They Liked It, They Liked It

I told you last month that I was asked by iMOM to write some material for an Espresso Minute. Well the moms really liked it. Nancy told me the article I wrote content for was on the list of top 10 views for the week it was posted. Wicked! If only those moms knew.

So, Nancy has asked me to write again. This one may be a little harder, but I’m going to give it the ole child-less try! Stay tuned.

I Don’t Know Nothing about Raisin’ No Babies

I started my blog in part because of some prodding by a co-worker of mine, Nancy. I like her because, besides being one of the coolest ladies I know, she thinks I’m really funny and have a comical take on things. With that in mind, she asked me to write some material for our daily email, iMOM Espresso Minute. Espresso Minute is a quick email that has parenting advice to help moms make the most of the time they spend with their children. I couldn’t believe it and when I told some of my friends about it, they belly laughed.

What you may or may not know about me is that I have a firm stance on children: I like the kids I like, period. This means, on the whole of the children collective, I’m not a fan. And as you can imagine, it is a short list of names. There are often times when one or two names can come off, but they tend to make it back on after I’ve put some space between us.

So Nancy asked me to write some funny things about being a mother and the scenarios in which they might be stressed or “mommed” out in a “You Might Be a Redneck”-type style. I have to admit, she gave me a week to do it, but in going back to my school days, I put off this homework until the very last minute. I thought it was going to be difficult, seeing as how I am neither a mother nor anywhere close to being a mother. Yet, once I started thinking about my friends who are moms or about what I might experience when I become a mom who is a recovering child-disliker, the ideas flowed like water. In all, I turned in 45 “You Might be Mommed Out” scenarios. All of them couldn’t make the email. I mean, it is the Espresso Minute, not the Espresso 15-minute.  Check it out!

Here are the ones that ended up on the editing floor.

You Might be Mommed Out

Your children answer to the names Stop, No and Wait until your father gets home.

Your garden tub looks more like a toy box than a relaxing oasis.

You actually finish a sentence and don’t know what to do next because you weren’t interrupted by your child’s quick fire of “Mom, Mom, Mom.”

You wake from a deep sleep, sit straight up in the bed and think to yourself, “It’s too quiet. Someone must be up to something.”

Wishing just once you could send your child into the world wearing a clear plastic wrap school uniform.

You consider it a good day when everyone is dressed and ready to go on time, even if they don’t match.

Your favorite beverages have been replaced in the fridge by juice boxes and organic milk.

You think to yourself, “When did I replace the playground jungle gym?”

For a hot second, you think that it might be better if your children where attached to you with a retractable cord, but then it passes.

You’re best friend is Mr. Sad Spoon.

You’ve almost mistaken your child for a ripe carrot that needs to be pulled from the earth.

The only spare space on the back of your vehicle is just big enough to see through the rearview mirror.

You’re on a first name basis with the check-out people at your grocery store.

Your family’s only dining out experiences happen on Tuesdays.

The phrase that makes music to your ears is “Daddy’s on vacation this week!”

You can remember when you ran for exercise sake.

Your journey to bed goes through your child’s room.

Your child’s potty breaks are scheduled.

You rue the day you decided to only use cloth diapers.

To you, no sweeter words were uttered to your child than “You’re going to stay at Grandma’s for a few days.”

Are you guilty? I know I will be. Like I said, I don’t have any children and I will be asking for your prayers when I do. When the day comes that I do bring forth a child, God help us all.

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25 Things about Me: #20

20. My first job was as a paper carrier for the Panama City News Herald. Thanks Mom! I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

I was spending the summer at Daddy’s when I got the call from Mother that she had gotten me a job. Now what she said to me on the phone and what I actually heard were two different things. I heard, “Vicki, I got you a job at the News Herald” and what she said was, “Vicki, I got you a job delivering newspapers for the News Herald.” After I processed what she actually said, I understood her to say “Vicki, you and I are going to be delivering newspapers at the crack of dawn.” Great.

It was my senior year of high school. I had to be up at 5:30am every, and I mean every, morning, rain or shine, go get my papers from the News Herald and deliver them to my customers. Then I came home and got ready for school. Sometimes, Mother would do the Saturday deliveries by herself. When I heard her stirring on Saturdays, I would pray while still in my bed that she wouldn’t wake me up. Most of the time she didn't, but I rarely got to miss a Sunday.

Having to be up at the crack of dawn meant that I had an early curfew. It was 10:30pm. So being a senior and having to be in that early, it put a slight cramp in my social life. Although, the gas I would have wasted cruising up and down the Panama City Beach strip was used in my gainful employment.

It wasn’t glamorous, but I’m sure it wasn’t the worse job I could have had at that age. I don’t remember making any money and I’m sure that was because Mother got her cut first. I’m alright with that. She did do most of the work.

