How's Aunt Katherine?

I don't know what brings these stories to mind, but they are worth repeating.

My dad has told me this story that is a favorite about my mom; and proof that I am her daughter. 

Back in the day, they were dining at the Shady Inn with another couple. Mom and Dad noticed that her Uncle Bob (her dad's brother) was dining with a woman who wasn't his wife.

Mom got steamed and, if you knew her, steaming was one of her talents. So, before they left the restaurant, Mom marched up to Uncle Bob's table and said, "Hi Uncle Bob. How's Aunt Katherine?" I'm not sure, but I don't believe she allowed him to answer. She took her big hairdo, collected Coach Rowe, and departed.

And the MINUTE they got home, she called her mother. You know those 1970s landlines burned up.

The Girl

Dad and Nyds married when I was seven. My mother and I were (am) a couple of small chested broads. Now, I don't want to embarrass my Nyds, but this happened.

The only boobies I'd seen were Nanny's when she would roll them up from her waist and put them in her bra. So it was a surprise to see real ones on a real person.

Not long after Nyds and Dad married I wandered into their bedroom. I was a brown eyed girl with a bad bowl cut.

Nydia had gotten a bunch of fetching gowns from a wedding shower. One happened to be pink and had this cutout in the middle. So I roll in, about boob-level, early one morning. One of her girls had popped out. She tells me she woke up to see a little brown eyed girl pointing in astonishment that this could happen.

And that is absolutely one of my favorite Nydia stories. And I love telling it. But it's payback for her letting me shave my eyebrows in 7th grade. 

So there.

Love you, Nyds. But govern those girls!

Mamma Mia

Ten years ago I went with two sets of friends at two different times to see "Mamma Mia." It became among my favorite movies.

The soundtrack I would run to.

The other day, my best friend Sarah and her girls and I went to see the sequel. It was good. There is a moment when Sophie (the Meryl Streep character's daughter) is about to christen her child. The Meryl character is dead. Spoiler alert.

Sophie says "I wish she was here."

At that moment, I lost it. 

Sarah looked at me and said, "things need to pick up here, because I am losing it."

I agreed.

It's something to have a best friend who cries when you do.

That's all.

Erma

June 11, 2018

I have regrettable insomnia. Nearly every night between 3 and 5am, I'm up. Call me.

Tonight/this morning, my son and my dog are both snoring beside me. I honestly love the sound. When Drew picked the dog up from the foot of the bed and slid him between us, I was particularly amused. And now Oscar's hot breath, at 4:45 am, is charming.

To fill the moments of the middle night, I decided to read some Erma Bombeck. Here are some gems that make me think we could have been best friends:

Housework can kill you if done right.

No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed. I have known mothers who remake the bed after their children do it because there is wrinkle in the spread or the blanket is on crooked. This is sick.

Cleanliness is not next to godliness. It isn't even in the same neighborhood. No one has ever gotten a religious experience out of removing burned-on cheese from the grill of the toaster oven.

When humor goes, there goes civilization.

If you can't make it better, you can laugh at it.

My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint.

Thank you, Erma. Just when I think I'm off the grid, I know at least one other person was once there, too.

The Fridge Pics

June 10, 2018

I'm getting a new fridge today. The old one leaked and over froze and also stopped keeping stuff cool. That's a problem. 

My fridge is covered with pictures. As I dismantled the montage of my life this morning, I took stock of what has comprised my kitchen landscape: my children, their awards, their pals; my parents; the day we got this house; the day we got Oscar; my best pals at happy happy moments; former students; me holding my best friend's first born; the ultrasound of my Drew. There wasn't enough room on that fridge for all the people I love.

You know what? A crowded fridge door is about the best blessing. I don't take it for granted. 

Nor will I take for granted a refrigerator that works.

Not Today Satan

June 7, 2018

I woke up to the news that Anthony Bourdain had taken his life. I had always thought he was arrogant and talented, and I'm sorry about this. I'm sorry about Kate Spade. As a front row spectator and near victim of Mom's suicide, it makes me very sad.

But life does go on. Because I lived, I got to have McDonald's between ballgames this morning with my Dad and Drew and I got to see a very large older man in a tank top that read "NOT TODAY SATAN."

I also got to advise my father that if he EVER wears topsiders, black socks, and camo shorts to read his paper at McDonald's, I will commit him. He thanked me.

He went on to describe some horrible woman he once knew who should be riding a broom.

Sometimes I think I'm being filmed.

Oh...with all the debate love

June 6, 2018

I was a high school debate coach. A public high school. In the midwest. We were competing against fancypants private schools, wealthy to-the-max districts. I had kids in such poverty my father and an assistant principal (and dear friend) and I took him out of a SHED from which he was living. 

We beat them all. The fancies. The privates. The folks with lots of coaches and no bureaucrats on steroids to make everything 1000x more difficult than it needed to be. Golly, do I seem bitter?

I'm not breaking my arm to pat myself on the back. I have colleagues who have done so much more. But tonight I ran up on this pic. It was a holiday party with my squad back in the day in my back yard.

I don't wish to return to those times. They were hard. But I wouldn't give them up for anything. I loved these kids. A lot.

We had so much fun. That's what matters. They learned. We laughed. Done. ❤️