Boys Will Be Boys

My granddaughter spends the night with me one or two times a week, and I take her to school on my way to work. She is six years old, and in the first grade. We always have conversations about how things are going in her life during our morning commute.

She tells me about everything from her parents and little brother, to her teacher and the other students in her class. We talk about things like fashion and academics, and sometimes even boys. I think that she feels very comfortable talking to me, and I love that. I am her Mimi, and that's how our relationship should be.

She tells me about some of the students having to "pull their cards", because they don't know how to behave. She also told me that she has never pulled a card, and she thinks that those who do pull them just don't want to learn. She told me that she loves school, but that some of her friends act like they hate it.

The conversations about things like "pulling cards" are the easy ones, but every now and then she'll say something that requires a little more thought on my part. That is exactly what happened one day last week.

We were riding along talking about her Dolce and Gabana Sunglasses, when all of the sudden, she said "Zach(not his real name)wants me to audition for him for American Idol."

She said "Not for real or anything, just pretend". I said "really". She said "Yes. He wants me to do it during recess." Then she said "He said I have to dance for him when I sing, because you have to dance and sing when you are a on American Idol."

Well that did it...I instantly became internally unglued. The nerve of this kid, asking my granddaughter to dance for him. I mean, who knows what he's seen on TV, or at home for that matter. There are poles on playgrounds for God's sake.

I had a few thoughts, none of which I could share with her, but some of which I will share here with you...

1. Not while I have a breath in my body will you be dancing "for" some boy during recess, or at any other time in your life.

2. Zach doesn't even know how to recognize that type of girl yet.

3. Zach is six years old and if he did see a girl who would dance for him, he doesn't have a job, money, or a clue on how to fold it..

4. Zach is most definitely headed for reform school.

After nearly running completely off the road and having to regain a steady heart rhythm, I told her simply that I didn't think that "auditioning" for Zach was a good idea at all. She instantly wanted to know why, and so I just told her that she is an amazing singer, and that she didn't need some silly little boy to verify that.

Then, remembering another conversation we had earlier in the year about a little girl in her class, (I'll call her Hope) saying that a little boy named Joe was "sexy", I said Maybe he can get Hope to audition for him.

She didn't understand my suggestion about Hope, but I had to let go with a little sarcasm somewhere. I needed the release.... I then told her that either way she wasn't to do it, and she assured me that she wouldn't.

As we pulled up in the car line at her school, I wished her a great day, told her that I loved her, and bit my tongue to keep from yelling at her little back "stay away from Zach and Hope", as she got out and walked inside.

As I drove away I couldn't help but wonder if Zach was just another example of kids growing up to fast these days, or if this was just a simple case of "boys will be boys".....

Either way, I'm just glad I had the opportunity to talk to my granddaughter about it all, before that little Hugh Hefner wannabe's first round of "auditions" began...

Lord have mercy on a Grandmother....

Suitcase

My husband and I watched an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond that was about a suitcase sitting on the staircase of their home. Debra, the wife, wanted Raymond, the husband, to take it upstairs. He was the one who used it, after all.

She felt as if she did everything as far as work in the house went, and the least he could do was bring the heavy suitcase, that he had used, upstairs, and so the stand off began.

I am telling you all of this so that you can understand what has been going on in my house lately.

My husband works nights and I work days, therefore, we sleep on different shifts. When I wake up the bed linens are still intact, but every afternoon when he wakes up the top sheet is completely off the bed.

A couple of weeks ago I came in and saw the sheet up in the bed in a pile and made an announcement. I said that I was sick and tired of having to put that sheet back on the bed because he rips it off everyday so that his feet can remain uncovered...

I said "I have asked you again and again to just stick your feet out from the side of the sheet like everyone else who wants their feet uncovered while they sleep, but you just can't seem to get on board with that idea"...

I told him that he obviously hated the sheet and that was fine. The next thing I did was pick it up and drop it on the bench that sits at the foot of our bed. I said "You win...No More top sheet, because I'm not putting it back on the bed EVER!!" (This was quite a big deal for me because I do love the feel of the sheets on my bed) I then looked at him and said "We've got ourselves a suitcase!"

