CB's

Breaker Breaker this is Nutmeg calling for the Silver Fox.  You got your ears on Silver Fox?  How about the Heisey lady?  Good.  Yes, this is Nutmeg heading up the turnpike with The Medicine Man, Rag Doll and the Little Cracker.  We just passed a Smokey.  Hope he catches that Fighter Pilot that is about to cause a pileup.  Need us to stop and get some bread for dinner to go with the spaghetti.  Copy that.  Catch you in a few.  10-4

Until I went to college I assumed that all families communicated via CB's.  Not sure why I didn't put it together that most people didn't have the CB sitting on the counter in the kitchen or have them mounted in their cars, but I didn't think we were different than anybody else.  In my Food Science class at UT my lab partner assured me that we were not the norm.  I think we were using nutmeg as a spice when I told him that was my handle.  He couldn't wait to hear more so I told him the families names.  I ran into him this weekend and he still couldn't let it go.    

Grandpa- Silver Fox

Uncle Kyle- Gray Fox

Grandma- Heisey Lady

Minnow (known only to those who didn't really know her as Muriel)- The Little Fish 

Dad- The Medicine Man.  I mean he was a Pharmacist right

Mom- The Rag Doll

Graham- The Little Cracker.  

We would talk to each other on the one hour trip to and from Lorain.  Telling each other our "20" and when we think we would arrive.  We would listen to it to see how traffic was and to try and avoid the speed traps.  When we were at Grandma's the CB on the counter was also a scanner so we would listen to that for fun or to find out what the sirens were for.  

I think we were just ahead of our time really.  It was before cell phones so it was a good way to communicate on the road.  But even better you got to socialize with people you didn't really know. Mostly truckers which might explain my potty mouth.  You never saw their faces but for a few brief moments you interacted with somebody and listened to what they had to say.  If you didn't like it, you turned the channel.  Sometimes people shared too much and sometimes they told lies.  I think I just discovered that the CB was really the first Social Media.  

Well, I need to take a 10-200 and get another 100 Mile Coffee so I am signing off.  10-4

My Dad and Value

I am a Pricing Manager.  Most people don't have a clue what that means.  Sometimes I don't either, but basically my job is to set the prices for the products that my company makes.  I spend most of my time buried in data in spreadsheets.  I am one of those geeks that gets really excited when I learn how to do a new function in excel.  When I am not geeking out on my computer I am trying to educate everyone about value.  We all know from business school that people are willing to pay more for a product.  Sometimes that value is real and sometimes it is perceived.  Last week I had the opportunity to give a presentation at our Annual Sales Meeting. While I was giving my presentation it hit me that I had really been training for this job my whole life because I was Greg Little's daughter.  It is not an easy task to get Greg Little to part with a dollar.  I am not going to say that my dad is cheap, but my mom used to say that he was such a tight ass that if you put a piece of coal between his butt cheeks it would turn into a diamond.  I remember one time driving to Click on State Road to get light bulbs.  We walked around that whole store and dad was convinced that their prices were too high so we got back in the car and drove a few miles down the road to Gold Circle.  We saved a nickel on the light bulbs.  He was so proud.  Dad spent the beginning of his career in Pharmacy as a Director of Pharmacy but it was a natural fit when he moved into  Materials Management and Procurement.   I would have hated to been one of those guys calling on him.  Now, I have to say that Dad is always looking for a deal but he doesn't mind to pay a little more for something he feels has good quality and will last a while.  He has worn the same style of Sperry Topsiders for over 20 years.  He gets a new pair about every couple of years and the old pair becomes the weekend shoe for working around the house and yard.  You can tell how old the shoes are by the different colors of paint that are splattered on them.  (My mom likes my dad to remodel so they paint a lot.)  He has a Tilley hat that he loves mostly because it comes with a lifetime warranty.  Don't get me started on the beer.  I have a hard time seeing the value in an $8 bottle of beer.  When he buys something, he is going to buy something that lasts because he will keep it and use it forever.  A good thing when it comes to tools, a bad thing when it comes to polyester leisure suits that he would still wear today if my mom wasn't there to stop him.  So anyway, I learned from an early age that if I wanted Dad to buy something I would have to sell him on the value and that was not an easy sell.  I found out I was in good company when I was in college and had to have surgery.  I think it was surgery #3 so I knew what to expect but this time was a little different.  I knew many of the doctor's in town because Mom and Dad both worked with them and I got passed around as a babysitter through the Bristol Anesthesia Group so I knew them very well.  Dr. Smith was going to be the lucky one to put me under this time and I think he left me awake just a little longer than usual so he could make a point.  He looked down at me with his mask on and held up a vial of medicine.  He said "See this drug Meghan?  This is the drug that your dad says is too expensive.  This is the drug that will help you feel better and when you wake up you won't feel hungover.  So when you wake up and don't feel as bad as you did the last time you make sure you tell your dad".  Pretty sure that Dr. Smith would have been a really good salesman and pretty sure that Dad reevaluated his position on the value of that med.

