infinite verses

I remember someone telling me “Boys just get hurt.  All you can do is help them along with the bumps and bruises and pray that the next one won’t be as bad.”

Quite the song of parenthood.

I can recall my boys’ first major injuries very well.  The visible scars are constant reminders. Ironically both were head injuries.

Verse One-

Thanks to a 3 year- old neighbor using a driver he somehow found in OUR garage, Big brother was whacked on the side of his 4 year old head with a no- holds -barred full swing.  Everything was going in slow motion as I saw what was coming from a distance. I bolted towards the driver willing to take the hit if necessary, trying to grab the club from the little hellion’s hand because indeed, someone was going to get hit.

 I was too late. 

I still remember the sounds; the thud on his skull, the thump as he hit the ground (ironically not knocked out from the blow) and the disapproving cry of the neighbor boy as I yanked his lethal find from his hand.  Neighbor boy’s mom came out and she had the nerve to be calm telling ME to be calm, that ‘it was an accident’ and it wasn’t the little hellion’s fault.  I remember trying to ignore her as I was concentrating on my child.  Finally, I turned to her “calmly” saying...

“You need to take your son and leave.” (full mama bear mode)

The blood was horrific, as most head injuries are.  I tried my best to calmly coach him through it and make sure he did not see the goopy sticky red stuff oozing out of his head as I used my sweatshirt to hold against his head and make it stop enough to see how bad it was.  Luckily, it was not a huge gash, but enough to take to the ER and be treated.  He was actually pretty tough, not complaining of the pain and throbbing as much as the blood.  He did not want any part of that on him.  He checked out okay and was sent home with a glued head and bandages.

(Chorus) “I remember watching him that night as he slept.  It was quite an emotional night as I listened to his sweet slow breathing.  I was so thankful he was okay but the reality was knowing this was the first of many, some not as bad and some possibly worse as he gets older.  Sometimes the injured body, sometimes the injured soul..

….I still shudder at the thought and pray.”

Verse Two-

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon.  Handsome and I were on the couch watching a peaceful round of golf on television appreciating the shots and the scenery.  I heard the boys giggling from Little brother’s bedroom around the corner.  All was good until we heard a high pitched scream.  We then heard Big brother yell for us.

“MOM! DAD! HE’S HURT! QUICK! HE’S BLEEDING!”

I bolted to the bedroom as I saw my 2 year- old whimpering on the bed while my 5 year- old was crying and shaking telling us what happened.  He felt terrible and was so scared for his little buddy.

“We were jumping on the bed…(whimper)… then falling……(whimper).. like we were going to sleep.  He hit his head on the bed when he fell backwards!” (sobbing)

I looked at the back of his head.  Once again, the blood was everywhere. Big brother immediately remembered his incident and the scary bloody mess, and started to cry in panic.  Little brother caught a glance of the bloody towel and after a wide eyed double take, his crying became panicked as well.

Two boys are having meltdowns. 

Handsome, who was allowing me to take control of the situation, was doing his best to help.  He was fetching different things from around the house; going back and forth across the hall and in and out of the room as I calmly asked him to bring a dry towel, then a wet towel, then a phone and a sucker (something for Big brother to hold for Little brother while he licked the tasty candy, therefore both were distracted).  It was enough to control the emotion in the room, but not the injury at hand.

Once again, it wasn’t a huge gash, but the blood wouldn’t stop. So I took him on to the ER.  I remember he was unusually quiet and calm.  He did not make a sound, his big blue eyes stayed locked on mine.  He checked out okay and once again, this time Little brother was sent home with a glued head and bandages.

(Chorus)  “I remember watching him that night as he slept.  It was quite an emotional night as I listened to his sweet slow breathing.  I was so thankful he was okay but the reality was knowing this was the first of many, some not as bad and some possibly worse as he gets older. Sometimes the injured body, sometimes the injured soul…

...I still shudder at the thought and pray.”

Yes,quite the song of parenthood.

It continues on in infinite verses.

dishes

“Boys, when you finish your dinner, the three of us are going to clean the kitchen.”

The boys looked at each other wide-eyed, looked back at me (lounged on the big chair in the living room only wishing I could call it a night), looked at each other again and shrugged.  They finished off their plates and carried the dishes to the sink and rinsed them.  Handsome continued in a comical tone as the three of the worker bees were diligent in knocking this task out quickly…

“Some dads take their boys fishing; some dads take their boys out camping.  In this house, this dad and his two men do DISHES!”

The two knights- in -training giggled at their daddy.   They knew what was going on.  They knew their mom had a hard night last night with their baby brother and she was in no mood to do dishes or clean.  In turn, I knew better than to think they actually ENJOYED it, but they played the part; trying their best not to argue or heave big sighs.  I overheard a few short temperaments towards each other.  However, Handsome- being the light hearted coach that he is- directed the boys to make this play a productive one.

I couldn’t help but look over and smile at the three of them.  It was truly unorganized chaos- each of them bringing their own method to the madness.  Man child (hates dirt and grease on his hands) used the brush to scrub the food and grease off of the dishes, pots and pans.

“Dude, that’s disgusting! Rinse that off better when you bring it to the sink.”

Endless Pit, my creative one, made the plates fit in perfect order in the dishwasher, making sure the washer blade could spin.

“Okay, REALLY?? That doesn’t fit! Put it the other way.  THE OTHER WAY! (gasp) DUDE!!!”

