Wednesday, June 27, 2012

I Want to Hold Your Hand

Image via

Who would have ever thought the Beatles’ “I Want to Hold Your Hand”, written by Lennon and McCartney and released almost 50 years ago could potentially become the battle cry of many a young Tennessean in love?  Well, if you believe internet headlines, legislators in my fair state have banned hand-holding.  

Just an evening or so ago, I was shocked to read “State’s ‘No-Holding Hands Bill’ Blasted” as the headline for a news story on Yahoo, which is the home page on one of my laptops.  

My first thought was What?  You’ve gotta be kidding me.  Some state is actually making it against the law for kids to hold hands.   Oh, please.  Do they actually believe this will lower the number of teen pregnancies and STDs?  

My second thought upon reading the above mentioned headline was Oh, please, please, please... don’t be Tennessee, don’t be Tennessee.  

Tennessee is my home.  It is where I was born, bred, and will likely be buried.  I love it and there are very few places I imagine I would rather live.  Your home state is like family.  You see, I can poke fun at my family all day long or complain about them from time to time or, on very rare occasions, get downright mad at one of them.  However, for an outsider to do the same crosses a line which would certainly bring about consequences.  Make fun of one of us and see how many more Christmas cards you’d get from me. Oh, yeah.  You’d be cut off.  Shunned.  Dead to me.  So, think twice before doing it.

I feel the same about my state.  Certainly, there is a reputation that has been cultivated (similar to the reputation of most of our neighbors residing below the Mason-Dixon Line) over the 216 years of our existence that lends itself as fodder for the thoughts of non-natives. Some good, some bad.

While pregnant with our children we have almost certainly walked about barefoot in our homes from time to time (and, okay, I would be lying if I said there aren’t some women who may even walk around barefoot in public, too - which I think is really, really tacky unless you're on a beach or at the pool) ,most of us over the age of  thirty-five have used an old-fashioned, outdoor toilet on some occasion (though it’s been years for me), we’ve been known to put peanuts in our cokes (I prefer mine in a bottle, rather than a can), and there’s a reason we’re known as The Volunteer State.

Then every so often the powers that be in the state government do something which garners national headlines in a way that creates a little head shaking.  A few years ago after the death of Michael Jackson our state legislators set aside business as usual (i.e. the economy, education, infrastructure, etc.) to take up the matter of crafting a state resolution to honor the performer.   Of course, there were objections.  These resolutions are nothing more than official “pats on the back” but they do cost money and in a state hurting financially this particular one was seen by some as a waste.  I had to agree.  Other than marrying Elvis’ daughter I’m not sure of any direct connection to Tennessee Jackson had beyond his posters hanging in countless teenage girls’ bedrooms across the state (mine included).   

Fast forward to just a few nights ago...are we now seriously banning hand holding? Well, Yahoo, Jeanne Sager of The Stir, and many other outlets would like you to think so.  According to the Yahoo article, Sager feels “teens contending with raging hormones need honest information, not unrealistic nonsense about how hand-holding leads to getting knocked up.”  Well, turns out that’s not exactly what this legislation is about.  

Tennessee has an “abstinence only” sex-ed curriculum, which recognizes abstaining from sex as the only absolute way to prevent sexually transmitted diseases or unwanted pregnancies.  The new bill (which really isn’t that new as it was passed a couple months ago) restricts educators from  the Promoting of “any gateway sexual activity or health message that encourages students to experiment with non-coital sexual activity”.  You can go here to read it for yourself.

While we’re on the subject of sex-ed being taught in schools, let me say I am not so disillusioned that I think all teens will wait until marriage or have only one sex partner in their life.  Even people raised in the best, most moral homes in the country are ultimately human, and humans make mistakes, especially teens, who will lack a fully developed frontal lobe until they reach their twenties.  John and I long ago decided to “never say never” when it comes to raising our children.  Every time I hear a parent say, “My child would never do such and such”, I respond with something like, “Oh, well that’s good” or “Well, that must be quite a comfort to you”, all the while inwardly rolling my eyes.   Yes, I have good children and I hope and pray that they will always strive to make good decisions in their life but, again, they’re human.

