Well, the day has finally arrived. It's really here and I'm not excited. It's not a thrill nor is it joyful. I'd just as soon hide under a rock. Yes, the day is here that I am considering the purchase of anti-aging skin care products.
I was on the phone with Deanie just before going into school to tutor this week and, as I looked into the rear view mirror, I made the comment, "Geez, I need an eye lift." It was like Deanie had been waiting years for the opportunity to jump in on that one because she immediately came back with, "Oh, you need to try Regenerist! They have everything! It will take care of wrinkles and they even have an eye lift cream!" It doesn't get much clearer than that, does it? I suppose the girls were just waiting on their old mother to realize for herself that something needed to be done (I wonder if my spot at 'The Home' is a nice one?). Of course I began to wonder right away whether or not I had been in denial and, if so, how old do I REALLY look? I do have a standing date with Miss Clairol every few months to color the gray that WILL NOT GO AWAY. And I did notice that BIG FREAKING WHITE hair in my right eyebrow (a WHITE one? In my eyebrow? Are you KIDDING ME?!). Then there are those areas that are saggin' and baggin' and the boobs that hang down like under-filled water balloons. And where exactly DID my energy level go when it disappeared?
But wait a minute. I'm not just sitting around waiting on death to come and take me home. I am exercising every day and I have changed our diet to a much healthier one containing more veggies, whole grains, fish, less red meat, etc. I park as far away from the entrance to stores as I can get. I take the stairs over elevators. And I'm STILL over weight and I STILL need an eye lift. WTH?!
ANYWAY, once I arrive at home I decide to go ahead and check my email. And there it is. An email from Deanie. The subject? Skin Care. I guess that's better than Wrinkle care. Or Droopy face care. The body? A link to the Regenerist site. Ok. Hint taken already. I click on the link and check out the site and go through the whole find-out-what-we-recommend-for-you and discover that, for a mere $85.00, I can reverse the aging process on my face. That's ONLY 4 products. For $85.00. So, basically, for about $100/month, I can look younger. After the first 8 weeks that is. So, it's going to cost me almost $200 just to see if these products work AND, if they do, it'll cost me $100/month for however long I decide I want to look younger. Which leads me to believe that, should I actually purchase these products, I'd be buying into a great big SCAM.
Maybe I am saggy and baggy. Maybe I do need an eye lift. Maybe those dark circles are getting bigger. Maybe I am overweight. But I'm NOT an idiot. And I REFUSE to fall for this whole reverse the aging process scam. So, I clicked off the site and went back to my email to clean out the box--delete all the junk mail. Except for the one Regenerist sent me. The one containing my suggested routine. You know, just in case.
It's actually on like Wii Sports but, it IS on. Oh yes indeed. It's ON. When our daughters and BestSonInLawEVER so generously gave us the RED Wii for Christmas (follow the link for part 1 of the story), I just bet they had no idea as to the troubleextreme level of competition excessive fun that was to be unleashed. OR, maybe they did.
With the increase in testosterone in the house over New Year's weekend came a plethora of Wii challenges. Challenges in golf, tennis, baseball and BOWLING. Surprisingly-- and you may want to sit down for this if you aren't already-- all THREE remotes were working just fine. That's right. Three men in the house--Dad, Hubs, BestSonInLawEVER --and the remotes were fully and properly functional. It was the game itself, this time, that was hindering those much coveted high scores. Mind you, they all stuck together. Whenever one threw a ball in, say, bowling, and didn't get a strike, the other two utterly foolish people wonderfully funny men would say something like,
"I really thought you had it that time."
"It looked to me like that should have been a strike."
"I know. I threw it just right."
A small discussion would ensue as to the technique of the throw and the next fool fellow would step up for his turn.
It was fun, I must admit, listening to these grown men (31, 56, 75--proof positive that it spans generations) carry on so about how "the game wouldn't let that pin fall down because it really should have gone down that time." The more estrogen minded of us snickered while playing Farkle and Banana Grams. Until Sunday...when BestSonInLawEVER threw down the gauntlet on (cue the doom music) ME.
Things had been going along just fine. Dad, Hubs and BestSonInLawEVER were playing Wii Bowling (again--I think in an attempt to figure out what the problem was with the game) and the rest of us were chuckling at their stupidity...again watching the game when BestSonInLawEVER threw a horrible ball that left several pins still standing. I made a comment: "Whoa. Who threw THAT?" followed by what might be construed as a snicker of sorts.
BestSonInLawEVER: "Nobody's business is who threw that."
Dad: "Who asked that anyway?"
BestSonInLawEVER: "That was from the peanut gallery over there."
