Tangent

The original title of today's entry was "Yesterday" (because I was going to tell you about something cool that happened... YESTERDAY... ) but that sent me chasing a rabbit down a path, so I changed the name.

Wanna know why?

Of course you do. ; )

My favorite song by The Beatles is.... "Yesterday" (duh). "Paperback Writer" comes in a close second, but "Yesterday" is #1 for me.

When I was in high school one of the fads was Lorus watches that had Mickey Mouse on the face and played some sort of Disney song. They were nice, but what caught my eye were the Lorus Beatles watches. I had to have one. Know why?

One of the watches played "Yesterday". HOW COOL WAS THAT?

So I must've mentioned that watch to my mom like, a million times. I know I must've irritated her to death, but I wanted that stinkin' watch so badly!

I got the watch as one of my Christmas gifts, which thrilled my teenage heart. A couple of my friends got the Mickey watches, but mine was WAY cooler. NO ONE had a Beatles watch. Heck, I don't know if any of my friends loved the Beatles like I did (Thanks, Dad!) Most of my friends were into the 80s Hair Bands (Poison, Whitesnake, Def Leppard and the like... our class song was "I'll Remember You" by Skid Row. Remember that musical gem?)

So, when I typed the word "Yesterday" in the title box all of those memories came back to me, and I had to go find the watch in my jewelry box. The battery no longer works (I have replaced it since high school, and I was hoping to take some video of it for you... but alas, it's dead.) Here is a picture, best one I could take.



In the drawer with the watch were other cherished timepieces:

A leather banded watch I bought in Barcelona in March '92 (the games were held there the following July). The face has a picture of Cobi on it; he was the mascot for that year's games.



I found a Swatch that my sister brought back for me from Switzerland. It's way funky and I should definitely start wearing it again. Maybe I could bring back a trend!



Last but not least is the Snoopy watch I got as a gift from my maternal grandmother when I turned 9. I can still picture sitting on the side of the skating rink (where I had my party) opening the plastic box that the watch came in. It was my first watch and I loved it. Still do, but the band no longer fits. I should remedy that and wear that watch as well.



I'm bad about purging things and throwing away stuff, so I'm surprised I still have these items. I'm glad I didn't get rid of them, because they're so very precious to me.

Gimme' Five

The blogging well has been drying out much like the lakes around here, so I turned to my old friend Google for some inspiration. I told Google to find me topics related to "Blog Memes" and I came across this blog. Every Monday she posts a new "Gimme Five" topic, so I'm going to tackle this week's subject:

Give Me Five things you haven't done in a long time that you would like to do again.

The blog owner says, "I love thinking back to old times and every time I do, I always end up with the same question, 'Why has it been so long since I've done that?' So let's make a list and then *maybe* think about doing them!"

Gotcha.

Ahem.

(1) I haven't jumped on a trampoline since I was a little kid. We had a round one in the backyard, and I loved jumping on it. I loved everything about it: the feeling of temporary weightlessnes, the ability to turn flips, the up and down and up and down, and the soaring. Nowadays I cringe when I think of how badly I could've gotten hurt on that trampoline. That was in the 80s, before there were nets and safety measures for trampolines. I don't know where I lost my sense of daring, but it's gone. I would never even consider buying a trampoline for my children, but I sure would love to jump on one again. In private, of course, 'cause who wants to see all my flabby bits fly up in my face?

(2) I used to be a roller skating fool. My dad used to back the cars out of the garage so my sister and I could skate in the shade on the smooth floor. Round and round and round and round. LOVED it. Loved the skating rink, too. I've been to our local skating rink a handful of times, and although it's not the same rink I went to as a kid, it could be. It looks (AND SMELLS!) exactly the same. It's a time capsule, with the swirly 70s carpet, Disco ball and the same old brown skates with red toe stops. Good times, good times.

(3) I used to spend my summer days beside the pool. I'd go out early in the day with a radio, a towel and a good book, and I usually wouldn't go back inside until the book was finished (or if it started raining or got darker...) I still love going out to the pool, but now I rarely get to read. Between refereeing the kids' arguments and fulfilling their requests to play with them in the water, I can't read. They get tired of swimming after 2 hours or so, and there is the sun factor, too, so we just can't be outside all day anymore. I miss that.

(4) Before I became a scrapbooker I was a cross stitcher. I have several cross stitched pieces framed and hung around my home. It was a soothing hobby, and I really enjoyed it, but I just don't have time for it anymore. I have lots of unfinished projects in a bin in the basement. I'll probably have diminished eyesight by the time my schedule is open enough to pursue that hobby again.

(5) I used to enjoy the company of women. I still do, for the most part, but I can't say I trust a whole lot of women anymore. I'm always wondering what they're thinking of me and what they will say behind my back. I didn't used to be that way, but experience has taught me that a lot of women have a hidden agenda.

I have my sister, my husband, my children, my college roommate and my parents. That's the entire list of people I can trust 100%. I'm very guarded with other folks because I've been burned so many times by people (WOMEN) I THOUGHT were my friends. Catty, judgmental, controlling, narcissistic, shallow, insecure (!),cliquish, self-inflated women that will turn on you in the blink of an eye and have no problems tearing you apart or even inventing stories about you to turn people against you. Sounds like high school, no? Ha. The immaturity doesn't end there. Some women never grow up.

In the past few years, the word "bitch" has come out of hiding. It used to be a slur, but now most women wear it like a badge of honor. Women are proud to be bitches. I don't get it.

"And she'll promise you more
Than the Garden of Eden
Then she'll carelessly cut you
And laugh while you're bleedin'"

Billy Joel hit the nail on the head, 'cause that's women for you. Sad, but true. I'm so sick of it. Sorry, ladies, but there needs to be an anti-bitch movement. We need an infusion of gentility, kindness, HUMILITY. You can be strong without being mean. It does work.

(And I'm not saying that all women I've met are like that... I have a handful of lovely female acquaintances about whom I think very highly. They're a very rare bunch, though...and I'm sorry if the B-word offends you. There's just no better way to put it, unfortunately.)

I left my daughter in the boonies

Today I drove my 10 year-old daughter out to camp. She's never before been to a summer camp. I think she is in for a rude awakening.

I loved camp when I was a kid. I spent a week at Camp Winnetaska (near Pell City, Alabama) in summer 1983 and again in summer 1984. I ate it all up: the camp songs, the swooning over the "hot boys" (gack!), the swimming, the sleeping in bunks in cabins with no central air conditioning, the dining hall, the spirit competitions, the skits.... all of it. ATE IT UP. I have very fond memories of my time at camp. I wish they had summer camp for grown-ups. I'd be the first one to sign up. Even if there was no air conditioning. Really.

