And Men Say We're Moody!

I know I have my days. Days where I'm not fit for sociable company, communication interaction, or days when I don't even like myself. I know what to do for these days as well. I've trained myself. I know myself well enough to know, when I just need to do what is necessary, whatever it takes, to have my mouth remain shut! 

I won't say I always succeed, but I do make the effort. Is it my fault when people cannot see the obvious signs of danger ahead, screaming from my facial expressions?! I'm pretty transparent. Anger, happiness, crazy mad, and joy. None of these expressions look the same, but I wear them all on my face with an obviousness that cannot be missed. My face all but flashes like a neon sign, with the colors anyone would need to be forewarned.

But as life will have it, all of those days don't necessarily fall on the weekends. When it's easier to control myself. Some of those more horrible than life itself days, fall on work days. Days where interaction is not only necessary, it's going to happen. And even though I do my very best to stay to myself, in my own office space, the occasional interlude with people will still take place. I have a lot of scar tissue on my tongue. Because I BITE IT A LOT.

So the question I put before you today, is WHY? Why do men not understand that they are also these people? They also have bad days. Moody days. Grumpy, not happy about anything that comes their way days. Couldn't please them if you tried, days. How can they deny that they can be these people as well. Women are NOT the only ones whose emotions spiral out of control. Man-o-pause exists. Testify ladies, testify.

I just spent over an hour in the grocery house with my husband. And from the time we got in my truck, nothing went right. Why didn't I drive down the other street? He wanted to look at a house that was for sale. Well, I guess I was supposed to already know that, since he had not said a word previously. Why are your brakes making that noise, you must be "braking wrong". What the hell is that? I ask you ladies, how do you "brake wrong?" However, I am a pro at slamming them, I do know how to do that, which I did at the next light, with an "Oops..sorry, did it wrong. Again." ;)


As if the drive wasn't enough, I then spent over an hour in the grocery house with this man, and from the time we walked in the door, and I picked out the wrong buggy, it was on. The wheels are weird he says. Since he's pushing it, I should let him pick one out he says. I smile and say, I'm sorry, see if there's a better one you would rather push. But in my mind I am saying, or a better one that I can shove up your a$$.

The shopping continues. I am making a roast today. I am picking out a package of pre-chopped onions in the produce section. I don't eat them, I don't like that they make my hands stink, so that's what I was buying. And he starts. Why are you wasting money on those when you can just buy one and slice it. I said I can, and I will, if you'll slice it. No return comment from the cheap seats. I roll on to the next aisle.

We don't need anymore lunch meat he says. It gets wasted. I said how do you figure, Zach has been taking his lunch. Well, I haven't see him eat any of it, he said, I said, you're not at school, how would you know. That, and the whole package is gone that I bought last week. Silence again.

I pick up a box of Lucky Charms. I don't know why you keep buying those big boxes of cereal, Zach never finishes it, he says. Again, I say, he eats a bowl every single morning. He repeats, like an broken record, well, I never see it get eaten. And I rewind and say, how would you know, you're already gone to work when he's eating breakfast. My mind says, I can video tape it for you if this is going to court or something.

Now we're on the vegetable aisle, I'm gathering up two HUGE industrial size cans of green beans. It's my turn to help cook for the football team this week. He "advises", I don't know why you're getting all those beans, those boys won't eat all of that. Folks, he liked to have got two cans of green beans upside his head like a pair of symbols. If I could have picked up both and slammed at the same time...well...

The entire rest of the grocery house visit went exactly the same way. EXACTLY. So to report how many other times he came close to being poisoned (on the insect repellent aisle) or rapped in the head (on the mop and broom aisle) would really just be redundant information.


We have paid our bill, which is "astronomical" as he says, we've loaded the truck, and we are on the way home. The conversation is the same all the way back, except he is having to talk to himself, because I no longer trust myself to speak to his behind. We get to the house, and the first words out of his mouth were, I guess we'll be unloading these ourselves, I'll guarantee that boy ain't even up yet (we left Zach in bed asleep). Well, low and behold, before I could get to the back door, "the boy" was opening it up and coming out to help. Another opportunity to gripe, grump and be a jackass blown! Dang it! How did something go right?!
 
