The Serranos New Year

The Serrano’s New Year’s Eve

Alright – I know that many of you are recovering from some sort of new year’s celebration.  Perhaps recuperating from an all night binge – Ashlee this better not be you because if Jose wakes me up to go to church in the morning – then you are going with me – there’s no doubt about that.  So, my idea of New Years includes one of the following options:

Loser Version – staying at home with Ben & Jerry’s watching Dick Clark’s Rocking New Year’s Eve on television and going to sleep at 11:00 – after the ball drops in New York.

Single Version – going to the bar with friends – and praying that you are not the designated driver – (of course if it were me, I would be… damn my natural aversion to alcohol)

The Couple Version -  going out with another couple – or having a small get together – in my version most likely there would be some sort of card or board game – as that’s really the only way that I know how to make long amounts of time pass.

And then there’s the Serrano Version.  Now, I’m sure that after you read the exciting events of the Serrano family gathering, you’ll want to model it for your very own new year’s celebration next year.  And all I got to say is … if you speak English, can I come too?

First of all, Jose in a day long miff, walks around the house and complains about how I’ve been on vacation for 2 weeks and haven’t done anything.  He cooks  pollo gisada (*spelling is most likely way way off).  It’s this chicken in a sort of tomato type sauce.  Any suggestions that I offer are met with – no, Spanish people don’t like that.  However, I did feel a bit better this year, as his nephew said he was bringing barbecue and Jose said that Spanish people don’t like sweet things – to which I responded just because he didn’t like sweet stuff doesn’t mean that everyone doesn’t like it --- I figure the Spanish people don’t like has been a little technique that he has developed to keep from eating foods he doesn’t like.  Anyway, so no one really eats during the day, sort of snacking in hopes of having a good meal in the evening.  Around 5:00 p.m. – no one has arrived, Jose doesn’t know when anyone is going to arrive, and I’m getting very hungry.  By 6:00 p.m. – no one has arrived, my hunger has emerged to the point that I will chew off someone’s arm for nourishment if allowed, and Jose still has no idea when someone is coming.  So, I go ahead and eat – which for those of you who know me is about 2 hours later than my regular dinner hour.  Anyway, it is now 7:30 and Jose’s brother (with his sons whom I refer to as the demon-spawn have arrived – and any work I had done in organizing Elijah’s room and getting toys into baskets has been destroyed in a matter of minutes) has arrived and his friend Moses, with his two kids.  The first hour of their arrival time was spent with Jose and the crew sitting around in the living room and speaking Spanish to each other.  Occassionally I’ll hear a word that I think I know or that I want to know, and I’ll ask what that means.  After about an hour, the effort becomes too much and they all move into the Jose’s living room – where they can sit and watch Spanish television and talk in Spanish – and I put on the Law & Order: CI marathon and settle back to enjoy my loser version of new years sans dick clark – and unfortunately ice cream or chocolate.  I’d have had chocolate as I sent Jose to town for some earlier – to which he balked because of my diabetes – so he returned to the house with hard candy – HARD CANDY – which in NO WAY SHAPE OR FORM addresses the CHOCOLATE craving – Thank god Elijah let his chocolate covered ice cream bar melt – and I was able to suck down the chocolate shell – wasn’t enough though.  The upside was that Jose told me that Moses was bringing cake – cake is always good – I love cake.  But then I remembered… at every single Spanish gathering in which cake was served it had some weird raspberry filling in it – which ruins a perfectly good vanilla cake with icing – ruins it – so when I saw the fruit on the cake – my heart sank as I’m pretty sure that the cake will be fruit filled – at which point they should just call the damn thing a cobbler.  And . . . because no one else in his family has arrived, and no one is answering their phones (I’ll lay odds 10 to 1 that they are out at walmart doing some last minute Christmas shopping because they know that we buy gifts for their kids and they don’t for Elijah or Isaiah)  that I won’t be able to eat any of the cake until tomorrow – at which point the icky fruit filling will most likely turn into some gummy bear type substance – so perhaps cake bits will be easier to suck off of it then.
The final aspect of what can only be described as my utter joy is that the kids are so wonderful.  First of all, they are the only ones who speak English – so you can imagine the intellectual edge my conversations have for the evening.  Secondly, they are destructive in a way that only boys can be.  This year, I took all of the toys that Elijah got for Christmas that I wanted him to have past this evening and hid them.  They have improved somewhat since they’ve gotten older – but still – they are an annoying bunch of kids all in all – and I dread the post party inspection to see what was broken or what not.
So there is such joy in the evening that I’m sitting here and writing in my blog.  Had a brief moment of panic as Moses Jr. was reading over my shoulder for a minute – but then figured that I didn’t really care if everyone in the free world realized that I didn’t really think this was a good time.  And thus far, my greatest moment of joy has come from Jose’s comment that this may very well be the last Serrano family new year’s celebration – as he’s a bit irritated that it’s so late and his family hasn’t appeared.  And that would suit me just fine.  I’d be perfectly happy just treating this evening like any other in the year --

On Courting part 2

On Courting part 2

O.K. So here’s the story.  First of all, you need to know that access to aol online had pretty much put a wedge between Craig and myself.  I began, through the fantasy world known as online chat, began to realize that perhaps being settled for wasn’t really the way that I wanted to go.  Sensing that his security blanket, a.k.a. free ride, was drying up, he promptly found another to fill the position.  So, I was living blissfully alone, with my dog and cat, at the old mall apartments.  And, though it may shock some of you to know this about me, I decided to drive to Atlanta to meet a friend of mine that I’d met online.  Yes, danger alerts should be going off everywhere – as they do for me now – anyway… I went.  Driving my oh so lovely 1977 Dodge Aspen station wagon.  On the way home from that trip, that went well, my poor old car began to protest the arduous journey.  And as I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment, my car breathed it’s last sigh and died.  Though upset that my car was dead, I was eternally grateful that it had died at the apartment instead of dying on the road somewhere, which has been the case for all my previous cars.  As a result, I was no longer able to have my own glorious apartment, I had to find a roommate, but fast.  The roommate that I found was my friend Mary’s sister, BETH.  Beth, who unless I desperately needed funds for my rent or I would be living in my new car, I would never ever live with.  Anyway, Beth was a substitute at the refugee center in town.  I applied for a position as well, and was thrilled when I got the part time job as well.  I went in the day before I was supposed to cover the class and there, in the front row, was the most amazingly cute little foreign man that I had ever seen.  Wonderful smile, great hands and forearms.  He was just cute.  Not handsome, and if you’ve seen Jose he’s not that he man type for handsome, but he is attractive – and if you don’t think so, then I can only assume that you are blind or have no taste, or both.  Anyway, I kept looking at him, staring almost.  And everytime he’d look up – as he must have felt as if someone was burning a hole into his head, I’d look away.  

If you’ve read the previous blog, you know that I have some mighty fine, sophisticated, and subtle techniques for letting a guy know that I kind of like him.  For example, for Jose, I made a point to stay a little after class and wait for him to leave so that I could walk “with” him.  Alternately, if he left immediately after the class, I rushed out hot on his tail.  One day, I spent the afternoon making fried apple pies – not nearly as good as my grandma’s but not too bad.  And I made enough for everyone in the class – though really, I’d made them for Jose.  Who, it turns out, doesn’t really like sweet stuff, but anyway.  On one of the walks out of class, I told him that I had a new car.  He looked it over, and then I made a point of going to see his car – a 1988 toyota tercel.  Somehow, I somehow got myself invited to his apartment.  Where we sat, with pen and paper, and had a bit of a question answer period – and some English instruction.  Though quite happy with myself at the time, when I got home, I feared that he would think that I was a freakishly pushy fat girl who he was going to have to move to avoid.  So, I purchased a card to apologize for my brazenness.  And in the card, I mentioned that I had a bit of a crush on him and that was why I was acting in such a fashion.  I gave the card to Jose after class, and watched him go to his card, where I expected him to open and read the card.  Instead, he put the card in the seat beside him and drove home.  Well, that wouldn’t work.  I wanted to see what his reaction was, so I followed him home.  He was a bit surprised to see me pull up in the parking lot behind him.  But I told him that I wanted him to read the card.  He told me that he had waited until he got home so that he could use his dictionary.  So he read the card.  Said thank you very much, and then asked me what it meant to have a crush.  And never was there a more awkward moment in my life.  So, I did my best to explain what it meant without making me seem a total loser – and his response to my painful explanation was “do you want me to give you a kiss”  And the awkward moment I had a moment before was nothing in comparison to that one.  I mean, sure a kiss would have been nice – but I was thinking that it would just happen not be discussed and a convenient time outlined.  And thank goodness we were in a car because I’m sure that my face was about 2000 shades of red.  And thus it begins – You’re probably thinking that the romance, the courting, the falling in love began.  But you’d be wrong.  Really it was the stalking.