Hubs: "Yeah, that's what it sounded like." (He's really quite brave when there are witnesses around)
Me: (to self) "Oh REALLY?"
BestSonInLawEVER: "Don't stand over there commenting if you aren't willing to get in the game."
Me: "Bring it on...Dude."
Now, the following events were not pretty. At least, not if you were Dad, Hubs OR BestSonInLawEVER. While the game continued to thwart their attempts at winning the game, it had no negative effect on my score. I threw strike after strike and spare after spare. And the more strikes and spares I threw, the more unhappy the testosterone plagued competitors became. My final score was not tremendous (200) but it was quite enough and then some to beat each and every one of them....badly. Side note: While playing them in the training mode where you keep getting more pins and trying to knock as many as possible down in ten turns? My score: 667. They barely broke 400.
And so, the remainder of the early afternoon, while the winner women played Farkle and Banana Grams again (without incident, I might add), the men decided that they just needed to throw like I do and each proceeded to try. We have NEVER laughed so hard in all our lives at the way they interpreted my technique. It resembled a ballet being over exaggerated tremendously by The Three Stooges. They only difference, these guys were serious.
Our lesson on that fateful Sunday afternnoon? That's right. Do NOT throw your challenge in the direction of your excessively competitive MotherInLaw. EVER.
Excitement was mounting for the FIRST ANNUAL EMPTY NEST/CHRISTMAS OYSTER ROAST. Food preparation commenced on time. All needed items were purchased at the grocery store. The order for three bushels of oysters was put in. All was moving forward smoothly. Which should have been a huge indicator that something was about to throw a wrench in the plan. And it did. Friday morning. It was around 3:30ish a.m. that I awoke, with full awareness, that I was sick. Are you kidding me?! And this thing would not let up until late Friday night. So, I sent out a mass email that we would have to postpone the BIG FUN until New Year's Eve. Everyone was very understanding, some said it would work out better for them to have it on New Year's Eve anyway. To top it all off, the weather was not cooperating either-it poured down rain nearly the entire day.
That was all well and good. Except the kids were disappointed. So, because I did feel better, and the rain was letting up as evening approached, and we just didn't want to disappoint the kids, we let the college lovelies have a few of their closest buds over for some Christmas goodies, oysters, movies (and let me tell you that watching Love Actually or Christmas Vacation is not complete until you watch it with commentary from college students) and games. And, it was a great time! Except that we always forget one thing about entertaining the younger crowd. They last way longer than we do! However, we have learned that exhaustion is bearable when brought on by spending time with youth.
Ah, college kids. Remember those days?
The lovely on the left has been Birdie's BFF since they were 3 years old!
Put the food aside, let the games begin!
Birdie's really good friend E, DoodleBug, Birdie's BFF M
I don't know...this looks like trouble.
I just love these kids!
DoodleBug's current BoyToy being silly.
DoodleBug and friend A smiling for the camera.
Boys + oyster knives = uh oh! LOL
Steaming another batch.
The games moved outside.
Shoveling out some steamed oysters.
More games.
A shovel full of steam oysters (you won't see me eating any of these things because, to me, they look like something one coughs up, not like something good to eat.
One gift that stands out in my childhood Christmas memories as one of the best ever was the year that Santa brought me Jacques. He was the cutest, sweetest little poodle and I loved him dearly. The year was 1965. We had been to Grandmother and Granddaddy's house for Christmas Eve and were back at home--only a thirty minute drive. I had seen Santa and the reindeer flying through the sky--and it was NOT a display on someone's roof top no matter WHAT my mother says--and was in quite a rush to get into bed so he could come to our house. I don't remember whether I had trouble falling asleep or not but I do remember the sound that woke me up in the middle of the night. It was the whimper of a puppy. Thinking I was dreaming, I fell back asleep only to awaken, once again, to the same sound. I did not get excited thinking something like, "I'm getting a puppy for Christmas!" because my parents had said, "No, not this year."
Jacques and me
Christmas morning, I was up pretty early and was delighting over all the Santa joys when Dad walked in the living room with another gift. I didn't realize at first what was going on but, as soon as I did, I felt happy all the way from my head to my toes! It WAS a puppy! He was the cutest little ball of black fur and I loved him from the very first moment I saw him. At first, I couldn't decide what to name him. But my uncle suggested that, since he was a French Poodle, I should call him Jacques. And I did.
Showing off Jacques
Later in the morning, Dad's sister and her family came over--just as they always did on Christmas morning. I couldn't wait to show off my new puppy! Oh, and please check out that totally stylish leather jumper I'm sporting...Good Grief!