Liam

Eighteen years ago I was miserable.  A doctor told me (mistakenly) that I would most likely have problems getting pregnant so I should start my family in my twenties and not wait.  He told me it could take years to get pregnant.  I was very career oriented and I knew that you were "supposed" to have a family, but I don't think I had that longing that some women have to have a baby.   Well, I decided to just let nature take it course and maybe in a few years I would be a mom.  Ten months later here I was.  It was three days before my due date.  I was hot, I was contracting, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't sleep and I was scared out of my mind.  I knew that once this baby came out my life would change forever and no longer be my own, but at that point I didn't care.  My friends would go walking with me in the evenings with the hope of bringing on labor but nothing was working. Then Will Campbell called.  Uncle Will, as we affectionally call him, was going to make this baby come out one way or another.  He called and said "we are walking at Steele's Creek today Meg".  We walked what felt like 10 miles and then went back to his house for lunch.  I drank a half gallon of kool-aid (the Campbell's always had kool-aid) and he made Country Style Steak and Gravy.  That did it.  Labor came a few hours later and with the help of friends and family after pushing for two hours I was a mom.

I'd like to say that I was the best mom in the world, but I don't think I was.  I suffered from post-partum depression but nobody really talked about it then so I suffered in silence.  I think motherhood is harder for control freaks.  I was the one who was always in control, but not now.  I did ok when people were around, but when it was just the two of us I didn't know what to do with him.  With the help of a pacifier and a swing we eventually got into a groove. My friend Diane calls the early stages of infancy the pupa stage and I think this is spot on.  I did much better once Liam actually started to do and notice things.

I think looking back over the years what amazes me most is not how much Liam has changed, but how much he has stayed the same.  The first time my friend Torie saw Liam she commented that he was an old soul and I agree.  Even when he was a toddler he acted like a forty year old man.  He would stand and raise his arm with his index finger extended and proclamate his thoughts.  When he was cast as the Mayor of Munchkin Land in the Wizard of Oz we felt it was a typecast.  He has always been headstrong.  A trait that I admire, but is difficult to deal with as a parent.  The toddler years were a little rough at times, and I think I would just like to forget most of his transition through puberty.

School was always interesting.  At his first parent/teacher conference in preschool the teachers sat us down and told us how bright he was and felt he was very intelligent, but they expressed their concerns about the fact that Liam did not like to color.  Hmmm- at his conference last year the English teacher told me how bright he was and expressed her concern at how he didn't like to do his homework.  Somehow we have made it through and unless something drastic happens he will be graduating with an advanced diploma in the spring.  He is even considering a career in teaching, which I think is a testament to all of his teachers over the years.

