My Daughter's Mother's Name is Deb

Deb, my dear friend, my co-parent, my fire pit buddy, my always has a glass of wine ready for me should I need one.  It seems as though we've been friends for a lifetime but in actuality it's only been a rather short period of time.  Junior year of high school - 2005.  (No, not our junior year - our first born children's.) We came into each other lives when I realized that she had given birth to the daughter that I was supposed to have.  So we decided to share.  It helped that her daughter was dating my #1 son's best friend.  When I needed "girl time" Jesse was the one I called upon.  And Deb sweetly handed her over.  It was a mutually beneficial arrangement for both Deb and I.  Jessica was (is) a beautiful girl.  She can be model beautiful, then go in and change cloths, head out to the woods.  Shoot, kill, field dress, haul it back to the truck, load it up, bring it home,  and finally skin the deer.  Then bop back into the kitchen with the tenderloin in hand ready to help cook dinner.

Jesse was always a low drama / no drama girl.  (Well, except for the one very short time in her life that we just refuse to remember - and EVERYONE has a one of those times in their life. Her's could have been much, much, much worse. But when you consider it was Jessica it was bad enough!) She can cut through BS swifter than a hot knife through butter in July.  She is very academic.  A self starter, truly faith filled with a servants heart. (No, that doesn't mean she cater's to people Martin! LOLLOL)  And always succeeds in whatever venture or adventure she begins.  Nothing phased this young women.  Which was a good thing because God chose her to be the oldest of four in her family.  She is followed in birth order by three younger brothers.  Then when you add in our four sons, she is the girl with seven brothers.  It's a touch job, but she has always handled it well.

Here's a for example for you.  The place, baseball field in the heat of summer.  Jesse and our #4 were there with me watching the game.  #4 had just gotten back from the concession stand, his purchase, a giant king size, fresh from the refrigerator Snickers candy bar.  Jesse watched as he carefully unwrapped it, ever so carefully.  After he took his first bite, she leaned in closer and requested a little bite.  Without even a hint of a delay, #4 said, "Sure".  He started to hand it over to her, paused, brought it back to his mouth and proceeded to lick the entire candy bar from bottom to top.  Then handed it back to her. She said, "Thanks" and took an enormous bite.  If only you could have been there to see the look on his face.  She burst out laughing and said, "Before you were a giant butt and licked the candy, I was only going to take a little bite, but when you decided to lick it, I was going to make it worth it.  You can tell you've never had a sister before, nothing gets between a girl and chocolate!" That sealed their relationship......

Jesse integrated very well.  Tennis, dodge ball, basketball - okay here's a good one about basketball. So all the boys, and Jesse, are heading out to play a pick up game of basketball.  I hear them call captains, then I hear one of the Baker Boys call "Shirts".  Followed by Jesse's boyfriend, Ryan, hollering "Yeah, right!  She will not be playing SKINS!!"  Once, during a game of two hand touch football, one of the boys (NOT a Baker!!) got a little handsie with Jessee.  She proceeded to drop him to the ground like a bag of cement.  When Deb and I questioned our sons about why none of them stepped forward to help Jesse, they all laughed and said they would have helped if she needed it but she didn't, she had in all in control!

Jessica found the love of her life.  As fate would have it, she recycled.  Yep, she found that the love of her life was actually the first love of her life.  Poor Jake!  The boys got gumption.  When you can look into the faces of nine men and profess your love for a girl, well, it's gotta be real.  I'm not sure he'll willingly go hiking with his brothers-in-law again, but you can't ever tell.  Over time his memory might diminish.  But that's fodder for a future post. Suffice to say, Jake is a wonderful, talented, smart, hardworking, good looking young man.  (Who know's how to eat!)

My husband is not a very showy or emotional man. (Okay, that's probably one of the biggest understatements I could ever make.)  He did however, make my heart grow three sizes larger when I heard what he told Jessica on her wedding day.  He told her that she looked beautiful and the only thing that could have made it better was if "she had married a Baker Boy".  (Not that that was ever an option - siblings for LIFE!) Deb and I boo-hoo'ed over that one.

As for me, I was bursting with joy watching that girl, my daughter, on her wedding day.  She and Deb made sure that there was a 2nd Momma of the Bride corsage - just for me.  Jessica wore the silver and blue cross (her something borrowed, something blue), Deb lovingly sewed it onto her wedding dress. I bought the cross earlier in the summer in Paris at Notre Dame Cathedral. I wasn't sure why at the time, but I was definitely drawn to it.  I'd like to think that all my future daughters-in-law would like to borrow my blue cross to use as their borrowed or blue.  Jessica loves that she was the FIRST.

I've so enjoyed the path we've walked so far. 

Plus, look at all the many options I have to become a Glam-ma.  

In the meantime, I'll continue to enjoy journey.... 

An Un-Normally Normal Day

Have you ever had one of those days?

This was the day of our once a month bunco Wednesday (we've been meeting for the past 17 years). I decided to shower and do my hair and makeup first thing.  I had a pretty clear day - nothing scheduled but some light housework planned. Just a little puttering about. It seems like no matter how hard I tried, I always tend to run late and show up to bunco with either my hair tied back or a baseball cap on, not a speck of makeup on and wearing the ever unfashionable yoga pant and tee-shirt ensemble. Really, do that many people actually do yoga, or do they just want to wear the hold-it-in-place, never-binding britches. I indulged and took a long hot shower, complete with conditioner, and a leg shave (both of em).

Then the day from hell started.  I mean REALLY started. You know the kind of day I'm talking about.  You open the pantry door and as you're reaching for the box of cereal, you knock over a jar of sauce..... which you watch in slow motion as it plummets end over end before shattering on the floor. Not a simple glass breaking episode.  But a powerful mini-nuclear-esq feat.  It takes three turns to arrive from our kitchen to the front door.  That jar hit the floor with such force that there were pieces of that stinking jar in my foyer!!!

A mere hour and a half later, I was finally able to make it back to the pantry to grab that box of cereal.  You remember that cereal, the box that caused the cataclysmic issue above. Well, that STINKING box of cereal was EMPTY!!!  Okay, I embellish, it had five pieces of golden grahams left in the bottom of the otherwise big, empty box!  Another item to put on my grocery list.  So much for my breakfast.  I'll just grab lunch a little early.

I start the dishwasher.  Not a major event.  I'm piddling around the kitchen, wiping down counters, which somehow turns into a refrigerator clean out.  Halfway through the dishwasher cycle, a toxic smell starts emanating from within.  I open the door, yep, there is a gush of water that runs out.  After all the dishwasher WAS running before I opened it.  Stop, clean up water on the floor.  Reopen door, with a little more care this time.  Find that someone had accidentally put a throw away fork in the dishwasher, where it managed to work its way out of the utensil holder and down onto the heating element.  However it managed to do it, it did. About 35-45 minutes to clean the inside of the dishwasher, and all the moving parts that ended up with bitty pieces of melted plastic on them.

When I finally closed the washer door for the final time, I looked down at the floor and realized how incredible the floor looked where I had just mopped up water, compared to the rest of the floor that just looked blah - at best.  Another two and a half hours later, the floor in the kitchen, breakfast room, hallway, guest bath and foyer were all sparkling.