Those of you who know me, know that I’m a bit obsessive and on the rare occasion overly organized (in most places besides my house – though to be fair I know where almost everything in my house is -- usually the floor of some room or another).  So, I took it upon myself to discover his schedule and his phone number.  Jose would arrive home at 6:10 from work every evening.  I would call his house at 6:12.  I would force him to chat with me for a few minutes before he headed to class for the night.  He wasn’t too big on missing class – something we don’t have in common at all.  I would call him on the weekend.  Ocassionally, I would meet him at his apartment at 6:12 instead of calling him.  Yes, what had begun was the systematic stalking of poor Jose Serrano.  And of course, luckily, he didn’t know enough about the laws of this country to call the police and get a restraining order.  Instead, he ended up giving me a key to his apartment.  And had I been just a bit more crazy, that would have been a dangerous thing indeed.  And what did I do with that key.  I made it a point to go to his apartment, and have something cooked for him when he got home from work.  I would clean / straighten his apartment.  Showing what a good wife I would be.  The first date we had was at the pool hall that used to be over by Roses.  The next official date resulted from one of my daily 6:12 phone calls.  The seemingly idle chatter was interrupted by what any girl will tell you are dangerous words, “I have something to tell you.”  Typically such a phrase can be followed by such things as “I’m married.” Or “I’ve met someone else” or “I love you, but I’m not in love with you.”  So, figuring that bad news was in the works, I asked him to meet me in person.  At which point, Jose informed me that the girl that he’d been having sex with before we met had told him she was pregnant.  My first question was how pregnant.  I’d been stalking for about 3 months and usually “I’m pregnant” comes after 6 weeks.  It turns out that in Vietnamese cultures, “I’m pregnant” comes when you begin to show – so Dung (and let me say that I had no small amount of glee to find out that was how she spelled her name) was 6 months pregnant.  And thanks to my 10 years of emotional therapy with gay boy Craig, I was able to be very calm about the whole thing… move into counselor mode if you will.  Ironically, Jose and I were just talking about this moment on the way home from Cadiz, this Christmas.  Apparently, I told Jose that he was not the only man who had ever been in this situation, and that it wasn’t the end of the world.  I remember asking him if he was going to marry her, and his response being, “no, I don’t like their food.”  Of course, I was being supportive while suggesting that marriage wouldn’t really be the answer.  I used my sister as an example – Though she would tell you that she didn’t get married because she was pregnant – I believe that had she had a bit longer without that pressure there – she may have decided that perhaps she and Lance weren’t really suited after all.  Not long after Dung made her announcement, Jose told me that she wanted him to go with her to tell her dad.  Sounded a bit scary to me … but Jose is nothing if not responsible.  When he returned, he told me that as was Vietnamese custom, to have a party to announce the birth.  That made sense to me, I knew what a baby shower was.  Jose’s responsibility for this shower was to purchase the alcohol that would be consumed.  And let me just say that they must really put back the booze, because Jose bought almost $1000 in beer, wine and what nots.  $1000 didn’t mean as much to him then because he was living in his apartment with is brother and his cousin – and his monthly bills, including groceries totaled about $400 – which was what he made a week – I was always envious of his money situation – and that envy of course caused me to marry him and ruin it forever…  Anyway, about two weeks before the party, Jose came home with an invitation.  A piece of art really.  It was ivory, with these satin doves on the front.  And all the text was written in Vietnamese.  Now, I was working at Kinko’s at the time.  I worked in the print shop actually.  And, well, I’m not an idiot.  This was no baby shower invitation.  There were no rattles, blocks, diapers, baby pins on this invitation.  This was doves with rings.  This was a wedding invitation.  It took me about an hour to convince Jose that it was a wedding invitation.  He finally agreed to call his friend Ha (great name don’t you think) though he may have called Ha’s brother (whose name I do not know).  Now, there is little else more stressful than listening to two people who speak two different languages, not a one of them English, try to figure out what an invitation says.  Jose got off the phone somewhat reassured that he was not being invited to his own wedding.  I was not so sure.  I went to goodwill and bought a nice $10 suit for him to wear.  And since it was a clear assumption that I wouldn’t be going to the party – it was the time that the asian gang was pretty big in Bowling Green – they’d had that double murder in some trailer park and I wasn’t sure that I was ready to sacrifice myself – they might have tried to render my fat to fry my dog or something.  Anyway, I gave Jose my camera – because I wanted to see what the party looked like.  And I told him that under no circumstances – absolutely NONE – was he to stand in front of everyone with Dung.  He wasn’t to walk down any aisles, not to jump over any brooms, not to repeat anything that was said to him by some little man in a robe, fancy dress, feathered head dress, anything.  Because I didn’t care what Ha said – Dung was having a wedding.  As far as Jose and I both know, he left the party still single.  It wasn’t until 3 years later when I was pregnant with Elijah that I learned that my suspicions were correct.  I had gone to PJ’s Beauty College – my choice for all beauty needs – and was treating myself to a manicure before I went to get an ultrasound.  And of course, without being overly stereotypical, the little men working on my hands were Asian  - Vietnamese – as it turned out.  He told me that he had used to work at Eagle industries.  I told him that my husband also worked at Eagle Industries and did he know Jose Serrano.  His eyes got wide and he began to talk rapidly to his little friend in his native language.  I pooh-poohed their conversation and offered them a brief summary of the Dung incident… which I intuitively knew is what they were talking about – or maybe I heard them say her name.  Anyway, I told them that they didn’t get married, that it was just a party to announce that she was pregnant.  At which point the little finger man informed me that he was a little pissed off because he was told it was a wedding and had given her $50 as a gift.  Actually, I think Dung raked in some $6000 at that party – that’s a lot and enough to make me want to be Asian and have a wedding.  So, I told him that he got screwed – paid my bill and ruined my manicure as I tried to start my car.  
     The rest of the courtship was relatively uneventful.  The first Christmas, I didn’t have enough money to buy gifts for anyone in my family and Jose spent $20 on each member of my family.  I was touched beyond measure.  Jose speaks of going to visit my parents and family with a bit more trepidation.  He was nervous about going off to god knows where, and being trapped with strangers, but admits that he was really lonely at the time and welcomed the family contact.  My family was probably so grateful that he wasn’t a black jewish man that they warmed up to him right away.  Though they did all talk really loudly to him for the first year --- apparently a speaking a second language translates in American to hard of hearing.  The marriage proposal consisted of me saying, “when we get married, we can (insert event here).”  When Jose didn’t look at me like I was crazy and still talked to me the next day, I just assumed that we would eventually get married.  Of course, I began to use the phrase once or twice a week, and then almost daily just to make sure that I wasn’t crazy.  In March of 1997, Jose’s cousin and brother moved out of their apartment within a month – his brother left 3 days before rent was due and wasn’t planning of paying the next month’s rent at all.  So, Jose moved in with me so that he wasn’t paying all the bills himself – that and my apartment was much nicer.  And by July, Jose had withstood all the living in sin that he could possibly take, and we got married at Plano Chapel on a Saturday at 10:00 a.m. in the morning.  I informed all of my family, but invited no one.  I saw no point in spending on a wedding what could be used for a down payment on a house – though as I type this, I really think that I had new refrigerator in my mind – because I knew that I wasn’t spending thousands of dollars on my wedding and a good refrigerator was $1000 – the really nice ones anyway.  So, our reception was catered by Rally’s drive through – I’m pretty sure that I had the double cheeseburger combo and Jose had the chicken sandwich combo – large sized as the fries are really good.  And when we got home, we put together the aquarium that we purchased with the money that my family had sent.  And because we didn’t kill each other as were putting together the pre-fabricated table and the aquarium – and hardly fought at all, I knew that we were going to do o.k.  And that’s the story.  The whole bizarre thing.  

On Courting

On Courting

I am writing this story for a couple of reasons.  First, because Ashlee laughed so hard when she heard it that she was almost in tears.  Secondly, because Stephanie, my dedicated reader (thanks Stephanie) has most likely been checking to find nothing new recently.

First, let me give you a bit of background.  As I’ve never been what one has considered a raving beauty, or a beauty – in fact many would consider me a two bagger – I have never had many romantic relationships that were, umm… well a partnership.  By this, I mean that I have had a series of almost obsessive crushes in my life and was fortunate in that the victims were relatively kind hearted.  Thus, hope reined supreme in my heart as I dreamed, fantasized, planned romantic rendezvous for the poor objects of my affection.   Let me give you a run down.

David Cunningham – from kindergarten in Greenfield, Missouri.  David was the IT boy in my class.  And he seemed to like Natalie, the IT girl.  I showed my deep affection for him by violently swinging him about when we played tag.  I’m not sure that he really made the connection.  But such violent swinging would represent my masculine style of courting for years to come.  If I wrestled or punched that means that I liked you.  Subtle, I know, and massively ineffective.

Grant Roark – also from Greenfield. He was blond and rode my bus.  

Doober – was a boy who lived down the street from us in San Jose.  I don’t have a clue what his real name is, but he called me 4 eyes, though I didn’t wear glasses, because he thought I was so smart.  It was my first compliment from a boy.

Jim Jim Wallace – my first little gay boy crush.  He was very popular and I think that I was more interested in being accepted than anything more.  

Stacy Gardner – Stacy was a god.  He was 4 years older than I was and a life guard at the city pool.  He had those blond locks, tanned skin, nice body.  And I used to call him all the time.  And he would occasionally talk to me.  I didn’t realize it until much later that he was most likely grooming me for future fag had status.  And that would be a pattern that I would fall into again.  What I remember the most about Stacy Gardner, besides his Brad Pittish good looks, was that one day while we were at the pool and I was staring longingly at him, I saw him walk into the boy’s bathroom.  And I came to realize that Stacy Gardner, THE STACY GARDNER, used the restroom!!!  Can you believe it?  I was floored.

Loren – he was  a senior the year I was in 8th grade. His sister owned and ran the horse stables at Lake Barkley State Resort Park.  He had green eyes and black hair and I thought he was dreamy.  I volunteered to work at the stables for free that entire summer just for the opportunity to be in the same room with him.  He of course preferred the other little girl who was working there – her daddy was rich and they summered at the lake on their house boat.  

