John-Heath's Big Day

John-Heath (center) and two of his buddies. That's Cooper on the right. Until about a year ago John-Heath called him Pooper. They've been together since they were 1 and have what we all like to call a "love-hate" relationship. Their play always turns to fights and when they were small and separated because of this fighting they would cry for each other.

Today I registered my baby boy for Kindergarten. Let me pause for a moment to get a Kleenex. Okay. You still there? Good. Anyway, my baby boy will start kindergarten this upcoming August.

Having scooped out the center of his sausagedog John-Heath finds another use for it - a new nose. I foresee the potential for notes coming home that begin something like..."Mr. and Mrs. Creasy: Today in the cafeteria...."

A quick side story...whenever I call John-Heath my baby or baby boy he replies, "There you go again. You keep calling me a baby boy. I not a baby. Why do you call me your baby?" and I, of course, tell him, "You will ALWAYS be my baby boy".

Each year to welcome the incoming "little fish in a big sea" the school hosts a breakfast for the new arrivals and their parents in which everyone is introduced to the kindergarten staff, expectations, and a school breakfast. John remarked that he wasn't really hungry and I said, "Eat. It's free. Enjoy It. It's free. There's a $60.00 supply fee coming up soon, followed by new school clothes and 13 years of buying magazines, candles, chocolate, and wrapping paper from the school and PTO. This meal? Free. So eat it". Okay, all I really said was, "Eat it. It's free." But I did communicate the rest using my awesome telekinetic powers. Here. I am sending you your very own message right now. Just open your mind to receive it.

Trying to be a good boy. As grace was said over the breakfast he promptly bowed his head and put his little hands together. Then I guess he decided it would be more fun to look around and see what everyone else was up to. I don't guess snapping a picture of him during this time was setting a very good example - although in my defense I didn't even pick up the camera, just slowly moved my hand over on top of it and pushed the button.

For his big day I went equipped with my camera, just as I had 10 years ago when I took Ren to hers. As a two-time veteran of Kindergarten Registration Breakfast Day I can pass along two pieces of advice to you.

*

1.) Make sure the battery in your camera is charged. If this winds up being a problem you have three options...

A. Become ticked off or cry (depending on your personality).

B. Make your husband go tell the newspaper man who is there taking pictures of the event to take a picture of your son and send you a copy (this could work out to your advantage and get your son featured in the paper).

C. Realize you once taught at this school and go find your teaching buddy who always has her camera on hand.

*

In case you are wondering, I am an all-of-the-above kinda girl.

*

2.) Boys and girls are two totally different creatures when it comes to posing for pictures.

Here's how they are different. Girls will. Boys won't.

When Ren registered I was able to take all kinds of pictures of her that day. She and a little friend just hugged and posed. They were two sweet little camera hogs. Today, I'm not sure if I even got one really good shot of John-Heath and some of his little buddies.

Later this evening I asked John-Heath what his faaaavorite part of signing up for kindergarten was and he was quick to say, "cinnamon rolls."

It was a very nice day. Some other things worth mentioning - but it's late so I'll save that for another day. Goodnight, friends.

Four Stages of Momness

And in case we need a reminder of just how fast they grow up there's always a "School Days" photo frame.

Eeeeons ago I came across the following in a magazine while waiting to meet with my doctor. I can't remember the title, author, or even the magazine from which it came. Pretty sure it wasn't Field and Stream, though. I guess I could have googled it but didn't think about that until just now. At any rate, this little poem has stayed with me for 20+ years. I like to think that I can remember it because I just found it so darn sweet. In truth it may be because it is only four lines long.

If you are a mom you can change the gender to make it personal to your situation. I think when I originally saw it it referenced a son, but I will re-write it here for a daughter, as I have experienced three out of the four stages mentioned within it with Ren.

She use to call me mommy at the tender age of four.

And then it turned to momma as she grew a little more.

Later it was mom - with a tone of disrespect.

And now, away at college, she only calls collect.

There's Some Tag-teaming Going on Here

My friend Chena and I playing a game the other night at her birthday party. Don't we look young for 40? That's me on the left. Okay, okay. This picture is an old one. I just knew the macrame in the background would give it away.

Well, I actually had another post ready to go for tonight, a sweet little poem/post about children and their mothers. However, progress reports came home today from school and now I am not in much of a mood to write a sweet little post about kids. To be fair, the computer I am using at the moment is not accepting the memory card from my camera so I can't upload the photo to go with that sweet little poem/post about children. So it will have to wait until tomorrow.