Handsome found a large brown sticky spot on the bar area.

“What the hell is THAT?  Nutella? Chocolate ice cream? Protein Shake?”  

He used the days’ stresses as ammo and scrubbed the dickens out of that spot… eyes bulging and hyperventilating while spraying the snot out of it with “industrial strength” 409.  I think he even growled a bit with a few choice words.

I was silently singing praises when he did, indeed, get the spot out (Um..it would have cut said frustration in half by scraping it with a butter knife; easily spotless in one spray of cleanser and a quick swipe of the paper towel. Princess thought it best to keep her mouth shut).

The kitchen was clean.  They did a FABULOUS job.

Now, did I know they were this capable?

Yes.

Would I expect this all the time from my boys when I am having an exceptionally tired day?

No.

Was I enjoying this particular gesture of appreciation, love and understanding?

Absolutely.

Therefore, they earned some SERIOUS appreciation, love and understanding in return…

….which is how Team Minnix rolls.

three little birds

I sat there staring out the window.  My nerves were in my throat and I had a HUGE throbbing in my head.  I made all the necessary phone calls; my sister, Pink, Roomie… all giving the “go ahead” that after 5 tests, I could indeed call Handsome with the news to sit down and take a deep breath…

“I am pregnant.”

I smiled as I told him over the phone…since he was in Tulsa and I was in Destin with the boys.  I knew that he needed to hear that smile with the news to keep him calm but also to let him know I was okay and this was meant to be in so many ways. In turn, I could tell he was choosing his words wisely; trying not to upset me with the same initial reaction I had since this was not planned in any way.  He told me this was okay and agreed that this was meant to be.  We accepted our belief that this was our plan, that in our hearts we knew our boys were our passion and the four of us certainly had enough love for each other to share and extend it to just one more.

As night fell, Man- child knew something was going on.  I was in my bedroom with the door closed and he could tell I was on the phone.  He is a smart cookie and always knows when I am not telling him the truth.  So I decided to tell him.  I could feel his temperature rise with his questioning of

“When will I know for sure?” 

He asked if I was okay, but again asking in a more direct tone

“Well are you pregnant or not, because I need to know”.

He started to cry.   I was taken aback by his reaction.  I asked him why he seemed so upset.

“I will not know the baby.  I will be gone to college when the baby is six years old.”

At this point, Endless Pit came in asking why his big brother was upset.  I decided that he deserved to know just as much as Man- Child for the time being. His reaction was wide-eyed and smiling, quietly asking

“You mean, I am going to be a big brother?” 

“Have you told Dad?” 

“What did he say?” 

“I can’t believe it”

…and so on.

The emotion was overwhelming.  I was so stunned that my oldest thought that far ahead so quickly and was so warmly moved at my little one’s excitement. I started getting a little weepy as I was still grasping at the whole concept myself.  I held them and let them know that this was a wonderful thing and everything was going to be okay. They still wanted the concrete answer.  I promised tomorrow morning I would know for sure (yes, that would be the 6th test).

That night, I remember sleeping on my left side holding on to my abdomen.  I knew I did not have to, but I was going to do everything in my power to see this blessing through knowing that indeed, at 40 and checking a few more factors on my checklist, I was a member of the high risk pregnancy category. I remember praying for peace that night and delivering gratitude for the happiness and adventure that was about to enter our lives as a family once again.

Morning came and indeed, it was a “plus” sign in bright blue.

I came out of my bedroom as two boys were staring at me to deliver the final answer.  I made the announcement with a huge sigh and a smile the size of Texas as they ran up and gave me a big hug, then turning to embrace each other. We all came down a bit when Endless Pit said

“I wish Daddy was here to be a part of this.”

So they called Handsome.  We re-hashed the news of how we were all pleasantly shocked and excited with it. We could not believe there was going to be a baby in this house of four.   I made a call to my mom and dad, my brothers and texted some close friends.  I’ll never forget one in particular; who assured me in so many words, that this was truly a miracle…a very happy moment…and every little thing was going to be alright.

Indeed…My Three Little Birds. :  )

banana splits

In the summer, it seems I was outside playing all the time; whether it was splashing in perfectly created mud puddles, running back and forth across the front yard practicing THE perfect round- off or a very intense game of kickball with the other neighborhood kids in our cul-de-sac  ‘til it was pitch black outside.  I would be all wrapped up with whatever I was doing until I froze immediately as I heard our front door open and close.  Out of the shadows of the unlit porch came my dad in his khaki Coleman jumpsuit and Johnston and Murphy dress shoes, which screamed a spur of the moment outing.

“Hey Dad!  Where ‘ya goin’?”

There were usually two guaranteed and distinctive answers my dad would give when asked of his travel plans.

The first answer was usually…

 “Crazy.”

Never really knew what that one meant.  He usually went by himself. However, ‘crazy’ usually brought back Jamil’s ribs.  It was certainly a special summer time treat.

The second answer was…

“Braum’s.  Wanna come?”

I hustled my bustle, either trying one more “walk-over” gymnastic move, or either leaving the team hanging or going ahead and running to home base to gain that one extra point they needed before I bolted into his big brown Lincoln Town Car.  Dad would turn on the air conditioning full blast with that musty smell only real leather and cigarettes could offer through the open and freely flowing vents.  Then he would pop in the car lighter, light his cigarette, open the sunroof and turn on his 8-track tape to Waylon, Meat Loaf, or Neil and away we went.

