The day I knew

I remember the day I realized that I had become a no-joke, honest-to-goodness, card-carrying grown up. 

I was in my very early 30s, had children in elementary school and had gone back to college. Back in 1975/76, I had attended college for a year after I graduated from high school. At the time, I was much more interested in getting married than in earning an education, so I dropped out to plan my wedding and my future.  Going back to college, even a Community College, after 13 years was a scary thing.  I remember that on the way home after I registered for classes and paid my tuition, I had to pull the car over because I thought I was going to throw up.  What was I thinking?  Could I really do this?  Study?  Write papers?  Take exams?  Pass Pre-Calculus?  AND continue to be a wife, mother, chief cook and bottle washer, Sunday School teacher, and work part time?  

The thing that caused me to lose sleep was silly.  I didn’t know what to wear!  My previous college experience was slap dab in the middle of the 1970s.  I wrote a paper titled, “The Trial of the Chicago Seven” in a Current Events History class (be honest…most of you will have to wonder what in the world is she talking about!).  In the 1970s in Colorado Springs, we wore blue jeans, t-shirts and hiking boots to class…when we actually went to class.  In the 1980s, I had big hair and shoulder pads were ‘in’.  I think I compromised with a new pair of blue jeans, spanking clean Reebok tennis shoes and a fancy shirt with shoulder pads. 

Here is when I knew that I was really a grown up.  On a day, not unlike this day, in September when the sky was a blue as could be and the air just a bit crisp…with a hint of chill in the morning, I got up and put on my Reebocks and went to school.  I was on my way home before I even considered that I might have taken off to the mountains on such a beautiful day.  Attending class was more appealing to me than skipping class-no matter what the reason! 

My childhood was officially in the books.  I had made it.  I was an adult.  Or at least…cleverly masquerading as such!

P.S.--I didn't pass Pre-Cal until the fall semester of 1999!  One of the things the Queen of MolliWorld got really, really good at was dropping math classes BEFORE the last day to get your tuition refund!  The Pre-Cal class is another story for another day.  

Big Girl Panties

We girls talk all the time about 'putting on our big girl panties.' When we say that, we are talking about doing something hard or disgusting or hateful or that we just don't want to do. I've said it a million times. 'Guess I'll put on my big girl panties and go to that meeting' which means 'I'm going but I dont' want to." You know exactly what I'm talking about.

I needed big girl panties yesterday. I thought I had them on. They were my control top big girl panties and I thought I was absolutely large and in charge of the situation. I was going for the MRI (you recall my 'that ain't right' back') Well, I was going for the MRI so they could figure out ...oh something. I really am bored with my back, my central nervous system, etc. I occasionally throw up my hands and declare myself done.

So, Rocket Man had rearranged his morning so he could take me for said MRI. More than a few discussions had passed between us about this particualar event and I was just about put out with him. I thought he was asking the unreasonable. He was simply trying to help...but it appeared that he was trying to be bossy. He is quite famous for being bossy. Ask the folks who work for him (although I suppose a boss is allowed to be bossy). Anyway, I was certain that I knew what was best and I was going to just take charge.

MRI? ha! I was laughing at it. This was not my first trip into that coffin. In fact, it was my 4th in the past 3 1/2 years. I won't bore you with allthe details, but the others have been scans to image my big, giant brain. When they do that, they lock a cage around my head to hold it completely still. I require Valium for the head-locking procedure. But, I just knew that since we were taking pictures of my lower spine, I would go feet first, it wouldn't be a problem and I was A-okay. Really. I had it under control. The dear Rocket Man asked me until he nearly irritated the pooh out of me if I was okay. Well, of course I was. This was not going to be a big deal.

I wan't anxious. I was flippant about it. I slept well the night before. I got up early and did some things around the house and thought how nice it was to have coffee together before we left the house. We got there and were laughing about something silly on the news when the sweet lady came and took me back for the test.

I had to leave anything with metal in it in the locker. I could wear my top, but had to leave my pants because of the zipper. She gave me disposable shorts to wear (more about them later). I sashayed into the room, hopped up on the machine, although my enthusiasm waned a bit when I realized I was going in head-first. But there was no cage for my head, so I was good with it.

