Pregnancy..Keep Your Eye On The Prize

Let me start out by saying that I have two children. I had my oldest, a daughter, 9 days before I turned 21 years old. I was young and totally in shape when I found out that I was "in the family way". Let me just say that the totally in shape part disappeared just about as fast as the plus sign appeared on the stick declaring my condition.

The nausea set in immediately and before I knew it there were splotches all over my face from being physically ill along with a rash that appeared suddenly. The doctor informed me, with nonchalance, that the rash was just something that happened to some people during pregnancy. Well..Lucky me!

As the months past I developed many other issues such as swollen feet and hands. My doctor was also quick to inform me that hair dye was out of the question and so my roots began to show...Nice..I only wish someone had heard the word Ombre in regards to a hair style back then, because by my ninth month I would have been looking good..

I can also tell you that the wardrobe choices for pregnant women in the 80's and early 90's were seriously lacking. These clothes were so bad that in about the seventh month of my pregnancy I decided to burn all of them upon the delivery of my baby.

During my pregnancy with my son I experienced all of these same wonderful changes although this time I was much more mentally prepared for them, and I did purchase a pair of maternity overalls, a denim jacket, large t-shirts, and some Joker themed converse tennis shoes just to shake things up. I wasn't going to end this pregnancy with a bonfire.

Before the delivery of each baby I no longer even had the capability to tie my own shoes. I needed three pillows to prop up on when I slept just to maintain the ability to breathe, and I waddled like a duck.

I have to say that I was a bit surprised at the quick deterioration of my appearance the first time, since I had heard all of my life that pregnant women were beautiful. I was young and naive.

I was expecting miracles to take place. I kept looking for that glow, a special sparkle to appear in my eyes,and to be honest I was a bit excited at the prospect of finally having a bra size to be proud of.

I did develop the need for a larger bra, but it really wasn't all that impressive considering my stomach stuck out so much further than my chest.

Just when I thought that I had experienced all of the changes I could stand there was a bonus. I became prone to crying jags that came on suddenly and for no apparent reason. These little "episodes" reddened my face even more. Needless to say, they didn't do a thing to improve my new look. Like I said "Bonus" and I now know that bonuses during pregnancies may vary by individual and with each pregnancy.

I still today fail to understand why other women shared every pregnancy story they had ever heard with me, when they saw that I was expecting. So many women shared with me that I lost count. My favorites were the ones that told me absolute horror stories about labor and delivery. I mean really??? Was that necessary. I'm a smart woman. One of my very first thoughts, when I found out that I was pregnant, was "There's only one way out of this and I am not going to like it".

When labor finally started with my first child, I thought, wow this isn't bad at all. I can totally handle this. I showered, dried and rolled my hair (it was the early 80's big hair was a must), put my makeup on, and painted my nails red. I grabbed my lip gloss for later reapplications and declared myself ready to head to the hospital.

Talk about delusional. Those labor pains intensified by the minute after that, and I thought I was going to die.

I was diagnosed with toxemia and had to have an emergency c-section. They gave me some little nail polish and makeup remover wipes and told me to clean the polish off my nails and the makeup off my face, because I couldn't wear it in the operating room. Well within seconds I had raccoon eyes and that red nail polish was everywhere. It was smeared all over my nails and my fingers...and I had gone from thinking appearance was everything to thinking I'm dying who gives a fat rat's rear end just cut me.

I experienced a very difficult miscarriage about 3 years after my daughter was born, and then My next baby, a son, was delivered during a scheduled c-section...a much better gig if you can get it.

There are many discomforts that come with pregnancy, several of which, I failed to mention here, but each and every one of them are worth it!!

If you are in "the family way" my advice to you is not coco butter for stretch marks or peppermint for nausea...it's simply this:

Keep your eye on the prize....and for God's sake don't ask any questions about how resilient your body will be after delivery..or if stretch marks ever completely disappear...the answers to those questions are not important sugar...No ma'am...Not at all.

You are going to look beautiful after the delivery...absolutely beautiful...eye on the prize girl..eye on the prize.....