We had had other dogs before but Jacques was my very own. He was my best friend. We had little games we played and he would do little tricks. He loved for me to play I'm gonna get ya with him. I would slide him across the kitchen floor and he would start turning around in mid-slide trying to chase me. I would run through the house with him running behind barking. He was like a kid wanting to do this over and over again and again. Everyone loved him. He is one reason I wanted a poodle when Hubs and I thought a puppy would be a good idea to help us through our empty nest (see Step One: Get a Puppy). Tucker is half poodle and he is just as great, if not greater than Jacques was. My mom even calls our little Tucker, Jacques, all the time and, when she does get his name right she says, "Tuck-uh." She's very southern, my mother. When my brothers and I were growing up we all had different schedules. One evening, just before dinner, Mother needed to go pick up Brother T from football practice and we all went with her (an opportunity for me to drive, since I had recently acquired my driver's permit, and for brothers C and M to ride along and pretend to have heart attacks because I was in the driver's seat.). We had just set the table and put the food out but the high school was very close so we just left everything and ran out. When we came back, we had no ham on the table but we did have a very fat Jacques! He had gotten on the table and cleaned us out!
People are always wondering what happens to their pets when they pass on. I'm hoping that they are waiting for us on the other side. I'll just bet that Jacques is waiting patiently to play with Tucker and share their doggie stories of being spoiled rotten little pooches and for me to play I'm gonna get ya!
Love thoseholiday traditions of childhood as we may, they tend to change as we grow up and, when marriage and/or children become part of our lives, those traditions can really be transformed. In our family, the biggest change was simply location. We were blessed to have extended family close by and none further than 4 hours away. As our daughters grew older, it became easier for everyone to come to us--we would have had to rent a trailer to haul the six of us plus presents and 'Santa' surprises.
At the tree farm 1991
Our favorite part of the holiday season was (and still is) preparing for Christmas. The advent calendar, decorating, baking, getting the tree. Everything! We always waited until the second week of December to get our tree... until 1991. Prior to that year, we would pack the girls up and head to Hubs' family farm land where they were attempting to grow Christmas trees and either cut one down or dig it up live and replant it. But 1991 changed all of that. The FIRST tree we brought home that year was just perfect. Except that it died within five days. We undecorated it and, this time, we bought one (hurricane Hugo pretty much wiped out the tree farm and the pickins were slim). It died. WTH?! We had to buy another one. We had brought THREE trees into the house, decorated twice, undecorated once and now WE HAD TO DO IT ALL AGAIN. Way uncool. The third tree didn't last too long but we did get through Christmas. The next year, we went with an artificial tree and have used one ever since because I refuse to risk the 1991 multiple tree decorating disaster ever again! While the girls were growing up, the decorating of the Christmas tree was followed by watching the town Christmas parade--although, after the first few years, there always seemed to be at least one daughter IN the parade which meant that one of us had to walk along--that would be me.
There was, of course, the annual letter writing campaign to Santa at the North Pole (we still have every single letter--to AND from) and the making of gifts. The girls made gifts for relatives for many years including ornaments--wooden, ceramic, crab shells, corks, craft sticks, etc. But, in 1994, we made a Christmas anthology of sorts. Each daughter made up a story about Christmas, retold the birth of Jesus and 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, and answered 10 questions about Christmas. These were treasured so much more than 'store bought' gifts.
Once school was out for Christmas break (actually called Winter break) the BIG fun began. The girls and I spent hours making Christmas cookies--rolling out the dough, cutting out the shapes and getting icing and sprinkles all over the house decorating them with icing and sprinkles. Next, we made the annual gingerbread house. Which, as it turns out, is NOT THAT EASY. Oh, decorating it with the candy is a cinch. It's putting the walls up and, the granddaddy of the difficulty, the roof on top. Yep. Not that easy at all. We had to call Hubs in on this part the first couple of years as he is known to us, fondly and among other alias', Mr. Fix-It (he will say that he can't fix everything, but the women in the family know differently). The next step in the cooking/baking department was the Christmas goodies for the Christmas Eve gatherings--the ham; cheese and olive balls; sausage balls; spinach balls; fudge- butterscotch and chocolate; meatballs and little smokies; Chex Mix; cheese balls; cream cheese and pepper jelly; etc. And, in the middle of the table, the girls always insisted on a birthday cake for Jesus.
