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Archive for the ‘Memories’ Category

The Streak Continues

Tuesday, November 17th, 2009

Todd and I went to Athens on Saturday, for our biennial Georgia vs. Auburn football game attendance. My father-in-law usually gives us his tickets for the game when it is in Athens. He does, however, reserve the right to revoke this gift in case of the game being some huge, season-altering event for Auburn, such as both teams going into the game undefeated. Needless to say, that revocation was not put into action this season, as both teams are sucking ass.

So, we got up on Saturday, had a quiet coffee together (kids were already in Auburn with grandparents!) and then drove up to Athens. After dropping off the dog, and going back by the house to get the tickets, of course. Helps to get into the stadium if you have them.

We stopped at my friend Brant’s house and left my camera battery to charge on his porch. He was not there, and despite our best efforts to meet up, we never got ourselves together enough to do so. That did not step him and Opel from sending me awesome texts that made me laugh throughout the game. Most were directed at my dear husband, the Auburn Tiger, and what he could put into his mouth after any given play in the game.

We had T-stand (that one’s for you, Scotty P, Honey, and Ryan – if any of you can tell me exactly what I ordered, i will mail you five bucks) for lunch, then headed off to find somewhere to park. Not fun. Ended up paying a ridiculous amount for parking. I have to say that, even in the throng of obnoxious people out and about in on game day, there are few better feelings than walking around Athens and the University of Georgia campus with a beer in hand, especially when the temperature is in the 70s in November.

We headed off to Horton Drugs (I love an old-school drugstore), so that I could purchase some Tylenol, since I was coming down with a cold all that day. The old pharmacist actually came out from behind the counter and helped me find the Tylenol, even pointing out the generic, while the hippie kid cashier was obviously high.

Horton's Drugs

Horton's Drugs


After that, I took a gander at the burned out Georgia Theater. (I forgot to make my usual poke at Todd that I saw the Pixies there back in the day, and that he has to settle for seeing them come out on walkers in Chicago this weekend. I don’t know how he is gonna get by. The hardship!)
The Georgia Theater, November 2009

The Georgia Theater, November 2009

We headed over to The Globe for beer. I never really spent that much time at the Globe when I was in Athens, because I thought it was expensive and that the people who hung out there were old, professorial, and boring. Funny how your perspective changes as you age.

We went inside, grabbed a table, and then Todd went to the bar to get us a Terrapin. (When in Rome.) A seat opened up at the couch in the window. Snagged it. Then Todd, eagle eye that he is, noticed a table outside and grabbed that, and the rest is history. We did not move again until time to go to the game. Why would we move when it was 70 degrees and we had the best people watching EVER? I was not able to get shots of most of these astounding outfits, but I did snap a few.

You gotta love a town where people bring their cooler with them into the bar.

You gotta love a town where people bring their cooler with them into the bar.


You can't tell, but this charming lady has overalls with GA patches all over, including a huge one on her butt. Flattering!

You can't tell, but this charming lady has overalls with GA patches all over, including a huge one on her butt. Flattering!


Overalls aren't just for the ladies. At least this gentleman knows that vertical stripes are slimming!

Overalls aren't just for the ladies. At least this gentleman knows that vertical stripes are slimming!


This lady cracked me up. She has a football field sweater. A bulldog necklace. She is not messing around about her love of the Bulldogs.

This lady cracked me up. She has a football field sweater. A bulldog necklace. She is not messing around about her love of the Bulldogs.


Even the bulldogs want you to be sure you know for whom they are pulling . . .

Even the bulldogs want you to be sure you know for whom they are pulling . . .


One more comment about fashion, and then I will stop. IF YOU ARE WEARING BROWN BOOTS WITH A SKIRT OR SHORT DRESS, YOU BETTER DAMN WELL BE AT LEAST 5’7″ AND UNDER 130 POUNDS OR YOU WILL LOOK LIKE A COW. I am not kidding, ladies. Every girl under 25 in Athens, Bulldog or Tiger, was wearing a short dress or skirt with brown boots that come up to about halfway up the calf. We saw whole packs of these young ladies, and this was the main point that we came up with as a group. (By this time, we have been joined by our friend Annie and her boyfriend, Scott. Annie is Auburn folk, but Scott, God bless’im, is a Georgia fan, so I was not outnumbered.)
Fellows of the Peanut Gallery

Fellows of the Peanut Gallery


We also recommend longer skirts for the heavier girls, and dark tights look better with these boots. I will not be wearing my brown boots with a skirt ever again after this weekend. Only with jeans. Not kidding when I say that the brown boot/short skirt look is the “bow head” of the 2009 season. However, if you spend a lot of time with drunks, I guess it is okay: Both Todd and Scott became more lenient on the skirt length issue after a few drinks.
On their way to grab beer from the car.