In the meantime, I can report that I just came home from a very nice dinner date with a friend. This friend is one I have had since elementary school. After we graduated she served as a bridesmaid in my wedding. She lived just down the road from me and we spent many a night at each other's house for sleepovers - telling each other about our latest crushes, gossiping about other friends and watching scary movies. She had a VCR and cable (we didn't have either) so I always wanted to go to her house. It seems our monthly dinner date is now a tradition since this was the second month in a row we have done this. I hope we do keep it up. It's been so fun getting together and reminiscing about old times.

Tonight, we headed up the road a piece to eat at a nice little family diner in Scottsville. Apparently it took us forever to decide what to order because when we ordered hamburgers the waitress commented something like,"All that for a hamburger. Well, bless your heart." I was in a pretty foul mood due to the earlier-mentioned progress report but really didn't feel the need to be blessed. On second thought, we can probably never be blessed enough.

One of the funniest things about the whole evening was what my friend referred to as the "tag-teaming" that was going on with our waitresses. Yes. We had two. It seems one was in training. And, instead of them coming up together like a lot of trainees/mentors will do, these gals would come separately, one right after the other, asking pretty much the same things. And it seemed that the trainee was always the first to come. At one point I began to feel an urge to yell out, "Yes, for the love of Pete, we're fine! We don't need any more sweet tea!! No, we're not finished with our food!!! No, thank you!!!! We don't need a to-go box!!!!! Ooooh, that does sound good. Oreo mudslide cheesecake? Sure. I'll take a slice of that. Just put it in a to-go box".

100 Facts About Me - Volume 1

I guess we can all agree that it must be a pretty slow day in the news department when I resort to listing facts about myself. Well, anyway - enjoy! Then you can go on with your life secure in the knowledge that should some random person approach you on the street with a camera crew and tell you that you've "just won $10,000,000.00 if you can tell us ten facts about Tyla Creasy" you will be able to retire and move to Hawaii.

1. I only have one sibling, a sister, and I am the baby by 16.5 years.

2. The earliest memory I have is of busting my lip when I was two.

3. Dr. Carter had to wrap me, kicking and screaming, in a sheet to be able to stitch up said lip.

4. I broke my left arm when I was 5 in a game of "Jump or Get Pushed."

5. I got pushed.

6. Predicted to a friend that I would someday marry John - within 2 weeks of meeting him during my freshman year of high school.

7. Did not predict I would marry him twice.

8. Both anniversaries are August 6
(we thought this might be fun for our descendants doing family history research one day).
9. The friend in fact # 6 to whom I made the prediction served as my Maid of Honor at wedding #1.

10. Ren served as my Maid of Honor at wedding #2.

11. I have a scar in the shape of an X under my bottom lip from taking a newly sharpened pencil in the 5th grade and saying "Watch what I can do."

12. I have an almost paralyzing fear of bridges - especially high ones over water.

13. I have an even bigger fear of snakes.

14. I lived in only one house from my birth until I married.

15. I am the daughter of a Baptist minister.

16. I am also a banging-Baptist-piano-player. This is not to say that I'm awesome, just loud.

17. When playing at church I prefer to play hymns a little faster than the composer probably had in mind (you should see how quickly we get through Amazing Grace).
18. The first time I went rolling - that I can remember - I was 23 years old and already employed as a teacher.

19. The first yard I rolled was Marie Short's - a co-worker. I was afraid of her dogs so I rolled by throwing the rolls of toilet paper out the car window.

20. I was paddled by a teacher each year I was in grade school - except 6th grade. Thank you, Mr.Cox!!!

Now - don't you feel more enlightened? See the great things you find out about someone by checking out their blog. Nighty-night, friends.

Let's Play a Game, Shall We?

It's called "How many questions can be asked between Rock Bridge Road and Henry Harris Road?". Let me warn you first that you must play with my son present. He will be a passenger in your car. Let me further warn you that, should you decide to compete with him head-to-head, you will lose. And I'm not talking about losing by only a little so that you still feel pretty good about your performance. I'm talking annihilation.

You see, my son is the prince of questions. I would say king but he's only 4, so he can't be a king until he's at least in his twenties, or longer if he's like the Prince Charles of question asking.

On a recent drive home from visiting my parents he managed to fill, pretty much, all 13.8 miles with questions. This was after losing the privilege to eat a candy bar bought just an hour earlier at Wal-mart because of his inability to not talk.

Wal-mart parking lot...
"John-Heath, if you say one more word you will NOT get to eat your candy bar and we won't stop to see Ma-Ma and Pa Gene. I mean it!!! NOT ONE MORE WORD!!! Nod if you understand mommy."

