My First Son

My first son was born the day after Mother's Day. It was an easy delivery. Doctors did not tell you in advance whether you were having a boy or a girl. I was hoping for a boy. I wanted him to have the same name as my favorite singer. When my husband mentioned that as a possible name I jumped at it. His middle name is his father's first name.

As I was lying there in that particularly attractive position one assumes while giving birth the doctor told me I had a son. Then he held him up for me to see. That was the ugliest baby I had ever seen!

Admittedly I had never seen a newborn before. But his features all seemed to come to a point in the front of his face. Remember the old cartoons of Heckle and Jeckle the two stupid ugly crows? That is what he looked like. I remember the exact words I thought were "Oh my God. I had a buck-toothed idiot."

But I loved that ugly little thing so much. I had read in a magazine just a few days earlier that all mothers want to know the number of fingers and toes of their new babies. I had decided to ask just to be a smart aleck but I was so happy and so in love with my new baby that I did not ask such a stupid question.

When they took me to my room my husband was allowed to visit me. I was so happy to have given him a son. He looked nervous.

He began by telling me that he was not sure if he should tell me or not but... In that instant I knew that something was terribly wrong. My baby had died or was extremely ill and dying. You do not realize how many thoughts can race through your mind in the instant between two words. But the baby has two thumbs.

The relief that washed over me was instantaneous. I looked at him and said, "Is that all?" He thought I was nuts.

My son did indeed have two thumbs on one hand. They were both real thumbs bent together to look a bit like a lobster claw. I had watched his hands and feet as the nurses were measuring and weighing him. They were so much bigger than his little 6 pound15 ounce body seemed to warrant. I did not notice the extra thumb.

As a matter of fact neither did the doctor or nurses. My husband had found it when they showed him his new son. He actually called his mother to ask her whether he should tell me. She told him that I might notice so it was best to tell me.

After a few hours they finally brought my baby to me for a feeding. Everything was settled into place as it should be. He was beautiful.  No more Heckle and Jeckle.

I knew I wanted to breast-feed. It is the natural way and healthier for the child and the mother. So I did. The nurses tried to discourage me. It messed up their schedules you know.

My husband worked for a candy company. He brought me a yard long box of chocolates instead of flowers. When the nurse came in to get the baby after a feeding I offered her a piece of candy.

"Emma! You can't be eating that if you are nursing! Don't you know what it will do to the baby?"

Apparently chocolate has been known to give babies diarrhea. Nobody told me that. (After my first baby I relaxed a bit and did not worry as much. I would have eaten the candy then.)

My son grew normally. I had all the time in the world to spend with him. Early in the afternoon was the time we spent with no one else allowed to intervene. I would prop him into the corner made by the arm of the couch and the back. I would look at him and sing or tell stories. I would tell him how much I loved him.

When he was four months old he began to answer me. It was real words. People thought I was exaggerating but I knew what I heard. Other people who were there saw and heard him. He was talking.

I wrote to tell my mother-in-law all the things he could say. She chuckled to herself, knowing that I was just being a young new mother. Then she came to visit.

It was time for my son and I to be together so my mother-in-law and sister-in-law sat across the room and talked to each other. Suddenly Mom's head snapped up and she said, "My God Emma. That kid can talk!"

My son had an extraordinary memory. One time after he was grown he reminded me of an incident I had completely forgotten. We lived in an apartment building on the third floor. It was a bad neighborhood but I watched my son very closely.

He was a little past his first birthday. I was washing dishes in the kitchen and he was playing in the front room. When I went to check on him, the front door was open and he was gone!

Needless to say I was frantic. I ran out hoping he was in the hall. Not there. I ran to one end hoping he had not fallen down the stairs. Not there. I ran toward the stairs at the other end.

On my way I noticed one of the other apartments had its front door slightly ajar. I called out hoping whoever was in there might have seen my baby. No one answered. I went over and gently pushed the door open wider. I wanted my child.

There inside was my little boy wandering around looking at everything in the place. No one was home. With a huge sigh of relief I took him home after firmly closing their door.

My parents had moved to the big city to be nearer to us and for my father to find work. They rented an apartment on the first floor of the same building we lived in. My father adored his first grandchild. The feeling was mutual. One of my favorite photos is a snapshot of the two of them.

