Posts Tagged: Family

Attitude Matters / Family — 3 Comments
20
Apr 12

The rest of the story. My grandaddy and his WWII Baby Boom.

Grandaddy.

I always called my grandfather Grandaddy even as grown woman stooping to kiss his 95-year-old head.

I knew lots about my Grandaddy but it wasn’t until he was in his late 80s that I learned the “rest of the story.”

Joining up with MamaKat this week at little late, but couldn’t resist her prompt  3.)   Tell us something you learned about a grandparent that surprised you.

*    *    *

My grandfather was a obstetrician in Orlando from the 1920s till he retired. Back then Orlando was citrus, mosquitoes and beautiful sandy-bottomed lakes.

And babies needing to be delivered, for where men and women reside in close proximity that tends to happen.

So Grandaddy delivered lots of babies through the Depression and then came WWII.

All the doctors enlisted and went over to serve. I mean all.

But Grandaddy couldn’t pass the physical because of phlebitis in a leg. An injury sustained when an old sterilizer burst (basically a bladder filled with boiling water).

This troubled him greatly but what could he do?

So Grandaddy and another obstetrician in Brooksville (town outside of Tampa) where the only baby-delivers in Central Florida. All the rest went to Europe. Not to deliver babies but help patch-up babies who had grown into young men.

For a period of a few years, these two men delivered every baby born between Tampa and Orlando.

* I had always heard my grandmother say how Grandaddy slept with his shoes during that time.

Doctors made house calls back then.

*  I had always heard how just to see his Dad (who was never home) my Dad went on the calls with him. My Dad jokes how he knew what everyone’s living room looked like in Orlando for that is where he sat waiting for his father.

But not until his late 80s did I hear the rest of the WWII Baby Boomer story.

When the war was over and all the doctors back at their practices, Grandaddy invited them all to a banquet.

At the end of the meal, he handed each one an envelope.

In it was all the monies he had collected from their patients during the time they were gone.

He said it was the least he could do because he was unable to serve.

*   *   *

I was the oldest of his granddaughters.

After I went to law school, he said I reminded him of Portia from the Merchant of Venice.

image credit

 

I think that highly unlikely, but I loved it that my Grandaddy thought it so.

What about your grandparents? Any surprises for you?

 

 

Mama’s Losin’ It
 

Children / Family / iPPP / Life in Madison / Running / Uncategorized — 7 Comments
28
Dec 11

Family Run to Breakfast. Musing on forced family fun.

I did something that I may later regret.

I signed my two youngest children up for a 5K. Now it is a 5K at Walt Disney World .

Shameless you might say.

Holding a big-eyed happy Mouse out to get your children to run.

I’m not below that.

*    *    *

Challenge Number 1.

Get Dad to agree to run 5K. Seems he has no problem with thought of sleeping in while I take children to race. So I promised him all sorts of things that will never in his wildest dreams happen (I’m not below that.).  He’s in.

Challenge Number 2.

Get children moving. Since Dad’s at home, I had the bright idea that we would all walk/run downtown for breakfast. Our first official training session.

Miraculously, even with a brisk 39 degrees outside, all the affected (or is it infected) parties agreed. Though there was a snag. (Dear Lord above, why is there always a snag?) Eight year old couldn’t find two sneakers in same pair. SERIOUSLY. We searched and searched. So this was perfect time to face…

Challenge Number 3 head-on.

Forget Perfect. If you or I are ever going to get our families to go out and train for a 5K race (this is assuming you are like us, a non-genetically, professional-athlete, freak-of-nature family ), we’ve got to realize that participation is the win.

Determined to make this happen, fortunately the two shoes he did find — although not matching — were both athletic shoes and one right/one left. So after lacing up the left and Velcroing the right — we were off.

Amazing that of all of us, the my husband actually was most put-together exercise wear-wise.

 

Eight year old in lead, Dad and daughter.

 

 

Example of Challenge Number 3.

 

My beautiful daughter.

 

 

I let her dress however she wanted to face the elements. Tights, pajama bottoms, Hot Hands and gloves.

 

We inched closer.

 

We finally reached our destination.

The three-quarters of a mile to town really took its toll.

 

Making her breakfast selection.

 

 

Taking a nap before looking at the menu.

 

We ordered. And then made fun of mom. Which I allowed. Remember Challenge Number 3.

 

My daughter’s breakfast.

 

 

Grits (with salt and butter), eggs, bacon and biscuit.

 

My son’s choice.

 

 

Orange juice, fruit and apple cinnamon muffin.