There was (and still is) the writing of the annual Christmas 'newsy' letter to be included, with the Christmas photo of the girls, inside the Christmas cards. One year, we couldn't get the picture in time to be included so I mailed the letters inside the cards but NOT a picture. We have our family reunion (this is the huge side, my mother's side) every August and I had to hear about them not getting a Christmas picture from December until the reunion in August. That Christmas, I sent them TWO pictures, one from the year before AND the one for that year. If you send something like this to your relatives, please don't ever NOT send one. You'll pay dearly for it!
Christmas pajamas 1991
Christmas Eve, especially when we hosted the gathering, was very similar to the ones when I was growing up--the family gathered, the food was nearly identical, and the excitement was abundant. The girls wore coordinating outfits handmade each year by Mimi (my mother) up until they developed their own, individual styles. Even then, they coordinated colors most of the time. We generally started out with Hubs' family for the opening of gifts followed by the Christmas Eve service at church (which changed to the midnight service as the girls got older). The night continued with the gathering of my side of the family where the girls were allowed to open another present--the Christmas pajamas that Mimi (my mother) gave them every year--she still does this! All of the evening's festivities were topped off with a good reading of Clement C. Moore's 'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS and the perfect placement of the milk and cookies. Finally, it was time to await the arrival of Santa and, to this day (and this includes BestSonInLawEver) they all sleep in the same room.
Christmas morning 1996
Christmas morning was a hullabaloo of brightly colored wrapping paper all over the place everyone talking all at the same time and the shrills of delight that only children have the ability to project at Christmas, or any other time for that matter! The sounds of laughter and toys filled the morning and stopped only for a moment while we ate Christmas dinner--traditionally like Thanksgiving until 1993 when we traded in the turkey for prime rib. Now, I prepare a Christmas brunch instead for any and everyone who wants to join us. Changes in our family do not usually go over well but everyone seems to enjoy Christmas brunch.
After the college feeding freenzy
And now? Now we have an empty nest and the first year of one daughter not being here for Christmas. Breezy and BestSonInLawEVER will be at their home but will join us for New Year's Eve. We have added the FIRST ANNUAL EMPTY NEST CHRISTMAS OYSTER ROAST to the festivities. Everything else should pretty much remain close to the tradition--including those handmade gifts (which we are all making for one another this year). It will be an adjustment, just as Thanksgivingwas without Deanie (DD2), not having all our daughters with us. And, the married lovelies are going to miss out on their Christmas Eve pajamas! But, this is what happens when you successfully raise your kids to go out and make lives for themselves. We have discovered that, sometimes, you can pick up an extra kid or two when your college daughters bring some of their friends over to help decorate--in exchange for a free feeding frenzy home cooked meal.
It's going to be a grand Christmas this year with family and friends. I'm sure of it! And, with the decorating almost complete, I can see that the Christmas spirit is beginning to overflow because Hubs has been in the middle of everything singing Christmas songs and quoting Christmas movies (and he does it in such an obnoxious manner--no matter, it's the holiday season!). Yep, it's gonna be a grand Christmas!
I'm linking up with Follow Friday 40 and Over this week at Java's Never Growing Old!
College can be considered a sort of transition from home to ALMOST the real world. The last stop before the real world experience hits you in the face like a brick phase of life begins, if you will. It can also be considered a transition before the empty nest sucks phase of life becomes permanent. The kids are gone but they still come home for the holidays and, if you are lucky, summer. College provides parents with four years (unless, of course, one's child is on the 7 year plan) in which to become accustomed to not having the child at home every day, quite possibly making the permanence of the after college move-out less of a shock.
Hubs and I are very fortunate in that our two youngest daughters chose the College of Charleston because it only takes us 15 minutes from our house to theirs and, because it gives us oppotunities to attend any special events they may be involved in. Like the Wind Ensemble concert or this afternoon's event. Hubs took off work early, we picked up Birdie at their house and went to DoodleBug's African Dance performance. I swear I don't remember any of my college classes--undergrad OR grad--being as much fun as the African Dance class that DoodleBug took this semester. Their end of semester performance was GREAT! So, without further ado, here they are:
That's our DoodleBug in the center. Her BoyToy on the left.
A group of young ladies whose parents are in transition also.
DoodleBug after colliding with another dancer.
Students are usually happier about the transition years than their parents.
My Doodle My Bug
If I tried that I would bust my youknowwhat!
Hi Mom, Dad!
Wait, did she just collide with another dancer?
That move looks more like the twist than African dance.
All of the kids did a fantastic job!
I was proud of them whether they were mine or not.
Folks who live in our area are very accustomed to something called HURRICANE SEASON. It begins on June 1st and ends November 30th every year. It's not something that we fret over but we do stay stocked with the necessary items should the need arise such as flashlights, batteries, fresh water, canned food, lanterns, etc. One of the things I am very grateful for is the fact that the need rarely arises. And one of the main reasons for this gratefulness stems from September 21, 1989.