1.5 miles up the road...
"Look! A train."

Adios, Hershey's. I did give in on the not stopping to see Ma-Ma and Pa Gene thing though. He loves them like crazy. Besides, we had to stop and pick up Ren.

After a visit with the grands we headed home. This time with Ren in tow, as well. Thus it began...

John-Heath:
Why do these people have houses beside Pa Gene's?
Why is there a gas station here?
Will we come back tomorrow?
Is tomorrow a church day, school day, soccer day or stay-at-home day?
Why is there a bus parked in that yard?
Do you drive a bus?
Why don't you drive a bus?
If you had a special license would you drive a bus?
Do those people at your school have a special license?
Why do they park those buses at your school?

Ren:
John-Heath, shhuut uup!

John-Heath:
Ren told me to shut-up.
Are you going to spank her when we get home?
Can I watch Alvin and the Chipmunks when we get home?
Mommy, do you want to watch it with me?
Ren, do you want to watch it with me?
Who let the dogs out? Who? Who-who?
Ren, say "who let the dogs out."

Ren:
No.

John-Heath:
Why not?

Ren:
Because I'm not an idiot.

John-Heath:
Ren called me an idiot.

Ren:

You're a psycho, John-Heath.

John-Heath:
I not psycho.
What's a psycho?


According to Rand McNally's website it should take approximately 23 minutes to drive the distance between my parent's home and mine. I feel certain that Mr. Rand and Mr. McNally were both childless.

For You People That Run

I'm not a runner but I play one on television. Just kidding. I don't think I could even pull off pretending to be a runner. Well, maybe if they hired a stunt double to stand in for all the running scenes and just zoomed in on me during the ones in which I would need to pant, gasp, breathe heavily, check my pulse, wipe sweat from my brow, and fall to the ground writhing in pain from shin splints. Now THAT role I could play!

Even though I, myself, am not a runner I know people who are. And in honor of these fine people (if not somewhat disturbed - I mean really? On a tread mill by 4 AM? I am still in the rapid eye movement mode of sleep at 4 am), and the Music City Marathon held this weekend in Nashville I present you with some rules and tips I thought you might find interesting.

The following is from a longer list entitled The 53 Runner's Commandments by Joe Kelly. Since I really don't want to type all 53 I am shortening the list to include my favorites. If you feel an aching hole in your soul to know the rest and/or are OCD and can't fathom partial lists you can Google Joe and read it in its entirety. Enjoy!

• Don't be a whiner. Nobody likes a whiner, not even other whiners.
• Keep a quarter in your pocket. You may need it one day.
• If it was easy, everyone would be a runner.
• A bad day of running still beats a good day at work (well, I have to disagree with Joe on this one)
• Don't talk about your running injuries. People don't want to hear about your sore knee or black toe.
• Look at hills as opportunities to pass people.
• Never run alongside very young or very old runners. They get all the applause.
• The first year in a new age group offers the best chance for trophies.
• Never confuse the Ben-Gay tube with the toothpaste tube.
• Never tell a runner he or she doesn't look good in tights.

Wishing the Rain Would Just Wash Me Away

The weekend that began with such promise has taken a turn for the worse and I am not speaking of the rain. I like the rain. Well, not when we have it on days off from school or if it lasts for days on end. But, in general, I am fond of the rain. Rain makes lazy people, moi, feel better about themselves because on rainy days every one is lazy and we, I, don't stick out like a big ole sore thumb.

And who doesn't love a thunderstorm? Bill Hall, a former local weatherman, once said in an interview that it's gotten to where "you can't even enjoy a good thunderstorm anymore." He was speaking of all the latest advances in meteorology. Of course, those advances do, thankfully, save lives when it comes to reporting tornadic activity but sometimes I think weathermen get carried away a bit and just like to see themselves on t.v. and so they interrupt my time with some Desperate Housewives to tell the entire broadcasting area that at 3:43 large clouds will pass over Chipmunk Road, followed at 3:47 over Sugar Hollow Lane and 3:51 above the Rattlesnake Ridge community and while telling you this they show computer images of just how tall these clouds are in an effort to outdo the other local news stations and it just gets to be TMI - too much information! Did I happen to mention I also love a good run-on sentence?

So now you know that the rain and impending thunderstorm are not the reason for my gloomy state of depression. Yes, folks. I know it's hard to imagine but I, too, can get down in the dumps. Many things can cause this kind of funk. Today it is the missing checkbook.

The last time I used it was on Thursday evening registering Ren for the pageant. I distinctly remember writing it, handing it to the woman, and then stubbing it. I think I remember putting it back in my purse but, since it is obviously not there now, this memory may be imagined.