Daddy sat with his legs crossed in that figure four that men do. My son often sat in the space it created on Grandpa's lap. That day Mom got a picture of the two of them fast asleep. Daddy's head is slightly back and my son is sitting in that space with his feet toward Grandpa and his little head rolled slightly to one side. It is a picture of love.

As I said it was a bad neighborhood. Often in the evenings some of the tenants of the building would congregate on the front steps of the building trying to keep cool. Across the street was a small hotel. The only occupants of the hotel  stayed there for only short intervals. They were the ladies that stood on the corners and invited their gentlemen callers inside for a short while.

Half a block away on our side of the street there was a fast food place. My son was fascinated by, of all things, the legs of the ladies from across the street. One day a couple of them sashayed on our side of the street, right in front of us, on their way to get something to eat.

My son set off behind them with his eyes glued to their legs the whole time. I was laughing and decided to follow at a short distance to see how far he would go before he realized I was not there. Apparently mothers cannot compete with legs. I had to run up and grab him shortly before they got to the corner.

My son has always had an extreme view of right and wrong. There are no gray shades for him. Unfortunately he expects every one of us to live up to those standards too.

When my son was about 8 or 9 we lived in a house. His father was home with the other children while my son and I went to pick up some groceries. When we returned I parked our van. Then we saw my 6 year old and 2 year old come running around the corner with a group of bigger boys hot on their tails.

The bigger boys lived in a multiple family building behind us. They were constantly teasing and picking on my children.

My son threw down the bag of groceries and screamed,"THAT DOES IT!" He took off after those much bigger boys. I grabbed my other two and told them to get their father.(He had fallen asleep and had no idea of what was happening)

In the meantime I could hear my son in the alley daring the boys to come fight. I started that way because there were several of them and they were several years older. Near the end of my backyard, here came their mothers.

Now is when I should tell you that I seldom get angry. My husband after all those years of marriage had never seen me angry. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him coming to take care of the problem. I also saw his jaw drop and him stop in midstep with one foot in the air as I said to those mothers, "You hold it right there!"

I gave them a good tongue lashing. When they would try to come back with a feeble "but..." I shut them right up. These were my babies they were attacking! I finally sent them home and there was an uneasy truce after that. My husband stood frozen in place with his mouth open and one foot in the air the whole time.

My son did very well in school. There was another boy who had been top dog at school before my son started there. Naturally there had to be a fight.

I had picked the boys up at school because I had a quick errand to run. My son insisted he could not go with me because he had to fight this other kid. I finally told him I would run my errand and we would be in time for me to drop him off at the designated spot. My son insisted I could not stay.

When we arrived at the meeting place no one else was there. I felt confident that the other boy would not show so I left. It was only a block or so from home.

When my son came home he said the other boy had decided not to go to the fight. The strange thing is that they became fairly good friends after that.

Some of the students in my son's class had misbehaved. The teacher decided to hold all the children after school to write some sentence 100 times as a punishment. My son took his blank sheet of paper up to the teacher. He told her he had done nothing wrong and was not going to be punished for what others had done. He left the classroom and came home.

When he told me about it I suggested he could write the sentence at home and turn it in next day. He looked at me like I was daft and again said he was not going to be punished for something he did not do.

I did go talk to the teacher, Her response was that she was proud of him for sticking up for himself. She told me that he was an honest child and if he felt he did not deserve to be punished she respected that.

My son was the kind of kid that could get into a fight right in front of the principal and the principal would pat him on the head and tell him it would be taken care of. Then he would suspend the other participant from school for a few days. His honest reputation followed him.

My first child decided at a very young age he did not want to marry or have children. No mother wants to hear that. I explained to him how good he is with children and he would probably change his mind.

He said that he had younger cousins to spend time with. When I explained that those cousins would grow up someday he countered that by that time his brothers and sisters would have children. He was right of course. So he has never married and never had children. He has never indicated to me that he regrets his decision so I respect that.

Having Babies

I was overjoyed when I found out I was going to be a mother for the first time. I had 6 little brothers and sisters. As is common in large families I helped a lot with the little ones. So I felt more than ready.