He was the coolest dad ever.

As we were out cruising, there wasn’t much conversation.  I would spend most of the trip playing with the seat buttons making the seat go up and down, recline and sit back up, move up towards the dash and back while singing Sweet Caroline with Neil.  Dad never said a word. He would just occasionally look at me and smile.  I interpreted that as he was totally cool with my front seat amusement.

Yep, super cool indeed.

We would eventually get to Braums and Dad would ask what I wanted. I was overwhelmed with the possibilities in front of me. He then helped me out of my creamy quandary and asked if I wanted the ultimate ice cream concoction.

“Do you want a banana split?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

I didn’t have to say a word.  My smile confirmed my answer.

He would order two banana splits ‘to go’, then we would take them outside and eat them in the car; windows down, music still playing with the bass blasting, and the air conditioner still cranked (never figured that one out either).  Again, we would not say a word. We would just sit and enjoy the silence of banana, ice cream, hot fudge, marshmallow and strawberry yumminess topped with whipped cream, nuts and a cherry.

We finished up and headed home once again jamming to “Willie, Waylon and the Boys”. By this time, the air conditioning was turned off and the windows were down. My new game was sticking my hand outside the window moving my hand up and down, allowing it to soar against the wind current.  I felt so full and so free in my own little world…just me and my dad. 

Once we pulled in the driveway, I quickly yelled a thank you to him as I ran off with my friends, finding out what I missed and what new game we could come up with (usually WAR).  I heard the door open and close behind him as he went back into the house, knowing he was getting ready to sit in his spot on the couch, light his cigarette and hide behind the newspaper for the evening.

Truly, the coolest dad ever.

I occasionally give dad a banana split for his birthday or Father’s Day.  He loves it almost as much as I did when I was a kid.  I guess I am returning the favor for creating that one memory that is firmly planted in my childhood….with a smile.

a family affair

No more excuses, Princess needs to get back in shape.

When I got home from work and got Bilbo settled, I decided to keep my promise I made to myself this morning and do my  Jillian 20 Minute Workout on DVD (Pretty, my sis-in-law who had a baby 7 weeks before me, recommended it.  Uh, Pretty & Princess are neither in the same age group nor fitness level…just sayin’).  I got my weights and my cushy mat and I was ready to roll. Man child was holding Bilbo.  Endless Pit was sitting in the chair watching my technique and Handsome was at the laptop trying not to distract, but encouraging nonetheless.  So as I push the play button, I started going through different jumping jacks, lunges, weights, jump ropes, sit-ups and push-ups.  In a nutshell…it was kicking my “baby mama” ass.

Man-child kept looking back at me, smiling and making it a point to tell me to “keep going” when I started to slow down. Bilbo just stared, wide-eyed and entranced with the “way cool” neon green hand weights. Endless Pit was concerned. “Do you think you will ever get past level one? Just think how hard level THREE is! You’re doing good mom, this looks really hard.”  Then I usually got an approving smile from Handsome, who kept his nose in the laptop…trying not to either a) say the wrong thing or b) stare at my compromising positions.

It was truly a family affair.

By the time I finished the DVD, I was a sweaty mess and decided to go outside and go on a walk to keep the burn working in my favor. I texted Pretty. “I’m going to vomit….from hence forth, no more sugar, more protein, more veggies and more water. Thank you for the wake- up call, this was AWESOME!!!”  She responded, basically saying she was still on level one (thank God, even though I do not believe her) and reminded me she was just like me when she started out.

She’s pretty awesome. 

So I guess this is my new dimension of “family” time, as all my men are encouraging mama to feel the burn and go the distance while Pretty is using her encouragement and humor to keep it fun and productive. Man child just bounded down the stairs and asked if I was going to do it again tomorrow. I kind of got a little embarrassed and blushed.  

”Yeah, I am planning on it.” I giggled, a little uncomfortable at the thought of going back for a 20 minute visit to Torcher Town.

 He walked up to me and gave me a hug, kissed me on top of my head and walked away.

Motivation is a very sweet and beautiful thing.

the deviant?

In this day of FB, texting, chatting, tweeting, instant messaging, inbox-ing and so on, it seems we are losing touch with conveying our emotions.  One must be VERY cognizant to “type” things the right way or it results in the whole thought behind the message becoming COMPLETELY misconstrued. 

Point 1.

We use ALL CAPS WHEN WE ARE HAPPY OR ANGRY!!!!!! LOL

 (multiple exclamations if we are really wanting to get loud about it and  the ever popular “lol” on the tail-end of it if it is a happy exclamation). 

Point 2.

we use all lower if we are not happy campers, perturbed or playing passive/ aggressive…with obvious periods. oh yes. just because of our lower- case typing delivery.  

Point 3.

Then, of course the emoticon… the “happy face”, the “frownie face”, the “heart” (aren’t those cute?).

I know what you are thinking. “Honestly, how about a phone call or a face- to- face conversation?”

Right? RIGHT??!!

All my friends and family know that I MUST be connected at all times and accessible to all at all times.  I start getting nervous when I do not have my phone with me….and checking it every 5 minutes to make sure I’m not missing out on the fact that “Jane Doe got her tattoo” or “John Doe kicks A$$” or it’s my turn to get a double triple word play on WWF (no it has not happened yet, but it SO WILL!).

I am just as guilty as ANYONE keeping my nose in my phone.

