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Archive for the ‘Mushy’ Category

Radiohead: A Story of Starcrossed Lovers

Tuesday, January 17th, 2012

Todd and the kids and I had a great dinner last night. They are getting to the age where they are actually fun to converse with. We were fixing plates and the Radiohead song “Creep” came on, and Todd and I were singing along at the top of our voices, and playing air guitar on that bangy guitar part (you know the one), while Rollie yelled for us to stop, and Tiller rolled her eyes. And then Todd proceeded to tell the kids a story of star-crossed lovers back in the olden days. (You know, the mid-90s.)

There once was a boy living in Atlanta, who liked Radiohead. There once was a girl, also living in Atlanta, who – get this – also liked Radiohead. Now, this was before Radiohead was a household name, right after OK Computer came out, but before anyone except diehard The Bends fans had heard the album yet, before folks considered it the Dark Side of the Moon of the 90s. And so this boy and girl, who both lived in Atlanta, and who both liked Radiohead, both bought tickets to see Radiohead at The Masquerade.

And they both went to the show. And the girl was with her boyfriend, who was not the boy. And she stood watching the show with her left shoulder leaning against the sound booth. And the boy watched the show from the front of the sound booth. And they were mere feet apart from one another. And the show rocked their worlds.

And then three days later, she moved to Denver with her boyfriend.

But the story wasn’t over.

Because sometime later, the girl sat drinking beer in a kitchen in Boulder, Colorado, and she saw a picture on the fridge that reminded her of a girl she used to know. And a couple years later, the girl who liked Radiohead met that girl she used to know in a bar, and the girl she used to know introduced her to the boy who also liked Radiohead.

And now the girl who likes Radiohead and the boy who likes Radiohead sit in their kitchen with their two children, who really don’t give a shit about Radiohead, and they play the game horse face. Horse face consists of one person making a funny face and the other person having to match that funny face. And the girl who likes Radiohead makes a face, and it is so funny to her that she laughs until tears run down her face, her stomach hurts, and she almost pees her pants.

And the Boy who liked Radiohead and the Girl who liked Radiohead are happy together.

Babyland

Sunday, January 15th, 2012

Todd took Rollie to Monster Jam last night and when Tills heard they were going, she was a little upset. So, my sister and I decided we’d take the day and drive to Cleveland to take her to Babyland General. (We took Dash, too. You know. To see if he’s gay or not.)

Now, neither of us had been there since we were little girls, and admittedly, we were pretty excited. We had “Adoption Dolls” as little girls, before Xavier Roberts sold to Mattel and they renamed them Cabbage Patch Kids, and they were like magic. It is funny now to think how all the moms and daughters of the 80s drank the kool-aid on this one: These dolls are really nothing much to look at. Some of them are damn ugly. (Lisa, I’m looking at Tiffany!) But there was something completely magical about them. I can still remember getting my first one (a knock-off named Stephanie.)

1981_xmas

This is Lisa and Me, Christmas 1981. I am not sure if we got Stephanie and Samantha this Christmas, or if they just came downstairs with us on Christmas morning. (Yes, this was also the year we arrived in the future and got an Atari! And I got The Black Stallion Breyer horse. A magical Christmas, all in all.)

1982_janmybday

And here I am a month later, on my birthday, holding both of the girls before opening my gifts. Lisa and I played with these things So. Much.

And I can remember loving her, and wanting another! I remember going into the toy shop in downtown Alpharetta. (I forget what it was called – maybe the Indian Trading Post? It had an old cigar store Indian out front.) I would go in that shop, and look at all the “real” adoption dolls they had in there. I think part of the magic was that there were so many different colors and combinations of eye and hair color, and they had real baby clothes on, and they were given real first and middle names, just like real babies, and when you adopted one, you got a real birth certificate, with baby footprints and your name signed on it, and their birthdays and everything.

Magic.

So, in the end, i ended up with one knock-off, who was my first, and whom I loved just as much as the next two. Stephanie Lynn was later joined by Minerva and Betsy. (I think those were their names. Guess I need to check the birth certificates.) I suppose i remember Stephanie’s name because i named her myself. The other two came with laminated tags on their hands that had their names Sharpied on.) Minerva was a redhead, and Betsy (?) a raven-haired beauty.

Anyways, I digress, but the point of all this is to say that being a parent is hard and sometimes infuriating, sometimes scary, sometimes sad. But sometimes it is wonderful. Taking your child to do something you did as a child, or teaching them to fish, or seeing them touched by magic that you can still remember and feel? That is one of the most special parts of parenthood. Yesterday was one of those days.

Part II, a.k.a. Shotgun Blast of Thanks

Wednesday, December 21st, 2011

I am thankful that I happened to come across a blog post i wrote two years ago on the Winter Solstice. I am thankful that I spent that lovely evening with my dog, Quint. I am thankful that I wrote about it, so I can remember what it was like to sit in the cold on the lake with him and watch stars. I am thankful I still remember what his ears felt like.

This year has been rough and a lot sad, and it has made me even more sad that I haven’t written as much as I normally do. This is part two of looking on the bright side, so that two years from now, I will maybe look back and remember the good things, not the sad ones.

I am thankful for this little guy, and that he likes baseball.

I am thankful for this little guy, and that he likes baseball.

That I had the pleasure of seeing Harmony at baseball games, and know the strangeness of old friends having kids play sports together. Always surreal.

That I had the pleasure of seeing Harmony at baseball games, and know the strangeness of old friends having kids play sports together. Always surreal.

Thankful for the wonderful people who always step up to the plate and coach my kids' teams. This guy cracked us up by coming out to pitch the last inning of a v. close final game dressed as Braveheart. I am thankful for the weird and the absurd in people.

