Me – knock me over with a feather. Still. Kinda numb. Head spinning a bit. I can’t believe it! I JUST gave birth to him a couple of years ago. Not nearly 24 years ago. That’s crazy talk! How can he be old enough to GET MARRIED? I’m telling you . . . “something” has come along and has snatched 20 years of my precious time and has taken off to a foreign land somewhere far far away.

I just brought him home from the hospital a few years ago.

Then he started school a couple of years later.

Now look at him!! He’s all grown and hairy and muscley . . . looking at his new bride-to-be with such happiness in his heart. . . and my baby is GETTING MARRIED!

Knock me over with a feather. That’s all I can say. Seriously.

I’m really glad I like this girl so much. Otherwise, this feather business might feel more like a chunk of concrete. And nothing good can come out of it if Mama feels like a chunk of concrete just knocked her over.

My heart and my prayers will be with my baby and his new bride tomorrow wishing them THE BEST life together full of eternal love, support for each other, and faith that they can make it through the best and worst of times. I hope that they stay this happy ALWAYS.

I love you baby!! And I love my new daughter! No one has ever made my baby smile this brightly.

This set of pictures has always made me laugh. I remember this moment like it was last week. I was hiding, unbeknownst to little Adam, watching him innocently sit there sipping his drink out of his big boy cup.

Then his brother spotted him. I guess it was Chris’ big boy cup.

It could be that I’m an evil, bad mother, but this makes me laugh every time I look at it. It so represents the struggle these two have had their entire brotherly lives trying to assess the proper pecking order. They did a lot of this. Typical little boys.

But then, there were THESE moments that make my heart melt like butter.

Brotherly love. Isn’t that the sweetest?

How did he get from this

to this

so damn fast?

Seriously. I think I’m having a mental crisis. It’s not that I’m sad that he’s grown up. I’m quite proud of the young man he’s become. He’s got a heart of gold, a fabulous work ethic and loves his family fiercely. So it’s not that I miss the adorable, tenacious little boy that he was. No – it’s just that I blinked and 25 years passed me by. I don’t know where it went. I mean, I was present. I think. Maybe I was asleep the whole time. In a drug-induced coma? No? Gosh, I guess I should have listened to ALL the folks that have told me that time flies. I didn’t believe them when I was young.

Now that I’m older. . . boy do I ever believe them! Age brings lots of things to the table. I thought the only battle I would have would be with gravity. It’s turning out that that isn’t the big deal at all. No – it’s the fact that time increases to warp speed while menopause morphs you into an alien creature. You wake up one day and see your grandmother in the mirror. Aaaahhh! My grandmother was not a pretty woman. She was sweet as pie, but pretty? Not so much.

Luckily, I don’t have vanity issues to stress me out with that part. I accepted my looks (or lack thereof) and my flaws a long time ago. Otherwise, I’d be in line at the plastic surgeon’s office with the rest of the plastic faced people trying to hang onto their youth. One reason is this:

My luck – I’d have freakish results like this. I’ll take my wrinkles, but hold the fleeting time, thank you.

I need to go now. I have to get shopping for Christmas because it’ll be here in a week if blink.

When you’re that close to popping, people are always asking “When are you due?”. When you answer, “Nine days ago”, people all but vanish into thin air. You hear a swoosh of wind as they flee for fear that you’ll drop any second. But nope. I didn’t drop in the grocery store that day. It’s funny that I still remember that bagboy and the expression of pure fear on his face when I answered his question.

Now I sit twenty-five years later wondering where the time went and am completely and surprisingly emotional. Why am I so emotional? My baby has had birthdays before. Apparently he’s had 24 of them already. Why is this one stirring my weepy pot? I’ve been on the verge of unloading a bucket of tears since yesterday and I just don’t understand.

I also don’t understand where those 25 years went. When you’re a kid, a year seems like an eterrrrrnnity. It felt like Santa only visited every five years because the one year seemed sooooooo looooonnnngg. Nowadays. . . gosh, a month feels like it’s a minute and a year feels like a couple of weeks. I was having a conversation at the pool last week (the end of July) about hurricane season and how we haven’t seen any yet this year. Miss N said, “They’ll probably start up in August”, and my first thought was, “That’s LATE in the summer” like it was a long way off. IT WAS IN TWO DAYS! August was only two days away and I was thinking it was a couple of MONTHS away. The summer can’t be almost over! It JUST started!