Oh, and the rules-

No texting/ phone calls at the kitchen table (implemented after my brother –in-law RAILED on me for picking up my phone to check a text while he was sharing a story with the whole family. whoops.)

No texting/ phone calls during church…unless you are texting the choir director’s son telling him how AWESOME he did on his singing once he gets back up in the choir loft…and he answers “It was ok”.

No texting/ phone calls during homework.  Period.  Unless you are answering me when I text “are you doing okay?” and you answer “yeah, why” and I answer “just checking”.

No texting/ phone calls during school- unless you accidentally “butt dial” your daddy during class and your daddy, in turn, “butt-dials” you back while you are giving a dramatic presentation in speech class.

…and one wonders why we are feeling a little too high strung? A little overwhelmed and caffeinated?

A little TOO CONNECTED??

Don’t get me wrong.  I understand that people can truly become ridiculously addicted to their phones.-like me.   I know there is a time and a place.  I know that rudeness rears its ugly head at the most untimely ring or alert. We all have received the "fiercely disapproving stare” if we “must take this call”.  Even worse, we slip up, we delete, we drop, we (dear lord) typo and “autocorrect” into the worst turn of translation EVER!

But really, in the grand scheme of things, isn’t it just another opinion gone awry in the personality, grace and etiquette of the cell phone?   Let’s embrace the cell phone, let’s not fight it and turn it into the deviant.  It has done us a favor in morphing from the “bag phone” to the “brick phone” to the “hand held’, to the “flip phone” to the “smart phone”…all to make our multi-tasking society just a little easier.  The internet, e-mail, voice mail, outlook, notes, apps, files… they all came together to be warmly grasped in the sweaty little hand of productivity. Awesome.

Just be smart, safe, and keep it in perspective.

Just like the phone itself, we must turn it off to recharge and gain the juice of perspective.

Think about it. J

Dinner!

Okay boys!  Time to eat!

 “What are we having?” (even though it is ready to serve right in front of their eyeballs)

Answer- “Spaghetti with meat sauce”

Reaction-“YES!  I AM SO HUNGRY!  GIVE ME A PLATEFULL!!! AW, MOM!  THIS IS GREAT!!!”

or

Answer- “Grilled chicken salad with goat cheese, almonds, pears, green onions and grape tomatoes”

Reaction-“oh.” (heads down, heaving sigh)

There were six of us in the Patterson household.  Every evening Dad always came home with dinner ready.  The only time we ordered out or went out was some special Saturday night and it was Ken’s Pizza.  I did not like the usual supreme that was ordered, so- like clockwork, I took my pieces, carried my plate to the “Big Red Table” and proceeded to scrape EVERYTHING off of my pizza because it was covered with onions, and peppers, and olives.

 WHO EATS THAT??? BARF!

I was perfectly content with pizza the way I loved it….crust with the only sauce left from scraping off the toppings and a HUGE glass of Pepsi.  Voila! It was the perfect royal meal for only the most demanding of 7 –year- old- Princesses- in -training.  Mom never said a word; however my brothers and sister were sure to give me the what for. 

 “How can you EAT like that?  It’s just crust…with sauce??  You are scraping the good stuff off??  You even scrapped the cheese off? (Duh- the grody stuff is TRAPPED in the cheese!!) Here… I’ll take it.  You REALIZE that is the part we PAY for don’t you??”

Once everyone had their pieces and the onslaught of wasteful pizza banter died out, it was all of us…together at the big red table.  We were all quiet and smiley with our fizzy glasses of Pepsi and our Ken’s pizza… and my crust. Such a great moment.  Such a warm fuzzy memory!

Or….

It was a cold wintery night at the Patterson household.  My Dad and brothers were out hunting and on their way back. Mom was busy in the kitchen.  She asked me to come in and make the cornbread.  I loved to make the Jiffy cornbread! YAY!

As I walked into the kitchen…I knew my joy met its arch rival.  SPLIT….PEA….SOUP.

(gag, wretch, gag)

“Erin Kristin, you get in here and start on the cornbread, please.”

I slowly take the eggs and milk out of the refrigerator and quickly size up what ELSE I can have for dinner.  All I have time to scope out was strawberry jelly.  Whew! Plan B has been set.

 I got everything ready for the cornbread.  Mom put it in the oven.  I just stared at the big soup pot gurgling and boiling like it was truly the witches brew WAITING to put the princess into a year –long slumber. The sloppy green stew HAD to be made with frogs.  It just had to.

So my brothers and dad came home ready to eat. As my sister helped serve everything up, they all washed their hands and sat at the “Big Red Table” exclaiming how hungry they were and couldn’t wait to eat.  I, on the other hand, was sulking on the couch in the living room begging “Hee Haw” to come up with one heck of a skit to pull everyone from the kitchen table and completely bypass the soup.

“Erin Kristin, you get in here and join us for dinner, please.”

I sat down…stared at my bowl.  Looked around at everyone actually EATING IT and then stared at my bowl, again.  I got crafty.  Grabbed my cornbread and noshed on that delightful little square of “yum” for as long as I possibly could. Then came my brilliantly genius announcement.

“i’m full.”

“You didn’t eat your soup”

“yes I did.”

“Erin Kristin, you will sit here at this table until that bowl is empty, thank you.”

Challenge accepted.

I sat there and just stared at it.  One by one everyone left the “Big Red Table” grabbing their dishes and shaking their heads.  Big Boy stopped and said, “Just shovel it in there!  It’s good!” I didn’t even look at him.  I just continued to stare. The sun was going down.  My sister flipped on the light above the table. I continued to stare…not touching it.