Thankful for the wonderful people who always step up to the plate and coach my kids' teams. This guy cracked us up by coming out to pitch the last inning of a v. close final game dressed as Braveheart. I am thankful for the weird and the absurd in people.

Thankful for Yankees in rural Georgia. They make me laugh.

Thankful for Yankees in rural Georgia. They make me laugh.

And for quiet, woodsy solitude at sunset.

And for quiet, woodsy solitude at sunset.

And that I had time to play hair with friends. I miss those simple time-wasters.

And that I had time to play hair with friends. I miss those simple time-wasters.

And good Chardonnay. Don't get the good stuff nearly often enough.

And good Chardonnay. Don't get the good stuff nearly often enough.

For a sunny cool day spent shopping with friends.

For a sunny cool day spent shopping with friends.

A day spent trying on hats.

A day spent trying on hats.

and being reminded of my long-gone hat collection and how much joy it brought me. (i am a freak!)

and being reminded of my long-gone hat collection and how much joy it brought me. (i am a freak!)

And girls drinking in trucks.

And girls drinking in trucks.

Thankful that I rarely forget to take in the view.

Thankful that I rarely forget to take in the view.

And for time spent in front of outdoor fireplaces. (I will have one, one day. I will!) And for the sweet gift of the MacQueen tartan scarf my Daddy gave me. I love it.

And for time spent in front of outdoor fireplaces. (I will have one, one day. I will!) And for the sweet gift of the MacQueen tartan scarf my Daddy gave me. I love it.

And thankful that I have more girlfriends at 39 than i ever did as a young girl.

And thankful that I have more girlfriends at 39 than i ever did as a young girl.

Thankful that Mom finally made it to Alaska and loved it as much as she thought she would.

Thankful that Mom finally made it to Alaska and loved it as much as she thought she would.

Thankful for the beautiful day I spent with friends in Athens.

Thankful for the beautiful day I spent with friends in Athens.

And that my husband still takes me to the game every other year.

And that my husband still takes me to the game every other year.

Even though I bark in the Auburn section, and I am usually bad luck for Todd's Tigers.

Even though I bark in the Auburn section, and I am usually bad luck for Todd's Tigers.

Thankful for my sweet, artistic girl, and the chalk drawings she does in the garage.

Thankful for my sweet, artistic girl, and the chalk drawings she does in the garage.

Sad that they are not permanent, but that Todd and I managed to capture her precious misspellings. Thankful she lists the things she loves - the cuirur green, sparkely shoes, her dog. - Perhaps she is a bit like her mother sometimes.

Sad that they are not permanent, but that Todd and I managed to capture her precious misspellings. Thankful she lists the things she loves - the cuirur green, sparkely shoes, her dog. - Perhaps she is a bit like her mother sometimes.

I'm thankful for decorative gourd season, mutherfuckers!

I'm thankful for decorative gourd season, mutherfuckers!

Because it still makes me laugh every time I think of it. It is a cornucopia of laughter.

I am thankful that I know what it means to have a daughter.

I am thankful that I know what it means to have a daughter.

And for a most peaceful thanksgiving with my parents. Also, for a husband who has the patience to show my mother how to put books on her iPad. He is worth his weight in gold.

And for a most peaceful thanksgiving with my parents. Also, for a husband who has the patience to show my mother how to put books on her iPad. He is worth his weight in gold.

And that we still do EAV Santa.

And that we still do EAV Santa.

Thankful for my husband's brothers' wife and fiancee. I am lucky we have no drama. And that we all talk when the boys are stoic and quiet.

Thankful for my husband's brothers' wife and fiancee. I am lucky we have no drama. And that we all talk when the boys are stoic and quiet.

Thankful for my sweet niece, Luci. Lucky to have a niece and a nephew.

Thankful for my sweet niece, Luci. Lucky to have a niece and a nephew.

Did I mention Tills? She is my heart.

Did I mention Tills? She is my heart.

And thankful to know what it is to have a large family. My in-laws are so devoid of drama. They are so very normal. It is nice to have something to balance out the crazy.

And thankful to know what it is to have a large family. My in-laws are so devoid of drama. They are so very normal. It is nice to have something to balance out the crazy.

I am so thankful for happy engagements.

I am so thankful for happy engagements.

And that my children will know the love of cousins.

And that my children will know the love of cousins.

For the wonderful Johnson men. It is a comfort to know that they are such a wonderful example for my son.

For the wonderful Johnson men. It is a comfort to know that they are such a wonderful example for my son.

And that I still love my husband and he still (I think?) loves me.

And that I still love my husband and he still (I think?) loves me.

Thankful for Ned and Vanessa and their sweet girl Scarlett, and for the wonderful afternoon we spent tailgating for Iron Bowl. I love that our kids experience that tradition every year.

Thankful for Ned and Vanessa and their sweet girl Scarlett, and for the wonderful afternoon we spent tailgating for Iron Bowl. I love that our kids experience that tradition every year.

And there you have it. One huge shotgun blast of thankfulness. My life is good. Really good.

What’s In a Name?

Saturday, September 24th, 2011

“Mama?” Tiller said, putting her head on my shoulder as we sat on the couch, her watching Mermaidia and me reading a book.

“Yes, Baby?” I said, turning to look at her, eye to eye.

“What’s your name?”

“Anne. My name is Anne.”

“What’s your other name?”

“You mean my middle name?”

“Yeah. Your middle name.”

“My middle name is Dunstan.”

“Huh?!”

“Dunstan. Anne Dunstan Palmer.

“What’s Dunstan?”

“It was my Grandma’s maiden name. Her last name, before she was married. Like mine was Palmer before I married your Daddy. She was Vivian Arenda Dunstan.”

“Oh.”

She sat thinking for a second.

“So, she was my great grandmother.”

