Category: Children

Why Is It Number Four

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Why is it, as soon as I put the hard top back on my car, the sun comes out?

Why is it, that having the top down makes me want to play my music really loud and drive really fast?

Why is it, that every time a young person sees me driving a sports car, they seemed shocked?

Why is it, when an old person sees me driving a sports car, they all look confused?

Why is it, when a person gets past 50, everyone expects them to slow down and be stodgy?

Why is it, that when a person gets past 50, every single working part of the body decides to retool and redefine their working order?

Why is it, that some women freak out and spend thousands on plastic surgery and products to look younger, when time will catch up eventually and they will look like freaks AND look old?

Why is it, that everyone is scared to death to be round? Round is a good shape. Comfy, and easy to maintain.

Why is it, women under 60 freak out about being a grandmother?

Why is it, that women under 60 come up with stupid names for their grandchildren to call them so they won’t be known as a grandmother? I mean, really, MoMo?

Why is it, getting old is a sinful thing instead of something we have earned?

Why is it, that the young never appreciate what we know and the wisdom we have to share until it is too late to make a difference in their lives?

Why is it, if a couple is out dancing and having fun, and they aren’t young, people think it is either sweet, cute, or disgusting?

Why is it, people stare if I hold my husband’s hand in public? It isn’t as if we are doing anything gross, like snogging.

Why is it, all little babies and toddlers know that I am a Nana? Hormones?

Why is it physically impossible to stop myself from cooing over little babies, snarling at kids between 8 and obnoxious, and loathing kids between oh, teenage and forever if they are impolite, gross, or disrespectful?

Why is it, no one offers to help mom’s who are struggling with kids in public instead of complaining and making rude remarks?

Why is it, the older I get, the more I love the old guy I married so many years ago?

Just asking.

Three Generations

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As I was holding my new great granddaughter and watching her milk drunk little face fight off sleep, I was struck by a sudden, overwhelming, love for her. It felt, in many ways, just like the love I felt for my new born sons many years ago. I guess those innate nurturing emotions never fade.

I was a young mother. By the time I was twenty-one, our two boys were born. It wasn’t easy to be so young, poor, and parents. But we were, so we just worked harder, made do with less, and loved our kids. We learned to accept the fact that one of us would be out driving around in the middle of the night to sooth a grumpy, over tired baby. We learned to live with sticky mystery goo on hands and faces. We could wrangle a two year old into the bath while talking on the phone and feeding a new born. We were fast diaper changers, quick to feed a baby, and very good at carrying on a conversation with each kid and each other at the same time. Our house was loud, active, and somewhat crazy.

I never got the laundry completely done, not even when they were teenagers. I was always facing a sink filled with dishes, and a house that was beyond messy. But, my boys and I had fun, and it was much more interesting to be with them than it was to clean house. We survived bumps, bruises, bike wrecks, fist fights, stitches, and broken bones. Not to mention childhood illnesses and germ filled school days. It didn’t matter to me that things went unfinished or undone when a Scouting project or school project took up our evenings. Dishes would still be there the next day. We managed the teenage years. Not as well as we could have, but we managed.

Then, suddenly, my boys were grown. And, before I was ready, our first grandchild was on the way. She was born between Christmas and New Years, and we were thrilled to have a girl to spoil. We never really thought we would raise her, but when we lost her father, we did. So instead of cars and building forts in the woods, we had a little girl who knew she was a princess. She spent six months of her third year determined to turn used computer parts into a time machine. And she refused to go to sleep unless her Papa told her about another Princess Crystal adventure. I honestly think that those stories were as real to her as her own life. We did all the things we did with our boys, only differently. She was, and is, high maintenance in many ways. And our greatest delight was to see her riding on her horse in a show. She is a natural. But, suddenly she was a grown woman, with a baby of her own on the way.

Our second son gave us two delightful grandchildren. A boy and a girl. Both are smart, funny, opinionated, and a joy to us. It is different from our first grandchild, it is more like being a real Nana and Papa rather than a parent. Our son is a single father, and he does a super job raising his children. The divorce was not amicable, but at least he gets to see his kids every day. When I see him telling them the exact same things I told him when he was in trouble as a kid, I smile inside knowing I did something right.

Now I have a great granddaughter. She is only three weeks old, and, like most babies, she has taken over our home and our hearts. I have raised, or helped to raise, two generations of children. And at the age of 58, I get to be involved with a third generation. And as I talk to my granddaughter, I hear the words I told her about raising her come straight from her heart as she talks about raising her daughter.