Rowdy On River Street

Awhile back I mentioned to one of my best friends that I had been dying to get to the beach so that I could see and hear the ocean. She, being her usual sweet self, surprised another friend of ours and myself, a short while later, with a weekend trip to Savannah and Tybee Island. The three of us always hung together, in fact one of our husbands nicknamed us "The Pearl Girls" because we all love to be together and love ourselves some pearls. We have been friends for years so I knew that we were going to have a great time.


We left bright and early and before long we were in Savannah checking into our hotel. My friend had booked us into a very nice hotel and our room overlooked River Street. The view was wonderful. We got settled into the room and then decided to change our clothes and head over to Tybee Island so that I could get my toes in the sand.


Everything was going along smoothly. We were on the beach mashing our faces together and taking pictures of ourselves with our cell phones, laughing and writing our names in the sand, and then one of my friends mentioned casually that she would like to have a drink with alcohol content. Then my second friend pipes up and says if we go to a bar and get started drinking this early we'll spend a fortune.


Now I had been quiet up until that point and then I had to speak up. I said: "I have a confession." They looked at me and said in unison: "What is it?". I said "I have some liquor in my suitcase. Actually I have a very large bottle of Crown Royal, a two liter bottle of diet Coke and some glasses." I said that I knew I needed to relax and so I had come prepared with some tangible aids to help me do so.


Needless to say, they were immediately on board and we could not get back to our hotel room fast enough. Upon our arrival I made us all a drink and we made haste to drink those, and then began on refills. One of my friends opted to stop at one, but the other knocked back a glass of straight Crown before she chose to decline another drink. Myself? Well lets just say I kept it steady. I had a few drinks while I got ready to go out for the evening.


Go out? Oh yes, we made a beeline for River Street. First stop? If you guessed a bar, you would be correct. There it was. almost as soon as we stepped outside our hotel... Wet Willie's. A virtual slushy smorgasborg of frozen drinks for adults. One of my friends decided to stick with her decision not to have any more drinks, other than the one she had drank back in the room. My other friend and myself had already had just enough Crown Royal to feel confident that more alcohol would only serve to improve our evening.

My drinking buddy decided that there were to many drinks to choose from so she said for me to pick one for us. Well that wasn't a problem. I marched myself right up to the bar and ordered two drinks, appropriately named "Call Me A Cab". We drank those and nothing would do me but to decide that I needed one more of the same.


When I had secured my second Call Me A Cab, I walked over to the the policeman at the door, and he assured me that I could walk right out the door with it. This prompted me to suggest to my friends that we take ourselves outside and sit on a bench in front of the river and watch the boats go by.

There we were relaxing and talking, and of course, I was sipping my drink. Well just about the time that I had sipped it right on down to the bottom one of my friends suggested that we walk to Outback Steakhouse and eat dinner.

It was about 8:00 p.m. at the time, so that seemed like a fine idea, until...I stood up. Yes as you may have guessed when I stood up I experienced a bit of difficulty with my equilibrium. Before attempting to put one foot in front of the other one, I asked my friend where Outback was. She said (as she pointed her finger in the general direction) "It's that red sign right over there.". I responded with another question. "The first red sign or the second one?".

My friend looked at me very seriously and said "There is only one red sign.". I, having a small bit of common sense remaining, looked back at her and said "Okay...in that case, there is a policeman standing right across from me and so I'm going to need the two of you to flank me on either side, or I'm going to jail for public drunk, and it's as simple as that. You are going to have to do it because, I simply cannot phone home and inform the Lieutenant that I'm going to need bail money. They cracked up, but knew that I was telling the truth.

They did as I asked and we managed to get by the policeman, inside Outback , and were seated without incident. I remember eating dinner through what seemed like a very blissful, yet dense, fog and then we headed back to our room.

After putting my gown on, and laying myself across one of the beds I heard my friend complaining that the air conditioner had a remote control that was so complicated she couldn't figure out how to use it.

Not a problem. I picked up the phone and I explained to the front desk person that we needed assistance in our room. She assured me that she would send someone right up. Well she did, and I was in the I can't worry about my wardrobe mode by this point, and so I couldn't even manage to process that I needed a robe on before he arrived.

My friend allowed the man into the room without even suggesting to me that I should at least get under the covers. The man explained the operation of said remote control and then glanced over at me laying across the bed and said "What are you doing in bed so early? You should be out having a good time. Did you know that there is a Martini bar on the rooftop?".