On their way to grab beer from the car.


We sat and watched folks walk to campus until the sun started to go down, then walked to the car to get more beer to carry with us. One needs sustenance to get from downtown to the stadium on game day – it took us almost 45 minutes to get through the crowd, but the walk was enjoyable.
I love this time of day in Athens.

I love this time of day in Athens.


We made it down to Park Hall, with just enough time to drink a last beer. I must have spent a million hours on the steps of this building, smoking when I should have been in class, having crossword puzzle wars with Kevin. (The Red and Black had the easiest crossword puzzle ever. We would get it and then race to see who would finish it first.) I think this is probably where i met Vanessa and Robin, too, and when you think about it, if I hadn’t met them, i never would have met my husband. Funny how life works that way. So, it was fitting that we sat here and drank beer and people-watched some more.
Old Stomping Grounds

Old Stomping Grounds


I mostly posted this one because I like the light. I do not endorse tobacco use.

I mostly posted this one because I like the light. I do not endorse tobacco use.


This is not what the front of Park Hall looked like when I went to school here. Fancy!

This is not what the front of Park Hall looked like when I went to school here. Fancy!


This is what i look like very sober. This is what Todd looks like when he is humoring me.

This is what i look like very sober. This is what Todd looks like when he is humoring me.


This is what i look like when I am heckling a young man trying to pee in a corner.

This is what i look like when I am heckling a young man trying to pee in a corner.


This is the only picture I could get of me with Annie showing her face.

This is the only picture I could get of me with Annie showing her face.


We finally finished beers (I say this as if I didn’t just about shotgun two in a row) and then made our way through the madness of Sanford to the stadium. There is something so surreal about a night game, and all of the people and their anticipation. We split up from Annie and Scott at this point. Despite all of my efforts, Scott did not ditch Annie and take me to his club seats with him, even though I would have been much more fun. His loss!
This guy evidently never ages. He has been there as long as I can remember. Note that I have no problem with people who love Jesus; Only the ones who tell me I am going to burn in hell when i am just trying to have a good time with friends at a football game.

This guy evidently never ages. He has been there as long as I can remember. Note that I have no problem with people who love Jesus; Only the ones who tell me I am going to burn in hell when i am just trying to have a good time with friends at a football game.


See up there in the very top of the left-hand corner? That is where we sat.

See up there in the very top of the left-hand corner? That is where we sat.


We made our way all the way up to our seats. I have to say that all of the folks in the Auburn visitor’s section were really polite and well-behaved. I am not saying they were not rabid, and I did have to give the evil eye to one dude who drunkenly kept on saying, when Rambo was lying motionless on the field, “I hope he’s okay, but that was a cheap shot. I mean, hope the dude’s alright, but cheap shot.” Over and over, while this poor kid was on the field, and they must have been taking the longest commercial break in history, because it felt like forever and we were starting to think the kid had died out there on the field. It was kind of strange to hear the whole stadium chanting, “Rambo! Rambo! Rambo!” as he lay there on the field. But overall, they were really nice. I wish I could say the same about the four bulldog fans sitting behind us. They were probably early to mid 20s. Not sure if they were students or not. Three boys and a girl. And one of them would not stop yelling obscenities. There was a gentleman sitting in front of him with his two sons, who were both under ten years of age or so. I guess the man asked the guys to tone it down. I turned around to hear the Georgia fan yelling at the guy that “there’s a law about bringing kids to night games.” The kids looked terrified. The father looked like he wanted to punch the Bulldog. The straw that broke the camel’s back for me was the three Auburn fans trying to ignore them, and the stupid girl sitting there giving the finger to the back of the father’s head, while one of the kids looked on. Todd thought it was stupid, but i went up and asked them to please start behaving themselves. The guy proceeded to tell me that kids weren’t allowed at football games, blahblahblah. The girl laughed at me. I am officially old, because i told them that their mamas would be ashamed of them. I apologized to the man and his kids and asked if they would like to come sit in our seats. They did move, and two Auburn fans thanked me. Todd was right; it was completely pointless to argue about it with dumb drunk kids, but it made me feel better anyway. Not long after this incident, Auburn ran the kickoff back for a touchdown, and I am pretty sure it was bad Bulldog karma that caused the whole thing.
Watching the game with Auburn folks is always interesting. I find myself cheering, but in a very firm, but sportsmanlike manner. There are usually a few other token bulldogs up there, too, and we give some high fives and the like. But really, I try to keep a pretty low profile, and just be polite. It’s pretty orange and blue up there!
This guy was uber-enthusiastic. I thought Todd might end up making out with him.

