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Archive for the ‘Oma’ Category

I have a story about my mother, God love her, and my brother, God love him, that I just have to tell.  (You know when a Southerner starts off a story with “God love him/her” that it’s going to be juicy.)  So anyway, there are a few facts about my mother and my brother you have to know before my story makes sense. 

1. My mother and brother still live together because he was her very late in life baby which makes him significantly younger than I am. 

2.  My mother will tell anyone (that she really, really likes) that she routinely made me and the two brothers stay up late every weekend watching scary movies because she didn’t want to watch them by herself.

3. My mother sleeps like she’s taken a dozen sleeping pills before bed.  (I had a car wreck when I was 17.  I had to call a friend to go wake my mother up by banging on the door because my mother slept through the incessant phone calls from the hospital.  Seriously.)

4.  My mother believes in ghosts, spirits, vampires, witches, supernatural powers, goblins, basically anything that can eat you or possess you because of it’s evil nature.

5.  Brian, my brother still living at home, is not a heavy sleeper.  And by not a heavy sleeper, I mean he only requires the fourth call from the hospital before he wakes up.

6.  Brian also believes in the boogey man.

So Mom and Brian still live together and every once in a while, when I go to Mom’s house, Brian will be there and we will all participate in a conversation.  It’s one of those novel things regular families do.  A couple of weeks ago, one of those conversations happened.  Brian  told me there was something living in the attic, but it only made noises at night.  He said whatever was up there would scratch on his ceiling/it’s floor all night long.  There’s an opaque plastic cover to a section of the ceiling that lets you see up into the attic in the hallway and he swore he had seen something moving through the cover.  He said the night before, he had awoken to banging on his door.  Now, he keeps his bedroom door locked, so he was safe, but Mom’s bedroom door doesn’t have a lock, so how was she going to fare with an intruder banging on his door and her door only inches away?  He called her cell phone.  No answer.  (No surprise.)  Mom has a couple of geriatric dogs who will occasionally bark when their bad eye sight or near deafness allows them to know a new person is nearby, but neither dog woke up that night.  Brian tried yelling through the doors to wake Mom up but, shockingly, she slept through his yelling.  Eventually, the banging on his door stopped and B-dog sat up the rest of the night with the lights on in his bedroom.

When Brian told us this story, Mom laughed so hard she had tears streaming down her face.  Why?  Because she knows that the zombie invasion could storm through her house and she’d miss the whole thing.

No one has gone up into the attic to find out what or who is living there.  We’re all hoping the Texas heat burns it up and then someone will go up and take the corpse out of the attic.

I really hope Brian dreamed up the whole thing.  The alternative– that Mom is right about ghosts, goblins, zombies, and boogey men– is just too horrible to concieve.

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Education At The Park

My dear sweet mother usually takes the boys to spend the night at her house on Saturday nights and returns them once we’ve had a chance to sleep late.  The return is usually earlier than Ed or I would like, but we do get to sleep later than normal.  Oma and the boys have a Saturday night routine they all seem to enjoy.  They pick a local park and play until the the boys have run off a small part of their energy or Oma is drenched in sweat, whichever comes first.  (This is Texas.  Sweat drenchings are common.)  After the park, they go to out to eat where Trip lectures everyone about what kind of food is healthy and what they should be eating.  Their night ends with video games and, if Oma can get away with it,  a scary movie.  They all camp out on the couches in the living room, only it’s camping with air conditioning. 

Last Saturday, the boys got a little unexpected education in spelling while they were at a small park by the local hospital.  The boys were crawling through the plastic tunnels and told Oma they saw some weird writing on the walls of the tunnels.  Logan was the first to sound out a word for Oma. 

“Oma, what does ‘bi-atch’ mean?”

“Can you spell it for me?”  She was outside the tunnel.

“B-I-T-C-H”

“Well honey, that spells bitch.”

“Oh, that’s how you spell it.”  Kids say the darndest things.

“Oma, what does ‘pay-nis’ make?”  Trip didn’t want to be left out of the lesson.

“Spell it for me, Trip,”  I can just see her shaking her head.

“P-E-N-I-S.”

“Well Trip….”