I am a mother, grandmother, and a great grandmother. My life has been raising kids, encouraging my husband, and constantly improving me. I do not regret one moment of being a parent to two rowdy boys and one little princess. It has been the greatest accomplishment of my life, better than my degrees, and all the world travel we experienced. Raising kids to be faithful, hard working, patriotic, and dedicated men and women is the best thing I have ever done, or will ever do.

If you take the jump to parenthood, you will see that all the work, lack of sleep, school projects, and laughing at the dinner table is well worth it. Because that crying baby in aisle two of the grocery store that annoys you now, is going to grow up one day, and he will take on his world from the lessons his parents taught him.

Three generations of children fill my heart. I am blessed and thankful for the opportunity to love them.

Comforting Traditions

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I have come to the undeniable conclusion that I am turning into a pack rat. (shudder) I figured that out by taking a look at the exterior of my refrigerator this morning. It had become, one bit of stuff at a time, the standard hoarding place for magnets. Under those magnets were photos, old phone numbers, ancient appointment cards from all sorts of places, bits and pieces of tools, keys, reminders, sticky notes, and plain old STUFF that should have long since gone into the rubbish bin. There were some great things on there too, like the drawings made for me by my grandchildren – two years ago, and a few of the awards Crystal got when she was doing martial arts, when we lived in Virginia – six years ago or more. But most of it was just stuff we all got too lazy to throw away.

What wasn’t on the refrigerator, was our yearly calendar – something that was a mainstay in our home for the past 41 years. Our lives went on the calendar, and when it got too busy, everyone ended up with a different color pen to write in their events, just to keep straight who I was taking to the soccer practice, and who was going to be dropped off to hang out with a friend. School assignments from the class syllabus went on there too, so I could stay on top of what next important project had to be finished first, or when a big exam was coming up. That way I could do the Mom thing, that makes our kids hate us, and nag them to get it done.

Calendars used to be important. At least they were when I was first married and then raising my boys. Now everyone has a smart phone, or PDA, or laptop, or an i Pad. Who needs something hanging on the fridge or bulletin board that has cheesy pictures or boring sayings leaching down the pages, when they can download, upload, tweet, text, FB, or set up the phone to ring an alarm to remind them of the things going on in their lives? Yet another casualty to the advent of the every changing tech world.

When I was a little girl, getting a new calendar each new year was a big deal. At first we got one from the garage where my granddad worked, but when we got old enough to know when the picture of the girls on each month were, shall we say, a bit saucy, my Grannie would get one from the grocery store for free. It was boring, and didn’t have many things worth looking at other than the food we knew we couldn’t afford.

The first time I got a calendar for Christmas, I was thrilled! I was allowed to put everyone’s birthday, important dates, and appointments in the blocks under the pretty picture. It was so exciting to be able to cross off days for big days and events. My first calendar was all about Pioneers who settled in Oklahoma and the west. Old photographs, drawings, and on the page for September, a map that I studied until the page fell out. That was when I realized the world was massive, and to find my way around I would need to understand maps. I am still a map junky. Forget Map Quest of any of the maps on line, give me a paper map with a million details and I go anywhere my dreams take me.

I’ve had calendars with cats, dogs, horses, Harley Davidson Motorcycles, cute kids, bratty kids, dolls, Scouting, guns, cartoons, castles, great writers, great artists, and much more gracing the months and edifying those who take the time to read the words on them. One of my favorites was a calendar that Riley made for me in Cub Scouts. Each month had a finger print or hand print turned into an animal on it. It was stapled at the top, and not all of the boxes were straight, but I loved that calendar and used it for the whole year.

So, this year, I bought a calendar with silly cartoon cats doing all sorts of obnoxious things. I wrote in everyone’s birthdays, added a few anniversaries, big events, and goals. Now that my refrigerator is DE-junked, I have put it on the front with huge magnets that will hold it all year. Now I feel organized and a bit more in control. Like comfort food, comfortable traditions can make our world right in the midst of change and chaos. All I have to do now, is keep everyone else from using it for the family bulletin board and a place to stick stuff they don’t want to take the time to put away.

Why Is It?