I could go on and on with stories as all parents can, but instead I would like to use this time to thank all of you who have helped form Liam into the young man that he is today.  To my husband- Thank you for stepping in and teaching Liam how to be a good responsible man.  To my parents- saying Thank You for everything isn't enough, but Thank You.   To any of you who have babysat, carpooled or supervised sleepovers- Thanks.  To any of you who have listened to me vent when things were out of control- Thank you.  To anyone who has shared wine with me- Thank you.   To his teachers- Thank You.

But most of all- Thank You Liam.  I know I was not always the perfect parent, but I hope you won't have to pay for too many years of therapy to fix what I did wrong.  You taught me how to put someone else's needs before my own.  You taught me how to have unconditional love.  You taught me how to control the things you can, but to just let go of the things you can't.  You taught me how to be a mom and that is the best thing in the world.

Kickball

Here we are.  The 1983/1984 Kickball Champions of Chapel Hill Christian School.  We were the 6th graders.  The 6th graders were always the champions, but we were almost the first class in history to be champions not once, not twice, but three times.  Almost.  We almost beat the 6th graders when we were in 4th grade.  We almost beat the 6th graders when we were in 5th grade.  It came down to the final inning both years, but alas, the 6th graders always win.

Playing kickball was an integral part of my childhood.  Not only was it the most important thing in the world at CHCS, but on my block as well.  I was the Queen of kickball.  Mostly because I was the only girl.  We lived on a block where our parents kicked us out of our houses in the morning and except for a brief lunch we weren't allowed to come in until the street lights came on.  We very rarely went inside each others house.  We found all sorts of things to do- ride bikes, play games, ignore Graham, torture Graham, get Graham in trouble, etc., but my favorite was kickball.  Home base was a crack in the road.  First base was the corner of my driveway.  Second Base was another crack in the road.  Third base was the Vandeveer's driveway corner.  We picked teams and would play for hours.  Time Outs were when a car came and we had to get out of the street.  I never was very good in the field.  I really can't catch a ball which is why I gravitated to playing soccer.  I could kick fairly well and wasn't afraid to steal a base.  I honestly have no idea how we decided the game was over and I don't even remember winning or losing.  I just remember playing.  Eventually we all outgrew playing on the street.  Somebody would hit 7th grade and they just wouldn't come out as much and eventually would just quit coming.  Even though we all lived on the same block we went to different schools.  We started hanging out with out our school friends and doing school activities more.  I think I knew we had grown up when one of my friends started to think one of the neighbors was "hot".  (You guys can guess who it was- I'm not telling).  I never thought about the boys in the neighborhood like that and knowing my friends did made it completely awkward.

I got to relive my kickball days this past weekend at one of my favorite people in the whole world's milestone birthday party.  I have to say that adult kickball might be more fun than kickball in the street.  We didn't have to listen for our parents to call.  We didn't have to watch for cars. And let's just say the beverages were much more fun than water.  Although I did find it was even harder to catch a ball with a wine glass in my hand.   I finally found a home for the glass.  Too bad it was under the electric fence.  I had a minor surgical procedure a few weeks ago and couldn't quite give 100% (that is my excuse and I am sticking too it).   My team gave me the nickname of Post Op.  I am thinking of having it put on the back of a t-shirt.  I have to say though that my body does not like kickball as much as it did in 6th grade.  Maybe I will just need to play some more to get my game back.

