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?