The Rest of the Fence

No, I’m not writing to tell you that Don has completely fenced the rest of his property line. Many of my peeps have asked me about this fence, so I did a little bit more investigating into the story to come up with, as Paul Harvey would say, the rest of the fence story.

When I first started writing this story for my blog, I had intended to come up with my own version since the details from Mother were scarce. Here’s what I was thinking…

The story opens as a song begins. Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd at time stamp 4:40, blaring from stereo inside a blue late model Ford F-150.

While out on his riding lawn mower, cutting his 3-acre plot of land, Don spied Roni taking in the afternoon breeze on her front porch. It was easy to see her as she lived in the house directly across the street from his. She was holding a mason jar and drinking what Don could only assume was sweet ice tea, since it was two o’clock in the afternoon and surely, Roni was a lady. The sight of her was breath-taking as she fanned herself with the flattened wine cooler carton. He had to go to her.

He dismounted his John Deere. With his hands, Don brushed back the feathers of his freshly cut mullet and checked his reflection in the chrome of his pick-up’s hub caps. He made his way across the street and as soon as his feet touched Roni’s property line, it was all she wrote for Don.

It was a whirlwind romance with long walks along Deer Pointe Lake, late nights at the Moose Lodge and the motorcycle rides along Front Beach Road. Their love would not be limited by the asphalt that separated their houses.

 

One night just after polishing off a box of Chablis, Roni, in a pink-tinted haze, thought she saw Don pull up at his house across the street. She gathered herself and ran, as best she could, to meet him. Assuming it was Don, she grabbed the man and began to kiss him violently in the front yard. Unbeknownst to Roni, the pink figure of a man she was kissing was, in fact, not Don, but Don’s half-brother’s cousin, Randy.  

Before Roni could know her folly, Don pulled up just as she launched herself into Randy’s arms.  Don, rocked with anguish, removed Roni from Randy’s arms and then proceeded to punch Randy, in the gut, just because.  The altercation sent Roni’s vision back to color. She realized what had happened, but it was too late. Don was done with her.  Later, Don and Randy would share a beer.

The next morning, Roni awoke to the site of an unfinished fence marring her sightline to Don's house. It was a statement.
Roni would forever be banished to the other side of the street and eternally separated by the fence and the asphalt between their property lines.

End scene.

Now, the real rest of the fence story: Unfortunately, life is rarely as fantastical as I imagine. I assumed that because Don put up the fence, he had been the one in the relationship to have been ill-treated. I couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Apparently, after a short courtship, Don asked Roni to marry him. She had said yes, but when Don announced that she would get down on her hands and knees to scrub his kitchen floor, Roni thought better of it. She broke off the engagement and that’s when Don put up the fence.

Allegedly, Don has now added somewhere on his property a video camera pointed straight at Roni’s house and is recording all the goings-on over there. Mother said she has tried several attempts to inconspicuously crane her neck to try and find it, but to no avail.

Another tidbit: Roni breeds Pomeranian dogs on the side. It is also alleged that Don poisoned and killed her stud. Guess what? Creepy. The next thing you know, Mother’s street will be on an episode of Bay County's version of Cops. I’ll keep you posted.

New Kind of Hater Blocker

I was at my mother’s house this past weekend for Mother’s Day. I got in really late on Thursday night and missed noticing the fencing her neighbor had put up since I’d last been there. Now you might be asking yourself, “Vicki, so what? What’s so interesting about this fence?” Well, I’ll tell you.

Normally when someone puts up a fence at their home, they put it around the perimeter of their property. Well, Mother’s neighbor erected about an 8 foot section of 12 foot tall fencing smack dab in the center of his front yard along the road.

From the road, this fencing completely blocks the view of the front of his house.

I thought it strange, so I asked Mother if she knew why her neighbor would put up such an odd sizing of fence. She just so happened to know the story because a lady that she works with is a friend of one of the players in the story.

Now, I don’t know their names, but for the sake of narrative, I’m going to call the man, Don and the woman, Roni, short for Veronica. Here’s how the story goes as told by Mother and literary license taken by me:

Don, who lives in the house behind the fence, was dating Roni, who lives in the house directly across the street from the fence. Their love, as often happens, turned sour and that is when Don put up the fence.  

Short story, I know, but so many questions come to mind when I think about this fence.

·         Who broke up with whom?

·         If Don broke up with Roni, then does the fence block the sight of her for fear he might throw up a little in his mouth every time he sees her?

·         If Roni broke up with Don, then does the fence block the unrequited love Don still has for Roni?

·         What’s going on behind that fence?

·         If Don broke up with Roni, then by putting up the fence is Don keeping his current goings-on private for fear of retaliation?

·         If Roni broke up with Don, then by putting up the fence is Don trying to block out all memory of her and doing his best to move on by having wild parties in his front yard? 