My family did not live in the same state then so I could not go to my mother with questions. I sat and listened to all the women I knew talking about the horrors of labor. I was not overly concerned because I have always had the ability to live in the moment so until it happened it had nothing to do with me.

My husband made his own preparations for getting me to the hospital when the time came. He took the experience as a good excuse to be able to run through red lights and stop signs. It would be a great adventure.

In the meantime I gained forty pounds. A lot of it was fluid because I retain fluid naturally anyway.  Soon I began feeling little butterfly ripples in my abdomen. My baby was kicking! Every mother knows that your love for your baby begins long before it it born. I do not know how it is for a father but I was totally enchanted.

My baby was due before Mother's Day. As Mother's Day got closer and closer I hoped that I would not spend my first Mother's Day in the hospital. I was not in the hospital for Mother's Day. I still had not had my baby.

In bed and sound asleep during the night after Mother's Day I woke up suddenly. My water broke. Because I slept next to the wall I had to try to get my husband who slept like a dead man to let me up. I tried to tell him what was happening.

While I was in the bathroom getting dressed he came running in demanding to know why I had wet the bed! At least he was awake.

I again explained what was happening. He ran upstairs to the apartment of a friend and woke her up. She came down to offer help. She asked if I was in labor. I did not know. Nothing hurt. But I was feeling occasional bouts of what felt like the baby strongly kicking.

She times those. They happened about 6 minutes apart. I needed to go to the hospital.

That is when my husband became sick. He went to the medicine cabinet and poured every compound he could find into his stomach to try to settle it.

Then we set off for the hospital. Would you believe it? Every traffic light was green. My poor husband did not even get the pleasure of running even one red light.

I never did experience labor pains with my first baby. I kept waiting for it to hurt.

I was placed in a room with a woman whose baby was dead. They wanted her to experience normal delivery if possible because they thought it would be better for her physical recovery.

She was in terrible pain and knew she was not going to have a baby to hold after. She became hysterical. Remembering all those stories I heard earlier I waited for that to happen to me.

The doctor came in, did a quick examination, and said, "Okay. Let's go have a baby." I never did feel any pain.

My second baby was a different experience. I woke up almost exactly at the same time the alarm clock went off. It was time for my husband to go to work. But today he would be taking me to the hospital.

Once again things progressed quickly. And I was definitely feeling some discomfort. We dropped my oldest son off to be with my mother.

My doctor cme into the labor room and gave me a quick exam. Then he said that he was going to the cafeteria for a quick cup of coffee. As he started out the door I told him the baby was coming. He told me that it would take twenty minutes for the anesthetic to take effect and he would be back then.

Well he should have listened to me. The intern was getting into his scrubs. I said the baby is here. He turned and managed to grab my son just before he landed on the table.

My husband had taken a new job out of town. Naturally he was not there when labor began for my third baby. I was experiencing contractions but they were extremely erratic. It would be twenty minutes until the next one. Then the next one would be in four minutes. Then ten minutes. Then fifteen minutes. Then three minutes. They might last ninety seconds ot five seconds. There was no regularity at all.

Mom had my brother drive us to the hospital. The whole way I kept telling her that I was not sure I was in labor. I was going to be so embarrassed if they sent me home. This was my third baby for goodness sake. I did not even know if I was in labor.

They took me upstairs. Mom stayed to fill out those papers that need to be filled out and then went to the father's waiting room. A nurse popped her head in the door and asked if anyone was there with Emma. Mom got up.

She was told she could come see me. On the way they passed the nursery. The nurse asked my mother if she would like to see the baby.

Mom explained to her that she must have the wrong person. I had just come in after all. The nurse repeated my name. Mom said yes, that was right. The nurse showed my mother her new grandson.

When my fourth child was born I was staying with my parents again. As quickly as my babies seemed to be born we were worried that I might not make it 30 miles to hospital where we lived.

I went into labor and my mother drove me to the hospital. I went in to be examined. The long and short of it was that it was a false labor. I prepared to dress and go home.

The doctor went out to tell my mother it would be probably another ten days before my baby was born. She looked at him and said, "Oh no you don't. I know how she does this. I'll get her halfway home and she'll have that baby in the car."