Well he just grinned like it was all cute because he was thinking that I would cool down and make the bed later that evening. It's what I normally do. Well ...not this time. It was hard at first, but day after day I looked at that sheet and kept right on moving. When I washed the sheets I just folded that one and right back on the bench it went..after that, I didn't touch it.

Finally one evening he said to me "Victoria (our granddaughter) is spending the night tonight so you're going to have to put the sheet back on the bed".

Well...That just flew all over me. "Going to have to"? I looked at him and I said "are you serious right now?" As usual he was still grinning...I said only one word after that ...."SUITCASE"...

Finally one afternoon I came in and he was standing there as proud of himself as a four year old boy would be who had just cleaned his room. He said "I put the sheet back on the bed"...

I was thinking at that moment that I knew if I waited long enough his obessive compulsive disorder which causes his strong need to have everything in it's place would wear him down, but what I said was congratulations, that's great. I am glad that you took care of it.

Then as I turned to leave the room, I said by the way, about all of those wet towels on our bathroom floor... go in and take a look at them. You should recognize them, because that's exactly who they belong to, you....

I left him with a parting shot..."Suitcase"...when I came back into the bathroom later that same night the towels were all gone from the floor......

No more suitcases at my house for now... It seems, for the time being at least, my husband is traveling light......

Clarification Will Come To Those Who Continue To Ask For It

Let me begin by saying that I realize I write quite a bit about my husband, but with him being such a fountain of material, what can I do? That being said, I just had to share the following story:

There was a small ditch at the bottom of the driveway where the mailbox is located at our previous house. The driveway itself went up a hill and had a slight curve to it. I backed out of it numerous times without a problem. Occasionally, however, I went off the side of the driveway, at the bottom, and dug the grass up as I was leaving.

I had done this about two or three times when my mother-in-law came to visit, and it happened to her, but on a larger scale. She not only went off the driveway, she got stuck, and hit the mailbox, causing a good bit of damage to her car.

My husband, as you may have guessed, had no questions for his mother as to how it happened. Not one, not even while they were waiting on the police officer to come and fill out an accident report for the insurance company.

Each time it happened to me, however, even though my incidents only involved the grass, he was full of questions. He treated me as if he were back in the Criminal Investigation Division at work, and he was going to get answers if he had to turn on the bright light.

The questions he wanted answered were things like "How?", or the longer version, "How in the world did you manage to go off of the driveway and tear the yard up?" He would ask me these questions again and again.

Talking to him after I had been "in the ditch" so to speak, was like a very serious interrogation. He would ask the questions with a look on his face that was a mixture of confusion and stunned disbelief that seemed to beg for clarity.

The questions, however, were not my favorite of all of the things that he would have to say to me. My favorite always came in the form of a statement. He would just look at me and repeatedly say "I don't understand. I just don't understand how you manage it".

Well, then it happened... One night after he had gone out the door for work I was walking back through the house locking the doors, and as I came through the living room to check the front door I saw him through the window. He was in the ditch... and it gets better..it had been raining!

As my smile began to grow, I realized that I was holding my cell phone. Oh yes..you guessed it... I couldn't dial his number fast enough. I continued to watch the tires spin in the mud, and the truck get deeper in the ditch as I dialed.

My husband answered his phone with a tone that seemed a little irritated, so I had no choice, but to offer him some assistance. I asked him, ,in my most polite voice, "Do you need some help?". He responded with a very curt, No, I do not Arlene!, at which point I believe he hung up on me, I just haven't been able to prove it.

At any rate, I continued to watch him out the window, and then my phone rang. It was him calling me back, and by this time I had gone from a large smile to laughing out loud. Needless to say, I had to just about sever my tongue off with my teeth to get it together long enough to answer his call.

Did I say hello? No, I did not. I said in a very serious tone.... "I guess it's crystal clear now isn't Lieutenant?".

