special patience button that you just don’t get when you become a parent. I have spoken with my mother everyday and she still just smiles and says “they are being soooo good” I’m starting to think that when you become a grandparent the government must sneak Valium in your water supply and if that’s the case can my parasites hurry and grow up (to 30) and give me grand parasites of my own. I could use a good dosing of patience, even if it’s in government mandated drug form!!
As a mom of three it is extremely weird not having your parasites at home. I have spent an evening on the back deck listening to very loud music with no one coming out to complain that we had no food. I watched an entire movie with no one coming to tell me they are bored. I’ve slept late with no one coming in to wake me up because we are out of cereal or milk. I took a nap in the middle of the afternoon with no one coming in to ask me why I am sleeping. I realized after 48 hours I am starting to miss the parasites because it is waaay to quite in my house. The insanity must be so ingrained in my brain now that when it’s turned off I’m just confused. I just wander around aimlessly waiting for some parasite to give me a direction. Luckily the hubby is handling having no direction very well. There are things happening that never happen when the parasites are here. Do dad’s get the same water as grandparents? So I need to go now so I can eat the brunch he made me complete with a cocktail. It may not be the same water as the grandparents get, but he’s trying to teach me. So until next time……………………………..
Right Back At Cha
It’s another travel day for moi! I have always called these times the planes, trains and automobile days, but I am making an executive decision in my own brain to change the name to “Me walking my ass off day.” Now trust me my ass could use some walking off, but that should be voluntary and done on my own time not forced on me by some evil travel god who I must of pissed off in another life.
I want to know who these people are that get the first four gates in the terminals? I have never gotten one in my whole life. I’ve never even gotten a gate in the middle of the terminal. If you fly with me you can bet your bottom dollar we will be at the very end of the terminal coming and going especially if I’ve got a bunch of crap.
Now that I think about it I’m really not sure if I’ve ever seen one of those first four gates even being used. Maybe the airport just puts them there as a tease for those old and tired people like me. Those close gates just sit empty all day saying “haha you can sit here, but we are just really a rest stop before you have to carry all that shit in heels the other 1/2 a mile to your destination waaaaay down there at the end”. I swear it says “nanny nanny boo boo.” I look around and it seems no one else heard it so I refrain from sticking my tongue out at it- people might think I was weird.
Well today I just didn’t care. As I started the trek down the terminal with a heavy laptop bag, purse, and heels and realized I again was at the very last gate I just stopped at the first gate (which was empty shocker) and stuck my tongue out and shot it a bird and said “right back at cha”. Still had to walk the half mile, but hey I felt better and the looks I got were priceless!
Well Time- March On……..
I know all you people keep saying the 40’s is the new 20’s, but let me just tell you that now that I am in my mid 40’s all I can say is “BULLSHIT!” I could try to say it nicer (I even tried to explore how), but bullshit really seems to be the most appropriate and best way to nail it. There are a few advantages of age. Wisdom and treachery are a two of my favorites, but in general getting old really isn’t all that much fun.
I know that on the TV they keep showing us these 40 to 60 year old’s that still look 20. Really?? I’m sure they have “good genes” and all, but come on I’m sure I could too if I could pay millions of dollars for people and products to make my wrinkles go away. They may look 20, but I bet they can’t get to the bathroom before they pee on themselves either. That should be the real age test for women- not wrinkles. When you are in your twenties you can run a mile. When you are in your 30’s hard coughs and sneezes become a issue. In your 40’s after having parasites (children for those nicer than me) just thinking about it and making it in time becomes your comedy or tragedy of the day. I feel like I spend a lot of time during my day doing what I call “the don’t pee pee dance” I do it in the car, I do it in the grocery store and I do it in hallways. It now takes me 10 minutes to get out of the car in my own driveway after traffic. Not because I’m stuck on the phone or even getting my stuff together, but simply because it takes me that long to psych myself up for the attempt to make it to the bathroom in time. I now know why adult diapers are such big sellers because otherwise by 60 I am sure we would all just be permanently living in a bathroom too afraid to come out.
The other age test these freaks of nature should have to pass is the joint noises test. I just want one time when one of these women goes on a talk show to talk about her “staying young” techniques I want them to walk down the stairs with microphones on their knees, not their jackets. I remember lovingly the days when I used to be able to bound up and down the stairs. Now when I walk up and down the stairs it sounds more like someone burning themselves while popping popcorn. “Pop, ouch, pop, ouch, pop, ouch” My hips now too are joining in on the conspiracy against me. They are evil and go out at the most inappropriate times. I’ll gladly avoid the stairs, but the hubby and I have a goal to get kicked out of the old age home for inappropriate behavior and I’ll certainly need my hips for that.
The other joy of middle age which I could do without is having my own little personal summer times. The government gives out many subsidies. I think one they are ignoring is personal cabana boys for middle aged women. This would not be a permanent subsidy, but a temporary one (kinda like welfare was supposed to be) For about 5 years all middle aged women going through menopause would be assigned one cabana boy. His job would be to follow us around with a cup of ice and large fan. He should pay attention and anytime we start sweating for no reason (or glowing for my southern lady friends) he should jump into action and feed us ice and quickly fan. Pay attention to history and all the famous queens with their personal people running around fanning them- they weren’t really hot they were going through the change and understood what was needed. I may just hold out on picking my next candidate for president until I can find one whose platform is cabana boys or hell- maybe I’ll just run myself. My platform will be “Menopausal women unite” The men may not vote for us, but I bet they’ll be to scared to tell us. 🙂
Since I don’t have millions I am deciding to grow old gracefully (or not so much-depending on how you look at it) What tickles me is we put so much emphasis on the wrinkles on our face and so far I’ve found those are the least annoying parts of growing old. It has taken me years to get these “shit eating grin” lines permanently etched on my face and I think they deserve to stay. I don’t mind seeing my laugh lines in the mirror- they’re my badge of courage. Those lines mean I’ve found ways to laugh even through the tears. Those lines mean I have laughed, those lines mean I have loved, those lines mean I have lived, and those lines mean I have survived. As I look in the mirror tonight at the wrinkles and try to figure out why my grandmother when she was younger is staring back at me I hear the the immortal words of Dolly Parton in Steal Magnolia’s “Time marches on and eventually you realize it’s marching across your face” Well time- march on………………….