Rob Castelign – was the foreign exchange student from Holland.  And, I have a thing for little foreign men – yes I do.  I got him to go to the movies with me and my sister (who had to drive because I was too young.)  We saw Missing in Action, my treat.  And to this day, I have no idea why he decided to go to the movies with me.  

Daniel Rodriguez – continuing in my little foreign man theme.  Daniel was the junior scholar counselor the summer between my junior and senior year.  He was 28 – I believe, from Venezuela and hairier than a monkey.  He was the first person that I ever told that my mother was a lesbian.  

Michael Ball – was a student at Western.  He hosted the parent’s weekend talent show.  I had entered, and performed Winnie the Pooh.  And later,  my creepy friend Susan Wrocklage and I saw him at the football game.  He had a red light in his window at Pearce Ford Tower, and thought my roommate was cute.  And I think he would have been willing to let me do his homework.  He aspired to be a male model and had changed his name to Michael Diamond for the purpose.  He was a bit Rick Springfield-ish.

Prince – who didn’t even know I existed.

Craig Flener – my last little gay boy.  This one is too long and complicated to really even bother to get into.  Just let me say that in the 10 years that I was waiting for him to decide that there was no gay man out there that he wanted to be with and settle for me (settle, can you believe it?!) I learned many life lessons about family, jealousy, self worth, friendship, finances and a bevy of other things.  All in all it was cheaper than therapy and would count for many people’s first marriage.

Jose – finally, the cute little foreign man who isn’t gay.  Of course he’s not overly romantic either.  He’d tell you that mostly he was ready to get married and he liked me well enough.  It was no grand passion, no amazing – obsessive love – at least for him – but it will last until one of us dies – though some days murder may be an option.  And I know that it was meant to be . . . it was fated.  And that story, I’ll tell you on another blog.

The Growing Child

The Growing Child

Well, it’s official.  My son is no longer a baby.  How do I know this?  Was his first day of school?  Was it how he posed for his Halloween pictures or at dinosaur world with his fingers pointed like he was a jock?  Nope and nope.  I know that my son is no longer a baby or a little boy but a kid because … he has phone issues.  I have long used the phone to teach Elijah numbers.  Teaching phone numbers and have a large phone list was a really easy way to help him learn  his numbers (that an Thomas the Tank Engine).  And in recent time, he’s really enjoyed playing with cell phones, opening them, punching in numbers; and as long as he doesn’t push the green send button, I’m all for him using it as a toy.  But it would appear that his interest in dialing has some more insidious characteristic.  It would appear that it wasn’t about learning numbers and fine motor skills.  No, it was the emerging of the beast.  I too was victim to the beast in my mid to late teenage years.  You may recognize the beast in those close to you because it’s seed pods attach to the ear of it’s victim, while sucking the brain waves out and transmitting them through a curly, twisty umbilical chord back to the main base.  Recent adaptations of this beast have evolved and are able to transmit the sucked brain waves through the air though their small antennae.  Don’t kid yourself, though the beast may seem to be helpful and useful – it is very addictive and can lead to financial ruin if it’s power is not carefully monitored.  I personally fed the best the larger portion of my earnings from the ages of 17 – 20 years of age – before area wide long distance was created.  Yes, my son has developed a fondness for CALLING HIS FRIENDS.  He has always called the neighbors to see if he could go over and play.  But now, he likes to call his friends from school.  Today, he called his friend Gabby from school and told her that she could come over, but she’d have to go to Myron’s house first and get directions.  Then he called Myron, to let him know that he should expect to see Gabby sometime soon, I guess.  The sheer glee and joy on his face when he was talking to them was precious.  And each time, he said “you remember me, I’m Elijah from your school.”  Which leads me to my own personal “please like me” issues that I suffered while in school and don’t wish upon anyone.  I’m hopeful that he will be more like Jose when it comes to making friends – everyone seems to like Jose – especially mentally challenged people – which doesn’t say a lot about me I guess – but anyway – That was it – today, looking at Elijah as he was grinning at me, giving a thumbs up sign and talking on the phone.  My prepubescent teen of the future.   Please god let all of his friends live in my county.

king kong

King Kong

We went to see King Kong on Wednesday – and let me just say it is an amazingly good movie.  Not as good as Polar Express – but very close – it is a different genre after all.  Now let me say that I have a history with this movie.  When I was little, my mom took Jodi, Jason and I to see the version of King Kong with Jessica Lange and Jeff Bridges.  And I thought (and still think) that it is a good movie – though I haven’t seen it in quite some time and will have to rent it and watch it with Elijah soon.  I distinctly remember that I cried at the end.  I didn’t think it was right or fair that King Kong was killed by the men.  I mean, he didn’t ask to come to the city.  He was just being an ape – that was what he was – and man came to him, and caged him and moved him.  And when he got out, they killed him.  I was sobbing at the end of the movie.  I also remember that my mom consoled me by saying that it wasn’t real blood but cherry syrup on King Kong.  He wasn’t really dead, but acting.  In retrospect, I have thought it a bit odd that she didn’t tell me that King Kong wasn’t real, but a robot – but instead that he was merely pretending to be dead, not really dead.  And I suppose, I prefer keeping the belief that he was real and not really dead.  Anyway, this movie makes all those feelings come right back.

On the island, King Kong fights dinosaurs (our original pull to the movie).  But there are also really big, creepy, icky, squirmy bugs – and bunches of them.  Enough of them that if RAID hadn’t been invented, you’d want it invented automatically --  And there’s King Kong and Ann.  King Kong is such a wonderful person for a gorilla.  You like him, understand that he’s just being the monkey that he is and can’t help himself.  And when he climbs up the building whose name I have just forgotten in New York, you just want him to get down and find a better place to stay.  As soon as the planes appeared, the tears started rolling.  And by the end of the movie, I hated Mr. Denham who wanted to make money, and every person in New York who wanted him dead.  Hell, in Jurassic Park 2 they just recaptured the t-rex and took him back to the island – and the t-rex does not evoke one single tender emotion at all – just fear and awe.  But King Kong – can they take him back – no, no, no – King Kong they have to kill.  I still wish he could have at least landed on Mr. Denham.

Anyway, if you haven’t seen, I would highly recommend it.  It was a very good movie – one to see more than once, and one to buy when it comes out on DVD -

On Good Friends

On Good Friends

I just had lunch with my two friends, Sandy and Terri.  And as it is with every other time that we get together, I wish that we would get together more often.  I have a good time with them every single time that I am with them… they are more than friends, they are family.  I had been having a particularly rough day.  I had the pleasure of sleeping with Isaiah, that means that I get the early morning – which is fair since Jose had the late night.  Duke had been hit by a car – and the poor woman who unfortunately did the deed was extremely upset – she was sobbing.  She was even more upset when she realized that I had kids – so upset in fact that she went home, got her own dog and brought it back to us because she felt so bad.  An amazing thing to do I think – unless maybe she wanted to get rid of her dog.  And Jodi, if you want to tell grandma, that won’t hurt my feelings.  I would prefer to tell her that someone fell in love with Duke and took him home with them, but I know that the first thing out of Elijah’s mouth will be, Grandma Duke got hit by a car and went to heaven, but I won’t tell you about the blood.  So, I’m putting that off – Monday is her birthday the next holiday is Christmas – there really isn’t a good time.  And on top of that Isaiah was fussy and crying.  He was ready for his nap, but didn’t have anyone to get him to sleep.  And as soon as we sat down at the restaurant, all of it melted away.  We talked, we laughed, it was a really good time.  Such a good time that I wished that I didn’t have Jose and Elijah, and that Terri didn’t have something else to do – so that we could all just sit around and do nothing.  Of course, 4 hours later, I’m thinking drinking might not have been a bad idea.  I’m not a drinker, but these past few weeks, I’ve almost wished that I was.  Beside the point, I know.
The crux of the matter is that I am so grateful for the friends that I have who let me just forget everything and be Amy for a little while – not teacher, wife, mother, pet owner, student, whatever.  So, as we left and promised to get together more often – I’ve decided that I’m not going to get busy and let the opportunity fall away – I’m going to make the time to go and do something – And chances are, I’m going to make the time by myself.  I haven’t had any by myself time lately – and I can think of no one I would rather spend it on that Terri and Sandy.