Wrong. I had my eyes closed tightly, something I'd learned was a good idea in my previous trips into the very small tube. I was saying my mantra over and over, 'Don't open your eyes, Molli. Don't open your eyes, Molli." I was okay for about a nano-second and then I came completely unglued. I'm not talking a little anxious. I am talking full-blown, get-me-outta-here-NOW, unglued! I was embarassed. I was relieved. I was crying. I was blathering. I was lightheaded. I was apologizing to the sweet lady, who assured me that the same thing happened to everyone.

I got out of those shorts and back into my clothes in short order. I went out and told Rocket Man that I had to get out of there IMMEDIATELY. God bless him, he didn't say "I told you so" and who would have blamed him? He didn't remind me that he had rearranged his entire day. He held me and told me it would all be okay. And, it was.

I called and rescheduled after the nice nurse called in a prescription of Valium for me. 10 mg one hour before the test, 10 mg as soon as I walked into the door of the center. They rescheduled me for 8:35 last night. Who knew that they did such things that late?

I took the meds, went and had the test. While it was not my favorite thing, I was much calmer about it. In fact, I was much calmer about everything. The test didn't take too long and we were out and home in no time. The whole thing shook me up, but I'm okay. Amazing how 20 mg of Valium can change your perspective.

The Big Girl Panties? Oh...I'm saving them. There is a picture of them at the top of this page. The disposable shorts that I put on before the failed attemp ARE the smack daddy of Big Girl Panties. Look for yourself and see. If you ever need to borrow them, give me a call. I'd suggest you take 10 mg of Valium, put on the big girl panties and let me know if you feel better in the morning.

Happy Birthday, Dear Neenie

She was the biggest little woman I ever knew. Slight of stature but she could fill a room with her presence. Regal in her composure, yet composed with humility. Her hands were gnarled and knuckles huge…but oh! my!...the things she could do with those hands. She tatted and made lace, she played the piano and organ, she sewed, she wrote lovely letters, she baked and she cooked, she painted and she did every sort of craft you can imagine. She touched my face with her hands and she made an indelible mark in my heart. She loved us deeply and she taught us greatly. She loved her Lord with an unwavering faith. She followed His commands and she prayed. Oh, how she prayed for me.

My maternal grandmother. Known lovingly as Sister, Irene, Mother, Mrs. Younger, Neenie, Aunt Sister, and Mrs. Whitehead. Her name was as big as she was little: Ella Alice Irene Austin Younger Whitehead! But for a long, long time…they just called her Sister. Only daughter born to her parents, she was the first-born of 8 (6 survived). I imagine that everyone who ever knew her loved her. Everyone I knew did.

As I walk through my house, there is something in every room that reminds me of her. I have pieces of furniture that were hers. I have dishes, artwork, doo-dads, jewelry, books, bibles and clothes that were hers. Oh, and hankies. She loved hankies. But more than those things that she gave me, I have memories of her. And a relationship and love that endures beyond the bounds of time and space.

She once said to me, "Mollianne, there are things between us that don't have to be said out loud. Because they are in our hearts, and our hearts know." That is where I carry her now. Reverently, humorously, delightfully and with a bittersweet memory of that wonderful creature that God allowed to grace my life.

This day, the anniversary of her birth...102 years later, I hope that I live my life in such a way that she would be proud of me. She always encouraged me. The last conversation I had with her 6 years ago was about my upcoming college graduation. She was so proud that I finally finished my degree. She reminded me that we didn't have to say good-bye, because when she went to heaven, it was just a matter of time until I joined her there.

Six years later, I still miss her. I miss calling her when I find the first crocus in the spring. I miss calling her to tell her I made her chicken and dumplings. I miss her when I find a card that she sent tucked away in a book. I miss her when I read poems that she loved. I miss her when I put one of her hankies in my Bible on Sunday morning before I go to church.

Much of what I am and who I want to be has to do with her calm and gentle influence in my life. I am so blessed to have had such a grandmother. And the most wonderful thing she ever did for me was to raise my Mother. God must have just known that it would take the whole tribe to raise me, and he found a line of strong, elegant, capable women and put me in their care. I am so thankful for them. But I still miss her.

She used to tell me that she loved me 'more and more'. Well, Little Neenie, I love you...More and More! If they celebrate birthdays in heaven, I hope that a choir of angels and all the people who loved you on earth are singing to you tonight. And I hope that there is vanilla ice cream to go with the cake.