I'm Sorry Lou Holtz

The news reported the other day that Lou Holtz's house was heavily damaged by fire from a possible lightning strike.  Let's just say that my family knows better.  I am not sure what Mr. Holtz ever did to Maddie Little, but it must have been really, really horrible.  I am pretty sure the two never met, and I don't think she ever even saw him from afar, but I can't think of anyone who could make her blood pressure rise more.  Poor Jason caught the brunt of her anger on Saturday's.  Jason would be at home watching a football game and the phone would ring.  He would answer and Grandma would be on the line screaming "did you see what that son of a ***** just did.  What an a******e.  I can't stand that man" and then she would hang up.  Jason didn't even get to respond.  On a good day he would get one call.  The more the cameras showed Lou, the more phone calls Jason got.  We aren't really sure why she just didn't turn the channel. I guess for her it was like a train wreck.  Horrible to watch, but just can't keep looking.  Sometimes for fun we would just say his name to see the reaction.  Sometimes it was subtle.  A simple "hmph", roll of the eyes, and she would try and ignore us, but most of the time we got the list of expletives that she used to describe him.  The one I never understood was when she used to yell at the tv saying "Look at him.  He looks like a woman". The SOB is a woman".  Grandma was kind of a feminist in her own way so that one just didn't make sense.  When he left Notre Dame it only got worse.  Thank God she never got to see him as an analyst. I think it would have sent her over the edge.

Me personally, I could care less about Lou Holtz. Seems like he was a pretty good coach and inspired many players.  I mean, it's not like he is that a*****e Lane Kiffin, right.

So, Mr. Holtz, on behalf of the Little family we apologize for what our Grandma Little did to your house.  I am sure you noticed that there was an increase in thunderstorms around you since she passed.  I am sure she had been aiming for you since she got up there.  She didn't have very good aim, but she must have met some angel who is a USC fan who helped her finally hit her mark.

Chronic Lyricosis

I love to sing.  I am not a great singer.  I am not horrible singer, I can hold a tune, but I am not solo material.  But I don't care.  I love to sing.  I subscribe to the theory that even if you don't sound great, you will sound better if you sing louder and scrunch your face up with head slightly cocked to one side.  If a fan is blowing your hair a little even better.  I have a problem though.  I really could care less about what the words are in a song.  Oh sure, there are some lyrics that I totally "get" and really like, but it is the music that I really are about.  My friend Sharon used to tease me because many of my favorite songs are filled with woo hoo's, uh huh's and heyyyyyyyyy.  ( and I said heyyyyyyyyy heyyyy heyyyyy. What's going on).   If a song goes from low notes to high or high to low a lot, oh yeah!!!!  If a song has some screaming that can only be sung with a microphone held right up your mouth while leaning in to said microphone on a stand (picture any song by Whitesnake) OMG.  When I was in college Karaoke came to Tennessee.  We went to our normal bar and instead of a band there was this microphone and a screen and they were trying to get people to come up on stage and sing.  This was way before people started taking this seriously.  Nobody was going and they started to offer prizes to get people up there.  My friends looked at me and said we will buy your beer for the rest of the night if you get up there and sing "I Am Woman Hear Me Roar" one of the few songs I know all the words to, because, well, I Am Woman.  I of course said yes and promptly went to the stage.  I nailed it.  Well, not really , but the beer made it feel like I did.  I may not have been on key, but it definitely broke trump and the stage was filled from that point on all night.  The nice(?) thing about Karaoke at that time is they gave you a tape of your song when you left.   So you would always have that memory.  Ha. Well, my mom was coming to town the next day to take me shopping. We had a great day and she was dropping me off at my BFF's apartment in Lake Court and what should be blaring from somebody's stereo - my performance.  My mother, who knew the Helen Reddy song was my anthem said "Meghan, is that you?" I didn't have to answer.

I still love Karaoke.  I am always slightly annoyed by (jealous of) those people that actually sound good.  Some of best memories are with Karaoke songs

Family Tradition
Your're So Vain
Fat Bottom Girls
and of course the song that brought "the law". - The Time Warp

I am afraid I passed on my singing style to my children, but I think they may actually have some hope.  Owen was listening to Uptown Funk the other day and told me in his most serious voice " Mom, this is the song that cured my chronic lyricosis."  I was so so proud.