NOW my baby boy will be 25 years old tomorrow. I reminisced here last year, but wasn’t nearly as emotional. Am I weepy because I FINALLY figured out that he’s not my BABY anymore? That I blinked and his entire life flashed by me like a lightning bolt? Am I weepy because I finally realized that he doesn’t need me anymore? I don’t get it. But here I sit trying my best to hold back the tears as he gets one more year older.

My baby’s not this little anymore. He is all grown up. He’ll be 25 years old tomorrow!!

We were living in Atsugi, Japan at the time.  Ex was on a ship 95% of the time that we were there.  Chris was just a baby.  Adam was just a bun in the oven (he was born before we left though).  And we all lived in this little apartment out in the economy.  (That’s what they called “off the base”)  

That’s MY apartment there.  And as you can only imagine, I had Japanese neighbors for the most part.  Duh!  But there were two other American families above me on the third floor.  We all stood out like sore thumbs.  Chris and I with our snow white hair, and my friend, Winnie, with her bright red hair.  Yeah, we couldn’t help but notice one another.  And because I was so extremely quiet and introverted back in those days (it’s true!), I’d never introduced myself to her and her husband.  We only waved in passing.

Until one day.

See, Chris was just over one year old.  Such a cutie pie, he was.  And such a little boy!  While I was in our funky Japanese bathroom, I saw him toddle into the sink area and I saw him toddle out.  I thought absolutely nothing.  I finished taking care of my “bidness” and walked out into the kitchen. . . where I saw him!!

My baby had picked up one of my disposable razors from the sink and he’d been walking around knawing on it like it was a damn lollipop.  He was standing there acting like he hadn’t a care in the world while bleeding profusely from his mouth and his hands.  Blood was EVERYWHERE!  I can’t even tell you HOW MUCH blood there was.  And he was FINE.  Me, on the other hand, freaked OUT.  [It is only one of two times that I freaked out in my little boys' lives]  I scooped him up and threw him under the sink trying desperately to wash it all away. . . AND figure out where ALL it was coming from.

This child had hundreds of tiny slivers in his lips, tongue, fingers and hands – like huge paper cuts.  Apparently they didn’t hurt because he wasn’t crying.  (Well, he wasn’t crying until I freaked out on him.)  I tried and tried to stop all the little cuts, but there were just too many.  I scooped him up with a towel around him and RAN up the stairs to my redheaded American neighbor’s (whom I had only waved to in passing) apartment and banged on her door.  When she opened it, I simply THRUSTED my child into her arms and frantically said, “Make it STOP!” 

This girl calmly and quietly took my baby, walked into her kitchen and started gently washing him up, putting pressure on each of the cuts (or group of cuts) while walking around the apartment showing him her trinkets and stuffed animals and such.  All the while talking to him so sweetly.  ME, on the other hand, melted onto her kitchen floor in a giant pile of goo.I asked her, “HOW can you remain so calm??!”  She said in her angelic little voice, “Well, he’s not MINE.”  I loved her instantly.  Then I introduced myself.

Turns out that she was a pediatric nurse.  I often said that it was fate that put our two families in that same apartment on the other side of the world at the same time.

She, her husband, Micheal, and I became steadfast friends!  (This is them with my mom when she came to visit)  Then sadly, the day came when they had to move back to the states.  We kept in touch for several years, but I haven’t spoken to her or Micheal since the mid 90’s when Micheal was here in the area for some military reason.

He called when he was in town and we got together for a bit to catch up.  It was so good to see him and for him to see how the boys had grown.  (Looking at this picture, I’m guessing about ‘93 or ‘94 timeframe.  But sadly that’s the last time I saw either of them) 

I miss my friends and would love to find them.  And believe it or not, I’ve found LOTS of old friends on this here Internet thing lately.  So hopefully, I can find Winnie and Micheal Jones.  Last known to have lived in Fort Campbell, KY around the early to mid 90’s.  If you know either of these terrific people, please leave me a message.

