The Day the Earth Stood Still

Friday afternoon I answered a call. From a number I didn’t recognize.

It was a man whose name I neither knew or recognized.

He asked my name. I said yes, I was she.

He asked if my daughter’s name was Miss A. I said yes, it was.

He began to speak.

My heart stopped.

My breath caught in my throat.

The earth stood still.

I listened carefully.

Then I began to move.

I gathered my things and ran for the door and my car. Phone still pressed to my ear.

Listening to the man I didn’t know and will never meet describe my second-worst nightmare.

Miss A had been in an accident. She was being transported to the hospital.

The extent of her injuries was unknown.

And she was 2&1/2 hours away.

I called TWH. When he answered, I yelled “I’m going to Jackson!!”

He didn’t even need to ask. He told me to come to his office.

I told him to meet me at the house, I was already on the interstate.

Then I went into crisis mode.

I work well there.

I plan. I organize.

I think.

20 minutes later, I’d pulled into my driveway and I had a plan of action.

Pack clothes. TB with friends. Dogs to groomers.

30 minutes later, we were on the road and my phone was busy.

I spoke with police officers.

I spoke with EMT’s.

I spoke with my child.

We both cried.

I finally get to Jackson.

I walk in to the trauma room and see Miss A.

On a gurney with an oxygen mask, a cervical collar, and covered in blood.

Worse than I thought.

So much worse.

The earth paused again.

I take it all in.

Then I move.

I kiss my child.

I hold her hand.

I ask questions.

I start to clean off the blood.

It’s not as bad as it looks.

But it’s bad enough.

She is bruised and broken.

But she is alive.

And she needs me.

She asks me not to leave her.

I promise I won’t.

And she sleeps.

Just for a minute.

She wakes up and calls for me.

“I’m here Baby. I’ll always be here.”

She is alive. She is whole. She will heal.

I see pictures of the car later.

I realize what a miracle this is.

And I weep.

I weep because she is alive.

I weep because she is whole.

I weep because she will heal.

I weep because she came so very close to not.

I weep because my world will continue as it was.

With both my children to hold and love.

But I will ALWAYS remember the day the earth stood still.

And I will pray it never happens again.


Aaaaahhh Springtime. We meet again.

Okay, so. As I’ve mentioned before, I have a love/hate relationship with the Spring. It makes me simultaneously joyful and sad for a multitude of reasons. But I try every day to chose the joy. Some days I fake it. Some days I find it. Every day I try.


This year has already surpassed last year in the joy category. I’ve surrounded myself with an absolutely amazing group of people who make my heart sing. I’ve deepened relationships that already meant a lot to me. I’ve created new ones that bring me laughter and joy.


I should, by all accounts, have no complaints. But then things happen like my trip to SAMS yesterday.


Yesterday I realized that Miss A is really and truly going off to college in the fall.  I realized it when I saw an ottoman and looked closer to see if it had storage in it because it had a cute pattern on it and I was going to snap it up to put in Miss A’s dorm room.


OMIGAWD MY KID IS GOING TO COLLEGE!!!  When in the fuck did this happen!?!?  Cue the funk.  Cue the tears.  Cue the wallowing and the worry.


She’ll be 18 in a little over two weeks.  In a few months, she’ll leave her Dad’s house and go on to carve out her own space in the world.


I worry that she’s not ready.


I worry that she’s enough like me that she’ll be too stubborn or proud to ask for help when she needs it.


I worry that she still leaves wet towels on her bed.


And wears mis-matched socks on the regular.


I worry because she’s my Baby Girl.


And I want the world to be kind to her. Even though I know some days it won’t be.


I worry, and I hope.  The world is a big, scary, wonderful, amazing place.


I hope she experiences it all and comes out all the better for it.


Some days this Momma gig kicks you right in the ass.

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I’m Scarring TB For Life

Okay, so. Awhile back, we yanked out the shower in TB’s bathroom so we could put in a new tub & tile surround. We got about halfway done tiling when we hit Cancertown with my Mother-in-Law. In the interim, TB has been showering in our bathroom.

Tonight it got to be around 8:00 and I looked at TB and said “Go get a shower” This is what went down:

Me: Go get a shower.

TB: Awwwww…. WHY do I have to go get a shower NOW?!?!