“Yes. Yes, she was. Your Grandma Palmer’s mother. She died before you were born, though. But you would have loved her. And she would have loved you very, very much.”

“How come?”

“Because she and I loved each other very, very much. She was so much fun. She taught me to play cards, and Sorry, and build card houses, and to dance the Charleston. She liked to watch The Price is Right with me, and I Love Lucy. And she had the best laugh ever.”

“I wish I could have met her.”

“I do, too, baby. I do, too.”

Amazing that talking to my baby girl about my Grandma can make her seem like she is almost here. I can almost imagine her sitting here with us right now. And it sure does make me miss her, even almost 20 years later. We loved each other very, very much.

Grandma and Me, 1972

The Only Thing You Can Count On

Wednesday, August 10th, 2011

So, the first thing you should know is that the Tooth Fairy is susceptible to strep throat, just like the rest of us. In fact, R’s Tooth Fairy seems to have come down with it at the same precise time that I did. Rollie lost another tooth on Monday night (after he went to bed, of course, prompting me to get up off the couch and deal with blood and teeth and find the damn tooth pillow while swallowing felt like eating glass). I warned him that there was a chance she wouldn’t know that night that he had lost a tooth, since it was so late, and that she might not show. Well, she didn’t show last night either.

Rollie’s Tooth Fairy sucks. Hopefully, she will get her shit together and make an appearance this evening.

Now that we have that out of the way, let’s discuss this whole back-to-school thing. Yes, my county in GA went back to school. On August 8th. Yes, that August 8th, the one that is a full month before I used to go to school back in the olden days.

R. started second grade. I am the parent of a second grader. When I say it, it sounds like I am talking about some person I don’t even know. Who let me be responsible for a 2nd grader? Shoot, I still can’t believe they let me and Todd walk out of Northside with, not one, but TWO of these creatures. We just got in the car and drove off with them! No certificate or license or anything!

And the Tills. . . the sweet baby girl, Tiller. Tills started Kindergarten on Monday.

The first day was rough. When I left her classroom the teacher was trying to get a handle on the new students and calling for a translator. Tiller was sitting at her desk alone, in tears. (I may have shed a tear or two myself.) Our school gained a ton of new students through redistricting, many whose parents don’t speak English. We gained so many students that they hadn’t even hired a new teacher for the new Kindergarten class Tiller is in, so she has a sub this week. (Rumor has it the new teacher, who lives in our neighborhood and is a friend, starts tomorrow.) Not the perfect start to the week, but the sub is a retired veteran K teacher, and by the second day, she had that ship righted and set on a course.

Rollie has a male homeroom teacher for the first time. I am interested to see how his mostly-male class responds to having a man teaching them. Already, he seems like he is very active in his teaching, which i think these wild boys need. They had math class outside the first day!

Another change this year? The kids are in aftercare. I decided that i was ready to go back to work full-time, or at least take on more hours contracting. (Wink wink, nudge nudge – shoot me an email if you have the hookup on a dream job you think might be a good fit for me. You know – flexible, interesting, challenging, and financially rewarding! Is that so much to ask?)

So, starting next week, I am going to be looking for more work in earnest. I have been spoiled and lucky to have great, near-constant teleworking experiences for the last eight years, but i am ready to add more work to my plate. I feel like this is a brand new chapter in my life. My babies are not babies anymore. I am not a “new mom.” Wrapping my head around this has been pretty wild. I didn’t realize how much of my life revolved around keeping two kids alive for six and eight years! But they don’t need me quite as much as they did even two years ago, and I know it. I need to find other things to put my energies into. I have taken the PTA newsletter off my plate this year.

I am still putting together the quarterly Evansdale Education Foundation newsletter, though, and serving on the organizing board. That has been a very rewarding experience. Have a bunch of money bags lying around? Please donate to the foundation here! (Or just look at the newsletter to see some of the awesome stuff we funded this year – a new EIP teacher for the school, and gifted certification and guided math training for teachers. We raised about $50,000 in our first year. Amazing, since it started out as about 15 people sitting around every Sunday night at someone’s house, trying to figure out how to sustain and improve quality of education at the elementary school.) Whoa. Digression.

So, I was worried that the day, with aftercare, would just be too much for my five-year-old girl. But Tiller LOVED her first day of school. I thought she would be happy to see me when I picked them up that first day, and she was. She came walking out of the cafeteria and saw me, cracked a big smile, exclaimed, “mama!” and ran full speed into my arms! And then I said for her to get her bag and she burst into tears and said she didn’t want to go yet. I am glad that she is going to like it there and that I won’t feel bad about them being there all day, but I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a little tiny piece of me that wishes that she was going to miss our lunches and errands as much as I will.

And of course, Rollie was all, “Mom! Why did you pick us up so early?!” (It was after five.) “I was playing dodgeball!”

I missed you, too, Buddy.

So, i think this is a big year for us, and will be a big adjustment. But I’m starting to see that most change is good, and even if it isn’t, I might as well embrace it, because it is really the only thing you can count on in this life.

Still, how can this:
rollieflam.jpg

And this:
Bathing Beauty

Become this?

We will make you love us and then leave you, Mama.

We are going to make you love us and then leave you, Mama.

He’s 77

Thursday, March 24th, 2011

DoggieInWindow

In dog years. I love that he sleeps pretty much all day, unless there is another dog around, or you utter the words, “treat,” “squirrel,” or “go.” I say, “wanna go pick up Tiller?” and he is up like a shot, arthritis be damned! Knocks the screen door open by himself and goes out to stand by the car. If i don’t come out fast enough, he trots around the car, as if making sure he doesn’t miss a door starting to open.