I promise

I promise

I promise that I am going to try to do better. Really.

I promise that I am going to eat healthier foods, although I have made an effort in the past year to do just that and am sticking to it.

I promise…really and truly promise…that I am going to find out what is wrong with my back and do what the doctors tell me to do so that I can get back to a regular exercise regimen. Really. Truly. I’m thinking hard about it.

I promise that I am going to finish my ‘pay it forward’ projects and get them delivered before December 31, as I originally said I would. Really promise that one. I think about it every day.

I promise that I am going to clean up My Thoughtful Spot so I can fulfill the ‘pay it forward’ promise. Seems like I’m always having to clean up that room.

Hey…I promise that I will stop dumping everything that doesn’t have a home in My Thoughtful Spot! Once I get it cleaned up and figure out where everything goes. Then I won’t have to clean it so often!

I promise that if and when I find out why the quarterback (doesn’t matter which one, just the quarterback) doesn’t roll the pocket, Rocket Man will be the first person I tell. Promise. Cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die! While I’m finding that out, I’ll also ask why-Why-WHY don’t they take a knee when they catch a kickoff or punt in the end zone. I can pinky swear on that one, and spit over my shoulder! And guess who’ll be the first person I tell? Rocket Man! I promise!

I promise that I will try to stop being quite so headstrong when other people (especially the beloved Rocket Man) only want to help me.  I am always so  absolutely certain that I know the good, the better and the best.  I'm afraid this is where my masquerade has gaping holes.  I don't want anyone else to be the boss of me.  I think I'm pretty big.  So, I promise.  At least... I promise to try.

Everything I Need

A poem I have come to love...

Everything I Need

I asked for strength and

God gave me difficulties to make me strong.

I asked for wisdom and 

God gave me problems to solve.

I asked for prosperity and

God gave me brawn and brains to work.

I asked for courage and

God gave me dangers to overcome.

I asked of patience and

God placed me in situations where I was forced to wait.

I asked for love and

God gave me troubled people to help.

I asked for favors and 

God gave me opportunities.

I received nothing I wanted.

I received everything I needed.

My prayers have all been answered.

-Author Unknown

That ain't right!!!

This hasn’t exactly been my all-time favorite week.  It hasn’t been the worst week of my life either, but I’ll have to say that when the whistle blows at 5 o’clock this afternoon, the door won’t be hitting me in the butt as I’m leaving, if you know what I mean! 

That presumes that I can make it to 5 o’clock.  You see, I’m having some back problems and dealing with some pain.  I went to a doctor with the chief complaint that my hip was killing me.  When he asked me what he could do to help (duh?) I told him it would be okay with me if he could pull it off like a Barbie leg and get me a new one.  After an exam, he took X-rays.  He looked at the X-rays and then took me out to take a look-see of my X-rays.  I did not go to medical school and I didn’t stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night, but I could tell that something was amiss.  The good doctor shook his head and gravely said, “That ain’t right!”  This is the same doctor who gave me a diagnosis of being ‘off’ last spring.  Add that to the number of doctors who have told me I'm interesting.  Good grief! 

So, I’m off to get an MRI next week.  I have to wait until next week, because it takes 3-4 days to get approval from my insurance company.  After that, there will be the minimum requirement of several days to evaluate the images.  Then, they will call and tell me that I have to go see another doctor.  I’m guessing 2 weeks before I see the doctor.  This is not my first trip to the rodeo.  I sort of know the routine.  Same story, different ailment.

In the meantime, it still hurts.  I have some pain medication, but really…I should only take it when my adult supervision is with me.  Seriously.  I’m told that I can be quite amusing in a drug induced haze.  I only have one or two inhibitions and if you give me the right drugs,  I lose them all.  Seems I hummed all night long the other night.  All. Night. Long.  And, not a lovely melody, but an off-key and very grating hum.  ooops!  Sorry!  I also am told (I have to take his word for it, because I don’t recall a thing) that I think I’m Christopher Columbus.  I get up and explore, looking for new worlds.  So, while I’m passed out and unaware of my pain…poor Rocket Man is on duty trying to keep me from heading out the door and down the street in my pajamas.  Oh…I also am told that if I get hot, I’m likely to shed my clothes.  I see great opportunity for embarrassing moments with the neighbors if I ever actually escape and decide to do a strip-tease in the Camelot subdivision.  