He told her she could have me walk the halls for a bit to see if that would do anything. After a couple of hours Mom finally gave up and took me home. My daughter was born ten days later.

As you can see each experience was different. How can that be? I am the same person. It comes down to the babies. Just as they are unique individuals now, they were unique then too. Each came in his/her own time and own way.

On Being A Mother

The one thing I always wanted to be is a mother. Other occupations were considered too. I was going to be a famous singer but I cannot sing. I was going to be a renowned actress. I can act a bit but a career like that depends largely on being in the right place at the right time. I am not lucky. I was going to be so many other professions. It depended on the time of my life and my mood at the time. But I always wanted my own children.

I did not think about being a wife except for the fact that in those days you had to be married in order to have children. I do not think it was possible to have them if you were unmarried, was it? At any rate as I look back I know I was not a good wife. I am a terrific companion but as far as being "wifely", I lack considerably.

But in order to have children the husband was a must. I was engaged for a time to a young man my father introduced me to. It was like a first love kind of thing. Again looking back I know that a marriage between us would not have worked.

I married a young man (actually we were both children... I was 18 and he was 17) who was a hard worker. We loved each other. He had little experience around children even though he came from a large family. He was one of the little ones. But I was ready to start a family.

It was two years before I had my first son. I was in heaven. He was born right after Mother's Day. My husband dug right in and was the best father he knew how to be. He took our baby with him if he went visiting and was so proud to show him off. The one thing he did not want to try was changing diapers.

After another two years I had another son. He was beautiful. We decided that we would have another child... someday. My husband wanted a daughter. But for the time being we had all we could afford.

We talked about having that "someday child" often. Meanwhile I was so enjoying my boys. We talked and played and did all those things I always had dreamed of.

When my second son was three I found out we were going to have that "someday child". I was thrilled. One of the ways that I knew I was going to have a baby is that I would wake up one morning and think, "wouldn't it be nice to have another baby?" It happened every time.

But it was a difficult pregnancy. My husband had taken a new job out of town. I was unable to travel. I could not take proper care of the two I already had. We sold our house and I went to stay with my parents. The boys loved it there.

That was the year my third son was born. Because I had such a hard time taking care of my boys I decided that I was done having children.

I wanted to have surgery to prevent me from having more babies. At that time in our state my husband had to give "permission". How archaic is that? He was not willing to do that so I used other means to prevent pregnancy.

We moved to another state as soon as the baby and I were able to travel. Because my husband was a truck driver and on the road a lot I had all three of my boys to myself.

We explored our new surroundings together. My oldest son had just started school. We stayed up late and watched scary movies on television. It was wonderful.

But I was barely home from the hospital after having son number three when I discovered that I was probably going to have another baby. When my husband came home after a week on the road I told him he would need to stay up with the boys while I went to the doctor for confirmation.

So scarcely a year later my beautiful daughter was born. My husband took the children and me back to stay with my parents while I was pregnant. I was not having problems. But the nearest place to have a baby where we were living was 30 miles away. It did not take me very long to have a baby once they finally decided it was time to be born. I would probably not make it to the hospital.

That completed our family. I convinced my husband that it would be best for me to have that surgery. He reluctantly agreed. He was on the road when our daughter was born. He headed back when he was told she was here but he did not make it in time to sign for the surgery.

The nurse that was waiting for a signature wanted to know if I was absolutely certain my husband would sign. Of course I was.

I was the first female to sign for that surgery in that state. They needed a signature of permission. My signature would do until my husband could do it legally. By the time he arrived the surgery was over. His signature would have been senseless.

I managed a rock and roll band at one time. They played 50's and 60's music. The leader of the band was announcing their next song. He said; "You know, I was 19 and in Korea when this song was popular. Do you remember what you were doing at 19?" I spoke up that I was having a baby.

Then he said, "For that matter how many of you remember what you were doing at 21?" My reply was that I was having a baby.

He got a determined look on his face and said, "Do you remember what you were doing when you were 25?" Again, "I was having a baby." He gave up but I had another baby at 26.

"They" always say that your life has been a success if you have lived your dreams.  I am a success 4 times over because my children have been everything I wanted and more.