The dogs were clamoring to go out.  Without a second thought on the matter, (dumb a$$, dumb a$$, dumb a$$) I let them out.  I then headed to the laundry room.  How does that poem go? "For Whom the Bell Tolls", ummm, yeah, right... completely out of context.  There WAS a bell tolling, however, it was just the dryer bell telling me the towels were dry and fluffy.  After folding an extra large load of towels. Switching from washer to dryer and reloading the washer,  I was in and out of the laundry room in a mere 20 minutes.

That's when I heard the dogs at the back door requesting readmission.  I wish my eyes would have communicated to my brain a second and a half before my brain had my arm opening the door for those mangey mongrels. (They're actually pedigreed but at this point I could care less - they were lucky to be breathing!)  What should have been communicated quicker was STOP, the sprinkler had come on when they were outside playing and they turned it into a wet water find dirt game.  And they BOTH won.  In they ran.  On my beautiful freshly washed floors.  All of them!  They slipped, they slid, they skidded.  It was a doggie fest.  I finally got them corralled in their kennel and ran to the laundry room where I grabbed the closest things I could find to clean up their wet gooey muddy mess, my freshly washed and fluffed towels.

Figure another three hours to wash, dry, and comb out:  one still living and breathing Chesapeake Bay Retriever and one still living and breathing German Shepherd (Yes, I quantified that description. I don't want to hear any negative feedback from PETA people questioning.....)  Another 30 minutes to wash down and defur the bathroom shower I used to shampoo those hairballs.  Throw in another hour to rewash the entire first floor.  Yes, it took me two and 1/2 hours the first time but really, by now I really didn't give a damn.  The big chucks were gone.  If there was some smearing, squint and don't look close!

Forget about lunch of any kind. School had already let out. My entire day was a complete waste of time.  I had nothing to show for it.  Now there was no time to prepare dinner for my herd.  Plus, I still had to get ready for bunco.  (My earlier shower, hair and makeup session was but a distant memory by now.)  I was creatureisq.  There's truly no better description that comes to mind.

Back in the shower I go, forget about conditioner this time.  I'm lucky to get all the dog hair and mud off me in one sudsy maneuver.  Well, so much for preplanning.  I have enough time to either put on make and do my hair or run by the grocery and pick up dessert for my herd (yep, I'm feeling guilty for calling hubby and having him pick up something for dinner on the way home).  My Bunco Babes are used to seeing me in a ball cap, yoga pants, and tee shirt.  Why should today be any different.

In I walked to bunco, fifteen minutes late, starving, and ready for a very, very cold margarita or three...... I'm not sure if it was my imagination or did one of the bunco babes murmur - really, Baker's at home all day, you'd think she'd take a little time to make herself more presentable.....  I decided to let my imagination take that one.  Grandmother always taught me a young/old lady never throws a punch.

Erma Can't Be Found... Check in Tomorrow

I'm sorry folks, I can't seem to find Erma today. I need clarity of mind, jubilance of soul, (and sometimes a fluffy pillow and an adult beverage)  to write.  At this point, that doesn't seem to be an option given the narcotic syrups, thinners and relievers the doc has me taking round the clock.

I leave you with this thought...... Yes, Virginia, you can empty your bladder and then on the way back from the bathroom, have such a horrific, body racking coughing fit that you wet your pants profusely!!!  The worse part isn't actually the wetting of your pants, but rather, the look the dogs give you when they see what you've done.

Prayers would be greatly accepted.

#ErmaWhereAreYou

 — feeling sick.

"Party in Hawaii" or "My Obit"

It's Monday morning, 12:39am.  Here I sit attempting to get my creative writing ideas to flow out my finger tips.  I'm finding it a bit difficult to do with this giant elephant sitting on my chest.  Guess I'm going to have to break down and call the doctor's office later today.  The pleasant side of this morning is the comfortable climate in our house.  I'm actually sitting here in my lightweight nightgown incredibly comfortable. That is not a normal occurrence.  For the past, hmmmm.... has to be about five years now, I've been living in a combination of peri and true menopause.  Needless to say, I'm a human furnace.  Tonight, that works to my benefit - our actual furnace quit working.  John and #4 aren't so happy about it, but they'll live.  I've got them each wrapped up in electric blankets and the fire's burning in our bedroom fireplace.

Saturday night we met some dear friends, Tom and Colleen, for dinner and a movie. (McFarland, TX if anyone's interested - man do I lust for Kevin Costner)  T & C are those friends that came into our lives as the parents of #1's best friend.  Tom is a lot like John.  Pretty laid back.  He doesn't need to raise his voice to get his point across.  A look from him can stop a son at 50 yards.  Colleen is the real life version of "Glenda", the Good Witch.  She speaks with a delightfully happy, calming lilt to her voice.  She can find the positive in just about anything.  She is the cheerleader for all the underdogs. And because of this, I can't sit by my dear friend during baseball games.

The straw that broke our stadium seating came during a high school baseball game.  One of our outfielders dropped a ball.  Dropped, as in, never got a glove on the freaking ball.  It dropped out of the sky in front of him.  And there sat Colleen, clapping and cheering.  I looked at her as if she had lost her freaking mind. What the hell was she doing?  And then if it couldn't get worse, she hollers, "It's okay, good try.  You can do it next time!  Good try!"  I looked at her with all the love and as little distain I could muster and said, "No Colleen, it was NOT a good try.  It was horrible.  It was a textbook catch.  Coach needs to pull his behind!"  After that, we hugged hello before the game, went to dinner after the game but NEVER sat next to each other during a game.

Other than our diversity in cheerfulness, we actually share a lot in common.  She's a boys mom too. They have three sons. All their sons were deep into sports as well.  Their boys, however, are older than ours.  Their baby is equal in age to our oldest.  Needless to say, over the years T&C have shared their experiences and on occasion given us a "heads ups".

It was over dinner that Tom mentioned my blog.  He said that Colleen had indicated that she had read it and really enjoyed it.  Tom asked what John thought of it.  At that point my husband said, "Blog, what blog?".  That's become a common joke between us since February 10th.  I guess some of John's friends have read it.  But when they mention anything about it to him, he plays dumb.  Hmmm, I always just assumed he was playing!!  I said he wouldn't take notice until I could "show him the money".  That lead to a discussion of bank accounts; his and her's, his, hers. Colleen made mention that her paycheck had gone down a bit since she had picked up medical and life insurance.  I commented that I had just lowered the amount of coverage we had on me (and increased what we had on John).  After all the boys were mostly grown.  It's not like John would have to replace me with a cook, housekeeper and taxi service.  They were all self sufficient.  

As we continued talking about the coverage amounts we were carrying.  I said there would be enough for me to be cremated and fly everyone to Hawaii for a giant send off party.  Tom said it sounded like a good time. John assured Tom he'd get an invitation.  (Seriously?!?) I'm not sure if I should be worried about their laissez-faire attitude regarding my demise.  I reminded them, emphatically, that it wasn't anything that was going to occur in the near future.  John said for me not to worry, he'd plan a great party.  I mentioned that I wasn't worried about him planning a party.  I was a bit concerned about my obituary.  I can see it now:  Michelle Davis Baker, wife, and mother.  She was born in (??), she grew up somewhere in Alabama.  She was active in lots of stuff.  Celebration of Life sunset ceremony planned in Kauai, Hawaii.  All welcome.  Now, I know I'm being ridiculous. There is NO way this could be my obit. It's longer than the allotted 25 word free one the paper throws in.

