Thanks Willie...

As I walked through our bathroom to the laundry room THIS is what I encountered!

No. Growing up in Kentucky we didn't have lizards....or armadillos.

Yes. I jumped outta my skin when I saw him perched on our counter.

Clearly he (or she) are they asexual? Let's call it a 'he'--honey you know Mama lizard back at the ranch holding down the lizard-hole while this dude is runnin' around exploring. So. He is not that big, however, his presence was unexpected and I let out a shrill. Kids run in--"Mama what is it?" "Get me the broom" I say as I march toward the kitchen to the fetch the broom. The kids can't move quickly enough, I think, gotta do it myself--"Mamie can get it," my youngest declares. That's already crossed my mind. Our housekeeper-she picks them up by the tail and casually pitches him-or her-outside. I tried. I walked toward the lizard and took a deep breath.....and even reached for the long tail. Will his tail drop off? Or is that a chameleon? In my mind, I see myself holding the thin tail and the lizard wildly wriggling toward my wrist.....Nope. Can't do it. So I go for the broom. I hold the broom trying to get the small-minded beast to jump on. He races toward the corner of the mirror. I lay the broom out again, hoping he'll race up it and then I'll run outside....

He scoots to the edge of our counter....and then, incredibly, does a 'hail Mary' jump onto the bathroom floor. "Eeeeek" our children scream and run backwards to our closet. "Get in the shower" one of them screams. I'm stunned by the lizard's jump. Damn. Surely he's dead.

He wiggles around....and I begin sweeping him. If I can get him over the threshold and into the hallwayI think, we're almost outside. I give him a firm whack and he rolls into the hallway. As I scoot pass the door and get my broom ready for the next threshold....there stands our faithful dog Willie. Relief! Willie stands firm and looks at me....he senses tension, I see it in his stance.

I give the lizard a tap, "Look Willie," and Willie knows from the tone of my voice he has a treat. Willie braces his legs and eyeballs the little reptile.....before I can speak he pounces the lizard--I see the lizard wriggling--Willie readjusts his mouth and takes the green little varment outside.

Ahhhhh. Willie. Of course. Why didn't I think of him sooner.

I'm slightly embarrassed that I didn't just pick up the lizard.....what would Ma Ingalls have done? She could do it. My Appalachian ancestors could have picked it up--hell, they might have boiled it up for dinner.

I've been thinking lately about how comfortable life is today. I think of the struggles other generations of Americans have faced. I think of the suffering in other parts of the world. As a society and Nation we don't value the Blessings of freedom, of having plenty of food and shelter. When we're too hot we turn up the air conditioning and if we're too cold we turn up the heat. Gotta give a shout-out to hubby Buford T., who builds an exceptional fire and impresses me as a person who could truly live off the land. Me? I'd be fine, as long as I can bring Willie.

Ma Ingalls had a dog, I reassure myself. That's why pioneers had dogs--for protection and help as much as companionship. I'm not advocating we get a covered wagon, move out West and live in a yert, but I do want to be more intentional about counting my Blessings. Like our faithful dog Willie.

7:00 a.m.

The digital clock in my husband's car (that I loathe) says 8:13. In fact, it reads 9:13 but I know it's actually 8:13 because of the time change, and of course I have no f-ing clue and no interest in changing the time.

So. I really don't even know where to start. But something tells me the beginning.
I'll start at the beginning but first you should know this is unchartered territory for me.
Writing on the computer, that is.

I pulled into my drive...
(side note: my mother just called my home number, "I'm writing my novella, can't talk." I tell her. "Whaaaat??! Mom says in her best that-sounds-like-a-waste-of-time-and-something-your-father would-be-doing voice. I laugh. "Call you back" I say hurriedly. I'm thinking gotta get this down--get 'it' out of my mind to go on with my day. "Byeee." Mom says and I hear the doubt and sarcasm in her voice.)

So. Unchartered territory. Not the writing but actually sitting down at the computer.

I pulled into my drive awhile ago, and I immediately began looking for a pen. I now keep paper in my car so I can record my thoughts. No pen. I look in console--ahhh, the broken $5 Book Fair purple pen....maybe I can put the pen part....and here's the top with all the fun big beads....no use. My purse. I pull the top of a pen.....and it's broken too. Fuck. I'm gonna have to walk IN the house. Fine.

I walk in the house and grab a pen. No messages, I glance at our machine. I walk outside and get back into the car.
Ahhhhh. My office. My make-shift office. My 'rolling' office--hah!