Me: Because I’d like to get a shower in about an hour and you take for-ev-er.

TB: No I don’t!!

Me: Yes you DO. There’s your pre-shower dump, your use-all-the-hot-water shower, and the time it takes for the hot water tank to refill. By 9:00, I’ll get to take a lukewarm shower. Now GO.

TWH: You’re so mean.

Me: HOW/WHY am I MEAN!?!?

TWH: You just ARE. I din’t know how or WHY…

TB: (in his room) *gripe, grumble, groan*

Me: Never mind Boy. Take as long as you want in the shower. I wanted to go to bed early because I was thinking your Dad might get lucky. He just shot that all to hell.

TWH: Omigod Woman!! You’re gonna scar TB for LIFE!! Poor kid….

Me: *Giggle. Snort. Snerk*

Maybe I can be a little TOO honest sometimes…..



A Break (And a Throwback Post)

Okay, so. As you all know. We got shoved into Cancertown this weekend. Totally against our will and looking kinda shell shocked. It was a long, Love-Filled, Fambly-filled, Sad, Scary, Laughter-filled, Exhausting weekend and we’re home for now. Whether it’s for a few days or until the weekend we don’t know yet.

I’m sitting in my living room with a stress pimple eating the side of my face, in sweats I picked up off the floor of my closet this morning watching Maroon 5 Takeover (Adam Levine is pretty) and thinking about what I have to say this morning.

It ain’t much. I’m exhausted and just trying to keep up with life at this point.

However, I DO have a Miss A story for you. It’s one of my favorite Miss A stories and I tell it A LOT.

Wanna hear it?? Here it goes….

I’m a swearer. I swear A LOT. Every swear word my kids know, they learned from me. Probably in the car going up & down I-12 in Baton Rouge. I swear, these folks drive with their heads wedged firmly up their asses.

Anyway, one day we’re all in the car going merrily on our way to who-knows-where. Miss A was about 3 at the time and was a sponge. She absorbed EVERYTHING. Y’know, like little kids do. So we’re tooling along when some asshat comes out of nowhere and changes lanes without looking or signalling causing TWH to slam on the brakes because the guy was trying to change lanes where we were currently driving. I yelled out “OH!! You SCHMUCK!!” as we continued on our way unscathed. From the backseat, Miss A pipes up: “Mommy!! You know what you forgot to call him??”

I cringed. I had NO idea what was about to come out of my sweet baby’s mouth. I said “No Baby. What??”

Miss A says “A JERK!!”

WHEW!! She said JERK!! I dodged a bullet there!! Relief washes over me. “Yes baby. He’s a Jerk.”

Miss A, however, is not QUITE finished with her assessment of the offensive drivers character. “Mommy!! You know what ELSE you forgot to call him??”

I’m thinking I’m in the clear at this point and am feeling pretty awesome. I ask innocently “No Doodle. What ELSE did I for get to call him??”

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh…. Y’all. I was SO naieve.

Miss A replies with all the gusto a 3 year old sitting in her car seat clutching a teddy bear can muster “A FUCKING ASSHOLE!!”

I realize, at this point that I will NEVER be Mother of the Year. Partly because my 3 year old just said “Fuck”.

And partly because I was laughing so hard I got a cramp and had tears streaming down my face.

Mother of the Year is overrated anyways.


Ha Ha Cupcake

Okay, so. Many years ago, when TB was still in the single digits, he’d Nelson (from the Simpsons) “Ha Ha” someone when something unfortunate happened to them.

It. Drove. Me. NUTS!! I absolutely HATED it!! I reminded, and reminded, and REMINDED him not to say that to people. I thought it was hateful, and petty beyond measure.

One day, his class has gone on some field trip or other and I tagged along. When we arrived back at school, I checked him out. While I, and some other parents, were waiting for our offspring to collect their things and come to the office (we’re not allowed to go into the school during school hours here. We have to stay in the office) some kid in TB’s class was handing out birthday cupcakes. One little girl left the class before she got one and told her Mom she missed getting a cupcake. Her mom was busy telling her she could go back to the classroom and get one or she could get an alternative snack on the way home when TB walks in with his bag AND a cupcake. He immediately proceeded to say to the little girl. “I got a cupcake and you didn’t. Ha HA!!”

I saw red. I couldn’t believe how hateful my typically sweet, thoughtful, little boy was being by doing this.

