Thanks Mom

  

It's Mother's Day and I would like to officially thank my mother.  I have so much to thank her for.

She carried me around in her womb for nine months and then gave birth to me.  Having given birth three times I know this is no easy task.  I am sure it was even harder in 1972 working on your feet all day as a nurse.  I like being in this world, as crazy as it is, so for this I thank her.  She also supplied all my basic needs- food, shelter and water.  Today I think we sometimes take those things for granted, but we shouldn't.  I want her to know that now I know that those things don't just appear.  She had to work for them.  While I am very grateful for having a childhood that all my basic needs were met, I am most grateful for the things that my mother taught me.  Here are just a few.

#1 When faced with a unpleasant task don't put it off.  Put on your big panties and just get through it.  My mother used to tell us she didn't understand the language "whine".  We could whine all we wanted but it wasn't going to get us anywhere.  Even if something hurt you just needed to grit your teeth and push through. This life lesson has really served me well, especially when dealing with children's vomit and explosive poo. One of my doctors loves to tell the story of the time my mom (who was his nurse) helped with a small procedure on me at his office.  It was painful.  Really, really painful.  As she held my hand, stroking my head she said "suck it up Meghan, you can get through this".  The doctor still to this day tells me how strange it was to see his nurse who was known for offering so much compassion to his patients just basically told me to get over it.  What the doctor didn't know, is that if my mother had acted any differently not only would I be in the same amount of pain, but I would have been terrified that something was wrong because she was coddling me.

#2 If you say you are going to do something- do it.  My mother is a woman of her word.  Let's say you are fighting with your brother in the backseat of the car and your mom says if you don't stop she is going to stop the car and make you get out.  Most kids know their mom is not serious.  My mom was serious and Graham and I learned the hard way.  Standing on the side of the road outside the car.  Now, she let us back in pretty quickly, but when she says something, she is serious.  But more importantly, you can rely on my mother to do what she says.  No matter what.  If you ask for her help and she says yes, not only will she help, but she will go far beyond what you expected her to do.

#3 Sitting around feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to make you feel better.  My mother is a firm believer that the longer you sit and wallow in your pain the harder it is going to be recover.  I think that is why she liked working in the recovery room at the surgery center.  When you are coming out of anesthesia all you want to do is sleep and the nurses are yelling at you to wake up.  They are making you sit up and drink something.  They know you don't want to wake up, but you have to.  My mom knows that you always feel better if you get up, take a shower and do something.

#4 Take pride in how you look. We butted heads on this life lesson.  A Lot.  Over the years my definition of taking pride was much different than my mothers.  One thing we always agreed on is a you should pull an outfit together with a statement piece, we just had differing opinions on what the statement should be.  She was really not fond of my black Depeche Mode, Smiths, and INXS t-shirts  and she just shook her head with my thick wool socks and Birkenstocks.  My mother would never ever in a million years leave the house without lipstick.  I don't quite live up to those standards, but I do think that it is ridiculous to go to out of the house in your pajamas.  I mean really people, it takes less than a minute to throw on some pants and a t-shirt.  I am not typically a judgmental person, but if I see you in public in your pajamas all I can think about is the fact that you haven't changed your underwear and I think that is gross.  I hate pajama day at school and I make my kids wear clean pajamas that they have changed into when the dreaded day occurs.

#5 Life is better when you are not afraid to step outside your comfort zone and not take yourself so seriously.  My mom has had so many friends throughout the years.  She has surrounded herself with friends from all different walks of life with different backgrounds, interests and lifestyles. She is not afraid to try something new and out of character.  I remember my mom going to see the Rocky Horror in the 80's and a drag show in Key West. She took me to see Madonna and U2 in the '80's.  She shocked us all when recently she got not one, but two tattoos.

These are just a few life lessons that I learned from my mother.  The most important one is that I learned she is always there for me, no matter what.  Thanks Mom.

Punch

I am on a mission and I need some help.  I want to bring punch back.  Let's just say I love punch.  We always had punch at parties when I was growing up.  There are so many things about punch that make it fabulous.  

First- the color.  Who doesn't like to drink pink, or orange, or green! 

Next- the fact that it is like getting dessert before dinner.  How often does that happen?  And it has sherbet in it.  Sherbet is lovely and as I get older and more lactose intolerant it is becoming even more lovely. Yes, I know it has some cream, but not as much as ice cream so the hangover isn't as bad.  Also, I can send my BFF the English Major into a complete tizzy by calling it sherbeRt.  Owen said it right when he called it her trigger word.  