I’m having quite the time trying to locate such a common name as Micheal Jones.  (I only remember that he spells Micheal slightly different than most)

If you’ve read this blog for more than a week, you KNOW how much I love beautiful weather and how much it refreshes my soul. Well, this past weekend, while the sun was shining and the birds were chirping. . . I was sitting in car dealerships. Not OUTSIDE in a lounge chair with a cold beer and a good book. Not OUTSIDE planting my Spring flowers. Not OUTSIDE period. Nope – my oldest child owes me BIG TIME. . . and he knows it.

My oldest child has had car problems for months now. All winter he’s fought with this car to keep it running. . . because HE HATES CHANGE! He’s not like most young men who can’t wait to go out and buy something shiny and new. Nope – he HATES letting go of ANYTHING that he owns.

His dad had given him his car when he was 16 years old, a 1993 Ford Explorer. That was 8 years ago. Chris is 24 years old now and I have to tell you. . . he sucked every ounce of “get-up-and-go” that was ever possible from that vehicle. He just would NOT let it go without a fight. Well, the car died. It died its last death. No more bringing it back to life. Almost 200,000 miles. Kaput!

So finally, on possibly the most beautiful day this year, it was time to shop for a new one. We’d been looking here and there for weeks now since we were fairly certain of its imminent demise. During that time (while Chris was trying to accept the fact that he was going to have to part with his dear old car – and believe me. . . it was a “process”) narrowed down WHAT it was that he was looking for and how much he could spend.

This is what we ended up with! It’s a Jeep Grand Cherokee!! I think he did very good, but then I’m partial to Jeeps. I’m positive that there were questions that we should have asked, some other way we could have handled the negotiations. (There’s always that ONE person that will always tell you what you SHOULD have done differently. Asses. Oops. Sorry) He’s happy with his first car purchase and I’m happy for him. (Now I don’t have to worry every single day if I’m going to get that phone call that he’s broke down again.) Reliable transportation – who knew it would be a mother’s dream?

One may ask WHY I was so involved in my 24 year old son’s first car purchase. I guess that’s only fair. But it’s because motherhood doesn’t just stop the day they turn 18 or the day they move out of the house. There are still lessons to teach your kids. And I think buying your first car is one of them. Sue me. I had logical and practical advice to pass down. Advice that I’d learned from people that cared. People that TAUGHT me.

This brings me back to my friend, Marty again. . . after all these years.

Hello Marty! Still has the same adorable smile that used to melt my teenage heart. It’s been so fun catching up with him and seeing pictures of his family. Marty and his family were very dear to me. But the reason that he’s been on my mind lately has nothing to do with our walk down Facebook Memory Lane (well, a little). Nope – It’s actually been about his dad. You see, it was his dad who gave me MY first car loan when nobody else would. All while walking my oldest baby through the evil ways and manipulations of car salesmen, I was remembering the lessons learned from my friend’s dad. You see, he worked for a financial institution that dealt with car loans for General Motors vehicles, and he was my only last hope.

I was just a teenage girl (19, I think) trying to make it on my own. He, of course, asked me all the pertinent questions about my credit (or lack of) (you gotta start somewhere, right?) and I promised him. . . I crossed my heart. . .I pinky swore that I’d make good on the loan. And he approved it for me.

I can’t tell you what a proud day it was for me when I paid that car off. I couldn’t wait to run tell him and to thank him for having faith in me. And I want to thank him again. “Thank you Mr. Huffaker! I’ve never forgotten how you gave me my first line of credit and how I held your advice so near and dear. Here, thirty plus years later, I’m giving my children the same advice. Thank you!”

Now I passed the same advice on to my child. Your signature is your word, and your word is who you ARE. I think he’s got it.

Plus, now he’s seen ME in action with the sharks (car salesmen) and he was, I think, surprised . . . AND impressed. Don’t mistake me for some weak little thing just because I’m female, blonde with big boobs and a Southern accent. I’ll take a car salesman ON! And don’t think I’m using any flirtatious Southern Belle charm. HELL NO – I’m head to head. Numbers to numbers. I don’t play.

