Monday Memories: My Family

Hey, y'all! Monday may bring us back to work, but it also brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! I, of course, missed the first one but I'm just going to combine the first and second memories together in this post.

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: My Family

This is straight from a post I wrote a year or so ago but it is perfect for this week's prompt. So, I'm going to go ahead and use it.

Our first picture together.

While growing up, I found that there are advantages to being an only child.  This is especially true when there is doting to be carried out because you are the only receiver of said doting.  And, for the first twelve years of my life I was doted on to the point of embarrassment.  Of course, there are down sides.  The obvious one being if someone broke the lamp, forgot to feed or water the dog or didn't take out the trash, there was very little detective work needed to identify the guilty party.  There is also the loneliness of being an only child.  When it's raining outside and everyone is stuck inside, you are stuck inside alone.  Well, your parents might be around but what fun are they?  Mine weren't really the type to be playing with their kid.  (Hubs and I are much cooler parents than ours were..shhhh.) My dad's only sister lived just across the street and down a couple of houses from us and she had four children- two girls and two boys.  The third child in my aunt's brood was my cousin Diane and there was but a mere six months difference in our ages and we played all the time.  I loved to go over to their house or have Diane over playing at my house.  When we all got together we would play football or softball; hide and seek or freeze tag; all the fun, active outside greatest games of all time!  They had a big family and it was FUN!  But, when the weather was bad or it was time to go inside for the evening, they got to go in together.  I had to go home alone.  I was always so jealous of my cousins and their big family.  Oh and, adding insult to injury, at lunch time during the summer?  They got to have Kool-Aid.  Oh yeah.  Even my best friend during those years (CM) had three younger brothers.  I thought that I was, perhaps, the only girl in America without siblings.  But, in the fall of 1970, all of that changed.

My parents had considered adopting a boy-- a brother for me, a son for themselves.  We had been through the countless interviews with DSS and, finally, our caseworker called and to tell my parents they had a boy for them to adopt.  I went to stay with CM while the parents went to meet the boy.  CM and I spent a good portion of that afternoon discussing brothers.  All I really knew was how to be a spoiled only child.  A role I not only took seriously, but also portrayed quite well (let's be honest- I relished it).  Even so, I was, actually, very excited that there would be someone around to spend time with when the other kids weren’t around.   Late that afternoon, my parents called to say they were on their way with my brothers.  Wait. What?  BrotherS?  I couldn't believe their words.  They were bringing home THREE brothers instead of one.  We had grown from a family of three to a family of six in only one afternoon.  

Our first Christmas together

My brothers were three actual, biological brothers, ages 9, 10, and 11, in need of a home and our parents decided that we could give them just that.  Surprisingly, there didn't seem to be much of an adjustment period…or maybe I just don’t remember.  I do remember that I went right up to each of them on that very first day and gave them great big hugs and it was like they had always been with me.  When I look back on my childhood, I can remember things I did before the boys came to live with us, but only spurts here and there and most of those memories involve my grandparents.  However, I have tons of memories with my brothers.  TONS!  And they are good memories.  When the neighborhood kids got together to play, my brothers and I joined in the fun. And, when it was time to go home?  My brothers and I went home together.  If something was broken, or forgot to feed or water the dog, or a chore remained undone—the parents had to play the guessing game or interrogate all four of us!  Rainy days?  No problem. We played inside! Together.  

Oh, and that thing about being a spoiled only child?  The only thing that changed there was my only child status.  My brothers swooped in and made the spoiled trait of mine worse than ever!  And protective?  Oh yes!  I never had to worry about anybody doing anything to me EVER.  By the same token, I was extremely protective of them as well.  I never cared what anyone said or did to me but, if they messed with one of my brothers?  Jump back Jack!  We had our fair share of  fights  disagreements but nothing that ever lasted very long. Mostly, we just had a great time being a family.   

Do Y'all Have This Problem?