He climbs in, then gets in the passenger seat. Waits until i back out of the driveway, and finally turn out of the neighborhood on to the main road. Then he climbs up on that window sill and sticks his nose out like he was five years old again. He stays that way until I come to a light. Sits back down in the seat. Looks at traffic. After I turn? Back up in the window until I turn in at Tiller’s school. Then he waits until kids come out and then sticks the nose out again so all the kids can ooh and aaah over him.

I am so thankful for him; He is my best buddy.

Thanks to Those Who Make Dogwood Girl Possible

Thursday, November 11th, 2010

I am thankful today, as every day, for the men and women who put their lives on the line every day so that I can live in this wonderful country, and write whatever I damn well please on this blog. They make it possible, and I will never forget it.

Thank you, Veterans. Thank you.

Do you know a veteran? Have a good story about a veteran? I would love to read it. Or if you have a veteran in your life that you just want to recognize, that would be cool too. Hit me up in the comments.

Here’s my story, even though he’s not a veteran: I talked to my Grandfather a lot about Pearl Harbor right after Sept. 11th. People kept on saying, “It’s the worst thing since Pearl Harbor.” I asked Pop if that was true. He said it was worse, because it was on TV, and you watched it in real time (“real time” are my words, not his). I asked what it was like for him right after Pearl Harbor. He said that in the days following the attack, all the young men he knew in Savannah all got together and rode to Atlanta to enlist. (I wish I had asked him why they went to Atlanta. Couldn’t they enlist down there?)

Part of the process was a thorough medical examination. They turned Pop down. They wouldn’t take him because he had a heart murmur, and because he was missing a toe due to snakebite. Seems like these would not really prevent a soldier from shooting a gun, but I am no expert. So, while Pop’s buddies enlisted, he had to go back to Savannah. I asked him how he felt about it. He said he was disappointed, but that he realized how “lucky” he was later, when people he knew were killed in action.

His story is interesting, though. There were so many people at home who did so much- He and Grandma both built warships in Savannah, called “Liberty Ships.” (If you are really a nerd, you can see which of 88 Liberty Ships were built at the Southeastern Shipbuilding Corporation in Savannah. Or just read the history of Savannah’s Liberty Ships here.)

They had a Victory Garden.

He later worked “on the base,” in Warner Robins until his retirement, and he traveled all over the world in a work capacity. Pretty interesting for the orphan from Coffee County.

And I will never forget that he went to Atlanta that day in 1941 to write that check for his country, even if it was not accepted.

What about you? Do you have a wartime story? I would love to hear it.

20th Reunion: My Personal Horror Show

Tuesday, October 26th, 2010

Me
If you are friends with me on Facebook, you may have noticed a bunch of photographs of me and some other old drunk people. You see, I spent Saturday night at my 20-year high school reunion. It was weird, surreal, fun, sweet, bittersweet, comforting, strange, and hilarious all at once. If i had to describe it, i would say that the only other experience that comes close to this one is maybe my own wedding. To have that many folks that have been a part of your life and of your memories for that long come together in one room, with alcohol, was just really wild.

Todd decided to come to my reunion with me, which was amazing, because i fully expected him to bail on me for the Cam Newton show in Auburn. (And I totally would have understood, and would have ditched him in the same situation.) We got to the hotel just in time for Todd to head to the bar to catch kickoff while I checked us in. Todd came up to me at the desk as I was wrapping up, to help me with the bags, and said, “I just met Josh Wright at the bar. He went to Auburn.” I laughed out loud; I barely knew Josh Wright in high school, but my husband was already hanging out with him at the bar. I sensed right then and there that it would be an interesting night.

This is Jason.
1990_0017.jpg
I used to think he was my best friend, but I think he lost out to Camille, since he didn’t come to the reunion with me, and instead chose his “new” college friends over me. No, I don’t even care that he was there to see Ealey rush for 157 yards and 5 touchdowns.

Todd, Camille and I shared a room. Camille’s husband was out of town. We decided to get there early so that we could get checked in, and then go get some food pre-reunion. Otherwise known as “laying a base,” for drinking. You need to have a good foundation, you know. Here is Camille, on Spring Break in 1990:
mealby then

In between the taking of these photos, we have taken a look at our choices, gotten into a good bit of trouble hanging out with the boys, finished college together (who is that third person? He looks so familiar . . . ):
college_0010

. . . been in each other’s weddings, and watched each other become mothers. And here is Camille on Saturday, popping her first beer of the afternoon.

Camille

So, we met Doug and Steph, Nat and Ryan, Chris and Aimee (his wife, not the Aimee in our graduating class), and Brett and his fiancee, Lucy, for pizza at Diesel. (I have to admit, Roswell has better dining choices than it did back when I was a kid and we used to drive to the McDonald’s there, because Alpharetta didn’t even have one.) We drank beer. Ate pizza. Laughed a lot.

Here are Camille and Nat:
Nat and Camille

And Steph and Lucy:
Steph and Lucy
Isn’t Lucy cute? We think Brett done real good for himself. And here is the whole gang:

Photo by Chris Rank

Photo by Chris Rank

After the meal, we headed back to the hotel and the boys went to the bar to watch football, while the girls came back to the room and we changed. There is something so sweet about getting dressed with the girls, and having the pre-event giggles together.

The girls

Aimee hung in there like a champ, even though she doesn’t know us all that well, and we are all completely nuts. Big shout out to Priscilla and Charlie for hunting us down and coming down to say hi while we got ready. I should also say here that if I looked at all decent for the reunion or the photos I was in, it was only because I came out of the bathroom thinking I was dressed, then was sent back in to “put on more makeup.” In truth, without Steph and Nat, I would never have put on lipstick at all.

So, after that, we went to Kim Thomas’ room for drinks with The Six Pack.
Camille and Kim
The Six Pack may or may not know this, but their little self-applied label was both the source and the object of much gnashing of teeth, hurt feelings, anger, and derision back in the day. Seems stupid and funny now, and pre-reunion drinks with you all was one of my favorite parts of the evening. (And not just because we all had freshly-applied makeup, were all sober, and were photographed well by the talented Leigh Helenbrook!)

