How to Have a Heart Attack

I have decided that one sure fire way to make certain that you have heart trouble in your latter years is to give birth to an athlete.

 

Saturday was the first game of the 2013 Baseball Season at the fancy private school. After four, count them, four, intense (intense as in NOT) practices ... The Coach/Dad thinks the team is ready. I suppose they are as ready as fancy private school athletes get, I guess.

 

Practice season got cut a little short since there's a two week Spring Break at the fancy private school. No way you could submit your kid to that last six weeks of the fifth grade on just a one week break. That would be just mean!  Geez, guys you'd have to choose between skiing in Colorado or going to Europe. There's almost no way you could do both.  At least not flying commercially!  But I digress.

 

Back to the game Saturday......

 

By some miraculous turn of events, our boys are up by 6 going into the 6th and final inning.  The pitcher, the boy's nemesis, is starting to lose his luster.  He allows three runs and then loads the bases.

 

lets take a side trip for those of you that are unfamiliar with fifth grade baseball:  

 

See, there is very little good pitching, hitting or fielding going on at the fifth grade level.  Typically, what happens is that the pitcher walks a batter. Then the batter steals 2nd base --because these boys cant catch the coaches wont even allow them to try to pick a base runner off.  The runner then proceeds to steal third....then the next batter strikes out swinging at balls that are way over his head, but the third "strike pitch" is so dang wild that the catcher cant handle it (read, it didn't land square in the glove--insert eye roll) it hits the backstop.  While the catcher is frantically trying to recover the ball, the kid on third base steals home!   That's how runs are made in 5th grade baseball.

 

Back to Saturday.  The bases are now loaded.  The winning run is on 1st base.  Coach decides we need a new pitcher (really??)  So, who gets the call? Spen2 called off 1st base to pitch.... 1st game of the season, only four practices, bases loaded, only brown kid on the team (one... of two on the field, the opposing team -another fancy private school- had one, also). 

 

I move my folding "mommy chair" to right behind home plate.  I am eyeball to eyeball with my kid.  I know the game rest on me.  I must encourage each and every pitch out of this kid. I have heart palpitations... my hands are numb, what does that mean???

 

Spen2 allows two runs. I see his mouth moving, he closes his eyes, opens them and looks skyward...ooh, that's my boy, he's PRAYING! 

 

Then schwoop, strike one....

 

Schwoop, strike two. This is it. One more strike and its over....

 

He winds up and releases a beautiful pitch, which the batter nailed, CLANK!...  The ball was hit right back at Spencer!  The ball takes a bounce, and Spencer by instinct alone, snatched the ball on the bounce with his bare hand, spun around, threw it to first base....

 

OUT! 

 

Yeah boy!  Now that's my boy....

 

My right eye is twitching, but at least my hands aren't numb anymore!

Education is KEY

I sat in Valvoline Instant Oil Change today and had a moment of absolute clarity.  I nudged the boy to take off his Ipod headset to hear the wisdom I was about to impart.  Here it is.."Education is KEY.  You have got to be well educated and you must be open to change and grow."  Here's why.  That oil change job and the manager of that Oil Change shop, will not exist by the time you buy your first car.   Who will do it then.... YOU.. with the help of a machine. 

This Country, this world even, is going down a path of no return.  Customer Service jobs are becoming more obsolete by the day.   I began to have some real flashback moments and gave him a brief history lesson. 

When I was Spen2's age there were GROWN MEN that worked at Service (or Filling) Stations.  These GROWN MEN pumped gas, checked the pressure in your tires, check your oil levels and the cleanliness thereof.  These GROWN MEN rotated tires if necessary, fixed flats, CLEANED your windshields...wow, I am getting all nostalgic.   Ladies coming home from work in suits and pumps didn't have to get out of a car in blinding rain or snow or inclimate weather of any kind and handle the germy nozzle of a gas pump.  WOW... that really existed and I remember it well.   

When I was Spen2s age, there were young adults that made a living wage bagging groceries.  Down South some of these young people even took the groceries out and put them in your trunk for you.  Here's one that really shows my historical perspective;  some of these folks would walk or ride their bikes to your house and personally deliver the groceries you had picked out.   REAL JOB.

When I was Spen2s age, there was a man that owned a farm.  Every morning he would load up his truck with fresh fruits and vegetables and drive throughout the neighborhood letting people know of the kinds of fresh produce he had available that day.  People would flag down his truck and make purchases. 