I was the one to encourage Camryn to go this week. She asked a school friend to go the same week so they'd have buddies, and they even got assigned to the same cabin. She and Hannah have talked about camp for weeks. She seemed over the moon.



Today Camryn wouldn't eat much breakfast. Camp butterflies. She was terrified that her other cabin mates wouldn't like her. I gave her the mom speech ("If those girls don't like you, then that's their tough luck. You rock!") but it didn't work. She fretted all the way out to the middle of the boonies where the camp is located.

We arrived, removed her well-packed suitcase from the trunk, and headed off to check Camryn in and find her cabin. As soon as she saw Hannah, the fears seemed to melt away. I went through the check-in process and soon I was getting the eye rolls from Camryn that mean I need to hurry up and get out of her space. Gotcha.

Can't you just see the contempt in her eyes?



One of the counselors helped us find Camryn's cabin. Her "huddle leader" was outside waiting on us. I asked if I needed to come in and help make her bed. What Camryn said stopped me cold.

"No. I can make my own bed, Mom." (MOM!) "I think I'll be okay."

This is the child that whined and groaned about stripping the sheets off her bed this morning so I can wash them and have them ready for our cleaning lady to put back on the bed on Thursday. This is the child that hates making her bed. This is the child that stomped and frumped for hours two weeks ago when I told the cleaning lady not to put the sheets back on her bed because the room was left a mess (the kids KNOW they have to clean their rooms so Kim can vacuum and make the beds, and if they don't, Kim doesn't clean or remake the beds with fresh sheets...)

"Are you sure?"

"Yep."

And with that, I was dismissed. I did manage to get a parting shot of Camryn with her counselor (huddle leader), Amanda.



I hurried, because Camryn's body language was SCREAMING, "C'mon, Mom. There is a porch full of girls WATCHING US. This is SO NOT COOL!" I got a brief hug out of her, and then I took Lillian's hand and said to my other kids, "C'mon guys. Let's go."

She didn't need me. She wanted to act all tough and run me off, but by Wednesday she'll be covered in mosquito bites and crazy homesick.

I hope she remembered to put on her sunscreen. And her bug repellent. And I hope she remembers to put her dirty laundry in the mesh bag I gave her. And I hope she's not too hot.

I miss her already.

Found Treasure

When I was back "home" in Alabama in the fall, my mom gave me a box full of recipes. The box had been at my grandparents' house when it was cleaned out after my grandfather died in 1999. I took the box thinking I could go through the recipes and make a scrapbook of them.

My grandmother passed away in February, and since then I have been craving her Mississippi Mud Cake. I found a recipe for it when I Googled "Mississippi Mud Cake", and I made the cake, but it just wasn't my grandmother's mud cake. The icing wasn't right, and I don't think she cooked the marshmallows, because that makes them tough. Her marshmallows were creamy.

I remembered the box of recipes yesterday. I had completely forgotten that I owned it. It's been tucked away in a closet since October.



I sat on the couch last night and went through the box. The kids and I had a few laughs over some of the stuff in the box. There were old vacuum cleaner ads from the 70s, grocery store flyers, recipes written on the backs of deposit slips. And oh, the pie recipes. Doris had a sweet tooth, and it was never more evident than in that recipe box. Of the hundreds of cards and clippings we found in the box, I'd say about 15 were for meat or side dishes. The rest were pies, cakes, candies, fudge, or homemade pickles. (The woman made a mean homemade pickle. I wish I still had a few jars of her sweet pickles. Maybe I can get my mom to help me make some pickles this summer...)

After just a few minutes of searching, I found an envelope addressed to my grandmother from a friend of hers. Inside was one single sheet of notebook paper with a recipe written on it. The recipe was for Mississippi Mud Cake. I don't know who the friend was or why she mailed the recipe to my grandmother, but there it was.



Later on in our recipe box dig we found an index card with the same recipe rewritten in my grandmother's handwriting. THAT was a treasure.



I can't wait to try her actual recipe for Mississippi Mud Cake. I can almost taste it. I can see myself sitting at her old Formica kitchen table in one of her sparkly vinyl chairs, enjoying that delicious cake. She always had a cake or pie on the table. Sometimes it was homemade, sometimes store bought, but she always had something sweet there.

And no, she didn't cook the marshmallows when she made her Mud Cake.

"Pour marshmallows on top of hot cake and let them melt slightly, then pour icing over the top."

I guess she didn't like chewy marshmallows, either. My kind of gal.

Passing the Torch

Tonight we're having pot roast with carrots and potatoes for dinner. It's my mom's recipe, I guess passed down from her mother, because I remember eating in on Sundays after church at my grandmother's house.

(That opens up a whole 'nother can of memories of being in my stocking feet, "ice skating" on the slick floor of her foyer, or trying on my mother's high heels waiting for the day I could buy my own pair. I remember sitting at my grandmother's table, smashing my potatoes to smithereens, then adding Miracle Whip to them to make mashed potatoes. I gotta stop; I'm gettin' hungry! Where is that husband of mine so we can EAT already?!?)

My grandmother served her pot roast with a pan of store bought Parker House Rolls, which were perfect for soaking up the gravy from the roast. I could eat an entire pan of those fabulous rectangles of heaven all by myself (Yes, my name is Beth, and I'm a bread addict...)

When Mom made pot roast, she served us her homemade Pop Up rolls, which are an entirely different palmful of deliciousness. They're so easy to make, and they go great with anything (but I like to make them when I have some sort of gravy, because dadgummit if that's not nature's perfect food!)

Tonight my 10 year-old daughter volunteered to make the Pop Up rolls. She measured everything so perfectly, stirred everything so well, and dropped the dough into the muffin cups. And no, I didn't take pictures. I plum fergot. I think I was overwhelmed at the thought of rolls and rich roast gravy, to tell the truth.

I saw the rolls a few minutes ago when my daughter brought them to me for inspection. They didn't pop over like they're supposed to (I think she beat them too long), but they look good enough to be gravy sponges, which is what they are.

Where *IS* that husband of mine?!? I'm going to eat my left arm if he doesn't hurry it up, already!

Oh, do you want the recipe for Pop Up rolls? I'll share it with you, but be warned. They're addictive, and I will not be held responsible for your carbohydrate coma if you eat too many.

2 cups Self Rising flour
2 T granulated sugar
2 T mayonnaise (puh lease, no low fat, but if you must...)
1 cup milk

Mix together all ingredients and scoop into greased muffin cups. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Makes 6-9 rolls. (I usually double the recipe.)

And while I'm at it, do you want the Pot Roast recipe, too?

1 sirloin tip roast, or bottom round roast, (2 to 3 lbs? I never look!)
2 (10 3/4 oz) cans cream of mushroom soup (only Campbell's will do!)
1 pkg Lipton dry onion soup mix (if you don't have onion soup mix, chop a small onion)
salt & pepper

In a deep skillet, brown roast on both sides. Season with salt and pepper to your taste.