This guy was uber-enthusiastic. I thought Todd might end up making out with him.


It would be third down, Georgia, and he would turn around and rile the Auburn crowd up.

It would be third down, Auburn, and he would turn around and rile the crowd up.


Then he would turn back around to watch the play. He was more entertaining than the game.

Then he would turn back around to watch the play. He was more entertaining than the game.


This woman was the Auburn version of my Mom cheering for the Vols. Look at those flashing eyes! She was looking right at me, too, Bulldog interloper that i am. She kinda scared me.

This woman was the Auburn version of my Mom cheering for the Vols. Look at those flashing eyes! She was looking right at me, too, Bulldog interloper that i am.


After the game, we headed back to the car, and then drove out to Bishop to stay the night with our friend BT. He and some of the Auburn folks watched the game. I got the usual chilly reception from the die hard fans (I’m lookin’ at you, Kim!), but folks warmed up after I had been there a while. Or maybe that was the bonfire. We sat by the fire, drank beer, and looked at the stars. I ate leftover ribs and potato salad. Yum! And then my coughing overtook me and I had to head for bed.
Sweet, sweet sleep was finally had by me. Except not really, because I got the consumption and coughed all night.

Sweet, sweet sleep was finally had by me. Except not really, because I got the consumption and coughed all night.


I don’t know what time Todd and the rest came to bed, but it was late. The next morning, we got up and left for Atlanta.
Morning in Bishop, GA.

Morning in Bishop, GA.

Oh! Who won, you ask?
Why, the Bulldogs, of course. It was a great game.

Final: 31-24.

My streak continues. See, Todd and I have gone to three Auburn/GA games together in Athens. Georgia has won all three. I also went to an Auburn game with Todd in Auburn, when they played some crappy team. Florida Atlantic, or something like that. Auburn lost that time, too. So, I am not sure whether I am a good luck charm for Georgia, or more of a curse for Auburn.

I like to think it is a little of both.

Time Warp

Thursday, November 5th, 2009

Things are so different now than they were when I was a kid, but then i am always surprised that some things stay the same.

Rollie: Indian name - Walks with Pumpkin

Rollie’s class went on a field trip to a farm. They did a hayride, and made corn husk dolls, and Rollie got off the bus wearing an Indian feather headband, and carrying a pumpkin. (Or Punk King, as he called them when he was little.) And, instant timewarp, it was like Alpharetta First United Methodist Kindergarten, 1978, all over again.

I am bummed I can’t find the picture of me in my indian headress and with paint on my face. I know I have it here somewhere. . . Mom?

I have to admit that I was surprised that they still do this. I would have thought that someone would have complained about how offensive it is for 6 year olds to dress up like Indians. Me? I remember that i just thought it was the most awesome thing ever. Hope Rollie felt it too.

I love a good time warp.

The Quarry and the Death of a Rock Star

Wednesday, September 16th, 2009

For the life of me, I cannot figure out how The Georgia Guidestones were built in 1980, just 40 miles from Athens, and I have never been there, much less heard of them. I want to go as soon as possible. Totally cool story!

Georgia’s granite is kind of interesting to me, too. I would love to see what Stone Mountain looked a thousand years ago, without the development around it, a dome of stone surrounded by forest. And then there’s the quarries. I have always found something very creepy about them. But one in particular, outside of Athens, was a destination for us as college kids. I can’t even remember now how you got there, but I know it was east of Athens, probably towards Elberton.

We would go out there when it was warm weather. You drove back on a wooded, deserted dirt or gravel road. I guess we were trespassing, but there was never anyone out there other than kids. There were actually at least two quarries (the pits themselves). There might have been more, but I don’t remember them. One was smaller, and had a sloped side to it at the time. We would lie in the sun, smoke and drink, and swim in the quarry. The water was cool and very clear in this pit, and the sides were not very far from the water. Everything about this smaller pool seemed blue and white and very bright.

The second one was VERY DEEP. The walls rose from the water, probably something like at least 50 feet. Maybe more? A hundred? The walls were a sheer drop, straight down. There were rickety old iron stairs or ladder running from the top down to the water. People would run off the edge and jump into the quarry. I never did it, as I am a big old wuss and very scared of heights. My friend and roommate Honey did it and my heart was in my throat the whole time. I thought she was one badass girl for doing it. I still think that she’s a badass.