Pre-reunion drinks with the girls. (And some husbands.) Photo by Betts.

Pre-reunion drinks with the girls. (And some husbands.) Photo by Betts.

I love this picture of two of my favorite people:
Camille and Nat

And then we were off to the lobby. On the way down in the elevator, we ran into Tommy Sudderth. He regaled us with the horror story of Camille stabbing him in the knee in first grade. By the time we got off the elevator, we were all almost in tears from laughing so hard.

And man. . . talk about weird. Put on seventy pounds since the last time you saw them, get all dressed up, have a few drinks, and step off an elevator and walk straight into a crowd of people you went to school with from fourth grade to twelfth grade. Very, very strange. It’s like a haunted house or personal horror show, tailored specifically to your own personal phobias and Achilles heels. They might as well run a film on the wall of your most embarrassing moments. Everyone* in the room knows just about everything about you.

People who saw blood on the back of your white pants? There.

Girl whose house you were at when you puked up Buffalos wings and carrot sticks? There.

Guy who called you “Conan,” instead of “Anne?” There.

Girl whose boyfriend you stole and you haven’t talked to her since? There.

Boy you asked to dance at the dance in 8th grade, when you looked like this?

Me in Middle School

Me in Middle School


The one you imagined must have laughed about it later with his friends? There.

All the girls that were in your tent on the Girls Scout camping trip in 4th grade when you peed in your sleeping bag and then had to lie around until everyone else was up so that you could cover it up and no one would know? I think they were all there. That was a big tent, and I have tried to block that memory from my mind for years.

First love? There.

First boy who asked you “to go with him?” and let you wear his jacket in 4th grade? There.

Girl who whispered “bitch” behind you in the hall? The one you turned around and gave an icy stare, and then later went in the smokers’ bathroom and cried because you felt so bad, because you thought it was a little true? There.

People who witnessed you and others wallowing together at a party after homecoming over (supposedly) broken hearts? There.

Guy that gave you the creeps on the bus? There.

Friend who hooked up with an ex-boyfriend and probably has no idea that you know that she did it? There.

Girl that wrote a note in 9th grade to your close male friend whom she was dating who said she couldn’t believe that you ever “went together?” Yep, she was there.

People who witnessed you get into a girl fight at a party? Yep. There.

The boy you are not sure if you made out with or not at a party because you passed out and don’t remember? Okay, he wasn’t there. Neither were the ones that called you “four tits,” because you were so flat that your ribs stuck out more than your boobs, or the guy that you overheard telling your boyfriend you weren’t as pretty as his ex. But you get the point.

* Names withheld to protect the innocent. Most of you know who you are. All of you please consider yourselves forgiven. Or apologized to, as applies.

And you know what? After the initial shock of it all wore off, it just wasn’t that scary anymore. It was maybe even kinda nice. Maybe.

I saw tons of people that i wasn’t really friends with in high school that I’ve connected with on Facebook, like Stefanie:

Stefanie and Camille

I saw people who lived in my n’hood growing up, like Ryan.
Ryan
I spent a whole summer hanging out with his best friend playing pool and drinking beer in his parents’ basement while my friend made out with him in another room. I also witnessed him breaking his arm tripping over a railroad tie.

Andrea and Michelle:
Andrea and Michelle
Andrea dated a friend of mine and I later lived with him in a different state. Michelle? I got drunk in a tent at her house and made out with her brother on a trampoline. Later, she set me up with my first real high school boyfriend. I mean, you can’t make this stuff up.

Got to hang out a lot with Brett, a.k.a. Peter Pan, which was awesome.
Brett in high school:
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And Brett now:
Brett
We have stayed in touch all these years. Little-known fact: He was my first husband. Senior Marriage Project. Can’t believe how dumb that class is looking back on it now. Brett did all the research and work while Charlie and I made googly eyes at each other. Brett went to Furman, but then he just couldn’t stay away from me, and so he followed me to UGA. He wrote a poem for me when my heart was broken, and I still have it on a shelf in my den. He is engaged now to the beautiful and awesome Lucy.
Brett and Lucy
She did v. well at the reunion, even though she was probably like, “Oh my God, there are so many old folks here.” Lucy and Brett, watch out. I have the date on my calendar and i plan to be there.

Here’s one of me and Todd.
Me and Todd
Not that great a picture of me, but how handsome is my husband? He cracked me up. I had about five people come up to me during the reunion and tell me how awesome my husband is. . . . Brent St. Vrain actually said that he likes my husband better than me. No idea how he met all these folks, but it is nice to have a husband I can take to things like this that will fend for himself and not have his feelings hurt when I ditch him.

Here is me with The Punisher.
Pris and Me
a.k.a. Priscilla. We had homeroom together, and she did a lot of punishing. I cannot remember why she said “Punish!” so much, or why she called everyone “skank” as an endearment, but I love her. Funny the things we remember and love about people.

And here is Camille, with Tommy, re-enacting the aforementioned First Grade Pencil Stabbing incident.
Reenactment
So funny. Tommy had us rolling on the floor with laughter telling us how he used this as a cautionary tale against brandishing lead pencils with his own children.

Monica, Alain, and Leigh:
Monica, Alain, and Leigh
I love this picture! Was so glad to see Alain, as i thought he still lived in Spain.

Miriam and Mary!
Miriam and Mary
Miriam has one of the best, most contagious laughs ever. And Mary and I used to talk about horses all the time in elementary school. (Do all girls have another girl that they used to talk about horses with?) We all played volleyball together, along with Camille and Sonya, in high school.