While the roast is browning, stir together the mushroom soup, plus 2 cans of water (use the soup cans). Stir in Lipton Soup mix.

Place roast in Crock Pot. Pour soup mix over roast.

Cook on high 3 to 4 hours. About 2 hours before dinnertime, add 1 pound of baby carrots (or slice your own regular carrots) and 14 to 15 small (peeled) red potatoes, halved (or 5-6 large potatoes, quartered).

Cook until vegetables are tender. Serve meat with gravy. And the rolls, if you haven't already inhaled them all.

Blog Challenge #12 - Getting To Know You

Blog Challenge #12 - Getting To Know You

Copy and paste the following section into your blog and answer as best as you can. You can elaborate (I hope you do), you can post pictures, you can be deep, you can be funny. Whatever you choose -just be honest.

Second part of the challenge - post a picture (from this week) of you at your computer. Don't worry about cleaning up - just post and have fun.

1) Right now I want:

My sore throat to go away. I've had it for about 3 days. I usually get one during allergy season, but it still hurts, even if I'm expecting it!

2) I wish I knew how to:

Sew. I have a sewing machine. I have made things with it. I just don't have the patience to really learn how to make clothing well.


3) When I want to indulge myself, I:

Take a hot bath and watch a movie in the tub. Mother's Day last year my gift was a small, flat screen TV with a built-in DVD player. It's not often that I watch a movie in the tub, but if I have a couple of hours with nothing to do, that's what I choose.

4) You’ll never see me:

In a bikini. Even if I was skinny, I don't think I'd wear one.

5) A childhood memory that I love:

There are so many. Playing in the dirt behind the bushes at my grandparents' house; picking vegetables in the garden with my grandmother; the feel of cool, just-shelled peas falling through my fingers; road trips in the Caprice Classic station wagon (singing along to Barry Manilow's "Even Now" 8-track); walking around in the deep end as the water started filling our new in-ground pool; playing tennis against the garage door; riding my bicycle up and down the street; the Christmas my sister and I got our Big Wheels and wooden table & benches; snuggling under the warm quilts on a cold night in the bed my sister and I shared as kids... I could go on and on!

6) 2 things I do every single day:

Unload the dishwasher
Wash a load of laundry

7) Happiest moment of 2008, so far:

Gracious. That's hard! I have a happy moment at least once a day, because I have four of the greatest kids and the best husband in the world. They do try my patience some days, but for the most part, I can find joy in every day.

I think I'd have to say my happiest moment was knowing that my grandmother is finally in Heaven. I've mentioned her on my blog before; she had Alzheimer's disease, which was something she'd seen steal her own mother's mind. I hadn't seen my grandmother in a couple of years, because I just couldn't bear to remember her like she had become. When my mom told me Dos had passed away, I was sad, but oh, so happy that she was finally free from her earthly body. It had deteriorated so badly, and to know she was in Heaven and whole again just made me smile.

Something that was said in her eulogy still cracks me up. My grandmother was a very headstrong lady. You couldn't tell her no, and she didn't quit until she got her way. During the eulogy the pastor said, "Something the girls (my mom and aunt) said while I was talking to them about Doris sums up her personality pretty well. They said, 'You could do something the right way. You could do something the wrong way. Or you could do it Doris' way.'" Still makes me laugh.out.loud. Feisty, she was.

8) Describe yourself in 3 words:

Mom. Wife. Content.

9) 2 scrap related goals for this year:

I don't set particular scrap goals for myself. I just try to scrapbook a little each day and enjoy the process of creating.

10) You have $40 that you MUST spend on yourself – what do you do with it?

iTunes or Target, baby. Or maybe a pedicure. Sandal weather is comin'!

I Got the Music in Me

Sittin' here listening to my iPod. Karen Carpenter is singing "Masquerade". Anything by the Carpenters takes me back to road trips in the '78 (I think?) Caprice Classic station wagon we owned when I was a kid. Yes, it had an 8-track player in it, and we owned just a handful of 8-tracks to play in it. One was "Now and Then" by the Carpenters. We logged many a mile listening to that album. I didn't know much about Richard and Karen Carpenter back in those days; I just knew I liked their music. I remember being really sad when I heard that she died. Funny all the stuff that gets stirred up when you hear a song. That one tune brought forth all of that from my memory bank.

Now it's "You Can't Hurry Love" by Phil Collins. That takes me back to playing 45s at Lauren Porter's sleepover birthday party in the 4th grade. We stayed awake until dawn and got really silly in the wee hours. Remember that "Stop! Drop! Roll!" commercial that Dick Van Dyke did as part of a fire safety campaign? That came on TV in the early hours of Saturday at Lauren's, and we just lost it. That phrase and that song takes me instantly back to those memories. Makes me smile. I wonder where Lauren is now? Last I heard she went to Florida State majoring in marine biology. I haven't seen her since my high school graduation, May 30, 1991. Maybe she'll Google herself one day and find this entry.

"Cold Hearted Snake" by Paula "I can't say anything bad about you 'cause it will hurt your feelings" Abdul makes me think of Josh T., another high school friend. He had a mad crush on the petite AI judge, and he loved the video for this song. I admit, I played the song one too many times in high school. I love the part where she talks; I had every word memorized. I wish Saturday Night Live would do a Paula parody using that song to describe Simon. I love Amy Poehler's Paula. Cracks me up.

"Jesse's Girl". Now there's a song. Standing in the basement with a hairbrush as a microphone, singing this song as the 33 spun on the turntable. That's back when Rick Springfield was on "General Hospital" and I watched with my grandmother (her "stories", she called them...) Ah, sweet 80s crushes. Dr. Noah Drake made a short reappearance on GH not too long ago. He was still cute in an older guy kind of way. (Yes, I still watch GH. It's the one soap I held onto all these years, and mostly because I did used to watch it with MaMa Dos. She'd cringe if she could see it today!)

Funny how I finish up a paragraph as each song ends.

Ah, Connie Francis. "Where the Boys Are" is one of those songs that sticks with you. I remember seeing the movie on TV when I was in high school. I decided that day that I wanted to have a daughter named Merritt. I loved that name so much. My husband didn't like it as much as I did, so alas, we have no children bearing that name.

Oh, man. Now it's Prince's "Diamonds And Pearls". How many times did I hear that in my headphones when my sister and I flew from Alabama to Madrid in 1992? Only about 10,000 times. Every time I hear that song I remember that flight. We got bumped up to first class because our names were left off the flight roster or something like that. If I ever find myself needing to be on a plane that long again, I will definitely splurge on larger seats. 'Twas niiiiiiiice. Caviar, lots of snacks, hot towels in the morning, sleep masks, free headsets, reclining seats.... too much luxury for one 19 year-old to deserve, really. The reality of coach hit us on the flight home. That sucked. ::Shiver::

Alright. I need to get back to Saturday chores. It was fun walking down musical memory lane, though.