Boys Will Be Boys

My youngest brother has a son who is the same age as my second grandson. They have had a few adventures together. As is often the case with children the adventures are somewhat exciting and, in my eyes, funny.

I have to tell you that I stare at my nephew a lot. He looks exactly like my father probably looked at his age. It drives my nephew crazy and I try not to do it. But it is just uncanny. My grandson looks so much like my ex husband that it is amazing.  So they both look like their grandfathers.

As pre-teens both boys were"into" wrestling. They watched wrestling on television. Often the matches shown only on pay per view were ordered to be shown at my house so they would be part of the group that came to watch them.

If wrestling was not on TV the boys were locking up and wrestling each other. A lot of the children in the family like to wrestle so that is not unusual. But my nephew is large for his age. He is a very handsome young man. My grandson is small for his age and very handsome also. You would think it to be a mis-match but they could both hold their own.

Before Christmas each year I would have all the children come to my house to make cookies. One year I had my grandson and my nephew. We had to go pick up my oldest grandson from, you guessed it, a high school wrestling meet. I thought they would enjoy watching their older cousin who is an excellent wrestler.

It was a long drive. The boys were in the back seat talking and laughing about different things. Occasionally the subjects would get a little naughty but I let them go because that is what kids do after all. And it was not too bad.

Of course there would be the occasional attempt to wrestle back there too. How they thought they could wrestle with seat belts on I am not sure. Whenever things started to get out of hand I would admonish them to settle them down.

Then they began to really giggle and started to talk about sex. I am not a prude and I let them go. After all they were only getting to know what sex was.

So the conversation was about sex. Then it was about heterosexuals. Then it was about homosexuals. Then it was about bi-sexuals. When they started talking about tri-sexuals I could no longer wait. I had to know what on earth a tri-sexual was. When they explained it to me (it was rather disgusting) I said okay and dropped the subject. So did they.

As I said before there were intermittent attempts to wrestle back there. Each time I had to be a little more firm. I was driving and could not break up a fight from the driver's seat. Finally I resorted to my trusty threat of putting them out if they did not stop. They would slow down and look at each other to keep from laughing, but it would stop for a moment.

Finally I said, "That's it! If you don't stop right now I will pull over and put you out of the car!" My grandson's head snapped up, he looked at his cousin and said, "Oops. She means it this time." All was quiet... for a while.

Of course they forgot themselves and started again. I told them they had been warned. I was going to pull off the highway at the next exit. They both paled and sat very quietly as I exited. What they did not know was that it was the exit we needed to take to get to where we were going. I chuckled to myself.

My oldest granddaughter had just graduated from high school. Her parents had a big party. All her friends and teachers were invited along with their families. All of our family was also there. I love family get-togethers. The generations mingling is special.

My son had gotten out all the things that would keep the children occupied. The croquet game was set up. There was a net for volleyball or badminton. There was the trampoline. There was my grandson's basketball hoop. Targets were set up for shooting practice with the BB gun. There was a slip-and-slide for the children to get wet and be cool. The kids' favorite was the go-cart.

I was feeding Cheetos to my niece's little boy. He loved them. It kept me amused because they turned his hand and mouth yellow. Then my niece would pull out another wipe to clean him off. So I would give him another Cheeto. It was a good time.

Apparently my daughter and my brother had told their sons that in order to ride the go-cart they must ride with an adult. I did not know that. I watched the two of them get on the cart together and take off. At breakneck speed they went around the corner of the house, around the propane tank, down the driveway, and onto the road. I laughed as they did war whoops as they went.

I was still feeding Cheetos to my nephew when my brother looked at my daughter and asked where the boys were. I started to laugh because they had been gone for a while and neither parent had realized it. I told them they had gone off on the go-cart.

They were understandably upset. I just laughed at them. I told them they were probably down by the creek where my oldest grandson went fishing sometimes. All the parents grabbed their cell phones and started calling the boys. No answer.

I laughed. They were going to go look for the boys. I laughed. They decided to try calling one more time. My nephew answered his phone. I laughed.

My nephew reported that they were having a little trouble with the go-cart. I laughed. My brother asked his son where he was. I laughed. My nephew asked my grandson where they were. Neither one was sure. I laughed.

The boys were pretty sure they knew how to get back to my son's house. I laughed. My brother told them to get back right away. I laughed. They said they would. I laughed.

