January Blog

The past couple years, I have done a sort of blog challenge. I used prompts from Pinterest, and tried a blog a day. I don't think I actually blogged 31 straight days in January either year. That is pretty par for the course for me when it comes to that sort of thing. Of course, if by blogging thirty-one consecutive days I could create world peace or find the cure for cancer, I would be a bit more diligent. Since absolutely nothing whatsoever hangs in the balance, let me just say that I hope to write a blog entry several days this month.

Prompts from Pinterest and other sources have failed to inspire me this January. I may use some random prompts, subjects that catch my fancy, but most of what I will write will be a sort of stream of consciousness prompted by my own observations.

A post on FB caused me to think about the discrepancies we all have between our public selves and our private selves. I know a few folks whose private selves would shock and stun those who only know them in a public way. Their sweetness in public belies their bitter dispositions exhibited at home. I am most grateful that my husband and offspring are not among that group. Mr. L and my children, in particular, present to the world what  they exhibit within their four walls. Of the four of us, I would be the one most guilty of artifice. My private self cusses more than my public self. My private self can go on a bit of a rant about politics, or other issues, but I meticulously avoid going there in public. There is enough hot air out there without my adding to it. Both my public and private selves try to be meticulously honest, so if I compliment someone, I sincerely mean it. I might, however, say something along the lines of, "I've never seen anything quite like it," when someone asks my opinion of  something they think is quite beautiful and that I find perfectly hideous. I consider that being polite. Others might see dishonesty.

So, a bit more of the private me might present itself this month. Streams of consciousness can do that.  Don't be anticipating, if anyone is anticipating anything here, lots of foul language or brilliant political commentary. It's just the ramblings of a Medicare eligible grandmother on her annual pilgrimage to the beach.

Sometimes Things Work Out

Car troubles can be a pain.  I dropped quite a bit of money buying myself a catalytic converter this week.  Merry Christmas to Fizzy and me.  And, seriously, a catalytic converter really does nothing for the performance of my car, as I understand it.  I just need it to get the engine light off so I can get my car emission-tested so I can spend another bit of money to get a one inch by one inch sticker to put on my license plate.  I seriously considered taking a black Sharpie and outlining the engine light on the glass to obscure it, but then I figured that just was not the right thing to do.  Besides, it probably would not have worked anyway and I could not deal with the embarrassment of "getting caught."

While my car was in the shop, MP became my Uber driver.  Now, it is true, that we spend quite a bit of time together during normal times, but I got even more time with her and Violet during those few days of not having a car.  Apparently, not only are catalytic converters (I just love saying that ~ exquisite alliteration) expensive, they take a bit of time to find and acquire.  But, my car was ready in time for me to take Mom to the beauty shop yesterday, so I had it by the time I needed it. Mr. L was in Utah over the weekend so I used his car then. And, did I mention, time with my daughter and granddaughter?  It worked out beautifully.

Yesterday morning, I got a call from Marshall saying his truck was broken and he had left it at the shop, walked to Chick - Fil -A and was waiting for Sheri to pick him up and bring him to my house.  He asked if I minded his hanging out with me.  Seriously, did I mind?  I loved the thought.  It turned out that MP was actually right down the street from where Marshall was, so she picked him up and brought him here.  He went with me to take Nunny to the beauty shop, so she had the opportunity to see him as well.  It worked out beautifully.  I took Marsh to get his truck.  It was a simple fix and a beautiful morning.

Oops, his truck was not fixed.  He called me this morning a little before 6:00 and, in a cheerful voice, said, "what are you doing this morning?"  Turns out he was on his way to work when the battery light came on again.  He turned around and headed for the car repair place.  His truck died in the road in front of the place; he got it started long enough to limp it into the parking lot, where he waited for me to pick him up.  Talk about working out perfectly.