Darby and Camille:
Darby and Camille
So, I’m not sure why, but Darby was one of the people that I almost burst into tears upon seeing. I am not sure why this is, except that she is one of the funniest and nicest people that i have ever met, and I feel like we are kindred spirits. Darby, it was great to finally hug you in person after having some really meaningful and amazing conversations with you the past year or so. Let’s please not wait another 15 or 20 years before seeing one another again.

Okay. I’m coming out.
Nat and Me
This is Nat. I am finally admitting it. I love her. Really truly love her, and she is one of my best friends. Despite the fact that i detested her in high school. And kind of in college, too. She is still a drama queen, vain, and sometimes a bit of a barbie doll. She is also smart, funny, kickass, fun, and one of my favorite people to get drunk with, because like me, frankly, my dear, she doesn’t give a damn. I love ya Nat, slutty skirts, and heels and embarrassing moments and all.
And look, she can actually keep her mouth shut! Photographic evidence!
Natalie
But never for long. . .
Nat being Nat

Dave and Stacy:
Dave and Stacy
Stacy told me she thought i was “nice” in high school. Ha! We did not know each other very well. Dave was the Roswell Hornet. He was also my first ever homecoming date. He asked me because he had just gotten dumped and he didn’t have a date. We went in a car with some older friend who could drive. I think we were in tenth grade and couldn’t drive yet? I remember the fear of popping open beers in the backseat of that kids’ car – It was maybe mustard yellow and a gremlin or something like that? – And what would my mom say about drinking and driving? And yet we did it anyway. (Frightening to think of now, as a parent.) We had the photo taken and then went and climbed through a window into Lon Feldman’s basement and drank beer until my curfew. I didn’t really like the taste of beer back then. (As you can see, i got over it.) I wore the famous champagne pink shiny flammable dress when I climbed through that basement window:
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Yep, my impeccable deportment began at a tender young age.

Camille, Nat, Brett and me:
Camille, Nat, Brett, and Me
This one just makes me laugh. Natalie being Natalie, Camille and I laughing at it, and Brett barely tolerating us.

Miriam and Melissa!
Miriam and Melissa

So, they finally shut us down, and everyone stumbled downhill to Tony’s. That place has been there forever, and hasn’t really aged all that well, but by that point, we were past caring.

Rob and Doug!
Rob and Doug

Nat and Charlie!
Nat and Charlie
Could have knocked me over with a feather that Charlie showed up, as he is not on Facebook, so it’s like he doesn’t. even. exist. It was great seeing him, though, and I’m glad he showed. All the way from Connecticut. Unlike some people. . .

I think my very sober little group stayed until after last call, then decided to hit Krystal on the walk back.

Krystal

And then we realized that they wouldn’t let us walk through the drive-thru (evidently, my husband is v. persuasive, though, and managed to do just that), so we had to walk up Holcomb Bridge Rd., at three a.m., dodging traffic to go across the street to The Waffle House. Yes, that Waffle House. The one we all used to go to back in the day. Except that I think they razed the original building and built a new one on the same spot. Either that, or I was way more drunk than I thought i was, because it looked very different, down to being oriented differently on the property than I remembered it being, but still, all late night roads lead to Waffle House.

And then we all got tired. And had to walk back. Up that damn hill. Then we made faux Prom pictures under the arch of green, white, and black (Go Hornets?) balloons that were still in the hotel lobby. (Not suitable for public consumption.)

Did I mention that it was a sad event, too? Yes. Sad that the following folks broke our hearts:

Jason Billips
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Becky Duffy
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Jennifer Durkee (and Jerry!)
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Kevin Fagan
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Jenni Hoglund
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Owen Kinney
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Matt Long
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Mike Maier
Mike Gets Haircut
Stacy McBrayer
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Randy Neel
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Scott Phillips
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John Sabol
mikeM JohnS vw highschool paradigms 001
Casey Schaeffer
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Alicia Bruner, Carrie Winter! Somehow you escaped my camera all of those years – an amazing feat. And with the reunion, you have foiled me again! The rest of you, consider yourselves lucky that I didn’t post some of the other pictures.

You all suck for taking just a little bit of joy away from those who wanted to see you. (Anyone I left out? I bet there are more of you, but I can’t remember off the top of my head.) You are all a huge chunk of my childhood, middle school, and high school memories, and the evening felt incomplete without you there. Also, you missed a damn good time.

To those of you who attended, I love you all. Each and every one of you. I’m just sorry I didn’t get a chance to sit down and have a good chat with every single person there.

My High School Photos and the remainder of my reunion photos on my Flickr page.

Oh, and one last thing: I can’t tell you how truly touched I was by the number of people who went out of their way to tell me that they read my blog regularly and like it. I was a bit floored by that one, as I had no idea, since none of you actually subscribe to my feed. (Shameless self-promotion.)
Here I was, thinking that I was writing in a veritable vacuum!

You all posed a bit of a dilemma for me when I sat down to write this. Do I write it completely honestly, as if no one was reading it, the way I have always written it? Do I write it without thinking about who I am writing for, or who will read it? Or do i pull the punch?

I guess y’all can see which one I’ve chosen. Hopefully, no one will be freaked out or embarrassed by reading about themselves on here. I made every effort to leave out anything incriminating (and boy did i have some incriminating evidence!) And if you are a little freaked out, or embarrassed, you need to get a backbone and a sense of humor!

Just kidding. Just read back through my litany of embarrassing moments earlier in the post and you will feel much better about yourself. Plus, you are in the company of friends, and we all know everything about your personal horror show already!

Please, please, please take care of all yourselves and your loved ones until we meet again.

xoxo
Dogwood Girl

Seven

Friday, August 27th, 2010

My baby is seven today. SEVEN. When you were six, I could still think, I have babies. The baby is gone now. I look at you now, and remember what you were like as a baby, a toddler, a preschooler.

rollieflam.jpg

But he is seven now, and seven is no longer baby.