I took action.

“Oh, Boogie!! You brought ME a cupcake!! How sweet!!” I exclaimed as I swooped down and plucked the cupcake from his chubby little hand.

TB looked at me like I’d lost my damn mind. “No Mommy. That’s MY cupcake”

I smiled at him and said “I’m sorry, but you lost this cupcake as soon as you were ugly to your friend because you got a cupcake and she didn’t. I’ve told you how nasty saying Ha Ha is and now you’re going to lose this cupcake because of it. Now let’s go get in the car”.

His principal saw the whole exchange and was valiantly trying not to laugh.

I have to say, here, that I had absolutely NO intention of eating the cupcake. I just wasn’t willing to let him have it because he’d been such a little jerk.

Then, we got in the car.

There was NO PLACE to put the cupcake!! None. I didn’t want to set it on the seat because I could just SEE me stopping suddenly and having to scrape icing off the dash and out of the carpet. I couldn’t put it in the cupholder because I’d have never been able to get it back out whole. I only had one option open to me at that point.

I ate the cupcake.

And it was GOOOOOD!!

I’m ashamed to admit that as I ate the cupcake, I extolled it’s yumminess to TB who was sitting in the backseat on the verge of tears.

“OH BOOGIE!!! I wish you could’ve had this cupcake!! This isn’t a bought -in-the-bakery cupcake!! It’s MOMMA MADE!!”

I felt kinda bad about that later.


We’ve never heard the snotty, derisive, HATEFUL “Ha HA” again!!

Life lessons people. You can nag, nudge, & prod until the cows come home but Life Lessons will work wonders.

“If you piss off your Momma, don’t be standing there holding a cupcake”.

Or DO be standing there holding a cupcake. It could be a lifesaver.


Don’t Swear in Front of My Kid!!

Okay, so.  Thanks to Hurricane Isaac, we don’t have power so I’m sitting at TWH’s office typing this.  Everyone is comparing stories of how bad their lives are at the moment.  (Let me digress for a minute by saying not only do we NOT have power, I haven’t had coffee in over 24 hours. So now, not ONLY did I have to take a cold shower this morning, I’ve barely slept, I’m uncaffeinated, and it’s SHARK WEEK for me. I win mofos!! I motherfucking WIN!!)

Anyways, I’m set up in an empty cubicle at TWH’s office with TB on his laptop in the next cubicle.  From over the wall, I hear some guy telling his tale of woe and he says “Fucking”.  For some reason, THIS makes me cringe.  I started to stand up and give him The Death Glare while pointing to TB and saying “My KID is in this cubicle!!”  Because I’m a big ol’ hypocrite. Obviously.

I’ve said before that I write like I talk. EXACTLY like I talk.  I can be heard at my house swearing like a sailor simply because I can’t get some schmutz off a dish. Or I dropped something. Or I tripped over one of the Dawgs. Or it’s a day that ends with “Y”. Whatever. My point is, for some reason, I’ve decided it’s perfectly fine for me to swear in front of my kids but for someone else to do it??
Oh. HELL. NO!!  It drives me batshit crazy.  Don’t talk like that in front of my kid!!  I’M the only one that can talk like that in front of my kid!!

Inconsiderate Asshole. Watch your damn language already!!



Okay, so. Every now and again, I take a look at all those statistics that come up when I pull up my Blogger homepage. Here are the keywords people used to find my blog.

prim & improper
down with opc
prim and improper
prim and improper pics
sarcasm regarding raising children (I’m guessing finding my blog was a HUGE disappointment here)
And last but not least:
There are so many ways I could go with this one I don’t even know where to start.