My girlfriends and I went to see Hope Springs yesterday. To keep it brief I will just say that the basic jest was that an older couple had lost their spark and were trying to find it again. I thought to myself several times that the movie was a good refresher course for young and old couples alike. To remember that the small things matter, the light touches as you walk by, the simple and small comments that may seem mundane, but are still necessary.

But today, I have spent the better part of my morning thinking I should have taken Mims with me to see that movie instead of going with my Movie Club group. Today, he not only needs a refresher course, he needs to be dipped in a vat of sugar, and re-dipped for good measure. How the rest of our day will go is questionable to be sure. But I have hidden all sharp objects from myself, and locked up the shed where all the shovels and hatchets are stored. This should keep him safe, and me out of jail. For another day.

If It Were Only That Easy

I guess it never goes away. It never stops. It may very well, never change. The absolute agonizing, crippling fear. The anxiousness and anxiety that fills your veins with a potion of adrenaline so strong and so high, that you are always hyper-aware. Overly sensitive to your surroundings. Every noise. Every leaf that crackles as you walk. Was that your footsteps or the footsteps of possible danger.

I can't imagine living my life in constant constriction. Taking spewed insults as you walk down a public sidewalk, from a moving vehicle full of Frat boys. Or girls. Constant looks of revulsion. Of hatred. Pure vicious hatred.

He suffers from Anxiety Disorder. He's been medically diagnosed. From the time he entered Junior High and on through High School, it never seemed to stop. He's so strong, and he made it through all of that, but not without damage. Hidden damage that most never see, and only he can feel.

So that now, in his third year of an MFA program, he is still scared to walk across a dark campus at night, from classroom to his vehicle, is so wrong, on so many levels. That I still talk to him on the phone, as he walks, because I am scared, that he is scared makes me sad. That parents worry about their children when they leave home for college and then they grow up, and the basic worrying is over, seems somehow, unfair. For I will never stop worrying, I will always be fearful, because he will always be in potential danger.

Hatred is such a strong emotion. Hatred for another human being whom you don't even know is unreasonable and there is nothing about that I will ever understand. That I don't walk in his shoes does not make me feel better, it makes me wish his shoes fit my feet.

As he talked to me tonight, of the fears he still has, the things that still happen that he never talks about anymore, I hung up the phone and cried. He is twenty six years old and this is his life. He was thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen, and that was his life. When can he hold hands with the love of his life and not be in fear of ugliness, hatred, and possible harm?

He doesn't whine, he doesn't complain, these are facts for him. As I said, it's his life. He has good days, where everyone he passes smiles and occasionally says good morning, or hello. And he has bad days, where a perfect stranger walks by and calls him a Faggot. What? Because he's by himself, and he looks like one? Because he is comfortable enough in his skin to be himself in real life, instead of hiding?

This is not a story about acceptance or non-acceptance. This is a story about my beautiful son, who simply wants to live like everyone else. Without fear and horror simply for who he is and who he loves. And his mother who would like for him to always, be as happy as he can possibly be, without the fear and horror because of who he is and who he loves.

It's story about sad phone calls, tense filled phone calls, and the distance in between where he is and my safety net for him which no longer reaches as far. It's not about who eats where, who thinks what, and who believes in what. Or how many people can cram cars into a drive thru food establishment to represent the idea and make a public statement of who they think should be married or not. The First Amendment is vitally important. And it applies to everyone. It's not about me pointing a finger at anyone. Or accusing anyone. If my story makes you uncomfortable, then maybe you have some unresolved issues within yourself. Within your heart. This story is about a Mama's love for her child. No matter what. Ever.