I was helping DoodleBug fold her laundry the other day and I came across a pair of what used to be white 'biker' shorts- you know, spandex leggings in the form of shorts. I commented, "Been wearing these much?" And laughed. Oh, she still wears them alright. And she's had them since she played softball. When she was 10. Are you kidding me?

I asked her whether or not she had others. She does. Several pair. She wears these under her shorts while playing Ultimate Frisbee. But she still has and wears the ones she wore over a decade ago. Why?

I think it has something to do with nostalgia.

I have a few things that I keep for no other reason than they belonged to someone close to me or they remind me of some wonderful memory of my childhood.

I tend towards old movies because the actors or the movies themselves remind me of my grandparents or the good things about growing up. I even get sad when an actor of that time passes on.

There are songs on my various playlists that take me right back to those same wonderful memories.

Even a sound or smell can take me back. And I am so grateful for that. I relish those memories. They keep me close to my grandparents, even though they've been gone for a long time now.

Sometimes, my nostalgia overwhelms me and makes me long for days long gone by. But even when it does that, it's not a bad thing. I quite appreciate my nostalgic moments.

Right now, they are taking me back to the long, lazy days of summer...

• the sound of the window fan in my bedroom at night lulling me to sleep with it's soft humming
• the sound of the cicadas singing as we ran around the yard chasing lightning bugs
• the sound from the neighborhood pool- kids having fun- laughing, squealing, splashing-- 'Marco!' 'Polo!'
• the sound of the screen door slamming
• the lawn mower, barking dogs, rain beating against the house, the ice cream truck...

When school starts back, and the weather finally starts to cool just a bit, I'll be transported back to my own school days and the glorious fall season that I loved so much. And still do. Some things never change.

Every season brings a revisit to my childhood. A revisit to the childhood of the lovelies. And a brand new opportunity to make new memories.

Where do your summer memories take you?






..

They Did, I Didn't

When I was growing up, I had INFINITE HOURS of unsupervised time. My cousins and I could go anywhere in town and play. We didn't have to tell our parents every single place we were going though they knew where we started.

No one ever bothered us or made us feel unsafe. We went from house to house and yard to yard and store to store---well, just one store really, the drugstore where we could sit at the counter and get cherry cokes which were absolutely delightful!

We played and played and played. Rarely, if ever, would you find us in front of the television during the day light hours.

Some of that was  the same way for the lovelies when they were growing up. Rarely if ever would you find them in front of the television during the day. And they played and played and played. But they were NOT unsupervised.

Times were calling for more caution when the lovelies were coming along.

My parents had no reason to worry about child abductions or various other things that could happen to unsupervised kids. Ours was a small town with relatively little bad stuff going on.

By the time Breezy was in kindergarten, there was a child abductor in our area. His picture was posted on the news and his van was seen in a neighborhood close to ours.

Do y'all know when I first remember hearing about such things as child abductors. About the time Breezy was two years old. I hadn't heard of them or just hadn't paid attention until that time.

Did the lovelies miss out on their childhood because of increased risks of unsupervised play? No. They played a lot of the same games I did when I was growing up. They went just about everywhere they wanted to go. They had friends over ALL THE TIME. They participated in activities. They did it all. It's just that they did it with me along--and, no, I wasn't creepy about it or overprotective. It's not like I hovered.  

Looking back, I think that having me around all the time and involved in everything they did was one thing that made us all so close. It kept me alert and I became an adept learner of each lovely individually.

They may not have the freedom to roam alone as I did--I didn't even let them walk the quarter mile from school to home...though that was mainly because of the teenage drivers in the neighborhood who thought that it was fun to pretend like they were going to hit walkers with their cars...idiots. BUT, they were lacking in play time or participation in any activities AND they got to have their mom right there alongside them cheering them on, giving support and encouragement...

So, while my parents did allow us the freedom to roam independently, I was not able, or willing, to allow it with the lovelies. And I'm pretty sure that their childhood might have been even richer than my own because of it.

Were you more watchful over your kids than your parents were over you?