“Oh, Oma!  I know what this word spells.  It’s ‘ass.’  Is that right?”  Logan always wants to be the last one saying something.

So the boys have learned how to spell a few new words.  I’m so glad parks can now be used for education as well as exercise!

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 I received a text from my mother today that said, “Tell the boys to walk slowly when they come to the house tonight.  There are two new kittens!”

My mother lives in town and puts food out to feed what she still calls “stray cats.”  Personally, I think when you feed a cat for several years, regardless of whether or not the cat comes into your house, the cat is yours.  My mother puts food out on her front porch and the neighborhood cats know they can usually find a good meal there.  In return, the cats who frequent Mom’s porch also eat any mice and many of the bugs they find nearby.  The boys have named the black female cat who consistently comes by Edwina, after Edwin the cat in the Olivia books, not after their father, Ed.  Edwina has had multiple litters of kittens and their numbers are thinned in the way that outdoor kittens lives usually are.  The stronger and faster survive.  Mom maintains that Edwina’s kittens die so frequently because Edwina is an inattentive mother.  Edwina often leaves her kittens deposited in a safe little hiding space or with one of her older kittens.  I maintain that Edwina has to eat occasionally and she’s fortunate enough to have an occasional babysitter.  Edwina is a medium sized black cat with a few stray white hairs.  Her oldest offspring is also a black female cat whom the boys have yet to name.  From the next litter is a black and white female named Laniana, who is around eight months old.  Edwina has many amorous suitors and has a couple of litters per year.  Edwina had been obviously pregnant several weeks ago and then stayed scarce until today.  Mom thinks the kittens are about three weeks old.  Edwina had deposited them on Mom’s front porch today, apparently feeling safe.

The boys were beyond excited.  We drove over to her house and they got out of the car slowly (after being reminded).  We walked up to the porch and Oma came out.  Edwina was there with a tiny black kitten and a tiny brown striped kitten.  They are so young they are still fuzzy and their tails have hardly any hair.  Their eyes still look like the pupils aren’t really set in place.  They have tiny little teeth and loud, insistent meows.  I told they boys to pet them with one finger so as not to injure them.  Edwina looked on, paying us no attention and being the inattentive mother she is.  Trip decided naming the cats today sounded like a good idea.  He named the black one Fermin and the brown striped kitten Suzy.  Upon inspection, I declared both kittens to possibly be boys.  It’s hard to tell with tiny kittens.

After washing our hands multiple times, we left for dinner.  We had an uneventful dinner and when we came back, Fermin and Suzy were deposited by the front step and Edwina was nowhere in sight.  Momma’s got to eat, but apparently, Momma also has to find out if the area is safe for her kittens.

Fermin the cat.

Fermin and Suzy the boy kittens.

And a closing picture of Suzy.

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 To properly tell the story of our Easter weekend, we have to start with the events from last Thursday.  Ed and I had gotten emails from an old family of Ed’s inviting us out to their family’s country house and that some of the family would be out there for Easter celebrations.  Spring has been busy for us in part because of Ed’s acting schedule (I feel so suave saying it like that!) and the boy’s baseball schedule.  Ed and his friend emailed back and forth a few dozen times and originally decided that our best time to come out would be Friday afternoon once the boys got out of school and then we’d have to leave in time for Ed to be ready for his play.  Basically, we would have driven almost two hours to enjoy one hour of time with them, but on Thursday, that looked like our best opportunity.

So Thursday evening, we have just formed these plans.  Baseball practice got cancelled because of rain, so we got to relax a bit as a family before Ed had to go in for his play.  My mother knows how much I dislike being by myself so she came over to visit for a bit Thursday evening after I had put the boys down for bed.  The boys are not deterred by being placed in bed and having the lights turned out, so they get up whenever they want or whenever they hear something interesting.  This usually means that they sleep with every single book that they own.  Thursday night, it meant that they heard their Oma and came down the stairs to see her.  We told Oma about our big plans to go to the country on Friday and, as usual, Oma was full of useful advice.  The immediately told the boys they would have to watch out for snakes because snakes would be swarming all over the ground out in the country, waiting for a tasty morsel of little boy leg.  She also told the boys that all snakes are poisonous and they would die an instant death once they were bitten, because it is a foregone conclusion that they would be bitten.  So in a matter of thirty seconds, my mother had my children terrified.  I yelled, “Mother!”  and she looked at me like I had sprouted horns. 