Glenda laughed and assured me that John would never do that (I still maintain she had questioning eyes when she said that).  Tom just laughed.  And John suggested I go ahead and write my own and that I could then post it on my blog.........

Have a great day!  May the elephants leave my chest and the house warm up to temperatures my family can function in.

Aloha........................... 

United Front

My husband and I have always tried to maintain a united front when it came to our boys.  If we differed in parenting, we usually discussed it behind closed doors.  (Hmmm, I think the doors were closed those two times we had to discuss something.  And then he saw my point was the right one and the discussion was over. At least that's how I remember it.)

I truly believe that God gives children two parents for a reason.  Or rather, two reasons.  The first reason is that having two parents allows a child to live longer.  Past experience has proven, for us at least, when one of us is ready to kill any of the four said children, the other is in a laid back, water off the ducks back mode. Assuring the other, "Hey, it's not a big deal. Don't get worked up. Let it gooooo!" (Yep, that was a mantra of ours, way before that incredible cartoon extravaganza sang the catchy, girly version.) Also, the same parent was never the chillaxer twice in a row. Somehow the occasions of short fused detonation always flipflopped.  Two parents, it's God's parental scale of checks and balances.

The second reason is safety. When one parent uncharastically loses their absolute freaking mind and makes a potentially ridiculously dangerous decision, the other parent steps up, states the error of the situation and everyone is safe and sound, no worse for wear.  Case in point.  We never - except for this one time - usurped each other's authority.  It was Hawaii, four children ages fourteen months,  4 years, 6 years, and 8 years old.  It was day two or three of our nine day stay.  Coming from Kansas City, the ocean and the beach is a beautiful, mystical place - unless you can't get in.  And why couldn't we get in? Because the entire time we had been there the ocean was closed.  Not in the sense there were road blocks or armed guards detouring people.  Just a flag.  Yes, a Red Flag flying high next to the unmanned life guard tower.  Why would the tower be unmanned you might ask yourself. No need for a life guard, when the beach was CLOSED! Duh....

With the ocean out of commission, we had to make due with swimming and frolicking in any of the four plus pools available to us at the resort.  I think my husband might have been an aquatic animal in a former life.  He longs for the ocean.  He couldn't hide it.  I kept catching him sneaking a peek here and there. Yes, I caught him gazing longingly at it. Finally, he couldn't hold himself back any longer.  "Hey guys", he said to the oldest three, "Let's take a walk on the beach".  I knew from the moment he uttered those words, there was no way on God's green earth I was allowing him to take the boys down to the beach without me.  I told him I'd love to go along too.  Now mind you, trudging along carrying a roly poly fourteen month old on the soft sand while attempting to keep pace is not an easy feat. Especially if you are 5'3" to your husband's 6'2".

We made it to the beach, I was now huffing and puffing pretty good after that mini marathon.  I know my husband.  He is NOT a "sit on the sand and watch the water" kind of guy.  If he wanted to submerge himself in that RED FLAGGED killer sea, that was his decision.  I would prefer he not, but he's a big boy.  No sooner had I plopped down, than he speaks up and asks the boys if they want to get in the water.  I immediately sound off with a definitive, resounding "NO".  I reminded him that it was not safe. Otherwise it wouldn't be closed.  He scoffed and reminded me that he was their father.  He certainly wasn't going to let anything happen to them.  I said, "You're right, you wouldn't intentionally let something happen and we aren't going to risk it because they are NOT stepping one little toe in that water!" It was a standoff. All that was missing was the theme song from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.

Picture three boys standing in a row looking back and forth from mom to dad and back again.  John once again said, "Come on boys, it'll be okay".  I might have said something along the lines of "If you take one step towards that water, I'll beat you".  After one more fervent look between the two of us, the three of them sat down in unison.

John only had one more card to play.  He told them that if that was the case, we would all just go back to the room and take a nap.  I seized that card and said that was a great idea!  None of the boys said a thing as we trudged back to the room.  John managed to throw a couple of "Mommy is such a downer" "Mommy doesn't want to have fun" "Mommy worries too much" "It's Mommy's fault we have to all go take a nap" quips in my direction.  I managed to hold my tongue.  Everyone laid down and took a good two hour nap.  When we woke up, it was time to get dressed and head down to the conference dinner.

It was on that walk down to dinner that we ran into other attendees.  They asked if we had heard about Craig.  "No", we said, "What happened to Craig?"  Well, Craig decided the ocean didn't look that bad, so he was only getting in to his knees.  That's when the riptide got him.  A broken neck, a couple of broken ribs, a punctured lung and an air lift to the hospital later.... they said he would be okay, with time. John looked at me.  I looked at John.  We never said a word out loud, but the silent discussion we had then and there was pretty intense.

And that boys and girls is why God gives children two parents............

Super Salad

Let me set the stage.....  I was the team photographer for the Kansas City T-Bones.  They play in the American Association of Independent Professional Baseball league.  One of the perks of the gig was that one or more of our sons could accompany me. (If they didn't have a game of their own to play in.) I was usually shooting from the dugout and they had their choice of seats in the stands.

The games were fun, however, the real enjoyment for our oldest came during BP.  (That's batting practice for all you baseball virgins.) Ben was allowed on the field with the team and could help shag balls. That boy would run his tush off in order to beat an outfielder out of a catch.  One of the coaches told me that Ben shagging balls was great and he loved having him there.  I agreed and said that it was a boys dream come true. Timmy, the coach, laughed and said, "Yeah, there's that too.  But I was talking about how great it was that a kid could get these players off their lazy a$$ to run during BP". Apparently Ben motivated them. They didn't like getting shown up by a young kid.

One night after a winning game, a group of us got together and went to a steakhouse not to far from the ballpark.  There were four or five players, my friend Tracy - who was Director of Merchandise, #1 son, and myself.  The waitress began taking orders, starting with #1 son.  He said he'd like a steak - medium and a baked potato.  She asked him if he would like a soup or salad.  Ben said, "Yes, please."  She pursed her lips a bit and repeated, "Soup or Salad?".  Ben smiled at her, but furrowed his brow a bit and repeated, a bit louder, "YES, please".  For a third time, completely frustrated, and a lot louder on her part, "DO YOU WANT SOUP OR SALAD?"  Ben looked at me completely perplexed and said, "She keeps asking me and I keep telling her, YES, I would like a super salad". With that the entire table broke up in complete laughter.  When she finally composed herself, and it took a minute or two, she said, "no sweetie, do you want a SOUP or do you want a SALAD with your dinner?"  Ben broke into a huge smile and said, "Oh, I get it now.  I thought you were asking me if I wanted a giant salad!"

Needless to say, that is one hilariously true story.  So.... it was told often.  So much so that Ben at one point was called Super Salad.  As the years passed, that small boy grew.  I stepped down as the team photographer after seven wonderful years.  The T-Bones schedule was in direct conflict with Ben's collegiate summer team schedule.  There was no way I was going to miss shooting my own son's games.