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Why is it no one under the age of 30 can put an empty container into the rubbish bin instead of back into the refrigerator?
Why is it, the more windows in a door, the harder everyone has to slam it entering and exiting the room?
Why is it, when folks shut the trunk or hatch on a vehicle, they always have to slam it, instead of closing it until it latches.
Why is it that rubbish tends to multiply overnight, and it multiplies even faster if it has something smelly in it?
Why is it, when I clean the kitchen, turn off the lights, and go to relax, I always find at least one more glass or plate to wash?
Why is it that shopping for clothes is always such a stressful event, made more once I step into a dressing room?
Why is it that laundry is never done, ever?
Why is it that every time I want to put gas in my truck, I always pick a lane that has some old geezer in it that can’t pump gas in under twenty minutes?
Why is it that everyone who wants to chat with a friend in the grocery has to do so right smack in the middle of the aisle, and then gets all snarky if I ask them to move?
Why is it that the more I need to use the bathroom, the farther away it is from where I happen to be standing?
Why is it that people talk on their cell phones in the restroom loud enough for everyone to hear their conversation and for the person they are speaking with to know they are in the restroom?
Why is it that the day I have a rotten headache, the car that pulls up next to me at the stop light has his stereo booming so loud it makes my truck bounce and it is always the longest red light in history?
Why is it girls always have to run everywhere in a pack of snobby screaming giggles?
Why is it that the most annoying kids are allowed to run loose without supervision in the most dangerous places?
Why is it that parents let their kids out of their chairs to run around in a restaurant just because they don’t want to eat any longer and the parents aren’t done yet?
Why is it I always get the waiter/waitress in a snarky mood who obviously finds it beneath him/herself to serve me?
Why is it so hard to keep from saying sarcastic things to people who behave moronically in my presence?

“Stop blaming guns and start teaching the value of human life.”

Posted on Posted in Children, Choices, Family, Habits, loss, Parenting, Politics, ReligionTagged , , , , , , 1 Comment

Addy-Combs-9-24-2012-profileThe sign said, “Stop blaming guns and start teaching the value of human life.” Made me think about all the death of young people perpetrated by young people in Chicago and other gang infested cities. As we all know, the majority of people being killed are in black on black crimes. We also know that there are more abortions among black females that there are in any other race in America. This causes their religious leaders and communities to lament the loss of the next generation.

Here’s the thing, if kids in the gang culture are taught that being a man means shooting and killing anyone who might have insulted them, come into their territory, or impugned their manhood, they are taught to take a gun to even the score, Then what is the value of human life? If girls in the gang culture are taught that if they get pregnant sleeping around, prostituting themselves, or because they are careless, they are taught to kill their babies by aborting them, then what is the value of human life? And that is why there is a huge decline in black Americans throughout a large portion of American cities.

Along with that particular culture and race, are the rest of the kids who fall into the violence and uninhibited behavior of the gang cultures. The value of life of a human is treated as unimportant as a sneeze. Not even the gangs themselves mourn the loss of a member for long. In too many gang cultures, it is simply the way it is. So, if people are going to die from violence or drug use, why bother to care about them? Again, girls are taught that abortion is a form of birth control and that tissue is not a human being – even though it does have human DNA – so getting rid of it is no more important than blowing one’s nose.

Even among those who are affluent, or not part of gang culture, the idea that human life is valuable is laughed at. The exception being those who are religious who do not practice their religion as a reason to make war and kill others who do not believe as they do. However, those who are raised in a secular society without a moral platform based in caring about their fellow mankind, simply do not see a reason to care beyond their particular circle. Kids sit in front of a screen “playing” violent games where killing is the main focus of a game, numbing them even more to the value of human beings.

Guns, Thank God, are part of American culture, and a means to protect one’s property, self, or family. They are also there to protect ourselves from a tyrannical government. Weapons, however, that are used to murder and injure others can be anything from a gun to something as simple as a belt used to strangle someone. It is not the weapon that kills all on it own, it is a person deciding to take a life for some implied slight, because a child would ruin their plans, or because someone has gone mentally ill.

It is the failure to teach our children that human beings are valuable that worries me the most. Are we a raising generation of people who are so selfish and self absorbed that they cannot see the value in others? Are our children remaining childishly concerned about only themselves? Do they find the suffering of others unimportant, and will they simply ignore the loss of life because it isn’t happening to someone they know? Do they know how to love others? Or are we raising a bunch of pack animals who only bond together to mate, commit violence against other packs, and keep their numbers under control by killing off the weakest of the children?

It worries me that so many kids today, and in many cases, their parents, have no manners, no sense of a moral boundary, and no understanding of the value of human life. Our information sources, books, entertainment, and education makes it clear that human beings are the scourge of the earth. Except, naturally, their generation. They are so self absorbed that many of them simply do not recognize they are no different than the kid standing next to them. They are both humans. They are both valuable. They are our future, God help us.

Sniffle . . .