I looked up at him like he had a third eye. Finally I spoke. "I said Sir, do I look like I need a martini? That is my problem now. I have already had far to much to drink. In fact, I am inebriated, but thank you!!

My friends lost it. They found my little reply very humorous. I know, because they reminded me the next morning when I felt so bad that I needed my sunglasses just to open the refrigerator for a bottle of water for my parched throat. "Cotton Mouth" I believe I've heard it called.

I had a wonderful weekend with the "Pearl Girls", hangover and all. I rarely drink but I really needed to be worry free for a change, and Only true friends stick by you when you are that "relaxed". About three months after that trip we lost one of our Pearls. The one who surprised us with the trip. These memories make me smile now and I treasure our time together! She, along with my other friend, protected me that weekend so that I could totally let go.....I love and miss her dearly..Cherish your friends and have fun!! Life is short...

Renovating To Sell....A Story Of Survival

I have spent the past few months renovating/updating a house that my mother in law had previously been renting out. All of this with the goal in mind of putting it on the market.

The first step was to walk through the house and Make an overall assessment of what would need to be done. As I began my journey though the house I realized it was actually a tour through wreckage and disaster. Not only was the house absolutely filthy, but the renters had stolen everything that they possibly could. I had an initial reaction...it was Let us pray....

Since the house had been rented to people who had no belief in cleanliness being next to Godliness, and who also seemed to lack all moral and ethical standards, I knew that cleaning and replacing all of the stolen items alone was going to be a huge undertaking. Not to mention killing all of the spiders and creepy crawlers that had taken up residence, some of which I felt I could saddle up and possibly ride...

When I say that things were stolen from the home, I mean these people went all Jesse James during their departure. They stole the vent covers from the floor in every room, the shower heads, and even the knobs from the bathroom cabinets...Seriously??? Who does that?

As far as the unclean accusation goes let me just say that I didn't see any hope of getting the place clean even if I had a fireman's hose filled with hot water and Twenty Mule Team Borax...

I knew I needed a plan because I had no idea where to even begin. I tried to go all bibidi bobidi boo on the situation and then I thought...wrong movie. I didn't need glass slippers, I needed a mop and a broom that knew how to independently get busy. So I started yelling the names of the three fairies from sleeping beauty and still nothing...Disney be damned, I was going to have to glove up...

I left the house and made a reentry armed with more cleaning supplies than Hazel could use in a year. I literally had to suit up. Gloves, a mask, clothes that could be thrown away, a stack of lawn sized trash bags, and a few gallons of bleach and I was ready to go. Just let me say before I go any further that as far as fashion statements go, this was not a good look. I also have to add that other peoples dirt freaks me completely out...

I began by picking up the trash and then I thought I'd sweep and mop the floors. First I mopped all of the hardwood floors several times, and then I moved on to the linoleum in the kitchen. I mopped that floor five times with a brand new mop, then I had to trash it, and go and purchase another one...after mopping it about three more times I realized that I would have had better luck if I'd used a scraper. Needless to say a new kitchen floor had to be purchased.

I cleaned the bathrooms next. This of course included toilet seat replacement and enough bleach in the bathtubs to give me chemical pneumonia.

The carpet that was in all three bedrooms belonged on the street, so this was the next thing that was addressed. This can easily be explained by saying that people who don't clean up after themselves certainly don't clean up after their dogs. After ripping up all of the old carpet The next step was a trip to the flooring store. Carpet and Kitchen flooring was picked out, and then I was told that they would be out to put the carpet down after all of the painting had been done....Excuse me??? I had to walk on concrete floors for at least two weeks?? I also had to sleep in one of those bedrooms...It seemed to me, upon hearing this that the ripping up of the old carpet had been done a little prematurely...

During all of this time I had painted what seemed like EVERYTHING in the house, including the real kicker for me, the kitchen cabinets. I had painted so much that I was head to toe in paint of all shades....I looked like a walking Valspar sampler.

The thought of more painting and the concrete floor thing had me ready to turn myself in as crazy. I'm not a complete princess but at this point there were definitely a few tears. I was working myself sick and covered in paint every day of what now had become my life..a few times I'm pretty sure I developed a glistening on my skin that I could call sweat, if I wanted to use vulgar words. At one point I looked down at myself and thought...Dear God..it's like Alice In Wonderland..I fell in a hole and landed in something akin to the twilight zone, and I am never going to get my life back.. I'm just saying I haven't had my pearls on in months...There ought to be a law...