Riding the Range

My mom has often told me as I grew older that when we were children she didn’t lie to us; rather she created alternate realities.  Many of those “alternate realities” followed me around for several years – the realization that they were “alternate” usually coming at inopportune times.  For instance, my mother told us that an Indian Guru had taught her how to walk across a bed of hot coals and lie on a bed of nails.  So, as a child, whenever I say a nail or a hot coal I asked my mom to lie on it, or walk on it.  She would sagely reply, “Ah, but it is not a bed of nails or hot coals.  I can’t do this with just one nail or one piece of coal.  I am a master and must have the bed.”  It made sense to me, so I didn’t push it.  Though I did wonder what type of Indian it was that taught her.  Was it like the Indians who shot at cowboys, or the ones who danced around prettily at the state fair grounds?
     When I was 16, I was fortunate enough to be a part of WKU’s Junior Scholar program – it’s a summer program where kids who are going to be senior’s in high school live on campus, take college classes for the summer.  Part of that program was a research project.  My group chose Ghandi, which was the film for good behavior at my school that spring – I was inspired.  And at the age of 16, some 10 or 11 years after my mom’s presentation of the alternate reality, I finally learned that a GURU was an Indian (ohmmm, I’m hindu and praying type of Indian and not an wa wa wa wa {imagine yourself putting your hand over your mouth there – can’t figure out how to type that sound effect} me friend o kemo sabe type of Indian) from India.  And of course, I have to tell the whole story to my group mates, to which they respond by looking at me as if I’m a bit crazy.  
     However, my life as a child has given me some great stories to tell in the Big Fish (props to Ashlee who likes this movie a lot) sort of way.  For example, there are few people in the world who have had the opportunity to witness barnlot surfing as my family has had the opportunity to witness it.
     As I’ve mentioned before, my mother’s ambition was to become a true gentleman farmer – or perhaps Mr. Greenjeans.  So on our farm, we had a true menagerie of animal life:  geese, chickens, goats, ponies and horses, and a cow.  Ironically, I have a terror-filled memory with each and every one of these animals.  The geese would chase us, hissing with wings spread ready to attack.  Only several years of Basil Griffen park have helped me overcome my unease in their presence.  The white rooster would chase us unmercifully, trapping us on the front porch.  The goats would chase us, pull our hair – but were perhaps my favorite of the animals because they were occasionally nice.  And the horses.  It is every girl’s dream to have a horse, to be able to ride around with hair blowing in the wind.  My mom had a pretty white horse named Baby—I believe he was a Missouri Walking Horse.  We had another horse, I vaguely recall as being named Angel, but I’m not too sure about that.  And we had the ponies.  My sister had a pony, I had one, and my brother, in true Jason form, ran through three or four.  I think Jodi’s was named Pokey Sawdust, mine was Smokey, and one of Jason’s was named Blackie.  Jodi’s may have just been named Sawdust and I’m confusing pokey with smokey – there’s really no telling – but I like the name pokey sawdust, it has a ring to it, so from here on out in my memory, pokey sawdust it is.  Anyway, on rare occasions, we’d all get the wild hair to go riding.  And what an “occasion” that was.  It seemed to take hours upon hours to get everything ready for a ride.  In fact going riding was probably a bit like riding a roller coaster.   3 hour wait for a 2 minute ride.  First we’d have to put a little grain or gravel in a coffee can and walk about shaking it to lure the horses to us so that we could get them into the barn.  
     I have a distinct memory of being assigned the job of holding the horses.  And getting very nervous because I was very small – horse knee height, and the horses, were very big.  And the longer I stood there holding the reins, the longer I had to look at their feet, and the longer I had to think about how much those feet would hurt.  I think in the end, I was hiding behind a tree with my arm stretched around holding the reins so that they wouldn’t be able to step on me.  Anyway, we’d finally get all the horses in the barn lot, and often that was the hard part.  Mom and Robin’s horses were tamed and quietly moved into the stalls to get saddled.  Even the ponies were apt to follow.  However, Blackie, Jason’s jet black Shetland pony purchased more for mom’s dream of a Dick and Jane get a pony book than for other reason had other ideas.  Blackie wasn’t interested in being one of the herd.  He wanted to be free!  And so he was running around the barn lot.  We had tried to corner him, bribe him with grain and goodies, but all to no avail.  So, my mom decided that it would be best if we could get him to run through the barn and she would rope him when he came out the other side.  Seemed like a good idea to us as well, so we chased Blackie through the barn.  My mom swung the lasso and missed.  So chased Blackie again through the barn, again my mom swung and missed.  I wasn’t surprised really because she wasn’t doing it right.  Real cowboys swing the thing over their head and then hurl it over the horses head.  My mom wasn’t doing that.  She was just sort of tossing out there.  It was hopeless I knew.  But we chased Blackie again through the barn.  Mom swung the lasso and missed . . . or so she thought.  Mom began to pull the rope back when instead it began to run through her hands… and caught at the knot at the end.  Logically, I know that Blackie must have only pulled her down in surprise before she let go, but as in all good stories my memory has expanded the true events.  In my minds eye, I see my mom hanging on to the rope and Blackie pulling her through the barn lot almost cartoonishly on her belly and bouncing around a bit.  And that part of me thinking that it looked like fun.  I remember that when it was all over, Blackie still wasn’t captured, but mom had already had her ride anyway.

Santa Anxiety

I'm about 99% certain that I've written about this before - but here we go again -- I haven't posted in a while and I'm sure my readers are getting anxious. Christmas and Santa and the obligation of the parent. My brother had offered to buy Elijah the GraveDigger monster truck for christmas - and at first, I thought, wonderful - Elijah will be able to get this toy that he really wants, and I won't have to worry about ruined christmas dreams. But then, this prideful animal inside of me comes forth and says - now Uncle Jason will be giving Elijah a better present that Santa can give - better than you can give (which matters when Elijah's older and realizes that Santa is not exactly delivering the gifts) -- so here I am, not liking the idea of my gift coming in second place -- which can only occur after the anxiety of making sure that the gift is actually going to be coming has been set aside. So, now I feel the need to compete with my brother's generosity - and I can't -- there's no way that I can compete with that - I don't have that kind of money - it's just not possible - but i want to have it - I want to be the one to give the best gift to my son - and in the long run - i don't think that Elijah is going to really care. I'm pretty sure that Jason doesn't care - but I worry about his money issues - but then he wouldn't offer to buy it if he couldn't afford it -- or if he didn't have the money on hand -- that's not the same thing as affording it - because i think he often purchases things he can't afford.

Anyway, that's my dilemma - and I think that I'm going to handle it by letting Jason pay for the gift and being very grateful. and taking the money that we "saved" and getting elijah and isaiah something else -- and letting go of my own issues --

Zen and the Art of Home Repair

Zen and the Art of Home Repair

This is what I’ve learned about home maintenance during my relatively brief stint as a home owner.  

• No matter how much you argue, disagree, and frustrate each other, every home repair requires at least 2 people.  One of them will invariably be relatively competent, and the other have no vague idea about what is going on.


• Both will feel they  know how to best solve a problem.


• Each repair will require at least 4 – YES 4 – visits to the Lowe’s or Home Depot.  These visits will follow this pattern.


• I’m such a good home owner

I have all I need to fix the sink (toilet, window, carpet, couch, insert problem name here).  This visit will require that you spend at least one hour in the store, not counting drive time.

• Oops, I forgot one main part of what I needed.  

This visit will require about 10 minutes, not counting drive time.

• Well damn

At this point you realize that you  need a connector for the new piece so that it will work with the old piece that I already have.  This visit will require about 30 minutes, as you will have to wait 25 minutes for someone to appear in the aisle where you are staring dazedly at all the parts so that you can ask them to help you.

• You’ve Got to Be Kidding Me

During this stage you will be returning to Lowe’s to purchase the original piece that you broke while trying to attach it to the new piece.  You will have every old piece that you have taken off, all the new pieces that didn’t work, and all the broken pieces that don’t fit anything anymore.  This stage will take another hour and half.  During this time you will wonder if you’ve invested too much money in the home repair to make hiring someone to fix the problem beyond your means.

• Either the We Don’t Really Need it or Thank God, it Works

During this stage you have either given up on the project and moved the offending item to the basement.  Or you have figured out a way to make it work at least as well as it did before you began your home repair.  If the latter, you have called every member of your family and any friend who has even an iota of repair skill to talk you through the process.  You then keep the dirty little secret that what took 3 minutes and required none of the items you purchased at Lowe’s actually took you 8 hours to 2 days and was almost the reason you used for filing for divorce.

What We Learned:

1. Dry Fit, Dry Fit, Dry Fit – that purple stuff that holds PVC piping together – it doesn’t come off once you put it together – EVER


2. Measure Twice, Cut Once – actually, I find measuring about 4 times – what you’re cutting and where it’s supposed to go – and then again – and then getting someone else to double check.  And if you’re not sure – cut big – because you can always make it a little smaller.


3. TAKE EVERYTHING TO THE STORE – it really makes things easier.


4. READ THE BOX – because there will be some part of a kit that won’t be included in the kit – probably some vital hose or some nonsense and you will need it to finish your project.