Losing

I don't care for it. Most people know that about me.

I don't like to lose when I'm playing a game of any kind. I don't like the team I'm pulling for to lose. I don't the candidate I'm voting for to lose. I don't even like to lose a heated debate.

When I was really little, I was probably one of those kids who would take her ball home if things weren't going my way. I don't recall being like that. But I probably was.Though I'm not quite that bad now.

As a matter of fact, I'm very proud to say that I've gotten much better in my method of accepting a loss. I am capable, now, of keeping my disappointment to myself. Sort of. As long as you can't read my face or my body language. At least I don't carry on like a lunatic anymore. Or make the body language really easy to read.

Mostly.

However. As much as I hate losing, I am no where near as bad as Hubs used to be. And he's an even worse winner. When I win, I'm content with the win itself. I do not have the need to rub anyone's face in it. The win, in my opinion, speaks for itself. No so for the husband that lives in this house.

In all our years- 28- I've played Monopoly with him once. Just once. He won. Bad enough. But then he proceeded to rub that win in my face. Huge mistake. HUGE.

He's much better about losing now. But the winning? It has not changed one little bit.  He will sit there with that smug little hahaIbeatyou look on his stupid face and that annoyingashell-youlost grin. And then he opens his mouth and acts like he's accomplished some great and wonderful feat that is going to change the world.

 Good thing I win most of the time. :) 

What kind of winner- or loser- are you?

AND----

You still have time to enter to win a quart of Tropical Traditions Gold Label Coconut Oil! Just go to the post right HERE.  

This post is part of the NaBloPoMo for May. The theme is PLAY. The prompt that inspired this post was:  "How did you feel as a child when you lost a game."  

 

High School PE

Oh how I hated it. And the teacher. And most of the other students. But that outfit was the worst of all.

source

Holy Crap. I've never seen anything so hideous in my life. It was like a prison jumpsuit but, instead of long pants, they were shorts. And they snapped up the front. The color? A medium shade of blue that would make you seriously consider hurling. They were similar to the one in the picture on the left. Only much, much worse in shape and color.

I'm not sure anyone enjoyed PE. Though it might have been different if we'd had a decent teacher.

This woman was the girls' basketball coach and basketball seemed to be her one and only interest. Except for her basketball players, that is.

We played basketball every day. EVERY day. Her basketball players loved this. The rest of us- not so much. On the rarest of the rare occasion that we did not play basketball, students on the basketball team did not have to participate. Nor did they have to dress out. Really? Regardless of whether or not a student had an excuse to sit-out of PE, she had to dress out. Unless she was on the basketball team. I am still amazed that our stupid teacher did not realize that this was not going to be just fine and dandy with the rest of us. Especially when they team students sat in the bleachers and had social time while we had to run drills. During basketball season, the players did not participate nor did they dress out.

One day a most brilliant non-basketball player student (I promise you, as much as I wish it had been, it was not me) decided that perhaps a sit-out (sit-in?) of sorts might drive the point home that idiot woman's the teacher's methods sucked were not fair to all students. We felt that:

• The fact that teacher didn't require her players to take PE but the state did was wrong.
•  Having one rule for students who made the team and a separate set for those who didn't was quite unfair: everyone should have to dress out or no one should; everyone should have to participate or no one should; etc...
• Basketball was not the only activity in the state PE curriculum.

We walked into the gym and sat on the bleachers. And refused to move. The moron coach/teacher became quite upset. She finally ran into her office crying and had her star player (I remember her name but decided not to post it) come out and try to guilt us into dressing out and having class. Really? Yep. She was that kind of stupid.

Someone might have suggested, after star player's tirade, that going to the principal or our parents or the school board might be the best solution to this problem. 

That's when star player (and this was hilarious) shouted something like, "FINE! We'll dress out and take class." How freaking generous of her, don't you think?

I rarely think about that day in PE but, when I do, I am disgusted with the behavior of the coach/teacher to this very day. And, to this day, I am not a fan of women's basketball.