He is working in Franklin the next couple of weeks, so we drove there, enjoying our time together.  Because he was not driving and was observing the route he told me to take, he realized that he had been going a really strange  way to get to the job site.  He figured out a way to get there that will be much more direct and quicker.  This would not have happened had his truck not failed him this morning.  Future drives to the jobsite will be much more efficient.  Well, that worked out rather well.

We got to his job, I dropped him off and left.  As is typical, I took a wrong turn.  I was in great fear that I would end up in Columbia, like I did back in the summer when I took a similar wrong turn.  I don't think of myself as a stupid person, but directions stymie me....every time.  I was talking to Mr. L when I realized that I was lost.  He was trying to figure out what direction I was headed and when I called myself an idiot about directions, he said, "well, when it comes to directions, you're not bright."  That was such a lovely and gracious understatement of fact.  After I hung up from him, I realized where I was.  Certainly, I had gone quite a bit out of my way, but I was back on track and feeling very puffed up by my success.  Soon, Marshall's phone begins to ring.  He had left it in my car.  It's been a hectic morning for him.  It was where I could not reach it and so I turned into the next street.  Lo' and behold, it was the street where I was supposed to be.  Now, I've been driving about 10 minutes and I was right back where I started.  Of course, I realized that Marshall needed his phone, so I drove straight back, straight back, people, to where I had left him to deliver his phone.  He asked if I had had to go too far out of my way and I could honestly say, "nope, I was just around the corner."  Getting lost made it all work out perfectly.

So far, the rest of my morning has been excellent as well, spent with MP, Simeon (he's sick), and Violet, buying Krispy Kreme doughnuts for Nunny.  That's about the only thing I have heard her say that she has a hankering for.  So, all the "inconveniences" and car trouble and direction challenges worked together to give me greatly enjoyed time with my adult children.  I don't like spending  money on car repairs.  It feels like there is nothing to show for it.  Something beautiful would be much more fun.  But, I still have a place to live and I will still eat (too much), and I still have clothes to wear.  In the words of Mr. L, "the money won't matter in five years," it won't matter next week.  But, what will matter next week and in five years is the time I get to spend with those I love.  Not all things work out like we would like.  Often, we can't see when things work out.  But, in this week, with our inconveniences, it worked out beautifully, and I am grateful on so many levels.  

I Hate This

I warn you, this is not my usual type blog. My general demeanor is Pollyanna, everything will be fine, nothing is as bad as it seems.  I find myself angry and frustrated this afternoon.

For 34 years, I have done walking tours, sharing Nashville and Tennessee history with school children.  I love my job.  I think understanding our past is very important.  Having said that, I know that history is not an exact science and that most every "fact" has a bias attached to it.  I get that.  I do.  

This is the first year that I have started my tour with an apologetic, if you will, for what I do.  This push in our country to blot out parts of history that we don't like, or that make us uncomfortable is ludicrous.  Absolutely, there are things that have happened that should offend every thinking human.  But, that is not all there is.  We have not only offended, we have defended.  We have not merely been destructive, we have been constructive. Neither should be forgotten. Both need to be studied so the one can be avoided and the other can be emulated.  Nor, is it fair to judge 18th and 19th century motives with 21st century hindsight. Yes, by all means, recognize the results, but it is cheap and unfair (hate that word) to judge motives.  The Lord God in heaven knows that this generation is going to be judged by the outcomes of decisions, and I am pretty sure we are going to come up lacking.  

Having said that, here is one thing I hate about the atmosphere in this country right now and for which this generation should be maligned .  Today, as I stood in front of the Sam Davis statue talking to a precious group of 4th graders, a man came walking down the hill and stepped right up to the edge of my group.  His hands were in his pockets.  I hate that my first thought was to wonder if he had a gun hidden there.  And, I was not the only adult there who wondered.  As I told Sam's story, I also wondered if I should edge myself closer to the man so that I would be between him and the children.  I figured that might buy some time when he began firing.  How sick is that?  How possible is that? This was probably somebody's sweet grandpa who was just roaming around downtown Nashville visiting the sites.  I kept talking, watching him, observing parents growing more and more uncomfortable.  As I talked, the teacher, a tiny little spitfire, walked over to the man and kindly asked what he was doing.  I don't know if she explained that it was a private tour or exactly what she said, but shortly afterward the man walked away.  I hate that I looked at that man with suspicion.  