As a parent and an educator,  I have no problem with “sex-ed” classes being taught in schools. Do I think my second-grader should receive such lessons?  Of course not.  Do I want a teacher or outside organization making suggestions for alternative experiences to my daughter.  Again, no way.  But I believe it is important for schools to teach age appropriate lessons to our students about their bodies, about puberty and reproduction, and also the risks and consequences of unprotected sex.  I should point out that I feel the better, more successful way to teach these lessons is in groups separated by gender and, of course, that parents be allowed to keep their children from participating if they so choose.  

Now, while the bill may be somewhat vague, I have to believe that our elected officials weren’t really thinking of hand holding or kissing or even cheesy pick-up lines (Are you from Tennessee? ‘Cause you’re the only 10 I see) as “gateway activities” when they drafted the bill. Typical for many online, more liberal-leaning news sites the whole thing has been blown out of proportion to, in my opinion, create some catchy headlines, poke a little fun at a southern state, and mold like minded people by making those who agree with the legislation feel a little unsophisticated for thinking such and be more likely to have a change of opinion. These kind of bloated, misleading stories really get my goat, especially when I feel they are trying to make a mockery out of my state and, in turn, me.

So, you know what that means, don’t you?  The editorial staff at Yahoo will be forever removed from my Christmas card list.  Oh, wait.  They were never on it.  I guess I’ll just have to exact my wrath by  changing my home page.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

Invasion of the Bees

Friends, we are in the middle of what appears to be a drought in my small corner of the world.  We are in the most desperate need of some rain - something we've not had in about 15 days or so.  Much of my yard has been reduced to dirt and dry, brown grass that crunches beneath your feet.  I have not even mowed this week.  Other than sporadic clover stalks (which somehow still manage to thrive) there is little to mow.

Yes, it's been hot (and dry) for several days.  Today, the water in our pool almost crossed the boundary of feeling refreshing to feeling more like warm bath water, which is not refreshing - at least not to me.  

We weren't the only ones trying to cool off a bit.  During the hour I was in the pool I killed and/or fished out 21 - yes, TWENTY-ONE!!! - bumble bees and what seemed to be an infinite number of sweat bees from our little man-made swimming hole.  I say infinite because there seemed to be no end to them.  I'd take a frog in the pool any day of the week and twice on Sundays over bees.  I spent all but five minutes scooping and killing.  And the sweat bee that stung me?  He died slowly.

Now, spare me any lectures tonight on animal cruelty.  Admittedly, I am no animal lover but I would only harm those that pose a threat to my children or me.  I would have included John in that list but seeing as how he shot me with a high powered water gun during the five minutes I had to relax on my float, he's on his own.




Image found here

Friday, June 22, 2012

Blogging in the Dark

Have I ever mentioned that I am a night owl?  Oh, I am.  John, however, is not.  I am reminded of this each night that I sit in bed and attempt to write.  Just as something pops in my head and I begin to put the words in permanent storage via my laptop he turns off the lights and I am left chicken-pecking my way through my thoughts and swatting at, usually, one or two flying insects drawn to the only source of light in the whole house -a.k.a. my computer screen - at the same time.  I tell you this, friends, so that the next time you read something from me that is grammatically flawed, incoherent even, please check the time stamp.  Oh, here he comes. Got ti ron.  Zee yoi all tumrrow.



P.S.  Pleze frgiv me, Ms. Cox. As yoi cen tel/ I shold habe paif mor attemtopn un typomg clazz,

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Wee, Wee, Wee; All the Way Home!


In a couple months my family will celebrate five years of living in our current house.  We basically moved from one side of the family land (where our first home was located) to the other (with a house or two outside the confines of the farm thrown in for good measure).  I really do enjoy living here.  I love our home and, even though I gripe about it each and every time I mow, I’m quite fond of our yard. Truthfully, there are times it feels as if we’re living in a state park.  We are surrounded by beautiful farmland which I can admire from the comfort, safety and convenience of my porches with nary a worry about foul smelling cow patties or those other offensive items of a like nature mentioned in a previous post.  