Oh and that star player? She's the one on the Latin Club trip to the state capital that got so drunk and caused such problems that we never got to go to the Latin Club Convention again. Thanks for that too.


You still have time to enter to win a quart of Tropical Traditions Gold Label Coconut Oil! Just go to the post right HERE.  





This post is part of the NaBloPoMo for May. The theme is PLAY and this post was inspired by the prompt: "What sports did you play as a child."  

 

Recess

I remember not being that thrilled to go out to recess while in elementary school. I would much rather have sat inside and continued doing school work. And I was, most likely, the only kid in my school who felt that way. I may have been the only kid in the state who felt that way.

It wasn't so much because I loved school- even though I did. It was more related to the organized games we had to play during recess. And I kind of sucked at organized games. I wanted to be really good at them. But I wasn't.

So, when it was time to play dodge ball or softball or kick ball, my face did not don an expression of total delight. Which is odd when you know that I loved these games in the neighborhood with the other kids and my cousins. The same people I went to school with. Except that a lot of them were older and I never seemed to be in any of the same classes as those in my grade. OK, so, the kids were different.

I believe that my competitive nature might have been the reason behind my less than enthusiastic attitude about organized games at recess. I was (am) highly competitive and did (do) not like to lose. At anything. And I was not good at these games. I didn't suck to the point that I was the last one picked for a team- it there were 15 kids on each team, I was probably around the 8th one picked. I was not one of the best. But I wanted to be.

Since I couldn't be the best, I didn't enjoy playing. Which made me that much worse at the game. I even let this stop me from trying out for organized sports as I got older. Luckily, I didn't pass this on to the lovelies. They've all played on a team of some sort at some point and did just fine.

I still don't enjoy playing organized games (though cards and board games I totally enjoy...as long as I win). But I do LOVELOVELOVE watching football on the weekends during the season! And college basketball! And soccer! And not being good at playing them doesn't stop me from spouting my opinion during the games. If the neighbors ever hear me they must think I'm trying to kill the husband. I sort of get into it. And yell. A lot.

So, I sucked at playing organized sports during recess in elementary school which deterred me from trying to play in high school and college (even intramural). But it did not stop me from loving sports and games. Thankfully. I'd hate to think who'd be the recipient of my venting if I didn't at least have weekend football!  




You have plenty of time to enter to win a quart of Tropical Traditions Gold Label Coconut Oil! Just go to the post right HERE.  





This post is part of the NaBloPoMo for May. The theme is PLAY and this post was inspired by the prompt: "Write about a strong memory from recess."  

 

Broken

I do not remember ever breaking a toy. I actually think that I've accidentally broken way more things as an adult than I did as a child. Including toys. Luckily, Hubs can fix anything.

When DoodleBug and I went to visit Mimi (my mother) on Thursday, we pulled out the old Singer sewing machine because Mimi's machine is not just broken. It died. She's been sewing clothes for the lovelies and me on her machine since 1989. Including prom dresses and Breezy's wedding gown.

 I was reminded of playing around with her sewing machine when I was growing up. That was my first clue that I would not be a seamstress. Ever. No patience.

The first time Mother let me sew something all by myself, I was pretty excited. It was like a milestone- being old enough to be left alone to sew on the machine. Especially for someone who comes from a family of some amazing seamstresses.

I do not remember what it was I was making--a shirt or a dress--but I remember NOT being able to get it right. Just the simple side seams were not a problem.

But those #$%$ sleeves were. I sew the armholes up. Undid them. I sewed the wrong sleeve on the wrong side. Undid them. I sewed the sleeves closed. Undid them.

The next time I tried to sew something was after I had children of my own. When I made Breezy a rag doll. I suck at sewing. Totally. I know it and I'm ok with it.

I'm quite content living with the memories of the women in the family who could sew so beautifully--which would be all of them except me.

I didn't get that particular gene.