God Bless The Pictures!!!
Aside Posted on Updated on
As I sat here tonight in my chair and looked above my head at my favorite painting above the fireplace of the picture of my young family, I thought about how much everything has changed over the years. When this picture was taken they were all just toddlers and babies. I used to look at the picture when they were all 5 to 9 and think wow how the the parasites (children for those nicer than me) have grown. Now as I look at that picture I think where did those babies go??
Two are teenagers now and one is on the precipice. They drive me nuts everyday. They make me look at my husband regularly and say “Why exactly did we have three children?” and say “Please for God’s sake goooooo to bed” on a regular basis. They make me cuss, pray, thankful, and in general drive me bat shit crazy daily.
The amazing thing though is in reality they are still here and will survive because whether they are 4 or 40 in almost every parents eyes they still are their babies. They still have those big ole toddler eyes and cheeks to us parents and when we question whether to eat our young or not- the pictures are here to reminds us.
God Bless This Picture Until They’re Grown!!!
On The Road Again!
Aside Posted on Updated on
Yesterday as I was taking a road trip my mind started to wander (I was riding not driving so no where near as dangerous than it wandering normally is) As I was riding down the road I started to think about our interstates. The United States interstate system was developed to help get goods to us quickly and cheaply. Our grocery stores are full of things now for us to buy so it can just rot in our refrigerator. These roads are becoming ever more important because we need our things, such as banana’s. Banana’s and their potassium are important and can fend off infertility. After having 3 parasites in less than 4 years, (children for those sweeter than me) banana’s have been outlawed in my home. I may need strawberries, but (sing along) “we have no banana’s – we have no banana’s today” I am also about to have three teenagers so I am really ok with anything that can enhance selective and time lined infertility so no banana’s for them either. Actually I’m all for using any and all non permanent infertility aids. As a matter of fact – I pray for them.
These interstates were also put in place for us average Joe’s to get from point A to point B much quicker. They all look the same though. As a matter of fact most of the time we can’t even tell the difference in what part of the country we are in other than the trees that mind-dumbingly line each side of the interstate. When we used to drive down old 2 lane or 4 lane highways we got to see many things and learn a little more about a culture. Now we pretty much are resigned to learning about their trees and their culture through what’s on an exit ramp and billboards.
This started me giggling about what outsiders must be learning about the south while driving through.
1) We have pine trees
We have lots and lots of pine trees, If they happen to come during April they can even experience a whole new version of yellow snow. This isn’t the yellow snow of the north during winter- this is a whole new experience. When our pine trees (or evergreens for those from other parts) decide to pollinate they produce enough enough bright yellow/green stuff to populate the world. They don’t populate the world- they actually just cover everything with this yellow/green dust like substance that is about the same consistency as sand. I always love to watch the new transplants trying to keep their cars clean during this new experience- it takes a few years to learn it’s a lesson in futility. We southerners just know – wait it out- wash it in two weeks.
2) We really really really like waffles!
Get off the interstate in most Southern states and turn to the left or the right and there will sit that little yellow topped building called Waffle House (usually on both sides of the exit). They are all open 24 hours a day so if you need a waffle fix at 3 am we’ve gotcha covered. Many parts of the country have adult rights of passages. I have decided the South really has two. The 2 am drunk waffle visit and the 11 am hung over Waffle House visit. Once you have done both you are officially ready for adult life in the South and if you accomplish both in one day you are ready to conquer the world. There is no better “hair of the dog” than a grease fest Waffle House visit. You can do your Bloody Mary if you want, but I’ll take my medicine scattered, covered and smothered please.
3) Club Risqué is as important as peaches and nuts (there might be a joke in that)
Now I know they’ve changed their names, but if you’ve driven on our interstates you’ve seen the billboards. These billboards have caused many a complicated and entertaining conversations between mothers and children. As soon as they begin to read the question always comes “mom, what’s adult entertainment?” Some mothers almost wreck and some mothers say I’m not sure and the mothers like me say “well it’s kinda like shoe shopping, but different and I’ll explain it later.” Phew!! Now on to the next question “mom, what’s a pecan log?” I just smile sweetly and make the dirty jokes in my head.
You would think that being in the Bible Belt we would have serious issue’s with all of this adult entertainment advertising, but we seem to be able to live in the duality just fine. We have more churches per capita than other region. There is one on about every corner, but in our history there was a bunch of towns that the only things that gave the churches a run for their money was the brothels. We just didn’t put em on the corners we actually gave them a whole part of town. I think we understand that not everyone needs the same stimuli to say “Oh God” and we appreciate religious fervor in all it’s forms.
Now on this trip I had the pleasure to get off the interstate and go off the beaten path for a while and oh the education on the south these people are missing. I started to add them here, but realized that if I can’t write a whole blog on a store that advertises lingerie and bait then I should never write again. So until next time………………..
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