After another long wait my daughter and my brother decided to search for the boys. I laughed. Car keys in hand they started toward the driveway. I laughed.

My son looked up and saw the boys... pushing the go-cart. I laughed. They got to the yard and everybody converged on them. Except me. I was laughing.

It seemed that they had gone into a ditch and the go-cart would not start after that. I laughed. My son looked at his go-cart. The axle was broken. I laughed

So parents were yelling at sons to try to find out what had happened. I was laughing hysterically.

Finally the truth came out. They had been taking turns driving. One of them had tipped the go-cart into the ditch. Both of them spilled out and the go-cart would not start. They were araid to tell anybody so they had been trying to fix it. I laughed.

Parents were still yelling at sons. I had to ask the obvious question. Were they hurt. Oh, no. They were fine. I laughed.

Finally my nephew admitted that the front of his hip was scraped and he had a couple of bruises. I laughed. My grandson insisted that he was fine. I laughed. No wonder nobody takes me anywhere.

When the party was over we all went home. I was watching TV and winding down from the day when the phone rang. My daughter was calling.

My grandson had gone to his room when they got home. My daughter and my grandson's father were watching television. My grandson came downstairs and went to the kitchen. They thought he was getting a snack.

When he was going back up the stairs my daughter noticed that he was holding something so they could not see it. It was a baggie full of ice.

He had a huge lump on the back of his head. He was afraid he would be in trouble if his parents knew. This time my daughter laughed with me.

Shotgun

Grandma was quite a character. She was a quiet woman but she could surprise you at times with the things that she did.

Grandma could cook. She was the best cook I ever knew. Even better than my mother. I do not like pancakes but I always hoped she would make them for breakfast when I was there. That was because she made her own syrup out of water and sugar.

Grandma made homemade bread every day. And I mean every day. She cooked and baked on an old wood stove. Anyone who has had food cooked that way knows how much better it tastes.

Grandma had been cooking since she was a small girl. Once in a while on Sunday when they were making Sunday dinner, Grandma would ask one of her daughters to take the homemade biscuits from the oven. They would start to look for pot holders or a towel to hold the pan to keep from getting burned. Grandma would give an exasperated sigh and grab the pan with her bare hands and set it on the table.

I remember being shocked when I was in high school. Grandma had had a stroke. After a long hospital stay she was finally home. She went to take biscuits from the oven and had to bounce the pan from hand to hand. She felt the heat.

Grandma said that while she was in the hospital the doctors and nurses talked about her like she was a baby. She was unable to speak. The doctors told everyone that she would never walk again. She laid there and thought to herself; "I'll show them!" She got tired easily at first but she could walk just fine.

She was a farmer's wife with all the work that entails. She cooked a lot of fried chicken. She would send my uncles out to catch and behead a couple chickens for dinner. She used a wire that had a hook bent at the end to catch the leg of a chicken so the person could get it in their grasp. Then the boys were supposed to chop off the heads with an axe.

Now getting a chicken to lay its head calmly on a chopping block while you cut off its head is an impossible task. They wiggle, they squirm, and they have extremely agile necks. My uncles would have a time trying to do the chore.

Finally Grandma would get tired of waiting. She just grabbed the chickens by their heads, spun them just so and wrung their heads right off their necks. It took seconds.

There was the time the cow got gas. Cows do not belch so gas stays inside and grows. If not taken care of the cow will die.

Grandpa had gone to town and would be gone for a couple of days. If he had been there he would have "stuck" the cow and it would have been done. Sticking the cow meant taking out his pocket knife and stabbing the cow in the spot where the second stomach was. It released the gas and all was right with the world.

Grandma did not know how to stick the cow. So she figured it would be fine until Grandpa got back. The cow just kept swelling and bawling. It bawled constantly and loudly. The swelling got bigger and the bawling got louder. Finally Grandma knew she would have to take care of it herself. She had no idea how to stick the cow. She grabbed a rake handle and shoved it into the proper opening on the cow. There was a great noise as the gas escaped. My mother said the smell was unbearable and hung over the farm for days. The cow was fine.