But I did enjoy wearing the clothes. So did the lovelies. As a matter of fact, Mimi still makes clothes for us. And Birdie got the gene! She's already sewing aprons and quilts and skirts.

It is nice to know that someone will be continuing the sewing tradition for the next generation.


This post is part of the NaBloPoMo for May. The theme is PLAY and they provide prompts for those who want/need them. BUT you do NOT have to stick to the theme. You just have to post every day. The prompt that inspired this post was- "Talk about a toy you broke as a child." 

 

Freeze Tag

When I was growing up there were plenty of kids all around the neighborhood. And, right across the street were my dad's sister's kids- all four of them. Being an only child for the first twelve years of my life, having my cousins close by was a treat!

I loved to go over to their house or have them over playing at my house. When we all got together we would play football, softball, hide and seek, freeze tag, Simon Says, Mother May I, Pickle--and there wasn't a tree in the neighborhood that we hadn't climbed or at least made the attempt--all the fun, active outside greatest games of all time!


Of all the games we played, freeze tag was my favorite. And I'm not sure why. Maybe it was the fact that we were all out there just running around like a bunch of wild things while our parents sat in lawn chairs chatting about whoknowswhat holding cigarettes in one hand and drinks in the other with the ice clinging against the side of the glass every time they took a drink or laughed hard surrounded by the off and on flashes of light from the lightening bugs and the summertime calling of the cicadas...

These were some of the most fun days of my childhood. Days spent with friends and family, outside, enjoying each other. Feeling good about ourselves and each other. Safe. Happy. It was great!

Maybe this has something to do with us having so many cookouts when the lovelies were coming along. The kids would run around like a bunch of wild things while we sat around chatting about whoknowswhat and laughing and watching the kids have fun while the cicadas called softly out--remember when...


This post is part of the NaBlogPoMo for May. The theme is PLAY! You can sign up until May 5th! Hurry before it's too late!

You have plenty of time to enter to win a quart of Tropical Traditions Gold Label Coconut Oil! Just go to yesterday's post which you can find HERE.  

Spooky Games

When I was growing up, my cousins and I had a stint where we were really into playing the Ouija board and having seances.  We just couldn't get enough of calling forth the spirit world because it scared us and for some inane reason, we liked being scared.

One day we went to the house of the girls who lived behind my cousins- Beth and Hope-  to play.  These girls lived in a huge two-story house and the closet in their bedroom was as big as most people's rooms.  After just goofing off for a while, we decided to use the Ouija board to call up some spirits which was NOT a big surprise, we always ended up doing this, so we all went into the closet.

I seem to remember us all in dress up clothes, looking like gypsies.  We carefully place our hands onto the planchette (don't be impressed, I Googled it) and Beth or Hope began to call the spirit of Mary Todd Lincoln (I don't know...maybe we were into history also--or maybe she's the one we heard the story about who was buried alive because her fingernails had grown and there were scratch marks on the lid of her coffin--Geez, we really WERE weird).

We had also heard all the stories about people going into trances and not coming back and hearing the voices of the spirits they called forth, etc.  Well, as we were all concentrating, we heard noises coming from the bedroom and started getting a little bit scared.  We looked at one another with wide eyes and whispered things like, "What was that?"  "Did you hear that?"  "What are we going to do?"

About that same time, we noticed that my cousin D's eyes were closed and she was ever so slightly moving from side to side.  CRAP!  Was she in a trance?  Our eyes got wider and our whispers ceased.  We were too scared to move or speak.  This was creepy and we had no idea what to do about any of it.

The next thing we knew the closet door burst open my stupid cousin T (a boy of course) is standing there going, "Boooooo" with a sheet covering him.  First we screamed.  Then we laughed.  And then we tackled him and pounded him a few good ones.

Oh, and the trance, that was just to throw us off from the noises in the bedroom.

Of course, this was NOTHING compared to the seance we had at a Halloween party when we were in fifth grade.  But, that's a tale for another day.