My favorite hobby is to sit in my car (or my husband's shitty Lexus) and write. I like sitting in my drive-in this office I have a panaromic view of my yard. Which calms me. Depending on the season, I see shades of green, or even vibrant purple when the red-bud trees are blooming. Today there are piles and piles of brown and gold crunchy leaves.

I'm in the car. Comfortable.
The anticipation of writing--uninterrupted is very satisfying.
I'm relaxed--finally! I reach for my notebook. Open it.....flip thru my recent writings to a blank page..... and at the top of the page write 8:13 a.m.

Wait.
Hold on hussy, I tell myself. This is 'beautiful mind' style writing.....again. You told yourself NO more. I mean, I know this is heaven--just sitting and recording your thoughts. And you've worked through a ton of smuck but come on.....the blog? Instead of writing this shit in another notebook.....just document it on the computer. That's why you agreed to do the blog. So you'd have an avenue to share and record your thoughts, impressions and all the crazy shit going thru your fucked-up mind.

All true.
Do you know yourself well. Do you listen to yourself, even when you don't want to??
Sometimes I do. And sometimes I don't. This morning I do.

The beginning.
7:00 a.m.
"Can you take them to school?" John asks. Damn, I think. "Sure." I say. I need to get to the office also and finish discovery for his Dad but.....John does a lot and yes, of course I can.

"Get your clothes girls. You're both old enough to pick out your own outfits."
We should be picking them out the night before. I know this. My fault.
"Girls this is why we pick them out the night before," I tell them.
They're not even listening, or maybe they are.

"He wanted to wear his Halloween shirt." John tells me as I survey the shitty outfit he put on our youngest. I kinda roll my eyes. "What?" John takes issue with my eye-roll. "Hell, he wanted to get himself dressed, it's not a big deal." John is making his case. That's the only thing about 2 lawyers....."Whatever." I say shortly.
I'm thinking of all the cute outfits in his drawers. Fuck it. No time. Not this morning.

Just 30 minutes agoI was sitting blissfully in my den--cup of coffee. It was 6:39 am.
Talking with John."This is one of my favorite things to do--have coffee in the morning with you."

And now...at 7:07 am I'm in the middle of a shit-storm.

"I want pancakes." My youngest says. "Mama, you said we would have pancakes."
No time. I think. Hell, I blew that off at 6:36--I had a choice. Get my ass up to make the cakes, or sit for a minute with John.
"Honey, we'll have them tomorrow." I tell him.
"Mama will make them tomorrow, son." John backs me up.

"Come on girls. Frosted Flakes ok?" I hurry them up. They are dressed.
Not a typical outfit. Cute though. My girls usually don't go for the pants with matching top.
Ahhhh, hell no. We gotta mix it up. They both look darling.
Something tells me I have played subtle role in this---after all, their Mama isn't a matchy, simple person either.
Hmmmm. Sorry 'bout your luck girls, I think.
I'm just complicated, I think. Sometimes.

"NO. I not wearin' those." My 3 year old defiantly tells his Daddy.
"Oh yes you are son. You are gonna wear the green ones." Tennis shoes, that is.
My youngest is in the middle of a full-blown meltdown.
My middle child goes over to console him.
"I want the BLUE ones....." he cries.
Our Daddy is being pushed. "Nope. You're wearing these." John slams his foot into the shoe.
More tears.
The girls finished with cereal have moved on. My middle child playing her Nintendo.
"Get off the Nintendo." John says. She doesn't move.
Ahhhh, hell. I think, listening in the kitchen.
"GET OFF THE NINTENDO" he yells.
He grabs the game, "You are grounded for a week from that thing."
A week? Hell, that's too long, I think. Mama doesn't say a word. Even I know now isn't the time.

7:17 am
Youngest still crying. I walk to car and find his blue tennis shoes.
"Girls, brush your teeth." I tell them.
"Are we gonna be late?" My middle child asks.
"YES!" John responds....."NO" I respond, at the same time.
"You should be leaving now," John says with full authority--like he's the gestapo.
"We're fine." I say.

We have moved onto the BLUE tennis shoes. John has put one shoe on.
"That NOT the right foot......" my son screams. "It hurts me...." More tears.
I walk over with the other BLUE shoe--"honey, yes it is." "NO," he screams.
A boot is laying nearby. "What about the boots?" Anything--for God's sake shut him up.
I know where the other boot is--I found it and washed it. The mat. Also don't forget the sleeping mat in the dryer. And his sleep friend. Kinda wet--the boot. I get the hair dryer.....