There was also a huge crane there. I remember talking to a boy at a party one night in Athens. The next week, I heard that he had jumped from that crane to his death. I cannot remember his name.

The crane and the larger quarry, they seemed dark and foreboding. Awesome and ancient, even though they were man-made. I wonder if they look any different now – Seems that if they still use the quarry, it’s landscape would change between 1992 (or whenever it was we were out there) and today. Or maybe it looks as if no one has touched it. My God. 17 years.

This picture, found on Flickr, was taken in 2000. But the scene looks pretty much the same. I assume this is the same quarry.

Another photo to give you a feel of what it looked like, here.

One other reason i will never forget the quarry. I went there the day Kurt Cobain died. I was walking home from school. I am guessing it was March or April. I know it was spring. And i know it was still cool out, because I was wearing a coat. I was walking with Chris Bilheimer down the street in Athens, and we met a girl named Felicia. I don’t remember her last name. She worked with me at The Grill, and had a brother and sister. All three of them were nauseatingly beautiful people. She told us that Curt Cobain was dead. I remember being pretty stunned at first, but also thinking later that people got pretty upset over someone who wasn’t that great. Not that I didn’t love Nirvana, but come on. I never thought he was a complete God or anything.

I walked on home to my house off Pulaski. My roommate Scott was there, with Dave and Karen. I told them the news. We got in Karen’s jeep and drove out to the quarry. Someone took pictures, but it wasn’t me. Scott or Dave, if you read this and have the pictures, twould be AWESOME to see.

How is that for a cliched 90s story? And a totally disjointed blog post. Take this away from it: I want to go to these Guidestones. I want to go back in time and spend a day at the quarry with Ryan and Dave and Honey, Duke and Madison, or Scott and Dave and Karen. I still wouldn’t jump.

If you’re reading this and lived in Athens, did you go to the quarry? What do you remember about it? And where is it, exactly?

Game Day, or “How I Became That Mother.”

Tuesday, September 15th, 2009

My little man is getting so big. He learned to ride a bike without training wheels, he has loose teeth ready to fall out, and Sunday, he had his first baseball game. I have turned into a Soccer mom, chauffeuring kids to school, and bus stop, and baseball practice, soccer practice, and ballet. I have somehow become a person who attends a kids’ baseball game, a soccer game, and a soccer clinic every weekend in the fall. I have an actual magnetic soccer ball on my minivan. I have a minivan! I know where to buy ballet shoes, for fuck’s sake! I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I always said, “Oh, I’ll never be one of those parents who [insert crossed-that-line-already variable here].” I am one of those parents. Soccer ball. Minivan. Little girl who wears dresses, owns Barbies. Too much tv. Chicken McNugget. Name a line that I drew in the sand; I have since crossed it. Oh, except Bratz. NEVER IN MY HOUSE. EVER.

The funny thing, though? You realize that parents don’t do these things because they want them, necessarily. (Although I am sure some do.) They often do it because they realize it is what the kids want. My kids like to play baseball and soccer and do ballet. It is good for them to run around. They like Barbie and Hot Wheels. Tiller likes dresses and bows. Rollie got excited about putting the magnetic soccer ball his coach gave him onto the van. I couldn’t say no to that! I countered it with a Mac sticker.

And in participating in all that (and I have never been a joiner – I do not tend to like to be part of a group), i have found that it is not so bad. It is kind of fun to watch your kid on a baseball field, having fun. You remember what it was like to stand in left field or right field, bored out of your mind, dancing in the wet grass, or kicking some dirt at third base. Watching your daughter meet other kids during the game and run around and climb trees, or play in the creek behind the field, or swing from the bleachers, you remember that once upon a time, you were that kid keeping yourself occupied while a sibling was on the field. You check out the goods at the Concession stand. You remember that after the game, whether you win or lose, you get pizza or ice cream.

For Roswell, and for Spanky. RIP.

Friday, September 11th, 2009

A friend of mine is being buried today. I could not make the funeral and I am sad about that. I know that there are others who couldn’t make it either, but that we are all there in thought and, some of us, in prayer.

Charles (we all called him “Spanky”) was not a close friend, but he was a friend, nonetheless. He was a boy who was in my classes. He was a boy who was at parties, who gave great hugs, had a big heart, and was quick to laugh. Charles’ laugh was so distinctive that I can still hear it in my head, clear as a bell. After twenty years, I can still hear his laugh like it was yesterday.