I am happy to say that the worst is over as far as manual labor goes, the house is staged, and within a week should be on the market...

Am I anxious for it to sell??? Well, I have said that I was going to stagger to the top of the hill out front and wear a sandwich board with the spects listed on it, while parading myself back and forth until I have a taker.....I'll probably even wear my pearls....

Music and Memory Lane

I grew up listening to all genres of music. I listened to rhythm and blues, and pop/rock with my Mama, classic country with my Daddy, and gospel music with my entire family as we attended church together. I had no idea as I was listening to those songs when I was a little girl that later in my life they would take me back to days gone by, but somewhere between my teenage years and adulthood I became aware that indeed they do.

When I hear certain songs my memories are set to music and play in my mind so vividly that all I have to do is close my eyes and I see and feel those moments as if I were there again. I hear a Credence Clearwater Revival song and I am 8 years old, riding in the car with my Mama. It's springtime and the window is down, I am singing along, wide open, my long curly hair is blowing in my face and looking as wild as an untamed lions mane.

I hear Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash or Hank Williams, and my Daddy is at the kitchen counter pouring himself a cup of coffee on a Saturday morning as he softly sings Okie From Muskogee, I Walk The Line, or Your Cheatin' Heart.

Any old time gospel hymn I hear sends me back to Spring Street Baptist Church in Marietta, Georgia where I am, of course, wearing a frilly dress, complete with crinoline, patent leather shoes, and gloves. I am standing from my pew and singing along with the adults as I fan myself to alleviate some of the heat and humidity that crept in during the southern summer.

Bob Seger, The Eagles, or Donna Summer come on the radio and it's 1980, I am a senior in high school, and I haven't a care in the world. I just know that life is amazing. I have my big hair with lots of hair spray and lip gloss working for me. My jeans are so tight breathing is stressful on the seams, and I'm loving life.

A Prince song, some Morris Day and The Time, Atomic Dog, or Planet Rock and I am at the Limelight in Atlanta, Georgia on a Saturday night. I have climbed through a whole in the side of a staircase and arrived on the top of a speaker where I am dancing (after a few alcoholic beverages) in five inch heels..oh yes... I was getting it done..

Billy Idol's Nice Day For A White Wedding... It's 1983 and I am getting married and my daughter is on the horizon.

In The Garden, Amazing Grace, or Precious Memories and I am taken back to funerals of those that I love more dearly than words can convey.

When I hear Lionel Richie's Say You, Say Me, my daughter is two years old and singing Say Me Say Me...and Billy Ray Cyrus' Achy Breaky Heart has my son back at two singing his rendition while playing his little air guitar.

T. Graham Brown's I Tell It Like It Use To Be comes on and I relive my parents painful divorce and how I never wanted to speak about it to anyone who asked how they were.

All of the memories of my life, happy, sad, scared, hurt, tender, loving moments are so much better when as I replay them they are set to music.

Sometimes they bring a smile to my face, and sometimes they send tears rolling down my cheeks, accompanied by an incredibly strong ache in my heart for the absence of those I love in my life and the longing to have them here with me.

Time goes by so quickly, and as it does more songs accompany more memories and I welcome that. Whether they are of the happy or painful type I find myself grateful to be taken back to them. The happy ones, because they are treasures to me, and the more painful ones, although they bring tears, are reminders of precious people who have blessed my life and others are reminders of lessons life has taught me.

Many times I play songs intentionally to be taken back to moments in my life that I cherish and other times I turn the radio on and I'm whisked back to a memory unexpectedly.

For me, memory lane set to music is the most amazing place to visit. A place where I spend moments with those I love through my memories of them ....I'm not always sure exactly where the journey into my mind will take me as the music plays, but I do know for sure that I am always grateful for the trip.

Uncle Jesse...Cremation and Mayhem... God Rest His Soul

My husband's Uncle Jesse married the love of his life, Irene, at The Plaza Hotel, in New York City. They lived a wonderful life together. She passed away from that awful disease known as "the C word", and his heart was broken.
After her death, he moved to be near his sister in a small town in Alabama. We all loved having him there when we would go and visit my mother-in-law.

