Spooky!

Not like “Halloween” spooky.
But none the less, it’s at least creepy.

My Mom called me yesterday.
“Okay, the gig’s up, give me the picture back.” She said.
“What picture?” I asked.
“Your High School senior picture, the one where Kenny thinks you’re a boy!”

What is she talking about, I thought to myself.
I mean sometimes that woman is just plain off her rocker.

“It’s been gone for a couple of months now,
Don’t you think I haven’t noticed!
Now give it back or I’ll be forced to dig up another one.”

“What ARE you talking about Mother?”

Long, convoluted story short…
Someone ripped off my framed 8x10 senior picture from my Mom’s house!
It’s gone.
All the other’s are in place on top of her wall unit.
I’m M.I.A.!

Creepy.

Wedding Crashers

We were invited to a wedding Saturday evening.
It was the daughter of a big mucky-muck Mike works with and promised to be a fancy affair.
It began at 6, so we got all gussied up and invited another couple over for some pre-wedding cocktails.

We executed our plan with perfection, arriving at the Church at promptly 5:55.
With no time to waste, Pam placed our Wedding cards into the basket on the gift table as I signed the guest book.

As a handsome young usher offered his arm to escort me down the aisle,
Gary caught a glimpse of the crowd already seated.
“I don’t recognize a (bleep-bleep) person here”, he said in his not-so-inside voice.
Heads turned, and smiles quickly changed to looks of suspicion as Gary continued his rant…
“These are the Methodists! We’re in the wrong (bleep-bleep) Church!”

In a split second we had gone from “Respectable Guests” to “Wedding Crashers”.

But after a “not-so-gracious” exit (we feverishly rummaged through the gift card basket to retrieve our wedding cash) and a flurry of phone calls…
We made it to the (right) Church on time!

This Socks!

“Baby” has mysteriously disappeared.

After 5 glorious days of a sockless living environment,
Baby is gone and the socks are back on attack.

Someone in this house knows where Baby is.
I want her back, or next time…
I’m not going to be so nice as to remove your undies from the picture!

Independence Day

Today was a toughie.
I knew going into it what I was facing and I had done my best to prepare.
Today was the day that TC was going to tell her doctors that she’s had enough.
No more invasive treatments, no more chemo, no more potassium drips…
No more heroics.

I can’t begin to describe the emotional conflict that was in the room.
A kind and compassionate doctor, who is in the business of saving lives, and an exhausted and frail patient, who has been nothing short of a warrior, respectfully pleading their cases to one another.
He, the healer, wants to try one more chemo-cocktail.
She, the dying, is ready to let go.

For me, it was two hours of unbearable pain.
We all tried so hard to keep it together, to be strong for each other.
But then all of a sudden, there comes a sound.
A sound from the deepest depths of your gut.
It’s like a silent wail is breaking loose.
It gives no warning, it just comes out.
And it scares you.
Because at that moment, you know…you know you are not so strong.
And you wonder.
You wonder how the hell you are going to make it through what lies ahead.
How are you going to guide your children, who love her so much, through?

And the answer came, in the most unexpected place.

Jordan and I had gone out to dinner.
I needed a “pick me up”.
She lifted my spirits, especially when I told her a joke, inadvertently timing the punch line precisely with her next slug of Mr. Pibb.
The soda squirted out of her nose, sending both of us into a fit of giggles and requesting the check.

On our drive home, on a nondescript street, in the middle of the week, directly in front of our car…Fireworks exploded in the sky above us.
Big, professional, 4th of July worthy fireworks!

I pulled the car over and hit the lights.
Jordie and I sat there for fifteen minutes or better and watched the show.
Just then, my cell phone rang.
It was TC.
She was calling, “to check on me”.

All of a sudden…I got it.
TC took back control of her life today.
She’s now calling the shots.
And it is she who will lead us, on the rest of this journey.

I don’t know the real reason for the fireworks display.
But in my mind, it signified one thing.
A new day for TC...
Independence Day.

Yes, I am Weak

Months ago, when we were in corporate housing, Tucker and Ziggy continued to live with my Mom.
This was a good news/bad news scenario.

The bad news?
Mom put all the weight back on Tuckey that I had worked so hard to get off his fat ass.
The good?
She broke him of “Baby”.

“Baby” is Tucker’s red ball.
He actually has three of them.
He is never without one in his big, wet, slobbery mouth.
The problem with “Baby” is that Tucker always wants to play.
He is a Golden Retriever, as Mike always says, “Stuck on retrieve”.

My mother has the patience of Job, so if she couldn’t take “Baby” anymore, then this was some serious shit.
One particularly annoying morning she rounded up all three and put them “away”.
Poor Tuckey, he whined and he cried for days but just like breaking a baby from a binky, Mom stood tough and didn’t give in to his pleas.
Those were trying times.

Once back home, Mike threatened the kids and I within an inch of our lives if we gave Tucker back his “Baby”.
Jordie and Nick were totally on board, as for me…not so much.
And here’s why.

I was the one stuck home with the cry baby all day.
The dog is bad.
He always has something in his mouth and the hamper, he thinks, is his own personal toy box.
Socks are his favorite; I can’t tell you how many socks a day I wrestle out of his nasty-ass mouth.
If it’s not socks, it could be a shirt or someone’s underwear, I’m not kidding, the dog HAS to have something in his mouth at all times.
He has caused us, as a family, many embarrassing moments!

Today…I finally hit my limit.
I had two choices; kill the dog or bring back “Baby”.

As you can see…Tucker is still amongst us.
“Baby” may be annoying…but at least I don’t have to pick her up and wash her, or fold her, or perform CPR on her (yes, Tucker did bring me a barely breathing baby squirrel one time!)

“Pick your battles” the wise always tell us.
Well Mikey will be home tomorrow night…
I’m afraid “Battle” is an understatement.
This just might be full out War.