Chris actually played the game quite well with me. We were a TEAM! We got up and walked out of negotiations over $225. We were leaving! I’m not going to be bullied. I’m not going to cave over $225. I went head to head with the dude that made the decisions (the one the salesman is always running to for approval). [This guy actually looked like he came out of an old black and white movie where he was some surly bookie with a cigar hanging out of his mouth while he punched at the adding machine with the ticker tape all over the place grumbling . . . trying to intimidate]. Try some other sucker old man!! I’ve SEEN this movie.

I’ve usually run about a year behind the times with each of these new technologies, but I do eventually find them and wrap my arms around them and love them gently.  Such is the case with the blog.  Blogs had been around a couple of years before I was prodded into checking it out.  In my conflict of Old School thinking and my love of New Technology, I was a little apprehensive about such a thing.  But when I was assured that it wasn’t a new version of online dating, I jumped in.

Now enter Facebook.  I joined this reluctantly too, but goodness the faces that have appeared from the past!  What fun it has been!!  So many friends from back in my high school days are on Facebook and we’re now “friends” again.  It’s been more than thirty years, but having moved away 24 years ago, I haven’t seen these people since back in the day.  So what a treat it is to see them again. . . well, pictures of them.  Close enough.

What got me started on this is a picture that my friend, Jimmy, posted on Facebook this week of my friend, Marty, and I in 1978. SO many moons . . . and wrinkles ago.  Look at those baby faces!

Boy, did that bring back memories!  Such a happy time!  Not that I’m not happy now.  Oh contraire.  I just remember being so young and so innocent and unassumingly HAPPY.  I LOVED my friends!  But seriously people, where were the 70’s Fashion Police?  I should have been ticketed for those glasses alone.  I think the only thing that’s separating me from the 60’s Flower Child is a flower in my hair.

This is Marty and I today. . . still friends after all these years, although I have not physically SEEN him since Dec. 29, 1983.  Yeah, I remember the date.  I’m a girl and that’s what we DO.

To add to this, I honestly stumbled on my old neighbors from that same year just a couple of weeks ago on Facebook as well.  ALL of my old friends were coming together again.

This is the Greene brothers, Johnny, Jim and Robert.  Jim and I were in the same class.  Johnny a year younger (we didn’t hang out much).  Then Robert, the baby, although he hardly LOOKS like a baby (he hung out at my house a LOT because of my sister).  I remember him at 13 being 6 feet tall and 170 pounds of solid muscle.  Even with him being two years younger during those tender teen years, I didn’t mind him hanging around cuz he was always so sweet and funny and entertaining (he could do that dance, the Robot, like nobody’s bidness).  Oh yeah, and he was easy to look at too.  They were a good looking set of brothers. . . and neighbors.  Yeah, my view didn’t suck much.

This is Jim today with his gorgeous wife!  And Robert. . . still adorable after all these years.  It has been so fun catching up with these guys and realizing just HOW MUCH time has passed has been totally blowing my mind.This whole walk down memory lane making me dig through photo albums and such is all Jimmy’s fault.  So I can’t leave him out. . . even though he’s always been a little on the shy side.  (Payback’s a bitch Jimmy – heehee) 

This is my friend, Marty, again and and my friend, Jimmy, in 1978.  My buddies. My pals. I loved them so much! But yes, still, the 70’s Fashion Police were MIA again or they would have banned that perm.  (You know I still love ya Jimmy)

This is my friend, Jimmy, today with his adorable youngest boy, Key.  It warms my heart to see him with that angel. . . all these years later.  After all the crazy stuff we all got into, the antics that we lived through.  It’s stunning looking back.  Thanks Jimmy for the glimpse back in time.  And I guess I need to thank that kid that developed Facebook who is now a gazillionaire.  Why didn’t WE think of this all those years ago.  We’d have never lost touch.

There are other friends I could show before and after pictures for, but that’s going to require more digging.