 

And mine.

 

Nectar of the gods.

 

 

After fortifying our bodies, we headed back.

All-in-all I think it was a raging success. Only wish our 18 year old would join us.

But at least for the next few months, I can torture him with the threat of having to join us.

Being a mom isn’t easy, but it does have its moments.

 

iPhone Photo Phun

beach / Family — No Comments
29
Jun 11

Musing on No Power and 20 People.

Last time we spoke I was warming up my golf swing for the annual Miracle Miles Golf Tournament.

My husband starting a scorecard.

 

I played pretty good then a couple of 4 pars knocked me out of it.

 

And the winner is….

Winner is mother of four...Jenny (Not to be confused with Jim on the left)

 

But while we were playing golf, seems a tornado blew across the Apalachicola Bay not a mile or two away and knock out this power line.

 It was kind of fun that first night.  The night we came back from golf and thought the power surely would be on before morning.

 

 

It was a little less fun…because of sticky, no power — all my online devices dying — last night. But the games of corn-holing still went on below my room with the help of a car headlamps.

 

Today I made my way across the bridge and the bay. Glared at the broken utility poles… and found a branch of the Franklin County Library in a strip mall. I pulled in, pulled out my phone and computer and plugged in.

There is a college student working on a paper across from me and another gentleman just plugged into my left.

 

I am grateful to be in the cool and getting a little work done. Soon I will head back across the island to what is sure to be hour 48 without power.

They are hauling in these generators all over the place. They said a huge rain storm last night set them back.

Help.

 

Going to take a nice long bike ride….right by all these generators and pray they will get going soon.

Not really much more to say.

Help.

beach / Children / Family / Running — 8 Comments
26
Jun 11

Musing on the St. George Sizzler. Fun with the Family. I think.

 
 
My daughter and I after she ran the Sizzler Fun Run. She threw up minutes after this picture.

We vacation at St. George Island every year at this time.

Each trip, I spied this race and wanted to do it — so this visit, I signed everyone up.

They weren’t kidding when they said this will probably be the hottest race you will ever attempt — and to dress as cool as modesty and local laws permit.

I was so proud of my two Fun Runners. (Should I say three — dear hubby ran with them to keep them focused and from not sitting down at the turn around never to return.)

Fun Run Start.

 

Hannie finishing strong.

Joe finishing strong in spite of side stitch.

My husband finished right behind Joe.
 
 
The only other person behind him was a  lady pushing a chihuahua in a stroller. The dog had on a half Gators and half FSU bandanna.  Completely serious about all that.
 
 
My teenager and I started the 5K.
I came upon him about halfway and could tell he had had it and was hating his mother right at that moment.
 
I told him to buck up and finish. His reply,
 
“This is so stupid.”
 
Great.
 
But to my amazement, he did indeed buck-up and finished strong.
 
It was really hot. The three Fun Runners went ahead and got us a table at the Blue Parrot.
 
 
 
 
 
 
So one child threw up, one got a side stitch and was refusing to eat (was soothed with a virgin strawberry daquari), dear husband running with child was the last finisher (besides the lady pushing the chihuahua) and my teenager wanted to kill me for taking him away from prime fishing time to run 3.1 in a sauna.
 
 Good news was that they all were smiling at me again halfway through dinner.
 

Well, almost smiling.

Why am I the only one who enjoys these things?

It was a long day. I was enjoying a beverage or two at this point.

I had a great time and will be back next year. Only 365 days to convince everyone else to join me.
Georgia / South — 5 Comments
19
Jun 11

Musing about driving to Georgia Boys State — and Starbucks.

I’m tired.

I got up at 4:15 yesterday morning to drive with my husband down to Georgia Southern in Statesboro to pick up my son from a week at GA Boys State –  a nationwide network of camps sponsored by the American Legion.

They were having graduation at 8:15. So we set out at 5 a.m.

He slept and I drove to Augusta,  then down through Waynesboro. When we sped through Millen, I needed coffee. The only thing I needed more than coffee at this point was to find a bathroom to relieve myself of earlier coffee.

I put Statesboro and Starbucks in the GPS. My husband hates when I do this but he had to go to the bathroom, so he was in favor of a stop — this time.

We got coffee and headed to Georgia Southern. The graduation was in the Performing Arts Center. We had to leave our brand new, hot coffee in the car.

Darned if it wasn’t cold when we got back in the car.

I wanted more Starbucks. My husband and son grumbled.