A wolf had been killing the livestock. Grandpa had not been able to catch it. It was another one of those times when Grandpa had to be away. Grandma heard a ruckus out with the animals. She looked out the window and saw the wolf.

She grabbed Grandpa's double-barreled shotgun. She had never shot a gun but she decided to play Annie Oakley.

She ran out to where the wolf was. She lifted the shotgun in both hands and held it out directly in front of her. She pulled both triggers at the same time. The shotgun kicked back and hit her in the mouth. It knocked out both her front teeth. I do not know what happened to the wolf.

A Hairy Situation

You cannot tell by my baby picture on the right (wasn't I adorable?) but my hair grows very fast. It is very fine but there is a lot of it. My hair is straight and has no body.

I loved my color when I was younger. It was a sable brown and so rich looking. But as I got older the colors began to fade as they do for everyone. I colored it artificially for a few years then decided it was not worth all the trouble. I am fortunate enough to have inherited the genes that have kept me from getting too gray yet.

I like having long hair. There is something sensual and powerful about the feel of one's hair hanging down on one's back. I understand how Samson must have felt. At the same time it takes a lot of care and I do not like to take care of it.

There is also the matter of gravity. When we are young our muscle tone is good. Everything about our faces and bodies is firm and looks young. As we age gravity begins its pull. Skin loosens and sags. Long hair only helps give the illusion of pulling downward.

When I was beginning school little girls wore pigtails. Those are the two braids, one on either side of the head. If you were dressing up bows made from pretty ribbons were added to the look.

Because my hair was so fine yet so thick it was a mess to work with. All the high school girls were starting to wear ponytails. That is when your hair is pulled into one spot and anchored into place with a rubber band. Then it hangs loose down the back much like the tail of a horse. Mom decided that was for me.

I remember my first hair cut. I was about 8 years old. Mom was sick and tired of fixing my hair every morning. She decided to cut it off.

I mentioned that my hair is straight (as a string) and has no body. Mom knew it would need a bit of help. In the 1950's they had a permanent wave for little girls called Tonette. It came complete with paper dolls for the little girl to play with while she was being curled.

Mom and I had a good time with her cutting my hair (every time I get my hair cut I get an anxious feeling losing my mane) and rolling it in the skinny little curlers. She put the solutions on it when they were to be put on. All in all when we were through it looked pretty good.

I immediately went out walking so everyone could see my beautiful new self. I was bouncing proudly down the sidewalk when my father came driving up the street and screeched (actually screeched) to a halt. He was the town marshal and was patrolling the streets right then.

Daddy jumped out of the car and yelled. "What happened to your hair? Who did that to you?" I replied, "Mommy did it. Isn't it pretty?" As he was jumping back into his car he said, "I'm going to kill her." I was puzzled? I knew he was not going to kill her, of course. But what was he upset about? I was gorgeous.

It took practically no time for my hair to get long again. I had more cuts and more Tonettes over the years. I liked having curly hair. Both of my sisters have naturally curly hair. I am a little jealous.

Mom quit cutting my hair when I became a teenager. She sent me to the beauty shop instead. My first time at the beauty shop I had decided I wanted my hair shorter than it was but still long enough for a ponytail. The hairdresser was able to oblige.

As I entered high school long straight hair was the popular way to wear it. I certainly had the hair to pull off that look. I let my hair grow out. By the time I graduated from high school my hair was so long I could sit on it.

My boyfriend loved it. He told me after we were married that my long hair was what had made him notice me. Many of the older couples we knew called me Morticia after Morticia Addams. I liked it.

Two years after I was married I had my first baby. I fed all my babies the way nature intended me to. My son loved my hair. He would twirl it around in his hands and just wrap himself in it in general. The only problem was that when I would go to put him to bed after a feeding I found myself pulling out clumps of my hair so that I could then untangle it from my baby. Of course I then had to make sure I found all of the hairs wrapped around him and get them off.

When I discovered I was having another baby two years later I thought back to the hassle with my long hair and decided I would not do that again. Off I went to the hairdresser. I had all that hair cut off. The hairdresser was a little worried about my husband being upset with her for cutting my hair. I told her it was my hair for goodness sake.