Punchbowls.  Punchbowls are so pretty and so impractical.  It is like a deviled egg plate.  It only has one function.  Punchbowls (and deviled egg plates) spark joy in me and I will fight Marie Kondo if she says otherwise.  (just kidding- who would fight Marie Kondo- she is so adorable and really my zen hero).  My mom has a gorgeous Candlewick punch bowl with matching cups and I am publicly stating that it is mine.  Hands off Graham!!!!

Lastly- HELLO!!!- FROTH!!!  Gorgeous, lovely, foamy froth that you can slurp off the top, or try and tilt your cup just right so you save it until the end and then go hide in a corner and try and lick it all out without getting it on your nose.  

Can I say it again- I LOVE PUNCH! While sherbet punch is definitely my favorite, I am also a fan of the clear sparkly punch made with juice and ginger ale.  Bonus if there is fruit floating in it and OMG if there is a molded ice thingy with the fruit frozen into it.  

Now- let's talk about adult punch.  You may be shocked, but I love adult punch too.  My only request is that if there is adult punch and there are kids present, there should be two punch bowls. It would just be mean to drink punch in front of a kid and tell them they couldn't have any.  

So let's all say it together- We Love Punch!  We WILL Bring Punch Back!!  We can do it.  We can do it for our kids.  I don't want my kids to miss out on this glorious decadence that eats up all my weight watchers points for a day.  We can all agree on punch.  Maybe punch will be the thing that brings us back together.  We can all wear creamy orange hats that say MAPA- Make America Punchy Again.   

Grandpa's Tattoo

This past weekend my dad, my brother and his wife, my cousins Jason and Ness and their respective spouses, and I spent the afternoon at winery.  My grandfather used to spend quite a bit of time at this particular winery- The Quarry Hill Winery and Orchard when it was just an Orchard.  In addition to going there to buy fruit my grandfather would walk the orchard after it rained and search for Native American Arrowheads.  I never went with him, but I can imagine him walking up and down the rows. 

As we raised our glasses to toast him the stories started to flow.  My dad told us stories of spending summers on the boat.  He told us that many times as a kid he would go to sleep at the Beaver Park Yacht Club in Lorain and wake up in Put in Bay.  He could only imagine that probably somebody who was several cocktails in would say- "Let's go to the islands" and they would race over.  Dad loved summers on the lake.  He was pretty much left to his own while his parents partied the summer away. 

My Grandpa always had a very special way of saying things.  For instance, when we weren't moving fast enough for him he would yell- Do you want a size 10-1/2 boot up your ass.  Sure, he could have just said get moving, but then how would I remember his shoe size.  He was not a fan of facial hair.  Instead of saying you need a shave, he would say why cultivate on your face what grows naturally on your asshole.  We never had to worry about knowing how he really felt that is for sure.

Whenever we start on the Grandpa stories inevitably the poem comes up.  It starts "There was a little bird, no bigger than a turd..."  Grandpa would say that and never continue.  He would promise that one day he would finish it, but not until we were older.  He never told me how the poem ended.  I believe he eventually told Jason, but Jason was holding on to the secret.  Well thank goodness somebody invented the internet because otherwise we would never know. 

There was a little bird,
No bigger than a turd
Sitting on a telephone pole.
He ruffled out his little neck, and he shat about a peck
As he puckered up his little asshole. Asshole, asshole, asshole, asshole,
As he puckered up his little asshole.

Grandpa sure did use the word asshole a lot.  Grandma did too, but when Grandma said it she was talking about a person.  Grandpa was actually talking about anatomy.  (see we got science lessons too)

The best story of the day was when I asked my dad if my Grandpa had a tattoo.  I couldn't remember if he had one or not.  In my mind it was an Anchor, but i just wasn't sure.  My dad laughed.  He said don't you remember when Grandpa would ask if you wanted to see his tattoo?  If you said yes he would lift his shirt exposing his un-tattooed torso and point to his belly button.  He would say, I used to have a Hula Dancer but now she is faded and all that is left is her asshole.  I can never look at a Hula tattoo the same again.

Summer

 This is right before I was thrown in the lake.  You can tell I hated this camp.

 Random summer photo.  I felt so beautiful with my jewelry and feathered hair pulled up on one side.

 Grandma and Grandpa Little's Backyard

My kids are getting ready for summer break and everyone keeps asking what they will do for the summer.  As a working parent the stress of finding childcare for an entire summer can be very daunting.  I am lucky this year that between parents, in-laws and camps my two younger kids will not have to fend for themselves.  Sorry Liam- you are 20.  You are on your own buddy. 