I persisted in my desire for more java through the rolling eyes, the GPS that refused to give us a map, the son’s and husband’s barbs.

After about 15 minutes of picking our way through Statesboro not knowing where we were (and me enduring lots of hate talk),  we made it back to the same Starbucks. 

Picking him up at his dorm. He's happy because he's going to sleep all the way home and he hasn't heard about me wanted to stop by Starbucks.

My husband obviously didn’t think about personal space bounderies when he took this picture. I enjoyed hearing about my son’s week as a representive of Smith City, Jefferson County — along with my coffee on the way back.

You have to pick your battles.

I stood my grounds and came through VICTORIOUS.

Yay me.

beach / Columns / Family — 2 Comments
16
Jun 11

The Sandman Cometh — Driving a Dodge Ram

“Are we going to have to live here in our car the rest of our life?” asked our seven year old.

“I’m not really sure Joe.”

While at the beach, I made it my mission to find seafood. Arriving at such an establishment, we drove down the ramp onto the sand to park. After driving a few feet off the pavement, it quickly became apparent that decision was one of my more regrettable ones.

Our teenager who did not have the pleasure of joining us on the trip was informed of our adventure through text messages:

Dad: We got the truck stuck in sand.

Son:  Do you not have 4WD?

Dad:  No. Your mother thought we could make it.

Son:  Of course.

I did see the “4 Wheel Drive Only” sign but growing up by a beach, I knew about driving on sand. We were 20 feet from the main ramp. No one got stuck 20 feet from a main ramp because the sand stayed packed from cars entering and leaving the beach. Well, no one got stuck unless weeks of no rain turned the sand to baby powder.

The first beach goers who approached us were Russian tourists. Their help pushing and my exacting pressure on the gas pedal resulted in sand successfully cresting the rim of our back tires.

A man with gray hair and dark t-shirt stared at our sorry tableau from his black Ram truck. Alongside his fluffy white husky mix, he looked at us and shook his head. While my husband and gathering band tried to dig the tires out, I set my sights on the man as our vine out of the quick sand. I shuffled over and said, “You look like you might know how to get us out of here.”

“I pull people out all the time, but I’ve never seen the sand this soft. I’m afraid I’ll get stuck if I try.”

Great.  I looked to the panting dog. I looked at him, offered a slight twitch of the lips in resignation and turned around. The sand was as flour. I couldn’t blame the guy for not wanting to try.

But after watching the assembled cast of characters pushing and slipping behind our truck to no avail, he agreed to attempt a rescue. The Ram pulled and the strap tightened. I stepped on the gas, and after two attempts, we slipped and spun out of the crater to much rejoicing.

 I blew kisses to our rescuers. I blew kisses to everyone on beach – all except the man in the Ram. He didn’t seem to be the type to appreciate an air kiss. I did tell him “he earned another star in his crown.” And with that he rolled up his tether and drove off.

I didn’t care to be subject of tourists’ photos showing off their beach adventures to relatives back in Belarus. But for a moment, there was peaceful freedom in a situation where I had no control – other than to shell out money for tow truck. Whether it’s no rain, no cash or sand up to your bumper, never count out mercy in the form of a guy driving a 4 wheel drive.

Children / Family / Life in Madison — 3 Comments
21
May 11

Musing on sons who go to Prom. Just another mom’s pictures.

I finally got the pictures I took of my son before Prom loaded on my computer.

I didn’t realize this going to Prom thing was such a big deal.

He took a friend, a beautiful young lady, Emily Bearden, as his date — and a group met out at her family’s farm for pictures.

 

There was a bus waiting to take the crowd to Athens.  Blake Rector was thrilled the bus included a jungle-gym. (Does anyone use that phrase anymore?)

 

Lots of pictures.

 

After a bit my husband started drifting back to car...my cue that I need to wrap things up.

I’m not one to get overly sentimental at milestones.

It’s usually the odd little things that have a big impression on me.

But seeing my son and his friends dressed up — all I kept thinking is …next time I see him like this, it might be at his wedding, at his friend’s wedding.

I had more unexpected chills during that 45 minutes than I felt all last winter exercising outside.

Everyone of us reacts differently to the passage of time.

It’s universal. Look at all the blogging about breast-feeding woes, first birthday amazement, first day of kindergarten…

Intellectually we know these things will happen, but when it occurs — it’s as if a mini-earthquake erupts in our hearts.

I don’t do earthquakes very well.

I love watching my oldest son and his friends mature..Not that it’s easy.

When I’m going to stop expecting life to be easy?