This move was indeed a culture shock for him, but he enjoyed being with his family, and being born in Tennessee, he had a little small town in him and so I believe he was happy there.
He passed away not to long ago, following a heart attack, and our hearts were broken. We immediately left for Alabama to help with his funeral arrangements and to be with family.

I'm not sure exactly how I became part of the funeral planning committee, but when it was time to leave the house for the funeral home, I found myself among the three nominees for the job. The three consisted of my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law's husband, and myself.

We pulled up to the place the family had chosen to handle everything for us, and we were met at the door by a relatively young man named "Josh", who introduced himself as the owner, and invited us into his office.

Now Josh was very friendly, and he informed us that Uncle Jesse was in Birmingham, at the moment, because he had chosen to be an organ donor. He said that he would be brought back there the following day. So far, so good...

My mother-in-law then removed the insurance policy from her purse and announced to Josh that Uncle Jesse had requested to be cremated, just as his wife had been. Josh then reviewed the policy and informed my mother-in-law that the policy only covered burial, not cremation.

He gave us the price for the cremation, and then we inquired about the cost of the viewing room and casket rental. Well the costs were more than my mother-in-law expected, and this must have shown on her face, because that's when Josh got all small town on us....and let me say before I go any further that I could not make this up...

Josh looked around the room at the three of us and he said, in what seemed like to me, a car salesman voice, "Tell you what I'm gonna do. I can lay Mr. Hatcher on a metal table, that's what we lay 'em on to prepare 'em for viewing, and, I can pull a sheet up to about here (giving us a visual, by laying his arm across the top of his chest), and I can roll him in to the make-up room, and you can look at him for free."

I immediately gripped the sides of my chair in an attempt to remain conscious and in an upright position. I could see my mother-in-law's face as she contemplated the idea. After realizing that my sister-in-law's husband was going to remain silent, I had no choice but to intervene.

Just as I was opening my mouth to speak, my mother-in-law turned to me and she said what do you think? I wanted to respond with "I think we have just entered the twilight zone", but having been raised right, I instead composed myself as best I could, and told her that I didn't think Uncle Jesse would want us to see him like that. When she still appeared to be giving the idea some thought I knew I had to just speak up. I turned to Josh, and I said "Josh, as much as we appreciate your kindness, we are going to forgo the whole make-up room offer and Just have the memorial service.

Josh just smiled and said "well, alright". He then reached down under his desk and pulled out a small plastic box and announced that Uncle Jesse's remains would be brought back to them in a container like the one he was holding. This box looked very cheap to me. I inquired about a nice urn by asking him if they had any there available for purchase that we could see.

His response? "No we sure don't, but you can go right on over to Hobby Lobby and get you one. They've got some nice ones." At that point, I had lost the ability to speak, as my processing wheel was trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Uncle Jesse's funeral arrangements were going to include a trip to a hobby shop.

I continued to sit quietly as things like who would be officiating were planned and before I knew it Josh was shaking our hands and we were on our way out the door.

We were heading back to Uncle Jesse's house when my mother-in-law said "we have to go to Hobby Lobby now.".
Well my sister-in-law's husband said he needed to be dropped back off at the house, because he had something else to do, and was already running late.

I knew at that point that I needed back up, because this whole process had begun to be over my load. I pulled my phone out of my purse and called my daughter, who was back at the house with my husband and son. I informed her of our little shopping excursion, and told her that I expected her father to be front and center on the driveway in two minutes to fill the seat in the car that would be vacated by my Sister-in-law's husband.

As we pulled up to the house, both my husband and daughter were waiting, but she evidently hadn't informed him of the plans, because he looked at me and said "what's wrong? Where are we going?" I said "Hobby Lobby, get in!".

During the short ride, I let my husband know that we were going to purchase an "urn" for his uncle's remains. Due to my mother-in-law's presence, I spoke in a tone that I hoped would convey that this was where everyone went to make such a purchase.

We pulled into a parking space, and as my husband was getting out of the car with my daughter, my mother-in-law said she was to upset to go in after being at the funeral home. She said that we could just pick one out and it would be fine. I saw a buck passing opportunity at that point, and said to him "I think I'll just sit with your mom and let the two of you go in. The funeral home was quite a lot to deal with."