All alone in a dark kitchen with "the light of the spanish inquisition", I remember my bottom falling asleep, so I started rocking from side to side.  My feet were getting cold.  I was getting very tired.  Then, the worst….. I had to go to the bathroom.  Rocking faster and continuing to stare at the soup, I began to tear up ONLY because I lost the battle.

“Mom?”

 In walks Mom. She took the soup and put it in the sink.  She came back to the table with the princess- in- training quickly rocking back and forth. We just stared at each other without a word, my tears welling.

“Go on.”

Once I took care of business, I walked the “walk of shame” back to the living room where she and dad sat.  The guilt was AWFUL. She won and she didn’t even know it (or did she?).

“i’m sorry”

She continued to read the paper.  “That’s okay, darlin.’ Go get ready for bed, please”.

The memory is ironically as vivid as pizza night.  Not the warm fuzzy memory, quite the cold prickly, but still every detail immaculately told.  And yes, my retelling this perfectly chronicled tale proves that indeed…SHE WON.

second chances

Regret

I would say it is used to redirect the energy of our “paths of misfortunes”.  It helps us become more modest and approach things in a more positive light.  It makes us want another chance….to want to go back in time and erase, fix or change.  Maybe it is a way of force feeding much needed direction to one’s self and others.  With this in mind and given the many regrets I have had in my life- I have had a few-  I try to teach my kiddos a few things to help shine their armor a bit to protect the boo boos of life lesson’s hard knocks.

 In so many words…

…Embrace who you are.  Ignore the judgments.  Find peace with the person you have become.  Believe in something…start with what is inside.  Form your opinions with tact and grace, and allow yourself to change your mind.   I could go on.

I realized this weekend that those blurbs of ‘mom-isms’ are starting to stick in a very good and healthy way.  I realize that Man Child and Endless Pit are listening and starting to piece together what has been preached to them many times, and applying them accordingly.  Before I started to pat myself on the back, I realized that it was only because they are starting to struggle with a few issues that come as little boys get older.

(enter nerves)

This is life.  This is what I have been amp-ing up for to help them choose wisely as things get a little harder.  I am confident they will grow to be fine young men- even have a few regrets- but I know that somehow, at some given moment they actually heard me…

…and I have no regrets about that. J

child's play

“Big Boy?”

“Heeeeeey! Whatchoo doin’, Dork Face.’”

“Nuttin’.  Callin’ YOU, Dork-a-rama.”

Mutual laughter.

That is (no lie) the guaranteed banter my twin brother and I share when we call each other to check in every week, or more than likely two.  The initial name calling lasts about a minute.  It’s kind of like a competition of who can hold our breath the longest.  We keep trying to outdo each other’s name calling by creative standards until someone FINALLY just gives in, laughs and says “How are you?” 

Some might find it odd, but child’s play works for the two of us.  It guarantees a smile at the beginning of the conversation.

I would say we are still pretty dependent on one another, even though...geographically speaking… his song is “Rocky Top Tennessee” and mine is “OOOOOOK-lahoma”. Ever since we were little, we have always known of each other’s whereabouts  and well-being, whether we agreed with it or not, and trust me, we have had our disagreements.

A huge turning point for us was when I knew he was leaving for University of Tennessee on a football/ track scholarship and I was going to compete in pageants so I could go to University of Oklahoma.  Obviously our “team” was disbanding, and I did not know how to handle that.  That thought was completely “alien” to me.  I mean, everyone spoke about “big brother” watching… but I literally had a big brother watching over me…all the time.  I was shy and was completely fine hiding behind his presence and accomplishments.  But all of a sudden, I was not “Big Boy’s” twin sister Erin anymore, it was just… Erin.  She was on her own to find her own voice and notoriety, and had NO CLUE where to start.  I believe he was lost in the sense of he didn’t have anyone to “watch over”, this time he was the one being watched.

I believe the phone bill was upwards of $600.00 that month.  We realized how much we missed each other and what adjustments needed to be made, but we also realized that although we were miles apart, we were still a part of each other.  Our freshman year was the first time we realized we would be just fine this far apart.  It was then we decided to keep things humorous and it was the first time my twin brother closed the conversation with…

“You can’t let that stuff get to you.  Just let it go. Okay?  Okay?”

“I’M NOT….I’m fine, really.”

“Okay. Well, I love you, Dorky-pine.”

“I love you, Dork-a-saurus.”

..and the guaranteed banter continues today in some similar, creative way.  No lie. J

bittersweet lil' snack

“I don’t like it when people plant seeds of doubt and camouflage it as concern.   It completely thwarts my mojo and throws me a little off balance.  Then I get frustrated, pout and find a way to kick their ass for attempting to steal my thunder.

Then, I want to have my ass kicked for allowing that game to commence.   Shame on me.”

I found this little "treasure" while going through some old rants I had trapped in my mind and thankfully decided to journal waaaaaaay before the word ‘blog’ even entered my vocabulary.  

Fun stuff, huh? (Ahem). 

I believe we all have a right to go through our moods and channel them accordingly.  The fruits of human nature are pretty delicious. However, if you don’t keep yourself fed with the good stuff, life becomes bitter, eventually toxic and crushes ones spirit….completely.

I highly recommend finding a way of accompanying the “foul demons” out and I recommend doing it BEFORE the head spins and green substances spew. 