·         Do you think Don stands behind the fence and shakes his fist at Roni?

·         Do you think that Roni sits in her house across the street and wishes that fence would fall on Don?

·         Do you think that Don regrets crossing the street?

·         Do you think Roni regrets not picking up her shotgun at the sight of Don crossing the street?

·         Do you think that the fencing is compensating for something? Hey, Don?

All things considered that fence has got to be one of the greatest things I’ve seen and there are times I wish I had a fence.  I’d like to think that fence stands as a daily reminder of an eloquently phrased set of words tender ears should never hear. Well played, Don. Well played.

For Mother

I will say, with much bias, I have the best mother.

Over the years, it has been one heck of a roller coaster ride. Our relationship has had its highs, lows, twists and loop-de-loops. Just like a roller coaster, sometimes you laugh, you cry, you scream in terror, and sometimes it makes you sick. This couldn’t be truer about me and Mother.

We’ve come a long way over the years and I can safely say that we are in a really good place. I love her with all my heart and would drop everything if she needed me.

Having her as my mother, I have a lot to be thankful for.  She has been, among other things, my nurse, chauffeur, chef, employer, but most importantly, my teacher. These are some of the things that Mother has taught me or given to me. I’m so grateful for each one.

To love Jesus – As a daughter of a PK, preacher’s kid, faith has been a part of my life from the very beginning. It is my foundation.

Importance of family – Not only the importance of our immediate family, but extended family, too. I witnessed firsthand the care she gave to my Papa when his health was failing. She also continues to visit and call on other extended family members on a regular basis just to make sure they are doing alright.

How to act right – I’ve publically thanked Mother, a time or two, for beating me with anything that wasn’t nailed down or too heavy to kill me when I acted a fool. It has molded me into person I am. I shudder to think about how I might have turned out to be if she didn’t discipline me the way she did.

How to be a hard worker – Mother worked 3 jobs to support our family when my brother, Joe, and I were growing up. From sun-up to sun-down and even longer, she worked to be able to give us the things we needed and sometimes the things we wanted.

Perseverance – Mother has had 3 types of cancer over her lifetime. Through many surgeries and chemotherapy, she has continued to be a fighter. As of today, I’m happy to say, she is cancer free! 

Love for the music from the 50s, 60s and 70s – Mother only listened to the Oldies station on the radio and the only records in the house were Time Life compilations, but I loved every beat.  

Be genuine – Mother isn’t one to “put on airs”. She is who she is and if you don’t like it, that’s fine. Same is true for me. I realize I might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but for some people, I am. That’s what matters.

Love of old movies – Whenever Mother commandeered the TV from me and Joe, the only channel she would watch was AMC – American Movie Classics. Back in the day, AMC showed movies from the 40s, 50s and 60s without commercials. On any given Saturday, she could get in 4 or 5 of them. Great movies like, Miracle in the Rain, The Enchanted Cottage, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, Mildred Pierce and of course, Hitchcock movies.

How to be mean – Mother didn’t really teach me how to be mean, but how to look mean. This way, no one will mess with you.  We come from a long line of mean. Funny story: Mother came to visit me at work one day. I happened to be in the back room working when she arrived. One of my co-workers came back to get me and he said, “You better come quick. There’s a lady out here asking for you and she looks mean.” I got a little concerned, but when I hit the door and saw her standing there, I said, “That’s not mean. That’s my mother.”

How to deal with the consequences of my actions – I’ve made some doozies of decisions in my life and Mother let me make them. However, in every decision, I was responsible for the fallout. She didn’t always support the decision and looking back it was for very good reasons, but after it ran its course and I realized I was wrong and she was right, she helped me pick up the pieces.

Where to find the best chili cheese dawg on the planet – If you don’t know, now you know. The best chili cheese dawgs can be found at the Varsity in Atlanta, GA.  A trip to Atlanta isn’t complete with a trip to the Varsity and when you go, you’ll know why Chili Dawgs only Bark at Night.

With all that said, I think she is pretty great. Nothing says how I feel about Mother than the words of the Goodie Mob song, Guess Who.

The only one who care for real

and really understands how I feel.

Helped me overcome my fears and

never left me through the years.

So I dedicate this song to you

For all that you brought me through.

I know there’ll never be another

That’ll love me like my mother.

Word. Mama, I love you.

This One is for Granny

Tomorrow is Easter and I always think of my grandmother on this day. Her name was Lillian, but she was Granny to me.

When I was a little girl, my cousins and I spent most days in the summer at her house.  One of our favorite things to do was to grab the cassette tape recorder with a microphone and sing old hymns together. Doing so would sometimes incite a riot as to who would hold the microphone and who would sing the lead, but when we figured it all out, we’d sing for her.  Granny loved to hear us sing. Her favorite song we sang was Were You There? This video is a jazzed up version on the song, but when I hear it, I just hear three little girls singing around an old microphone and Granny smiling from ear to ear.