One thing I have become fond of over the years is the semi-privacy that is afforded when you live on a larger tract of land.  We have few neighbors.  People are close enough they can be of help if needed, but not so close I can’t walk out onto my front porch to water some ferns wearing a bathrobe and some Crocs (Note: wearing Crocs on wet concrete can be hazardous to your health and could lead to very humiliating poses).

Don’t get me wrong, I love the neighbors we have.  They are truly wonderful. It’s just that I am way too lazy to always be on guard, worried about the state of my appearance or that of my children should we be seen up close on a daily basis - especially in the summer.

Now speaking of neighbors, I probably don’t have to tell you that they are not all created equal.  Some are known for the awesome chicken salad they bring to get-togethers, some are known for inviting your children over to play, while others are known for being ever ready to lend a helping hand, which could include helping out with a mechanical issue or even driving your very shaky teenage daughter home after she runs off the road and nearly flips your SUV into the creek.  

However, every once in awhile you may encounter a different species of neighbor - one that you hope someday moves and takes with him/her all the reasons you’re wanting them to move in the first place.  We once shared a stretch of road with just such a person.

This man wasn’t from here originally.  I think he may have even come from up North.  Gasp!  A Yankee!  Anyway, he wasn’t much on yard work or picking up his trash each week after he would set it out and his dogs (which were kept unleashed and would visit us quite often) would tear the bags to shreds and scatter the contents of said bags to the four winds, even when one wind crossed onto our land.  And though I believe he fancied himself a farmer on some level, there was much left to be desired when it came to his farming know-how, particularly in the department of building/maintaining fences.  We probably would never have known about this deficiency if it weren’t for the horses we would routinely find grazing in our front yard and the dozens of hoofprints left behind.  Ahhhhh.  Good times.  Good times.

Well, one day “Crawl” felt the need to expand his non-farming skills and he bought him some pigs.  He even built a pen for his new pets.  It didn’t take long, though, for him to realize he may have made a mistake and that a call for help needed to be made.  Scott, another of our neighbors, was the lucky recipient of that very call.  

When he arrived, Scott found the pigs wandering about the man’s yard.  Turns out, our former neighbor’s flaw had been this...when unloading his piggies he failed to back his truck up to the pen and, instead, just pulled his truck into the drive and let them out right then and there.  I guess he thought they would react like dogs and obediently follow him into their new home.  However, pigs are not dogs.  Indeed, they are not.  Maybe it’s that they realized on some level their new pad was just a temporary stop on the way to ending up as the B in someone’s BLT, but they were not budging.  So, he sought help.

Upon assessing the situation Scott knew immediately what could be done to lure the little piggies all the way home. Corn.  

“Do you have any corn”, he asked the man.  “Corn?  You bet.  I have lots of corn.”  “Well, go get some and we’ll lead them in with that.”

Dutifully following his deliverer’s suggestion, the man returned a minute later carrying the corn...CANNED CORN!  I kid you not.  Like Green Giant or something.

Now, friends, even yours truly here would have known better than that.  I think.






 

Image via

Monday, June 18, 2012

Down on the Farm


If you’ve visited with me much at all here at Tire Swings (or wandered in by accident while doing a Google search for swing set and play fort companies and stayed at least long enough to read the “about me” blurb) you know that I live in a small Southern town - the same town I have always lived in, and let me go ahead and say there are both pros and cons to doing such.  

Now, even though my mail is stamped with the same zip code as it was when I was younger, my surroundings are quite a bit different.  You see, I was raised in town.  I could practically reach out my bedroom window and into the window of my neighbor to change the channel on his bedside television.  In fact, such close proximity supplied my room with free cable for years, which was great for a kid growing up during the early years of MTV.

