K-mart Hates Me.

Really Hates Me.

Whenever I get the bright idea that I will save time by going to K-mart (usually less crowded than Wal-mart) I end up paying dearly. This last experience has taught me a lesson. K-mart does not like me. I will never, ever go there again.

There is only one check-out line open when I go in. No matter how many people are in the store. After spending 15 minutes in line and finally making it to the counter, the cashier can't find a price in the system for whatever I'm purchasing. Or the person in front of me is paying with a check, a credit card AND cash.... and still can't round up enough money to pay for their item.

Last time, I got to spend five minutes in line with a family right out of Deliverance. Hadn't bathed in at least a year (just judging by the smell AND the coating of grime on their collective skins), had 5 teeth between them and were apparently allergic to laundry detergent, toothpaste and soap. Guess what they were buying.

Roach Gel. I know. I was surprised that any self-respecting roach would want to be caught in their house, dead OR alive. Ma redneck wasn't wearing a bra... I know this because she was wearing a large man's shirt with the sleeves cut out.

When the cashier runs the roach gel across the scanner it rings up$9 and change. Redneck family explodes!

Pa Redneck: "Nine Dollers! Thet sign sayud three dollers and fifty ceents! I seen it riyut there on da shelf."
Clerk: "Okay, sir. Let me call that department and see if I can get a price check."
Pa Redneck: "Nine Dollers! Thet's crazee!"
While the clerk is waiting on the price check, She ansers a call from someone inquiring about paints. She pages the hardware department to take the call.
Pa Redneck: "Roach gel Ain't in the hardwere deepartmunt!"
Clerk: "Yes sir. I had an outside call for someone in the hardware department."
Pa Redneck: "Hardwere Deepartmunt... thet's STOOOOPID. Roach gel in the Hardwere deepartmunt." Looks around at everyone else in the line and repeats himself. "Stoopid. Hardwere deepartmunt."
Clerk getting a little testy (me, too at this point). "Sir, I wasn't paging them about your request.... this was for another customer."
Pa Redneck: "Hardwere deepartmunt. Stooopid."
Clerk gets price check: "Sir, this item is $9, not $3.50."
Pa Redneck: "I ain't paying $9 for roach gel."

So do they just leave? No. They purchase as many candy bars, I think it was seven in total, as they can with their three bucks and change.

Hmmmm... won't candy bars lead to more roaches? Don't you think they'd have been better off saving up for the roach gel? Or splurging on soap and perhaps toothpaste?

Two Years

You know how we all have a fear that one day the phone will ring and that the call will bring bad news? Two years ago tomorrow, September 20th, I got that call. My sister phoned at about 7 p.m. to tell me that Mother called her a few minutes before and John was in the hospital. They thought he was having a heart attack. I called mother's mobile phone and she told me they were on the way to Savannah. John's co-workers had called and said he was in bad shape. I didn't think I had heard her correctly because she sounded so calm. Rob's parents came over to keep the kids and we went to GSU to pick up John's oldest daughter so we could all ride to Savannah together. Don't know why I felt an urgency that we HAD to get Patty and take her with us, but it was such an insistent feeling. Yet, I kept thinking: We're going to get there and he will just have a severe case of indigestion or heartburn or something and boy are we going to give him a hard time.

My brother Sidney called me while we were on the interstate and he was crying. I knew then. My chest felt like it would explode. He was crying so hard he could barely tell me that John had died. Patty was in the backseat and I was trying very hard to keep myself together. I just couldn't bring myself to tell her.... just in case, please, please.... they had made a mistake. Rob let me squeeze the heck out of his hand for the rest of the trip. It was so very surreal.... and yet I remember what I was wearing and the exact shape and color of the moon as I stared at it outside my car window.... full and orange.... a harvest moon.

I will never forget the way my mother's eyes looked when we entered a room they had cordoned off for our family. I knew it was true then. She had been crying of course, but the pain that just radiated from her was so overwhelming.... I knew that what she felt had to be so much worse than what any of the rest of us were going through.