They returned to the car a few minutes later having made a purchase. My husband pulled it out of the bag to show it to us. It was very nice and in what I would call "manly" colors. My Mother-in-law immediately asked him how much he had paid for it. He said "don't worry about it Mama." She said "I want to know. How much was it?" He told her that he had paid 75.00 for it.

As I was convincing myself that the urn was nice, and that we could just super glue the lid on after placing Uncle Jesse's remains inside, and telling myself that after all, it was only temporary, (he had requested that his ashes be spread in a New York location, with the remains of is beloved Irene's)...My mother-in-law spoke again.

She said "Give me the receipt.". My husband said "What?". She repeated herself, and he then asked her why she wanted the receipt. Her response made me aware that I was definitely in the twilight zone, and it was not a short episode, it was a movie version.

She said "I'm going to return it after the service.". All I could think at that point was Dear God...No! I turned to my husband with a look that said seriously???? He said "Mama, you can't return this after Jesse's ashes have been in it.", and her response to that may have trumped Josh's make-up room offer.

She said simply "I can rinse it out.". Needless to say, for at least the second time that day, I was stunned into silence. My husband then looked at her and said "Mama, we are not going to do that.". She wasn't giving it up, and because she was already upset, I told him to just hand her the receipt, and whispered to him that we'd figure out a way to get around the "rinsing out" later.

We managed to make it through the rest of the "planning" phase, and the morning of the memorial service arrived.
As you may have guessed, my husband and I arrived at the funeral home/Chapel still lacking a plan. As we entered the front door, Josh was there to inform us that Uncle Jesse's remains would be arriving at any moment.

We proceeded into a viewing room, that had been provided for the family to gather, and a few minutes later I spotted Josh out of my peripheral vision, and he was holding the small box that I knew contained Uncle Jesse.

I bolted over to where my husband was standing, and I said, with much urgency, "There's Josh and he's holding Jesse, do something!!".

We then walked very briskly over to where Josh was standing, and my husband signed for the remains, took them from Josh, and kept the line moving right out the front door. I was following my husband and I realized he was making a hasty retreat to our car. I said "What are we doing?" He said "The only thing we can do.". I said "which is?", because at that point I lacked the ability to buy a clue. He responded with "I'll show you.".

He proceeded to open the trunk of the car and placed Uncle Jesse's remains inside next to the Hobby Lobby bag containing the urn. He then opened the bag and removed the urn, placed the lid on it, and closed the trunk. I glared at him in shock and horror.

I said "You've just closed Uncle Jesse up in the trunk, and since his memorial service isn't scheduled to be held here in the parking lot you had better get him out.".

He looked at me with the look of a man that said I have made an emergency executive decision and you need to just get on board with it. As the situation gained clarity for me, and I realized my husband's intent, I had to stop (donkey Girl Scout that I am) and pray for forgiveness for the two of us, although, I wasn't even sure we had sinned. I did recognize the fact that I had just become an accomplice.
\
We then marched ourselves into the Chapel, my husband holding the urn, and placed it in it's place of honor, so as to represent Uncle Jesse's presence at his memorial service.

Absolutely no one was the wiser as the memorial service began, but I couldn't hear a word being said above my own thoughts, and there were many...
Things like..
We are like criminals..
We've gone all Bonnie and Clyde on this situation..
This is sooo disrespectful...
We are sorry God...
We are sorry Uncle Jesse...
up to and including......Dear God I know where the remains of the body are hidden...

I don't know if God and Uncle Jesse understood that we had to protect the future shoppers of Hobby Lobby, but I have to hope so. I do know that Uncle Jesse had an amazing sense of humor. I have heard that some people attend their funeral/memorial services in spirit, and all I can say is Uncle Jesse forgive us...and if you saw us..well...You know your sister, and I hope you laughed all the way to Heaven.

Your ashes were mixed with those of your beloved Irene, who left before you, and scattered where, and as you requested.

Rest in peace with all of our love and the love of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. We will miss you very much and you will live on in our hearts always....