Over the years, I have had many people come and try to join our group.  Sometimes it is a homeless person, or a person who is suffering some mental malady who wishes to tag along.  In all these years, I have only had one homeless person try to snatch an umbrella from one of the students.  We are talking hundreds of tours and thousands of students.  I have never felt afraid until today.  I realize that the shooting in Texas is fresh on my mind, and so my fear meter is very delicate.  But, I hate it.  I would like to say that in a few days, while I will still grieve with the country over the loss of lives in that tiny church in that tiny town, I will no longer have an underlying fear, but who knows when the next mass shooting will occur?  Where will it be next time?  

This is not meant to be political.  I hate politics too, while I am on the subject of hating.  I get that people want guns to hunt.  If you need a handgun to make yourself feel safe, you should have it, I guess. But, why does any private citizen need a semi-automatic gun?  Why?  Why would anyone be opposed to background checks or a waiting period (obviously, I am not clear on gun-buying procedures) before a person could purchase a gun?  I sincerely do not understand.  I am not trying to spark some asinine political diatribe.  Frankly, unless you can give me a reasonable explanation why anyone, beside someone presently in the military, needs a semi-automatic weapon, I don't want to hear your dumb arguments that this is not a gun problem, but rather a "heart problem."  No joke it's a heart problem and a head problem and, in my not-so-humble opinion, an entitled problem.  But, it is also a gun problem when any mentally deranged, or mean, or drunk, or stupid, or angry person can walk into a store, spend some money and walk out with a gun. I sincerely do not believe those who wrote the 2nd amendment could have ever anticipated the efficiency with which these semi-automatic weapons can kill.  I wonder if those who argue the right to own how many of whatever kind of gun anyone wants would change if it was their 5 year old child who was shot 5 times on a Sunday morning as he sat in church.  

Can you tell that Pollyanna has left the building?  She'll make her way back, but, this afternoon, I am so (insert your own adverb here) angry!!!!

Ramblings of a Diffused Focus

It has been an interesting week, well, actually, that may remain to be seen.  Little tidbits here and there are bouncing around in my head, which is what most thoughts do in my head ~ bounce around.

Violet ~ I had the opportunity to spend time with her on Sunday and Monday.  I dressed her for church, and it seemed impossible that 35+ years have passed since I was dressing her mama for church, with bows in her hair and just the right socks and diaper cover.  Monday, I had even more time to spend with her while her mom was on a field trip with her brother.  We had lunch at Whole Foods, where she ate like a champ and danced in her seat to the music.  She then napped in my lap. Those times, with babies asleep in my lap, are when the veil is thinnest between this realm and the next.

Walking tours ~ On three different days this week, I had boys on my tours who were on the autism spectrum.  I hope I worded that correctly and not in an offensive manner.  The first boy was on Wednesday and he was a beautiful child.  I, frankly, would have thought he had Tourette's Syndrome because of the involuntary motions of his arms and hands and his uncontrollable giggling.  The teacher told me that he was autistic and you could tell how she loved him.  He was able to sit among his friends and have his picture made.  Although, I was a bit distracted by his giggling at the beginning, I was heartened to see what a lovely day he had.

Thursday, there was another boy who also deals with autism.  Teachers are good to let me know which children need extra leniency from my simple, but stringent rules.  I always feel that they let me know so that for the child's sake I don't come down on them, but also for my own, so I don't beat myself up all day for correcting a child who is truly doing his very best.  This boy did not make any noises, particularly, he just had great difficulty in paying attention.  His aide worked hard to see to it that he was sitting where he could get up without disrupting everyone else should that be necessary. She also worked hard to have him sit with the group.  I witnessed infinite patience on her part, and a genuine interest in his succeeding.