“What?” she said. “I’m just trying to prepare them for what they’re going to see.”

“Mom, I have been out there plenty of times and have never seen a snake.  They are going to be staying by the house.  Besides, the snakes will be more scared of them and will be staying away from the hustle and bustle of the house.”

“They need to know what they might see though.”

The boys are now terrified and just staring at us, their heads moving back and forth like they are watching a tennis match.  Yes, I realize I’ve changed verb tense and I’m leaving it.  I’ll probably be changing verb tense several dozen times as I don’t like being constrained.

“Preparing them for what they might see is one thing.  Telling them they are going to die from a poisonous snake bite is another thing entirely!”

My mother started laughing so hard she had tears rolling down her cheeks.

I told the boys to go back to bed before their grandmother scared them with any more fabrications and they started up the stairs.  As they reached the bottom of the stairs, my mother yelled out, “You’ve got to watch out for the coyotes too!”

“Mother!”  I yelled.  It was pointless because they were terrified and she was rendered speechless because of her laughter.  The boys went to sleep and she left shortly after that.  The first thing they asked when they woke up was about the snakes and their poisonous nature and whether or not they were going to be bitten.  The questions stopped quickly though because I dropped the boys off at school and just hoped they would forget about the snakes. 

I picked the boys up from school at 3:00 that afternoon and we met Ed at the house to go out to the farm, but there were ominous clouds filling the sky.  Ed called his friend to ask about the weather in the country.  We decided to put off the visit until Saturday afternoon after the boys baseball game.  So the boys and I spent an uneventful evening at home Friday while Ed went to his second to last performance for the community theater.  (I was definitely on the count down for the end of the play.)

Saturday morning, we all got up in time to get the boys to their baseball game (more on the games later) which they “tied.”  I packed a bag of clothes for them and we left town to go to the farm directly after the game ended.  We got out to the farm at 2:30 that afternoon and had a late lunch from the spread they had put out.   The boys were reintroduced to Ed’s friend’s boys.   As little boys often do, they were fast friends and took off to play outside.  Introductions almost seem pointless.  It’s not like the boys are going to talk about anything other than deciding what they’re going to play and if they need rules for the game.

Here’s where the pictures start because the farm is just amazing.  There was a tire swing big enough for all four boys, another swing hanging from a tree (pictured here), a stock pond, baseball equipment, and no traffic so all of the boys were unusually free to roam.  I know I said earlier that the boys would be near the house, but they stayed on the freshly mown part of the yard.  That counts, doesn’t it?  There was always a parent nearby.

 

Trip enjoyed the swing immensely.  I have no idea where the other boys are in this picture.  It’s part of my parenting awesomeness.

Ed took all of the boys on a joy ride and I’m still not sure who had more fun.  They rode up and down the driveway at top speed at least a dozen times.  That’s not something you can usually say without someone else thinking you’re an idiot because who can drive top speed on a driveway.  The “drive way” is about a mile long.  All five of those guys were whooping and hollering.

One of the odd things about little boys who are having fun together is that they often refuse to stand together and pose for pictures.

And then we come to the fun part of my story. 

I had left the boys with Ed, I think.  They were being watched by someone.  An adult.  I promise.  I hope.  Anyway, I went off to walk by myself around the back of the house because the scenery was just gorgeous and we couldn’t have asked for better weather.  I slowly meandered my way about and ended up on the west side of the house.  The master bedroom is on the west side of the house and has French doors leading to a covered porch.  I saw the other boys’ mother just inside the door with her younger son and she gesture frantically at me.  I looked at where she was pointing and realized I was going to have to eat the words I had said to my mother two days prior.  I had even told the other women about my mother scaring my boys with tales of poisonous snakes and they, who had lived there and visited for a couple of decades, agreed that they had not seen any snakes up by the house and that the boys should be fine.  So there on the side porch, mere feet from me, was a huge snake!  I backed away from the snake and whipped out my iPhone to take a picture.  I snapped off one picture before the three 6 year old boys came running around the side of the house to check out the snake.  My  boys are now irritated with me because I didn’t take a video of the snake.  Ed’s friend came quickly behind the boys with an old machete and determined that our snake was a chicken snake and not poisonous.  Because the chicken snake was not poisonous, he was ushered off the porch and quickly made his way under the siding of the house.