Last Saturday, Charles shot his father, and then he shot himself. The grief one feels over a friend killing themselves is overwhelming. The grief of knowing that someone you cared about took a life, much less the life of someone so close to them. . . that grief is almost unbearable. It makes you want to sleep to escape the thought of it. It makes you want to climb right out of your own skin to stop feeling it. You don’t want to imagine the grief of a mother, a sister suffering the pain of such a loss. And yet you cannot get away from it. It permeates everything.

You try not to think about it, but you can’t stop. It keeps you up at night, wondering how it turned out this way. You think, here I am, with my loving husband, my wonderful children, and my happy home. Here I am twenty years later (a blink of an eye, really) and where did Charles go? What happened to him in the last twenty years?

I cannot reconcile the boy I knew with the picture in my head of the man he became.

I have thought of it hourly for the last five days. I have wondered how it was him that ended up with an addiction. There were so many of us, and so many of us did more than we should have, and what made him the victim of addiction? It could have been any of us. “There but for the Grace of God go I” is on a loop in my head this week. I have thought about God, and heaven, and forgiveness. I have thought about whether there is an afterlife, and if it is punitive, or if it is a place where we all will find forgiveness, solace, and peace. I came up with no answers, save one: We are all so intertwined.

When I think of the community I came from, one that is grieving from top to bottom, one that was touched in so many ways by this one family, I know this: We are all intertwined. The things we do have an impact. Sometimes that impact is not seen until we lose a piece of ourselves. And then it breaks down and we are so very aware of the gaping holes in our lives. This one boy with the unique laugh was a friend to so many of us. He was a son, a brother, a cousin. And his loss and the loss of his father are felt so very strongly by one community today. The one thing I know is that we are all stronger for having known one another and that each and every one of us can never forget that we hold those that love us in the palms of our hands.

This is for the town that I have scorned. The town that has changed so much over the years and which I was so glad to have left. But that town is not just growth and development and a homogeneous population. It is the town where I grew up. It is a community, no matter how far flung we all our now; Deep down, we are still those kids that walked to school through an old cemetery to sit in run-down classrooms together. We are church groups, and football teams, and kids who sneaked into neighborhood pools together. We fought at the water tower. We are a bunch of kids in the McDonald’s parking lot on a Friday night, waiting to see where the party would be that night.

This is for Roswell, a community that lost two of her own this week, and who is the lesser for the loss, but the greater for having known each other.

Another friend sent me the lyrics to this song. I have heard from distraught friends all week long. It has hurt my heart, but reminded me that I came from somewhere, that we all came from the same place. That when one of us hurts, we all hurt.

Adapted from the Will Oldham song.

Adapted from the Will Oldham song.

And the original:

Taking Off the Training Wheels

Tuesday, September 8th, 2009

In all the school speech hubbub of yesterday, I didn’t get around to posting what I really wanted to post: My baby boy learned to ride his bike without training wheels yesterday.

My mom told me that I started wanting to learn to ride my bike at age four. She said all the older kids were riding theirs, and I wanted to also. I don’t remember that, but I do remember riding my brown, orange, and yellow (it was the 70s!) Roadmaster down a short sloped driveway at a neighbor’s house, my dad holding the hard yellow seat behind me. I remember skinned knees, and no helmet. I remember exhilaration.

I tried teaching Rollie this spring. I took him over to a parking lot nearby, and it was a disaster. No one got hurt, but I was nervous, he was wobbly and frustrated, and it was hot as Hades. We did not last long on the asphalt, and we gave up.

So, Rollie had a play date at a friend’s house earlier this year and the little girl could ride with no training wheels. Rollie was interested again. We have no flat area to learn to ride bikes in our yard, so we have to take the bike somewhere else to teach him to ride. We have been, shall we say, less than proactive about doing so.

Rollie started asking us more often to teach him, but something always came up. Then yesterday, Todd told us all to pack up and we headed over to the local park. We took Tiller’s little bike, too. We strapped them both in their helmets. Rollie even wore his knee and elbow pads (overkill, as it turned out). Todd got Rollie on the bike, and we showed him how to set up the right pedal (he is right-handed), so that he could stand on his left foot while using his right foot to step on the high right pedal, thereby giving himself a sort of initial boost of speed. We told him that he had to pedal fast to keep going. We told him that he needed to put his feet down when he came to a stop, that he needed to remember to steer.

I sat on a curb and bit my fingernails.

Todd went to the opposite end of the parking lot with him, and then slowly they started. Todd held onto the back of the seat, just as my own father had thirty-plus years ago. I wondered if my Mom could even watch me learning. I watched as my firstborn sped up, and wobbled, and freaked out and put his feet down on the pavement. I heard Todd say, “Slow down, Buddy. I can’t keep up with you.”