The boy on Friday broke my heart.  Because, I have to talk loudly for 200 people to hear me on the streets of Nashville, I felt like I was tormenting this precious child.  He groaned and moaned, crawled inside his jacket as far as he could, and laid his head in his aide's lap.  She was an older lady, like me.  She had gray hair, like me.  You know, not the chic dyed gray hair, but the I-earned-every-strand-of-this gray hair.  She held his hand, spoke softly and kindly to him, did not let him separate from the group.  She must go home exhausted, but firm in the knowledge that she makes a difference.

Paulino ~ Paulino is my buddy at the church where I begin my tours. It has taken about 17 years for us to become buddies.  I asked him on Tuesday if he had a nice weekend.  At first he could not remember, then he said he had been in the hospital over the weekend.  He had an upper respiratory infection and on Tuesday, he was suffering terribly with his back. Yep, he had been in the hospital 2 days prior, was in terrible pain, but he was at work.  That is Paulino.  Last week, when I saw him on Tuesday, he had this funny look on his face.  He grabbed my arm and told me to come, he wanted to show me something.  Part of the iron fence that borders the church property had been cut away.  I asked who did that and why. Turns out, the fire department had done it.  Seems an intoxicated gentleman, while walking to his car after the Titans game, engaged in some tomfoolery and impaled himself on one of the spikes.  He would have bled to death had they removed it from his body, so they cut the iron fence and transported him to Vanderbilt Hospital with it still in him.  Paulino had already called the hospital to see if he could get the piece back, but, alas, the hospital had thrown it away.  I am happy to report that the man will be fine.  I am very glad of that so I don't have to feel terribly guilty about my fascination at such an event.

Almost a Big Oops! ~ Friday, while waiting for a light to turn to lead my 190 or so folks across the street, a very heavy man in a wheelchair was trying to make his way diagonally across the intersection at 5th and Church.  This is a dicey intersection because of construction and impatient drivers.  The gentleman was moving at a snail's pace and straining with every inch.  I dropped my water bottle and asked if I could help him.  I am always reluctant to ask ever since I was vehemently wished to drop dead after offering my assistance to someone struggling up the hill in a wheel chair.  He was very grateful for my help and thanked me profusely.  When we got to the sidewalk, I hit the curb a little hard and almost dumped the poor fellow right out onto his face.  He was quite insistent when he told me that he could get it from there.  Later I saw him asleep, out of the wind, sheltered by the small covered area of a bus stop.

Heaters and Coats ~ It is hard, at the church where I begin my tours.  They are in transition.  They have ceased feeding the urban poor on Wednesdays.  Money is one issue.  Fights breaking out among those being fed is another.  Paulino has to clean up after the homeless every morning.  They leave cardboard that served as their bed for the night, water bottles, food and bodily fluids on the front steps.  Understandably, he grows weary.  It seems many of the homeless just cannot do any better. Whether they can or cannot, Paulino's job is still frustrating.  The church has basically run out of money for the moment to help.  For as long as I can remember, it has been a place where people could come to get help getting medicine, IDs, food and other necessities.  Now, when I am asked, it breaks my heart to say there is nothing there for the needy at the moment.  One day this week, someone left two boxes.  On one box was written "free heaters" and on the other, "free coats."  Paulino left those boxes there on his morning cleanup.  Soon, they are going to lock the gates around the building so that people cannot get in the courtyard or on the steps. It is sad.  It is overwhelming.  It can be depressing if one ponders too long on how little actual help one person can offer.  I just cling to the belief that if we will all help a little, it will make a difference.

Steve ~  Steve with his top hat and tails, infectious grin and courtly manners has been missing from my daily route.  I hesitated and hesitated to ask anyone for fear I would hear that something terrible had happened to him.  Finally, I asked and braced myself for the horrendous news.  Turns out, Steve is fine.  He is just at another hotel working.  I miss him.  I hope he's happy at the new place.  I am certain that his new co-workers love him.