It was around that time we were out to dinner at a steakhouse with the entire family. Someone mentioned "super salad" and Ben went off.  He said, "Enough is enough, the whole super salad joke was funny in the beginning but come on it's been years!  Can you all finally drop it and let it go."

I apologized.  I was so very sorry.  We didn't mean to hurt his feelings.  We thought he was laughing with us but apparently it had worn pretty thin over the years.  We all agreed to never mention it again. And with that, talk around the table commenced, until the waitress came to take our orders.  When she got to Ben, he said, "I'll have the KC Strip, medium, baked potato, and soup with ranch".  You could have heard a pin drop.  Every conversation around the table stopped and everyone sat in amazement staring at Ben.  "What??" he inquired.  I leaned forward and said, "Ummm, you just asked for soup with ranch".  He shook his head and said, "No I didn't!!" as he looked up at the waitress, she was nodding her head pretty profusely in agreement, "Yes, actually you did". Ben laughed, shook his head and said "Okay, let's just go back to super salad please!"

Fast forward a couple more years....  This time instead of the dugout, I'm sitting in one of the suites at a T-Bones game.  The announcer comes on and in a big booming voice amidst the cheers says, "Now entering the game, # 9, Ben Baker".

I'm amazed I was able to shoot any pics during that game.  It's hard to focus a camera with tears of pride streaming down your cheeks!

#Still Following His Dream

#For the Love of the Game

Fat and Juicy

The Date - February 2015.  The location - a beautiful villa nestled on eleven quiet acres in the small town of Franklin, Tennessee, just a short jaunt from Nashville. The attendees - five 50 One-der-ful girlfriends (yeah that's right, you can be 51 and still be a girl!  Old Girl, but still a girl!) The five Bama Babes have been friends since our high school days, that's going back to 1979 in Decatur, Alabama.

We are now a bit spread out - I was actually speaking locationally, however,  now that I think about it, yes, over the years we're a bit more spread out physically too.  High school was, after all, a few days ago. Two girls are still in Decatur (lucky wenches!), one in Richmond, Virginia, one in Perdido Key, Florida, and me in Kansas City, Misery Missouri (yes, sometimes I'm a tad bit bitter over not living south of the Mason-Dixon line).  Please don't get me wrong, Missouri is a great place to visit. I've been visiting for 30 years now.

Last time we all gathered together, we were headed to Mexico on a cruise ship .  It's safe to say that it will never be the same again south of the border.  This year, we decided to match up for "quickie" in Nashville.

What happens when the "Bama Babes" converge on Nashville?  If eight bottles of wine, salmon, crab, multiple varieties of chips and dips, veggie and fruit trays, cheese cake, brownie bark, and not nearly enough FAT & JUICY comes to mind, you would be spot on.  We have to thank Carol for introducing us to Fat & Juicy!  It became the motto of our trip.  It is a fabulous bloody mary mix with just enough kick. Not too WOW for the weak mouthed, spicy sensitive pansy who can't take too much liquid heat.  (Yes, that would be me!)  As I said, we definitely didn't bring enough Fat & Juicy!! But no worries, we've made both mental and written notes to ourselves to insure it doesn't happen again.

Let me tell you, those tight abbed plankers have absolutely nothing on the Bama Babes when we're together. We all agreed our collective stomachs were all so very sore at the end of our three day getaway from excessive and exhaustive laughter.  I don't think any of us "intentionally" left our Fitbits at home.  I'm actually a little sorry we couldn't document our mileage.  If you've never had the opportunity to visit Franklin, Tennessee and their miles of antique shops, I would strongly encourage it. (Some of "shops" are housed in one gi-normous ancient warehouse - we're talking hundreds of little booths in one place).

While we were planning this getaway, we were in close communication with Bill, the owner of the villa.  What a complete and total sweetheart.  He was kind enough to suggest the restaurant, "Grays on Main" in Franklin for us to have our celebratory - new job, congrats again Kit-Kat!! and future birthday dinner - all of us. We ended up with the most delightful waiter, "Brian Scott".  Gary also suggested that should we run into any issues getting a reservation, we name drop.  He then gave me the names to drop.  LOL, LOL  Let's just say that our reservation at 9pm on the first floor got changed to 7:30 on the top floor.  Ohhh how I love name dropping!!!

Sunday, we worked hard.  We worked hard at not working at all.  Picture human sloths in jammies. We lounged, laughed, ate, drank, occasionally napped, watched movies, played cards, and piled up on an incredible pit couch.  We opted out of getting dressed to go to dinner, and instead did the only logically thing.  That's right, we picked up the phone and ordered some of the most delectable, delightful pizzas. On any other occasion, they might have tasted like cardboard, but at that point in time, we would have eaten just about anything if it meant we were able to continue to just exist together in total relaxation. After all, the only thing we had planned for Sunday didn't started until 8pm. That being said, we pushed the limits of women everywhere and never left the confines of our jammies or sweats until about 7pm, when we finally motivated each other to start getting ready.

We were sad that our 5th Bama Babe was having to depart early for Decatur at the very same time we were departing for our evening's adventure.  However, we understood.  She is a good daughter, you know, the "Auburn One". (Sorry, couldn't miss an opportunity to slip in an inside joke.) Her precious momma was having her hip replaced first thing in the morning.  We hugged the daylights out of Carol, promised to plan a summer quick meet-up, and sent her on her way, physically. Mentally and electronically, she was still with us throughout the remainder of the weekend.

No trip to Nashville would be complete without an evening down on Broadway.  Being smart, experienced women, we knew better.  Therefore, we arranged for a car and driver for the night.  No need of a DD for us! We had Gary, from West Haven Carriage. (Yes, this is a blatant plug, but who cares? When you find someone who still offers top of the line customer service, you want to promote them!) Gary owns the company. And was absolutely FABULOUS!!! Broadway itself was a bit quiet, but the bars weren't. We listened to great music, drank very COLD beer, took pictures - that will never see the light of day outside of our very tight group, and once again laughed ourselves silly...... Nothing better then ending the night in your jammies eating cheesecake at 1:30 in the morning.

We didn't feel guilty for our late night / early morning cheesecake fest because Monday greeted us with the delightful anticipation of massages.  Due to the nondisclosure agreement we all signed in blood prior to the trip, this is all I can tell you about our weekend getaway.  Oh... and I won the "Best Post Massage Face".

You know that saying, "What Happens in Vegas....."  well, the truth of the matter is that phrase was initially, "What happens in Nashville - on a girls trip - stays in Nashville"..... and on the memory cards that will forever be sealed in a mayonnaise jar and buried in the back forty under a tree facing north.

Until our next trip.  I hear the Dominican calling!  