My God loves everybody. Every sinner. Every saint. I know a lot of sinners, can't really say I know many saints. So I figure, we're pretty much all even. We all have the same line to stand in, to get in that gate. We all have our trespasses to admit and explain. No one sin is greater than another. There is no point system. There is no 1-10 scale of good and bad. He will judge all the same. And my beautiful, compassionate and loving son, will probably pass through that gate, long before I do, even though I will have already been far ahead of him in the line.

Buckle Up And Enjoy The Ride

There are times in everybody's lives they should stop and take accountability. Take responsibility for themselves and anyone they may have influenced along the way. We all make choices. Some have good results and some lack the initial integrity in which we made the decision. I believe the ratio for intentional wrong doing is marginally low. However, I also believe the ratio for first decisions being the wrong one, is incredibly high.

With that in mind, when I began dating again some fifteen odd years ago, I made up my mind to never settle for less than what I believed to be right, good, and lasting. I had several hit and misses along my journey. But with age, comes a swifter understanding of what is acceptable and what is not.

I stumbled across my most lasting partner by accident and quite frankly, by surprise. He was not what I would have been looking for, even if I stretched my imagination of where I was willing to go, as far as it would reach. In many ways we were made alike, and in so many others, we were absolutely nothing even close.

We spent seven and a half years trying to figure out between us, if this were it. If we were the ones for each other, forever and ever amen. If you ask me do I believe in love at first sight, I would tell you no. I believe in delight at first sight. But that deep, dark, gut wrenching pain and glorious love that comes only with time..no...you do not find that at first sight.

We still have our days. The days of no one saying the right words at the right time with the right tone. Or reactions to circumstance being slower than expected and less than what we desire. When the constant reminders of lights being left on, his tools left out, and his gas can still sitting under the carport after he asked three times for it to be put up, are more than you want to hear after your awful day at work.

As I said earlier, you have to take accountability. Take note of the positive and negatives. Keeping in mind, your partner may have a list of their own, and you should only be willing to list as much as your willing to fix.

Does he help clean the kitchen as much as I would like?
No, but I don't work in the heat or cold of a joist shop for nine hours a day, every day of my life.

Does he apologize as quickly as he should?
No, but he does apologize now. When I met him, he never did.

Does he know how to cook or offer to learn?
No, but he never lets a meal go by that he doesn't kiss me on the cheek and tell me he enjoyed it, whether he really did or not. And he never hesitates paying for take out, when I say I'm just too tired to cook.

Is he tighter with money than makes me happy some days?
Yes, but he has helped pay for the education and well being of two children that are not even his blood.

We have been together since December of 1998. Our first date was December 12th of that year. We married with family and a few friends bearing witness on July 2, 2006. I count all of those 13+ years as our anniversary every year. All of those years, good and bad, make us what we are to each other today.

Was he the right choice? There are those who would say no. Was he the best choice? There are those who would argue that. But he was my choice then and he is my choice now. Whether it's his corny sayings that I never get tired of hearing, his humor that is like none I have ever known before, his slow and steady temperament that calms most situations, or simply that he still makes my insides feel gushy when he takes his shirt off some days...all of those things matter. They all create what he is to me. Why I am here. And why I have dedicated the rest of my life to making this thing we call marriage....work.

Happy Anniversary 13th/6th Anniversary Mims....we've still got a long way to go. So buckle up and enjoy the ride.

He Led And I Followed

Who knows why you have to get older to realize some things. Who knows why you can't recognize the genius of it when it's happening. And who knows no matter how much we say we won't end up just like them, somehow, we seem to anyway.

My Daddy taught me so many things. So many useful and positive things. But you don't only learn from the positive. If you're honest with yourself, you also learn from the negative.

I was lying in bed, trying to sleep, but my mind just kept whirling around and around and around. Nothing to do but get back up, and get it out. Put it all down. So my mind could rest.

This is for you Daddy, and I hope it makes you proud, those are my intentions. For I am a mixture of you. The good, the bad and the parts that still need some work.