Oh, wait. One more.

My friend Michelle P. introduced me to this song. "South's Gonna Do It Again" by Charlie Daniels Band. She had a black Honda Prelude with a sunroof when we were in high school (her parents owned a few gas stations, and Michelle was the youngest of three daughters by several years.... so she got pretty much anything she asked for... I loved the Prelude the most!) I remember coming back from the movies with her one night, blasting this song (from the CASSETTE TAPE...ha!) and loving it instantly. I went out and bought the tape not long after that. I replaced the tape with the CD when I was in college, and now the whole thing is on my iPod. Michelle also introduced me to the Steve Miller band. She has good musical taste.

Okay, now I'm done. Laundry calls.

Car Talk

My daughter recently purchased a very interesting book at her school book fair. She has entertained and sickened us with questions from the book all week long. Some questions have been perplexing, and others have been downright disgusting. I prefer the perplexing ones, the ones that spur additional conversations. She asked such a question this morning as I was driving her and her brother to school.

"Would you rather burn your mouth horribly every time you eat pizza, or never be able to eat pizza again?"

My answer was quick and sure: Never be able to eat pizza again.

The story followed.

When I was in elementary school, I went to a sleepover party for my friend Wendy. She had a September birthday, so her parents built a big bonfire outside for roasting hot dogs and marshmallows.

(The kids said, "What's a bonfire?" Seriously. What kind of parent am I?)

We roasted our hot dogs in the fire. I was a little too hungry, so as soon as my frankfurter was done, I took a big bite. Natch, I burned my tongue. Badly. Hurt like crazy. I hate burning my tongue.

So I shared that story with my kiddos. I put extra emphasis on how bad my tongue felt, how I kept sticking my tongue in my cup of icy Coca Cola. How I really, really hate burned tongue sensation. More tongue talk than I usually like that early in the morning.

So, I finished the tongue story and things were quiet for a moment.

Then I heard Aiden (6) say, in his usual monotone, "Yeah, but I bet the weiner tasted good."

Crack.Me.Up.

That kid makes me laugh SO HARD. I'm still smiling thinking about it.

Something tells me that's going to become an oft-repeated phrase in our house.

"Yeah, but I bet the weiner tasted good."

Goofball.

Blog Challenge: Senior Moments 1991

In honor of the new school year, think back to your senior year of high school, and answer these questions accordingly:

1. Who was your best friend? Michelle Parker

2. Did you play any sports? No. I was on the yearbook staff.

3. What kind of car did you drive? 1984 white Ford Thunderbird.

4. It’s Friday night. Where were you? At the football game, the movies, or at home. I didn't get out much. I preferred being at home!

5. Were you a party animal? Uh, no. I was a goooooood girl.

6. Were you considered a flirt? No.

7. Were you in the band, orchestra or choir? Nope.

8. Were you a nerd? No, even though my answers so far wouldn't lead one to believe that.

9. Were you ever suspended or expelled? No, but I did detention once.

10. Can you sing the fight song? Fight song? Uh, no.

11. Who was your favorite teacher? Charlotte Akin and Alan Thomas

12. What was your school mascot? the Rocket (the school opened during the height of the 60s space program)

13. Did you go to the Prom? Yep. Complete waste of money. The after prom activities were more fun (and no, I don't mean what you think I mean...)

14. If you could go back, would you? Yep. There were some things I'd do differently, and I wouldn't treat high school as the most important thing in the world. I'd study harder and actually read the assigned books from my English classes.

15. What do you remember most about graduation? That it wasn't outside. It rained, so we had to have the ceremony at my church. I remember being hot and bored.

16. Where were you on Senior Skip Day? We didn't have Senior Skip Day, so I was at school.

17. Did you have a job your senior year? Nope.

18. Where did you go most often for lunch? The cafeteria. We weren't allowed to leave campus for lunch, and there was no outside dining. All of the vending machines were removed before my senior year started, because people were getting soda and chips and not eating in the lunchroom.

19. Have you gained weight since then? Ha. Haha. HAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAA. Yes.

20. What did you do after high school? I went on a 10-day mission trip to Belize in Central America, then started college in the fall.

Diving In

My husband took the kids to see a movie this afternoon, so when I finished the last load of laundry, I put on my swimsuit and went outside. I had a book and a glass of iced tea, and I was determined to stay out there and R-E-L-A-X.

Before I could kick back and start reading, I had to rid the pool of its bug population. We find hundreds of tiny dead millipedes on the bottom of the pool every time we go out to swim. I hate stepping on bugs in the pool, so I always have to vacuum up the critters; I have to dip the floating bugs off of the top, too.

Bugs. Blech. I'd make a horrible entomologist.

After about 20 minutes, the pool was sparkling clean. I settled down to read my book (a nice, quick crime drama by James Patterson. Short chapters, just enough plot to hook you... perfect summertime read!) I had about 3 chapters under my belt when I thought I heard thunder in the distance.

Murphy's Law.

I folded my book closed and sat on the steps to concentrate on the noise I'd heard. While I was listening, I had a flashback to a trip my family took to Panama City Beach, Florida when I was in elementary school. I remember getting up early on the morning we were supposed to leave, just so I could jump just one more time off of the pool's diving board. My dad took me down to the pool, and we found that it hadn't yet been cleaned (it was freakin' early.... what was I thinking?) I decided to jump in anyhow, right through the layer of bugs that were floating on the water's surface. I coasted all the way to the shallow end on one breath and got out of the pool. My work was done.

This flashback made me wonder:

(1) What was I thinking, diving into all those bugs? Sheesh! "Hey little me! That is not what we do! Bugs are gross!"

(2) How many times have I denied my kids a memory like the one I have of that singular dive into a frigid pool? I know there have been little things like that that my kids have asked to do, but in my laziness I've said, "Not right now!" My dad most likely had better things to do that morning, but he took the time to make sure I got one last jump before we left.

My dad has always been good like that, making sure my sister and I had unique experiences and memories to draw on. He always encouraged us to put down our books on car trips so we'd actually have to see what we were driving past. It's such a cliche', but my daddy loves life. He lives to learn, to absorb things, to capture moments.

I need to start living more. Absorbing more. Learning more. Creating more capturable moments.

Race you to the pool!

Summertime

The Challenge: Summertiiiiiiiiiiiime, and the living is EEEeeezzzzzzy. Tell us how you feel about summer. This summer, a childhood summer, summer traditions, random summer memories, summer sights and smells and sounds. Whatever. Wax poetic about summertime!