And really, I could’ve handled seeing a two or three-foot long snake and not worrying about eating my words with my mother. Three foot garter snake–big deal!  That thing was six feet long!  Someone had to look at the snake closely to make sure it wasn’t poisonous!  And, it was right there on the porch like it owned the damned house! 

You know what really happened?  My mother jinxed us.  She brought the snake out with her portentous prophecy.  I think she did it on purpose.

The raccoon walked up later that evening like he owned the place.  All of the boys watched him for a bit, but he wasn’t quite as entertaining as the snake.

There was much more to this Easter weekend, but I’ve written  a novel at this point and I’ll save the rest for later.  I hope y’all had a Happy Easter!

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Mom’s Birthday!

 

That last picture does indeed have a little boy finger in it, trying to get a lick of icing before his piece was cut.

My sweet Mom had a significant birthday yesterday.  She got some very pretty flowers from my younger brothers girlfriend.  There’s no picture because I forgot that I was a blogger as soon as I took the pictures of the pock-marked cake.  I put several packages of candles on her cake in an attempt to set off her fire alarm.  It didn’t work.  She had two cohorts trying to help her blow out all of the candles.  Ganging up little monsters have no idea who feeds them!  We had a lovely visit and everyone got caught up on the little details of everyone else’s life.

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So I got my boys reading history partially right in the last post.  My kids are 6 years old.  I forget some of the stuff that happens.  That’s why I blog, so I can remember all of the funny things they say and do.

My mom, aka Oma, watches the munchkins fairly regularly so Ed and I can go out and occasionally when we have to work late.   Ed’s parents also watch the boys, but the stories that come from those excursions are somehow never quite as colorful as they are when Oma watches the boys.  After this story, you might think that is something in favor of the in-laws.

So my mom is watching the boys one night and I get home around 9:00.  I walk in the door knowing that they’ve been fed and   bathed.  My mom had bought a couple of Goose Bumps books for the boys and was determined to read these chapter books to the boys no matter how much they objected.  They have this way of looking up at you while also looking down their nose at you so they can tell you once again that they don’t do something, like read chapter books.  I have no idea where they got this.  None, at all.  I’m fairly certain my poor mother got that look several dozen times along with an exasperated sigh.  I also have no idea where they got the sigh.  But my mother can come up with some fairly ingenious ideas when it comes to dealing with contrary children.  She stuck them in the bath tub together, gave them a couple of bars of soap and some toys and began reading.  They were a captive audience.  Awesome job, Oma!

Oma’s opinions about exposing children to the macabre are a bit unusual, I think.  That, or I’m just so scarred from my childhood Friday nights with Gilbert Godfrey’s Up All Night that I refuse to believe anything else.  I’m pretty sure my mom is odd, but in the best way possible.  Oma thinks that all children need to experience a good scare as often as possible.  Scary books right before bed? Yes, every night.  Scary movies every weekend?  Absolutely.  Visiting haunted hotels and houses? Definitely.  Telling ghost stories under the blankets with a flashlight to illuminate the story tellers face? Don’t you dare leave it out.

So I came home that night with the boys fed and bathed.  I also came home early enough that they were still awake.  Yay for good night kisses!  I started up the stairs and Oma immediately calls out that they’ve been reading Goose Bumps.  If you get the immediate call out, you should know something is up.  Trip met me halfway down the stairs and asks, “Mom, are you a whore?”

I choked.

I sputtered.

I said, “Mom, what have you been reading to the boys???”

“He means horror!  We’ve been reading Goose Bumps!

“Trip,” I said, “It’s pronounced HOR-ROR!”

We all spent the next twenty minutes correctly pronouncing horror while Oma filled us in on the story she had been reading  to them.  Oma still has some trouble saying horror.

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