Looking Like A Train Wreck? Mama Ain't Having It

Life has it's hills and valleys for everyone, and recently I have been in a valley. Okay, it's more like a crevice the size of the Grand Canyon. Let's just say that we, at my house, have been experiencing some personal issues of the sort that would cause interruption in anyone's marital bliss. My husband and I had a few words (were in a huge fuss actually, but my Granny always thought having words sounded so much nicer)and I decided that I would just bolt. I'm over it and I was leaving, so I grabbed my purse and keys, slid on my flip flops, stormed out the door, got in my car and went right to see my Mama.

On my way to Mama's house, I had a chance to cool down, and as my temper began it's decline, I began to take a closer look at the fashion statement I was making. It took me about five seconds to ascertain that it was not a good one. I discovered that in all of my anger, and with my "I'll show him attitude", I had chosen to enter the public needing a shower, wearing an Old t-shirt, yoga pants, no make-up, with naturally curly hair going straight crazy, in flip flops and wearing no bra...Oh yeah..Lookin' goooood.

The rational side of myself knew good and well that when my Mama saw me she was going to have a hissy fit, but I just had to keep going. I needed her. I was in personal crisis. So, knowing full well that my appearance resembled that of a complete and total train wreck, and that in my mother's book there was no excuse to justify being in such a state, I did not turn my car around. I had to have me some Mama can make it all better time.

I walked in the back door and Mama was standing in the kitchen. Just as soon as she saw me her assessment began. I could see it in her eyes. Before she could say anything I said, "I know Mama, and I'm going to take a shower". Well, Mama left the kitchen, and I got sidetracked talking to my twin sister, who was also there. I poured myself a cup of coffee and began eating a chocolate chip cookie, the size of my head, and before I knew it, I had put the shower on the back burner

About two bites into my cookie my Mama made a reentry into the kitchen and she said "Arlene, I thought you were getting in the shower. I put a towel and some clothes in the bathroom for you.". You see, train wreck that I was my Mama wasn't having "sidetracked". I answered her with "I am Mama, but I needed a snack and some coffee". She said "Well get done with it and go and get your shower."
Needless to say I gave her a "yes ma'am" and emerged from the shower about 20 short minutes later, feeling much better than when I arrived.

I headed right back into the kitchen for more coffee and conversation. Mama was there waiting for me. She had a few reminders for me about "not letting myself go"...She said "Arlene, you cannot let yourself go around looking a mess. People will talk." I said "Mama, I am in personal crisis" and she said "Personal crisis is no excuse for not taking care of yourself.". "You can't just leave the house looking all undone". I guess it's safe to assume Mama isn't buying that whole flip flops are the glass slippers of the south concept.

She looked at me again and she said "come on", and she motioned for me to follow her down the hall. I asked her where we were going and she said back to the bathroom. You hair has dry ends. She began pulling every hair care product known to man out from under the sink and putting them on the counter. She picked one up and said "Cup your hand". I said what is this and she said it's leave in conditioner and you need it. Cup your hand. Then there was another one that followed and I said what's this for and she said just rub your hands together and work it through your hair. I was doing as I was told, and she said no, not that way, Look down, and then go back to front, back to front...She left me then with two round brushes, a regular hairbrush, and instructions to dry my hair.

When I came out she said now just look how shiny your hair is, and doesn't it smell good. I said yes ma'am it sure does and thank you. When she was satisfied that I looked at least halfway presentable, we went back to the kitchen for more coffee with my sister. When we sat down at the table, she looked right at me, and she said now, what brought you out of your house in such a discombobulated dither? I explained that I had literally ran out the door, telling my husband that I was leaving him for good.(As I said earlier, this valley was of Grand Canyon magnitude).

Now after declaring something of that much importance, you would think that Mama might ask me if we were getting a divorce or something along those lines, but no she did not. This woman knows how to prioritize. She said in her I'm afraid to ask tone, "Oh no Arlene, Did you get your pearls?". I just about cracked up. Instead I said "Mama, you might find this hard to believe, but no, I did not get my pearls.

As you might have guessed, Mama was horrified by the poor planning executed in my rapid departure. She just looked at me with this stunned expression on her face, and she said "Go and get your pearls".

After a few short minutes, I was able to calm her by giving her assurance that at some point, I would make a reentry and do so, with my priorities in order. I said, don't worry Mama, when I go back, I'll make a list and get the most important things in the house...Pearls, other jewelry, Blow dryer, hair brushes, make-up, perfume, lotion, actual shoes in place of the flip flops, and without question, a bra.