This morning, I’m feeling sort of hung over.  I didn’t actually sleep that long after I took the medication.  I woke up at 12:45 a.m. and spent the night awake in a drugged haze.  If I emailed you and it read like I was slobbering all over you, I’m sorry.  If I posted something silly on your facebook page, please forgive.  I’m pretty sure I kept my pajamas on, so I don’t think I owe my neighborhood an apology…yet.  

Who knows his Grandmother?

Did I mention that I am a Grandmother? What, you say? Surely not! Thank you for so kindly noticing that I don't look like a Grandmother. It is certainly a stretch to think that I'm old enough to be a Grandmother. However, a Grandmother I am, and quite proud of my grandsons, Death and Destruction. Ooops...their given names are Malcolm and Sean, but have a variety of little pet names that we call them. They answer to most of those names. If you are familiar with the concept of entropy, you would immediately recognize our little angels.

Malcolm is 11 and Sean is 10 and it is only by the grace of God and some tender mercies shown to them by their Granddaddy that they have survived to blow out so many birthday candles. They have more testosterone than the law allows and occupy their fair share in the lore of MolliWorld. They constantly test their boundaries by stomping all over my good nature and regularly do things that cause their long suffering Grandparents to ask, "Was that a good decision?"

One Sunday afternoon last spring, we took them out for lunch and went to visit Maple Hill Cemetery. Maple Hill is an interesting place and lovely in the spring when the dogwood are in bloom. Sean's Daddy is buried there, and we try to take him several times a year to visit the grave. The boys enjoy walking around and looking at the markers. There are many interesting and historic markers and we all enjoy the trips.

As we were leaving the cemetery grounds, Sean asked me if I was going to be buried at Maple Hill when I die. I told him that I would like that. Then, for sport, I did a dangerous thing. I asked them what they would put on my marker. Malcolm said that he would put musical notes on my marker, so that people would know that I sang while I was alive. What a good boy! Sean thought about it and said that he would put one of my favorite sayings on my marker. I broke out into a cold sweat, wondering what he was thinking. I'd be less than honest if I didn't tell you that they can be quite inspiring at times, and I *might* have used a colorful phrase or two when talking to them. But, ever the good sport, I asked Boy Wonder what saying that might be. He said, "Grandmother, I would put 'Don't make me call the Flying Monkeys' on your marker." Malcolm piped in and said that he really just didn't get what I meant when I said that to them. (He also doesn't really understand what I mean when I say that their Granddaddy has bail money so they better behave. He just knows that he's in the danger zone at that point and occasionally has the good sense to back off). Sean tried to explain the 'Wizard of Oz' reference, but Malcolm still didn't get it. Malcolm is a very literal kid. Finally, Sean said, "Mac! Grandmother is the Wicked Witch! Get it?"

I was laughing my head off at that point. Granddaddy bravely asked what they'd put on his marker and Sean grinned and said, "Don't make me call your Grandmother." Cheeky boy!

Guess what? I have a sign on my kitchen wall that says, "Don't make me call the Flying Monkeys".

Who knows his Grandmother?

Schedules

Since I only play at being a responsible adult, schedules are something that I try to completely ignore.  Sort of like my dog, Sister, who thinks if she has her head under the couch…I can’t see her.  My children are grown and gone, so I don't have to be concerned about where they are and what time they need to be there (life after the nest empties can be quite wonderful...I am enjoying it a lot).  My work schedule is pretty easy.  I try to be there during the 8 o'clock hour (I'm mostly uninhibited by time) and stay until pretty close to 5.  Sometimes I go early, sometimes I stay late and sometimes I work right through lunch (like today).  Unless I'm sick or have adult supervision, I rarely go to bed on schedule.  We aren’t big on scheduling events months in advance and I have been known to get everything ready to go on a 10 day trip with 24 hours notice.  Schedule-Schmedule, I say!