Upon marrying, though, I moved to the country - a whopping 5 minute drive away during high traffic times - to live within the boundaries of my husband’s family farm.  Initially (and by initially I mean 15 years or so), it was not such a good fit.  Think of me as a much less glamorous version of Lisa Douglas from Green Acres.  I knew almost nothing about farm life.  In fact, so little did I know that my father-n-law, who was not known for his soft, kind demeanor, upon his first time in asking me to lend him a hand with something in the barnyard, said - and I quote - “I ought to kick your momma’s a_ _.  You don’t know anything.”  So, I thought it might be best to learn something. *Insert sigh here*

I would look through magazines and see some picture of a fresh looking farm wife handing her handsome husband a glass of iced tea with a sprig of mint as he set on a tractor and think How sweet!  I can do that.  

Unfortunately, those pictures left out a few teeny, tiny details.  Unshown in the romanticized, Southern Living version of farm life was the cow crap one would have to bypass along the way (dried, wet, and/or oh so super fresh and green) OR the dozens of huge flies swarming around  - the likes of which would have been enough to weaken the resolve of even the most stubborn of pharaohs - OR the snakes (both real and imagined) OR the very large cows (hellooo...some with horns).  

So,  I came to a few conclusions early on...1.) John should always take a thermos with him when leaving to to do any work on the farm  2.) Lisa Douglas could run circles around me and 3.) I am okay with that.


Let's hope they don't take after their mom.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Happy Father's Day!

Happy Father's Day to all our dads!  I am especially thankful for these two...

 ...my dad and my children's dad - two of the best around.



Friday, June 15, 2012

A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I'm feeling a bit like Alexander today.  If you're familiar with children's lit or have had small children you probably know I am referring to the character in Judith Viorst's classic.  Though I didn't wake up with gum in my hair I did wake up on the proverbial "wrong side of the bed".  I have been in what we in the South refer to as a "piss poor mood".  All.  Stinkin'.  Day.  You would think getting to sleep late and not having to attend school inservice (as I had the previous three days) would have made for a wonderful day.   Nope.  Just wasn't in the cards today.

My plan for the day was to get up, mow the yard, clean up the house, clean up myself, take the kids and secure some items needed for a Father's Day project, enjoy an evening out with the family, and settle in back at home and watch a little Big Bang Theory (Season One arrived from Amazon.  Its arrival was the only bright spot in an otherwise loathsome day). 

Instead, I woke up irritable.  I hate this yard.  I'm so sick of having nothing to do.  I wish we could get out of this town for a while.  Would you please weed-eat today?  A cell phone just doesn't disappear into thin air (lamenting left over from and continued daily since this past Tuesday)!!!  

So, I decided to mow.  I love to mow.  I love the look of my yard as I mow.  I can clear my mind when I mow.  We have a Bad Boy ZTR mower.  Bad Boy's slogan, "Mow with an Attitude", was something I felt sure I would be able to do today.

Instead, I almost blew myself up.  It's a thousand wonders I didn't wind up in a burn unit somewhere. Someone had left one of John-Heath's t-shirts and pair of shorts laying across the back of the mower and I failed to see them when I began.  One lap from the top of the yard to the road and I caught a whiff of something burning.  By the time I reached the mid-way point back up the yard I caught another whiff.  Luckily, I stopped to wait for Ren to pass by in the drive and that's when John noticed the clothes on fire on the back of the mower and came and knocked them off.  Needless to say, I had to take a little break.  And now there are two small burned spots in my yard.  Of course, better in my yard than on me.

After a day of much whining (plus my near-death experience) we went to Cheddar's for a bite to eat.  It was 6ish.  Usually they are packed at this time and the wait is long.  Tonight, however, we waited no more than 5 or 7 minutes.  Maybe this terrible day was going to end on a good note.  As we stood to be escorted to our table I heard something hit the floor.  It was John-Heath's iPod Touch...the one he received for his birthday NOT EVEN A WEEK AGO...to replace the one he received for Christmas which he lost about a month ago.  It still works but the screen is shattered and will have to be replaced.  