I watched as they tried again. Rollie took off, and started a little faster, and he was wobbly, and the look on his face was one of pure terror, mirroring my own I am sure, and suddenly, i realized Todd was not holding him anymore, just running right back and to the left, arms creating a waiting safety net around Rollie’s sides, but not touching him. I heard Todd speaking to him, “You’re doing it all on your own, buddy. You’re doing it.”

Tiller rode in circles, training wheels flashing in the sun. Todd and Rollie got ready again at the end of the parking lot. Tiller straightened out and pumped her legs as fast as they would go, sparks almost coming off the training wheels, her bike leaning precariously to her side. Rollie started off from a low incline, picked up speed, then started pedaling furiously as he quickly moved away from Todd. Rollie was moving of his own energy. Todd was left in the dust, looking panicky. I was in a panic of my own, my heart in my throat. I yelled, “You’re doing it, Buddy! you’re doing it!” Tiller’s bike rattled and she toppled over, a slow motion, non-life-threatening wobble. Meanwhile, Rollie came to a shaky stop, feet dragging on the pavement, and I was completely torn. Tiller’s training wheel came right off the bike and rolled in a large circle, slowed, came to a stop, and fell over.

We all looked at each other in amazement.

Rollie had ridden a bike by himself, and was all pride and bluster. Tiller had ridden the wheels right off her bike.

It was a good day. I only wish I had gotten video of the baby that once came out of my vagina now riding a bike around on his own bottom and two legs, laughing and getting mad because we wanted him to slow down. It just happened so fast.

Six Years of You

Thursday, August 27th, 2009

9:00 a.m. Six years ago today, i was pretty much being ripped apart by a bowling ball. A bowling ball that was not numbed by any amount of drugs for a couple hours. Rollie, you were that bowling ball. And you were worth every second of the worst pain of my entire life.

HospPics02.jpg
By the time you came out, my pain was being managed and I was tired and so very happy to see you. I still grieve for those hours that you were not in my arms, but they had to make sure you were okay, and you being okay was most important. Six years going by makes it clear that all of those details and all of the guilt I poured over myself at the time was for nothing. You turned out perfectly and completely and totally YOU. And you are wonderful.

Alvin, Simon, Theodore, Rollie

I really feel like this was the year that you became a true boy, no longer a baby, or a toddler, or a preschooler. You started Kindergarten this year! You rode the bus for the first time! I was so terrified, sending my baby boy off with some person i have never met before. And that night, when i kissed you goodnight, you whispered “I want to ride the bus forever. I never want you to pick me up at school again!” You loved the bus. You still do.

Happy Rollie

You have learned so many wonderful things this year. You already learned to read way back when you were four, but now you are reading longer and longer books. Sometimes the words that you read amaze me. You sound them out just perfectly, and even use them in the correct context sometimes. I will never forget the night that I walked into your room and you were reading the Tales of Beedle the Bard. At five! I wasn’t sure whether to worry that it was too graphic for you, or swell with pride that you could read a real short story book, with few pictures! You are like a sponge with the reading and you retain so much. It amazes me. At school, you are ahead of the game – They are teaching letters, letter sounds, colors, shapes, and the like, and you can already read. I worry that you won’t be challenged enough, but when I see that you are still sensitive, and still on the same emotional level with the other kids in your class, I know we made the right decision. Plus, so far, you are not struggling with your homework very much, and that is a relief to me.

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Yes, you have homework. We never had homework when I was in kindergarten, but a lot seems to have changed for parents and kids since then. I hope that your Daddy and I are making good decisions for you, but sometimes it is scary for us. We want so badly to give you all of the tools you need to be a happy and well-adjusted kid. You also started taking French this year, and you have an hour of it a day. i am hoping that you and I can have some secret French conversations around the dinner table. You are already coming home every day with new French vocabulary words. There are still things to learn, though: You still can’t tie your shoes and you get very frustrated when we try to teach you. And your dad and I have been pretty bad about helping you learn to ride a bike. We need to get on that.