(Still in Oz, grabbing the dog and merrily skipping down the yellow brick road boldly singing “Ding Dong the Wicked Witch is Dead”)

my smiles

A while back, I decided I wanted to get involved in the choir in my church.  I missed singing and needed an outlet.  I LOVED the variety the Minister of Music brought to each service, and wanted to be a part of it. Even though I always enjoyed singing, I never really felt comfortable doing it on my own for fear of being judged and dropping through the trap door in the pulpit (silly, I know).  I remember the first time I was asked to do a solo in front of the church congregation at Easter. You know, the one where everyone comes out of the woodwork to attend the service, so they brought in "extra chairs" for those souls that wanted to be saved that morning.  I knew my style-not necessarily fitting for a Methodist church, only in the privacy of my shower, kitchen or living room- bluesy, sultry, vocal improvisation...everything but slinking on the grand piano, so to speak. However, I found one. One with  a message that even the “extra chairs” could understand and appreciate.


"Were You There " arranged by Crystal Lewis.


It was just a piano on the track. I didn't know anyone at that time to play for me so, my point? It was me and a whole lotta eyeballs looking AT me. I remember the nerves, the shakes, the breathing... I was a mess.  In my bold attempt to agree to do this, I failed to confess to myself, the music director and his wife that I suffer from SEVERE stage fright, even while competing on the big stage at the Mabee Center way back when.  It was too late now. My name was in the program.  I was front and center and the music was cued. No turning back.


“Damn”....oh yes I did, but to myself. (God understood).


Man -Child and Endless Pit were strategically placed sitting next to their daddy.  I loved to sing to them and with them at home and knew they would want to be a part of hearing mommy sing for the first time at church.  I remember closing my eyes during the intro, praying I would a) start on key, b) remember the words and c) ask God to forgive me... because I was going to fail this attempt in telling this story that I so badly wanted people to open their hearts and apply accordingly.  Raising the microphone to position- and yes, my eyes still closed- it was time to "throw it out there". The first phrase, I heard myself resound over the sanctuary. Continuing on, I realized I had to do the unthinkable.  I had to open my eyes.  This was not for me, this was for the congregation and the performer in me knew I had to acknowledge them. Slowly I opened my eyes, looked toward the back and there was Man- Child, leaning out toward the aisle so I could see his big brown eyes. He was smiling, hanging on every word and note I delivered. Then I saw Endless Pit’s baby blues right beside him, equally as entertained.  Deliver I did… completely outta the ball park.


My boys are my smiles, my reason to sing, and my comfort and confidence in knowing that yes, through Christ, I can do all things. :)

my scepter

My earliest memory of a vacation was the summer of 1975.  I remember being with my brothers, sister, mom, aunt and “Munner” (my grandmother).  We all piled in the big blue station wagon and put all fellow travelers to shame as we visited EVERY tourist trap imaginable in the Ozarks.  Shepherd of the Hills (the fire)… the Fantastic Caverns (the trolley bus)… Silver Dollar City (lollipops)… well, this is all a 5- year- old can lock in her overactive brain for safe keeping 35 years later.

Of course, my favorite was Silver Dollar City.  I took it all in.  Grandpa's mansion- the huge lollipops, the tree bridge- and the huge colorful lollipops everyone had, the log ride- and the big huge colorful lollipops everyone had but me….SIGH- A vivid memory indeed!

By golly, I wanted one of those lollipops. The big round one, with blue and orange and pink and yellow on a long wooden stick just like the one everyone in the park seemed to be showcasing and devouring.  Next thing I knew we were all  in one of the stores with all kinds of treasures… t-shirts, stuffed animals, wooden games, glass animals, taffy , chips, different items you would find at a grocery store and (squeal!) BIG HUGE LOLLIPOPS!! It was then I knew…

Heaven exists in the Ozark Mountains. 

Yes, I was in heaven and heavenly angels were shining their light on a tree of lollipops as I was blinded by one that was perfectly colorful, just low enough for me to reach (the angels planned it that way, of course- just….for….me).  I grasped the celestial gift in my hand and took it upon myself to go ahead and unwrap the technicolor confection, sit on the closest “throne” I mean bench, and voila! It was just me and that lollipop. No one even came close to touching this dream, ‘cause I was officially royalty.  This was my scepter.  My tiara was in the back pocket of my dirty holey jeans and my smile implied...

“Yeah- y’all go ahead and settle for the Chiclets, this is my destiny.”

Munner knew her “rough and tumble” was in a good place, and paid accordingly.  I remember.

Like I said….there is only so much a 5- year- old can lock in her brain for safe keeping 35 years later. ; )

brilliant

I learned a little gem of a lesson the other day.

I went too far with my sassy, sarcastic banter while chatting with a friend.

In a text, I said…

“I’m sorry. No more sass, promise”.  

In no time wasted, my dear brilliant friend said… 

“Don’t apologize, embrace your sass, I do.”

Creatively speaking, I was ‘that close’ to changing perfect lip gloss to petroleum jelly in one quick gloppy swipe just to make it “go away” and was completely ready to lose that feisty quality to maintain composure.

Shiny lips.  No sass.

Friends don’t let friends lose themselves for the sake of saying “I’m sorry”.

Flying by the Seat of Our Pants- Duke's Southern Kitchen review (because I can)

I have a friend in the FB world who is a complete smartass. 