Dropping spinach dip down my shirt (Ren:  Um, mom, you have some spinach in your cleavage) and John-Heath dropping what seemed like the rest of the dip in his lap (on his white shorts) were just the final touches. 

So, goodnight, friends.  I think I had better turn in.  There are still a few minutes left in the day and I don't want to temp fate.

 
P.S.  As rotten as this stupid day has felt, I will still give thanks for all the blessings in my life - which far outnumber a little scare, a burned t-shirt, a broken iPod, and some spilled spinach.  Thank you, Lord. 

Monday, June 11, 2012

Father's Day Pics (2011)

Father's Day 2012 is quickly approaching and I am scrambling for cute ideas.  When possible and I have the time, I like to create something handmade or meaningful.  Last year, I photographed the kids dressed in some of John's clothing and with some of my dad's things.  I printed off some 4x6s plus picked out one or two of the best to enlarge to 5x7 and/or 8x10 and place in wooden frames.  They turned out rather good and were a big hit with the men of day.
 Ren in John's vest and belt while John-Heath sports his dad's shoes and tie.
 With some of Pa Gene's things.
 John-Heath in Pa Gene's shoes.
 Ren in Pa's mowing hat.
Father's Day 2011

Now, what to do for this year?  Hmmm...

Sunday, June 10, 2012

So, There's This Boy...

...and he kinda stole my heart.

Legos in my living room.
Tonka trucks in the drive.
Walking around in rubber boots while fish swim around his toes
Knobby knees.
Loves God.
Whistler.
Nesquik mustaches.
Sharing secrets under tents made from old quilts.
A coffee can of George Washingtons.
An ever changing assortment of scrapes, bruises and black eyes.
Dangerous with a can of spray paint.
Legs shaped like his dad’s.
Eyes like mine.
Random Nerf gun attacks.
Loves his sister.
Fights with his sister.
Indiana Jones, Spongebob, Sheriff Andy Taylor
A spot-on British accent.
Pirate, fireman, doctor, and soldier.
Calls me mom.

Happy 7th Birthday to my little boy!!!
I love you, John-Heath.


Friday, June 8, 2012

Birthday Wishes


Happy birthday to my mother, Betty, celebrating 79 years young today.  I love ya, momma!  

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

And Now for the Rest of the Story...

I know you will surely be amazed to find that there could be more to the riveting story I shared last night about John-Heath getting wax stuck up his nose - but there is, my friends, there is.  It’s actually quite funny and on some level demonstrates what a small world (town) mine actually is. Be prepared.  It’s just a little longer than my normal posts.

So, two days ago when John-Heath informs me of the wax up his nose my first response (after initially verifying that, indeed, there was a chunk of wax in there) was to pull out the tweezers and attempt to pull out the wax.  After a couple tries I became a little worried that we might end up back at the ER and told John-Heath to breathe through his mouth.  He did...very heavily, sounding much like an asthmatic monster.  “Just breathe normally, John-Heath.”   I tried again and realized I wasn’t going to be able to get it out on my own and became fearful that it might get pushed/sucked back even deeper.  So, I decided to call my husband, who was somewhere in town on his lunch break.

I tried the local BBQ place.  No luck.  I was left with two non-fast food eateries at which he might be. Deciding against the Mexican restaurant, I called the local “meat n three”...

Me:  Hi.  This is Tyla C...  By any chance is my husband, John C., there?
Waitress:  I don’t know. Hang on...
Waitress:  (speaking to the people in the restaurant)  Is there a John C. here?  Okay, you have a phone call.
John:  Hello.
Me:  (rather excitedly) John, you need to come home.  He’s stuck wax up his nose and I don’t think I can get it out.
John:  (even more excitedly) Okay! I’ll be right...CLICK! (and he hangs up).

Well, for some reason right after this I thought I would try one last time to dislodge the wax myself and, what do you know, it came out!  So, I immediately called the restaurant again.