Well, needless to say, his mood was no longer questionable. He was livid. He immediately shouted into the phone. "Can someone please come down here and hold the Da@# mailbox away from the truck so that I can back up?", and then silence...another dropped call I suppose, again, no proof.

It wasn't rocket science for me to ascertain that I should probably remain inside, so I sent my Son-in-law to try and help him. This struggle went on for quite a few minutes until finally one of the neighbors saw the situation and used his truck to tow my husband out of the ditch. He left for work without ever coming back inside the house.

You would think that watching him go through all of that would have been enough for me... but I just couldn't let it go...

I called another officer, that we are friends with, and asked him if he could do me a favor. He said "sure, what do you need?".  I said could you just write Steve a warning ticket for improper backing and leave it on his desk? Then I told him the story and we were both laughing.

When my husband got to work our friend did ask him if he had a hard time getting there that night, and my husband, not knowing, of course, that I had called ahead, said that he had not. The next question he got was, "what's the story on all of the mud on your shoes?". I feel sure that he had to share what happened after that last question, and I know he must have loved doing it.  I know that the ticket on his desk must have sent him off the deep end, but he never said a word to me about it.  He wouldn't have dared give me the satisfaction.

To be perfectly honest with you, I am just so grateful that my husband got to have that whole experience. I mean I wouldn't have wanted him to have gone through the rest of his life not understanding the whole "stuck in a ditch" concept, especially since I know that being so confused about how something like that could happen had been so stressful and frustrating for him.

Being in the dark like that really hadn't been good for his blood pressure, and I am sure that he is a healthier man for having received clarity that night.

Yes, I just have to say that I'm very happy that all of his questions have been answered, and his confusion cleared up. Now, he is free to move on to trying to solve another one of life's big mysteries....

Plotting Against Him? I Stand Accused

My husband is very dependent on me when it comes to certain things. Saying that really is a polite way of saying that he is like having another child. I think somewhere along the way he was misled into believing that taking a wife meant getting a second Mother and relocating.

I don't suppose I can be to upset with the fact that he grew up believing this, I mean after all, I was misled myself. I saw Cinderella, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty at the Fox Theatre when I was a little girl, and I bought Walt Disney's whole Princess marrying her Prince, glass slipper wearing, life's loaded with romance, bunch of mess completely.

These days, I understand the fact that Walt Disney needed a kick right square in it for misleading small children, and I have spent a good deal of time trying to help my husband overcome the fact that he no longer lives with his Mother. I will tell you he's having a bit more trouble understanding that concept, than I am getting over the whole fairytale thing.

To be perfectly honest, I am partially to blame for his dependence on me. I began taking care of him when we were only dating. I spent my days off from work doing his laundry, cleaning his bedroom, and making his lunch or going out to get him something while he slept all day. Three years later, when we were married, I wanted to be the best wife anyone ever had, so I continued to run around doing every little thing that I could for him.

Well, good job me! All this managed to do was spoil him beyond repair. He's 48 years old now, and I'm still doing all of these things and more. The reason I have this on my mind is because he recently said something I couldn't believe, not even coming from him.

One of the things that I do for him is put his medication into his little pill container for him to take each day. Well, a couple of weeks ago I was so busy that I decided that he was grown and could take care of it himself.

Do you think that he bothered to read the labels on the pill bottles, and take what he needed each day? I mean you would think that he would, considering that he is a diabetic and a heart patient(both of which can be life threatening) but no, he most certainly did not.

My husband chose another route. The same one my children take. It's called blame the wife and mother. It's the one where all things are traced back to being completely my fault. It's quite a bit like the Kevin Bacon game, and let me just say that they are all really good at it. Their ability to make everything my fault amazes me at times.

Okay, so back to the medication thing. This man went several days without taking any medication whatsoever, and then he comes into the living room one day and looks at me and says, very seriously, "I know what you're doing". I said "Excuse me?" He said "I know why you didn't put my pills in the container".