Awards Day

Okay, so. Today was Awards Day at TB’s school. He’s in the 7th grade. His school is 6th 7th and 8th grade. Your basic Jr. High. (This is relevant later, I promise).  The ceremony is by invitation only. If your kid is getting something, you get an invitation. I guess this is because space is limited and having the parents of non-recipients attend isn’t really feasible. That, and it’d be kinda mean.
The ceremony (ALL things really) is held in the cafeteria. The tables fold up to make a bench with a back. Now while this sounds pretty nifty, let me add that the tables fold up to make the most uncomfortable damn seat you will ever have the misfortune to sit your ass on for several hours at a clip. The bench that goes with the table is made for early teenager ass. Not 40 year old have had multiple kids so it’s spread a little since I was 13 ass. Dear God, deliver me from this fucking bench!!
So we sit there growing increasingly MORE uncomfortable while the assistant principal calls names for everydamnthing. Sports, Art, Perfect Attendance.
Let me address Perfect Attendance for a moment. This/these kids(s) are the educational scourge we all dread. THIS is the kid that will show up with the lung they coughed up on the bus IN THEIR BACKPACK and a case of Tylenol so they don’t break their ‘record’. Their parents can kiss my ass. And start paying my insurance deductible. I have those little fuckers names now.  I’m calling Mommas.
This one kid got perfect attendance for the third year running. He’s in the 7th grade. Remember the little factoid I threw out there at the beginning of this pointless babble?? Go back and re-read it. Yeah, you’re laughing now. Poor lil’ Bastid.
Anyways the Assistant Principal Lady FINALLY calls TB’s name. TWH & I smile giant smiles. Smiles of pride (TB made the A-B Honor Roll) and relief (Our time of Abject Misery is coming to an end).  We make it to the end of the Ceremony, grab our kid, and get the hell outta dodge. My ass is now flatter and not the good “Have you lost weight” kind of way.
I have to repeat this torture next Tuesday when we attend TB’s Spring Concert for Band. God help me.
Me AND my ass.


TB Is a Colossal Smartass

Okay, so. I may (or may not) have said before that my general approach to child rearing is “Raising My Kids With Love & Sarcasm”.  My children, obviously, have learned their lessons well.
Take for example THIS conversation I had in the car earlier. Part of it was me on the phone with TWH. Part of it was TB, who was in the car with me.
*Phone rings*
Me: Hey Baby!!  Are you almost home??
(TWH has been away on business for a few days)
TWH: Leaving the airport now. What’re you doing??
Me: Just dropped off the Dawgs at the groomers for the weekend. You’re coming home to a Dawg-free house.
TB: So what?? You’re leaving too??
Me: What the hell?? No. You. Didn’t!! (To TWH on phone) Your son just called me a DOG!!
TB: No I didn’t!! I… Uh… Just meant… I Love You?? (As he leans over to try to hug my arm)
Me: Get. Off. Me.
TWH: Let me let you go. You and TB obviously have some things to discuss.
Me: You just don’t want to be a witness.

Yeah. Remember a couple of weeks ago when I posted all gushy-like about my Little Boy growing up and becoming a Young Man??

Forget that.

He’s a Cretin.


I Am a Bad Example

Okay, so. This weekend we went up to North Mississippi for Miss A’s Sixteenth Birthday Party. Of course, there were BOYS there. Oh how I miss the days of Barbie birthday parties where all the little girls came in their little dresses. They were so much easier.
But I digress. Most of the boys there were part of a COUPLE. Fine, whatever. How bad can it be?? Right??
Stop snickering at my ignorance please.
Oh. Dear. Lawd!!  Who told these children it was okay to hang all over each other like a cheap sweater??  Every time we stood in line for something, they were pressed up against one another like they were STUCK THAT WAY!! Jebus. Something had to be done.
I finally go up to the group and announce “Alright. We’re about to go all Old School Catholic Dance here. Leave Room for The Holy Ghost.”  Of course, they listened and jumped a respectful distance apart….  NOT.
They did what teens do. They argued. Even TB who, as far as I know, doesn’t even HAVE a girlfriend yet decided to join the fray.  I, of course, did what every good parent would do. I explained our stand on the issue.  “Look. Hanging all over each other is just TACKY. You look low class. You’re together, great. You wanna hold hands, great. You wanna act like someone stuck your privates together with glue. Not. Great.”  Then I decided to give them a visual. “How would it be if I ran over to Dad and was all (insert squinchy faced air grabby bump & grind here)”. They were all mortified. Poor Miss A.  She looked at all her friends and said “Sooooo…  You met my Mom….”
It. Worked. Like. A. Charm.   For the rest of the night, whenever I saw two kids look like they were about to go all PDA I’d yell “Do you need to see exhibit A again??”. They’d jump like someone poured cold water all over them.
This just goes to prove, you can listen to me the FIRST time, or I can go that ONE step further to make my point. I’m obviously willing to.