Journaling: Childhood Experiences

I originally thought that, perhaps, today would be a good day to re-post Thursday's post since Blogger was down some of Thursday and most of Friday.  HOWEVER, Blogger has yet to restore Thursday's post. 

So, we move on to Day 4 of Mari's 27 Days of Journaling to Health and Happiness.  (Remember:  I have extended the giveaway for this book to tonight at midnight due to the Blogger mess). 

Day 4 was a bit revealing.  This was a day of traveling back to my childhood, recalling a time that was difficult and then describing the detailed scene in my journal.  The next step was to write what I was thinking and feeling. Finally, I wrote what that experience made me believe about myself.

Whoa.  THAT belief came from THAT experience in my CHILDHOOD?  Huh....

Continuing on, I wrote how that belief has shown up in my life.  Crazy, dude.

Finally, I was to write examples of how I am NOT like that at all and then finish up with the statement, "I AM ________."  In the blank goes the opposite of the belief I developed from that particular childhood scene.

Without going into detail, my memory was about a time that one of my cousins said something to me which I apparently interpreted as meaning that I am INFERIOR.   Which explains a lot.  Who knew?

Anyway, I ended up having to write, "I AM WORTHY."

Now, here's the kicker.  Apparently I am responsible for developing that particular view of myself because as a child I saw my "experiences as fact."  I was not able to "separate actual events from my interpretation of those events."  WHAT?!  I can't keep blaming my parents, cousins, so-called friends, etc. for any of this?! (Nope, they are responsible for their actions but I am responsible for my interpretation).  Apparently, as we become adults, we should "reevaluate the beliefs we've held onto for so long, the ones that our inner critics repeat endlessly in the back of our minds."  (The quotes are from Mari's book). 

No wonder I tried to be so careful of the things I said to my girls while they were growing up!

I could spend the next 100 days on this exercise alone!  The good news here is that I can recognize these beliefs for what they are and move on towards HEALTH AND HAPPINESS!  (Lucky me since I'm so good at letting things go...NOT!).

Since Blogger messed us up pretty bad last night and today, I am EXTENDING THE CONTEST for Mari's book until midnight SATURDAY.

All you have to do is leave a comment stating that you would like to enter the giveaway.  It's that simple.  

MAKE SURE YOU LEAVE YOUR EMAIL ADDRESSES SO I CAN CONTACT THE WINNER! 

Radar

It’s innate with children.  I’m almost certain of it.  I’m also pretty sure that it still functions properly even when the kids grow up, move out and yes, even if they move far away.  It begins very early on in their sweet lives.  Almost as soon as the little darlings make their appearance, the radar is in fine working condition.  Should a new mom actually get a minute or two to sit and have a cup of tea or read a sentence in a book or clean something what happens?  Child Radar kicks in and infant awakens immediately.  As the years speed by like a flash of light go by and the children get older, Child Radar remains intact.  If mom has been invited out for some shopping and lunch with friends while the little darlings are in school, the minute her food arrives at the table, one of the blessings calls from school needing to come home.  Perhaps mom has just gotten the kitchen floor mopped.  It is right at the second she finishes that Child Radar kicks in and everyone comes tromping in the house for a snack.  Even now our college darlings know when I’ve been to the grocery store.  Not because I go the same day every week, but because of Child Radar.  Every single time my BFF L calls me, Deanie beeps in.  Every.  Single.  Time.  It’s gotten to the point that, when on the phone with BFF L and I say, “Hold on, I have a beep,”  BFF L says, “Tell Deanie I said HI!”  Child Radar.  And just a few days ago it was Deanie who called and said, “I don’t have enough money to get Becks his heart worm preventative this month.  Do you think it’ll be ok to wait and give it to him Feb. 1^st when I get another check?”  Sounds innocent enough doesn’t it?  Well, think again.  I was, the very moment she called, on the road heading towards the vet to pick up Tucker’s heart worm preventative for the month.  That’s right, Child Radar.  Needless to say, I picked up a pill for Becks and dropped it in the mail to DC (and that’s called mom-enables-child-radar-continuation). 