John brought its absence to my attention today. I hate it when I do something that opens the door for a good reprimand by him. I pride myself on always being right. I may allow him to hold onto the notion that he is smarter - he is older- but I am always right. I would honest-to-goodness rather have hot pokers plunged into my gut than admit I made a mistake. I am in a state of almost surrealism that maybe I have slipped up here.

Well, I'm 40 now. I guess I've got to make a mistake at some point in my life.

Postscript @ 7:37 p.m. - wondering what the chances are of one being struck by lightning while on a plugged in laptop. It's gotten really dark and windy in the last little bit.

Junior Miss Strawberry Festival

Being cinched up - makes me glad we don't live in the 1800s

It's somewhat ironic and completely NOT by design or predetermination that my post tonight is about a pageant and comes just one day after a post that made mention of pageants.

I'll try not to go all braggy-brag on you, for I do know how annoying those people can be. But at the same time, I am very proud of my little girl.

Girls that left happy

Ren was in the Strawberry Festival pageant tonight in Portland. This was only the second one she's ever done. I thought her walk was second to none. And, of course, she was absolutely the most beautiful girl there. Which is kind of funny, because there were 23 other women in attendance tonight that had someone else picked as the most beautiful girl. Go figure.

With Aunt Sissy and Ma-Ma

Anyway, this time was an improvement on her last effort. Here's a quick comparison between the two. I would do a fancy-shmancy table but blogger is being difficult tonight so the following is as fancy as it gets.

Jr. Miss Fairest of the Fair

1. August 2008

2. Age 12

3. 3rd Runner-Up

4. Red dress- borrowed from Megan, one that she wore

to her 8th grade formal about a

hundred years ago.

5. About 40 girls participated

6. Wore flats (the dress was a little short on her)

7. Used DUCK TAPE to bond the shoes to her feet,

as they were a little loose.

8. Hair worn down

9. John-Heath was not there

10. Coaching by Meg
11. Beautiful

Jr. Miss Strawberry Festival Princess

1. April 2010

2. Age 14

3. 2nd Runner-up

4. Red dress - her very own, the one we

bought for the 8th grade basketball

homecoming court.

5. 24 girls participated

6. Wore heels - this dress had a train

7. NO DUCK TAPE!!!

8. Hair worn in a low updo

9. John-Heath was there
10. Coaching by Meg

11. Ditto!!!

John-Heath liked watching the pageant. I don't know whether to be thankful he was somewhat still or worried - that my 4-year-old son liked watching a pageant. He was overheard making comments to Megan and Kafrin (Katherine) like "Oooh. That dress is pretty. It has sprinkles (sequins) all over it", "Ren is pretty. She looks like a big, red crab", "Smile, Ren", and "That's my sister."

Back home - posting the news on her MySpace account

Ren was overheard in her mind saying these things. Smile. 3 seconds. Walk. Remember, heel to toe. Pause 5 seconds. Pivet and turn. 5 more seconds. More walking. Keep smiling. Almost done. Eyes on the judges as you exi...Crap! Look out - trophy table!

P.S. Do you want to know a secret? Really? Okay then. But you can't tell anyone. Lean in a bit. Closer. A little closer. Ren's dress - the one she wore tonight - is actually a wedding dress. Evidently, red is the going color in Europe for wedding dresses now so the White Room purchased it to sell in their bridal shop. When it didn't sell (we southern girls still prefer white it seems) they moved it to the formal wear side of their store. Anyway, that's why the train on it was so long when she wore it for the homecoming court. For the pageant we had the train length decreased from chapel length to brush length. Shhhh. Remember. You're the only one I've told.

P.S.S Have a great weekend. Hopefully, it won't be as stormy and bad as they are saying. Stay safe, friends.

I See London, I See France...

This post is being linked up to Kevin and Layla's Favorite Posts of 2010 over @ the Lettered Cottage. Oh, by the way, it's a true story - unfortunately.

Sashay. It's what we Southern girls are bred to do since birth. It is part of our chromosomal makeup. As small girls we do it in our Martha's Miniature dresses, all ruffles and bells down the center aisle each Sunday at church. We do this as students when we enter the hallways of learning each day. Yes, I am here. I have arrived. Why, thank you. As a matter of fact it is new. We train to do it in pageants. Any Miss Tennessee Moon Pie Festival queen worth her weight in salt mastered it years ago. And we, of course, do it on our wedding day, walking toward our groom satisfied to our core in knowing that we are, at this moment, the absolute center of the universe. My sister was born with this trait. My niece works it quite nicely, and has several pretty little tiaras to back it up. I, on the other hand, never felt a need for it in my youth. I didn't dress fashionably ("comfort first" was my motto) or over worry about hair and makeup, so why would I go to the trouble to act prissy in any other way? Then it happened. I was in my late 20s. And for some unknown reason one night I was bitten by the sashay-bug. A distant cousin had died and I had gone to the funeral home one evening to pay my respects. It just so happened that the place was packed that night, as each viewing room was occupied. My cousin's viewing was in the very back. But before heading in to where my family was seated, I needed to stop off at the restroom.