I wanted to see him. I felt a very strong need to know, to see with my own eyes that he was gone. And I am so glad that I insisted on that. He looked so peaceful. Like he was finally at rest and I'm glad I have that image. I called my sister and we didn't really speak... just cried together. I remember realizing that I had to go to the bathroom and thinking how strange that this event that should make the world stop spinning has not. That the everyday functions of life go on even though our lives are shattered.

I never knew that grief actually creates a physical pain. My chest hurt for days. When we got home that night I laid down with both of my babies. I needed them with me.... their sweet sleepy arms around me and their warm breath on my skin. That peace that children seem to give off when they are sleeping. Tears just kept sliding down my face.... I wasn't sobbing, but I could NOT stop crying. My mind was whirling in hundreds of directions: sorting through memories, summing John's life up, wondering about the future, reeling in shock and disbelief.

It has been two years since that awful day. It goes without saying that our family is different. Before this happened, I thought that tragedy was a big bump in the road of life or an awful time of pain that you just dealt with and then moved forward. It's not that way at all. Sometimes it feels like we were going down a certain path in our lives and someone suddenly threw up a roadblock and we will forever be going a different way. Almost like you have been thrown into another life with no warning. I'm learning that grief is unique to every griever and that it is not an episode of our lives, but a daily part of us, forever.

That doesn't mean that my parents spend all day every day in bed with the covers over their heads or that they will spend the rest of their lives just waiting to die.... that joy no longer exists for them. It does. They laugh and have fun and love us and their grandchildren. But each day, John's death is a reality for them. Each birthday, family get-together and holiday brings with it a bitter-sweet joy. What a wonderful family we have. How fortunate we are to have each other. How awful that John is not here with us.

Grief is a part of us.... it doesn't dominate my life, but it is there.... some days larger than others. Sometimes it just fills me from the tip of my head down to my toes. Sometimes appearing suddenly. I remember the first Thanksgiving after John's death. A friend of my aunt's asked my mother: "How many children do you have?" I saw her hesitate. It was the "have" that threw her. The present tense. She finally said: "Four. Three are with us and our son John passed away in September."

The infamous "they" of "they say" fame tell us not to have regrets. To be grateful for the wonderful memories that we can treasure. But I don't think that is human nature. My brother was a volatile person. He made some poor choices in life. He bounced around from one job to another and was a terrible money manager. He experimented with drugs while in the Army and really fought against the rules my parents had for our family.

I took a tough love approach with him as I got older.... and there are days when that is difficult for me to handle. Was I too judgmental? Would I have been so hardline if I had known he would not be here until an old age? I don't know. I know in my heart that I loved him very much... and that I wanted him to set the bar higher for himself so he could live a happier life. But I wish I had talked with him more. That I had reached out to him more often. That I had called just to say Hello and I love you. That, despite our age difference of almost 11 years, I had made a stronger effort to find a friendship with him. Yes, I know I cannot undo those years and that my intentions were good, but these things still whisper through my mind in the stillness of night. The whys and the what ifs.

I'm very proud of our family. We have supported each other in these awful days and remain strong. Christie, Sidney and I spent hours with our parents sorting through pictures, sharing memories and writing a beautiful eulogy for John. His funeral was truly lovely. We did not have any regrets about our send-off for him or the decisions we made. Our extended families and the many, many friends of our family have given us so much comfort.

I'm proud of my parents for their strength and courage.... even on the days when they need to let the sadness just wash over them. When they are weak with grief and longing. They truly amaze me. I find their ability to bear this pain, to share it with us and not pretend everything is okay, a beautiful gift.