Who have you resumed friendships with due to Facebook?

So today, after getting home from work and as I was reaching for my second beer, I realized that my brain had turned to mush yet again (Not from the beer) and it was completely blank . . . again. . . swallowed up with the worries from work.  I thought I’d look through some of these photos that I’ve been scanning to look for inspiration.  It didn’t take long before I saw THIS.

Aaaahhhh!  I was SO HAPPY!  Can you tell?  This was about 1992 and I was visiting friends in Cape Cod and I was having a blast.  In this particular picture, I was singing Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy!” and dancing through the house like a lunatic.  And yes, vodka was involved.  Good times!  

I’m too sexy for my shirt – too sexy for my shirt – so sexy it hurts!

Then I saw this one.   This was about 1982, I’m guessing. . . a loooooonnnnngggg time ago.  I’m starting to see a pattern here.

My first thought was “Do I EVER shut that pie hole?”  My mouth apparently flies wide open when I’m having a good time.

My second thought was “Look at that tiny waist?  Is that mine?”  I don’t remember.
 
Whatever the case. . . it took my mind off of work. . . and on to happier times.  I’m smiling now.

Of all the stories of births I’d heard, my second baby’s birth was not like any of them.  No – my baby chose Door Number Three apparently. . . the door that opens at 3:00am with literally a FLOOD of non-stop excitement for the next 23 years.

We were living in Japan in 1986 in a little Japanese apartment off base.  With ex in the Navy and out to sea and my due date drawing near, I chose to stay with another wife on base.  Our husbands were in the same squadron.  We both had a little boy about the same age.  And SHE had an apartment ON base. . . closer to the clinic. 

Twenty three years ago, I was sleeping on a futon on the floor when I was awakened at 3:00am to a wet bed.  I thought, “I pee’d the bed? What in the world is wrong with me?”  I was sitting there embarrassed and disgusted at myself trying to figure out WHY I would have pee’d in the bed when a swoosh of water came out again.  I IMMEDIATELY thought, “I didn’t do THAT!  That’s my water breaking! Yikes!” 

I got up and ran down the hallway to the bathroom dribbling the entire way.  I glared at the evidence on her shiny wood floor thinking, “Wow! I’ve got a mess to clean up” and I set about trying to stop this leak.  In my head, there HAD to be a way to put a plug in this thing.  On TV, they make it look like a gush of water comes out and that’s it.  That WASN’T IT! 

Hurriedly, I grabbed a “feminine pad”, then two, then three and learned very quickly that THAT was NOT my answer.  I didn’t know WHAT to do!  I was rummaging through my friend’s bathroom like I’d been stranded without toilet paper, only I was trying to stop a leak.  A MAJOR leak!  Nothing.  I could find NOTHING to stop this leak.  It just kept pouring out.  So I threw on a dress and dribbled down the stairs where I was met by my friend who was wondering what all the commotion was.  I said, “I need towels!  Lots of towels!  I’ve made this huge ass mess!  And it won’t stop!”

She, being much smarter and less concerned for her floors than I, swung into action as if we’d practiced this in a fire drill or something.  I’m standing there literally spinning on my heels in an ever growing puddle thinking “What to do? What to do?”  I wasn’t necessarily panic-striken.  I just seriously didn’t know how I was going to clean up that mess if the leak wouldn’t freakin’ STOP.  Oh how naive I was.

My girlfriend in fire drill mode had called another girlfriend to come get me and take me to the clinic while she stayed home with the boys.  Second girlfriend comes and I hesitate getting in her car because I was like a busted water pipe at this point and I didn’t want to trash her car.  First girlfriend handed me about six towels and I padded her front seat with that and off we went.

The clinic is closed at 3:30 in the morning, but there are people there. . . sleeping. . . in case of an emergency.  Apparently they get awakened pretty often by people who don’t know the definition of a true emergency, so they answered the door a little groggy sporting a slightly bad attitude asking what exactly was the state of my emergency.  I pointed toward my crotch and said, “My water broke!” 