Boy at Waverly

You have really turned into an active, energetic little boy. You learned to swim a little last year, but this year, I can sit out of the water and watch you, and you do just great. You put your head down in the water and you can jump off the side and swim back by yourself and swim the entire length of the pool! You dive for rockets, and you were so fun to watch at the pool this year, because you played with the other kids so well. This was also the first year that I could put a lifejacket on you and let you swim in the lake while I sat on the dock. You and Tiller swam for hours in the lake last time I was there. It was a joy to watch you swimming and playing the same exact games that Aunt Lisa and I used to play right there, too. You took your first ride with me on the Jetski this year – I think you were a little freaked out by it, but I am sure you will grow out of that soon and be scaring me with your fearlessness. I know I was terrified riding around on that thing with such precious cargo, but I want you to learn to have fun, and be cautious, but not fearful. I try to teach you that by example, but sometimes Mamas get scared, too.
Rowdy Rollie Rodeo
You played soccer last Fall and this spring and loved it. You are pretty good and we call you “The Cheetah” because you are so fast. Your team was called “The Dream Team Tigers” which we have really gotten a lot of laughs about. This year, you are playing soccer and t-ball (Go, RiverCats!) and I am really enjoying you learn to catch and throw and learn the rules of the game. Just last night, you made your first base hit and you played pitcher and got an out at first. I was beaming. The best part of all, though, is sitting in the bleachers in that moment when light and dark are just about even, then the lights on the field flutter on, and you and your team-mates are running around the bases, playing pickle and laughing (giggling, really) and I just see the joy on your face, and the fact that you are happy, and comfortable with who you are.
Boy Loves Tractor
I know that won’t last forever – that kids are mean, and you have to watch movies about bullying at school for a reason. I know that there will cliques and hurt feelings, mean things said, and unrequited crushes. I just hope that you will have a foundation given to you by your Dad and me that leaves you with a sense that you are a wonderful person, and that you have self-worth. I hope that you always have the strength to know who you are, to be your own person, and to do the right thing, even under difficult circumstances.

Rollie with Flower

10:00 a.m. I was still at Northside waiting for you to join us. The room was unlit and I was hurting, but it was getting better. Daddy and Aunt Lisa were there. The rest is a blur of visiting grandparents and MASH re-runs, until you came out and changed my world forever, at about 5:30, I think.
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At about 5:30 today, we should be getting ready to head down to Turner Field. Your birthday party is Saturday morning at the pool, but we have kind of started a tradition of taking you to a Braves game on your birthday. Last year, Daddy and I surprised you with it, but this year, all four of us are going. Even Tiller. We haven’t told you yet, but I can’t wait to see your face when we do. It will be Tiller’s first baseball game, and I’m sure she will love it, but you will be the star tonight. I can’t wait to see you eating peanuts and hot dogs, and yeah, we might even get you a coke. It is your birthday, after all.

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I love you, little buddy. More than you will ever know, at least until you maybe have a child of your own. And then you will ache with it, and swell with it, and wrestle with it. I hope that I am there for you when the time comes, because I am so proud of you and I know how proud I will be then.

Love,
Your Mama
Rollie

Are you an aunt, uncle or Grandma or Papaw, who can’t get enough of baby pictures of Rollie? Here’s a set of some of my favorites.

This Time Six Years Ago

Wednesday, August 26th, 2009

I was at the Ob’s office, waiting to get on the list to check into Northside for an induction. I finally knew that I was going to the hospital and I would be able to see my baby in the next 24 to 48 hours. I was nervous, happy, relieved, and scared shitless.

Not half as scared as I should have been.

I had to go home and wait for the call that they were ready for me. We went in that night. We slept in a room at the hospital and they induced me the next morning.

I didn’t have any earthly idea how much my life was about to change, drastically and irrevocably. Forever.

For Jason B.

Sunday, August 23rd, 2009

For Jason, who thinks Rollie and I look so much alike at Rollie’s age. . . check out my mother, at about the same age. In very p.c. Indian headdress, with old Aunt Zelma, and her dog, Peg. Evidently, Zelma used to fart and blame it on Peg all the time. Mom will have to confirm, but I believe this photo was taken at the duplex on either Seminole Dr. or Mason Dr., Chattanooga, Hamilton Co., TN.

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Can’t seem to find the picture of me in my Birmingham PeeWees baseball uniform, but Rollie and I look a LOT alike in that one.

Coming up on Dogwood Girl: “Before” photos of our basement; “Before” photos of my gray roots.

Don’t Mess With My Tutu

Friday, August 21st, 2009

Things here in Dogwood Girl world have been a little wild lately. This whole year has been a roller coaster, but the commencement of school has really amped up our schedules. Oddly, though, in the midst of all of the rushing around to practices and stores to find shoes and helmets and gloves and bats and tutus, there have been these wonderful moments where I am struck by deja vu. I have been here before. I have felt this joy. Parenting is funny like that: You reach a milestone in your child’s life, and it brings you back instantly to that time in your own childhood.

