Saturday, September 22, 2012

Shower, please!!!



I stood in the bathroom with Parker as he was shaving. yes, I am old enough to have a child that shaves…my youngest child, too! Amidst the hustle of the day, between long drives to the ranch to football practices ending WAY too late for a school night, a mother stands in the bathroom with her infant child now morphed into a semi-adult, to remind him to shave. Multi-task to get it all done. Rinse, wash, and repeat. Being a mother can become mundane…routine…There is only so much that can get done in a single day. As the teenage peach fuzz fell into the sink I stopped for a moment. I was remembering the crazy days when they were all babies…bottles, diapers, binkys, formula, baby food (infinity sign). I said, “Parker, I’m trying to figure out if life was busier than than it is now, or busier now than it was then. (yeah, he looked at me confused, too). You know what I mean. Little babies are so hard. They NEED you to survive..literally!!! THEY NEED YOU! I see the moms pushig those strollers and think THANK FUCKING GODDDD that isn’t me. It’s tough. It sucks. It makes you long for the days when it ends and you can at least fricken shower without those tiny little people watching. Actually, new moms schedule their showers. Yeah, it’s quite fun. “Oh no, I can’t do lunch because that’s when I can wash my body during nap time”..yeah, motherhood!!! And then, (drum roll) it happens. They are standing in front of you in the bathroom shaving!!! Here’s the trick moms and dads. The one thing they left out of the What to Expect When You’re Expecting series…. THEY STILL RELY ON YOU FOR EVERY THINGGGGGGGG. You may not be spoon feeding them mashed peas, but you are answering the phone call from a teenager who is ‘starving to death’ (p.s. the call is coming from upstairs because they are sooo tired/busy/Facebooking/Instagram/….. How dare you starve your teenager TO DEATH??? Then they need a ride to and from _________ (insert any place and everyplace). Then they have homework, clubs, football, shopping, riding, etc. Maybe it was easier when I could just put a book in front of them with some crayons, while secretly thinking, “shut up and color”. Maybe the days of choosing their dinners without having to be a short order cook were simpler. And other babies don’t have other babies over to spend the night, so that’s a bonus, too. I now understand why my mom used to say, “You’re driving me to drink” when I was little. Sometimes she would adjust it to, “You are driving me up the wall”. Well said mom, well said. So, as the delivery person of ‘awesome news’ I would like to say I think it just never ends…ever! I’m okay with that (eye twitch). It’s my job. Our jobs. As parents. We are raising human beings, people! We need to be involved at every step of the process. They need us. C.S. Lewis said, “The homemaker has the ultimate career. ALL other careers exist for one purpose only - and that is to support the ultimate career!” It just so happens that this career has no vacation time, pays nothing, and involves working with little soul suckers, but in the long run they are MY little soul suckers!!! It might not get easier, in fact it sometimes feels harder as they grow up. But, that’s my job ‘to grow them up’. Whether you are a new mom, old mom, step mom, surrogate mom, single dad, married, partners, or neighbors, it isn’t easy to do this when the result needs to be perfect. Thanks for listening, now go take a shower why you still have some time..hell, who knows, you might get a chance to drive yourself to drink…..

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Stop and Smell the Roses


I copied this story from a webpage named All About Women. I just had to share...

A sweet lesson on patience.

A NYC Taxi driver wrote:

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. 'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard
box filled with photos and glassware.

'Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. 'It's nothing', I told her.. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.'

'Oh, you're such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, 'Could you drive
through downtown?'

'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly..

'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice.

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. 'I don't have any family left,' she continued in a soft voice..'The doctor says I don't have very long.' I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

'What route would you like me to take?' I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm tired.Let's go now'.
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.
They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

'How much do I owe you?' She asked, reaching into her purse.

'Nothing,' I said

'You have to make a living,' she answered.

'There are other passengers,' I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.She held onto me tightly.

'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said. 'Thank you.'

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut.It was the sound of the closing of a life..

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day,I could hardly talk.What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.

But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

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