His name was HUGO and he came through here with the intent of making his presence known LOUD AND CLEAR. He also left a wake of destruction and devastation in his path that left people in shock. Hubs and I packed up and took our daughters (we only had three of them at the time) to my grandmother's house in the upstate--3 hours north of here--where a Hickory Nut tree fell on the house. No one was hurt and we believe it was because Grandmother and Granddaddy's house was built back when they constructed houses the right way without skimping on materials. That tree barely cracked a rafter or two. Amazing. The NOISE it made, on the other hand, scared all of us half to death! Hubs and I looked out the door at one point and watched huge pine trees swaying back and forth like catapults in 65 mph winds. Meanwhile, 3 hours south, the low-country was being beat to death by 135 mph winds. Our house fared quite well. The tree that fell did so across the back yard and the wind merely took off some shingles from the roof. At the time, my mother and Hubs' parents lived on Sullivan's Island- one of the barrier islands around the Charleston area. The only way onto the island in 1989 was the Ben Sawyer bridge--a swing span bridge- that someone did not secure and one end of it ended up in the water. We had to take a boat to get over there and survey the damage. My in-laws fared pretty well, mostly loosing insignificant things. My mother however, lost everything due to an 8.5 foot water level in her house. Interestingly, her refrigerator floated on it's back and our daughters' art work on the front was untouched. Many, many houses, unfortunately, ended up looking more like the ones in the following pictures and, our church at the time, which was completed flattened--we ended up putting up a HUGE yellow and white striped circus-like tent and having church in it until the new building was finished.
This house was picked up and dropped in the middle of the road by the winds.
Christmas 1989, lighting the Advent Wreath in our Church Tent
As December approached and our thoughts turned to the Christmas season, Hubs asked what I wanted for Christmas. I told him that I wanted SNOW. And we got it. We got a lot of it! AND, to this day, if you ask our daughters what their daddy got me for Christmas that year, they will reply: "SNOW!" Even the youngest who did not arrive until 1991 knows how her dad got the snow for me that year. (No wonder they think he can do anything! Heck, so do I!).
My mother-in-law (Irene Nuite Lofton) wrote a little book of poems chronicling the months following HUGO. She titled the book: THE BROKEN BRIDGE
Here is one about the Christmas snow that year:
FORECAST
Snow predicted for tonight, if freezing temperatures hold we will have a record white Christmas.
Tonight
all is overlaid
by a white coverlet
of softly falling snow.
The scars left
by a devil storm--
rutted wounds in the driveway
dark, broken cedars in the yard,
bulwarks of rotting debris
left by shrieking wind
and rising tide,
lie newly transformed
into mysterious blue-shadowed
mounds and hillocks
of gently sloping snow.
Tomorrow,
the eve of Christmas Eve,
the children will be out
trailing laughter,
tumbling from warm indoors
into the blue-white cold
building snowmen
with icicle noses and old felt hats.
The children and the snow together
will lift our hearts.
One more, if you will indulge me. This one was written before the Christmas snow:
I WOULD HOLD BACK NOVEMBER
I am not ready
for the bustle of Christmas.
I long to have back
the days of fall.
I long to have back
our Indian summer
when sun lay golden
on the marsh
and the days were soft
with autumn.
A month of storm
has intervened
to interrupt
the gradual waning
into winter from fall.
I look at the calendar
and see winter days approach
and feel cold
creeping in at every crack.
But I still long for fall.
I would hold back the days of November.
I am not ready for December.
Being a transplant to the low-country of SC for 31 years is still not long enough to be called a ‘benyeh.’ If I stay until I’m dead I’ll probably go a ‘comeyeh’ since I am, originally, ‘from off’ (which is the upstate but, rules you know). By day I take care of my sweet little granddaughter, Baby M and do all those things I did when I was a SAHM raising four daughters which has translated to, ‘by day, I am exhausted.’ By night I blog, blog, blog, and blog some more or I sleep, depending on my level of exhaustion (do they still make Geritol?). I have a very unhealthy addiction to sweets (nearly any kind will do) and all comfort foods not covered under the ‘sweets’ category. I’m known for speaking my mind so, if you don’t want to know, don’t ask me. I love to find the humor in my empty nest life. I live life hard and smack into that brick wall almost daily because I’ve always had to learn the hard way. Why change now? I’m so glad you’ve come to laugh with me as I do this middle age, empty nest thing like a BOSS!