Wednesday Camp Fires ~ Autumn is here.  I love it!!  Wednesday was a beautiful cool afternoon.  When I picked the boys up, I told them that they would be playing outside when we got to my house.  My stars, you would think I was putting them in a concrete cell for all the whining that followed.  I stood firm.  There are lots of things in my yard with which to play.  As they ran about, I had a "genius" idea.  "Let's build a fire," I said.  And, we did.  And, it was marvelous.  We had amazing teamwork.  One boy was assigned to make newspaper logs while the other collected sticks in the yard.  We had ourselves a rousing Wednesday afternoon camp fire.  We loved it...all of us.  Max did not like smoke in his eyes so he eventually went to play on the swing while Simmy and I ate cheese crackers and sat by the fire.  If you haven't had a fireside chat with a five-year-old lately, I highly recommend it.

Thursday Night Sleepover ~  Max and Marshall spent the night with us Thursday night.  The lady of their house was off to a wedding in Arkansas.  Simmy stayed for a while and helped his mom carve their jack-o-lantern.  She did a brilliant job.  When they went home, we grilled steaks and hot dogs.  They were all delicious.  Max made sweet cards, telling us that he loves us.  He made one for Aunt P and convinced Fizzy to walk with him to deliver it.  Max and Marshall carved their pumpkin and we put fairy lights in it, set it on top of our elevated dance floor (treehouse in progress) and it looked like it was floating in air.  It was a lovely evening.

Well, perhaps, not as interesting as I thought, but I thank you for indulging me in my stroll through the week.  Now, off to run a few more Saturday afternoon errands before I flop on the sofa to watch Hallmark Christmas movies.

Wisdom ~ Part 2

Below is a question asked that covers quite a bit of ground.  Again, some of these answers come from folks who are no longer with us; sort of voices from our great cloud of witnesses.  Hope you enjoy and learn, as I have.

What factors or pressures i.e. societal, locale, family, church etc.. influenced major life decisions?

1.  Most of our major life decisions regarding where we lived were primarily influenced by my husband's job opportunities.  For many years I simply followed his and his mother's wishes as to which church we attended...which was not always fulfilling for me or our children.  Our  two families greatly influenced how we did our Christmas holidays, because we always traveled to Nashville to be with all the family beginning Christmas Eve.  Our children had Santa at home before we left.  I am not sure that we were really wise in doing this because we never established our own traditions with our children.  Now that they are grown, this is even harder, although we try not to pressure them

2.  When my grandfather heard about my new girlfriend, all he said to me was, “I hear you’re dating a Baptist girl.” I answered with a hesitating “Yes.” He responded with a disapproving grunt. As long as I dated that girl, he would always manage to work something into our conversations on the general topic of “What’s Wrong with the Baptist Church.” He never drew any connection to my girlfriend and never told me I was making a mistake. He just made his comments and let me draw my own conclusions. After I broke up with that girl, I decided to look for girls at the Church of Christ’s Christian Student Center on campus. I didn’t go there in search of spiritual fulfillment or for the quiet devotional times. I went there to look for girls. And I found one. A good Church of Christ girl. My grandfather approved. I married her. That was 39 years ago. She’s still my best friend. Marrying her was the best decision I ever made

3.  My life decisions were focused on my spiritual convictions and spending as much time as possible with my wife and our 3 children.

4. Family and church had a huge influence on major decisions.

Wisdom ~ Part 1

Several years ago I became "in charge" of a newly developing Senior Ministry at church.  I put "in charge" in quotation marks, because one is never in charge of a group of senior citizens.  They have lived enough life to pretty much know where they stand and what they want to do.  The wise ones of them, however, are always open to new notions and challenges to their thoughts and ideas.  I say "them," but I should say "us;' a fact that is hard for me to accept.

In an effort to create worthwhile activities, I ran across a book entitled (I think) The Elder Wisdom Project. It was an exchange between younger folk and seniors.  All sorts of questions were asked and answered, always anonymously so that both sides could be honest and candid.  I thought it a brilliant idea and had the lofty notion that I would publish a book of wisdom from our seniors at Otter Creek.  As happens, I allowed life to prevent my seeing this to fruition.

