She Is In Charge

My son's dog has made a strict schedule that she tries her best to make us stick to. The humans in the house do not always cooperate with her but she tries.

She takes naps in the afternoon with son. When the time comes for a quick sleep she starts trying to get her bunkmate to get on the ball and go to his room. If he keeps ignoring her she tries to go to bed on her own. She knows to close the door when in there. The problem is that she cannot open the door and needs to be rescued.

In the morning she waits for me to come out of my room. I give her doggie treats then.

Meal times are supposed to be on her schedule. If my son does not feed her at the right time she bothers him until her meal is set in front of her.

.At 8 o'clock every evening we have an ice cream treat. We buy doggie ice cream for her. At precisely 8 o'clock she leads my son to the kitchen. Then she stands patiently in front of the freezer. When he gives her the little cup of ice cream she takes the edge of the cardboard cup and trots into the living room. There she eats her treat while we have an ice cream bar. It is a family treat time.

Then she asks to be let out for the last time of the day. She goes out and does what dogs normally do. And she barks and barks and barks. It is her special time.

Does your pet rule the house too?

Nicknames

My grandma hated nicknames.

She reasoned that you should name a child the way you want them called. She gave each of her children a name that could not be made into a nickname. 

My uncle Clarence only lived 2 days so there was no time for someone to find a nickname.

Aunt Franncis became Fran or Frannie.

Aunt Florence was Flo which somehow turned into Flossie. 

Evelyn was my mother. She actually chose Lynn as hers.

Louella became Lou.

Raymond was Ray.

We called Donald Donnie.

Somehow Keith became Deke.

Carol was Keith's twin. She never had a nickname.

Michael was known as Mickey when we were little. Now they call him Mike.

Then I came along. My uncles loved giving me nicknames. There must be at least 30 of them. I love them all.

Number Three

My three boys were on a little league baseball team. It was a small league with only three teams. 

The coach had a son on the team too. The little boy had a severe case of asthma. His father hoped playing baseball would be good for him.

The team did not win a game. Not one. The boys felt bad.

In the middle of the season the coach had to quit. He got a new job and was moving away.

Since we could not find a new man to coach and I could not be considered because I was a girl my father took over the team. 

The team won their first game ever. The boys were elated. 

As we drove them to the small store we always took them to after a game there were boys hanging out windows of all the cars. They were yelling, "We are number three!"

They felt like they had finally earned a place in the league. You have never seen happier little boys.

The team was in third place at the end of the season. But they were proud to be a part of something larger.

In The Light

I was a strict mother. Not overbearingly so. I just expected my children to mind me.

My children fought each other and were loud and at times they were mischievous. That is normal and does not bother me.

What often bothered me was hearing a mother tell her child to "wait until your father gets home!" I feel like that puts the mother on the same level as the children. She will not discipline but she will tattle.

Mom should take care of business when needed. Dad does not have to always have to be the bad guy.

I also feel that children require structure in their lives. It can be really scary if you do not know where boundaries are. Then you have to keep searching for them in order to feel secure.

Another rule of mine is that I do not repeat myself. If I say to clean your room do it. If I say do not spit on the floor save your saliva until you can dispose of it hygienically.

My children did not run the streets. I always knew where they were and who they were with. I liked having loud boisterous children playing in my yard.

When the streetlights came on in the evening it was time to be in the house for the night. There is nothing to do outside at night in the city but get into trouble.

Long after my children were grown my sons were in front of the house working on a car. My daughter-in-law and I were sitting on the front steps watching and talking.

Suddenly the boys gathered their tools and walked past us and into the house. We just looked. It was very confusing.

Then I realized... the streetlights were on. I laughed but was pleased. Some habits never go away.

Run!

 Most people know how much I love baseball. I have since I was a child.

My grandparents did not yet have electricity. Grandpa and my uncles would listen to games on the radio. 

I do not know where the power to operate the radio came from. I only remember a wire being fastened to the wire of the screen door as an antenna. 

The only two teams available to us were the New York Yankees and the St Louis Cardinals. For some reason I have always preferred the American League over the National League. So I rooted for the Yankees.

Now the games are on every day and I watch. It is better to see them rather than just listen.

When I was a child I of course played baseball. I had uncles and brothers and their friends who also played.

My problem was that I was not a fast runner. I had to learn to hit the ball far in order to be safe at first base.

I was grown and the mother of four. I joined a softball team. 

Most of the players on my team were women I worked with. One of the team was going to college to become a physical education teacher. She was an exceptional player.

I usually was the third batter because I could usually make it to first base. I still could not run.

The college student batted fourth because she was a good player. base. 

One day I was on first base. The student hit the ball... hard.

I took off running to second base. The other team still did not have the ball so I started running to third base.

Suddenly I felt someone behind me. The student was hot on my heels. 

I ran faster than I could with the student right behind me. She kept telling me to go faster.

I did not want her to run over me so I kept moving. I scored a run with the student right behind me. She had an in-the -park home run with the slowest runner on the team in front of her.

Leg- Children

My husband and I divorced. It was not hateful. We just should not be married any more.

The thing that many found unusual was that we each remained close to the other's families. My husband often visited my mother. I was always close to his mother.

He called my mother Ma. I called his mother Mom. I only wish I could have been as wise as she was.

Mom liked tapioca pudding. None of the family would eat it except me. Whenever we visited she would make some just for me. 

Mom and I had the same feelings about family. Family members should make the effort to be a part of the family. 

Many years after she died I was having lunch with my sister-in-law. The topic of conversation went to Mom as it usually did. 

I knew Mom had been hurt because I never sent my kids to spend the summer with her. I knew my kids. I called them "leg-children" because they made sure I was close by. They would have stayed as long as I was near. Otherwise they would have cried the whole time.

My sister-in-law laughed. She said they were the same way. 

It is funny how patterns repeat.

Hot Stuff

I was a toddler. Less than two years old.

Popcorn was a favorite snack. There were no foil pans that you shake over heat until the exploding kernels makes the foil expand and is ready to eat. No nice little packages to put in the microwave and push the popcorn button. 

Way back then the way we made popcorn was to put the grease (we used lard) into a pan to get nice and hot. Then the kernels were added, a lid put on the pan, and the pan was shaken back and forth until the kernels popped.

Mom was making popcorn one night. I was a nosy little girl even then. I obviously wanted to see what was in the pan. 

I toddled over to the stove and grabbed the handle of the pan. It was hot so I let go of it. But I had started it moving in a downward direction. Hot lard poured down the front of me.

The doctor prescribed a burn ointment.

The only thing I actually remember is standing on the toilet while Mom smeared the ointment on my legs. She was practically in tears and worried that my legs would be scarred.

She was so worried about my legs that she forgot about my hand.

My legs have no sign of damage. The back of my hand is scarred. It has always looked like the hand of an old woman. 

The use of my hand was not affected. Thank goodness.