There are 3 kinds of schedules that I am paying attention to these days.  The first would be that of the University of Georgia Bulldog Football Team.  We are part of the Bulldog Nation in MolliWorld, and the fall of the year brings just as much red and black into our lives as it does yellow, gold and orange.  I know the order of the games, which are home and which are away games, when we play the bye and when the SEC Championship game is scheduled.  I don't have to check my calendar.  I already know.  From week to week, I can often tell you what the other SEC team schedules are for the upcoming Saturday, should you want to know.  I check the odds during the week to see who is favored.  I get updates on my iPod letting me know of any injuries that might have been sustained and who is having a quiz in their ‘breathing for credit’ classes.   I know my football team, the coaches and the schedule. How about them Dawgs?

The second schedule is not quite as important to me but I keep up with it because there are whole months of the year that I'd really like to have meaningful conversation with Rocket Man.  I really love college football.  I'm a good sport about college basketball.  While we are Bulldogs in the fall (Rocket Man was born in Georgia and lived there until he was 12), we are Memphis Tigers (he moved to Memphis when he was 12 and lived there until he graduated from college at Christian Brothers College)  from the first tip-off of the first invitational tourney until March Madness rolls around.  I can hold my own in anyone's conversation about coaching, rules, whose point guard is hot and the merits of any given top 10 team.  I know the appropriate things to yell at the TV screen (‘Dunk the ball, son!’ and ‘There’s just no substitute for putting the ball in the basket!’).  I wear blue and white.  I have even gone into a sports bar during my lunch hour to make sure that a particular game would be shown that evening on their screen. (That got me a nomination for ‘Wife of the Year’ by the two guys who were sitting at the bar when I explained that I was making sure my husband would be able to see the game that night).  But, the only reason I really care about Memphis basketball is because Rocket Man’s blood is very blue during basketball season.  Like I said, if I want to have a meaningful conversation with him…I need to be articulate about basketball. 

The third kind of schedule is a NASA schedule.  That would be the schedule that we don’t have today, and probably the reason Rocket Man is not likely to be in his assigned seat on a Delta Flight coming home tomorrow.  I’m sure that there are a bazillion details that go into making that schedule.  I’m equally sure that since the US Government and its agencies don’t have diplomatic relations with MolliWorld, the set of people who really care that this is upsetting my apple cart is a miniscule  Almost an imaginary number, actually.  This  would be the schedule that has barged its way into my MolliWorld and has laid siege to it for quite some time.  I’m not complaining, mind you.  That schedule pays the bills.  That schedule keeps a lot of very fine people employed.  But that schedule is somewhat tyrannical and occasionally even fascist, not to mention stress-inducing to a whole myriad of other people.  Some of them don’t even reside in MolliWorld!  I honestly believe that the schedule I’m referring to has taken on a life of its own.  I’m quite certain that I don’t even begin to be smart enough to understand the schedule.  I know I will never ‘be one’ with the schedule.  I imagine if I could kick the schedule in the rear, I’d do it. (I think I'm very big)   But since I can’t, and stomping my little feet has never once in my whole life gotten me anything, and since I have never been intimidating to anyone…I’m just going to act like I’m a mature adult and reach back into my upbringing and smile and be polite to the schedule.  Bless it’s pea-pickin'heart (and all y’all Southern Girls know what I mean when I say that!)

Home Alone

I am a homebody. I’d rather be at home than anywhere on the planet. I don’t apologize for this as much as I used to. I have learned that it is okay to want to be at home. My desire to be in my home doesn’t mean that I’m crazy or that there is something wrong with me. It simply means that my own home is my favorite place to be. Period.

I can amuse myself for hours in my kitchen, even though it is not a very nice kitchen. Circa 1964, it has inadequate cabinet space, the layout is inefficient and the whole room needs to be gutted and done over. Nonetheless, I spend countless hours in there preparing food, cleaning and just puttering around. I turn on my iPod and listen to all sorts of music and dance my way around on the usually dirty floor.

I have a room that is all my own. I call it My Thoughtful Spot (you A.A. Milne readers will appreciate that one!). I have all my paper crafting supplies in that room. It is a wonderful place to be creative. I have big plans to remodel it someday. I wonder if I will enjoy as much when it is nicer than a hodgepodge of furniture stuffed into a small space. Some of my favorite books also reside in that room, along with an old computer that has a lot- I’m talking about a whole lot-of music stored on it. The speakers are pretty good, so I can crank that bad boy up and listen for days without repeating a song. It is a nice place to hang out.