7:24
"Alright, y'all gotta go. I'm done....just take him. I'm not doing this anymore." John declares.
The boots don't fit. Damn, these kids have the biggest feet I've ever seen.
John's family. They get that from John's family.
"Girls go ahead and get in the car, please." I say.
My youngest in the floor crying. No shoes.
I scoop him up.....take him to the car and put on our seat belts.
Throw his shoes in the floorboard.
Ahhhh. Somehow Mama is the good witch this am. Ahhhhhh. I like it.

My oldest is dropped off without incident. "Do I have soccer tonight?" she asks. "Yes." I say.
Plenty of time, I think. On schedule.
"Honey, have a great day."
Can't do the spanish I think. It's just too much. No spanish lessons after school. But another language is important, I think. I dunno. But her regular schoolwork....and doing the 'select' soccer team. Just can't do it all.

I turn left to take my middle child to school.
"Mama, I have no breakfast." My youngest says from the backseat "Mama I hungry."
Oh shit. He's right. He never ate. GREat. "Ok honey, we'll get you something," I say.

Look at that beautiful yellow tree." I point, as we are stopped to turn down the street.
"When you were 4, you would've said, 'that tree lost its chlorophyll.' " I remind my middle child, who enjoys these stories. She smiles a big toothless grin.

"And," I continue,
(my daughter loves this, and I must rehearse these stories so I don't forget them!)
"you were 4 when you recited the entire Thanksgiving story." "I know Mama."
"In 1620 the Pilgrims left England for a new home" I continue in my best 'drama' voice.
And I'm thinking, this is MY favorite story about her and generally I love the Pilgrims....
"Ohhhh no. Did I just pass your school?!"
Damn. I did.
"Mama, yes you did. You passed my school. What are you gonna do?"
My middle child is distraught.
7:44 am
No way I can circle back around.
"NO ENTRY...." I see the sign as I turn right into the bus-only entrance.
I follow a white jolopy who is pulling up to the sidewalk.
Here come the teachers---waving wildly at us not to stop at the sidewalk.
My children are mortified. "Daddy never does this," she says.
Daddy doesn't give a shit about the Pilgrims either, I think.
I roll down the window. "You gotta park." The woman yells at me. Her face full of disgust.
I pull into a shaded no-parking spot....."Honey, I can't walk you all the way."
"Mama, just walk up here, you HAVE to." I hold her hand tight. We stomp up the sidewalk to the corner of the school...."Bye Mama" she says lovingly. "Bye honey."
Oh God. I see the bus pull up. I see John's Lexus and driver door open....surely he won't get out.
Surely. He's buckled in the car. He wouldn't get out to follow us.

Ok. "Let's go get you a biscuit." I reassure my son.
7:53 TExt from John Door locked. Love you.
My youngest quietly eats the sausage from his biscuit--not great for his tummy, I think. Oh well.
And drinks his milk. "Ahhh. All gone." He says. Damn, he was thirsty.
"I not go to school." he threatens. "Oh. Ms. Anne Fairley has so many fun things planned."
Still hasn't put on his shoes.

We drive up to the school. Ok. He's eaten.
The mat. Fuck. Later, I'll bring the mat later.
I look around for his shoes. The teacher has opened the car door.
"See his shoes, they are..." I'm straining to reach behind me.
"Wait!"- the teacher yells, "You're movin'...."
I look at the dash "R".....
I quickly reach for the gear and attempt to move the gear--my Iphone is stuck behind it....
I push the phone....I feel us rolling backward--I look in the rear-view mirror, shit!
Get the MFer in park, I think---the P, look for "P."
Ok.
"Sorry....my foot was.....I thought I had put it in park but...." I try and explain.
"No problem," the college-age girl smiles.
Hm-hum. She thinks I'm crazy.
Soooo f-ing cute, well just wait until YOU have kids, a husband and a mortgage, I think.
As I drive off I notice 2 ladies laughing--I know them. I like them both a lot.
Huh.
They saw me. I've become one of 'those Moms.' The bat-shit crazy ones??
Maybe they are laughing at me. Shit. I'd laugh at me.
I was inches from a full-blown catastrophe.....
What if I'd hit the accelerator on accident when in "R" and smashed the Director who was behind us......
Dear Lord.
I wouldn't of. I didn't. Everything's fine.