1.  You taught me that self entitlement does not exist. Employ thyself does. 
2.  You taught me that simply saying you're sorry is sometimes just not enough.
3.  You taught me temper and how to use it. You also taught me that one rarely fairs well when it happens.
4.  You taught me that a heavy hand creates a heavy heart. Always.
5.  You taught me love and compassion. And empathy to a fault.
6.  You taught me how to worry which led to learning how to pray.
7.  You taught me to be truthful and to understand I cannot pick and choose when.
8.  You taught me I could do anything. And that if I couldn't, be wise enough to ask someone to help me.
9.  You taught me intelligence + financial security = Independence.
10.You taught me family always comes first, second and third.
11. You taught me that you too, were human, and that you would make mistakes.
12. You taught me reason with chaos.
13. You taught me openness with a closed mouth.
14. You taught me to fight for what I believe in, even if I am the only one who does.
15. You taught me to never put on paper, what I was not willing to sign with a signature.
16. You taught me there are two sides to every story and that just because it was my side, did not make it the right one.
17.You taught me that there is no such thing as "what is fair" in this world. If you work hard, and do right, good things will come and that's about all that "what is fair" is really about.
18.You taught me there are no silver spoons in our family. That I will always have to work for what I receive and that I will most likely be better off for it. That being rich, never seems to make all that many people happy anyway.
19. You taught me that just because I love someone with all of my heart, does not mean they will always love me the same.
20. And, you taught me that I am never too old to learn something new, almost every single day of my life.

Growing up with you for a Daddy was pretty tough some days. I will never say that it wasn't. But you also taught me something else that was one of the most important things I learned from you. You taught me to recognize when no matter what has happened or will happen, that someone's heart is in the right place. That their intentions were honorable and good, and that they only want the best for you. I won't say I knew all of that growing up. But I've known it for a pretty good while now. And I wouldn't trade you for any other man in the world.

I love you Daddy. Happy Father's Day.

The Junk Yard Fishermen

BIG BLACK

This morning as I watched them pull off, I was reminded of a similar day not so very long ago. Same truck, same boat, same team of fishermen. Daybreak caught Big Black, loaded to the gills, (pun intended) riding out, for a day of fishing.

Except this time, there was one minor difference. This time, the teacher, the Daddy, the mentor, was the guest. The passenger. The "buddy" who was asked to go fishing. Mims  has never been very good about being the follower. The one who walks a step behind. The one not in charge. But that day, as today, he was all of those things.

That day after their return, well into the latter part of the day, a conversation about his day transpired. As we moved back and forth on the glider, the words of emotion came tumbling out of Mims and I just sat, rocked, and listened.

Mims began to recite memories from long ago. Standing on bank side with fishing poles at old Mr. Marcus's pond on Hwy 65. Zach was maybe six years old or so. Mims didn't have anything but a little old tug boat with a trolling motor back then. We had all been out in it a few times, but Zach had gotten bigger and was no longer small enough to sit on a cooler between the two of us, so that little boat had been retired. So, as I said, they had taken to bank side fishing at ponds. Never catching very much, but always spending good quality time with one another.

As time moved on, we did buy another boat. A bass boat we could all go out in, but still really just comfortable for two. Zach lost interest in fishing for a few years, so it was mostly Mims and I who took that boat out on any regular basis.

But then, Zach attains his driver's license. And suddenly there is not a pond, a lake, a mine hole, or swimming hole that he doesn't hit a lick at. The little tug boat comes back out of retirement, and man alive, the places that little boat has been in the past year. Zach and his buds's go everywhere and anywhere with that boat. Load it up in the back of somebody's truck and they are off, for their next adventure.

Never thinking his Daddy would be very interested in going out in that little tug boat, not when he had a nice fancy bass boat here at the house, Zach never asked his Daddy to go with him. And then he did. As they pulled out that Easter Sunday morning, it was the first time with son driving and Daddy as passenger.