Summertime.

When I close my eyes and think of that word, it's like a slideshow (with smells!) in my head.

I smell freshly cut grass. And watermelon. And coconut suntan lotion. And chlorine. And hot asphalt. And sunscreen. And bug spray. And freshly cut peaches.

Ah, the perfume of summer.

There are thoughts of spending days in my dad's classroom with my sister, a bike, some rollerskates, a cassette tape of Alabama's Mountain Music and unlimited Coca Colas from dad's vending machine.

Both of my parents were teachers. After school ended for everyone else, both Dad and Mom had to work an extra two weeks (they were 10-month employees.) It kinda' sucked, because we couldn't sleep late during those two weeks, but we found ways to have fun anyhow.

My dad taught auto mechanics at a local high school, and his shop was in a separate building. It had a long sidewalk that connected it to the main building, and that sidewalk made a perfect place to ride my bike back and forth. The classroom inside the shop was cleared of all its chairs so my sister and I could rollerskate; we'd bring cassettes in from Dad's car and play them on the A/V machine. He had eclectic tastes, so we skated to Alabama, Dianne Schurr, The Beatles, Iron Butterfly, Linda Ronstadt (her jazzy phase), and many more. If we got thirsty, Dad would unlock the Coca Cola machine and let us pick a beverage from it. Then he'd throw a dollar bill in the coin cup to make the Coca Cola guy wonder how it got there (this was before dollar bill slots on vending machines.) Occasionally he would order pizza and we'd have a picnic in his classroom. Sometimes he'd even take us for a ride in his school bus (which was great, because there was a ginormous hill on the school property... it was like riding a rollercoaster!) When the blackberries in the bushes around his building were ripe, we'd pick them and take them home for Mom to make cobbler or jam. Good times.

Summertime also meant lazy days in the pool with a book or a magazine. I'd get out of bed, throw on a swimsuit and a pair of sunglasses, grab a radio and a quick cinnamon roll for breakfast and head out back. I'd swim for about an hour, then I'd find a comfy spot near the steps or on a float and I'd read the day away. There was always a break at noon when I'd stop to eat a quick lunch and listen to "Jeopardy" on the radio (our local ABC affiliate could be heard on FM 87.7). Then it would be back to reading until I was engulfed in shade; I'd take another lap or two in the pool and then head back inside. Man, those were good days. There's nothing like warm skin after a long day in the sun. I'm sure I'll pay for it later, though. I hardly ever used a drop of sunscreen. Ah, the stupidity of youth.

When I entered high school, summer started to mean serving on mission trips with my youth group. We took a trip every year. I spent one week of each summer helping put on backyard Bible clubs for neighborhood kids in Youngstown, OH (9th grade), Boardman, OH (10th & 11th grades) and Buffalo, NY (12th grade). Our youth pastor always made sure to include a fun trip either going up or coming back (King's Island in Cincinnati, Niagara Falls or Pigeon Forge, TN), and the drives there were parties themselves. There was some great (juvenile, stupid) fun had on the buses or vans on those long trips. Great fun, indeed. Have you really lived if you've never covered a sleeping person's face in shaving cream or had a CB talk with a nearby trucker?

Now summer means so many different things. We always start the summer with our annual trip to Myrtle Beach. Those trips are more fun each year, as the kids get older and more responsible (and less dependent on me!) and I always look forward to them. I love the beach and wish I lived closer to one. Reading a book on the beach while the kids play in the sand and surf is something I could do every.day.of.my.life. You can't be in a hurry at the beach. Time stands still there. I think I have salt water in my blood.

Summer means fewer responsibilities. It means less running around, less driving. I don't make the kids change out of their PJs if they don't want to (unless we're going somewhere, of course!) I try to make a good breakfast (pancakes, French toast, waffles, eggs, etc.) most mornings. We see movies. We go to the library. We take day trips on Daddy's days off. We swim (daily, now that we have our own pool! Yea!) We read and watch TV (Food TV, HGTV, Discovery Channel, History Channel, etc.) We visit the Farmer's Market and buy fresh veggies and cook 'em up for dinner. We grill out. We do stuff together. We have fun. We enjoy life.

Summertime. I wish it could last longer than 3 months.

Timeline

Several months ago I bought a book from Amazon.com (Ha! Amazon tells me I bought that book on February 9th). When it arrived (along with the many other things I had purchased during that online shopping spree) I took it to my scrap room and put it aside to read.... one day.

Today is that one day! Sure, better things await accomplishment, but instead I've read 51 pages of Maggie Mason's No One Cares What You Had for Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog (way to shorten the title, Maggie.) I bought it because it's true: not one of you can say you care what I eat for lunch, so I shouldn't blog about it (which, admittedly, I did, about a month ago. Sorry. But did you like the Goop?)

Page 51/idea 42 is called "Make your Timeline". Sounded fun. I'll give it a shot.

Age 3: My sister was born, March 4, 1976. I remember throwing an afghan knitted in shades of brown, yellow and orange over an end table in the den and hiding underneath it every time she cried. My parents would both rush to her like she was a raging fire to be doused and I'd try to make it impossible to find me. I could've tried harder, because after two or three times of hiding in the same spot, I wasn't too hard to find. I was convinced my parents loved my sister more.

Age 6: First grade. I took my brand new hardcover Berenstain Bears book to school with me, and Edward Ragland wrote his name in red crayon all over the inside cover. I still have the book; Edward disappeared from school around the 9th grade.

Age 8: Fell off my bike head-first after my foot got tangled with the pedal while I was going downhill too fast. Lori Clinton was driving by at the time; she went and got my mom, who found me on the pavement with a mouth full of gravel and rushed me to the emergency room. I got several stitches in my upper lip on the right side. I was out of school for 2 weeks; Kelly Trucks brought my schoolwork home every day and saw my arm wrapped in gauze. She went back to school and told everyone I had a broken arm (it was just a bad scrape). My dad begged me to let him take pictures of my lip. Looking back I wish I'd let him do it for posterity's sake. (It took me about 6 months to get back on the bike.)

Age 10: December 7, 1983. I got my period for the first time. I remember it because it was a significant historical date as well.

Age 12: I wore a white outfit the day the 6th grade classes toured the middle school. My maxi-pad leaked all over the back of the outfit, and I had left my spares back at the elementary school. Thank goodness for jackets that can be tied around the waist. I was mortified to say the least.

Age 13: I met my favorite teacher ever, Mary Jo Burch. She taught the gifted program at my middle school. I loved her so much, because she taught me self respect. She taught me to hold my head high and not worry about my weight or teenage awkwardness. I learned to never let teasing bother me because of her. I was better than that, and Mrs. Burch helped me see that without knowing that was what she was teaching me. She just praised me without being fake about it, and I knew that she spoke the truth. Her opinions broke through all the nastiness that kids hear from "peers" and helped me get through those weird teen angst years.