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Did you know that the highest recorded speed of a sneeze was 102 miles per hour. The Guinness Book of Records has it listed at 115 miles per hour. It is a wonder then, that I haven’t scattered half of my brain matter all over my house. I have a bad cold and sinus infection. Hence, the constant sneezing. This isn’t a new thing. I get sick like this every year about now. But it sure is getting to the point where it wears on me, like a gigantic, annoying, never ending hum.

Why is it, I wonder, that something as simple as a bad cold feels so awful. People survive the most horrendous injuries and illnesses, and they suffer a great deal more than someone with a bad head cold, but they don’t whine nearly as much. I ought to know, I’ve been on both sides of that argument, and I whine much more about my piddly little illness.

I whine because I feel poorly, not desperately ill, but miserable enough not to feel like doing anything productive. I whine because I ache, sniffle, sneeze, cough, sputter, and run a fever. I feel chilled, then hot, then freezing, then boiling, and back to the general malaise of blah. I’m not dying, not even close, but I think I may, just because I feel so rotten.

Some things make me feel better for a bit. A warm blanket, cup of herbal tea, medication, soup . . . but in no time at all, I am right back to the normal moan and whine mode. I don’t want to be like this. Honestly, I want to act like a grown up, standing up to the whole thing, and being brave. I’m not.

I was at the doctor’s office the other day, it was filled with sick kids and parents. One little boy, about a year old or so, was being rocked in his mother’s arms. Every breath he took came out with a monotone whine of deep misery. It was obvious that the moaning helped him communicate how rotten he felt. Another kid, around four was being bratty and crying because he felt so awful. Parents all around me were trying their best to comfort their kids. It was OK for them to whine . . . totally not fair as I had to sit there and act like an adult when I wanted to throw a tantrum too.

So, here I sit on day four or five, I’ve lost count, of fighting this infection and head cold. I feel a bit better, but still worn out from all the coughing and the rotten headache. I have moved on from whining to feeling irritable and grumpy. Phase two has commenced, and people, it can get ugly from here on out . . . sniffle .. . hack . . . grumble.

A Child’s Laughter

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Last night was shopping at Walmart (Yes, I shop there, get over it if you object.), and while meandering through the grocery area, I heard a child laughing full out in a belly laugh. I walked to the end of the aisle, and a little girl about three years old was with her Daddy. I don’t know what he was telling her, but she was howling with laughter. Those happy, bright notes of pleasure had an astounding effect on everyone within ear shot.

Grumpy shoppers, worn out and tired, bogged down at the end of the day, were busy taking care of their business and avoiding eye contact with anyone else. We were all shuffling along, automatons filling our shopping baskets, not a smile amongst us. But, when that little girl started laughing out loud, heads came up. People paused and listened. Some went to see what was going on, others just stood where they were. Slowly, smiles appeared. People started looking each other in the eye, small comments were shared, and everyone felt the world lighten around them.

While I watched the little girl and her dad walk away, totally unaware of the joy they were bringing to all of us around them, I thought that there was nothing sweeter than the laughter of a child. It quite brought back a bit of Christmas Spirit to my sad soul. Bless you little girl, whoever you are, and wherever you are. And Bless you, her Daddy, who loves your child so much and knows how to make her joyful. girl with margarites in her hair

Going to visit my son.

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arron_95_smI am going to visit my son next week. We will have a quiet chat about how things are going for us, and the dreams we have for next year. I will tease him about the fact that he is going to be a first time grandfather, and that he is probably excited that it is a baby girl.

I will sit next to him, and tell him about the horror I feel at the loss of those 26 people at the hands of a madman, especially those little children. He will understand, he is a parent too.

I will make sure I bring along his favorite beer for him, and I will bring flowers to cheer up the place. It gets a bit dreary in Oklahoma this time of year.

And then, when I have shared all the news, thoughts, and events of the year, I will tell him how much I miss him every day. I will tell him how I wish we could be together and that I sure could use his help sometimes.

Because I can’t hug or kiss him, I will softly pass my hand over the letters on his headstone that spell out his name instead.

Then I will leave him there, resting in that small cemetery on top of the hill. Until next time I stop by to say hello. He will wait for me. He always does.

On Gun Control, Sorry for the Rough Language.

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My friend said this: Having said that, NOW, let me be blunt… any fuckwitted, violence-addicted, gun-idolizing moron, who thinks the reason 20 five year olds were gunned down is that there weren’t enough guns in the school, or that the solution to gun violence is more guns, please feel free to un-friend me now. I am appalled by your ignorance, and disgusted by your brutality. You are not the kind of friend anyone needs.