Me, Neater, Licia, Kit-Kat
aka "Bama Babes"
at the villa

Friendships

Have you ever thought about all the friends who have come and gone throughout your life.  If you are anywhere close to 50 in age, you should be able to relate to this post.  If you are in the 20-something to 30-something range, you might get some of it, but you'll also find yourself saying, "what?!?!".  If you are in the 70+ range, well, sorry you're pretty much on your own.  I wasn't around back then in the "olden days".  Remember, I've said before, the "olden days" were back with my parents.  You know, back when there was one or two televisions on a block, you turned a knob and got maybe three channels (if you were lucky), and the picture only came in black and white.  (For the 20-30 crowd, the definition of a "knob":  a rounded button for adjusting or controlling a machine. synonyms: dial, button "the knobs on the television".)

Back to friends.  They come into and out of our lives, from preschool to death.  Sometimes, when we're very lucky, the very special ones come into our life and NEVER leave. Have you ever thought of the categories of friendship?

• First Friends - These were the little kids you hung out with who lived on your block.  They didn't necessarily fit the other categories, ie Church or School.  These were the kids that walked in and out your back door without ever knocking.  They opened the fridge for a glass of milk or opened the cookie cupboard when they were hungry.  When it was time to go home, they were called.  Not on the phone.  But the old fashioned way, their mom standing in the doorway of their house hollering their name.

• Neighborhood Friends - These were usually a combination of First Friends and School Friends. Their proximity encompassed a larger square footage than just a single block. You would either walk or ride a bike over to their house.  You probably knocked before walking in, but you still felt comfortable enough to open the fridge or help yourself to cookies.  There was usually an overlap of parental friendship too.  Your parents were friends with their parents.

• Church Friends - Yep, pretty self explanatory.  You saw them on Sundays and for most southerners on Wednesday's too. 

• Early School Friends - They were the ones you saw Monday through Friday, nine months of the year, for the first nine years you went to school.  (Kindergarten through middle school - or in my case junior high.) You knew them through all those awkward years, when everyone was at their not so finest.  There was self cut hair - every class had at least one kid who got ahold of a pair of scissors. The best beautician (they weren't called stylists back then) couldn't cover up the damage done to their bangs. Ironically, it usually happened right before picture day.  They'd forever be captured with bangs that started at the rootline of the forehead and giant chucks missing from all over their head.  You saw these friends when they were eating paste, stuffing crayons up their noses, acting unruly, looking unkept, prepubescent, first period, chunky, chubby, skinny, short, tall, flat chested, knobby kneed, training bras, and pimples.

• High School Friends - These were the friends you bonded with because you chose to. Proximity didn't play into their selection. You had commonality. They "got you" and "you got them ".  These friendships ran deep. My high school identity could have been described as: outspoken, social, nerdy, outgoing, preppy, artsy fartsy, theatrical, jock, honors, remedial, virgin - (thank you John G), speed freak (cars, not prescriptions), pin-up who didn't drink, cuss, or do drugs.  In high school you where either the participant or recipient of bullies, cliques or clubs. Some of my greatest friendships originated in high school and continue to this day.... so many, many, many moons past high school!  Wow, now that I see it written out, with exception of being a non-virginal drinking cusser, my identity remains pretty much intact.

• College Friends - You lived with them, studied with them, socialized with them, drank with them, laughed with them, cried with them, and puked with them. You shared ramen, pizza and really bad cheap wine. They stood up with you, and for you and after you graduated and were ready to settle down, they stood up beside you - when you said "I do".

• Adult Friends -  By the time you are an adult with a kid or four under your belt, or on your gravy train, you've pretty much left your "work friends" at work.  This leaves you to continue your friendships (if you're lucky) from any of the categories listed above and to meet and make new friends based on what's happening in your children's lives.  You know those people, they are:      

1. Parents of your children's friends
2. Parents in the PTA (*These parents join the PTA in disguise. They are there because they are:  a) desperate to get out of the house; b) desperate for adult interaction; c) desperate to avoid cooking and/or housework for an evening; or e) Complete FREAKS of nature who truly enjoy: endless meetings, fundraisers, and dry cookies - Really, wouldn't a nice glass of wine promote a little more creativity at these planning and marketing meetings).
3. Parents of your children’s sports teams and activities. ~ WARNING!!  This category contains multi-dimensional sub-levels that I'm not even going to attempt to quantify.

I consider myself blessed.  Blessed with every single friendship I've ever had.  And blessed for the ones I've yet to make.  In the words made famous by Mr. Rogers................ 

~ Would you be, could you be, my friend ~  

(Elementary/Jr High ) Julie, (High School) Alicia, (College) Anna

I'm truly blessed to STILL have all three of these BEST friends in my life!

The Other Woman

You really can't make up this stuff........

My husband travels for work.  He's been doing this for the past 27 years.  Before the boys were even born.  Daddy being gone Tuesday through Thursday, two weeks out of every month was the norm. He'd call home every night to chat with the boys and check in on our days events before they went to bed.  That was our SOP.

We only had the three oldest boys at this point in time.  Bedtime was usually a leisurely procedure. As leisurely as you can be with three boys, each two years apart. We'd start with bath time, followed by a book or three, and ending with our bedtime prayers.  Let me tell you, our boys could pray, a lot! They prayed for animals, pets, and people.  Lots and lots of people.  The boys were pretty specific about what some people needed prayers for too.  Needless to say, we started our bedtime ritual much earlier than most of our friends.

I confess that on more than one occasion, when John was out of town and I was completely exhausted, I actually turned the clock forward and hour or so.  I really needed bedtime to come earlier as I was ready to fall out.  (For those of you not familiar with that southern phrase, it means to: shut down, fall into a deep slumber while still standing, going down for the count.)  The clock trick worked until Ben learned to tell time.  Damn his preschool teacher - Miss Donna!

It wasn't logical to him that it was still light outside but the clock said it was 7:30.  He said he'd be right back and then went around the house.  I could hear him going from room to room.  He checked all the clocks.  When he came back into the bedroom I knew what he was going to say.  And he did.   Much to my dismay he proudly announced that we had a problem, we had a faulty clock.  The rest of the clocks in the entire house said it was only 6:30.

That was the end of early to bed for mom.....

John called home one evening to say goodnight to the boys.  It was a rather quick chat, as he was running from the time his feet hit the pavement.  The time change put him two hours earlier than us. After John's call, we said prayers.  Right after prayers #1 son burst out crying.  I had no idea why.  It appeared to have come out of the blue.  When I asked him why he was upset, he looked at me with his big blue eyes - which at this point were leaking huge crocodile tears - and said, "Why does daddy love that other woman?"

You could have knocked me over with a feather.  I looked at him perplexed and asked what he was talking about.  He said, "That other woman that dad always sees.  Why does he love her?".  I assured him that daddy didn't love any other woman but me, but he was so adamant about it I remember thinking.....  John, if there's something this child has found out that I don't know, they'll be searching for your body.  I continued to assure Ben that he and the brothers, along with myself, were the loves of daddy's life.  That he went out of town for work only, not to go and see some other woman.

He finally slowed his crying and in between sniffs asked, "Then why does he always go out of town to see that woman, Attle".  "Attle??" I asked.  "Yes" he responded, "Daddy always go to see Attle!"  I couldn't help it, I burst out laughing.  I then spent the next ten minutes explaining that it was the name of a city, not a lady's name.  Daddy was going to Seattle.  I had to show him the name and location on a map. He finally got it when I explained that it was like our city.  We lived in Mission, not Miss Shun.

