That Moment When....

(I wrote this exactly 5 years ago. It's still hilarious. We refer to it often. Not sure if we ever made it public though.  Enjoy.)

In an effort to prepare for the great "Back to School" festivities I decided to take the kids for haircuts.  If you'd seen The Oldest in the recent past you'd know that his hair was in an unfortunate state of entanglement.  It resembled an octopus type creature and growled at me any time I mentioned "conditioner", a "brush", or "hair cut".  After it made a meal request and invited guests over for a large dinner party I decided that it needed to go.  The Oldest could no longer keep it in check or calm it down so he agreed that the bonds must be severed.  The Middle and The Youngest Boy had been referred to as "she", "her" or "daughters" enough that they were also begging for cuts.  There's one particular girl that's cut the kids' hair for years and she happens to work at the salon ( a term I use loosely in this instance) inside Wal Mart and the kids like her a lot.  So I load up the Brangelina Brood into the Super Mom Van and head out.  As I'm backing out of the driveway I hear a familiar clicking noise that tells me that I'm in desperate need of an oil change if I really want to make it to West Mansfield this weekend. 

Hey- I like multitasking.  Makes me feel all productive and stuff.  So what could be easier???  Drop the van off at the Lube station in Wal Mart while I take the kids to get their mops chopped!  Brilliant!  I'm so smart.  :-)  This will be a cinch.  In we go, drop off the keys and head to the salon.  The Oldest is the first to suffer the indignity of the chair.  He starts by removing the Legend of Zelda beanie that has been firmly in place every day for the past 2 years.  The stylist gasped.  I tried to hide so that the people checking out did not see me standing near him.  Normally, I do my best to embarass my kids.  I don't get embarassed personally.  This was the exception.  But in order to complete the white trash sterotype I broke out the Flip and proceeded to take video footage for YouTube.  Maybe I'll send the clip to Daniel Tosh.  ;-)  The stylist went to work.  It took her 2 hours to brush out his hair.  Seriously.  2 hours.  (Yup, I'm mother of the year!)  She then put it in a pony tail and snipped it off.  He briefly used it as a prop - he was a horse - and then it bit him.  We wrestled it into a zip lock baggie.  It put up one helluva a fight though.  I had to bribe it with promises of cupcakes to get it into my purse.  Another stylist came in and took care of The Middle and The Youngest Boy in the meantime.  They all turned out pretty cute for a Wal Mart cut. 

About the time that they were all finished up the vibrating keychain that the Lube Center provided me was going off indicating that the van was complete.  At this point I am quite proud of myself!  Mini-Me had been good the whole time, the boys were getting antsy but nothing I couldn't handle.  So I pull out my wallet to pay the lady and my heart stopped.  The whole world went topsy turvy for a moment.  My debit card - my ONLY access to money - was NOT in my wallet.  Frantically, I pulled every card from it and sorted through them....  Kroger Plus card, CVS Rewards Card, Sally's Club, Edge Card, K Mart Special, Big Lots Rewards, my useless ATM card, my drivers license.  None of them could pay for the haircuts.  Then it dawns on me.  My debit card is on the couch.  At home.  My van is in the shop.  Even if I could leave The Oldest at the salon I couldn't run home because I can't pay for my van! Oh.  Holy.  Hell.

Just then Mini-Me breaks out into a frenzied cry for a boob, The Youngest Boy starts jumping off of seats, The Middle is hungry, The Oldest is bored, the stylist wants her money and her hefty tip for braving the violent tendrils of my 14 year old, everyone and everything is louder and I can feel my face running the gamut of every shade of red known to man.  I'm sure it settled on a deep crimson.   My brain starts to go into high gear as my adrenaline starts to rush.  My sister is at work, in Kettering.  It's 4:00.  No one is home.  What the hell am I going to do???  Okay - I'll text everyone in my phone book that could possibly assist.  Jessy was already workin.  Then I call Amber who can be there in an hour and a half.  I've got to be at The Middle Son's school for 2nd grade orientation and I promised a trip to JD's Custard.  Finally, Kyle comes through.  He will come and get The Oldest, run him to the house and then bring him back.  In the meantime we must wait in the salon.  I whip out a nipple for Mini-Me and ask the boys to sit down and be patient.  Help is on the way!

As I am nursing Mini-Me, The Middle has to pee.  I agree to letting him run to the restroom.  Well, The Youngest Boy  takes off after him.  So I jump up - Mini-Me still attached to my right breast - and try to chase him down and get him back where he belongs.  Yeah - that wasn't humiliating in the slightest.  Around 4:40 Kyle arrives and grabs The Oldest.  There was a light at the end of the tunnel!  By this time the boys have maxed out the attention span.  They're restless.  They've invented a game out of a nickel and the floor which ends in a fight and crying.  I want to shrivel up and die.  Or evaporate.  Anything other than this!  Every second that Kyle and The Oldest were gone went so slowly.  I could hear every tick of the clock.  Finally, they return with the card in hand!  I apologize profusely for the stylists inconvenience and generously tipped her.  Then we headed to the Lube Center and retrieved my keys.  I drove away from Wal Mart like Barney Oldfield (he was an old race car driver that my dad always compared us to). 