I SAID THIS: My apologies for the rough language.
Fine D***** if that is what you think of people who want to propect themselves from killers. MY SON WAS MURDERED, D****. And by all that is Holy I WILL CARRY a gun to protect myself and those I love. I am NOT fuckwitted, I am NOT addicted to violence, and I do NOT idolize guns. They are a tool, nothing more. I am not ignorant, and I am not brutal. I am a MOTHER who lost her eldest son because someone ELSE decided to take his life and the life of his best friend. WHY? Just because, according to him, he wanted to see what it felt like to kill someone.

Until all you people out there who hate the gun and not the killer, walk a day in MY SORROW first, DO NOT JUDGE ME! GO look at your child lying on a slab in a morgue and identify him while he has a hole in his head and is covered in blood. Go pick out a casket for a TWENTY ONE YEAR OLD son who has a one year old baby at home. ATTEND his funeral and watch them place YOUR FIRST BORN into a grave and cover it with cold red clay from the ground of Oklahoma. THEN tell me I am a voilent loving, gun monger because I BLAME the KILLER and NOT the gun! God Damn it all, grow the hell up and see the TRUTH for once.

I get so sick of the whiners and moaners out there who don’t know one damned thing about how it feels to know that you COULD NOT PROTECT your child from some mad man who kills for not reason other than the selfish need to kill. So FUCK YOU D****! for once put aside your crap politics and see the TRUTH. I am SO pissed that someone who calls themselves a paster would be so damned willing to jump on the BLAME the gun and gun owners wagon and be totatally without compassion and understanding. The goddamned gun didn’t kill those kids, it was a fucking tool used by a crazy person to kill them.

Taking away our guns will NOT MAKE THE world safer. A crazy man in China wounded over 20 kids over there in a school today. Killiers will find a way to kill, no matter the weapon they choose to use. For God’s sake D****, and all her idiotic knee jerk friends, KILLERS KILL, not the damned tool they choose to use. Talk toa a parent or loved one of a woman who was raped and stabbed to death before you get so damned holier than thou over something so damned horrific and painful. THEIR daughter is still dead, no matter the weapon.

THIS IS NOT POLITICAL, it is PERSONAL to very single one of those parents of those little kids. So screw you D**** and YOUR DAMNED IGNORANCE AND POLITICS because you don’t know one damned thing about sorrow and loss of a child. Unfriend me if you want, I don’t give a damn right now. My heart is to filled with sorrow and tears for those poor people and those tiny kids that now rest in God’s arms.

The Day before Mother’s Day – 2006

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There was a funeral on Saturday. It was attended by dignitaries, police officers from across the country, a motorcade of cars miles long. In one of the black limousines sat two young children with their father. Their mother was in the hearse in front of them. She had been shot and killed in the line of duty trying to stop a madman from killing other police officers. As with all tragic deaths, hers was senseless and inexplicable. She was one of the golden ones who changed the lives of those who knew and loved her. It was a sad day and the community grieved for the family so brutally torn apart.

Sunday was Mother’s Day. I couldn’t get the thought of those young children off my mind as I sat with my family and celebrated my years of motherhood. Those children will, forever, have to take flowers to their mother’s grave to honor her on Mother’s Day. No early morning breakfast in bed, sticky kisses, home-made cards, or presents hand-made with too much glue and glitter will be handed to their Mom. There will be no flowers from the garden, whispered secrets, or silly jokes to share with her. From now on, Mommy will become more and more of a memory and less real by the day. The grief will follow them for a long time, and then be pushed into the back of their minds as the move on into adulthood and life.

But, deep inside, that little girl will long for her mommy to help her grow into a woman and that little boy will long for her to help him understand how to be a good man. And every year, when it is Mother’s Day, they will remember the long line of cars, the speeches, the music, and the sadness on the day they lay their Mom to rest. In the blink of an eye, life changed for them, though they don’t yet know life will never be the same. They will have their Daddy, true, and he will love them with all his heart. But a Mother’s love, a Mother’s care is irreplaceable in a child’s heart and mind. They knew her very heart beat from the day of conception, and now it beats no longer. The rhythm of life is shattered beyond repair, and they will have to find a new rhythm with a heart that skips a beat where their Mother’s used to be.

I pray that she can be an eternal influence on her children. I will remember, even when I am very old, the quiet respect shown by all the bystanders as the funeral cortège slowly rolled by, and I will always remember the long black limousine where two young children sat as they followed their mother to her final resting place the day before Mother’s Day in 2006.