After taking care of business in the bathroom, I gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I did look good. I had actually taken pains in my presentation that night...hair styled just so, flawless makeup, and a dark floral jacket and white blouse with a fairly plunging neckline over the most elegant, feminine skirt in my wardrobe - long, black, and sheer it was a skirt made for sashaying. And with every fiber in my being I realized that I had not been skipped when the flirt fairy sprinkled her magic dust on girls at birth. I had had it all along. And that night, albeit in a most unlikely place, I could exhibit it like every other female. Stepping out of the restroom into the hallway, I felt more confidence than I had known in a long time, if ever. At one point I think I even felt one shoulder pop up a little, just as Scarlett's had when she entered Melanie Wilke's home for Ashley's birthday party. Chin tilted ever so slightly (not too much, though - one wants to look confident but not conceited) I headed toward the parlor, smiling and nodding at people along the way. Finally, I was sashaying. Me. Tyla. The non-sashayer of the family was sashaying. A few steps from the door a kindly, elderly lady - a belle in her day, for sure - gingerly took my arm to speak to me. Her words live with me to this day... "My dear, I don't mean to embarrass you, but you have the back of your dress stuck in your panties."

Televisionless

John-Heath giving me his best sad face

This week, April 19 - 25 is being promoted as National TV Turn Off Week by TV Turnoff Network. The goal, and a very admirable one at that, is to "show parents and children that watching t.v. doesn't have to be a daily activity." Actually, I feel somewhat ashamed. I, a school librarian, only realized this today. So, I am already in the hole for the week. But I am determined to finish out the week - at least the school week - and be the better person for it.

When I picked Ren up this afternoon and informed her this would be a household event she had to see proof that it was "even a real holiday." So, I showed her my library blog (http://www.thewmslibrary.blogspot.com/). Nothing doing. According to her I could have just put that on there to trick her. As if I would post something just for a joke that could be seen on my school's website. But, still, she resisted. "Google it", she demanded. I did. She cried. No, not really. But she did whine and protest a little.

As I posted on my school blog there are three great reasons for less t.v. in one's life. You'll...

• Become more physically fit


• Become more intelligent


• Become a nicer person

We'll see how it goes. Ren may actually be the easier of the two in getting to go along with this. John-Heath can be mighty persistent and he has to have him some Andy Griffith Show most every night.

Ice-oholics Unite

It seems I have a disorder. Some of you may be thinking I have several. One day, just before spring break I was sitting in my office working at my computer, as I am now (I'm on my lunch break in case anyone is wondering) when our school nurse steps in to let me know she's here (Our nurse's office is located in a room inside the library - go figure). At some point she looks at me and asks if I am anemic. "Why, yes. Yes, I am. But what made you ask?", I say. To which she says, "Because I notice you eat a lot of ice." Well, there you have it. A reason for my incessant ice chewing.

I go through a few glassfuls of it each day at school. Again at home and then, always, one more glass as I am sitting in bed just prior to falling asleep. At restaurants I go through several refills, mainly because I am eating my way through a glass of it and the liquid contents happen to get consumed in the process, and end the meal by asking the waiter for a "to-go" ice water, lots of ice. And let's not forget all the times I ask John to run us through a drive-thru just for ice. At times I feel guilty about doing this because most places don't charge for it, so I will end up getting a bottled water. And, for the record, let me just state that Zaxby's has GREAT ice. They charge a quarter a cup, though. Or is it 50 cents? Some people go out for ice-cream. I go out for ice. Even my kids have started asking, "Can we stop by Zaxby's for ice and can we have our own cup?" I am selfish when it comes to my ice and they know it. "No, John-Heath. This is mommy's ice. Remember, you don't want my germs." I digress.