Until this morning, I had pretty much forgotten all about the questions and answers from that project.  MP and Violet dropped by while I cleaned out my refrigerator.  As I collected two big trash bags of detritus from my fridge, some of which was totally unrecognizable, MP began to ask me questions about my dad's family.  When she left, my senior wisdom project came to mind.  Being the eternal optimist, I saved the few questions and answers I received in an online folder.  Astonishingly, I even was able to find them.

Even as the eternal optimist, I feel doubtful that a book will ever come of this, but this blog could be an avenue for sharing some of the wisdom of my fellow seniors at Otter Creek.  There are answers here from people still at Otter Creek, some who have moved to other churches, some who have passed away.  The questions also come from such a varied demographic.  Only time will tell how consistently I will post these, because of  life...you know.

I was raised to NOT express anger in a marriage, by example.  As I grew older, my mom told me that they didn't want to scare us, so my parents deliberately decided not to argue in front of us.  As you might guess, this cripples me now in my relationship with my husband.

 

I need to know how to express intense anger when it comes up, which it does ALL THE TIME!!  I recently told him, while the kids were gone, that he really pisses me off all the time.  He replied that he didn't know I was EVER angry at him.

 

The thing is, "piss me off" really hits the nail on the head.  However, I don't want my kids to use that word...I've taken to saying "PO 456!!" or some sort of number after PO, to disguise it.  He has asked what this means and I've told him

1.  My home was just the opposite.  My father never held back any anger, and my mother tried to respond to his angry outbursts.  After many years, my mother learned to ignore his outbursts.  He wanted an argument, but she refused to engage in them.  My parents were married for 55 years and my mother taught me most about commitment.  When I got married 40 years ago, I also had a quick temper that I knew would be trouble if I let it control me.  I knew that I didn't want the kind of marriage my parents had.  It took nearly 20 years for me to finally learn patience.  I prayed for it but it did not come easily.  The biggest help to my having a better marriage was when God got my attention through a Bible study I was in. 

Proverbs 15:1  "A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger."     

 

I posted this verse on my refrigerator that day and the change in our home was immediate.  I believe it's OK to tell your husband when you are upset, or hurt by something, but pick the right time.  "Count to ten" is a good rule because it gives us time to calm down and not say things we will regret later.   I've also heard through marriage seminars " He doesn't MAKE me angry, I CHOOSE to let myself become angry.  Marriage is a lot of work (just like parenting), but it's worth the effort!

2.  My husband and I believe that one of the best ways to make children feel loved and secure is for them to see how much their mom and dad love each other.  However, disagreements and differences of opinion do happen, so that is when we've had "discussions" in front of the kids.  But never, never name-calling or disrespectful behavior.  My husband grew up with parents and family having terrible, awful arguments and we've been determined not to have our kids go through that. They do, though, need to have a safe environment to express feelings in a healthy way.

3.  We’re very sorry that you’re having to deal with this problem, but you are doing the right thing by asking for help. It is very important that you find a way to discuss your concerns with your husband. Otherwise, they will eat you up inside. They will grow and intensify. Putting off the discussion only makes it worse. Ultimately, you will come to despise your husband.

First, pray for your husband every day. Ask God to bless him. That’s all you need to ask. It’s hard to stay angry with someone that you’ve asked God to bless. And… you’ll be amazed at the ways God will bless both you and your husband.

Second, when you express your anger to your husband, direct the anger at your husband's behavior, not your husband, and try not to assign motives to his behavior. If your husband did something that hurt you or caused problems for you, it may very well have been an oversight or a mistaken assumption on his part. There have been countless times in our relationship when one of us made a decision on the ASSUMPTION that the other one KNEW something that he/she DID NOT know. It took us years to come to the understanding that we are on the same team, that we’re working toward the same goals and not competing AGAINST each other. Generally, when one of us makes a mistake that hurts the other, it is just that… a mistake.