5. KEEP YOUR FATHER HEALTHY – because he’s already learned all this crap and really, we need all the help we can get.

The Farm

I grew up smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Most Americans prefer to call that Missouri, but I call it, well, the middle of nowhere. I did most of my growing on a small plot of land that my mother grandly dubbed a farm. The Eighth Arrow farm to be exact. And each of us had an Eighth Arrow name. My brother was Elijah Blue (Cher was not a hot ticket item for my mom – nope, no way). My sister was Hope Arrow, and I was Mariah (as in they call the wind). My mother’s name was True Arrow, though I didn’t know that until she told me. In my recollection, she always came to mom, so I’m sure that name suited my purposes just fine.
My mother says that she had always wanted to be a farmer. So, when it was time for the family to relocate, she bought a place that had more land than house. And then she set about creating the reality of living on a farm. She bought geese, chickens, goats, cows, horses, some seeds for the garden and a tractor (o.k. it was a lawn mower, but you get the idea).
Our house was a tiny shoebox of a thing. Perhaps my mother’s desire to recreate the reality of the Old Lady in the Shoe nursery rhyme. I would have preferred Scarlett and the plantation myself, but then it wasn’t my dream. There were only two good things about that house being so small. The first was that Jodi, Jason and I had to spend all our free time outside – as there was no room really to play much inside. The second is that since the house was painted the in vogue avocado green that was so fashionable in the 1970’s the small size of the house probably prevented our neighbors from having a car accident every time they drove by and tried to shield their eyes from the unattractive shade.
Walking into the house was not unlike walking into a diorama box. As soon as you stepped into the front door, you could see the entire house. Actually, this house would pass for a child’s play house for many influential people in Bowling Green today. The first room in the house was the living room. My mom’s bedroom was off to the right. If you looked straight, you would see what was meant to be a hallway, but was in fact converted into my brother’s bedroom. The room my sister and I shared was through the hall – umm.. Jason’s room – in the back of the house. If you veered left from the entrance you would have entered the kitchen, which was really a lot like a long hallway in which someone had placed a sink and some appliances. And on the other end of the kitchen was the dining room. This was actually an enclosed porch that the original owners had intended to be a mudroom I think. The dining room was connected to my room by a sliding glass door.
The best part of the dining room was the table. This was an old wagon wheel table that my mom had put over a barrel. My mom has fond memories of this table. In part because it was made from authentic parts – not some table that you actually purchase. What I remember about this table, besides the fact that it was an antique slate blue color was that there was about a 2 to 3 inch space between the top of the barrel and the bottom of the table top – and through that opening, Jodi, Jason and I found several opportunities to place items of food that we didn’t think were quite as tasty as my mom had anticipated. My mom was an adventurous cook at the time. Let me just say that spaghetti squash isn’t really that good with spaghetti sauce. And stewed tomatoes are just beyond nasty no matter what you do to them. By the time that we moved from this house, there was quite a bit of food collected at the bottom of the barrel. I was a bit surprised that my mom seemed so shocked to see our little compost heap when we moved the table – There were several inches of decomposing food at the bottom – All I can be relatively sure of that I most likely blamed Jason for the entire mess.
We didn’t have central heat and air at the house – that I can recall. I do remember that there was a furnace, and on cold winter mornings, we would jockey for position to sit by the register and warm up. In the summers, we were most likely outside playing. And as I was young, I didn’t feel the heat the way we do now – I never remember being too hot when I was little. While mom was at work, we would ride our bikes in town to the city pool. But more often than not, we would just goof off around the house. My mom had built a play house for us out of pallets in the garden. And until it was overrun with wasps, it was a good place to play.
There were also a lot of animals around the house. And we spent a large amount of our time running from many of them. The geese were very aggressive and had a find wings out, hissing attack that would strike terror into the heart of any child. My mom tried to get Jodi to overcome her fear and realize that she was boss, not the bird, by making her chase the goose with a stick around the house. My sister was crying as she swatted blindly at the bird. IN the long run, I think that it increased the animosity between the bird and the rest of us. We also had a rooster – THE WHITE ROOSTER. This rooster’s greatest joy in life was to chase and attack us. I can’t tell you if Jodi and Jason were scared of that thing, but I was terrified. Before going outside, I would check to see if the rooster was anywhere around and then make a break for it. Invariably, the rooster would hear the screen door slam and come barreling after me. I know that Jodi, Jason and I would huddle on the front steps waiting for the bus – armed with a stick. Jodi would count to three, hurl the stick and we would all run as fast as we could for the bus. My deepest gratitude was that there weren’t a lot of people on the bus when we got on – because that would have really been more than I could have born --- though the humiliation would have been greater for Jodi than for me – as she was old enough to realize what losers we looked like. I have since learned that all rooster’s hate me. We’ve had chickens here at the house and the roosters would always stalk me – and no I’m not being paranoid – it’s true. When Elijah was a baby, we had some dominequer hens and a rooster. And the rooster would wait for me on the steps of the house. So when I was coming home from work, he’d be there. Being a good parent – I would use Elijah’s punkin seat as a barrier between the two of us – and negotiate my way past the fiend to get into the house. Sometimes, I would rush to the back door to get in before he came – but by the time I shut the door, he’d be just a breath behind me. Every day it was a race to see if I could make it into the house unscathed. One afternoon, I came home from work and the rooster was on the stairs by the door (and the stairs were so small that only one of us could be on them at a time – he had staked his claim). Keeping an eye on him at all times, I got out of the car and crept around the front of the car – so as not to appear aggressive – he could have the steps if he wanted, there were other doors. I got Elijah out of the car, and looked over to the stairs to make sure that the rooster was still there. He was gone. I looked in front of me, then behind me – he was no where to be seen. I began to walk slowly around the back of the car and had almost reached the steps when I felt a weight strike me on the back and wings fluttering about me. That damn bird had walked all the way around the car to come at me from behind. I made it inside, and told Jose that the bird had to go. He didn’t seem so cocky when we pulled him out of the trunk of the car and handed him over to Jose’s sister – who was going to make a lovely soup. I only felt guilty for a brief second or two. Anyway, back to my childhood
In the front yard of our house, there were two large trees with the remnants of a fence between them. We used a branch of that tree to play volleyball. The porch, the gate, and the driveway were our bases as we played baseball or kickball. Beside the house was the garden – the physical manifestation of my mother’s intention of never buying groceries again. Unfortunately she planted row after row of, well vegetables, and such fodder weren’t really that appealing to me. I mean really who eats asparagus, tomatoes, squash, and what not. Thank god for the wagon wheel table. We also had a couple of apple trees. My mom took the apples and sliced them and dried them. She then put them in a canister and called them candy. That lie only works once – after that we realized that they were really just slightly sweetened shoe leather. Apparently when you got older the concept of candy changed from sweet-tart necklaces and bracelets to browned apple peelings.
More than vegetables, the garden grew my sisters aspirations for stardom. ABBA was the singing sensation at the time, and my sister had memorized the words to every song, I think. Anyway, we would dress in towels and head out to the garden stage and plan our routine. It has long been my lot in life to sing back up. My sister had me chanting in the background – take a chance, take a chance, take a chance. Later, as I was hanging out with my old friend Craig (old as in we’re not really friends any more) he made me sing back up too – I don’t know if that means that my voice isn’t that good – or if I’m really indifferent to music really and without the passion, couldn’t really sing the lead. We also sang Helen Reddy songs – Ruby Red Dress and I am Woman – though in my memory these are more bedroom in the evening songs – accompanied with shoulder shimmies more than actual dance routines.
Other than that the parts of the farm that I most remember is the mint patch that grew behind one of the sheds. It always seemed somewhat magical that it smelled like Grandma Walker’s gum. I think it was hard for me to grasp the concept that a plant (which equaled vegetables which were my sworn enemy) could smell so good and not have a flower. The pond was also a pretty cool place. I remember one winter that it froze over – ½ clear and ½ white ice. And we would move over to the clear part every time a car came past so they would think that we were skating on water. It’s the same ignorance that makes you go into a store and pretend that you are deaf. You really think that everyone believes you – when in fact they merely believe you are crazy. I remember swimming some in the pond, but not a lot. I am a part of that generation in which swimming in ponds wasn’t a necessity because swimming pool existed for public use. And really if you can choose between pretty blue water in which you can see the bottom and pond water in which the cows have most likely pooped, well there’s really no contest.
This farm is forever etched in my memory. It is the place of many firsts for me. It was the place where I first looked out the window and realized what it meant to rain in sheets. I saw birth and death for the first time and decided both were more than a little messy. I learned that the reason we call geese and roosters fowl is because they are, literally, foul. I learned that Shetland ponies are small not because they are for children to ride, but because it makes it more convenient for adults to smack them around. And I learned that parents more often than not attempt to recreate their own childhood fantasies with their children – which I’ve learned yet again as I embark on my own parenting journey. But more than anything, I learned that you can create any reality that you want to. What for most people was nothing more than a run down hole in the ground, was for my mother a farm that with a little work would mean that she would need to rely on nor ask anyone for anything. For me it was a magical place. I have also learned that we are able to create any reality that we want to – that our future and our past are ours to manipulate at will. Living is nothing more than the process of creating memories, and sharing those memories to our friends and family – merging some together, forgetting others, adding to some, taking away from others – but cherishing them always. These recollections are not the same that my brother or sister may have – though they are founded in the same experiences – but as I get older – the role of my brother and sister seem to fade away into the background – and these stories, the ones that we have told over and over again, are the ones that I best remember. (except for the time that I got to drive the lawn mower home from some mowing job we were doing – and I began to sing really loud my own personal little opera and Jason hid in the bushes and caught me – then teased me – I was always really big on making up songs for myself -- )

On Holiday Traditions

Well, it's Thanksgiving Day, and I'm at my dad's house, all the men are sleeping in chairs or on couches while Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is on television. Glenda is rocking Isaiah and I'm hidden in the back room, typing here -- it's like a mini vacation coming to Cadiz -- everyone wants to hold the baby so I don't have to. Anyway, I was loafing around the kitchen while everyone else was cleaning up -- I have somehow escaped the clean up brigade in our family - an honor that I am quite happy to have acheived --and Glenda and my cousin Angie were talking about only having Chili for lunch on Christmas Day. I was devastated. It's true that I understand that they all have other family and events in which they are eating big meals. But the Walker Family Event is our big event -- this is what we do and all that we do. I didn't realize that the reason that we had to have 5 events growing up (granddaddy broadbent's house, aunt martha's house, grandma walker's house, The terrell's for a couple of years) was because when I got older, I wasn't going to get to have any. And then what traditions do I get to create for Elijah and Isaiah. And it shows you that a fat girl is writing when part of the event is really about the food. You don't eat Chili at Christmas. You might eat chili at one christmas event - but not at the only christmas event that you are going to have. Jodi always has finger foods and snacks - to compensate for the big meals that she has -- But our family - well - we got nothing -- and if they change Christmas dinner - then we'll my son will grow up thinking Christmas is about chili and presents -- I just can't handle that. To top it off, I can't even use Jose's family as their idea of a christmas feast is tamales -- which are not my favorite food -- they aren't even in the top 100 -- they are in the oh my god i'm going to starve in the desert if i don't get some nourishment bottom 20 -- but you get the general gist. I don't understand how and why christmas traditions change. Christmas with Grandma Walker is how I define Christmas. Every one of my 36 years has been spent with lunch on Christmas day at 1:00 with Grandma Walker. The location has changed - but not the meal or the time. Sure, all the grandkids grew up, got married and have families. But why does that mean that this tradition has to change -- I'd even understand the need to compromise and change lunch to supper and alternate the meal so everyone can travel -- but I don't understand just making an attempt to scrap it in its entirity (sp). That's just not right. So, rest assured my 3 or 4 avid readers - that I shall do my cancer best to work around the problem -- using a bit of guild if I have to --- And what works better than guilt that the lack of tradition that we are creating for my children - how shallow their memories will be -- and let me just say that those memories are important enough to me that if I have to create my own - then so be it --

venting and raging completed. Hope all had a happy holiday.