I am a person of faith. And seeing John in the hospital, I was overwhelmed with peace in those moments of seeing him, being with him in the quiet. Like his restless soul was finally calm..... like he had reached a finish line and could relax. I'm grateful for those moments. For the many moments and the memories I have of our lives together. And I ache that I will not grow old with all three of my siblings.... That I will not be able to share pictures of my grandchildren with him, that he will not see his children get married and start their own families, that there are Thanksgivings, Christmases, Birthdays and LIFE without him. But I'm so very glad for the life WITH him. I would not trade those years for anything.... even if I did not have to know this pain.

Freudian Mailbox

Ask and you shall recieve.... while I didn't want to stand outside in my PJ's this morning with a camera aimed at the neighbor's mailbox, I did find you a reference. Their mailbox looks something like this only the planter boxes aren't quite as wide. Now picture it with round burnt orange mums in the planters. I'm telling you it's a giant woody! And says so much about their personalities too!

Why? -- A Whine

Why is it that bad things come in groups? Find out your dental plan sucks, make a stupid mistake at work, and then get a headache...

Why is it that when Abby is very, very quiet she isn't doing anything good? Instead she is fingerpainting with babysoap on her brother's window. Or ripping paper out of a notepad. Or climbing on chairs to reach things she shouldn't have.

Why can't we find a single pair of matching shoes when we are running late?

Why do people only show up at your house unnannounced when things are in ultimate dishevelment? Yet they never come over when things are all neatly in place (okay that's only like a ten minute window, but still).

Why do I not realize I'm out of flour until I already have the eggs and butter mixed together for cookies?

Why do the phone and the doorbell ring at the same time at the office? Even when neither has sounded off in hours?

Why are all the traffic lights red when you are running behind?

Why do the children wait until I am settled down with a favorite tv show or book to start an argument?

Why does Slimfast not work if you use it to wash down a candybar?

Why can't I have my cake and eat it too? Or better yet have it with ice cream and chocolate sprinkles?

Why does one lose one's corkscrew the day one most needs it? (Don't worry, haven't misplaced the new $9 corkscrew yet.... this why is a few weeks old).

Why does our neighbor's mailbox look like a phallic symbol to me? Especially when they put fresh fall mums (lovely rounded things) in place on either side of the tall middle part with the roof on it.

Why will I have to photograph that to show it to you?

Just Because.....

Math and Rabbits

Hmmmmmmmmmm. When reading the title of this post you probably think I'll be discussing he reproductive habits of bunnies. I'm sure Crafty and Aunty think so.... but you are destined to be disappointed.

The Math portion of this post is in regards to J.T. and his school work. I met with his teacher on Friday and she allayed many of my concerns about his progress. She just loves him (I mean, really, who wouldn't?) and said she could have listed page after page of his strengths.... kind, mannerly, makes friends easily, eager to learn.... and he is making progress in the areas she was concerned about: handwriting (my mother swears boys master this later than girls.... though I STILL haven't mastered it myself), reading (slow, steady improvement) and staying on task (had a very good day Friday). But the best news.... he scored an entire grade level (one academic year) ahead on his Math placement test! I think that probably explains his lower reading score. From my experiences in teaching, sometimes those who are very good at math developed reading skills more slowly. So yeah for J.T.!!!

Now for the rabbits! We are selling cases of 20 oz. coke products as a fund-raiser for J.T.'s school. Since we have purchased every stupid raffle ticket, roll of wrapping paper, candy bar, etc. from Rob's much younger cousin when she was in school, we decided it would only be fair if we hit his Aunt and Uncle up for a case of drinks. J.T. called her and politely asked if she would be interested in buying some cokes. Abby overheard him and immediately said: "I want Larry to buy me an animal rabbit!" ????? We have no idea where this came from, but she insisted on asking the question. So I handed her the phone and she said: "I want you to buy me an animal rabbit!" Only she wasn't talking to her Uncle Larry. In her best: Hey, I've been duped voice she says: "You're not Larry, you're Sherry...." and hangs up the phone! We call back and apologize.... and this time she gets Larry on the phone, puts in her request and hands it back. Rob says: "If you get her a rabbit I will break both of your knees." Rob's uncle says: "Don't you want a pair?"