With that he wiped up his tears, gave me a big hug and kiss and told me he was glad daddy didn't love any other women.  (Me too!)

John still goes to see that other woman from time to time but not nearly as much as he did years ago.

Train

I'm pretty sure you've heard about our Fabulous Baker boys plus our loaner for life.  Train moved from "loaner" to "loaner for life". When he was younger and he'd go out to dinner with us, inevitably the waitress would look at the five boys and say, "Wow, are they all yours?"  "Yes", I'd respond.  "I gave birth to four of them and the 5th is a loaner" At that point she would turn to #1 son and say, "It must be nice to be included to dinner with them".  Ben would laugh and Train would speak up and say, "I'm the loaner".  Yepper, Petie looks more like me than my blonde haired, blue eyed, peaches and cream complected son.

My Train.  Train was birthed by a very, very dear friend of mine.  Sadly, we lost Rosie to cancer on December 3, 2012.  She and I met and became "sisters" back when #1 son and Train were playing 8th grade Pop Warner Football together.  (That would coincidentally be where he received his nickname - from me.  He was the shortest guy on the team.  But that wasn't in any shape or form a deterrent to him.  He would blast through the line like a freaking TRAIN.  You couldn't always see him running amongst the throng of players, but you definitely knew where he was just by watching the sea of guys toppling over!  He played with heart, determination, and respect.  Oh how I love my Train!)

Rosie was an incredibly dear friend and an even more incredible mother.  She and I were polar opposites.  She never wanted to arrive anywhere until after the event started so she could sneak in, and position herself out of the way and watch quietly from the sidelines.  I, on the other hand, would rather arrive early and greet everyone walking in.  I'm always up for a hug and a conversation. Anyone who knew her would fall over if they could have ever heard my petite little Mexican church lady cuss me out and whisper obscenities at me as I drug her into an event.  There we'd be, walking in, me dragging her by the arm - literally - as I waved and greeted everyone in the room. She'd say, "Ohhhhhh, I HATE you!!!".  I'd laugh and say "Yes, I know you do, BUT, you LOVE me MORE!!!"

She allowed me into her family.  She allowed me to love her baby from day one.  There was never any jealousy. She told me that he was lucky to have two momma's who loved him so very much. When she was battling that big, ugly, hateful C, she knew she would never have to worry about Petie. She knew I had him covered.

He is so very close to achieving her dream for him.  In May, our Train will be graduating with his doctoral in Physical Therapy.  It's not been an easy road.  He's pulled himself up by the proverbial bootstraps.  He's worked multiple jobs to put himself through college.  He was an executive board member in his fraternity.  He's loved by everyone.  I don't think there's been a wedding of any of his fraternity brothers that he wasn't in!

He went from being a friend of #1's to a brother to #'s 1, 2, 3, and 4.  I am so very proud of this young man. He plows through whatever life puts in his path, much the very same way he did on the football field, with faith, heart, determination, and respect.

Rosa "Rosie" Ortiz Trujillo 

Alone in the Pediatrician's Office

Today on "Family Fun-Day Sunday" we all reassembled at the homestead for dinner.  This is not unusual for us - as long as there isn't a baseball game or tournament going on. Today we celebrated more than just the normal gathering.  Today we celebrated #1 son's twenty-sixth birthday.

He's known by several names:  #1, Ben, Ben Michael, Bubba,  and last but not least, Genesis.

It's funny how a nickname is generated.  In this case, all the brothers were sitting around at one of our Family Fun-Day Sunday dinners when one of them, I think it was #4, piped up and said, "Hmmm, you might be #1 but as I see it, we are all a little more special because ALL of our namesakes either wrote sections of the bible or were written about in the bible.  Except of course, YOU"!  (The other boys are Joshua, Caleb, & Luke) Without missing a beat #1 said, "No, No.  I'm in the bible. It's just that they renamed my section.  It was originally named Ben, but they changed it.  You know it by its new common name,  Genesis."

And thereby, the nickname Genesis was born.

Tonight was an enjoyable gathering of: one loving hubby; two girlfriends (the other was absent due to a sorority meeting); three dogs - Annie, Bo Jackson Baker, and OhNo Another Baker (I jest you not, those are their names); four birth sons + one; for a total of five sons (one is a life loaner I consider my own).  Each and every one of them I love - always, guilt - when need, and beat - when necessary.

Thanks to Uncle Obama and #1's twenty-sixth birthday, we are running the insurance gauntlet.  Cobra wants a measly $456 a month just for straight medical - no dental or vision included.  Okay, I'm not going to turn this into a political stand.... this time.....  But it brings me to the topic of today's blog...

Tonight at dinner, we were discussing #1 son's need to pick up individual medical insurance.  He asked if it was okay for him to schedule another physical therapy appointment utilizing our insurance before the end of the month? We said "yes, that it was probably a good idea".  And if he needed anything from his primary physician - he'll need a sports physical before reporting to spring training, he should probably go ahead and schedule it before asap.

Ben, along with all the other Baker boys continue to see their favorite doctor.  They have a comfort level that surpasses the patient / doctor relationship.  Over the past seventeen years, my sons have formed a friendship with their doctor.  (I don't know of any others that take in baseball games together.) I don't foresee Baker boys EVER leaving Paul Lively's care.  That wouldn't be too unusual except..... he is a PEDIATRICIAN.

When Ben was 18 and in for his pre-college immunizations,  (Ben is a complete woosie when it comes to shots.  He and a buddy went together for moral support!  Thanks again Jesse - aka Jessica Ann!! ) he asked Dr. Lively at what age he was going to have to switch to another doctor.  Dr. Lively asked if he found someone he'd like to switch to?  Ben looked at him with total dismay and said a heartfelt "NO, I don't want to find another doctor.  I'm comfortable with you.  Everyone in your office is nice.  You've known me since I was little.  Your shots are okay, as far as shots go!  No!!  I definitely don't want to find another doctor."  Paul laughed and told him he didn't have to switch. He'd be glad to see him as long as he wanted to be his patient.  Paul joked that Ben could one day schedule his well patient checkup when he schedules his children's.  Ben took it to heart.

Eight years later, Ben's in the office to be seen for a sinus infection.  A new nurse comes to the door and calls for Ben Baker.  Ben walks up and she asks where his son is.  Ben laughs and says, "I am the son.  I'm the patient."  She laughs and apologizes.  She had no idea.  The best is yet to come!

Happy Valentine's Day

Happy Valentine's Day Year.....................

May the love you share today, continue throughout the entire year!

I received the most thoughtful, fabulous gift in celebration of Valentine's Day.  I told my hubby three days ago that he purchased for me the most wonderful gift.  He bought me the gift that keeps on giving.  It even has a rechargeable battery, AND it puts itself away when it's finished!  OMGoodess, I know which one of my friends are reading this thinking dirty thoughts!!!  Get your minds out of the gutter......  He purchased a Vroomba while I was at Bed Bath and Beyond.....  For those of you that might not be familiar.  The Vroomba is a robotic vacuum.  That's right.  It vacuums all by itself! The COMPLETE house!!!  (It even comes with the a remote control.)  I've set its timer to come on at midnight six nights a week.  I figured even my vacuum should stop and rest on Sunday.  John said he was glad that I was so very pleased with his gift and hoped that I would continue to enjoy it.