Now obviously, there were some Easter Sunrise services going on, and as part of the story, this of course was relayed back to me. As they road down Attapulgus HWY, in Big Black, with that tug boat hanging out the back, they happened upon one of those services. Big Black itself is not all that loud, but the huge tires are, and it sure was quiet until they rode by all those people on that church lawn in their Sunday best, looking like the second coming of Fred Sanford in that pick up truck with the boat cocked sideways in the back.

But the sentiment is what got me during that conversation. Mims relayed all the memories of taking Zach here and there, but said he never thought about how strange it was going to be to sit on the other side of a vehicle and have his son, take him fishing. That as they drove, he would glance over at Zach every now and again and wonder where had all the time gone and how in the world did we get to this place so fast. Where was that three year old little boy, who jumped off porches in cowboy boots, that he met when we first moved here, or the five year old who pumped his skinny little legs as hard as they would go when he played tee-ball, and the seven year old who jumped to the sky on his bike ramps.

Mims is not much for mush and gush. But I could tell those feelings had been weighing on him for the better part of that day. So this morning when I saw them pulling out, I wondered, would today feel the same for Mims, or would this, too, be old school by now, and just the way it is supposed to be.

As I walked back inside, and went about my chores for the morning, my mind drifted back to his Sanford and Son reference from a couple of months ago. And it wasn't long before I caught myself humming the theme song, and smiling to myself thinking about those big old tires bouncing up and down, all the way down Attapulgus Hwy, one more time.

And In One Fell Swoop

As he talked and talked and talked...I felt further and further away. Sometimes that happens. Often, the differences and distances are alarming. There have been times that I have drifted off into my own thoughts, even as I could still hear his voice crackling over the airwaves in my ear, wondering, when did it happen? When did we become so unalike. When did I become so simple. So ordinary. And he, so not.

Even when he is here, sometimes it is days before I see what I believe, what I remember to be, the boy I used to know. If I look quickly, I see flashes of him. Maybe those are not really flashes. Maybe they are just remnants of what used to be. Someone I used to know.

The speech is different. The words are levels above my head. The sound is grown and sure. There is no longer a little boy standing in front of me, fists clenching in and out, speaking with motion instead of words. Gone is the child climbing onto my bed with as many books as his little hands could carry, some of them coming loose from his grip in the journey, crashing to the ground, as he asks to be read to, in that little voice that could never be denied.

No longer resembling the teenager, unsure of himself or others, he stands before me a man. Somewhere he left me behind. I'm really not sure when it happened. I try and think back to a specific time or event, something that would jar my memory, and make me recall the day, I lost a part of my soul.

For nine months I carried him within the walls of my own confinement. A netting of safety. Protecting him from all that was bad and evil. Blood of my blood, two hearts beating as if one. For eighteen years or better, I was his Super Hero complete with cape and all. I wiped his tears and covered the scrapes and scratches with band aids. And the bruises only a Mama could see, I covered with my gentle words and my strong heart.

He lost his innocence many times between the ages of eighteen and twenty six. Love innocence, family innocence and the most difficult of all, life innocence.  But this past week, he lost his heart and his mind to something bigger than I think even he could have ever imagined. And now, he wants to become a permanent part of that new life. That new land. And all of those new stories and experiences all of the above will surely bring.

Maybe he was really made for fairy tale lands and a Harry Potter life. Maybe he never really was  of this world at all. Maybe I brought a true character into this world, instead of a child, or an adult. Maybe his glasses are not rose colored, but multi-spectrum like a kaleidoscope. Maybe he can only see in fragments and segue ways. Maybe the only life his mind wants to experience is far away lands and beautiful history. Maybe that is what he was made to do, how he was meant to live.

I can't compete with buildings that are as beautiful as they are thousands of years old. Or history that comes to life before your very eyes. Or beautiful lilting voices that release vowels as if they are musical notes from the tongue. Or mummies and palaces, monstrous museums, and birth places of artists past, too talented to simply be called, artists. Parks that are used for scenery in too many movies to count, and bakery's so delicious, it would seem they invented the wheel. The pastry wheel.