The Recital, Mr. Pooty Pants, One Cracked Tooth and a Hypochondriac

Things have obviously been hopping at the Cannady house, hm?

Abby deciding to give us a story-telling recital last night. To set the stage, she was standing in the middle of the den wearing nothing but panties (clothing of choice for the moment, IF she chooses to wear anything at all). Imagine the southern accent (she has a strong one and a lisp because she is gap-toothed). She tells us to "Listen. I'm going to tell a story. I was running to Grandma's, no MaMa's and I was hurrying and hurrying and hurrying, but I was goin toooooooooo fast. I had to slow down and then I got to MaMa's and there was my new cat! The End" (This is a semi-autobiographical work as there is NO new cat). We applauded and then received an encore performance. It was lovely. And if I do say so myself, brilliant!

J.T. and I were sitting in the chair together reading The Yellow Boat (fascinating book that) when he, um, let's one fly. I let the first one slide. but the second time... I looked at him and said: "We're going to have to call you Mr. Pooty Pants!" Which, of course, cracked him up. We had to set the book aside until he could keep it together....boys like a good crass joke, don't they? Rob told him not to say it at school. We have to say that ALOT at our house! "Okay, that stays here. Can't say it at school, right?" And Rob's mother says (usually after she has called Rob's father an ugly name): "MaMa shouldn't have said that. That wasn't very nice. I won't say it again," almost daily.... so the "I won't say it again" part is obviously a futile promise.

Rob also cracked his tooth yesterday and will have to have a root canal. Thank God we have dental insurance but we still have to pay $500 up front and the insurance will cover 80% of the $1800 total costs. AND they can't do it until MONDAY! So Rob is drinking through a straw and eating soft foods only. He also gets 5 days worth of serious pain medicine. If I were a less kind person, I would use this to my advantage. Sigh, alas I am sweet and too kind and shall just pamper him until Monday.

Rob's mother (our much loved resident hypochondriac) calls to check on him and says: "I have a cracked tooth, too! And we need to be careful that you don't get an infection that goes to your bloodstream and kills you" (I think I'm paraphrasing here). Which freaked Rob out and made me laugh (not the killing you part, the I have one too part) because if you have had an ailment, she has had it too and it was much worse than yours! We love her dearly, she keeps us laughing and is very, very kind, but sometimes our mothers make us groan!

Just think, I will be doing and saying things to my grown children one day that will make them roll their eyes and say: "Mother!" Payback is so very sweet.

Are We There Yet?

The little one will be turning three on September 28th! Because I am a plan-ahead kind of person (are you laughing out loud, Rob?), I have already purchased a few things for the big event.... mainly the paper products: plates, napkins and party favor bags. Our theme of course is Dora the Explorer. Rob bought a pinata yesterday. He is concerned that whacking one's favorite cartoon character with a stick might be traumatic later. Or that the rest of our stuffed animals will be recieving their fair share of whacks in the hopes that candy will burst forth from their innards.

Abby has discovered the plates and wants to use them NOW! They have a large picture of Dora right in the middle, so she is in love! I told her we have to save the plates for her party, which is many weeks away. She looked at me suspiciously. "What's this party?" she asks. Me: "There will be cake and ice cream and your friends will come play!" Abby: "What are these friends?" Me: "Your cousins, Emmaline (whom Abby calls Emily-Lion), Sidney, Jake, Hunter, Jordy...." She nodded and went to play.

Ten minutes later she tiptoes into the laundry room where I am ironing and says: "Is my party here yet?" with her eyes glowing and in a whisper voice... that I'm-so-excited voice. I told her we had a long while to wait for her party. She nods and disappears again. Five minutes later she pops her head into the kitchen where I am loading the dishwasher and says: "Is my party here yet?" We replayed this scenario half a dozen times before bed and it made me laugh. Cake, ice cream and friends are worth a little excitement, aren't they?