We made it to JD's.  Not to orientation though.  I know, priorities!  Went home as fast as we could and decided that we won't be going to Wal Mart any time soon.   Be on the lookout for my pic on Peopleofwalmart.com in the next week or so.   

Look Up at the Stars, Not Down at the Mud

She was a quiet and mild woman, until you made her angry.  Then, she morphed into Hurricane Louise.  Even when she was her most angry, she kept a cool exterior with nothing more than a scowl that meant Hell was about to be unleashed.  She was fire and ice.  

Growing up, she taught me about the joy of still pastimes and peaceful play.  She would take me outside, into the woods near our cabin or where she grew up in Tennessee, and tell me to listen to what nature had to say.  Listen for the sounds of whippoorwills and various other birds, sounds of streams, sounds of the summer wind rustling the leaves of the old oak tree, or the echoes of whatever unseen wildlife scampering in the distance.  She would not ever appear to be the outdoorsy type – with her curled hair, lipstick, tailored wardrobe, and high heels.  Underneath her skin lived a woman who knew the trails of South Pittsburg, the mountains of Alderson, and all things Earthly.  She’d lead me through these forests, holding my hand, and would stop to show me everything.  She’d collect a handful of her favorite wild blackberries to share.   She’d reach down and pluck a sprig of spearmint and tell me of how she brushed her teeth when she was a young, poor girl during the Great Depression.

She made her way through poverty to grow up and become a college graduate, a member of the University of Dayton Aerospace Mechanics Research Department, a business owner, a mother, a grandmother, and a great grandmother.  Even though her own mother passed on when she was only 6, she still managed to overcome so many of life’s obstacles without much of a complaint.  I was, and still am, in complete awe of her. 

She spoiled me from the day I was born.  Elaborate playrooms for all of my neighborhood friends, fresh fruit platters with her famous dip, vacations in our camper, swimming, museums, plenty of backyard recreation, and anything we ever wanted.  There was still plenty of emphasis on sharing, caring for others, respecting our fellow humankind, and the importance of excelling in education.  She worked hard and was a wonderful role model.  She was a talented needle artist – crochet, cross stitch, embroidery, and sewing.  She made me dolls, doll clothes, doll bedding, my own dresses, and costumes.  I’m not entirely sure, but I think she had a time turner.  She collected antiques and books and prepared herself a substantial library in our basement, divided in sections, and complete with a card catalog.

We’d spent the better part of 1998 perfecting our potato soup recipe.  She and my dad owned a convenience store together and after he was diagnosed with cancer that year, I joined the family business to help ease the stress.  We worked side by side by side and I loved and hated every minute.  By the time I was 23, she’d become my best friend.  She loved spending time with The Oldest.  She taught him to love asparagus and made him full plates of bacon to snack on and The Legend of Zelda (because she was an avid gamer).

The end came slowly.  She fell apart a little at a time. It wasn’t noticeable to those of us that spent every day with her.  I see pictures of her now from then and wonder how I didn’t see it.  It was so subtle.  A doctor visit here and there and then news that didn’t carry the weight that it should have.  Congestive Heart Failure, a blocked valve, and an aneurysm.  This stubborn old woman’s clock was wearing down and for as slowly as it was creeping it was tremendously fast. 

There is no real way to prepare yourself for that call, for that face to face meeting with a  cold police officer, for hearing those words, for seeing that sight, for holding your father up,  and for breaking that news to someone else.  Severing a bond that strong is unimaginable and I hope that it’s the worst pain that I ever experience.  She brought the life, this mother of mine, into the house and into my world, with her final heartbeat all was vacuumed out.  With an emptiness that can only be understood by those who have touched it – I robotically finished the day.  I held her hand and kissed her soft cheek one final time and closed the door to the room that held her last breath and felt a numbness that I cannot describe.  There was silence inside of her and I felt it inside of me.  And every August 4 from then to now and beyond – I remember that ache of nothingness. 

When times get hard, I speak to her as though she is still sitting on that couch or on the other end of the telephone receiver.  I sometimes unload my burdens to her and imagine her gentle, wise responses.  Her voice is still rich in my head and my mind can piece together words from old conversations to form the guidance that I need.  Poetic stitching replaces motherly advice.  A handmade doll reflecting an uncanny likeness to her face that sits on my dresser fills in for that physical void even though it doesn’t hug back.  I am left to travel through life with ghosts and on most days that’s enough.  But today, I long for arms and voices and being five with my hand small in hers listening to the crisp sounds of crunching foliage underneath our feet and innocently looking up to her smiling face, completely oblivious of this pain.