Five-Minute Friday: Family Heroes

[Today's one-word writing prompt: Hero]

A Hero Ain't Nothin' But a Sandwich.

Raise your hand if you got that one.

OK. I got that out of my system.

I know with all of the snow and ice and crap that's been going on in Atlanta recently, you think I'm going to write about the cop who handed out coffee and granola bars to stranded motorists on the highway. Or the hotel worker who walked three miles in the snow to get a non-paying guest (i.e., lobby squatter) who had just had open heart surgery the medicine he needed. Or the man who walked five miles to be with his child who was stuck at school.

But I'm not! (Hey, wait a minute. Didn't I just?....)

After that obvious stuff passed, I was thinking about everyday heroes in my own family. So I just want to give a few shout-outs.

To my mother who didn't kill me when they took me to London when I was 11, and I made her skip something really lovely and educational to take me to Madam Tussaud's Wax Museum and House of Horrors. That's an afternoon of your life you will never get back. I'm sorry.

To my dad who melted Hershey chocolate for me after I had my tonsils out when I was 8. Is that cool or what?

To my niece who is a kick-ass single mom of two little minions, yet manages to cook more than I do (and better), have a wicked garden, and still have a raucous social life. At least it looks that way on Facebook.

To my husband who once had to hold a bowl for me to vomit into while I was ... um ... doing other things. TMI, I know. But you guys just have to know what I've put this man through.

There are plenty of others, but I'm out of time. That really isn't the image I wanted to leave you with. Sorry 'bout that.

Finish Well.

Holidays Make Me Feel Incompetent*

* Stolen from Jana Anthoine

I just took down my Christmas tree.

I admit it. My Christmas tree was up until Wednesday, January 22. And if carpet cleaners had not been coming to try to get red gel food coloring out of Jordan's new bedroom carpet, it would probably still be there.

If my tree were alive instead of completely, utterly fake, it would have looked like this:

Which is why we have a fake tree, by the way. Too many years of that.

Why, pray tell, was my Christmas Tree up until the 29th Day of Christmas?

Excuse #1: I need hubby's help to take it down, and he travels.

That's a lie.

When it finally did come down, he wasn't there. He was in Chicago. I took the ornaments off, boxed them up, and then Joshua and Sandy took our Christmas tree apart and took it to the basement.

And I certainly don't need his help to take down the Santa Claus flag which is still  hanging by the front door.

Excuse #2: I didn't put it up until late, so I'm still enjoying having it up.

That's a lie, too.

I was cursing that tree by the time it came down.
Cursing every time the cats knocked an ornament off and the dog ate it.
Cursing every time I went to bed with the lights still turned on. Yes, we were turning the lights on right up until the end.
And cursing when I thought about what you thought when your kids came home and said, "The Edgecombs still have their Christmas tree up! Why did we have to take ours down three weeks ago?"

And it also doesn't explain why I had to take down my Halloween flag to put up my Christmas one. Doh!

WARNING: 

ADD MOMENT COMING

You know what's great about the Internet? I can Google "For Better or Worse Christmas Cartoon" and one of my favorite cartoons of all time pops up:

Back to our regularly scheduled program.

My mother did special things for all major holidays and made it look easy. Maybe that's why this cartoon resonated with me. It's what moms are supposed to do. We create magic half a dozen times a year (not including kids' birthdays) without breaking a sweat.

Well guess what? I sweat.

And I curse.

And I never make it look easy.

So holidays make me feel incompetent. Like I'm not a good mom.

But wouldn't I be a worse mom if I gave my boys an unrealistic view of what holidays should be? To let them grow up thinking that adorably-decorated cookies in eight different flavors just appear? That everything magically goes up on time and comes down on time with no effort expended whatsoever?

So I'm being incompetent for my kids. And my future daughters-in-law. On purpose.


That's my story and I'm sticking to it.



Finish Well.

Five Minute Friday: The Best Laid Plans

[This week's one word writing prompt: Visit. And I know it's Saturday. I've gotten over it. So should you.]

This week I was reminded of a memory that's not one of my favorites.

When I was in middle school, my parents and I traveled to Richmond, VA, to visit my father's father who was dying. When Senior summons Junior and The Third because his doctor says he's not long for this world, you come.

We went to the Masonic Retirement Home to see him. Papa Stu was a Mason? How did I not know that? My parents told me that until he retired there, they weren't aware either. It's incredible how much you learn about someone right before they die. I suppose it's one of life's ironies.

It was good to see him. To say good-byes and reminisce as much as you can with someone whose memory and hearing are both failing. As I looked back and forth between my father and grandfather, I tried to envision Dad thirty or forty years hence.

Would I be bringing my children to a stiflingly hot retirement home room to visit? 
Would my mom be there, or would she have passed already? 
What would we learn about him in his final days that had remained hidden for most of his life?

But in another of life's ironies our visit was cut short. My mother's father passed away unexpectedly in Thomasville, NC.

I collapsed into tears.

Where was his final visit?
Where was his gathering of the children and grandchildren? 
Where was his chance to say good-bye?
What was his secret I never got to learn?

Papa Stu hung on until well into my college days. When he finally did succumb, I was abroad and didn't even know it had happened until weeks later.

But that's another story for another day.