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.

I'm BORED

Go ahead, take a screen shot.  You have never seen those words anywhere near my name before.  Seriously, this is a crisis I tend to generally avoid. 

Explanation, the Boy's follow up appointment with the great Camille Crawford didn't go as well as I expected.  He is still on the mend but has some "junkiness" in his right lung that requires further treatment.  It also requires REST and fluids.  Every time the poor child sits down somewhere he falls asleep.  I can not in good conscience go at our typical pace.  That would be negligent.... I guess.

If you follow the boy's coming and goings, you might be tricked into believing I am special.  Not true.  The boy is special.  What I am is .... FRIGHTENED to death to be at home alone with a little boy and all of that energy with no help absorbing any of it. 

I could end up like my friend Marjorie at work who babysits her 8yr old nephew every Saturday morning.  Poor Marjorie.  She doesn't have any children, so she is not prepared with the arsenal of weapons to keep a young man from wearing YOU down.   She plays basketball with this kid... INDOORS...then they move it OUTDOORS...then SHE fixes lunch while HE rests....whats wrong with that picture?  Marjorie works more hours than I do.  On Saturday that kid goes home with something left in his tank and she is WIPED out... NEVER I say.... NEVER.  

My goal at the beginning of each day is to still be standing when the boy is laid out!   Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail.  But, I promise you I win WAY more than I lose.   The boy actually helped me a lot as a toddler by refusing to take a nap.  He just wouldn't do it.   Eventually, I figured out that it was to my advantage.  

On a typical Saturday, I get up, exercise, make up some waffle batter and wait.  While he's sleeping I am getting myself together. When he wakes up I am fully dressed, made up and ready to roll.  You cant let a kid be sitting around relaxing while you work...that's going to be a situation down the road. 

I get him up at the last minute and make him run like HELL.   Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry!   Brush your teeth in the shower, quick get dressed, pack up.  When he gets out of the shower, I load him up on waffles or pancakes... nothing invites Negritis like something with syrup on it!   Then grab a bag let's go.  The bag will have equipment for whatever game he's playing that day...typically basketball or baseball.  Off we go to the game.  When the game is over, we have to go to the cages... batting cages or to a gym to work on that hook shot... but back to back activity is always good.   Then to the grocery store...try Sam's, nothing wears them down like those concrete floors.  Go up and down ALL of the aisles.  Hey, Dhanis doing a book signing.  Let's go bake a cake and stop through.   Cyclones are in town, let's go to the game.  Let's go to Dayton, catch a Dragon's game.

At 11pm we are pulling down the drive way... He's nodding.  He'd be asleep but I won't let him go.  Every time he doses off, I ask a question he can't answer so he has to Google it.  We get in.  Hot bath.  Quick snack and at 11pm he's cooked. 

I WON!   I turn on the TV search through my recorded shows find that episode of Basketball Wives, poor a glass of wine and lay down on the divan.  

The next morning I wake up.  Full glass of wine on the end table.  Unwatched episode of Basketball Wives still cued up.  Oh well, I STILL WON!

The Screenplay

Spencer made it thru the class trip to Williamsburg.   Thought today's "Boy Story" would be best as a show and tell.  On the left is Spen2 and the boys about to board the airplane..... and on the right is Spen2 and the boys coming back on Tuesday night.    If you are not laughing there is something terribly wrong with you! 

Using the AFTER photo as inspiration, Spen2 and I are writing the screen play ....

From the Archives--- The Birthday Story 12/2/12

12/02/12

10 yrs ago today, I got up, got dressed, nervous, talked to Spen1 as he left for work to manage our business then spoke to my dad about his meal plans while I was gone (in 10yrs a lot can happen--for those of you that don't know, our business closed in 2003, my father died in 2005and my husband, Spen1 died in 2007). My mother picked me up and we left for Good Sam Hospital... pulled into the parking area reserved for expecting mothers going into deliver.  I had to convince the lot attended that I was, in fact, going to give birth THAT day. Though I didn't look at all pregnant, I was. Moreover, I was uncomfortable and not leaving the hospital until someone took this child, who was clearly already in the process of perfecting his flip turns, out of me.... that was non negotiable.

I had an amnio to confirm that the lungs were fully developed. The doctor proclaimed that they were and while 3wks early it was safe to take him out.  Good deal, cuz he WAS coming out, the flip turns were brutal!

I went into pre-op, Spen1 isn't there yet. They hook me up to monitors and determine that I was having BIG contractions....I felt NOTHING...well nothing except the flip turns! Spen1 isn't there yet.

I get an epidural....Spen1 isn't there yet. Delivery time scheduled for 1pm...Spen1 rushes in at 12:44! Gets scrubbed in puts on the mandatory green gown surgical cap and mask..and proceeds to CLOWN posing for pictures... my lower body was numb so I couldn't get up and choke him! Into the OR we go...my sister arrives just as we head out. 1:00 they make the incision. Ob/Surgeons do everything they can, but they can't get him out...they call for the head of High Risk Ob... he gets there ,scrubs in, while the 2 lil ob/surgeon docs pull from either side, he comes in and lifts the boy right out ...1:31pm then declares "that's a ten pound baby!" They wipe him off and present him to his daddy.... who declares "oh my God, he's beautiful!" Then he leans down so I can see... 

 

THIS CHILD IS LILLY WHITE. What the heck???

 

I scream "he's white!" 

 

Spen1 says "he's so beautiful".

 

I say "he's WHITE!"... he's not paying me any attention he now (and from that moment on) only had eyes for his son!

Then I smell something burning...and I kinda see some smoke... I finally ripped Spen1s attention from gazing into his sons eyes and asked

 

"am I on fire?" 

 

He looks down and gasps "damn baby that's you!"

 

 Now I am really pissed "you are going to let these people kill me! Go get my sister, NOW." Well, the medical professionals assure me I'm OK, the just had to cauterize and I was getting sewn up right now.

Back to recovery room. Uncle Albert had shown up with the girls Nikita and Camille...who were anxiously awaiting the arrival of there cousin.... He was given to my mother who, like Spen1 immediately became entranced... and Camille leans over her shoulder to look...at which point mini-me proclaims

 

"he's cute....but why is he WHITE?"

 

My mom was pissed, he's not white (yes he was), he'll be just fine. Cheryl tried to make it better

 

"let's look at his ears, oh, hmmm they are white too!"  

 

They put me in a private room with my little white baby (8lbs 5oz by the way, not 10) and my mom calls our pastors, Teresa Smith and Michael Langford, and I could hear them screaming in excitement thru the phone.... my mother thought I was distracted by a nurse so she whispers something about the baby being a little "pale" but beautiful....I believe prayers started then ---prayer works!

So, here I am today, 10 years later, having travelled a very rocky road, saying. Happy Birthday, Spencer Craig Boyd II! You are a mighty little man of God. You are blessed and highly favored. Your father owns the cattle on 1000 hills so never let it be that you have not because you've asked not. Ask and it shall be given. Knock and the door will open for you. Never let fear enter your life because there is nothing too hard for God and with God all things are possible. Always remember that God loves you and so does your mommy!