The bird that changed everything

When I first moved to Tennessee there were so many things that were different.  People spoke differently.  People dressed differently.  People ate differently.  People were just different.  Not good or bad, just different.  People were definitely more polite.  Everyone acknowledges you when you pass them on the street.  Young people address you as Ma'am ( not sure how I feel about this one now)  In general, people just seem friendlier.  This is all really great, but when you first get here it takes awhile to acclimate and lose some of your how shall we say it... brashness.  I admit it, I am a bit dramatic at times and tend to fly off the handle.  Now in my defense, I may rant and rave, but after I get it all out I can be reasoned with.  I am lacking in the impulse control department and God forgot to put one of those filters that helps you keep your mouth shut in me.  I have improved over the years (no comments please) but I was pretty much just full of myself when I was 16.  I had just started driving to school.  Driving my mom's Dodge Aries because I hadn't mastered the stick shift in my Omni yet.  I pull into the parking lot and did the classic pull through the parking space.  Problem was I didn't see the car coming at the same time.  We both slammed on our brakes.  No impact, no damage, but I did what every good driver from Northeast Ohio would have done in that situation.  I flipped the other driver the bird.  If I had been in Ohio I am sure that the other driver would have returned my salute, laughed it off and been on her way, but I was not aware yet that the bird has much more impact here in the South.  Nice people just don't flip the bird here.  Especially nice young ladies.  The other driver did not appreciate my telling her that she was #1 so she promptly jumped out of her car. I have to break here to tell you that the other thing that I had not really learned about the South yet was how to handle the species "Redneck".  These Rednecks were different than any other species I had encountered.  They generally were not very cerebral, and tended to be very physical.  While now I have come to appreciate this species, and even call a few friends, at this time I was way out of my league.   I don't remember much about what happened because she was in my face so fast I couldn't even think.  And to make matters worse this poor girl was cross-eyed.  It is one thing to have somebody in your face screaming they are going to kick your ass, but it was really hard to know which direction I should be looking to face her off.  I kept looking over my shoulder to see who she was looking at.  Didn't help matters.  I remember her saying something about teaching a "preppy" girl a lesson and me spouting something about you don't want to mess with me.  We were in a standoff.  But wait, who do I see walking up the stairs that could save the day- John Byers.  I thought surely my friend who was such a nice young man would come and help me.  But alas, John said "Hey Meg" and promptly ran into the school.  Apparently this cross-eyed redneck girl was to be avoided at all costs.  I tell myself that John chose his future career in law enforcement because he felt so guilty about leaving me there to fend for myself.  He swears he didn't know what was going on- whatever.

I would like to say that the story ended there, but it didn't.  Redneck Crazy Eyes and her entourage made a game of chasing me around the school all week.  I thought it couldn't get any worse, but the enforcer of this group was a huge huge woman.  Not a girl, an Amazon woman.  I am pretty sure she was about 6'2 and at least 250.  I am pretty sure she was a 19 year old Freshman. She could have squashed me.  She took the lead in bullying.  They were everywhere I went (except my classes of course.  does that sound snotty- sorry)  Finally I was at my breaking point.  I just wanted it over.  I saw Amazon down the hall coming at me.  I grabbed a hold of the boys arm next to me and said "Todd- whatever you do don't leave me."  Todd, was a good friend, but even he wasn't going to stand up to this bunch.  He let go.  She pushed me up against the locker.  I said "you have been chasing me around for a week, if you are going to hit me, hit me now."  She pulled her arm back ready to strike and in comes Randall Jones.  Vice Principal extraordinaire.   He grabbed us both and dragged us to the office.  Now that I was safe I spouted off- "if I get kicked out of the National Honor Society for this I am coming after you B*****"  I showed her.  I got off with a warning and instructions to let a teacher know if I was getting bothered again.  I think Amazon ended up in ISS.  (note to my kids- getting good grades and having your teachers like you does help in situations like these)

I would like to say that the whole incident taught me to keep my mouth shut, but I think we all know that it didn't.

I don't know what ever came of Redneck Crazy Eyes and Amazon Woman.  I hope that they don't remember incident and have gone on to do great things.  For my safety and/or their anonymity if they have reinvented themselves- if you know their names, just keep them to yourselves.