8:01
Exhausted.
Change this Radio Disney shit.
Ahhhhh. Peace. Enjoying the ubiqutous coffee (got me a decaf at Mickey D's).
As I drive home. I smile. I kinda laugh.
I review our crazy morning in my mind. Just life.
My life isn't perfect. God knows I'm not perfect. Sometimes it's just crazy and mixed-up. Life.
You can't even make-up this stuff.....
BLack Eyed Peas come on.... I turn it up....loud. I'm singing, loudly. Snapping my fingers.
Get out of the way!! I almost run over an elderly woman turning into the animal clinic.

I'm so thankful. And grateful. To be at this point in my life. To feel settled.
I'm now on our road.
My neighbor lost her dog a few days ago.
"Dog Found. Thanks, everyone." The sign in her yard reads.
I'm more than comfortable in our community. I'm home.
I pull up our driveway. There are piles and piles of brown and gold leaves.
I think about our community.
My husband. My church friends. My Mom-friends. My girlfriends. My in-laws.
They've given me more than they will ever know.
Freedom.
Freedom to define myself.
Freedom from the control of my parents bitter separation and divorce.
I want to share my experience. I look for a pen. The purple Book Fair pen, it's broken.
I walk into the house to get a pen.
I walk back to the car.
I sit. Looking out the windows of my rolling-office-hah!
There must be others who could benefit from my experiences.
Other people--women--who sometimes feel alone and isolated even in the midst of family and friends. Not all the time but occassionally.
People who carry the burden of grief, loss, rage or bitterness.....whatever the cause.
My heart is so full, I think.
My husband, my family and my friends gave me the love, strength and courage to let go of the bitterness and sadness. And of course, my God.
The day in the courtyard at Everyday Sisters.
I want the world to know 'the peace that passeth all understanding' is available to everyone.
To anyone.
I reach for my notebook.
I write at the top of the page 8:13 am.
Wait. No more 'beautiful mind' writing. I tell myself.
Today, I listened.
Thanks be to God!

Running "Ninety-to-Nothin"

I first heard this particular phrase when I began practicing law.
My divorce client said, "Weez runnin' ninety-to-nothin."
What he meant to convey was that he was in a real hurry.
That he was running crazy.

The same client had a penchant for Southern slang.
To convey his deep and abiding love for another he would say, "I love her to the tenth power." Hmm. Well. We're good at math. You know, Southerners are reeeeealy good at math and some of us like to use our mathematics terminology in other situations.

So. Like my former client, I was runnin' ninety-to-nothin' last week.
(And, I love Buford T. to the tenth power!)

Between football, pumpkin-patch field trips, planning for supper club and general all-Hallow's-eve preperation, I expect to be runnin' ninety-to-nothin' for the next TWO weeks.

In fact, MommyDivas we'll be runnin' ninety-to-nothin' the REST OF THE YEAR!!!
It's true. You know it. I know it. We all know it. Let's make the best of it. Really.

I have NO choice but to put on a happy face....

If I stop to consider that all (let's be fair to Buford T) ok, not all but much of the magic to be made throughout the holiday season, including my precious daughter's 10th birthday tea party, falls squarely on my shoulders....well, when I think of creating all this 'magic' I want to run straight up I-65 to Franklin, KY, and let MY Mama handle all these events.
But I can't.....
Of course, I won't.
That doesn't mean I'm not tempted.
It doesn't mean my own Mama won't have a hand in some of the 'magic' that happens here.
After all, grandparents and family are part of the magic!

No hussies....I'm not Pollyanna.
I know the stresses and pressures motherhood places on us--especially this time of year.
But what other choice do we have? Give up? Hell f-ing no.

Happy faces girls.
We're goin' ninety-to-nothin' --fulfilling all the wonderful, joyful and sometimes painful roles that motherhood presents us.
It's our turn.

B-A-B-Y

Some things NEVER change! Like my baby sister acting like a BABY!
For as long as I can remember Sammy has gotten 'her way' by whining, complaining, pouting, fussing, or otherwise playing up her role as 'the baby.'

"Maaaaa-maaaa"-- she would screech.
Muffin did this. Muffin won't let me do this.....Muffin said this......
And my mother, like many mothers, always addressed the oldest child first.
"Muffin, what did you do?" "Muffin, what did you say?" "Muffin, just let her play too."
That Sammy--she always gets her way, I would fume.
They are harder on me, I used to think.

Fast forward 20--okay, 30 years. I now have 2 girls of my own. I see and understand very clearly that Mom wasn't always "taking up for Sam" like I used to think. Rather, Mom expected something different from her older child. I know this because I live this phenomenon everyday. These roles of 'the baby' and 'the boss' are even more exaggerated, I think, when 2 children are the same gender.