Happy Easter!

25 Things about Me: #4

4. I have an ungodly love of cake.

FACT: Cake is the greatest dessert known to man or at least this wo-man. I attribute may love of cake to my Southern upbringing. Cake is and will always be the perfect period to every meal sentence.  You haven’t finished your meal without a piece of cake bringing up the rear. More times than not, cake is often breakfast with a big glass of milk.

At my Granny’s house, during the holidays, there were no less than 4 types of cake available for eating. Among your choices were 7-Layer Chocolate, Robert E. Lee, Raisin, Red Velvet, Pecan, Hummingbird, Pound Cake, Sour Cream Pound Cake and every once and a while, just for me, Orange. Cake was ever abounding cake and I ate it. Here is a picture of me as a little girl already checking out the cake at Aunt Alice and Uncle Willie's 50th Wedding Anniversary. I'm sure that I was about to put my finger in it, but became distracted when someone wanted to take my picture.

My love of cake has been a constant over the years. I consider myself a cake snob. I won’t shake my fist at a piece of cake, but if it’s not my Granny’s or my Mother’s cakes, it will be judged on the strictest of standards. One standard is the icing to cake ratio, then of course, there is always taste and moistness.  For pound cakes, it was imperative that there be an occurrence of a raw streak and to what thickness does the raw streak occur. The raw streak is the bottom of the baking pan where the cake remains slightly uncooked when pulled out of the oven. When the pan is inverted to release the cake, the raw streak is at the top. It is the very best part of a pound cake.

When I came to Tampa, I was introduced to the next best cake since my Granny’s. It is Wright’s Gourmet’s Alpine Cake. It is a classic yellow cake with chocolate icing and it is delicious. I could put myself into a diabetic coma with the amount of that cake I can put back. And unlike Granny’s cakes, that were only available during the holidays and special visits, Wright’s makes Alpine cake EVERYDAY. Danger.  Wright’s also has another one of my favorites, Hummingbird. It is a banana and pineapple spice cake that is frosted with cream cheese icing and topped with pecans. Again, danger.

I sometimes use cake in an ibuprofen-type way. A slice of cake often helps me to feel better. I was having a bad day at work, so I decided to go pick-up an Alpine cake to help me and my co-workers feel better. Once everyone had a slice of that cake, the day went by just a little smoother. I don’t do that a lot, but every once and a while, a little piece of cake can help you smile. After the cake incident, a co-worker of mine felt compelled to make this PSA poster.

I willing posed for this picture not knowing what my co-worker had planned to do with it, but nevertheless, it was genius. I sent this picture to my Mother and she couldn’t tell that it was me. Should I die from a cake overdose, please tell my story. Save the next girl from the dangers of cake.

Here are the other revealed 25 things:

1. I was almost born in the vault at the Alabama State Capital.

2. I fear that my appendix will spontaneously burst and I will die.

3. I am allergic to plastic silverware.

Let’s Spin Some Yarn: The Art of Storytelling

My mother has always been a big fan of Lewis Grizzard (RIP: 1946-1994). He was a syndicated columnist for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, author and stand-up comedian. He was from Moreland, Georgia. My mother is from Bainbridge, Georgia. Lewis was a die-hard University of Georgia fan and so is my mother, even through the Ray Goff years. I believe that she had and read every book that Lewis ever wrote and one live recording of his stand-up on a 60-inch vinyl record (that’s right, VINYL RECORD).

My brother and I listened to that record so much, it’s a wonder it didn’t break and probably if you gave us a running start, we could still recite it today. Therefore, because Mother was a fan, I was a fan.

In his books, Lewis had a way of telling the stories of his life in a way that wasn’t just the facts, but was peppered with his own kind of language and a way of explaining people and places. It was truly spinning yarn. In his columns, he had an interesting take on the every day and mundane. One of my favorite columns, that I cut out and still have, is entitled “Sizzling Ways to Stay Cool until the Winter”.  Here’s an excerpt:

DON’T GO OUTSIDE: this is the most common mistake people make when there is a heat wave. They go outside. That’s where it’s hot, you ninny.

Inside, there’s air conditioning and ice and shade. Outside, you can’t breathe and you’ll sweat and start to smell bad. But you say, “I have to go outside in order to get to work.” That’s another thing. Avoid work. The only things that work in hot weather are mules and fools. Call in hot.

Lewis always had a sideways take on things and it was hilarious. I liken my storytelling style to his. I have opinions that stray from the majority, but as outlandish as they may be, you’re going to laugh at it or maybe just me.  And it’s not so much just to tell my stories, but to bring you, listener or in this case, reader, in and make you feel like you were there or wished you had been. That’s true yarn. Mother, I hope I do you and Lewis proud.