Of course my husband was not pleased but he did not have to take care of all that hair. The surprising reaction was my 2 year old son. He did not speak to me for three days. He finally told me a few years ago that he and his father had done that on purpose thinking I would not cut my hair again. Silly boys.

Now that I am older I cannot stand to have my hair hanging against those two "corners" of my neck right behind my ears. And I can no longer feel comfortable with my hair in my eyes. I try to keep my hair short for those reasons too. And gravity.

I have never been a person who spends a lot of time taking care of my hair. I brush it to keep the tangles out. If I am going somewhere special I might doll up a bit but other than that... I do not get it cut as often as I should simply because I can always find something more interesting to do. And it takes so long to sit there while I get what is now called a "perm".

My hair has been growing for almost a year and a half since my last cut. It is getting closer to the middle of my back so I am planning on getting it done next week. Unless something more interesting presents itself that is.

That's The Life

We loved spending time on my grandparents farm. For myself, I enjoyed tagging behind my aunt and uncles. They were not much older than I. My youngest uncle lacks 4 days of being 3 years older than me. I got to hang out with the big kids for a change.

Sunday dinner on the farm was wonderful. Grandma would cook and she was such a good cook. If the weather was nice we could eat outside at the picnic table.

There was no indoor plumbing. Water for drinking, cooking, and washing was pumped and brought in from outside. There was a bucket of water with a ladle in it if you wanted a drink. Grandma's wood stove had a large reservoir that held water. If we needed to wash up we took water from that because it was warm.

There was an outhouse out back. I hate outhouses. I have to make this statement because I really hate them. They are inconvenient, unsanitary, and they STINK. You haven't lived until you had to use the outhouse on a hot summer day. And I have not even mentioned the flies. Then in the winter you cannot wait to finish because your bottom is exposed to all that cold air.

Anyway my grandparents outhouse was huge. It had three holes! And that is not counting the little one off to the side  for smaller members of the family. There was no toilet paper. It was expensive and tended to get knocked into the holes and was wasted. Sears, Roebuck, and Company put out a large catalog every year. It was at least two inches thick. They were easy to obtain so there was a supply of them. The pages were torn out as needed and used to clean oneself. I really hate outhouses.

There was a barn that was large enough to bring in the cows for milking. We would stand across from where Grandpa and my uncles were milking. We were not allowed too close in case one of the cows decided to kick.

The cows would be herded in at milking time and urged into stanchions. Their heads went into the stanchions where there was hay for them to munch on. A wooden bar would be moved to hold them in place while they were being milked.

So we would stand there and watch. If we were really good Grandpa and the uncles would tell us we could come slightly closer. Then they would aim and squirt the milk at us so we could catch it in our mouths

Grandpa always kept horses. He loved them so. He "broke" them for riding himself. He didn't ride them bucking and trying to throw him like you see in the movies. He gently broke them by being kind and letting them learn to trust him.

All of the children learned to ride and respect horses. There was no hard kicking or whipping. Nudges and movement of the reins was all that was necessary.

The horse that we learned on was phenomenal. Her name was Bird. She was so smart. She could tell by size and actions whether the person about to ride her was experienced or not. She was gentle and patient with us kids. She would walk around while we got used to the feel of sitting on top of a horse. As we gained experience she would trot, canter, and gallop.

Truly experienced riders were another matter. Bird would give them so much trouble. She would move as they prepared to ride. She would pull off the saddle blanket which was placed beneath the saddle to keep the saddle from irritating her skin and causing painful sores. She would nip at unsuspecting body parts. Her favorite trick was to hold her breath and make her stomach swell at just the time the person was trying to tighten the cinch that holds the saddle snugly in place. When she let out her breath and breathed normally the cinch was too loose.

One time my mother was riding Bird. Mom knew of Bird's trick about making the cinch loose. Mom knew all she had to do was give Bird a little poke in the ribs so she would let her breath out and an extra tug would tighten the cinch. That day Mom was distracted and forgot the nudge in the ribs. She mounted and went for a ride. All was going well until they came upon the first tree with a low lying branch. Bird headed straight for the branch. Mom ducked and leaned a bit to the side. the saddle slipped to the side and Mom found herself on the ground and Bird standing off a ways grazing on the fresh grass.

There will be more stories on the farm. Like I said we loved going the the farm.