I just looked at him and said "Okay, let's hear it. I can't wait". He said "It's because you are plotting to kill me". I looked at him as if he had lost his mind, and I said "Are you serious right now?" He said "I don't know, you might be".

Well, Crack up! A grown man not taking his own medication, because he has chosen to remain oblivious to what those medications even are, and how they are suppose to be taken, was actually standing before me saying that I was plotting to kill him.

There was only one response that I could give him. I looked at him just as seriously, and I said "My God, you have figured it out. You are an absolute genius! I should have known, with all of your experience as a Detective, I never had a chance."

I must have been insane thinking that he was going to do what he needed to do on his own. The minute we were done with the conversation about it, I went and put his medication in the pill box for him.

Lord... if he doesn't take it and he dies my children could trace it all straight back to me and the empty pill box. I hear you can't have perfume, nail polish or cosmetics in prison, and to tell you the truth I'm just not willng to take that kind of a chance...like I said, they are all really good at it.

I can just see the headlines now: "Dick Tracy Dies When Second Mother Refuses To Organize Medications In Pill Box"....No..I'd just better not risk it....

The Love Of Her Life... Stolen So Quietly

My husband and I were recently in a restaurant together having lunch. We were seated and waiting on our food when two elderly gentlemen walked by our table on their way out,one assisting the other.

These two gentlemen were followed by one more elderly gentleman, and three elderly women, one looking a bit older than the other two. The eldest of the women was obviously the matriarch of the family.

She appeared to be in her late 80's to early 90's and was dressed in a manner that would have made Coco Chanel proud. She was wearing a suit and heels, complete with pearls and a manicure. She was both classy and beautiful.

As the group she was with began to make their way to the door, the woman stopped directly beside our table, and for the first time I saw her eyes. I made eye contact with her, and I knew immediately she had a broken heart, although I had no way of knowing exactly what had caused it.

My unspoken question about her pain was answered very shortly when her eyes filled with tears, and the other women and two of the waitresses surrounded her. With tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks at any moment, she began to speak.

She first gave an apology for the tears, followed by an explanation for her behavior.
She looked into the eyes of the waitress that she evidently hadn't met (the rest seemed to know the woman), and said, "you see dear, the two men that just went out the door were my husband and my son". As she pointed to the other people with her, she said "these are my other children (all of which appeared to be at least 60 or so), and we've been eating here as a family every Saturday for years, but today will be the last time that we are all here."

The waitresses asked her why that was, and she went on to say that her husband had Alzheimer's disease, and that her children were placing him in a home that afternoon. She said they felt that it had become to dangerous for her to care for him on her own, because he was becoming violent at times.

My eyes were filled with tears that had begun to quietly spill onto my cheeks by this point, and as she went on to say that they had been married and slept next to each other for 69 years. My heart felt an enormous ache for the pain and loneliness that I could only begin to imagine she was feeling. The love of her life was being stolen away by this terrible illness.

The tears spilled from her eyes as she finished her story and as they did, the waitresses let their tears fall also. They gave her a hug and walked with her and her children towards the door.

When she had gone I just sat there thinking about both the depth of the love I had seen in her eyes when she spoke of her husband, and what they had shared for so many years, as well as the look of heartbreak in them when she spoke of their lifetime together drawing to a close beginning with this physical separation.

I spent the rest of that weekend thinking about her and all that she was going through, and when I was able to get past thinking about the look in her eyes and the thoughts of her pain, I realized that she had been so greatly blessed in her life to have had a love that she felt so deeply, and that had been so strong and long lasting.

We should all be fortunate enough to have someone love us in such a deep way. So deeply that it can be seen in the other persons eyes when they look at us, and felt in our hearts when we meet their gaze...

My darling's, in case you haven't figured it out yet...what this woman had with her husband, and the family that they created, is simply by definition.. a rich life....

American Pride And Respect, Get You Some

The bell rings every morning for school to begin and we observe a moment of silence, which I personally use to pray. This is followed by the pledge of allegiance. I stand each and every morning for the pledge in my classroom, and if I should be out of the classroom I stop wherever I am, place my right hand over my heart,and remain in that position until the pledge has been said to completion.