Oh, and don’t be fooled.  Husbands possess this innate trait as well- Hubby Radar or are-you-freaking-kidding-me-because-you-are-old-enough-to-know-better radar.  That’s right.  Hubs can be sitting in front of the television engrossed in a thrilling episode of the evening news and suddenly, as soon as I am engrossed in a wonderfully entertaining movie, the evening news is over and he has to have a conversation of vital importance with me such as, “Did you get lemons at the grocery store today?”  Hubby Radar.  And let’s not forget the nightly dish washing routine --I finish eating and begin cleaning up the kitchen while Hubs becomes entranced in the television.  Without fail, just as I’ve finished the very last dirty dish, in he walks with his dinner dishes.  Hubby Radar.  This Hubby Radar also goes off whenever I begin reading a book, concentrating on a new recipe, writing...     

Since Child Radar seems to turn into Hubby Radar for the male of the species, I wonder if, in women, it turns into Women’s Intuition.  In some instances we don't even get any obvious signs when our intuition kicks in.  It’s just there, sometimes more obvious than others, alerting us to dangers and joys.  It’s how we women ‘know’ things before we’re told about them.  It’s also how we are able to correctly size up someone immediately- how our first impressions are rarely, if ever, wrong.  And it tunes us into Red Flag Alerts.  

“Mom has eyes in the back of her head!” --a statement of amazement spoken by my youngest brother one evening while he was sitting on the porch leaning back in the chair and mother, with her back to him, told him to “put the chair on all four legs before you fall back and crack your head wide open.”  You should have seen the look on his face- complete and utter amazement. 

Of course, when we grow up and have kids of our own, we quickly come to realize that our mother’s did not have an extra set of eyes in the back of their heads, they were just observant.  And we were kind of stupid.  I mean, seriously, had we thought about it, we wouldn’t have done some of those things with her so close by.  Especially with a mirror in front of her.  Or when we were upstairs fighting and she, who was downstairs, yelled up, “What are y’all doing up there?”  And we yelled back, in the sweetest of tones, “Nothing!” -- had absolutely nothing to do with the sounds emanating from the second floor.

When our girls were growing up, there were several instances where they wondered how I was privy to their shenanigans.  I could see Breezy’s reflection in a frame when she was jumping on the bed one afternoon and I reminded her that she was not supposed to jump on the bed.  She plopped right down from mid-air and, in a hushed tone, asked her sister, “How did she know I was jumping on the bed?”  I always used those opportunities to say something like, “Mommies see all and hear all.”  Of course, it’s more like ‘Mommies can put 2 and 2 together quite nicely.’ 

I have an absolute favorite example of the ‘Mom has eyes in the back of her head’ scenarios.  I love it because the two daughters involved were teenagers.  And there was really nothing better than using this ability on a teen or two—it’s just so much FUN!  Breezy was a freshman in college and home for Christmas break.  Deanie was a junior in high school, Birdie a sophomore.  Deanie had plans to go with some friends, one of whom I was not completely thrilled about, to a concert downtown.  My concern lessened somewhat when Breezy said that she and boytoy at the time were going to go with them.  Now, my concern was only slightly lessened because my red flag indicator starting flashing.  Why would Breezy and boytoy be doing this?  Hmmm…..  So I suggest to Deanie that perhaps Birdie would like to accompany them as well.  And her response was no.  Not too surprising that a sister wouldn’t really want her younger sister along, right?  Wrong.  Deanie was always up for taking her sister along.  But not this time.  Hmmm….the red flag indicator is beginning to flash brighter and faster.  I decide to let them go.  I only have suspicions at this time (and the red flag indicator) but, not any real solid evidence. 