Tiller started ballet last Thursday. She takes it at the rec center here in town. The minute I walked in there, I was rushed back to the old rec center at Wills Park in Alpharetta, the one next to the awesome wooden playground thingie – the ultradangerous one, with a bridge that went over a creek and lots of holes high up on the structure for little kids to fall out of. We never did. We also never injured ourselves on that fast merry-go-round; we just went faster and faster, squealing our guts out. Pretty sure those are gone now, replaced by some safer, more plastic, less wood and metal playground, with sustainable mulch or some such crap underneath it. I used to take baton twirling there at the rec center. I think it was maybe only one room, with some public restrooms. As soon as I walked in the dance room, i was brought back. Tutus and tights and little black patent leather tap shoes with ribbon laces. Pale pink ballet slippers.

I had been told that Tiller should ‘wear something comfortable” that first day. She had on shorts and a t-shirt. All of the other little girls wore tutus and had their hair in ponytails or buns. Most of them had their own shoes.

Ballerina Parent Fail.

Tiller didn’t even notice, though. She doesn’t realize yet that her mother is a Bull in a China Shop who never took more than one year of Dance. I was hideous. To this day, my photos from that one year of ballet and tap, taken in a studio that I believe was in the upstairs over the Indian Trading Post toy store in downtown Alpharetta, right across from Milton High school, are still the most-commented-on of all of my childhood pictures. (They do not, however, compare to the still-much-discussed naked run around the parking lot photo from a college game of truth or dare gone awry.) People think they are hysterical. So, before someone leaks them, I will share them here on Dogwood Girl, for all the world to see.

This is me on the left end of this group. I want to say the girl next to me is Heather Flack. Not sure who the other sad girls are. . . . It appears that the red monstrosities are what you wear for tap. I can still feel the material these little numbers were made of . . . .

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Okay, this next one is me in. . . I don’t know what this getup is. I think this was the ballet number. Because nothing says graceful ballet like a CountryBumpkinVaudevilleShowgirl costume. Who comes up with these? Nice lipstick, huh?

1978_dancerecital_anne

This is the one that people really dig. . . Look at that poof in my hair. Yes, that is mom’s attempt at giving me a Dorothy Hamill, but I have curly hair, and it never did work. See that polka dot trim? It itched like a motherfucker. Red lipstick on a five-year-old is classy.

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Now, this post is about how parenting reminds one of their own childhood. And one time that I was really struck by this was when I took the kids to Tucker Day last year. Tucker Day is for all the world just like I remember the Alpharetta Parade being. Tractors, and farmers, and bands, and groups like baseball teams and dancers. Yes, I believe that my dance troupe was in the parade, and I seem to remember wearing the above red and polka dot-trimmed outfit, while this next picture was being taken of my sister and my cousins, who lived right across the street from me back then. (Yes, I told you I was Southern. Southerners live across the street from their cousins, people!) Mom evidently parked the red Caprice Classic station wagon, with wood on the side, in the filling station parking lot near the Food Lion. (Food Giant? I get those confused.) The one on Hwy 9. She propped Graham, Adam, and Lisa up on the hood, and gave them a couple of bottles of Coke. Please note Lisa’s lionhead. (See also: The Lionhead Files.)

1978_AlpharettaParade_GrahamLisaAdam

This next one is prompted by Rollie playing t-ball. This is my softball team. Before that, I played t-ball with a bunch of boys, and one other girl, Ashley Marvin. Now, I don’t remember exactly why i played t’ball with a bunch of boys. But this next picture is from a softball team I played on. We had an after season party at Ashley’s house. Ashley had an awesome old renovated house near Crabapple, and a pool. Also, please note our totally trippy 70’s-style Fulton Co. Parks and Rec shirts.

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This final one is just one of my fave pics ever. It is of the spectators at one of my b-ball games. I guess it was when I played on the boys’ team, because my cousin’s mom is there. I LOVE this picture. The folks are sitting on the bleachers at Wills Park. I guess it is cold. Maybe my dad took the picture? My mom is standing to the left, in the plaid pants, smoking a cigarette. The blonde next to her is my cousin’s mom, Connie. That is Adam in her lap – I love that he is twirling his hair, like he always did at that age!.  To my Mom’s left is my sister, Lisa, sitting next to my Uncle Harry, a.,k. a Gran, my grandma Smith’s brother. His wife, Virginia, or Bubba as we called her, is sitting the next row back. You can almost make out her reddish hair. Would love to know who some of the other folks are.

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Now we have the metal bleachers, but there is still that same feel at practices. I am looking forward to enjoying some of those after-game ice creams, and to watching my Tiller keep herself occupied around the field while Rollie plays this season.