Nap Time

I just picked up the boy and we had a conversation ...thought you would enjoy this one.  Me: I sure could stand a nap right now
Spen2:  I could always stand a nap
Me: NOT true... you NEVER took naps as a baby/toddler/little person.... as a matter of fact you Dropped out of a pre-school after ONE day because of their napping policy.
Spen2:  Oh yeah, I remember that.

So here's what happened y'all.  I did all of this research and finally found a pre-school that I thought worthy of my boy and his talents.   We (his daddy and I) decided that he needed PRE SCHOOL and not daycare.   I take him for a "trial day"-- a few hours...the boy says he likes it.  


I take him for his first day of "school"... Drop him off.   He's having a blast!  Loves the place....until... NAP TIME... they tell him its nap time...screech..... Drop the Mic

He says "I don't take naps" 

They tell he has to...he tells them

"No, I will just go home then... Call my momma"...

They refused to call me.... From that moment on, he was DONE with the place.  My mother picks him up at 3:45 (SHE decided that 3:30 was long enough --even though I paid for the WHOLE DAY)... She asks if he had fun.  In front of the Director of the Pre-School and all of his little friends he made before naptime, he says "I not go back" 

He was 3yrs old.  Told his grandmother he wasn't going back, because he didn't like it.  His grandmother... my feisty mother... calls me-- on my job --and tells me that I need to find another option because he "doesn't like it"...seriously?  Since when is he the boss??!...

So, I get home.  He tells me he's not going back.  I tell him he IS in fact going back.   We go around... I think he gets it.  He then proceeds to tell me that they don't do "Sh@T" at the school.  I said... did you just say "sh@t"?  He looks at me WAY too innocently and says... yes.  I said "where did you learn that word?..."they taught me at SCHOOL".... This kid is BRILLIANT...but, I didn't fall for it.  I tell him I don't care if they taught him that word or not...he was, in fact, going back, because I had paid my money.   If he said the word again he was going back with a sore behind. 

Think he gave up there?  Oh no.  This was not long after we had FINALLY weaned him off of the pacifier (which he called a Ba-Ba).... A few minutes later he proceeds to tell me that he didn't like the place because they made him take a nap and suck a Ba-Ba.... RIGHT!!! He made all of that up...  This is when I started realizing that he might be a genius and I needed to be on full alert at all times.  "Spencer, are you saying they made you use a pacifier?"  "yes, I told them I didn't want to, but they said I was a Baby and needed one"...

Yep, that happened.   So you want to know how it turned out??... well, HE won....HOW?  I want you to know to this day I haven't figured out how he did it, but somehow, that night he spiked a fever of 103... he was fevered...with NO other symptoms (except lethargy) for THREE DAYS... that's Tues/Wed/Thur...then you have to be fever free for 24 hrs in order to go back to school.... that took care of the week.  

On Thursday MY grandmother calls me and tells me that I need not take that baby back to that school if he hated it so much that it made him sick.....

Yeah, that happened!

The Clank Heard Round the World

Yesterday Spen2 made me so proud at his baseball game, not only by being an incredible athlete, but by approaching the Throne of Grace for a friend.   Spen2 has a little friend at the fancy private school, let's just call him Hadeem (I just made that up, is that even a real name?).   Hadeem is about 4ft 8in tall and weighs about, i dont know, 70lbs.   He's a little bitty little fella. 

 

As far as I can tell Hadeem is bright, brilliant even, but he can't catch or hit.---  By the way, he can't shoot basketball either, but I digress. 

 

Last week, after his glorious save, he got to thinking about what a miserable game Hadeem had: Struck out 4X, dropped 3-4 balls that came to him.  He just looked like the Captain of the Bad News Bears!  Spencer started thinking that it wasn't fair that he had done so well when Hadeem was miserable.  He told me that he wished Hadeem had more confidence.  He said that "Hadeem  is a much better Athlete than he thinks he is". 

 

Fast forward to yesterday.  The team was down by 8 in the bottom of the 6th.  The bats come alive, the other teams pitching is awful...next thing you know, the move ahead run is at third.  Spen2 is at 2nd.  Again, I SEE him praying -I think he is thanking God for HIS hit and RBI- Hadeem is at bat. Coach Eddies just talking him thru it "follow thru with your hips, don't swing if it's eye level, keep your elbows up, keep your knees bent". The pitcher releases. Hadeem swings that bat with everything he's got and CLANK!  That was a solid line drive to the outfield!  

 

Hadeem drove in the winning run! 

 

When Spen2 came in he was soooo excited.  Not just because the team won, but because all that time his mouth was moving on 2nd base, he was praying for Hadeem!!!!  