And, maybe, things would have just been left alone except that Deanie lost her cell phone and the stories of how that might have happened were many and varied (you’d think they would have at least compared their stories, yes?).  But no.  Breezy goes back to school and I decide to turn to the good old stand-by rule of ‘give them enough rope and they’l l hang themselves.’  Now, so far what we have are two red flag warnings and a multitude of stories so filled with holes that they couldn’t even resemble swiss cheese.  What’s a mother to do?  What I had put together in my mind’s eye is that Deanie and friend-I-didn’t-particularly-care-for had planned on doing something, perhaps, like drinking.   Why else would she have been throwing up in boytoy’s car after the concert in Wendy’s parking lot—Breezy said it was because Deanie had gotten a stomach bug while they were out (Really?  Because I’ve never really heard of a stomach bug that only lasted 4 hours or less but, oh well…ROPE.) and that her cell phone must have dropped out while she was throwing up in the parking lot.  But they were looking in boytoy’s car for the phone.  Next story, Deanie had thrown up in the car and they had to stop and clean it out.  What?  Wait…more ROPE.
 

Life continued for a few weeks- everyone back in school, normal activities, mom’s mind still stewing…and then, Breezy comes back home.  And opportunity?  It presented itself.  Breezy and I were talking about this and that and suddenly, there it was:

Breezy:  “Did Deanie find her cell or get another one?”

ME:  “No, she didn’t find it.  Dad is deciding about another one.”

Breezy:  “Well, is he going to let her have one?”

Me:  “I hope so.  I like being able to keep up with y’all and knowing that you can call for help if need be.”

Breezy:  “Dad should get her another one.”

Me:  “Well, it would have been best had she not decided to drink and lose it to begin with.”

Breezy:  “Who told you!?”

Me:  “You just did.”

Ah, yes.  Patience can be a mother’s friend.             

Recognizing red flag alerts has been relatively easy.  However, listening to my inner voice, my Women’s Intuition, has not always been a strength of mine.  Or, maybe it had not really kicked in until I started having children.  But once it came out and knocked me in the head with a 2x4 with obvious evidential support, I’ve stood at attention to it ever since. 

During our very early years of marriage, Hubs and I lived in a small hovel of a structure behind his parents’ landscape nursery.  Attached to the left side of the hovel was an old greenhouse no longer in use.  There was a door off the house that opened into the greenhouse but it had been sealed off years ago.  We only had Breezy at this time and, one Saturday, I had the uncontrollable urge to rearrange her room.  It was going to be a busy day filled with errands, shopping, and lunch out.  But my intuition was nagging me like crazy!  So, before doing anything else that day, I let my intuition lead me into Breezy’s room where it insisted that I rearrange the furniture.  Since I ‘had’ to rearrange furniture anyway, the idea to flip her mattress came flooding into my mind.  I removed the sheets and, as soon as I lifted up one corner of the bed there, right there, on the box spring was a small, coiled up snake.  No matter whether it was a harmless snake or not because I HATE THOSE THINGS.  To me a snake is a snake is a snake.  Oh it was horrible as that nasty thing hit the floor and slithered its way around the room!  I threw the trash can on top of it, ran out of the room and slammed to door behind me.  OMG!  I HATE THOSE THINGS!  I called Hubs who came immediately and searched EVERY WHERE for that #@$% snake.  It was nowhere to be found.  Hubs had me describe it to him and he said it was probably a garden snake.  WTH does ‘probably’ mean?  He searched and searched some more while I took Breezy to my mother’s for a couple of days so he could make sure that darn thing was not in the house.  All turned out fine.  The snake never reappeared.  We moved into a small, but cozy, house with no greenhouse attached to the side.   

There have been numerous instances of these intuitive moments through the years.  And, any time that I had the urge to put it off or ignore it, the snake incident would pop up in my mind and I would immediately stand at attention.  I have also found intuition handy when it comes to picking teams to win big games- the Super Bowl and filling out March Madness brackets for example.  Oh, no.  Not for money.  And I'm not always right.  It's just for the pure satisfaction of getting it right while Hubs, and now BestSonInLawEVER, get it wrong.