Karen, my nurse-friend, told me she had heard that sometimes people who are anemic do eat a lot of ice. And, according to research I did after our conversation, she was right! This condition is known as pagophagia.

pa•go•pha•gia (p g -f j )
n.
A craving to eat ice, often associated with iron-deficiency anemia.
________________________________________
Pagophagia
The compulsive eating of ice.
Mentioned in: Pica
________________________________________
pagophagia
[pā′gōfā′jē•ə]
Etymology: Gk, pagos, frost, phagein, to eat
an abnormal condition characterized by a craving to eat enormous quantities of ice. It is associated with a lack of the nutrient iron. pagophagic, pagophagous, adj.

Unfortunately for me, it is not a condition that garners much sympathy. It seems that, even when you properly chew with your mouth closed, people can still hear you. My mom absolutely abhors it - even with her poor hearing she knows the exact moment my molars clamp down on a piece if she is within a 30 ft. radius. I get the same speech each time..."Just go on and break your teeth out, Tyla. No one can tell you anything." My sister it seems, though she did not verbalize her feelings at the time, was quite embarrassed when I did it at the movies with her once. And of course John makes me aware of his displeasure with it each night at bedtime.

I suppose I need to seek help before this habit, ahem, I mean condition, gets any worse, spiraling my life out of control to the point all I can focus on is where to get my next fix. Anyone know the number for the local chapter of Ice Eaters Anonymous?

Ghost of a Birthday Past

A card, addressed to Tilah, from my great-nephews. Weston hopes I'll like my "raket" makers (chimes).

Two days ago I turned 40. Insert sigh. 40. Not sure I'm liking the sound of that. Other than the number associated with this particular birthday it was a nice day and evening spent with my closest family members. Just my mom and dad (so glad I still have them with me to celebrate), my own family, and my sister's family.

My sister had us all down for a bbq supper. My brother-n-law cooks a mean pig. Luckily, John got his recipe a while back. Now we can have it at home from time to time without having to wait on an invite for special occasions.

Besides the tasty grub the loot was also excellent this year. A little money, a little Clinique, a really nice, not-so-little shrub, a beautiful set of chimes, and a wok and all the bamboo accessories to go with it. Okay. You can stop laughing now. I know what you are thinking. At least, I know what those who really know me are thinking. But the truth is I am excited about using it (the wok). And when I have mastered it I will have you all over for some stir fry.

40-year-old eyes sans makeup

Do you find yourself thinking back on past birthdays whenever another one rolls around? I do. Unfortunately, even if I think really hard, I cannot remember them all. I vividly remember my 17th, like it was yesterday, though.

I was allowed to have a sleepover with a small group of friends. At some point at school that day we learned that a bunch of our guy friends would be camping in some woods to the rear of a large field on Pleasant Grove Road. Though the last words from my mother's mouth were "And I'd better not find out that you all have gone where those boys are camping," we made a beeline in that direction as soon as we had finished eating dinner.

After a short visit we headed back out across the field toward the car, that horrible green Chevrolet Impala I was forced to drive. When we were about half the distance back to the edge of the field we noticed a car coming down the road. It was none other than Kelsey Carver, Wendy's dad. Normally, this might not have been an issue. But, alas, Wendy was with me...in this party of delinquents...at my sleepover...and her daddy knew this. It didn't take long for him to pull over, exit his vehicle, and proceed to cross said field - flashlight in hand. So Wendy and I spent the next several minutes -which seemed like hours - on our bellies crawling as far away as we could while the other girls in the group told at least two versions of a story explaining our absence. We had gone with other friends to Gallatin. No, wait. We were out town at the car wash. Ummm. She loaned us her car. You get the picture. To make their storyline(s) believable the girls reluctantly left us slithering along while they drove off in my car, followed for a while by Kelcey.

There were, of course, consequences to our night of frolicking - my mother found out within a day what we had done and, worst of all, I ruined the new pair of white ankle boots I had been given for my birthday while crawling around in that field.

Picture of that fun night to come just as soon as I find and scan it.

What I Did On My Spring Break

Spring break 2010 is coming to an end. This Monday we all, students and teachers alike, head back to the daily grind. Of course, with SB coming so late in the year it won't be long before we are out for summer. It has been a WONDERFUL break. We could not have custom-ordered better weather. Mostly, we just hung around the house and did nothing special but it was nice just the same.

We...

Began spring break with some type of virus

Repainted our master bed and bath

(same color as before, it just needed refreshing-you'll see why below)

Remulched the flower beds, etc.

Cleaned the porches and porch furniture

Sprayed for bugs

Lawn work

Visited nurseries

Added ferns to the porches

Planted annuals in the flower beds and urns

mowed

mowed again

mowed yet again

Ended spring break by turning 40 (tomorrow)

Take that all you people who spent yours on a beach or at a spa. I know you're just dying from envy right now.