 

Thank you Father!  If I never do anything else in my life, I know this, I have encouraged a child to pray and created, therefore a MIGHTY MAN of GOD. 

 

Ha! So my family does a daily prayer text message.  No one is exempt.   Spen2 had prayer this morning and this is what he sent....un-retouched.

 

2 Corinthians 10:17-18 ()
17 Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord. 18 For it is not the one who commends himself who is approved, but the one whom the Lord commends.
Ok so i think I know what this means. Do not be "cocky" unless you do it in th lord. Everything you do is not you but The Lord showing favor and blessing in you. Lord thank you for all you do. Thank you for strength health and extra like brilliance and athletisim. I can't do what I do without you and there's no way I can make it without you. We want to pray for the entire healing of uncle John and to keep the family healthy and brilliant. In Jesus name amen from spen2

Its Been a While

So what happened to me since my last post..... Holy mackerel, what didn't happen!  I will eventually go back and catch you all up on the in between stuff, some of which was quite amusing..... But, for now, how about I just cover the last couple of weeks. 

Right after Memorial Day I found a green pea sized lump in my left breast.  No biggie, I have fibrocystic breast.  I find a lump, I call the amazing Dr jennifer Manders, she gets me in, does an ultrasound, says its a cyst, asks if its bothering me a lot. If I say yes, she aspirates, if I say no, I go home. Simple.  

Not this time.

This time, its solid.  Insert sad face.  This time we need to do a needle biopsy.  Insert titanium clip...  Okay, that is uncomfortable, I leave with what looks like a cast on my left breast.  Call back in a week.  

A week goes by.  I forgot to call back, because I've done this a few time.   Then I get a call.  Well , Jackie,  this is a little different "atypical lobular hyperplasia".  We need to do an excisional biopsy.  We need to get it out to make sure there is nothing sinister hiding behind it.   I'm at the hospital on Tuesday, let's do it then.   

Okay.   Will I need to take the day off of work?.... Seriously, that is what I asked.  She suggested that I be really good to myself and take the following day as well.  Awesome, good idea, I can take Spen2 and his boyz to Kings Island..... I'm psyched!  

Days later the hospital calls, they tell me I need to have pre-op testing.   'Oh no, I'm just having a biopsy."

"Right, a lumpectomy, I see that.   We will need for you to have a physical none the less"

OK...side note, I've been avoiding my PCP for a couple of years since he challenged me to lose 10 pounds....

I go in for the pre-op on a day when my doctor is on vacation.  His partner doesn't even touch me.    That is my kind of doctor!    He doesn't ask about my weight.  He doesn't make a note.   He signs off on the paperwork while telling me about the boyscout camp he's going to lead the next week.   Done.   He doesn't even ask if I have any questions.

That afternoon the hospital calls back and gives me instructions.  Don't eat after midnight-- who does?  Don't take any aspirin for a week--- too late!  Be at the hospital at 7am---huh? My procedure isn't until 9.... We need to get you prepped and changed.  Who will be driving you home? --- uh, ME.   Oh no way.   You will be put into a twilight sleep via anesthesia, you will not be permitted to drive for 24 hours----me, calculating what time we can leave for Kings Island...OK, my sister or my mother, probably.   Ms Boyd, you will be required to have a driver to be released----okay okay, I got it.  

I arrive at the hospital on the day of the procedure to a flurry of activity.  Take off your clothes--- you mean my shirt and bra?   No, all of your clothes, shoes, jewelry, hair clips..... anything removable in your mouth-like a retainer? No.. Anything removable in your eyes---I'm giggling, picturing Sammy Davis Jr popping his eyeball out at this point.

The anesthesiologist arrives and sees the IV is active (which I figure was for fluids) and asks if I would like something to help me relax----do I look tense?   Me--No, but how about some coffee?!

The amazing Dr Manders arrives.  I immediately inform her that all of these people are acting like I am having"real" surgery.   She asks what I think I am having.... My response.."a procedure"...   "What ever makes you happy, Jackie".   

I figure I may have insulted her a little.  Not considering this as "real" surgery, discounted her status as a "real" surgeon.   This lump was the size of a green pea.  She's going to take something like an exacto knife make a quarter inch slit, pop it out and off I go!

So, I roll into the OR wide awake.... Look around and there are 12 people in the room!

"Who are all of these people??????".  They all started speaking at once.   One person is putting some inflation devices on my legs....I know what these are for....

"Hey, geez, how long are you expecting me to be in here?"

"Do you all realize that you are all speaking at once?  I can't understand..". And OUT.....that's the last thing I remember.

An hour later I awaken with a three inch wound,  another boob cast and one big Dolly Parton boob.

Let's just say the next day was not spent at Kings Island.  

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!