All of the students in our special education classroom stand for the pledge as well. This is something that I feel is important, as it shows respect for our country.

As I mentioned, there are some mornings when the pledge begins that I am caught out in the hallway because of my morning bus duty. I have seen many teachers and students walk right past me, as I stand with my hand over my heart, and I feel they are showing a blatant disregard and disrespect for the pledge and all that it represents.

I have stopped in front of open classroom doors and seen students sitting in their desks not being made to do so much as stand up. I have taught students outside of special education and I have made them ALL stand during the pledge.

Some of these students did not mind letting me know that I couldn't "make them" recite the pledge because they have "the right not to say it". That may be true, but my response to that is unfortunately they are exercising another right at the same time. That right in my opinion is "their freedom to act like disrespectful, ungrateful idiots".

Understand that I am not talking about people of one certain race or religion that disrespect our country. The students and adults that I've observed are from all races and cultures including many that were born and raised right here in this country.

I had a student last week inform me in the hallway that he would never say the pledge and that those of us who do are "programmed". This student also said that he had written a song that was Anti-American. I'm not sure, but I think he wanted me to say that I understood.

There are men and women who serve our country each and every day sacrificing more than the average American could ever begin to wrap their mind around, and all for
very little pay.

There are Americans who have lost their moms, dads, sons, daughters, and spouses so that we could maintain the right to stand in a classroom and say the pledge of allegiance.

The People who feel as if they don't owe our country any respect or our soldiers any support and appreciation are the same ones who spend their days utilizing all of the benefits and rights that this country provides them with.

Don't get me wrong there are still some respectful students and adults that do as I do and give respect where it is due, and teach their sons and daughters to do the same, but for the ones who don't recognize the need for it, or lack a patriotic feeling of loyalty in their hearts, let me clue you in, it's called "American Pride and Respect" get you some, or move your disrespectful self to a country you do appreciate, and stop taking up space in ours.....

Visual Assessments

My husband is always looking at beautiful women when he is out in public. This happens both when I am with him, and when he is alone. I know that it happens when he's alone for two reasons. One, he's human, and two, he has reported back to me on more than one occasion that he's seen an attractive woman while he was out.

I have no clue as to why he feels like he is a mandated reporter regarding all such incidents, but I do have my suspicions as to why he felt the need to tell me the first time. I think it may have been because he came home with a slight head injury, complete with bleeding, that he felt needed my immediate attention.

He had been to the grocery store, and evidently saw an attractive woman as he was walking out. With his attention totally focused on her, he forgot to watch for fixed objects, and walked full force into a brick column, thus causing a small cut above his eye. He came right home, gave a full report, and asked me to put a band aid on the wound.

Another great example of this behavior happened just last week. He went into a store, that I had driven us to, and I waited outside. A few minutes passed by, and he came back out dying from laughter. I asked what happened, and he had no problem informing me that he had been staring at a "really pretty woman" and walked directly into another woman who was standing at an ATM machine, nearly knocking her down to the ground.

Let me just say that I have, in the past, been offended by the fact that he was looking at other women so openly with me standing beside him. I felt like it was disrespectful.

These days, after taking the time to be honest with myself, I am willing to admit the fact that I am guilty of the same behavior when I see handsome men, but with two major differences. One, I am much more discrete, and two, I have never felt the need to report such incidents back to him.

I have come even further in my thinking after the most recent of such reports given to me by my husband. I have decided that I have the right to be just as blatant with my visual assessments as he is with his. I'm not sure I want to go as far as reporting back to him just yet, but I'm not ready to rule it out for the future.

I may still be a little more reserved than he is in my assessing of other men. Not because of my husband, or what he might think, but because they may notice me doing it.

Maybe as time goes by I can become as relaxed about it as he is.......well..maybe not quite that relaxed....but then again, who knows?

Lord...I'd better go and put a band aid in my purse....