This has been a good year. You started Kindergarten this time last year:
All Smiles

and now you are in First grade. What a difference a year makes!

firstgrade
You are still in the Magnet class and it is fun to see you with your friends. You started riding the bus last year and you still like the bus. Daddy drops you off in the mornings, though, because it means that we get a little more time together before you go off to school and he heads to work. I get you from the bus stop in the afternoons, and you are usually a little grumpy with me. I guess you are tired and hot (it is still August and buses don’t have AC). You did great in Kindergarten, really progressing with your reading now. You still read with Tiller and Daddy before bed, but you also read chapter books after you go to bed, and we are worrying you don’t get enough sleep because of it. You are currently reading, “The Guardians of Ga’Hoole” with Daddy and Tiller, and on your own, you are reading “The Magician’s Nephew.” Just last night, you argued with me about whether you can read “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” first, and then go back and read book one (Magician’s Nephew), or whether you are supposed to read One first. I say you can do it either way. Not you. You like order and in an orderly world, you read One first, then move on to Two. Hopefully, some day you can forgive me for making you read Two first.

You and Tiller got razors for Christmas and you ride them around in the garage for an hour at a time. You don’t get sick and you don’t fall and get hurt. (Knock on wood.) Speaking of, we haven’t had any ER visits or really any sickness in a year. You and Tiller both missed a week of school last year because you had a puke once then have a fever for a week virus. But they weren’t bad and it just made you snuggly.

You don’t have too much time for snuggling this year, but occasionally, you will slow down and cuddle on the couch in your pjs with me or daddy. I realize now that they are dwindling that those moments will be fewer and further between. I try to cherish those moments.

You lost some teeth this year! The first two you lost at school and they just sent them home in a plastic baggie with your name written on them in sharpie. I felt a little gypped. But then your tooth got loose when Cousin Luci and Uncle Wade were visiting and you wanted me to pull it, and we made Daddy and Wade squirm while we stood in the kitchen, wiggling the tooth back and forth, wiping the blood with a paper towel and finally making it crack! and come out. You are not scared of the tooth fairy like Aunt Lisa was when we were little.

This was the year you ate all the chocolate out of the Advent Calendar. I know one day it will be funny, but right now it is still too soon. And the year you cut a chunk right out of the front of your hair. And the year that you got a mohawk. Three times.

I am amazed at all of the things you did this year. You played t-ball last fall and this past spring. You are a natural – always raring to go play, and really pretty good. Watching you out on the field, doing celebratory dances when you make a play, is like pure joy for me. I try to be modest, but i just about burst with pride at how you excel. You are about to start soccer this fall, again, and I hope you like it as much.

You learned how to ride a bike this year, and how to swim. You could swim before, but suddenly, you were going underwater and swimming the length of the pool and you even had your first year on Swim Team this summer. (Go Stingrays!) The competitive Mom in me had to wrestle with not pushing you, and letting you do things your way, even though I knew there were pointers I could give you that would help you improve. You finally listened a little bit and really improved your time, and then you spent the rest of the summer asking me to give you “some more pointers.” It was pretty cute, and I liked that you asked me, because usually, you want to do everything yourself, and don’t want anyone to tell you how to do it.

You also learned to go off the diving board! I can’t even tell you how terrified i was when you and Tiller and Daddy came home saying you both knew how to go off the diving board. And sure enough, we would go to the pool and you and your friends would jump off the diving board, over and over for hours on end. And then we would go home and you would say you didn’t feel good, but i knew it was just that you were completely waterlogged.

You have reached the point where you can sit and watch a whole baseball game (in person or on tv) and I am very much looking forward to watching some football with you this fall. You have learned the rules and can have a great conversation about it, and I never realized how satisfying it could be to have those discussions with you.

Just about a month ago, i let you drive the JetSki (with me right behind you) at the Lake. I had the kill switch, but I pulled over in a huge cove, far away from the shore or docks, and I let you sit in front of me, and taught you a little about how to drive it. Then I said, do you want to try? And you were excited. I was prepared for you to hit the gas too hard even though I warned you not to, so I wouldn’t get thrown off, but I don’t think you were prepared for it, and it scared you. You didn’t want to try and drive anymore, and I think it was a good lesson. Riding with you kids is one of my favorite things to do. We drive around to some usual spots, usually in the morning, before there are many folks out on the lake and you are learning your way around. You know the usual spots: Bulldog, Aerie, The Warm Water, Rooty Creek, Crooked Creek, and Goat Island. I ask where you want to go and you almost always want to go to Goat Island. It’s kind of “our place.” At the end of our rides, I always head back towards the house, and I make you tell me how to get there. When we get back near the cove, I ask if you want to do some circles, and you always say yes, and then I ride us in circles until we’re a little dizzy and you are just on the very verge of being scared. Each time, we go a little harder and faster. And this summer, we started taking you and Tiller out on the tube (nice and slow). The first time, we went out, and you were the guinea pig (except you kept calling it being the Hamster) and Foley rode as spotter. After that, I started teaching you and Tiller to be spotters for each other, and that has worked well. Maybe next year we’ll try skis.

You talk back a bit now, and you fight with us, and you probably are a little too addicted to video games. You definitely have your own ideas about how you want to do things, and you and I get into some arguments, but I am so very proud of the smart, funny, laughing, passionate boy you are. I love your eagerness, and your gap-toothed smile, and the way you drag your feet when you walk up the hill from the bus stop. I know you can’t stay my baby forever, that I have to work hard to make you a wonderful young man, to teach you respect and pride and the value of an education and courtesy, but I understand now why Mom and Dad still say I’ll always be their first baby.