Age 14: I was chosen to be on the high school yearbook staff. I was the only freshman chosen that year. I was proud.

Age 15: I had a dark winter. That's how I remember it all these years later. When I think about the winter before I turned 16, I remember grey, cold days and lots of black clothing. I missed 2 weeks of school. It started with a yucky cold, then spiraled into a depression that I didn't recognize as such until I was much, much older. I don't know how I climbed out of that hole, but I did. I almost failed geometry that semester. Prior to that I was an A-B student.

Age 16: I drove my 1984 white Ford Thunderbird by myself the first time on the Saturday following my birthday. The yearbook staff sponsored the high school pageant ("Miss Rendezvous") and I had to be there to help decorate. I remember my mom being strangely scared and nervous. Now that I'm a parent, I *get* that. I didn't 18 years ago. I was just ready to go.

Age 18: Remind me one day to tell you the pimiento cheese story (I might have already.) I started college at the University of Alabama, and through the wonders of pimiento cheese and maternal gut feelings, I ended up at Samford University, my eventual alma mater.

Age 19: March 20, 1992 was my first date with the person that would turn out to be my first serious boyfriend. We'd been really good friends since the previous summer, but the friendship evolved and we started dating. Good times. Bad times. Learning times.

Age 20: September 27, 1993. The first serious boyfriend called to break up with me while I was on the other line with my mom, who was telling me that Mrs. Mary Jo Burch finally lost her battle with cancer. At the time I didn't know which occurrence broke my heart more. Sitting here today, I can say I'd rather be able to talk to Mrs. Burch than the old boyfriend. Sometimes, in my head, I imagine conversations I might have with her. Unfortunately, I always do all the talking.

Age 21: July 7, 1994: I met someone online. August 19, 1994: The someone became my boyfriend after I met him for the first time in person. December 30, 1994: My boyfriend became my fiance'.

Age 22: I became a wife. January 20, 1996.

Age 23: I became a homeowner.

Age 25: I became a mom.

Age 27: I became the mother of 2 kids and suffered my first taste of post-partum depression. I hid it well. I also met another mom of 2 who would become a very good friend in the next few years.

Age 29: I became a mom for the 3rd time. That's about all I remember from that time period. Oh, I did start scrapbooking somewhere in there. It would become a lifeline for me.

Age 31: I had my 4th and final child and PPD slammed into me full force. It took me about 18 months to finally get help. SO GLAD I did. What took me so long? What wasted days those were.
Age 34: Living life and still learning. Loving my husband and my kids more each day. Pruning the dead branches of my tree to encourage more growth. Life is good. God is greater.

Moonlight Sonata

One of my nightly duties is putting my son Quinn to bed. We've developed a little routine, and if we deviate from it in any way, Quinn gets agitated. He likes his routine.

Every night Quinn unmakes his bed and climbs in between the sheets. I cover him up, and then I say, "Tell me 2 things." One of the two things he always tells me is , "I like hugging you," (which has been shortened to just "hugging you") and the other, on most nights, is either "Kissing you" or "How many days until Daddy doesn't have to go to work?" (Daddy takes off work on Tuesdays, and he doesn't work on Sundays.) After he tells me his 2 things, he tells me his favorite part of the day and then says his prayers. If it's not too late, we read a short book. (His favorite, right now at least, is Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs. Some days I wish it rained food like in the town of Chewandswallow. A girl can dream, right?)

Last night we did our routine, and when we finished, Quinn wanted his back scratched. No problem.

Earlier in the day I'd had to switch the stations on his radio from the local Christian station to NPR (National Public Radio) because of bad reception. So, there I was, on the bed, listening to soothing classical music, scratching my son's back and feeling my eyelids get heavier with each stroke. If he had a larger bed, I would've just stayed there.

When my sister and I were young, my dad was in the National Guard. In the summer he had to go away to "camp" for 2 weeks. We missed Dad, but we loved getting to sleep in the big bed with our mom. My sister, mom and I would all pile into Mom and Dad's king-sized bed and talk and laugh until our sides hurt. Those times are some of my favorite childhood memories.

Back then, Mom listened to NPR at night (still does), because she needed that little bit of noise to help her fall asleep. Last night, listening to NPR in Quinn's bed, I felt like a kid again, safely tucked under the covers in my mom's bed. I wanted to lay really still and not breathe and just be in that moment forever. I had it so good as a kid. I just didn't know it, because I was always in a hurry to grow up.

What I'd give to know then what I know now. I would've savored each moment of childhood like slow licks on a lollipop. Being a grown-up has its moments, but it ain't all fun and games.

Doppelganger Family

I grew up in a great family. My mom and dad were (are!) great parents. My sister and I had so much fun as kids; many times hanging out with our parents was more fun than being with our friends! There was always an adventure waiting for us when we were out with the 'rents.

One spring break we went down to Gulf Shores, Alabama. Being that it was March (April?) the weather was not ideal for what a person typically does at the beach. It was chilly, and rainy, and everything you don't want it to be when visiting the ocean.

My mom, being a thrifty shopper, had purchased the cheapest snacks and canned beverages she could find at the store. Our shoreline noshing was therefore limited to carbonated Shasta beverages in flavors like diet cream soda, diet lemon lime and diet black cherry (and this was waaaaay before diet tasted good!), and Lance crackers. Everything was piled into an ancient soft-side plastic cooler in a loud bright orange and yellow floral print. Very inconspicuous (not). Any other teens would have been diving under the sand to avoid being seen in such a situation, but I don't remember feeling embarrassed at all. It was a blast!

Like I said before, the weather was windy and chilly, so we were 4 of about 10 people on the beach that morning. We spread out our stuff and tried to pretend we were warm. It was great kite-flying weather, but not a good time to be in a bathing suit trying to get a tan. Brrrr.

My dad is a National Guard veteran, so he owns these really neat (and warm and weather resistant) camouflage blankets. We had two of them on the beach with us that day. We sat on one of them, and when it started to drizzle, all four of us huddled under the extra blanket, drinking nasty Shasta (aka "Nasta") and eating Lance crackers. Hilarity ensued. It's a memory we dredge up just about every time we're together.

When my husband and kids and I were sitting on the beach during Tropical Storm Barry on Saturday, the people next to us looked like this:



That green thing they're using to block the wind?

Why, it's a green camouflage blanket EXACTLY LIKE the one my family huddled under that day over 20 years ago!

Ain't that a hoot?!?

My Life as a Dog

When I was a little girl, we had a dog named Odie. He was a very active dog, very precocious, very exciteable. He was small and black, sort of a mutt mixture that looked like a medium-sized Dachsund. We loved him very much.