I suppose my very favorite room in the whole house is our bedroom. It is the heart of MolliWorld. We have a brand spanking new LCD television in our room that I got Ed for his birthday. Our clothes are in there. A beautiful watercolor of the park where I played as a child is on the wall. The décor isn’t all that nice and it is in desperate need of some new paint. The carpet is also circa 1964 and it really does need to go. The furniture was my grandparents' and it is showing its age. Doesn’t sound like the heart of anything other than a mess now that I think of it.

To me, though, it glows. It is the room where we spent our wedding night, (with the children in the next room). It is the nest where our days start, often with laughter and always with me wrapped up in the arms of my dearest love. It is where we whisper of our fears, frustrations and where we dare to put words to our dreams. It is the safest of havens to me. It is where we pray for guidance and wisdom. It is a place of intimacy, as it ought to be. I often feel that I spend my days like a salmon swimming upstream to get back to that wonderful place. Back to our room. Back to the arms of my Prince. Back to the heart of MolliWorld.

Except tonight. And tomorrow night. And probably a few more nights after that. I’ll be sleeping and changing clothes only in that room. The Rocket Man has left the city limits and is headed to do his Rocket Work at a different Rocket Location. On the one hand, that means I am without Adult Supervision (insert wink and sly grin!). On the other hand, it means that I don’t really want to go home. And when I do go home, I don’t want to go to our bedroom. I feel somehow displaced and like something is missing. Which is exactly true. My heart is missing. You see, my heart and my home are wherever Ed is, and right now…that is far, far away.

I'm being good. I have put on my big girl panties. I’m making the best of it. I’m soldiering on. I want him to know that I miss him, without making him feel any worse about being gone. The Prince's job occasionally takes him away. That is just part of the bargain. Most of the time, I'm okay with that. But we have been quite busy lately and this time, I just wish he didn't have to go. For the next few days, I don't want to...but I’m doing my best impression of cleverly masquerading as a responsible adult....

The Queen of MolliWorld

Once upon a time, there was some unpleasantness in MolliWorld.  The crown Prince (also known as the ex-husband) was quite unhappy.  Things just hadn’t turned out the way he’d hoped.  Or something.  Things were amiss.  During an awful heated discussion, he looked at Queen Molli and yelled, “You are being CHILDISH!”

 The Queen was quite stunned.  Those words were mean, hurtful and stinging.  Childish?  Childish is selfish.  Tantrums come to mind.  The Queen began to seriously wonder if she actually was being childish. Nobody but the unhappy Prince seemed to find this to be true.  But could it be true that she was behaving in such an un-queenly manner?  Insisting on having things her own way?  Throwing tantrums?  Being immature?   Folks, there was trouble in MolliWorld, and that trouble rocked our little kingdom and its Queen to the very core.

Our Queen, who has been known to think an idea nearly to death, thought and thought on it.  Childish?  Really?  Up until then she had held the Prince in such high esteem.  She had promised to love and honor and obey him.  She loved him above all others.  Suddenly-in a flash, it came to her. She was not being childish.  She was being child-like.  Our Queen was looking for the good in the situation.  She was hoping for everything to work out okay.  She really thought if she was good enough, worked hard, did her homework and went to bed at a reasonable hour…everything would be all right  She wanted to please the Prince, but alas!  He had passed the point of being pleased.  He left her to pursue other things.

In the months and years that have followed that sad day, the Queen has pondered the differences in childish and child-like.  She decided that it isn’t bad to be child-like.  She has tried with all of her might to view the world with child-like wonder.  To be amazed at the beauty of creation.  To be ready to laugh at herself and the world around her at all times.  To trust that God is in control and things really are going to be okay.  She has learned that taking herself too seriously could cause her to miss out on a great deal of joy.  But she also knows that there are situations that call for gravity and she is fully capable of responding appropriately when the need arises.  She knows that her heavenly Father wants all of His children to come to him as a child and find comfort in His arms. 

Queen Molli lost the Prince who held her heart during her youth.  But the most wonderful thing happened.  Another Prince…Prince Edmund (also refereed to regularly as Rocket Man, because he is a rocket engineer) a very grown up and amazing Prince…happened into her life.  He found her child-like faith and response to the world to be refreshing and he loved Queen Molli and MolliWorld so much that he took up permanent residence.  Prince Edmund and Queen Molli are living happily ever after…and Queen Molli is Cleverly Masquerading as a Responsible Adult!