Third, once you’ve discussed an issue with your husband, set it aside. It’s a burden you don’t need to carry anymore. This is a tough one, but it’s important to try. We’ve walked with many close friends through tough times in their marriage relationships. When they’ve talked about their marriage problems, some couples would start with something like, “She’s always been this way. Why, on our honeymoon…” They would talk about events that happened years ago and recite long lists of arguments that dated back 20 or 25 years. Basically, they’d been having the same argument year after year.

Fourth, this seems trite, but count your blessings. Concentrate on the positive attributes of your husband. Focus on the behaviors you like. Every man has flaws. But, every man has good points, too. Said another way, be careful what you look for because that’s exactly what you’ll find. If you look for reasons to be angry with your husband, you’ll find plenty of them. If you look for reasons to love him more deeply, you'll find those, too.

Fifth, look for ways to avoid or neutralize conflict. Example: We once met a couple at a bed and breakfast. They'd been married 65 years. Every time there was a decision to be made, they would run through this cute little routine. The wife would ask the husband, "What do you want to do, Honey? Would you rather eat breakfast in the dining room on or the porch?" His reply was always the same. "Oh, I don't care, Dear. Whatever you want is fine with me." They went through this routine on every little decision--what time to go to dinner, which restaurant to choose, which activities to participate in. Their routine was always the same. It seemed silly... until we realized that it was a conflict avoidance mechanism they had developed over their years together. The wife was offering the husband the opportunity to make the decision. He was handing the decision back to her. In doing so, he forfeited his right to complain about her decision later because he COULD have made a different one. (We suppose he expressed an opinion when he had one. We just never saw it happen.)

Another example: If he keeps forgetting to take the garbage out to the curb on pick-up day, you could shake a finger in his face and demand, “Will you PLEASE take out the stupid garbage!” Or, you can just make an off-hand comment like, “Gosh, I’ll bet we have a lot of garbage this week.” Either approach gets your point across, but the second one does it with a lot less stress all the way around. (We know what you’re thinking… men don’t always handle subtlety very well, but you probably know him well enough to know which subtleties will work and which won’t.)

Finally, don’t be too hard on your parents. They did what they thought was best for you—just as you try to do what’s best for your children. All parents make mistakes. Ours did. We have. The important question is, “How do I respond now that I know my parents made a mistake?” You are responding appropriately by asking for help and trying to learn to deal with the situation.

A Horror Tale

Yesterday, the boys, Violet and I starred in a real live tale of horror.  Anyone who thinks I exaggerate was not there, and, also, possibly doesn't understand sarcasm.

After picking the boys up from school, I bring them home for a snack.  They are a bit sassy and loud, so I banish them to the outdoors.  They do not want to put on my insect repellant spray so decide to play in the driveway with sidewalk chalk, pavers painted to look like a road, and toy tanks and jeeps.  Violet and I stay inside to watch.  She is not being sassy and loud.

As we sit in the rocker watching the boys, all of a sudden, I hear loud screeching.  There is a big difference in the mad yell and the terrified and in pain yell.  They come running through the back gate, crying and screaming as a swarm of yellow jackets follows.  Max has at least 7 stuck on his shirt.  2 truths, no 3 truths about yellow jackets.  1. They will sting you through your clothes.  2. They, unlike honey bees, can sting multiple times and do not die after stinging.  3.  They hurt like a ~  fill in your own blankity, blank, blank here.

As the boys run toward me, screaming my name, I immediately see what is happening.  I quickly jerk Simmy's shirt off and get him in the house.  Trying to avoid getting yellow jackets in the house, I am using a towel nearby on the patio to brush the beasts off Max's shirt even as I am trying to get his shirt off.  One of the little buggers attaches himself to my hand and begins to sting me.  I figure this is to remind me that all the screaming and crying the boys are doing is not an exaggeration of the pain of the experience.  I use my other hand to pick him off, jerk Max's shirt off, throw it on the ground, push him into the house, scoop up Violet and herd everyone into my bathroom where I begin to fill the tub up with tepid water, hoping this will help the stinging.  Unbeknownst to me, a yellow jacket has followed us into the bathroom.  It does not take long for Simeon (Mr. Observant) to notice it, and as impossible as it seems, the yelling becomes even louder.