Odie liked to follow the kids in our neighborhood to the bus stop at the top of the hill on our street. One morning he did just that, and someone driving too fast turned onto our street and hit Odie. I'll never forget that morning, sitting at the kitchen table eating my cereal and hearing the doorbell ring. I could hear someone talking to my mom at the front door, and then Mom rushed into the kitchen and told us to go to the car. She went and got a box and got Odie.

When Mom got in the car, she was bleeding and crying. Odie was hurt badly. He bit Mom when she tried to pick him up and put him in the box, not because he didn't like her, but because he was in pain.

Odie died. I don't remember if his death was a direct result of his injuries or if Mom just chose to have him put to sleep, but either way, Odie never came home.

At the time I didn't understand why Odie bit my mother when she was just trying to get him some help, but it's ironic to me today. I do the same thing.

When I'm hurt and backed into a corner, I tend to bite. It never ends well, but I do it anyway. I think it's human nature to try to protect ourselves from being injured any worse than we already are.

Dancing with the Stars

I'm really enjoying this season's "Dancing with the Stars", despite the presence of the sympathy-sucking "Charity Campaigner IS SO a Real Job!" Heather Mills and "You've Got Something Crawling on Your Chin, Dude" Apollo Anton Ohno.

Leeza Gibbons is totally kicking butt for a 50 year-old woman. You rock, Leeza. (You dance like one, too, but that's a different entry... loosen up, girl!)

Laila Ali needs a voice lift so she doesn't sound like her famous father, but she dances well. I love Joey Fatone. Nothing bad to say there (anyone who can make "Star Wars" look less geeky is a winner in my book!) Even Cliff Clavin seems to be doing alright (compared to Master P a couple of seasons ago...)

But the person who's waltzing his way into my heart?

Ian Ziering.

Sigh.

I know. He's almost old enough to date Leeza, but he's not bad to look at. Yeah, his hairline is receding quicker than the line at burger joint whose fry cook just found out he has Hepatitis C, but he looks nice for a guy that's thisclose to earning Social Security (Hang in there, Ian! You can quit looking for acting jobs soon! The government will help!)

Maybe he just brings back good memories of watching "BH: 90210" in my dorm room in college. A Papa John's pizza paid for with a check that may or may not bounce and an evening with Donna, Kelly and the gang.

Those were good times.

Snow Day!

When I was a kid, I loved snow days.

First, there was the snow itself. It looks so pretty laying on the lawn like it does. It covers everything and makes even dirt look clean. I hate it when the snow gets all stepped on. That's when the magic is ruined for me.

Snow days also usually meant NO SCHOOL! WOOOOOO HOOOOOOO! Who didn't love a day off from school? My parents were both teachers, so that meant we all got to stay home and play. THAT was fun. My dad would build a fire in the fireplace in the den, and my mom would serve hot cocoa to me and my sister. Good times.

Nowadays, though, I don't love the snow so much. I still think it's beautiful, but now the bloom is off the rose, so to speak. As a parent, snow days aren't as much fun for me. The kids enjoy it, but I'm not crazy about the cold and the snow anymore.

Today it snowed.

The kids were up around 6:30 a.m. On a normal day, the kids are up around 7:15 or 7:30, so they were up EARLY today. I mean, it was still DARK, for goodness sakes. I got up to look at the snow (a part of me was a teensy bit excited...) I took some pictures of the kids looking out the window at the flurries falling fast and furiously.



Then I couldn't stand it anymore (and they couldn't either), so I opened up the door and snapped a few pictures of it snowing before dawn.



Well, that was it. The kids ran and put on their shoes and coats and went out on the front lawn.



We were trying to be really quiet because my husband and youngest child were still sleeping. Pretty soon, though, the baby was up and wanting to join her siblings and our neighbors in the snow. I wasn't ready to let her go out quite yet, and she didn't get why. Bless her heart.

I let them play for about 5 minutes, but then it hit me that it WAS still before 7 am. Suddenly I was feeling very sleepy. I told the kids to come back inside, and I promised them we'd play after breakfast.

I went back to bed.

My husband got up a little while later and fed the kids some breakfast. Then he woke me up and told me to come take pictures of the kids playing in the snow before they got too cold and wanted to come inside.

I barely got three pictures taken before it started raining. Everyone was disappointed, myself included. It was the baby's first snow (she's 2!) and she didn't even get to play in it!

My husband went to take a shower to go to work (bummer... we thought he was going to get to stay home all day!)

And I was stuck with kids who wanted to play in the snow but couldn't.

It's raining now, and with temps expected to be below freezing, it's most likely going to be icy tomorrow. Probably no school tomorrow, either. Bummer.

Thursdays and Fridays are normally "Mom's Day Off". Everyone either goes to school or Moms' Day Out. If it was going to snow, I wish it would've done it on a Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday!
I hope the sun breaks through the clouds tomorrow and takes all this snow and ice with it.

Bleh.

Blog Challenge: Life Songs

There are some songs that take you back to specific events, places and times. Choose one song (or a few!) that do that for you, and tell us about it.

This is gonna be tough, because I live my life to music. I love music. The beats, the words, the melodies, the bass, the drums... I love all kinds of music. I dare say that there isn't a song out there that doesn't evoke some sort of feeling or memory in me.

I have thought on this topic, and I really had a hard time even coming up with ONE song. There are so many songs that I love, that it's hard to choose which ones affect me the most. I decided just to sit down and start writing, so this is just brain flow from here on out.

(It's really hard to think about music with kids' cartoons on the television in the background... maybe I should go get my iPod...)

Okay. The first song that comes to mind is "Jack and Diane" by John Cougar Mellencamp. This song is my all time favorite 80s ballad. The kids know that when those first few lines hit the airwaves, I will reach for the volume button and crank it up as loud as they can stand it. Usually I hit the bass button, too, for that little interlude that comes near the last third of the song....

I adore this song. I've blogged about it before ("Hold on to 16/as long as you can/changes come around real soon/make us women and men"). I remember sitting in Biology II in high school, hearing the gang of jocks sing this song to one of the girls that they considered.....well.... loose? They particularly loved the line that goes "dribble off those Bobbie Brooks slacks and let me do what I please...." Those guys tortured that girl unmercifully with that song, but she loved the attention. It doesn't change how I feel about the song, but I always see those guys in my head when that song plays.

I own all of the "Scholastic Rock" CDs because they remind me of watching Saturday morning cartoons as a kid. Laying (lying?) on the couch in my PJs, watching TV until noon, eating cereal that was full of sugar... It all reminds me of innocence. I loved being a kid.