Me:  Hi.  This is Tyla C. again.  Is John C. still there?
Waitress:  No, he went running out the door.
Me:  Okay, thanks.

How sweet!  It made me feel lucky to have a husband who cared so much for his family and one who works so close to home.

Not wanting to delay him from his lunch any longer than he already was, John-Heath and I hopped in the car and drove to the end of the drive to meet him and tell him the emergency was over.

We waited.  And waited.  And waited some more. Hmmm. If he was running out the door, what was taking him so long? More waiting.

Finally, I thought we might drive to the high school.  Maybe Rick (his boss) had driven to lunch and was taking John back to the school to get his own vehicle.  When we didn’t see him there we headed back home.  Then as we topped one of the last hills on our road before you get to our drive I noticed Rick’s truck approaching us.  He flashed his lights and we both stopped in the road.  I rolled the window down, held up the tweezers (still clutching the chunk of wax), and said something about a crisis being averted.  They laughed, I told John I would see him when he got home, and we went in our different directions.

That night, as John and I sat on the porch upon returning home from our church’s VBS, he struck up a conversation about the day’s events and mentioned the wax.  

John:  So, he got wax stuck up his nose?
Tyla:  Yes, I’m sorry I bothered you during lunch but I was scared it was going to be a repeat of what happened with the coffee bean.  And by the way, why did you hang up on me so fast.  I wasn’t even finished telling you something.
John:  What are you talking about?  When did you talk to me?
Tyla:  When I called you during lunch?  What do you mean "when did you talk to me"?
John:  Did you call Cathy’s today?    note:  Cathy’s is the name of the local eatery
Tyla:  Yes, and I talked to you.
John:  Ohhhh.  That explains it.

You see, what happened is that John’s cousin, Shawne C., was sitting at the next table with his father and when the waitress called out for a “John C.” it must have sounded like “Shawne C.”.  I guess because I was talking so fast he didn’t realize that it wasn’t his wife’s voice he was hearing.  

Come to find out, he lit out of there lickety-split (leaving black tire tracks on the road, or so I’ve been told) and headed home in record time.  When he arrived - with a policeman right behind him who was prepared to give him a ticket for speeding, until he realized our cousin was heading home to what he thought was a family emergency - he found a wife surprised to see him.  Eventually, they just dismissed it as a bad practical joke someone must have played.  It wasn’t until we pieced the story together on our end and gave them a call that they knew it wasn’t a prank, just an amusing coincidence.  

Oh, and how was it that I met up with John and Rick on our road since I had never actually spoke to John and he had no idea of what John-Heath had done?  Again, pure coincidence. They had a few minutes to kill before they were due back to school and were just riding around. 

How’s that for a verse of "It’s a Small, Small World"?


 



Tuesday, June 5, 2012

That Boy, That Boy...



...will be the death of me.  You may or may not remember the coffee bean incident of last year in which John-Heath accidentally lodged one up his nose while riding in the buggy through the coffee aisle at Wal-mart.  Our local hospital ER nearly ended up sending him to Vanderbilt Children's Hospital for a surgical extraction.  Luckily, the third doctor to look at him decided to give one more idea a try and, voila, the coffee bean was freed from my son's nose.

Well yesterday he comes to me and says, "Mom, I think you may have to take me back to the hospital.  I got something else stuck up my nose."  Surely, he is joking.  Nope.  There, wedged in nice and tight was a little chunk of wax which he sucked up while sniffing a box of Hawaiian Pineapple Cilantro scented wax cubes.  He has always taken notice of how things smell...fruit, flowers, coffee, skunks, farts...so it really does not surprise me that he found himself smelling the wax.  I just wish he wouldn't stick the items so close to his nose.  Dyson vacuum cleaners have nothing on this kid's sniffer.

Tyla



P.S.  I need to send out a big, public HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my hubby, who is beginning his last year as a forty-something.  He still looks pretty good for such an old man, don't you think?  And he has nearly no gray hair which makes me super jealous and is just plain not fair.