Columns / Family / Latest Newspaper Column / Uncategorized — 9 Comments
12
May 11

Lost in Desperation or the Case of the Missing Dress Sock.

It was a Wednesday evening and family members started trickling home after church. It was also the night the bed broke – well, for the first time. My husband and I began wrestling with the mattress. Soon after, our daughter appeared in the doorway to the bedroom. “Mrs. Page brought me home.”

“That’s nice dear,” I replied while doing a backbend trying to right the mattress.

“Daddy left me at church.”

Our child was M.I.A. for 30 minutes and we didn’t know it. That’s our preferred way to roll.

Mini Me.

Dress socks, athletics socks, underwear – all disappear from our house quicker than a WWII squadron in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle. My husband bought a pair of khakis. He brought them home never to lay eyes on them again. I bought a pair of black tights at Amelia’s.  I loved them; they hid a multitude of sins that only women who reach a certain age appreciate. They were my saviors and I have torn the house apart board by board looking for them. 

I highly suspect the Khakis and the tights ran off together and might be doing naughty things in the bottom of a neighbor’s laundry basket.

I’ll let you in on another dirty secret. When I can’t find things, I just buy more. When a super-organization day miraculously erupts, it’s amazing what surfaces and in what quantity. The volume of products found usually corresponds to the level of anxiety felt at the time we were unable lay our hands on whatever necessity.

A recent cleaning of our cabinets resulted in 10 bottles of suntan lotion,  six boxes of confectionary sugar, 20 cans of Raid, eight rolls of Glide dental floss (mint flavor) and countless canisters of orange-flavored insoluble fiber. 

In response to all this chaos, my husband thinks he has a hidden drawer to stash all the things he can’t live without. A recent inspection of his trove revealed fingernail clippers, cords to recharge electronic products, one white tapered candle, a bottle of water, a pack of M&Ms, a mini roll of Tums, a half roll of quarters, dental floss and a 5-inch Phillips head screwdriver. Aha!

After getting locked out so many times with the only remaining key to our back door in Atlanta with my husband, I considered moving the only option. Thankfully, in a moment of clarity, I bought a new set of locks and then paid a nice gentleman to install them.

While bemoaning the most recent disappearance of a child, contact lens and my mind to a friend, she suggested St. Anthony — the patron saint of lost things. Wonder if he would consider a wayward Methodist? I wouldn’t be the best Catholic if keeping track of beads and such was a requirement of the faith. But I can say a really heartfelt, tearful prayer when desperate. Better yet, who is the patron saint of desperation?

Children / Family — 2 Comments
15
Apr 11

Musing on Nemo. 4/2011 ~ 4/2011

Eerily quiet.

We all have a dash. The space between our birth date and the day we die.  

Unfortunately for our family, Nemo’s dash was very teensy.  

This morning was one of those pleasant mornings. Those days when you are already late…only to have to dress, feed and drag a crying child to the car.  

“Is he sleeping? My beta fish sleeps a lot.” This was our daughter. Good grief. Asleep?  

Nemo lay motionless on his side on a pile of multi-colored gravel. His face still carried that scared look.  

Yes, Nemo came into our lives a short 48 hours ago.  

Joe wondered if he was so tiny that Nemo choked on a big flake of food. He vowed to break up all flakes from now on.  

I bought that neon mountain for him yesterday. Do you think that gave off some poison gas that did him in?  

Joe wants to pick Nemo’s replacement. Maybe find his brother or sister. We decided if we did find a family member,  the party line is that Nemo left yesterday for some much needed R&R in the Turks and Caicos.  

For now we are all just left with a bunch of questions….and an empty bowl in our lives.

Children / Family — 7 Comments
13
Apr 11

Musing On When You Feed a Fish.

We have a new member of the family. And he lived through the first night. 

After much gnashing of teeth and trips to-and-fro to the car my son got his wish.  

A trip to Wal*Mart for a fish. 

 
 
 
 
 

This is what 38 cents will get you at Wal*Mart.

He looks terrified. That’s one smart goldfish. 

He’s also a bitty one. About the size of a hangnail. 

I keep wanting to call him Otto. 

“When you feed a fish, never feed him a lot. 

So much and no more! Never more than a spot, 

or something may happen? You never know what.” Fish Out of Water 

I think he grew a tiny bit since we fed him this morning. 

Nemo and not Otto. Nemo is his name. 

For now he is alive and swimming around in his bowl. In a house of two cats who haven’t noticed him yet. He’s that small. 

Maybe I better go feed him … 

Not a lot. 

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