A Visit from Santa

A Visit from Santa

Santa and I never really had a very good relationship.  I wanted us to be the best of friends, but it just never worked out that way.  When I was little, we went to visit Santa in the mall.  And he grabbed hold of my hand and wouldn’t let go – so I felt compelled to kick him until he did let me go.  In retrospect, I realize that he was trying to hold on to me until I could get my candy cane, but really, at the time, I wasn’t feeling that sort of love from him.  Being a cancer (born on july 2, for all those who want to start shopping early), I had high expectation for Santa.  I fully expected him to fulfill my childhood dreams and fantasies.  

The first time I began to doubt the red suited man was one Christmas at Grandaddy Broadbents house (we spent most Christmas Eve’s at my Grandaddy Broadbent’s house when I was little – until we moved back to Cadiz).  Anyway, Jodi and I were sleeping in the twin bed together.  Jason was sleeping in the crib – which I thought was so silly because he didn’t sleep in a crib at our house.  But I suppose he was only 2 or so at the time, so he would have had plenty of room.  My grandfather had a wonderful, old two story house.  And on the landing on the stairs, there was an old Grandfather Clock.  I would love to have that clock – but I doubt that I’ll ever have the option or occasion – no matter that I still go and visit Grandmother Ruth (who’s not really my grandmother but the only grandmother I’ve ever known on the Broadbent side – who seemed to hate us without end when we were little – though I think she just disapproved of my mom and the heathenish way in which she was raising us – I suppose we were all somewhat forgiven when we didn’t end up in jail or on the 6:00 news).  

Jodi and I were giggling and whispering in the bed.  My mom reminded us that if we were  awake at 12:00 Santa may not come and visit.  I didn’t believe such nonsense for no where in the myth of Christmas that I had heard was there ever any mention of not seeing Santa if you were awake.  In fact, Twas the Night Before Christmas clearly stated that if you were awake, you would see Santa and his reindeer.  The grandfather clock began to chime the hour.  And Jodi and I counted to twelve.  It was midnight.  The magic hour.  And there was no Santa.  No reindeer on the roof, no jingling sleigh bells.  And it was then that I knew.  Not consciously knew – but still new.  When we went downstairs, Jason had gotten a race car set that year.  And I can’t remember what I had gotten – I’m sure I got clothes from Grandmother Broadbent – WOO HOO the perfect child gift to be sure – though I suspect she felt that we didn’t have anything decent to wear.  But it wasn’t the same.  This time, they were just presents, not little bits of magic sitting beneath the tree.

Another Christmas I asked for Barbie and got my aunt’s old barbies, and G.I. Joe instead of Ken, and a new – flat footed, flat chested, pasty faced SKIPPER – I was devastated.  True that was from my Grandaddy Broadbent instead of Santa – but you get the gist of my Christmas disappointment.  My Grandaddy Broadbent found great joy in messing with my Christmas, testing my polite response to gifts on an almost yearly basis.  He never did the same to Jodi or Jason – just me – and now that he’s gone, I don’t know if should consider that a special message about how he felt about me or what.  For several years, Grandaddy Broadbent gave each of us $50 for Christmas.  Each gift was always accompanied by some small trinket or what not.  But as I got older, he seemed to experience no small amount of joy in watching my face when I opened my gift, looked for the money (which I invariably needed to pay a phone bill) and then not finding it, had to say a polite thank you for the mittens, socks, hat, scarf, what not – while Jason and Jodi pocketed their cash.  Now, Grandaddy would always give the money to someone else – so I’d get it in the car – but there was always several minutes of panic while I tried to figure out how I was going to pay such and such bill without that money.  One year, he asked me at Thanksgiving what I wanted for Christmas and I said a new car (I didn’t believe he’d get one – but it was what I wanted – and you never know what you can get if you ask) –anyway, when I opened my present that year, sure enough there was  a brand new hotwheel – and no money.  

But the magic of Christmas really ended when we were traveling home from Aunt Martha’s or Grandaddy Broadbent’s house one Christmas Eve and Mom stopped by Debbie’s apartment to pick up presents – clearly labeled from Santa – and then told us that he had left the gifts there instead of at our house.  Let me simply say that when my mom is no longer interested in feeding a myth – she doesn’t put a lot of energy into the story – and there it was the end of Santa.  

But not the end of the belief…or the desire… in the magic of Christmas.  I am so grateful and excited that I now have kids for whom I can create the myth of Santa.  I think that is why I so love the move Polar Express.  Because it is about the magic of Christmas – and the desire for it to be true and that if you really believe that it is true – it can be true (a bit of Richard Bach Illusions thrown in there as well I think).  I was never the main character little boy in the movie – I’m the poor kid – who never got the gift from santa before – Not to say I didn’t get gifts – but not THE GIFT.

To be fair – I’ve always been a bit bad about letting people know what I want.  I didn’t feel that I really needed to let mom, jodi, dad or anyone know what I wanted Santa to bring.  I just needed to let Santa know.  He was the one who was supposed to bring the present – not them.  And so, I never really got what I wanted.  I did the same thing to the tooth fairy.  I lost a tooth, but didn’t bother to tell anyone that I had done so.  So the next morning when I didn’t have a quarter for my tooth, I was devastated.  When I told my mom, she asked me to go check in the bathroom – and then she wrote me a check – saying I.O.U. and signed it the tooth fairy – and thus another bubble popped.

All of this comes about because of my current dilemma.  Elijah really wants this monster truck – one of those battery powered ride on toys.  And they are $300 – which is a bit beyond my budget – unless I use a credit card – and well – I hate to start a credit card, because I’ve poor impulse control when I have a credit card in my wallet – so I try not to get or use them.  Anyway, I don’t want to say Santa can’t bring it.  We went to the mall and it’s the only thing he said he wanted.  And it’s killing my soul, because not getting it from Santa would be the beginning of the end – So here I sit trying to justify the purchase – it will hold up to 130lbs – so he’ll be able to ride it for several years.  Isaiah will be able to ride it for several years too – and it can technically be for both of them – even though Isaiah couldn’t care less this year – though he would enjoy getting a free ride every now and then.  I would even give up my own Christmas presents this year from my family to get the gift for Elijah  -- I have everything I need – really – and I no longer need Christmas money to pay bills –

Ultimately, I know that that I most likely find a way to get this for Elijah – though I think Santa may ask Elijah to save up for part of the gift – And Elijah seems willing to save – he’s started charging for cleaning up the living room.  Or actually, he’s now willing to clean up his mess for $1.  This morning, he ran into the living room to pick up like 2 toys and then wanted to be paid – at which point I laughed in his face.  Jose told me that he protested the payment amount – Jose was going to pay $2 – and Elijah said, “OH man! Why can’t you pay me $16 instead.”  

And finally – my last bit of – I’m such a good mom – I found a santa’s bag at brylane home .com that you can get monogrammed – the bag in the picture had some family’s name.  But I had it monogrammed FROM SANTA.  And this year, and every year, we’re going to have Santa’s presents under the tree in that bag – with a note to please mail it back to the north pole.  Our house is going to be the last one of the night – so he just left the bag there for us to mail it back.  I thought that would be just another bit of proof that Santa was alive and well for the Serrano kids.

Oh – wait – another Christmas story.  Perhaps the best Christmas gift that I ever received, I got from Jose.  The first year that we were dating – actually it was the only year we were dating –as we got married that second year, I didn’t have any money to purchase gifts for my family.  Jose, who’d met my family only once, purchased a gift for every member of my family.  I was astounded by his generosity – amazed – and forever grateful.  I don’t know if my family realized that he purchased those gifts or not – but nothing else ever showed me what type of man Jose really is.  And if I wasn’t already deeply enamored of him, I was definitely after that.  And, I felt that he might have liked me a bit too – as you don’t buy presents for an entire family without liking the person a little – though probably Jose would – as when I ask him why he decided to marry me – the only answer I ever get is – well, I was ready to get married, and you were a nice girl . . . I know, I know stand back girls this romantic creature is all mine.

On Thunderstorms

On Thunderstorms

Bowling Green – and most of Western Kentucky seems to have shut down for the night because there are some bad storms moving through the area.  True, severe thunderstorms that may spawn tornadoes isn’t normal November weather fare… but still.  

I remember when I was little, and we were living in the hovel in Greenfield, Missouri, I first figured out what the phrase “sheets of rain” meant.  I was standing on the couch looking out the window, and the wind was blowing the rain and you could see the wind moving in waves across the yard.  I had never seen the wind push the rain in such a fashion.