Let's see.... "Wasted Rock Ranger" by Great White... not the best song in history, but it makes me think of flying down Highway 31 with my windows down after dropping off a friend after school. I felt so rebellious yelling the curse words at the top of my lungs. I was a weiner, though. I always turned down the music if I had to stop at a light, because I didn't want any of my parents' friends tattling about my loud, offensive music. Small towns suck.

Then there's Elvis' "Moody Blue" and Liza's "Liza with a Z" and Barry Manilow's "Even Now" and the soundtrack to the movie "Annie". Those are the only albums we had on 8-track, so that's what we played in the Chevrolet Caprice Classic van on long trips. Gosh, those are good memories. Melted crayons and comfy pallets made of handmade quilts in the back of the station wagon. I had a great childhood.

(Re-reading that I realized that it sounds as if we lived in our car.... Trust me. We had a house. We just traveled a lot, and the back of the wagon was my favorite spot. I would've HATED car seats!)

Cyndi Lauper's "She's So Unusual" was the first album I ever owned. It was actually on cassette, but I played the heck out of it. I wonder if I could download that to my iPod...

My wedding songs are great for memories, too. Steven Curtis Chapman's "I Will Be Here" was one of those songs. I chose that one because of what it says, but also because I first heard it sung a capella by my friend Charlotte during a "Breakaway" weekend as a high school senior. The power went out, and we were all gathered in the den of the house that belonged to the weekend's host family. The weekend's leader was playing his guitar and taking requests. Charlotte, who has an amazing soprano voice, piped up and said she'd like to sing a song she was practicing for a wedding. So, in the candlelight, she started singing, "Tomorrow morning if you wake up and the sun does not appear....I will be here..." I loved it. I knew I'd use it at my wedding one day, and I did, though Charlotte didn't sing it. She sang "Bonded Together" by Twila Paris, and one of my bridesmaids sang "I Will Be Here". Yet another person sang "Somewhere in the World" by Wayne Watson. I loved my wedding song choices.

Man, there are just so many more songs that having meaning for me. I couldn't list them all. Music is such a HUGE part of my life. What would I do without it?

Lawrence Welk and Andy Griffith

There are two television shows that bring back distinct memories for me. One is on TV right now; my husband and my 2 year-old are cuddling together on the couch and watching "Lawrence Welk" on PBS. That show takes me back. It came on Saturday nights (as it does now, I guess... duh...) My sister and I were allowed to watch precious little when we were kids, and most of it came on Saturday nights. We watched Lawrence and his gang of beautiful, graceful dancers and handsomely coiffed men. I loved ole Larry and his orchestra and their bubbles. He was *the man*. (Would you think less of me if I admit I still occasionally watch Lawrence Welk? I mean, after the blog about liking Liza and being a Fanilow, would it just be *too much* to know I like Lawrence Welk, too?)

"The Andy Griffith Show" is the other show that brings back memories. When I was growing up, Andy and Opie and Floyd and Aunt Bea and Barney Fife always showed up on our television around the time my mom was preparing dinner. When I hear those first few whistled notes, it conjures up thoughts of pork chops browning on the stove. It's not long 'til I'm slobbering like Pavlov's dog. Boy, my mom can cook some good grub. Thanks, Andy, for reminding me of that!

Speaking of TV... My husband gravitates towards anything on PBS, Discovery Channel or HGTV. He loves anything that comes on "Nova" (He's probably a card-carrying member of the Stephen Hawking fan club, too....) In fact, he has now gotten our 5 (almost 6!) year-old son hooked on "Nova". I balanced that out by getting him hooked on "Dirty Jobs" (though, I doubt that Aiden watches "Dirty Jobs" because he thinks Mike Rowe is H-O-T like I do!) Ahem... I would love to be Mike Rowe's dirty job for a few hours....

Oh, how cute! Lillian is clapping along to the goodnight song. Looks like I've created another Lawrence Welk fan!

Dressed Down

I was standing in my laundry room just minutes ago, hanging up clothes and thinking about... stuff. Nothing specific. Just chasing rabbits through my brain.

Thoughts were coming at me from all over the place, like a hundred balls simultaneously fired onto a racquetball court. You know how it is... you start thinking one thing while performing some mindless task, and all of a sudden another deeply buried thought hits you and you wonder, "HEY! Where did *that* come from?"

While I was folding my daughter's pants, the fishing rod that is my brain reeled in a memory from childhood. I recalled standing in my grandparents' den in Tennessee. My Aunt Sharon was showing me and my mom a piece of smocking that she was making. Her plan, she explained, was to make a dress for me, incorporating this smocked piece into the chest area. The fabric she was using for the body of the dress was a dark black and red plaid.

I was in love with the dress, even though it technically was not yet a dress. It was going to be so very pretty. *I* was going to be so very pretty.

Since I was an overweight child, I hardly ever got to wear what the skinny girls were wearing. I remember when designer jeans were all the rage. My Calvins had pleated fronts like "mom jeans", and the label was hidden under the belt I had to wear with them. Everyone else had Calvins with pockets, and their labels were sewn onto those pockets. Forget the Chic and Jordache and Gloria Vanderbilt jeans. My fat butt wouldn't fit into those.

I was in a singing group when I was in 6th grade. Of course we had to have matching outfits. The director found the same skirt in everyone's size but mine. All the other girls had straight navy blue wool skirts. Mine was pleated like a lampshade.

Man, I hated being a fat kid.

MAN, I hate being a fat adult.

But I was writing about a dress...

This smocked dress was going to be so cool. It was supposed to be ready at Christmastime, and I could not wait. I had a friend at church who wore smocked dresses, and they were lovely. She was a skinny girl, so you can imagine my excitement at being able to wear something just like her!

Christmas came and went. I didn't get the dress. To this day I don't know what happened to it. I never saw it completed. I guess my aunt didn't finish it. She has sons, so I'm pretty sure she didn't decide to keep it after toiling over it for a long time (unless there's something I don't know...)

As I stood there in my laundry room remembering my extreme sadness about the dress I never wore, it occurred to me that I still abhor being disappointed. I have come to a place in my life where I block excitement, because I don't want to be let me down. I'm guarded. Too guarded. I guess my hopes have been dashed one too many times, and I've grown a thick shell to deflect hurt feelings. Sucks to be me.

As a consequence, I don't let people inside my shell. You see, I like people who follow through. I don't like it when someone makes me a promise and then doesn't make good on it. Empty promises nag at me like something I know I need to do but can't recall.

If I tell someone I'm going to do something, I make it my ambition to get it done. I do not want to be that person that lets someone down. I don't want to be the person that drops the ball and causes someone else to hurt. I will always be the person who follows through, or tries REALLY hard to do so.

I desire those same attributes in friends, but it seems that there aren't many people left like that. I am a good friend. I know I am. I just wish I could find else someone like me. I could use a few great friends.