Not long after moving in to my dream house my little boy, age 2 at the time, suprises me with artwork on my bedroom wall by proudly proclaiming, "Look, Mommy. A circle." Most other rooms in the house have similar tales to tell.

My Nemesis

The only thing I hate more than driving two hours to eat lunch at a certain marina only to find that they are closed on Thursdays? Dandelions!!!

Having just mowed the yard this past Friday and then again yesterday this pesky, virulent, bain of my existence has already resurfaced again. Ideally, I would love to use an all-natural approach in my lawn care. But I believe it's time to bring out the big guns. I'm thinking something so deadly it will strike fear even into the hearts of weeds in neighboring yards.

Hear this, Dandelions. Your days are numbered.

Postscript...Happy 100th Birthday, Pa Frazier. We miss you.

John-Heath's Day with Two Grand People

John-Heath loves his Ma-Ma and Pa Gene and they, of course, love him. However, due to their age (and his) they are unable to keep him as much as they would like.

Pa Gene and Ma-Ma watching John-Heath go UP the slide

They were always volunteering to keep Ren for us when she was younger and, to this day, she still frequently opts out of going somewhere with us in lieu of staying at their house. John and I had no shortage of "couple time" on weekends when Ren was small.

They did keep John-Heath when he was a baby. Many times they would keep him on both Friday and Saturday nights for us to go out and do whatever. But, at 78 and 76 they aren't able to keep up with a rowdy 4-year-old boy for any major length of time. Not that this does not bother them. I know they would love to keep him just as they did Ren. And John-Heath would love this too. He doesn't like it one bit when Ren gets to stay and he has to go with us. To him, it just isn't fair.

Well, last night the roles were reversed. He was able to stay the night and Ren had to come home with me. He was thrilled. In fact, he wanted to make sure I got him there before dark so he could "mow Pa Gene's yard". He has a small motorized lawn tractor that looks a lot like a riding mower and so he thinks he is mowing the yard when he's on it. I love watching him ride it. He loves to go in between any two objects he can find. He's just all boy.

Looking too old. Where did my baby boy go?

This morning Ma-Ma made him his favorite - fried eggs. He had two and then begged for a third one, which was granted. So, he's used up all his cholesterol tokens for the week. He loves eggs and does not hesitate to tell my mother each and every day he does not get them here at home.

After breakfast and playing in the yard - more mower time - they took him to a park in Portland where John and I, along with Ren, met up with them. There he hooked up with three little girls. He would growl at them like a monster and they would squeal.

Then it was over to 5 Chefs for lunch, a great little restaurant and gift shop set in an old Victorian home.

Ma-Ma looking around at some of the nice pieces of furniture at 5 Chefs. John-Heath sitting still, for the moment.

It was a great day!

Our Fine Feathered Friends

A killdeer guarding her nest.

One day three years ago while mowing the yard I happened upon a two birds, Killdeer (pronounced Kill-dee). They had made a nest, which was really not much more than a slight depression in the earth, on a somewhat rocky slope in our yard for its eggs. The eggs were almost perfectly camouflaged among the pieces of gravel. In fact, the only reason I even suspected eggs were nearby was by watching the actions of the mother bird.

At first, I thought the bird was injured by the way it hobbled around dragging its broken-looking wing. However, it would only do this whenever I would come close. Then, after I passed, back to the same spot in the yard would it return. Eventually, when my mowing was imminently approaching its special spot the bird stayed put and put on a very impressive show, spreading its wings offensively. Finally, I spotted the eggs. I left a bit of grass around them so that I would be reminded of their location during future mowings.

John-Heath examining the eggs. Not picking them up was almost more temptation than his little hands could handle.

These little friends have returned each year (the first two laying eggs in almost the exact same location). So for about 6-7 weeks during mowing season while the eggs incubate, hatch and grow I am privileged to a weekly show by the mommy and daddy birds. Another perk of mowing during this time of year.

P.S. My own little baby bird has temporarily left our nest and is spending the night at his Ma-Ma and Pa Gene's.

If Money Were No Option...

Today, this first day of our second week of spring break, we took John-Heath to his pre-school. I initially felt just the slightest twinge of guilt about this, but it soon passed. After all, we kept him home with us all last week and he'll be home with us most of the rest of this upcoming week. And he loves school. He loves his friends. He was excited to go back. I think he missed his girlfriend too (the sweet little girl he calls the "spirit of love").
After taking Ren to her ortho. appointment we enjoyed a nice lunch with her and, a favorite of mine, furniture store browsing. This is something that we haven't done in a long time. John-Heath, every sweet inch of his hyperactive self, does not afford one a lot of time to linger and look at much.