"Maaaaaaa-maaaaa." My younger daughter screams.
"She's being mean." "She hit me."
My typical response is directed to my older daughter, "What in the hell are you doin' to her?" "Can't I have a moment of peace in my own house?" I have even uttered the birth order mantra---"Honey, YOU are the oldest. You are supposed to be more mature. Just ignore her."
I tell my older daughter, not hiding or couching the expectation we have of her.

To which my older daughter typically responds, "You always take up for her." Hmmmmmm.
Or, my daughter responds, "You're always on her side." Hmmmmmm.
I know that feeling. I've lived that feeling.

As a parent, I don't intend to 'take up for' either child but sometimes--often--the birth order makes a difference in the expectation we have of our children. I see and understand family dynamics in a new way, as I watch them play-out in our household.

Hell, by the time my third-child gets to elementary school we'll have ZERO expectation--which, of course, is another post!

GYBGPO (get-your-big-girl-panties-on) Sammy!!! LOL.

Wednesday is church-night. No more posts at this time.......tune-in late-night!

Sally Foster is a Bitch!!!

You know she is. Just say it. Bless her heart.
We LOVE her but everyone in town knows Sally Foster is a bitch!!!

The fundraising. The Sally Foster fundraising for my children's schools.

Okay, okay. It's not even the fundraising that's difficult. It's beautiful paper to benefit our wonderful public schools, where my children attend. The difficulty is getting 3 children out the door, looking neat & clean, having studied and completed homework the night-before, having fed them breakfast, fed the dog and now the fish, and on this particular morning doing all of this without the help of Buford T. --who is happily playing golf in SC. I'm not even bitter about Buford T's whereabouts-- honey, I worked that out a looooong time ago!

This morning was deadline for oldest daughter's fundraising packet. "Mama, just write the check. I've only sold 11 items." Dam-nation, I think. Surely we've sold more than that--but we haven't and I know it. Ugh. "Ok, ok, whatever." Originally, I told my daughters not to expect their father and me to write a check for the fundraising--they could make the effort to sell this stuff. Except now, I'm re-considering. As I evaluate my next move--I'm getting everyone loaded in the car (including my mother who is in town for a weekend-visit). I'm thinking:

Okay. 7 items sucks, I think. That won't even get her a pen-light. It's MY fault. I never even registered her on-line. But is that MY responsibility for a 4th grader? She's just like her Daddy, she's not going to be aggressive in her sales of this fabulous wrapping paper. It's just not important to her but the PARTY is important. So. Do I hold firm? Not today. Not on this issue.....she's already upset because the skirt she wanted to wear this am wasn't ironed and cleaned. My fault. And, we go to public school, I think. We don't pay tuition so what's the big deal with writing a check and just making a donation. I don't want to punish her for my lack of organization. Her friends are important to her. Being included is important to her. I don't want her to feel left-out because I didn't do my part in helping her reach the goal. So I write the check.

And, HAND MY MOTHER A MINT--she has been incessantly coughing since we got in the car. I can barely think because of her coughing. Good grief. "I didn't take my medicine," she says. Hmmm. Our parents are not old. We seem to be entering a new phase, however, where our parents are having 'health issues.' "Are you disgusted with my coughing?" she asks. I must look impatient. "No, Mom. Is it the COPD?" I ask, as patiently as I can. "Yes," she kinda heaves, "don't smoke." Hell--I'd smoke like a steam-engine if it didn't make me feel so bad, I think.

"Yea Mom, I know." She now pulls out her inhaler.....no more coughing.

"By the way honey," I say to my oldest, glancing back at her, almost to her school. "If I'm so mean.....I wouldn't be writing this check. But I love you very much. And I'm feeling like I didn't adequately help you achieve the goal for selling wrapping paper, so I'm making a donation." Silence. She told me earler in the morning I was mean--because I disagreed with her about which skirt to wear.

My frustration isn't about the wrapping paper. In fact, I LOVE the stuff--wrap me up and bury me in all those glitzy supplies! Rather, I envision my children's drawers neat and tidy--but they're not. I envision the fundraising packet at the table on the back door, ready for delivery to school, and it wasn't. I see in my mind the home I desire (all the papers from school and artwork neatly filed away) and I even know the calm voices I want to project in the morning. I will do better. I will make a concerted effort not to procrastinate and put-off the small things. I must.

Wait. And give up blogging with you hussies???!!! Doubtful......