The Last Cap and Gown
It’s funny, I don’t remember blinking. I do, however, remember 20-some-odd years ago, when the kids were mere munchkins, the people who were the age that I am now saying, “Enjoy these years, your kids will be grown in the blink of an eye.”
So, here it is, a short blink later, and my youngest, Kelly, is graduating from college.
You’ll forgive me I hope for this little bragging session, this little obituary to childhood, this sentimental journey. I know that my kids are no more special than yours to anybody but me. I’m sure your kids are great, too. It’s just that I have this public outlet in which to reconcile my growing old, and by George, I’m going to use it. My hope is that you will read something here that will make you realize how precious your children are to you, and that you will give them an extra hug today, or call them just to say I love you.
Kelly was a funny little girl. Always in the shadow of older sister Jenny, she had a lot to live up to. Jenny was (or thought she was) always in charge, which in the long run probably made Kelly into a stronger person than she might have been otherwise. To this day, nobody but nobody runs over Kelly.
Some of my favorite memories:
When Kelly was three, she had a very busy schedule, which required her to be in a different location every day. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, she went to a private babysitter. Tuesdays and Thursdays she went to Mother’s Day Out. Saturdays she went with me to work at the sporting goods store that I owned at the time, and Sundays she went to church. It’s funny how a three year old can lay on the guilt to a working mom. I’ll never forget waking her one morning. She opened those big blue eyes, with her little chipmunk cheeks red from sleep and her arms tight around Daniel, the Cabbage Patch Doll and said with a huge sigh, “Where me haver ta go today, Mama?”
I remember her singing her own little song through her new microphone and amp on Christmas morning, “Papaw…papaw…Pap-a-a-a-aw!”
Or this one, about age 7: Always getting her words mixed up, she came in to the kitchen one day while I was pouring marinade over some chicken breasts, and exclaimed, “Oh Brother! Marijuana Chicken again?”
I’ve always been perhaps an overly proud mother. I cried at the PTO meetings when she sang on the stage, or signed a song in sign language. I got that little flutter in my stomach when she left for her first prom all dressed up and gorgeous, suddenly a young woman. And, as she rode her dressage tests on Big Red, the horse she trained herself, I stood and wept from the sheer beauty of this poetry on horseback.
There are others who have wept with me over the years. I call them the “other mothers”. Margaret Martin, her riding coach and my dear friend, who has had as much or more influence on Kelly as I have, and loves Kelly probably as much as I do; Lisa Sayle, who was her other mother all those years when I was working, and Jenny, her sister, who was probably even more protective of her than me.
As much as I’d like to take the credit for how Kelly turned out, I didn’t do it alone. In addition to the “other mothers” there have been the two great men in her life, her step-dad, Greg, and her dad, Odell. Both of them have been with her every step of the way; providing love, moral support and guidance (not to mention money and all the horse shows she had to be hauled to).
Oh yes, I’m proud of who she has become. Dean’s list almost every semester, while working two jobs and training two horses, a gourmet cook, a self-driven achiever, a kind heart, and already employed with a great company before she even has her diploma in her hand.
Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, instead of talking about what Daniel the Cabbage Patch wants for breakfast, we’re talking about 401k’s and mutual funds. We’re talking about furniture for her new home and medical plans. And all the while I’m thinking, “Oh Kelly, where you haver ta go today?” and wondering will she have Marijuana Chicken for supper.
I’m proud of you, Kelly Bear, and I love you more than words can say.
(Originally published at Kelly's college graduation, May, 2008)
Monday, June 7, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Don't Answer the Phone While the Puppy's in the Bathtub
I'm going to write a book. I'm going to title it "Don't Answer the Phone While the Puppy's in the Bathtub". In this book, I'm going to include all the things that I've learned from my puppy, Daisy. It may just be a list of wisdoms like: A 30-pound puppy WILL try to swim in a 1-quart bowl of water; A 30-pound puppy takes up MOST of a full-sized mattress; A 30-pound soaked-to-the-bone puppy can hurl 60 pounds of itself against an all-glass storm door; there is no direct correlation between the size of a puppy and the size of a hole in a fence.
There are all kinds of self-help books on the market. How-to manuals, CD's, DVD's, Magazines, etc.; all of these are available to teach us how to build a deck, build a planter, control our tempers, whip up a meal, manage our time, manage our money, raise our children, raise a garden, lower our cholesterol, raise our self-esteem, get to Heaven, file our taxes. If we take the time to read, we can learn how to operate our computers, ties our own dry flies, tan a hide, can our own vegetables, maintain our automobiles, fix our faucets, and give a speech. There's probably even a book out there on how-to-write-a-self-help-book. What I really need is a book on keeping your sanity while trying to train a willful puppy.
I know I'm going to come across as an idiot here, but let me qualify all of this by saying that I've NEVER before had a dog that I could not train. Until recently, I've never had a dog that didn't consider me the Alpha female of the house. I've had dogs that sat, stayed, begged, shook hands, sneaked, fetched and rolled over on command. I've had dogs that would "sic" any varmint that ventured into my garden, smiled on command, kissed on command, got in the truck on command. I even had a dog that sang on command. But I have never, ever, EVER had a dog like Daisy!
I'm working with her. We've got the whole Sit, Stay, Come thing. Sometimes. Well, really only when she feels like it. We go through it every morning and every night. Daisy, sit. She sits. Daisy, down. She downs. Daisy, stay. She stays. Daisy, come. She comes. Once. Then she's done. Daisy has the attention span of a goldfish.