I don't know about everybody else but all my summers as a kid just run together until I was about 15. It isn't a bad thing, it is just hard to remember what happened in what year.  These are some of my favorite summer things that happened every year.

Cedar Point.  For those of you who have not been, you are missing the greatest roller coasters in the world.  I haven't been in many years.  I hope that the Antique Cars and the Blue Streak are still there.

Water Works- the community pool in Cuyahoga Falls.  It seemed so big to me as a kid.

Szalay's Corn.  The best corn ever.  We may have good tomatoes here in Northeast Tennessee, but nothing tastes like Szalay's corn.  We would go pick it up in Peninsula and bring it home.  Graham and I would sit on the porch and clean it so mom could boil it.  The cob holders had a special home in the little cabinet with drawers that hung on the wall in the kitchen.  I don't remember what else lived in that cabinet, but I am calling dibs on it Graham. 

Going to Grandma's.  I would go for a week every summer.  When I got a little older I would go to the Heisey Convention as well.  We would go to Jamie's Flea Market, go bowling, go to Aunt Sis's to swim and to the Old English Parlor for ice cream.  I would hang out with Ness.  We would eat popcorn at least 3 nights a week while watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy.

Graham going to Grandpa's.  This was heaven.  I had the whole house to myself and didn't have to share.

Camp- at first it was daycamp with CYO.  We would ride the bus from Immaculate Heart of Mary to Camp Christopher every day.  I learned most of my camp songs there.  (Ohhhhhh, they built the ship Titanic to sail the ocean blue, and they said it was a ship that the water wouldn't go through.  It was on it's maiden trip, when the iceberg hit the ship.  It was sad when the great ship went down.  Oh it was sad, it was sad, it was sad when the great ship went down to the bottom of the, husbands and wives little children lost their lives, it was sad when the great ship went down).  Overnight camp was the best.  I went to Girls Camp at Stoney Glen, Camp Carl, and Beulah Beach.  More camp songs- Johnny Rubek's Sausage Machine, Up in the Air Junior Birdmen, Birds in the Wilderness.  The entire family would go to Boys Brigade Camp at Stoney Glen a few weeks after I went to girls camp by myself.  Dad was a counselor, Graham was a camper, Mom was the nurse and I was the poor pre-teen girl that had to spend a week at an all boys camp.  Rough Life huh.  I have two bad memories of camp.  The first is at the day camp at the YMCA.  It was horrible.  The kids were mean and all we did was swim.  The second is when I went to an Eastern Star camp one year that was just plain weird.  I am sure my memories are skewed, but I remember torches and people in white robes.  The only good thing to come out of that camp was the elbow on table song.  If you put your elbows on table they would sing -Meghan Meghan strong and able, get your elbows off the table.  This is not a horse's stable, this is a first class dining table.  Stand up, Stand Up, Won't shut up till you stand up.  - then when you stood up you had to skip around the room while they sang - Skip around the room, skip around the room.  I still sing this in my head sometimes. 

Just being a kid.  This is what I remember most.  Just playing in the neighborhood.  Kickball, Tag, Mudpies, Riding Bikes, and so on.  Entertaining ourselves.  Fighting with each other and working it out.  Climbing Trees.  Playing on the porch when it was raining.  Coming home when the streetlights came on. 

Graham says there weren't Gypsies, but I am saying there were Gypsies.

We will get to the Gypsies later.  This story starts with my brother working at a BBQ restaurant on Volunteer Parkway in Bristol.  It wasn't open very long.  There is some pretty fierce competition on BBQ here and people get really loyal to what they like.  It is a hard market to break into.  Anyway, Graham was working there one summer.  Everyday he drove his little red Pontiac hatchback to work.  On this particular day he drove to work and threw his keys on a shelf in the back of the restaurant.  He was working minding his own business when he sees his car getting moved.  He freaks out, runs out of the restaurant, jumps on the hood of the car and starts yelling obscenities at the two kids in the car.  The kids freak out, jump out of the car, run into the woods and are never to be seen again.  After investigating it was found that one of Graham's female coworkers had hired these kids to steal the car.  She had taken the keys from the shelf while Graham was working.  She mysteriously disappeared as well and was never to be seen again.  

Now this is where the gypsies come in.  About this time it was well known that the Travelers were in the area and scamming people all over the place.  There were notices in the papers warning people about paying in advance to have your roof repaired or your driveway resurfaced.  I had heard that the girl that was responsible for stealing the keys was a Traveler.  Graham said she was not and I am crazy.  I think it would have been pretty hard for her to just disappear so I am going to say until he proves me wrong I will continue to say that my brother jumped on the hood of his car as it was being stolen by gypsies.  And you can't stop me Graham.  