Later when I was working at Aunt Kay’s Kids daycare, there was some severe weather.  And I stood at the patio door watching the wind blow the rain sideways – I know now that those are called strong lateral winds.  And I was transfixed by the raw power of the storm.  That is until Kay told me that I could sit there and take the risk of being covered in glass when the window broke if I wanted to, but she was going downstairs to the basement with the kids where it was safe.  And after thinking a moment, I figured that was a really good idea.  But I wasn’t scared, but excited.

Then the STORM hit.  If you live in the area, you know what I’m talking about.  The big storm in April – and I can’t remember the year, but it would have to have been 1996 or later as I had the Nissan at the time.  I had left work from Kinko’s on time, for once, and was at home with Token (my dog) and Mitch (my cat) and Jose was at work.  And all of the sudden the COWS siren went off.  I couldn’t figure out what was going on – so I went to the neighbor in the next apartment and they informed me that it meant there was a tornado somewhere.  Being the good employee, I called my work and told them to shut down all the machines and computers til the storm had passed and then settled down by the picture window in the living room to watch the weather.  Then I began to hear this pinging in the back of the house, and the pinging became louder.  It was hail – big hail.  Suddenly, I heard the window break.  I looked out the living room window and couldn’t see anything.  The wind was blowing the rain so hard that the window had turned into a white sheet of nothingness.  Mitch had run up the hallway and nestled himself on top of the refrigerator, and Token was freaking out a bit.  I called back to Kinko’s to tell them to get everyone in the restroom or the office because the weather was very severe and I thought a tornado was coming – and then I sat in the closet with Token (my 50lb mutt) trying to sit on my shoulder.  Of course I chose the hall closet so I could still look out the window.  I figured that if I was going to have to survive a tornado, I should at least be able to see it.  I continued to hear crashing in the bedroom – which was hail coming through the window (did I mention it was big hail – softball size hail).  And then suddenly it was over.   I ran outside and was standing in about 4 inches of ice cold water.  I went over to my car and thought that all things considered it had weathered the storm o.k.  Of course my glasses were so fogged by the temperature changed that I didn’t see that my front and rear view windows were gone and the entire right side, hood and trunk looked more like a golf ball than an actual car.

That storm is the storm that changed my perception of storms.  No longer am I excited or thrilled by the strong wind.  Now, I get a little anxious.  So with everything closing down tonight – and everyone panicked – my concession to my fear was to call my neighbor and ask her to turn on her weather radio – as when you live in the middle of no where you don’t get a COWS siren to call out and let you know you need to take cover.  My other concession is to stay moderately decent so that if I have to take cover, I’m not sitting around in a tee shirt and underwear while Channel 13 is asking how I feel now that I’ve lost everything.  And again, I worry about my pictures and scrapbooks – the only thing in the house that can’t be replaced (except the kids) – so I expect to have to make 2 trips to the basement – and you think I’m kidding.  

I do miss the sheer pleasure in watching a storm and seeing the wind and not having that respect dampened with a healthy dose of fear – and I hope that I’m not teaching my sense of unease to my children.  Of course as I’m on the computer typing this instead of sitting in the basement as we speak, well that says something I guess.

But I’m getting off line now –

Its All About Perspe

It’s All About Perspective

Today, we had a kid at my school who is going to be suspended and most likely expelled.  He’s a smart kid with a terrible temper.  And was on the bus, got sucked into a little vandalism and since he was on his last chance anyway, he’s gone.  It’s a shame really.  Overall I like the kid – he just has no ability to see past his moments of madness.  He’s always very sorry when he’s finished – or at least walks the I’m sorry walk and spews the I’m really sorry talk – but still.  

But today, Elijah and Isaiah were with me at school the last few minutes when the whole set of events hit the fan.  And he wanted to know what happened.  I told him that some kid was being very ugly.  This kid broke the bus and wouldn’t be able to ride the bus anymore.  And this same kid would probably not be allowed to come back to school.  Elijah’s eyes got very round! His mouth turned into an “O.”  That bad kid won’t be able to ride the bus anymore?  And he’s going to get kicked out of school too!  He won’t be able to go back to school anymore?  

And I felt a sigh of relief course through my body.  There is little that Elijah can consider worse than not being able to on the bus and go to school.  How wonderful is that?  And I realize that there are many kids his age who consider school to be an amazing thing – a wonderous thing – a place better than being at home with a television.  And how lucky I am to have one at my home.  And what an awesome responsibility it is to make sure that he maintains that same sense of value for his school.  

One of my students told me that I had to make sure that Elijah didn’t ever have to go to Eleventh Street.  And I responded that I was going to do whatever was in my power to make sure that didn’t happen.  And because of my experiences with them, and the stories that they told me of their evening and weekend adventures, Elijah’s teenage years were sure to be dull and dreary things.  And that may indeed be the case – but I’d rather they be dull – if by dull you mean not drug-induced, careening under the influence down some country road, having unprotected sex with the local loose girl.  There’s not a thing in the world wrong with that as far as I can  tell.

On Sick Days

On Sick Days

Perfect attendance has never, but never, been a priority of mine.  If I had 10 sick days at school, then I would take every one of them.  However, I am by no stretch of the imagination a sickly person.  My sick days are really “mental health days.”  Just that day to do absolutely nothing, sit around, watch television, be lazy, and bask in the general, I’m not working and everyone else is glory of the day.  Such mental health days were so important to me that once when I was working at Kinko’s, I actually fake vomited into my kitchen sink – little gagging noise, splash a little water into the sink while on the phone.  My manager couldn’t get me off the phone quick enough.  Being “sick” while in college wasn’t as easy.  Those damn attendance policies.  I was once enrolled in an Astronomy class and only attended 5 times – got an A though – and to be fair, the five times might be a bit of an exaggeration – though it was at 8:00 my second semester – so I’m sure it’s pretty close to true.

Now, as a mother of a preschool child and a baby – my sick days are no longer my own.  Two years ago, I went to school without fail – even when I had strep throat.  Of course I didn’t know I had strep throat, I just figured it was a really bad chest cold that moved up.  But I’ve learned that sick days when you have kids who are not in school themselves are really no fun.  Now, I do take days off to do stuff with my kids – no problem there – but that’s a family thing – not an Amy thing – and not the same thing at all.  Besides, there is little I could think of worse – than actually being sick and having to stay at home with everyone.  My husband – would begin coming up with strange El Salvadoreno reasons as to why I’m sick – “oh you have air in your back.  You have air in your stomach, you need to cover up so you don’t get air inside you.”  And would slather green Chinese medicine (which actually does work) or vapor rub all over my person – touching my nose which is really not a good thing.  And then, after having treated me for my illness, he would leave Isaiah and Elijah with me and go outside to do yard work.  Woo Hoo hold me back.  So really, it’s just better to go into work.

I write this because I think by talking to Ashlee on the phone about Grayson’s ick I’ve caught it – and I’m not staying home.  I’m going to try to infect as many of the kids at school as humanly possible – some of them need to feel crappy – besides, I sure don’t want to pass it to Isaiah (no one likes a tummy ick with the runs in a baby – no no no – although the thought of Jose having to deal with said tummy ick does make the devil in my mind smile with malicious glee) – or Elijah.  

So anyway, it’s off to work I go – heigh ho heigh ho --

On Movies

On Movies

I absolutely love movies.  I adore them.  And I always try to take Elijah to any movie that looks like it would be a good time.  Our last escapade was Chicken Little.  We saw Polar Express 3 times. We didn’t see Valiant, but it was the summer and a bit more hassle to get up and out than I really want to put forth.  And as I type, Elijah is enjoying the DVD of Willie Wonka – which has prompted me again to find the book and read it to see which version is closer to the book.  If you haven’t seen it, you should, it’s really quite good.

There are few things that I would rather do than be comfortable and watch a movie.  But I also really enjoy the whole going to the theater experience.  I much prefer the empty matinee experience – just because if the movie sucks, then Elijah can run rampant among the seats and no one is there to give me dirty looks.  

I tell my students that watching movies is like reading books for me.  It’s about escaping.  It’s being the fly on the wall.  And since I’ve had children, and much more susceptible to outbursts of emotion, I enjoy the cathartic nature of a good chick flick.  Of course, chick flicks I have to watch at home, by myself, because Elijah won’t go see those in the theaters.  And I really love children’s movies.  I had a extensive Disney movie collection before Elijah was even born – and am now converting much of it to DVD –

Now, those of you who know me will realize that my passion for movies and books – both highly athletic endeavors have helped me to achieve my ultra-voluptuous figure – and you’re probably right – and I’d be much more successful in a gym if they would show movies on the screen instead of cnn / sports channel / or oprah – of course those screens are playing so low it might as well be an airplane movie without the special headphones.

And, unlike my friend Mary, if a movie is good – I enjoy watching it over and over again – especially if I’m just flipping through on a Saturday afternoon trying to find something to watch.  My sister is the same way – though she really likes old movies – sometimes the black and white movies kind of get on my nerves – I don’t know why really – but the absence of color sometimes makes me edgy – perhaps too many viewings of Schindler’s List makes me associate black and white with dark, dismal and devastating.  