I plop Violet into my laundry basket, give her some dirty clothes to play with as I go about trying to kill the one tenacious, persistent yellow jacket flying about the room.  Finally, I take my sock off, grab him off the window sill, smash him and flush him down the toilet.  Never have I felt such vengeful satisfaction.  I remember that MP had ordered pizza earlier in the day to be delivered for our dinner around 4:30 or so.  It is now 4:45 and I am wondering if the pizza deliverer is here, for Heaven knows, I would not have heard him above the screaming.  I tell the boys to just soak in the tub, grab  Violet, run to the front window where I see the pizza deliverer's truck.  I rush to the patio, find him on the phone talking to my son-in-law whose phone number is connected to the pizza order, cram  $7 into his hand, apologize for his having to wait, ask him to just set the pizza in the kitchen, and run back to the bathroom, hoping he is not a mass-murderer.

Violet is unceremoniously set back in the laundry basket, Simmy is begging to get out of the tub.  He is freezing because he has no extra insulation on his bones.  I get him out, wrap him in a towel, rock him as I sit on my broken toilet seat, which numerous times creaks with threats of dumping Simmy and me onto the floor.  Finally, Simmy wants to sit on my bed, but not put any clothes on.  He's hungry.  In the meantime, all of Max, except for his nostrils, is covered by water.  He is crying and scratching, but in typical Max fashion, raises his head just enough to ask, "Mellie, did Violet get stung?"    I also figure out later as he was screaming, "Mellie, get Violet out of here," he was worried that she might get stung, rather than being concerned that she might see him naked, which is what I thought he was worried about.  Seriously, the boy is such an empath.

I wrap Simmy back up in a towel, set him on my bed, pull the feather comforter up around him, grab a beach towel to put across his lap, grab him a piece of pizza, and he enjoys sitting in bed, eating as if he was a king sending his minion to fetch what he needed.  He's a funny guy, and as Marshall said later, both boys are very dramatic, but Simmy has a Shakespearean air about his performances.

Early on in this saga, I text (talk to text ~ never a good idea), the parents of these two wounded boys.  What I meant to say to their parents was that I felt I should let them know that the boys had been stung multiple times.  I just felt they should know that because we had no reference as to whether they are allergic or not.  I have an epi-pen for just such an occasion, which I did not use yesterday, because as MP said, I probably had more adrenaline coursing through my body than any epi-pen could deliver.  My talk to text actually ended up saying that I needed directions because the boys had been stung and that I had gotten into a cold bath tub.  I'm sure their confidence in my ability to take care of their children took a hit with that text.

MP is in a mandatory class for work and can not leave. She is texting and sending me signs to look for to indicate a sever allergic reaction.  Marshall leaves where he is immediately, stops and buys children's Tylenol  and Benadryl.  Josh hurries over from real estate business in East Nashville and Sheri leaves work as soon as possible.  The boys are picked up.  I take Tylenol, Advil and Benadryl and go to bed around 8:00.  This morning, all of us seem to be doing exceptionally well, I am happy to report.  Violet is bound to grow up to be and ER Doc, because she is most calm in a storm.  Never did she even whimper.

I am beyond thankful that neither boy had  anaphylaxis and that Violet was not stung.  If we had added a ride in the back of an ambulance to the hospital, my calm may have departed.  Now, what we have is just another story the boys can tell of their days together at Fizzy's and Mellie's.  I am somewhat shocked that a neighbor did not call the police.  It was obvious that something terrible was happening at my house.  I am grateful that the pizza deliverer was not a mass murderer.  I am grateful that Advil, Tylenol and Benadryl exist.