That's how it goes INSIDE the house.
Here's how it goes OUTSIDE: Daisy, sit. She attacks my leg. Daisy, sit! She takes off after one of the cats. Daisy, SIT! She starts digging yet another hole in the yard. Daisy, come. She rolls over and wiggles all over, which means, "Play, play, play." Daisy, come! The horses grab her attention. DAISY, COME!! She'll be back in a few minutes.
She's learning; she's just not learning what I want her to learn. In her little mind she has learned, "If I tilt my head just so, the people laugh and forgive me". She's learned that shampoo and hot sauce are not her favorites. She's learned the hard way the holes in the fence have to be a little bigger in order to get her head in AND out.
We make excuses for her...(she's only 7 months old, she's been cooped up all day, we're not asking consistently). but what it all comes down to is this: We've got a monster on our hands and don't know what to do about it. With the dogs that came before, it was just a single softly spoken word. (No, Babe. Charlie, no). This dog is A.D.D. (Attention Deficit Dog). Possibly even A.D.D.D. (Attention Deficit Devil Dog)
I need a book. I need it fast, and I'm taking donations. Maybe a book on how to train a dog, maybe a book on dealing with exasperation, or maybe just a book on living with failure. Oh, well.
(Originally published March, 2008)
There are all kinds of self-help books on the market. How-to manuals, CD's, DVD's, Magazines, etc.; all of these are available to teach us how to build a deck, build a planter, control our tempers, whip up a meal, manage our time, manage our money, raise our children, raise a garden, lower our cholesterol, raise our self-esteem, get to Heaven, file our taxes. If we take the time to read, we can learn how to operate our computers, ties our own dry flies, tan a hide, can our own vegetables, maintain our automobiles, fix our faucets, and give a speech. There's probably even a book out there on how-to-write-a-self-help-book. What I really need is a book on keeping your sanity while trying to train a willful puppy.
I know I'm going to come across as an idiot here, but let me qualify all of this by saying that I've NEVER before had a dog that I could not train. Until recently, I've never had a dog that didn't consider me the Alpha female of the house. I've had dogs that sat, stayed, begged, shook hands, sneaked, fetched and rolled over on command. I've had dogs that would "sic" any varmint that ventured into my garden, smiled on command, kissed on command, got in the truck on command. I even had a dog that sang on command. But I have never, ever, EVER had a dog like Daisy!
I'm working with her. We've got the whole Sit, Stay, Come thing. Sometimes. Well, really only when she feels like it. We go through it every morning and every night. Daisy, sit. She sits. Daisy, down. She downs. Daisy, stay. She stays. Daisy, come. She comes. Once. Then she's done. Daisy has the attention span of a goldfish.
That's how it goes INSIDE the house.
Here's how it goes OUTSIDE: Daisy, sit. She attacks my leg. Daisy, sit! She takes off after one of the cats. Daisy, SIT! She starts digging yet another hole in the yard. Daisy, come. She rolls over and wiggles all over, which means, "Play, play, play." Daisy, come! The horses grab her attention. DAISY, COME!! She'll be back in a few minutes.
She's learning; she's just not learning what I want her to learn. In her little mind she has learned, "If I tilt my head just so, the people laugh and forgive me". She's learned that shampoo and hot sauce are not her favorites. She's learned the hard way the holes in the fence have to be a little bigger in order to get her head in AND out.
We make excuses for her...(she's only 7 months old, she's been cooped up all day, we're not asking consistently). but what it all comes down to is this: We've got a monster on our hands and don't know what to do about it. With the dogs that came before, it was just a single softly spoken word. (No, Babe. Charlie, no). This dog is A.D.D. (Attention Deficit Dog). Possibly even A.D.D.D. (Attention Deficit Devil Dog)
I need a book. I need it fast, and I'm taking donations. Maybe a book on how to train a dog, maybe a book on dealing with exasperation, or maybe just a book on living with failure. Oh, well.
(Originally published March, 2008)
What This Is All About
Well, I suppose there are a lot of people that do these "blog things" as people of my age and background call them; and I guess now I am one of those number.
See, prior to March of this year (2010), I published a little paper in my little town of Cookeville. In that paper, which was not a newspaper but rather pure entertainment-something to enjoy while the reader had lunch, I always did a publisher's article. In those publisher's articles I ranted and raved and cried and laughed, and my readers did all of these things with me. It was through writing the publisher's articles that I discovered I really liked writing.
I miss the writing, so hence this blog. My oldest daughter, Jenny set it up for me, and for that I thank her.
You will read about my daughters, my grandson, my brother and sister, my parents, my in-laws, the justice system, and my dog. I'm going to post first of all some of my favorite stories from the past few years.
I hope you enjoy at least one of them.
See, prior to March of this year (2010), I published a little paper in my little town of Cookeville. In that paper, which was not a newspaper but rather pure entertainment-something to enjoy while the reader had lunch, I always did a publisher's article. In those publisher's articles I ranted and raved and cried and laughed, and my readers did all of these things with me. It was through writing the publisher's articles that I discovered I really liked writing.
I miss the writing, so hence this blog. My oldest daughter, Jenny set it up for me, and for that I thank her.
You will read about my daughters, my grandson, my brother and sister, my parents, my in-laws, the justice system, and my dog. I'm going to post first of all some of my favorite stories from the past few years.
I hope you enjoy at least one of them.
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