You will always be my first baby. The baby with the skin that tans easily and the big brown eyes that just make me melt and the thick, wavy brown hair that always reminds me so much of my own, and of my Dad’s, and of the inexplicable ways that we are all three so similar, just a little line of stitches marching down the hem of time. Pop, Daddy, Me, You.

You. My baby. Always.

You in the last year.

And you this morning, on your seventh birthday.

Rollie at Breakfast on his 7th Birthday

The Gulf

Tuesday, July 6th, 2010

I watched my children play in the sand while a storm came in, never quite reached us, but left us a rainbow that spanned the trees and the beach and gulf, all the way to the horizon.

I listened as my children discussed whether the pot of gold was in the forest or in the deep blue sea, and where did the leprechaun live?

I walked the beach at sunset and found the largest shell i have ever found in my whole life.

I sat in my beach chair, and thought about how many times I had sat on the Gulf in my life and thought about how small it made me feel.

I petted my dog’s velvet ears on the screened porch while having drinks with my husband and listening to music.

I had coffee with my sister while our kids played trains and chatted happily with each other.

I poured tequila at nine a.m.

I watched as the kids ignored the big ocean for the small tide pools and then rolled around in the mud. I didn’t worry a bit about the sand and the dirt.

I chased my nephew on the sand, and I clutched my hat to my head as the wind tried to take it from me.

I held hands with my little girl and walked on the docks. We dangled our feet over the edge, watching as sailboats came in, and we waved at the people and the dogs on board. We saw a crab on a pylon and we laughed at him.

I waited for hurricane waves to carry me in, and I scraped my knees on a thousand shells, and the ocean turned me upside down like I was in a washing machine. And I liked it and I laughed a true laugh and my raw, bruised knees felt good. It still feels good. I hope it doesn’t go away.

I stepped barefoot up a hundred iron spiral steps. I heard them clang and I heard the wind whistle through them. I got my bearings. I yearned to climb even farther and see how it all works. I saw beauty in the way things used to be made, and I saw that they could last.

I promised myself that I would try to convince Todd to let me paint the porch ceiling blue.

I wondered what it would be like to live 250 yards from the sea, in a time with no electricity, no gas, no artificial light, no corner grocery. I wondered what it would be like to live there and batten down the hatches. I wished I could have seen it then.

I gazed on an American flag flapping sharply in the wind, and I thought how very lucky I am.

I watched my husband stand alone in the ocean, staring out to sea. I thought to myself that he is the most wonderful person I have ever met, and that is the way it should be.

I pointed out pelicans flying in a perfect vee to my nephew and he pointed to them, too, and then looked at me to make sure I saw.

I saw my children and their cousin laugh and splash in the ocean, and I saw them put an arm around him when a big wave came, and I knew for a moment that I was doing something right.

I sat and waited until the last moment for the storm, a great wall of dark gray, to come ashore, and I got soaked, and I didn’t care. I danced under the awning with my husband and my children while it rained. And then we went right back out for more.

I sat on the beach with only my husband and we talked and laughed and listened to music in the sun.

I napped in the afternoon and woke to the voices of my family.

I felt sunbrushed and ate too much pizza.

I sat steps from the bay, and I watched her people gather, and I listened to their sweet southern voices. I sat next to my son and waited for the sun to set over the water. I listened to the pop of roman candles from the beach behind me, and I watched red and white fireworks pop up in the distance over the cape. I waved my flag and I watched a parade of lighted ships. I wondered what it would be like next year.

I heard the gasps of children and the sighs of grandmothers. I thought of the night many years ago now that I sat with my grandma, Alzheimer’s really starting to get her, and we watched fireworks, and a tear rolled down her cheek, and she whispered, “They’re beautiful,” and “I’ve never seen fireworks before.” And I knew she had seen them before, and that she just couldn’t remember it, but I was happy that she was experiencing them like a child for the first time, and I was happy to be holding her hand.

I thought, too, of sitting with friends and my children in a field in Chamblee last year, and knowing my Grandfather was not long for the world, and being overwhelmed at the sight of the fleeting bursts in the sky, and being moved to tears.

I listened to my children describe the sight and tears brimmed at the edges of my eyes.

“That one’s like a flower blossoming,” and “That one’s like Saturn,” he said, and “they perfectly lightly up the sky!” she exclaimed.

I held my son’s body on my chest, and rested my cheek next to his, and put my arms around him over his chest, and smiled when he reached up to clasp my arms with his hands. I felt him there past the brink of child and onto boyhood. I felt his weight get heavier and more substantial in the way that children do when they are bone-tired from good play and sun. I watched as he fell asleep and began to snore in the car on the way home, fireworks still lighting the sky over the bay.

I saw my sister relaxed and happy waiting for us, and it made my heart happy. I walked with my husband down the boardwalk. I stood, skirt snapping around my legs, and watched more fireworks, up and down the beach, and heard the raucous shouts of those shooting them off carried over to us across the sand. I laid down on the wind worn wood and we looked up at a million stars, and we watched a satellite traverse the sky above us.

I pondered the wonders man had made, and too, the horrors he had wrought.

I thought of the sadness and fear and anger I sensed from the people who make this place their home. And I cursed those who threatened them, and I cursed us all for the way we live. I lamented the fact that we have taken it all for granted until it might be too late.

I thought of a lifetime’s memories there – fishing and nets and swimming and sandcastles. The exhilaration of being away from my parents for the first time. Falling in love. Running on the beach. Watching the sunrise with my future husband, and bonfires and sweat lodges and drunken wrestling with friends. My sweet puppy, now an old dog, romping in the sand. I thought of the first time I ever saw my children play in the surf together.

I left it there yesterday, still pristine, still untouched, and I questioned if I would ever see it this way again in my lifetime, this place that captured my heart and soul.

I wondered if my children would remember it at all.