He is deliciously witty and hilarious…an amazing daddy and a very proud family man.  He passed the word along that his wife was the new sheriff to a new restaurant in town serving “Gulf Coast and Southern cuisine with a more upscale approach”.   The owner currently owns Sonoma and the Brasserie on Brookside.  I could not wait to try.

Being the Princess that I am, I have been dropping subtle hints to Handsome that we need to try Duke’s Southern Kitchen.

“We need to go try this new place”

“I really want to go to Duke’s”

“Okay, really? This weekend. ”

YAY!  This weekend it was!!!!

I have seen pictures of the restaurant, knew what type of food, familiar with menu….in no way those pre-conceived ideas even come CLOSE to what we experienced for a 5 top on a Saturday, 6:45 in the evening ‘walk- in’ with no reservations. The experience BLEW ‘EM OUT OF THE WATER!

Heather Kingham, General Manager of Duke’s, asked for my name.

 “Minnix, 4 & ½”.

“Did you have reservations?”

“No, darn it, I’m one that likes to fly by the seat of my pants. I’m sorry.”

“No problem” (whispering numbers and other parties to the hostess).

 “Okay, your table is ready.”

I was fascinated with the décor of the dining area.  It was warm and inviting, yet simplistic. Not cramped, workable for large parties (did not see what was upstairs, but only guessing they accommodated large parties there).   The bar area looked trendy and fun…not too uptight and rushed.  It was the perfect venue to simply walk up to the bar, have a drink and be completely comfortable and FABULOUS!

Once we got our seats, we were approached in a very timely manner by a little firecracker of a server, Stacie- who had AMAZING tattoos on her arms.  SO wanted to ask all about them, but figured Handsome would not go for the banter and it would push Man Child and Endless Pit’s fascination even further. That will wait for my next visit at the bar…

 …but I digress.

Stacie was ready to take our drink order. I knew EXACTLY what I wanted… “Carolina Cocktail, please”. Handsome ordered the ‘Velvet Elvis’ (I think both of us were ready to take a “mental vacay”-numb gums and all).

Delicious x2 for me, Responsible x1 for Handsome.

Time to order.  I will say, the kids menu had nothing to be desired for our 9 year -old (dammit) so, he chose the Hoecake Sliders with Pulled Pork and Spicy Peach Glaze from the appetizer selection, Man Child was quick to choose the Chicken Fried steak with Collard Greens and Potatoes, Handsome chose the Catfish with Green Tomato Relish and Sweet Corn Stuffing and I chose the Hickory Smoked Chicken with Apple Au Jus and Cheese Grits.

O…..M…..SHIZZLE, LET THE PLATE SHARING BEGIN!  All of us were celebrating our first bites with an eye roll of ecstasy , nods and smiles. The only complaint came from Endless Pit, who stated he could not finish his “because it was just so rich with the bites of Chicken, Chicken Fried Steak and Catfish”.

Once our plates were cleaned (doing everything but licking them ), Stacie approached us about dessert. The boys chose the blackberry cobbler with vanilla bean ice cream. The serving was nothing obnoxiously big, but a size that catered to sharing among Handsome, Endless Pit and Man Child VERY WELL.  They did the right thing in saying “It is good, but not as good as yours”.

Time for the check…

I will say it was a little pricier than what we wanted to pay for a “fly by the seat of our pants” family meal out, but Handsome and I agreed it is Spring Break!! We chalked this up to a fun night out with the family with fab food and fun cocktails!  Would we come back??? ABSOLUTELY!

…all in the name of my FB mentor of sarcasm, KingDaddy!

I want a "do-over"

Being born and raised in Oklahoma, you learn not only the fear of possibilities, but how swiftly those possibilities change in an instant.  We see that familiar green/grey wall cloud and the slight damp breeze and you know to immediately check the weather for patterns and plan to act accordingly for the following…

Thunderstorm watch

Thunderstorm warning

Tornado watch

Tornado warning

…when actually we are looking to see how much “red” is coming to our area. Then we know to bolt when we hear the comfort and panic of one statement.

“Take…cover…immediately”.

_______________________________________________________________

Regarding the catastrophe in Japan, I don’t know WHAT I feel at this moment.  I am not sad, not angry; certainly not comfortable…just numb. NUMB.

I want a “do- over”.

I want to go back 48 hours, where I knew the international cycle of production and well- being was on auto pilot and our biggest concern was still jobs, gas prices and “winning”.  I want to go back to where we felt secure knowing life was good and living it no less than to its fullest with no worries of things beyond our control.  Sure, we have experienced devastation with tornadoes and earthquakes and flooding and yes, even tsunamis before…but as we continue to recover, we grasp at the hope that the devastation will end and we learn from our shortfalls and lack of preparation. 

We wanted to believe we would be prepared… next time.

Now the horrific content that we were so grateful we could only imagine has become our new reality.  Nuclear radiation…no utilities….missing persons…explosions… you can’t help but pull your head out of the sand and think..

“This is not about what has happened…it is about what WILL happen and what will CONTINUE TO HAPPEN without a “red” area to observe and no “take cover immediately” to lean on to help us predict and act accordingly.”

I will continue to pray for those both directly and indirectly affected by this international tragedy, just as I will continue to pray that we, as an international body, will continue to come together as devastation and destruction strikes again.

Living the Dream

As the family sits and watches American Idol, the question always comes up like clockwork from Endless Pit…

“Who do you think is going to win?”

“Not sure yet.”