I remember my mom took us to see the Other Side of Midnight – and the people were getting naked and having sex within the first few minutes – and she wouldn’t let us leave because she’d already paid.  It was rated R – but we had just seen A Star is Born a few weeks before with Barbara Streisand and Kris Kristofferson (great soundtrack at the time) and it wasn’t soo bad –  I also remember seeing King Kong and crying because I didn’t think it fair that they killed the giant gorilla – as it wasn’t really his fault.  And my mom kept telling me it was only cherry flavored syrup on his chest – not really blood.  Appareantly telling me that there is no such thing as a 60 foot gorilla worked.  I also remember seeing Jaws – and going to get ice cream after and my ice cream fell off the cone on the way to the car.  But of course, Jaws was a movie that has affected many a lake swimming trip and every ocean swimming trip since I saw it.  I don’t know what my first movie was.  I know that Elijah’s first movie was Shrek – he was like 6 months old.  And Isaiah has been to a few movies in his tender months – at least 4 – and so far he’s doing very well – which is good – because nothing will make me grumpier than missing a good movie.  Elijah and I will most likely be going to see Harry Potter later this month – and Isaiah too, I guess, as I doubt I’ll want to go on the weekend.

Anyway – my movie list – if you care:

Educational Movies that make you think

These are about the Holocaust
Schindler’s List
The Pianist
Life is Beautiful (is one of my favorite – made me go to Jose and thank him for being a good daddy – get the dubbed version though unless you like to read a movie – which I don’t)

Shakespeare in Love – a good chick flick
Of Mice and Men – good book, good movie (I like the one with Gary Sinese)
“O” – if you ever have to read Othello – this is the one you need watch
10 Things I hate about you – taming of the shrew
Clueless – Jane Austin’s Emma (very cute)

Chick Flicks
Pretty Woman – love this
Steel Magnolias – an all time favorite – my friends and I can quote parts of this
Titanic – cried all three times I saw it in the theater – but it’s on two tapes – so you lose momentum
Finding Neverland – a really good movie – it’s new but a great story

Random
I like the Abyss – but not the director’s cut because it’s hokey
Pride and Prejudice
Sense and Sensibility
Wuthering Heights
     These are all the contemporary version – those old ladies can right a very nice romance – without all the sweat, panting and sex – it’s a lost art and should be rediscovered

I liked Dangerous Minds – motivated me for my occupational choice
As did Children of a Lesser God

The Exorcist scared the holy living bajesus out of me and you couldn’t pay me to watch it again.

The Jurassic Park Movies and Jaws are really good action adventure (and very similar if you pay attention)

Of Course Star Wars and Indiana Jones
The Usual Suspects is an interesting movie
I Like Billy Elliot
Torch Song Trilogy
Dad
The Polar Express – one of my all time favorite movies ever – it was just so well done and makes me wish I had a big screen television so I could watch it really close over and over agin.

And well that’s enough for now – Let’s just leave it at watching movies has been a big part of my life.  Movies are for me what music is for many people – a way of marking time – of course most of those movies have been kid flicks – but not a thing wrong with that at all.

On Sleep

On Sleep

You can only guess what kind of night I had by the topic this morning.  At least I’m writing at my normal awake time instead of at 3:30 in the morning.  It’s that storm front thing.  I don’t really understand how everyone’s behavior is so drastically affected by the weather, but it is.  I suppose it’s the part of us that is still just a mammal instead of a human – that can sense the “charge in the air” and responds.  So anyway, I was up like every 20 minutes last night.  Isaiah was no better in the early hours – he was so frustrated that he ended up sleeping sitting up with his forehead resting on my belly – now to those of you who are skinny – you should realize that you’re child would have been bent over double in the same position most likely suffocating himself – so know that this extra weight is really a pillow for my child so that he can rest more comfortably.  

Anyway, waking with the thought “do I really have to go into work today” leads me to my topic – the quest for sleep.  I have always tried to respect another’s desire for sleep.  If they are snoozing away, then I try to let them enjoy the moment and get a good nap in.  But for some reason, there seems to be an invisible note pasted to my forehead that says, “In Case of Sleep – Wake Immediately.”  Jose will often sit down in the living room on the weekend, and doze off watching television.  Of course, this means that Elijah and Isaiah and perhaps the neighborhood kids will be running through and sometimes wake him up.  He will groggily open one eye, growl some sort of heavily accented complaint and then adjust his position and return to sleep.  By the third time this happens, he’s really a bit pissy about the whole thing.  But for him, I have no sympathy.  First of all, if you are serious about taking a nap, you have to take a nap in a quiet room where no one is welcome.  That’s why I take all my naps in the bedroom.  Lying on the couch with my eyes closed is not perceived by anyone in my house as sleeping, merely resting my eyes.  So, when Jose wakes up and wants to be grumpy – I inform him that if he’s serious about taking a nap, he should go back to the bedroom and lay down – rather than sitting up with his head drooping down to his chin and drool pooling about him.  It would also make tv viewing easier for the rest of us who don’t particularly want to hear his snoring. Secondly, he was in the military.  And it has been my experience that being in the military forever trains you to sleep whenever and wherever you want.  If you can sleep full clothed, all night long, on a floor without a pillow and wake up the next morning refreshed – you really don’t need any help sleeping.

Now, for me, sleeping is more of a delicate process.  I have to get mentally prepared.  I can’t watch television before I go to sleep, I have to read.  That doesn’t mean the television can’t be on – as it often is because Elijah likes to watch his show as he falls asleep.  ½ of m family are television sleepers (my mom, my nephew, my brother) – I find that the television will wake me up later in the night if it’s on.  

The room temperature must be just right too – and finding it is no easy task.  I like a cool room and a light blanket.  Because there is little that makes me angrier than waking up hot and sweaty – it’s just not pleasant.  But none of this really applies for the nap.  For the nap, I simply need the desire, something sort of boring on television, and a little quiet.  But it never fails, even if I’m back in the bedroom with the door closed, my son will come into the room and ask for a soda, or chicken nuggets, or cheetos, or toilet paper – or whatever insanely stupid thing he needs at the time.  My response is usually, where’s your dad – and Jose is always “in his living room” sleeping – Now what motivates my son, the love of my life, to ignore Jose and walk all the way back to the bedroom to wake me up instead I’ll never know.  I can only guess is that I’m not nearly so grumpy when someone wakes me up.  But it’s not just Elijah.  One night, Jose and I had gone to spend the night at my mom’s house.  It was like 3:00 a.m. and mom was up for one of her smoke breaks (she doesn’t sleep all night long but in spurts).  My dog, Token, was with us at the time.  My mother, who was in the living room, not 10 feet from the door, walked all the way back down the hall, woke me up and told me that  my dog wanted to go outside.  I couldn’t believe it!  But it’s your mom so you silently fume and walk blindly to the door to let the dog out and then sit wide awake for another 2 hours before you can go back to sleep.  Jose will often do the same thing.  A couple of weeks ago, he came and woke me up from my nap to ask if I wanted to keep sleeping.  To be fair, I’d already been asleep for like 4 hours – but I told him that I was pretty sure that I could sleep all night if he’d go away and leave me alone.  And I did – I got 14 hours of sleep – and I felt really good the next morning.

Anyway, it’s now time to go interrupt my child’s bout with sleep.  It’s a school day –

On PMS

On Hormones and 2nd Children

I’m working on a theory that when you have a 2nd child, it irrevocably changes your body’s chemical composition creating hormonal surges that you may not have experienced previously.  Case in point, and girls be ready to be envious, for the past 21 years, P.M.S. has run like this for me – ooh my stomach is upset today, what did I eat last night? Macaroni and cheese? That can’t be right?  Man, this is like the 10th time today I’ve had to use the restroom.  Ohh… that’s what happened…thank god I’m not pregnant! Wait four days – then pass another 27 and repeat.  However, after Isaiah’s appearance in my life, my month has looked a bit more like this.  
Tra la la la tra la la la
Jose – we need to go to the store
Me – FINE!  FINE!! LET ME JUST DO EVERYTHING! AFTER ALL I’VE ONLY GIVEN BIRTH! YOU JUST SIT HERE BY YOURSELF AND I’LL GO GET EVERY SINGLE THING YOU NEED!  

Or

Jose – I brought you some flowers
Me – FLOWERS! WHY WHAT DID YOU DO?  WHY ARE YOU GETTING ME FLOWERS! WASTING MONEY! WISH YOU’D SPEND YOUR MONEY ON CHRISTMAS PRESENTS! NO DON’T TALK TO ME! IT’S ALWAYS YOU’RE WAY! WHATEVER YOU WANT YOU GET! WHATEVER!  DON’T YOU WALK OUT THAT DOOR WITHOUT TAKING ONE OF THESE KIDS WITH YOU AND YOU CAN’T HAVE ELIJAH!

Now, when I’ve talked to my neighbor friend Patti, she said she did the same thing when she had her second child.  And my other friend, Jenny, mother of a newborn herself, has said to me that she feels as if she could easily kill someone on a daily basis.  On the upside, I’ve only heard such a complaint from women who’s second child isn’t a totally freakzoid, hyperactive, pain in the butt – but on the downside, those women are probably suffering the same but blaming it on their child.

So, anyway, I asked my diabetes doctor (written that way because I’m not sure I can spell endocrineologist and am not sure if anyone knows what that is) – and he suggested B6 – with the comment that he used to feed them to his wife like candy – so I’m taking them now – and am not overly sure yet if they work or not – the label doesn’t say a thing about making you not want to murder your family – but my family is still alive – I’ll know better I suppose when My Aunt Flo comes to visit – whenever that should be – and please know that I am generally unapologetic about my totally non-responsible, non-womanlike lack of knowledge as to my cycles.  The only time I’ve ever really kept track was when I was trying to get pregnant – and that worked pretty well – however, with the B6 – I might actually want to see my husband naked in the near future and not just to castrate him for no reason.

More later girls.