My husband is a wonderful man.  He is a fantastic husband, a devoted father, great provider, incredible lover - of sports. (No, I'm not going to spill THAT personal info.  You have to go on a "Bama Babes GetAway" in order to get any of that juicy info!!!)  But Perfect, he is NOT.  But no man is.  No, let me rephrase that, no MALE is.  Not even from birth.  But that's okay.  They can't help it.  It's not something they can control, it's their birth defect.  Most people know this defect by it's clinical term - Penis.

Yes, you read that correctly.  You can trace back every bad decision, misplaced or lacking emotion, forgetfulness, inability to listen and/or following simple requests or direction, to their birth defect - their penis.  (I have an entire blog planned on this discussion, but I felt it was necessary to educate you immediately to the fact that it is a condition and it cannot be rectified.)

I was in the grocery store the other day.  As I was roaming up and down each aisle, I kept crossing paths with an adorable older couple.  I would guess their ages to be anywhere between 80 and death. The first few times we passed, we would smile and nod.  The third time, I felt the need to stop and tell them how adorable they were.  I told the wife how blessed she was that her husband would want to accompany her to the grocery.  (My husband would rather self amputate then willingly go to the grocery, WITH me.  He would run by the grocery willingly, if I needed, however, he thought it was ridiculous to even contemplate why he would need to go WITH me.  Why in the world!!???  That would be illogical and a waste of what would seperately be productive time.)

The little old lady smiled.  Now that I reflect back, her smile did look a little Xanax induced.  On the fourth time we matched up, her hubby was walking toward her holding up a carton of eggs.  (I'm really using the term walking loosely, picture Tim Conway on the Carol Burnett show.) She was shaking her head back and forth.  "No, No, NO, I TOLD you,  I needed a carton of Egg Beaters!"  "Well, what's the difference" he exclaimed, "These are just eggs that you haven't beaten yet."  "Oh my goodness, go back and get what I asked for PLEASE!!!"  As he turned and shuffled back to towards the egg section, she turned to me and said.  "Honey, you are lucky!  Don't EVER let your husband start coming shopping with you.  They are a pain in the ass!  That used to be the ONLY time I had to be alone after he retired, then slowly I lost that special time.  Don't get me wrong, I love that man, but sweet Jesus.... A little alone time would be nice too!!"  

I nodded, gave her a little hug, and a big smile.  I told her that I could understand.  I also told her to keep in mind, he really couldn't help it.  After all, he did have a penis.  She burst out laughing and said, "Honey you are absolutely right!!  We didn't speak about it when I was younger, but we all knew it to be true".   We each shared another big giggle and another little hug.  As her husband shuffled back holding a carton of egg beaters AND a carton, we both burst out laughing.  I assured her that I would utilize her suggestion.  And true to my word, I haven't asked John to go grocery shopping with me.

I end this now, as I have to run to Sam's Club..... btw, that qualifies as grocery shopping too!!!

My Porn Addiction

They say the first step in controlling ones demons is to acknowledge them. 

So here goes.......

My name is Michelle Baker and I am addicted to PORN.  Food Porn.....

I'm not stating, indicating, or acknowledging that I want to be CURED of this addiction. I'm just stating indicating and acknowledging that I have this addiction.  

I don't see or anticipate any of my family, friends, or loved ones (some of my family and friends are also my loved ones - some but not all) lining up to stage an intervention on my behalf. I've come to the conclusion that my family and friends are definitely food porn addiction enablers. That's right, they actually have been known to give me money and materials to fuel my addiction - as long as they reap the fruits. They'll slip me a recipe, suggest a creation for me to tackle, or secretly drop off a bottle of "special sauce" at my doorstep, under cover of darkness. They have no boundaries. 

Because of my addiction, they think nothing of asking very personal questions.  Sometimes it's in a hushed whisper, other times they just burst out loud - in front of God and everyone..... " What's in your oven today?" "Was that your car I saw parked in the back of Pryde's?"  For those of you not in the Kansas City area, check it out:  http://www.kcrestaurantguide.com/restaurants/Kansas-City/MO/64111/Pryde%27s-Old-Westport/727#.VN3sc1XF-GU

      Pryde's Old Westport

A Kansas City Original! Pryde's is Kansas City's internationally known gourmet housewares and kitchen accessory store. A family owned Kansas City original since 1968- Pryde's offers thousands of products, including complete and unique selections of cookware, bakeware, kitchen gadgets, Fiestaware, pot racks and much, much more. They have got it all! Pryde's specializes in hard-to-find items. If what you're looking for isn't on their site, call toll-free number at 1-800-531-5588.  
Sip a cup of coffee or tea while you shop the 10,000 square foot store and let them wrap your gifts compliments of Pryde's!

I find excuses to slip away to Barnes & Noble, sneaking my way up the escalator to the second floor, taking a quick right and heading straight to my favorite section...... The cookbooks!  Don't get me wrong, the internet is a great place to fulfill my aching need for food porn too.  There's just something special about holding that hardcover book with it's shiny pictures of fabulousness. 

I'm pretty much an exhibistionist about it too.  I feel absolutely no shame in grabbing my phone and snapping off pictures of my latest kitchen creation or restaurant venture to post on my FB, Twitter, and Instagram.

I have definitely embraced my addiction.  If you find you too are a member of this club, please step forward and share.....  Share those recipes, share those pictures with pride!  After all, you never know who is a closet food porn addict too.....  

WWLBD

Everyone is familiar with the term WWJD.  Well, I know what Jesus would do.  But there's nothing in the bible to help you out with say: the PTA, your mother-in-law, puking children, recipes, pregnancy, and how not to kill your spouse.  For those areas I turn to WWLBD.  Yep, my mantra, "What would Linda Bollman do".  I've tried to live my life and parent by that credo.  In some instances I succeeded perfectly and in other instances I failed miserably.

For those of you who have been reading, I mentioned Linda B. and said I would tell you about her later.  Well, it's later. Linda is Michigan's version of Erma.  While she isn't an award winning columnist, highly paid speaker, or famous personality with millions of followers, Linda is an eloquent speaker - in the forty-four years I've known her, I've NEVER heard her speak in a raised voice. I'm sure my neighbors, on the entire cul-de-sac, have heard me "speaking" - in the wintertime, with all the doors and windows closed, in a thunderstorm, and the radio playing LOUDLY.

Linda has the greatest sense of humor.  She also gives the best advice.  I'm sure Linda has a following, however, I'm not sure of the number.  I know I've been blessed to have been following her since I was seven years old.

Linda is the mother of six wonderful children.  I can hear them in the background of my imagination arguing over whom is truly wonderful and who's only so-so. Each and every one of her children turned out to be smart, loving, accomplished, talented, happy adults.

She's also a grandmother to..... hmmm..... I think the number is up to seven - OH MY,  Jiffy-Doodle I'm so very sorry, make that EIGHT!  (I think....but don't hold me to that number.) Linda is married to a loving hubby - he has to be loving, after all they did have those six children. Eddie has his own fabulous sense of humor and makes the best cricket sounds known to mankind. He would be the male equivalent of Erma.  Needless to say, they make quite a pair. They are like a set of beautifully carved bookends.  They work together perfectly, holding everything together so nothing falls apart or topples.  I love seeing them together.  Their eyes still sparkle when they are together.