When I was Spen2s age, there was a telephone OPERATOR.  You called this operator to help you dial out to different area codes and countries. When you called a business during business hours, a HUMAN BEING answered the telephone.

When I was Spen2's age, there were car washes run by PEOPLE.  These, GROWN MEN, had buckets and towels and they would hand wash your car, put wax on it by HAND and buff it out....

When I was Spen2's age, executives, managers, folks of importance had SECRETARIES.... oh wow, remember that?  Secretaries answered phones, typed letters, took dictation, made coffee and in general freed up the executives, manager, folks of general importance to EXECUTE, MANAGE and be IMPORTANT, all while working an eight hour day and getting home in time to have dinner with their families at a reasonable hour. 

Elevator Operators, Doormen, Shoe Shiners... Gone, Gone, Gone.

So, young people, you can believe that I am just O-L-D and things are just as they always will be.  Or you can believe me when I say that you better get those books and be nimble because sure as I sit here in the Valvoline Instant Oil Change today.... 10 years from now, YOU will be your very own "oil change" guy and the "oil change" guy will be the "you got any spare change" guy.

The fine line between Genius and Insanity

I have an intricate system set up to retrieve the boy from the fancy private school on a daily basis.  It takes a village they say.  In our village, everyone has a pick up day.  

See, the boy is just barely IN the fancy private school.  If it weren't for his dad's years of hard work and a very generous scholarship, well there would be no private school.... especially not a FANCY one. Of course, he'd be just two years from High school graduation, since all that the public schools could come up with for a kid with Spen2's genius level was to "skip" him every other year.  Anyway, there is NO money for the fancy private school's after care program.  

Friday was Camille's day (you got a license, you get a day)... She gets there, no boy.   She finds his teacher.... She's informed that Spen2 went home with the Smith Family (names have been changed to protect the insanely rich).

My mother calls me in a panic.  Leaves a message, "I need you to call me right away".  That never happens.   When she tells me what's going on, I find the number with haste and call the Smith family.   I get the nanny....now, surely you knew that the Smith family would have a nanny.   Nanny Smith is frazzled by my call.   The Mrs told her that this was all handled.  The Mrs said she had spoken to me.   Yes, Master Spencer was there, he, another child from the fancy private school were enjoying some of Chef finest after school snacks.   Of course they were. 

The nanny passes along the request that Spencer be permitted to spend the night with Young Master Smith as they hand a plethora of fun activities planned for the night.   Not wanting to deprive my son of a night in, what he refers to as, PARADISE, I consent.   Don't have to send a thing.  They have extras of everything.  Skis, boots, swim trunks, baseball gloves.... Whatever size you need.... In the 'mudroom'.

I go out for a Grown Up dinner with a friend.  Get home and get comfortable.  About midnight the madness begins.  I get a text from my GENIUS son that says,

"what's your credit card number? I wanna get something in "Clash of Clans" and I need gems and I will pay you back later and I need the security code".   I didn't even respond.

Fine line between Genius and Insanity.  What is wrong with him???

Blanche's All Butter Pound Cakes by 3 Couzins Baking

On Wednesday my son calls me after my mother picks him up from the fancy private school.  "Mom, I sold a cake today"

Back Story:
My grandmother, Blanche Teresa Taggart, could sho nuff cook.  On top of that, there was always dessert.  One of her specialties was Pound Cake. When my husband and I owned a catering business, she gave me the recipe for the pound cake.  It became known as "Blanche's All-Butter Pound Cake".  We sold hundreds of them during the holidays.  

Fast forward and my husband dies.  People do weird things when they lose loved ones.  I baked (and crocheted --but that's another blog) and cooked.   I was even bold enough to tweak my Grandmothers perfect recipe.   Turns out it wasn't perfect.... but NOW it is!   We made so many cakes that all of the kids in my family can make the pound cake on their own.  

The Pound Cake making became therapy, for everyone.  We made cakes every weekend.  If someone got a promotion, we made them a cake.  Someone lost a loved one, we made them a cake.  Someone gave us tickets to an event, we made them a cake.

When the holidays approached the first year that Spen2 attended the fancy private school, money was not in a happy place.  As a matter of fact, it was sad... very, very sad.  The options for gifts for his teachers became limited.   I was deciding whether to give NOTHING or a $5 Graeter's Gift Card when pound cake hit me.   So, for the last couple of years Spen2s teachers have been getting small Blanches All Butter Pound Cakes as a holiday token of appreciation.  