Again, these people, too, sprang to life and into action like my girlfriend in fire drill mode did.  “Get her in Room 1. Blah blah blah blah medical jargon blah blah.”  It may as well have been Charlie Brown’s teacher talking for all I understood.  People were swishing all around me hooking me up to this and that.  It all was happening so fast!  The next thing I know is that they’re wheeling me on a stretcher out to a helicopter where they were flying me to the nearest hospital that was about 15 minutes by air.  I felt like I was on M*A*S*H with the whirling of the helicopters in the night.

Helicopters don’t really rate high in the smooth and comfortable category.  In the fifteen minutes that I was in the air, my contractions went from 10 minutes apart to 4 minutes apart.  This thing was moving along a whole lot quicker than my first baby. (That’s a whole different story)  We got to the hospital and again I felt like I was in Dorothy’s house in that Kansas tornado in The Wizard of Oz with the flurry of activity going on all around me. . . that concerned ME.

The doctor comes in.  He wasn’t MY doctor.  Where was MY doctor?  I didn’t know this guy.  And I didn’t like him very much.  He was Dr. Something-ski, something Polish. . . and he was not nice.  He started examining me to see how far along I was, but he went so far up in there that I thought his hand was going to come out of my throat.  He then snapped at me like it was MY fault, “I CLEARLY feel a foot!”  This apparently didn’t make him happy as he began barking orders here and there.  Then I started to cry. 

I didn’t know what was going on.  I was all alone.  The husband was a jillion miles away on a boat. And this doctor had hurt my feelings.  He was rude and had the bedside manner of an angry Pitbull.  I just layed there and whimpered as they wheeled me into the operating room for surgery. 

They started prepping me for my c-section.  They gave me an epidural (which they really don’t like to hand out in military hospitals) and then started poking me with something sharp asking if I could feel it.  Not only could I feel it, I could dance on my legs.  I started waving them around.  The epidural was not WORKING!  So they gave me another one.  Same results.  Then they gave me a Spinal.  (I don’t know the difference. It’s just what I remember them saying.)  Again – nothing – still waving my legs around.  But the odd thing WAS. . . I couldn’t feel my stomach. 

They felt like I was about as numb as I was going to get, so they started the operation anyway.  They told me that if I started feeling anything to let them know.  I was thinking, “Yeah! YOU’RE GOING TO KNOW ALRIGHT!”

Well, I didn’t feel anything until they were pulling him out.  The next few minutes happened in slow motion.  They said, “It’s a boy!”  I thought, “Hubby got another boy”.  They raised him up for me to see.  Without my glasses on, I couldn’t see much, but I did see the ears.  I thought, “Aawwh! He got my ears. Poor baby.” 

THEN whatever they put in my IV kicked in and I immediately couldn’t feel anything, but I was wide awake.  I couldn’t feel my chest to breathe.  I could feel the air on my lips as I breathed in, but couldn’t feel the air coming INTO my body.  I started freaking out.  The man behind my head, the anesthesiologist, kept telling me that I WAS breathing . . . that I just couldn’t feel it and that I needed to relax.  That’s when I started throwing up.  I could tell I was throwing up, but I was paralized and I couldn’t spit it out.  I was certain I was going to die at that point.  Then I heard it being sucked out and the man behind my head reassured me again that he taking good care of me and that I was going to be alright.

The next thing I remember was waking up in the recovery room with a nurse standing over me and she kept repeating herself telling me “You’re in the hospital and you just had a baby boy.”  I kept thinking, “Why does she keep telling me that?”  This went on for a few minutes while I gathered myself and woke up completely.  I then asked her why she kept telling me that over and over and she said, “You kept asking me?”  Weeiirrdd.  **insert music from The Twilight Zone**

They wheeled me into my room and then wheeled in the baby’s little bed and parked it next to mine.  My baby.  It was the first time I got a good look at him.  He was so sweet and so tiny. 

My oldest boy was only 17 months old and I considered him a baby, but he was gargantuon compared to this tiny little boy. He took very good care of his little baby brother.

He’s not so tiny anymore, but he’s still just as sweet. My baby – 23 years old. I don’t care how old he gets, I’ll NEVER forget that day he was born.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY!!