Linda started out in my life as a dear friend of my mother's, but ended up as my friend, my second son's Godmother, and one of a handful of very special women in my life.  As I grew up, so did my love and devotion to this incredible woman.  Some of the lessons she's taught me:  1) Towels don't have to be perfectly folded.  As long as they're clean and somewhere close to the bathroom you're good to go. 2) If you need to take a break, do it. The vacuum can be turned on later - in the day or the week. 3) Who needs to go to the carnival or the movies - pop some popcorn and let the kids create their own. 4) Shit happens - don't dwell on it, get over it and move on.  5) You can say no. Sometimes you might need to use both hands to help, but with time and training you can look anyone in the eye and say NO.  I've found this incredibly beneficial at PTA meetings and sport fundraisers.  6) Your husband comes FIRST, always. Linda and Eddie have date night Fridays and their own quiet time when he walked in the door from work.  It was their time to decompress before the family converged. (I never quite accomplished our own private decompression on a daily basis, but I did manage it from time-to-time.) And one of my favorites, it's five o'clock somewhere..... :)

Linda never complained about the twenty something kids that regularly ran in and out of their house. No one ever knocked or rang the doorbell.  She had an open door policy.  Upon reflection, I'm surprised we didn't wear out the back door hinges.  Or maybe we did and I just didn't know it.

Once, I got sick at elementary school.  Linda was my emergency contact should my mom not be available - yep, that was before everyone had a cell phone attached to their ear.  Well,  Linda came and got me and took me home to her house.  She made a bed for me on the couch, put a cool compress on my forehead and a trashcan next to me. She held my head, rubbed my back and fluffed my pillow. It was the most wonderful pukefest of my life!!

She's only but a phone call away when I need her, however, these days I'm more apt to get her answering machine which proudly states, "We can't come to the phone now, we are out spending our children's inheritance".

"WWLBD"

The Fabulous Baker Boys

I am the forever proud, albeit always exhausted, mother of four fabulous sons.  Yes, I can hear the giggles and some outright laughter, they are the original Fabulous Baker Boys.

No, I haven't seen the movie - yet.  However, it is on my list of things to do.  You know that list.  The one for when you have absolutely nothing else to do on any other list.  So far I've never actually been able to check anything off that list, but I'm not worried.  I'm sure if and/or when that day ever surfaces, there will be some type of electronic device (that's probably not even invented yet) available to play that movie for me.  A part of me always worried that the movie would be so horrible - think along the lines of the movie "Kung Pow! Enter the Fist" - that I would ever be able to address my sons or hear them called the fabulous Baker Boys again without cringing.

When you bring that beautiful, soft skinned, sweet smelling, baby home from the hospital, you think you have forever to teach and instill in them everything they will need to know.  (Oh my goodness that smell of a brand new baby is so ethereal!  I've decided God disburses that same incredibly fantastic smell, that no laboratory has ever been able to recreate, on every single baby born, because in a fraction of second that angelic bundle of joy can, and at some point does, turn into a screaming, stinking - literally, projectile puking, diaper blowing, life sucking - oh my goodness will I ever survive this - product of your love. Sorry, about that off-track tangent, but there isn't any mother on the face of this earth that hasn't experienced what I'm talking about.)

Well, maybe you were smart enough to know better, but I personally was living in disillusional happy land! You don't have forever.  Not even close.  You have what seems upon reflection to be more like three and a half weeks.  Be careful, you blink twice and they are out of college and making their own way down life's path.

Wow, and to think all of that was just to say - My son's read my first blog yesterday.  And while they found humor in it (and too long of paragraphs for #4's liking), they weren't really sure how it all tied in to Erma.  Because you see, I found - much to my dismay - another area that I had completely failed as a mother.  Given the time constraints I had to teach them EVERYTHING, I failed to introduce them to Erma Bombeck.  Yes, each and every one of the Baker Boys, said "Good blog mom, but who's Erma".  Seriously?!?!  Seriously?!?!  Are you freaking kidding me!!!

After reading their texts, I called each one of them and shared a condensed version of her life, accomplishments, and why I love this woman so much.  Their response, "Ah, okay.  That makes sense now."

LOL LOL LOL  Needless to say, last night I got online and ordered their Valentine's Day gift.  That's right, each Baker Boy will be receiving a book written by Erma Bombeck.

I think I'll hold off giving any of them..............

"Mother:  The Second Oldest Profession"

One small blog for mankind, one giant leap for me.......

I dedicate this blog to Erma Louise Bombeck

I turned around, obviously more than once, and found that I'm OLD.  I never thought I'd be one of those "old" people who looked back saying, "remember when", "back when I was young",  and the one I find myself doing more and more, "what happened to".  

What happened to common sense?  Yep, it's harder to find these days than a pair of panty hose.  But really who would even want or need to search for panty hose?  We used to be able to laugh at and with those who failed to show good common sense.  Now it's a trait that seems to be absent from birth.  As if it were a gene that someone thought needed to be removed.  Hmmmm, I can hear the conspiracy theorists gears grinding on that one.  It's the government.  They found a way to genetically alter our DNA to remove the common sense gene.  Wow, I think I might have just stumbled upon a great movie plot......

What happened to humor?  Back in the "olden" (I use this term tongue-in-cheek, as everyone knows the olden days was back when our parents were young!)  days, we could laugh at ourselves.  We could laugh with and at others (once again, usually they were the ones that weren't using the common sense factor).  Now it's a crime.  The old adage,  "Sticks and stones can break your bones, but names will never hurt you" has now morphed into, "Stick and stones can break your bones, but names can land you in court with a giant law suit against you".

April 22, 1996 is such a sad date in America history, it's not a national holiday (even though I think it should be), it's not spoken of in the papers, it's not listed in the history books.  It was the date that Erma Louise Fiste Bombeck's living, breathing, physicality left this earth, but her spirit, warmth, and humor will continue to live on.  There are so many things that have changed in the 19 years since she's passed.  I would love to read her witticisms on 1) The Kardashians, 2) Bruce Jenner, 3) Kanye, and 4) the Monica Lewinsky scandal, just to name a dust speck of the OMG's that have occurred since her death.  Where is Erma Bombeck for the masses in 2015?  I keep searching.  You'd think with the ever present internet, the ability to Google ANYTHING, Wikipedia, Bing, and the other bazillion search engines it wouldn't be a hard find, but alas it is.

Erma was for EVERYONE, the masses.  Men, women, teenagers, and tween's.  If you could read, you could love, enjoy, and bond with Erma.  She was my coming of age.  It was the awakening that my mother and I actually shared a commonality, our love and admiration for Erma.  What wisdom and insightfulness she shared with us.  How privileged we were to have had her.  There is hardly a day that goes by that I don't think of her.  Erma to me will forever live high upon a pedestal.  Well, Erma and Linda Bollman.  While I was never able to meet my famous hero in person, I do know and love Linda Bollman.  She is a little Erma personified.  I'll fill you in on Linda later.