I saw many things I would love to have. And I thought, "Wouldn't it be great to win the lottery?" Of course, my odds would be exponentially improved if I were to actually play the lottery.

We have lived in our home for three years now (or it will be 3 years at the end of August) and there are still many things we need to do. John is always telling me to make a list. "I can't remember if you don't make a list," he says. So, here is my top 5 dream list - in no particular order.

• bookcases/cabinetry built for the study
• new den furniture
• concrete my drive
• shutters on the front of the house
• redo our lawn (more grass, less weeds)

And, just in case John is playing the lottery behind my back and might one day win, a pool - a great big heated one with a hot tub, fountain, tanning ledge, and slide for the kiddies built into the side of a mountain-like rock formation.

In Memory of a Fellow G.R.I.T.S (Girl Raised in the South)

Goodbye, Julia Sugarbaker. We'll miss you.

Dixie Carter

May 25, 1939 - April 10, 2010

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Watch a classic Julia moment

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZHw7XWky_A

Skate Date

Today we spent a few hours celebrating Weston Shane's 9th birthday at the local skating rink. Weston is my great-nephew.

I have not been skating in yeeaaarrrrs. My skateless streak remains unchanged after today. But, rewind 25 years, I did quite well whenever I strapped 8 wheels to my feet.

Megan and Jessie lead Ren around the floor. By the end of the party she was able to hold her own (self up).

During the two decades of my youth, the 70's and 80's, it seemed that every town with more than 1,000 people had a roller rink. And while our little town did not, we were surrounded by three other towns that did.

John helping John-Heath, who looked like a newborn colt...all legs and not sure what to do with them.

And almost everyone, at some point in their adolescent years, either attended a birthday party or held their own party at one of these fine establishments. A milestone of my very own life, my 13th birthday, was held at the Portland Skating Center. I think I still have the free t-shirt I received packed away somewhere.

Meg and Dylan (my other great-nephew) who was very focused and dedicated to learning to skate.

Then roller-skating fell out of fashion and many a skating rink was forced to close up shop, including the three closest to my town. And for years we were left without this form of entertainment (even if you didn't skate you could get a kick out of watching others fall). Luckily, a nice new rink opened up in our county seat just a couple years ago, and there has been a re-emergence in this family-friendly past time. And, thankfully, they even play some of the classics from the 80's rinks.

Ren and Megan with the birthday boy.

DO YOU REMEMBER...

A partial early/mid-80's roller rink play list

"You Dropped a Bomb On Me"

"Another One Bites the Dust"

"I Love Rock n Roll"

"Freak-a-zoid"

"Centerfold"

"We Are Family"

Any Journey song for Couples' Skate

And, no birthday party at the skate rink would be complete without "Limbo" or the "Hokey Pokey".

Every limbo boy and girl

All around the limbo world
Gonna do the limbo rock
All around the limbo clock.
Jack be limbo, Jack be quick
Jack go unda limbo stick.

All around the limbo clock
Hey, let's do the limbo rock

Scenes from My Lawn Mower

I grabbed my camera and snapped some pics on my last few rounds. This old ash tree came in handy as a place we could hang our little man's tire swing.

Today was mowing day. This is a chore I both love and hate.

My lawn crew

I always take great satisfaction in seeing my scruffy-looking yard become neat and trimmed. Early in the season I also enjoy the peace, tranquility, and reflection that comes from hours of riding over the yard whenever I mow. When mowing almost 5 acres a lot of reflection can take place. During these beautiful spring months I look forward to this little bit of solitude each and every week.

All we need is a picnic table. Can you spot John-Heath's dump truck?

Of course, if I were to be writing about mowing, say, in August I would put an entirely different spin on this chore. Then, in 90 degree heat (or worse) and a whole lot of humidity, 4 hours on a hot engine is not so relaxing.

They look nice but I wouldn't sit in them. I should have taken this one after the weedeating.

Today was a good day. I mowed. John took care of the weed-eating. Ren and John-Heath picked up rocks from the yard. John-Heath thought it was a pretty cool thing to do. Ren...not so much. She was eager to remind me repeatedly that her friends were on their way to various beaches or cruise ships and she was being forced into manual labor. One day, she'll thank me. Or maybe not.

My least favorite part of the yard to mow - between this row of trees and the fence.

And now it is time to retire for the evening, just as soon as I wipe down my right arm and hand with some strong muscle ointment and take a couple Ibuprofin. Goodnight, friends. This gal is tired.

Looking up at one of the hackberry trees. Don't you just love the color of new leaves?