“Do you think you could have won American idol if you auditioned…auditioned…auditioned….”

In a dream-like state, I look to my left….

”Yo, Dawg, what up?!” 

“Oh, not much Randy, keepin’ it real, but I ….am…WIPED!  The boys had a pretty busy day and I just didn’t feel it.  It felt like I was on Broadway or at karaoke night just waiting for the moment that would do it for me.  It just wasn’t my night. ”

I look to my right…Jenny from the Block tilts her head to the side. ”Well, I went through that exact same thing Erin, with my twins, you know what I mean?  Be like me.  Just trust your nanny will take care of it, and if all else fails, put on a fabulous glitzy number and ACT THE PART…let the song come through, BUT BE TRUE TO YOU!  She throws Handsome a wink and a ‘high-five’ as he is frozen by shock, awe and drool.

(Blank stare…head to the kitchen)

“Well, hell-OOO  there OK-la-HOM-a!”

“Steven.  Darling.  What are you doing in here- besides looking fabulously adorable?”

“I thought I would help myself to a little brownie and Coke.”  

My sweet Steven is lounging on the counter leaning up against the cabinets.  He is eyeballing my boots, the suggested glitzy number cut down to ‘there’ (being true to myself) and my necklace -strategically placed to hang right above my cleavage… just to make him look.

“You look beautiful.”

 As I flash him a coy smile, blush and start the dishes, I randomly start humming a tune as his eyes twinkle and he smiles his brilliant smile.  He starts to do what he does best; improvising drum sequences on the dirty dutch oven as I begin to sing my sultry version of Jeff Beck/ Joss Stone’s “People Get Ready”. I let him go ahead and take the lengthy guitar solo with a nasty scat pattern as I wipe down the counters and bag up the trash. He doesn’t miss one move I make or one lick of soul.

Heading out to the garage with the garbage, I pass Handsome talking to J.LO and Randy talking music uploads with Man-Child and Endless Pit. Ryan Seacrest stops me. “Tell us what you were feeling as you were singing with Steven.  What can you tell our audience?”  I look back at my judges- Randy, J Lo, Sweet Steven, Handsome, Man Child, Endless Pit and Bilbo- each holding up score cards with smiley faces….

“….Mom….Mom…Mom….Mom…Mom…”

I shake my head and smile. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do you think you would have won?!”

“Poots, I already have.” ;)

The Pantry, the TV and Flannel Pajama Bottoms

Buds are sprouting, birds are chirping and the lawn guy is spray- painting the teal green emergent on the brown, lifeless grass.  All signs of the new beginning- Spring.  Can I hear a resounding “WHEW!”??

It’s hard to believe that a little over month ago, the view was white and quiet- which for a minute there SHUT…TULSA ….DOWN. 

Yes, most would think being “holed up” on this ship for 2 weeks with a newborn and his two big brothers was a “blessing”…a “joy”… quite the entertainment to keep anyone busy.  However, this cruise director experienced something a little different.   Quite honestly, dare I say it; it was an illusion to cover a post-partum “funk”.  My lofty goal of being super mom and making it look easy slapped me on the ass as I was gasping for the breath of accomplishment. 

I found myself introverted, reclusive, moody, weepy, laughing in hysterics while staring at the crown molding and of course, tired from waking every 3 hours to feed the little blue babe.  Sure, Facebook, Twitter and WWF saved all of us from going too batty with our rants of disbelief (i.e. temperatures, sand trucks and lack of bread, milk and eggs), but as much as we all love each other, eventually you step away from the cross- eyed crack and realize you are posing as a persona that you cannot keep up with.

Here was my 2 week reality… the pantry, the TV, and flannel pajama bottoms.  All were my detrimental vices, simply because they translate into “gaining weight, boredom and disgusting comfort”.  But then again, they eventually saved me from total destruction- I had to cope somehow!  I knew once the snow melted, I had to become presentable and functional again.  I needed to get back to work.  How I yearned to breathe and discover everything would fall back to some kind of healthy routine.  I was grasping at the idea of light, the laughter would follow.  I could go on a walk… take Bilbo out to the store…get my hair done…nails done….I could even feel social with my true friends without staring at a screen or a phone (GASP!). 

So a month later, I am happy to report the sun is out, the pond is melted and collecting ducks and geese, I report back to work Monday, and the family is functioning and thriving to the fullest.  The cake???  I smell the sweetness in the air.  The icing??...

My constant vices are now mascara, lip gloss and my wedding ring…

Those translate to “Eyes, Lips and SPARKLE”! J

because she said so...

Being the FB addict, I have discovered I love to write.  Love it. Love it. Love it.
I love to sit at a laptop without any idea what my fingers are going to peck out and BOOM....something that obviously has been weighing heavily on me is written out in beautiful rhetoric all wrapped in an obnoxiously pink and  funny little bow.

So my sister has been telling me for a while I should jump on the "blog wagon".  I guess, in her wise way, she knew I would get too bored and stop if I tried to focus on writing a whole book (though a great plot for a great novel is hidden in the very back of the attic in my brain). She knows that writing for me is like what Ritalin is for ADD.  It keeps me focused for a bit- puts me in a zone and helps me exert some concentrated energy. She knows me well.  She knows what is best- always has. 

So I will board this little wagon.  I will concentrate my efforts on regurgitating my life's ups and downs, random thoughts, imperative argument and trivial nonsense.  All for the sake of keeping my ample supply of Ritalin.