But I can cook like my Southern Alabama Mama taught me. Whether it's smothered in fancy sauces or the healthiest food you could eat, it sure is some good home cooking. I still know when your skin breaks out, one of the first things one does in an allergy ridden family is to change washing detergents and personal body soaps. I can barter with sales people better than any man I know, including the worst of all, car salesmen. I will go to battle for you and fight harder for you than anyone else you will ever know. And I will always be the best person to talk to when your heart is hurting or life deals you a crappy hand.

All good mothers know our roles will wither away. The need for us and our over-bearing, over-caring ways will slowly fade. But it's still hard. It still hurts. And London England is a long, long way from home. I brought you into this world to do great things. To be the greatest person on earth. To see everything you could see and do everything you every dreamed of doing. So if I get left behind, that's what's supposed to happen. It's the evolution of  a prosperous life. And it's what every Mother dreams of for her child, no matter that it sure is hard to see you across the ocean, standing from the front porch steps of our lives.

Tallyho...and all of that you know. Onward my son. To wherever you think the path of life is leading you. Romp those brick laden paths with those Georgia Boots we on this side of the world, affectionately call, shit-kickers. And cry with joy and excitement every time you think of how close you were to Harry Potter and his wonderful fantasy world.  Maybe one day soon, the two worlds will collide again, and you will be Harry Potter, if only when you close your eyes.

And Suddenly, Here We Are

Everyday for the past few weeks, I have come home and there is another one in the mailbox. All of these envelopes with names of children on them. Little boys who played Tiny Mites football and little girls who took ballet lessons at Miss Lucretia's in Bainbridge Georgia. Children who were dressing like tough Ninja's and sweet Fairies this past Halloween. Children who made casts and cut outs of their hand prints for Christmas decorations and Turkey's for the Thanksgiving table centerpiece. All of these things just happened. Right?

Then today, I open up my laptop and sign on to the internet. I type in my password for Face Book. I haven't been on all day. Time to see what's going on with everybody. Well, I'll tell you what's going on. My own child, my own little boy, became a Senior in high school today when I wasn't looking. I turn my back for one minute, and BOOM..it's just about over.

Zach is my last child in the high school grade system. Next year I will have one child in his last year of High School and another son in his last year of Graduate School. One will have a high school diploma and the other will have a Master's degree. One will be eighteen years old, the other will be twenty-seven.

I want to go back. I want them to go back to ages sixteen and seven. When they were already becoming best friends. And sixteen loaned seven his clothes for a rockin' out performance in a school lip sync contest with his best friend Dustin Watson. Back to eleven and two, when one could make the other giggle endlessly without saying a word. Back to eighteen and nine, as one watched the other give the speech of his life as Valedictorian of his high school, and he beamed with pride as his brother stood tall and grown at the podium and received a standing ovation. And back to fourteen and five as one watched the other play tee-ball and run with the mightiest might and determination he had ever seen, all in the name of winning and being the best for his big brother.

All of those envelopes represent everything we have all been working toward. Raising these Ninja's and Fairies to be good, smart, and responsible adults. For them to be able to stand on their own two feet and make good, solid, considered decisions. For them to stand together, all as one, in their cap and gowns and be able to say, this is me, and I did it.

So, guess what? We will cry. We will beam with pride. We will hold on tight to each others hands. And we will stand and applaud as they walk into the future we have tried to introduce them to. And then, as the days pass, and the excitement is over, we will have the pictures developed.  We will look through them, and we will cry some more. Because that's just what parents do.

Happy Graduation to all the Senior's. Congratulations on all your accomplishments.  We know you're excited. You've worked for this all of your life. But if you could just cut us old folks a little slack, we sure would appreciate it. And in return, we'll try and not clutch you too tight. Or cut off your circulation when hugging you in front of all your fellow graduates. We'll try to remember to wear water proof mascara so our faces are not streaming black liquid. And if we feel ourselves hyperventilating, we'll try and have the presence of mind to take our overwhelmed selves outside before we place the paper bag over our face.  I said, we'll try, but I'm not making any promises.