When I had given her the short list of important items that I intended to go and retrieve, said that I just couldn't believe that I had left without grabbing my pearls, told her that I knew that I really had to learn to keep it together even under the most tumultuous circumstances, because she had raised me better...She gave me that everything's going to be alright hug, told me that if I needed her for anything at all to just call her, or come back by, and I kissed her cheek.

As I headed out the door I couldn't help but chuckle to myself, and think how much I love my Mama...She is right, if you look your best, you feel better, and she is a firm believer in that theory. Later that evening I thought about our time together that day, and I called her and I recommended that she listen to Miranda Lambert's "Mama's Broken Heart". I said It reminds me of you and me. She said okay, she would listen to it.

I saw her again today, and I asked if she had heard the song. She said yes, that she had. I said well, do you think it sounds like us at all? She said "Oh Yes".. Mama has her standards, and her ladylike rules, and she makes no apologies for them. To be honest, after she fancied me up a bit, I did feel much better. As a matter of a fact, the next time I feel like my life is going to fall apart in some way, I'm not going to run...I'm just going to stop and take a page from my Mama's book.

I'm going to pull some personal maintenance..get a manicure and pedicure..apply my make-up...put on some extra lip gloss... curl my hair, and find an outfit in my closet that says I've got all this mess under complete control...

My Mama didn't raise me to be a train wreck....Thanks Mama...I love you...

Zumba : Stripper Moves Without The Pole

I was sitting at work, talking to a friend of mine, and I casually mentioned that I needed to start exercising more. Okay, scratch the word more from that last sentence and you now have a true statement. Just as soon as the words had left my mouth, her face lit up and she smiled.

Somehow I knew immediately that I was in trouble. She said "I have the perfect thing for you to start doing". I asked her what it was, and she said, "I do Zumba every Tuesday and Thursday night and you can join the class with me." She then assured me that it was an awesome class, filled with wonderful women, and that they were ALL women..because I had informed her that I could not exercise comfortably in a co-ed environment. It's just not what I do.

After a little consideration, and internal conversation, I decided to join the class. I put my yoga pants and t-shirt on, laced up my Nikes, filled my water bottle, and grabbed a floral perfumed hankie, just in case I should happen to work myself up to the glistening stage and I drove to class.

When I arrived everyone was smiling and talking and stretching so I joined them and after positioning myself in the far back corner, I began to stretch and smile as well...No problem...

Then...The music started. Let me just tell you that there was no warm-up. It was full blown cardio right off the rip, complete with hip thrusts, rotations, and suggestive dance moves that I feel sure were seen at the Gold Club during it's hey day.

I couldn't have been expected to do more gyrating than I did that night if I had been holding on to a stripper pole, wearing a catholic school girl uniform and sporting my brightest red lip gloss.

There were enough moves and dance routines going on in that room to make the Pussy Cat Dolls proud..

My hips hadn't moved like that in years and my thighs were begging for mercy. I most definitely had my workout on..and I meant to keep up or die trying....

Needless to say I was only about one or two songs in before I hit the glistening phase and had to pull out my hankie. I was blotting my neck with it, when one of the women said to me.."You should bring a towel." I thought to myself a towel? Woman I am not mopping my face up with a towel like some football player on the sidelines after a 70 yard run...it ain't happening....Of course, what I said out loud was "Thank you..I'll keep that in mind."

I am proud to say that I did manage to keep up and with all that was going on, the hour seemed to fly by, believe that or not. It ended and I had managed to survive it without the need for a 911 call being placed to have them dispatch EMS. I felt pretty good about that.

I did go back for the very next class and have continued to do so, because to be honest it is lots of fun and I actually enjoy it very much while I'm there.

I admit that the morning after each class does have a way of reminding me that this sort of repeated rhythmic gyration can cause a bit of discomfort...but it's not so much that I'll stop...I can't stop..If I do, how am I going to perfect my moves so that I'll be ready when I get the stripper pole I've ordered for my office...

Stripper pole??? you might ask....I am dangerous like that, but in this case...you can breathe easy..I'm only kidding about the pole order..I haven't completely lost it..I do realize that my pole dancing should remain in my imagination, and I am well aware that one just can't do random things like work a pole without caution these days.... I mean seriously people..There's YouTube...