The Draining of the Beast

It is 12:11 on March 14th, 2017. I have insomnia.   I suspect that 42 years ago my mother wasn't getting much sleep either. I do know that she was cooking date nut bars and ate most of the pan in a third trimester pregnancy craving.  I also know that she had to be rushed by ambulance to the hospital and that because there was a blizzard the cart went through a muddy spot on the way into the house and left a mark on the floor.  My 2 year old self would point this spot out until we moved.  I was probably suffering PTSD from the birth of my brother. I am really not over it.  So, in honor of my baby brother here is a Graham story.

I would like to preface this story with the fact that I was away at The University of Tennessee during this story, behaving like an angel, and had no part in it at all.  

My brother had some friends, two brothers.  I won't mention their names in case they want to stay unidentifed, but I ended up working with their dad and he has confirmed the details.  Anyway, these two boys' parents went out of town.  The parents left the boys home alone to watch the house so of course the boys and their friends planned a party.  They found somebody of age to buy them some beer.  They had it chilling in the fridge and were waiting for the evening to unfold.  Well, the parents got partway down the road and realized they had forgotten something so they turned around and upon arrival realized that the boys were up to something.  They opened the fridge and it was full of beer. Bom Bom Bom...Party over.  My dad gets a phone call and it goes something like this.  "Hello Greg, this is J*** B****r, could you come over here and get your son's beer". Bom Bom Bom. Graham's in trouble.  Dad went and got Graham and the beer.  When the got home he made Graham pour all the beer down the drain.  (Some may ask why Dad didn't drink it.   It was Milwaukee's Best Light.  You can't drink that if you are over 21.  You lose your adult card for sure.)  My dad told Graham he was grounded for two weeks minimum, but he couldn't be ungrounded until he told him who bought the beer.  Graham refused to give up his source.  After 6 weeks my Dad was begging for him to give in.  Nope.  Graham was taking it to his grave.  Eventually my dad couldn't take anymore and he let him free.  Way to protect your source dude!  

Happy Birthday Bro!

The Barn

Dad and Caroline playing with the barn.  Dad is holding the Outhouse

When my dad and my uncle were children my grandfather built them a barn.  The barn was made of wood from orange crates. I think he ordered the pattern from a magazine.   My grandfather, never one to do anything half-assed not only made a barn, but several out-buildings, a stable, fences, and an outhouse (or as he called it, the shitter). He hand made the hinges.  It was painted red with white trim and a hunter green roof.  My brother and I played with it as children and when we grew older it was moved to the garage for storage.

One day, Graham and I ran across it while we were stuck with each other with nothing to do.  When Graham and I would fight our parents would punish us by saying we had to play together.  When we were really bad we got kicked out of the house until the streetlights came on and could only come in to go to the bathroom.  It must of have been one of those days when Graham was being particularly horrible to me because for some reason we were locked out of the house playing in the garage.  We came across the barn and decided that it looked like it needed an update.  It was probably about 30 years old at that time.  We thought we do something nice for Dad and we would paint his barn for him.  We found some paint.  The spray can said green.  Graham and I were not very artistic so to us green was green.  We took the can of bright lime green paint and tried to update the barn.  I am pretty sure neither of us had ever used spray paint before. As the paint started to drip down it was very apparent that we were going to be in really big trouble.  (I can't believe Graham would do something like that.  What was he thinking?)  As usual Graham wouldn't take all the blame so we both had to tell my dad what we have done.  I remember the look on my dad's face when he saw what we had done.  I know now as a parent how hard it is to look past what was done and instead look at the intention.  My dad knew our intentions were good.  We got in trouble for getting into the paint, but not for what we did.

Fast forward 25+ years.  It was probably August because my mom was asking us what the kids wanted for Christmas.  Of course the kids really didn't need anything, but for some reason the barn came to mind.  I asked my dad to clean up the barn for Owen.  It was the best Christmas present ever.  Owen loved it and played with it for years.  When Caroline was old enough we set up the barn for her too.  Now my nephews and nieces are playing with it at my in-laws house where it is staying for safe keeping.

Thank you Grandpa Little for lovingly making the barn.  Thank you Dad for cleaning up a mess that I made so many years ago.  But most of all, thank you Dad for showing me how important it is to not just look at what someone did but to look at the intent of what they did.  It really is the thought that counts.