Back to Wednesday:

I asked him "You sold a cake to who?"  His reply  "One of my teachers asked me today if we only made cakes during the holidays and if she could get one any time. So, I told her she could get it anytime she wanted.  But this is a BUSINESS.  There is a fee for that" Screech!  He told the teacher that???   "So she asked me how much they cost.  I told her that she could buy a small one for $15 and a large one for $25"   Boom~!  That's how you launch a business.

Blanches All Butter Pound Cake by 3Couzins Bakery.  You too can have a pound cake...but this is a BUSINESS... Small $15 and Large $25.   Everyone that got one of those grieving cakes.... be prepared to pay the next time!

The Real Jackie Taggart is NOTHING like the Easter Bunny

Well, well, well, what a blessing to live to see another Holiday weekend.   Easter is THE highest of Holy Days.   You would think I would be able to control myself leading up to the High Holy days...NOT.   Shaking my head.  Listen y'all, I am for real, a nice lady.   Really.  Sometimes it just doesn't show. 

This past weekend was one of those times. 

Back story:  I didn't take off on Friday because it was the end of the month/quarter at work.  Nikita - 20yr old Sophomore at Georgetown College--majoring in Vocal Performance (yeah, really, that's a major--but, that's another blog) is coming home for Easter and bringing a friend.   Nikita is THE BEST KID IN THE WORLD...  yeah, I know what you are thinking and I have no idea how she ended up in this family either.   She brings home a friend who lives too far to just go home for the weekend.   Nikita is at the hair salon, so when I leave to take Spen2 to Easter Pageant rehearsal, so her friend, Darian, goes with us.

We get to the church and sit in a pew mid way back.   We live too far away from the church to leave a come back in an hour.  I'm not that  thrilled about listening to an hours worth of poetry recitation, but, hey, I am a mom, we make these kind of sacrifices.  The first child, a teenager, reads the "Easter Story".  The uncut version.   Listen, this story was so long, I thought they were going to have to get the paddles out for me...."Clear!... great, I think we have a pulse.... She's back". This story was so long, I am inspired to do some home bible study just to prove that some of that story HAD to be made up!

Next up, four little ones under age 4 to recite a prayer in tandem.  Horrible.   But they are just toddlers.... I guess.  I bite my lip...and keep my seat.   The next kid goes up.  While these kids have done a great job of memorizing their poems, the delivery is AWFUL. 

Now, mind you, our pastor's wife is in charge of this program.   She is sweet and kind, the consummate elementary school teacher..... She wouldn't say "shit" if she had a mouthful.   She never mention's that one kid after the other is DREADFUL.  I grab Darian's hand and squeeze, I feel her (the real Jackie Taggart) rising...'Darian, don't, let me stand up.'

One kid after another gets up with no energy, no enthusiasm, no light and mumbles some sing song mumbo jumbo without making eye contact with anything but the ceiling.   And I sat.  With a death grip in Darian's hand.   Pastors wife gives some instructions and compliments them on their work in memorizing their poems.  She appeared ready to release them.

Then it happened, the real Jackie Taggart burst out of the cage.  '"I think they need to go over that one more time.  As much as I wanted to, I couldn't understand much of what was being said.".   And with no malice or anger directed towards me for jumping the curb and getting out if my lane, pastor's wife indulged me and had them start from scratch.

'Wok wok wok wok wok wok wok wok".  Then I had an almost out of body experience.  I willed my mouth to shut, it would not.  I tried to move my legs back to my seat....they wouldn't go. 

"Pardon me, sweetie, what are you saying, boo boo?  Does anyone have a script?  Sweetie please, look at me.  Don't swallow your words.  Lift your head.  Project your voice.  Stand up straight.  Are you chewing gum???   No seriously, does anyone have any idea what he is saying?  Try that again.   Do you want to be here?  You have to say EACH word. I'm fairly certain that isn't a word.  Try it again.  I know someone has a script.   Spell it.". 

After about an hour it sounded more like "much better, just make sure you look up.   Fantastic, can you give me some facial expression.  Great, pause after you say that for impact.  Perfect, you nailed it, do it that way tomorrow."

The good news is that the kids had a flawless Easter program.  The bad news Spen2 now has a mom that the other children in our congregation  refer to as "The Cobra".  Oh well, everyone has their cross to bear.