Five Against One x 2 - OR - Drowning In Testosterone

Testosterone at the Lake.....

I've always maintained that "God Loved Me More" because he chose to give my hubby stronger and faster Y chromosome swimmers.  While my stand has always been that I would have been in jail early in the parenthood phase of my life had I been "blessed" with a daughter.  I now believe, that while I never ended up in prison, I'm likely to end up in the crazy ward.  But that is a story for another time.

I keep thinking at some point these wonderful testosterone makers "TM's" (including my hubby and all those 5th sons I've got) would one day wake up and realize that I'm outnumbered.  It's a medically and psychology proven fact that men and women process differently, react differently, act differently, respond differently.  Throw in fluctuations in blood sugar on my part and it's an open free-for-all.  At some point I had hoped that these TM's would attempt to see things from my perspective.

That has been pretty much a pipe dream.  Well actually, Genesis, (nickname for #1 son) came the closest to being able to see things from my perspective.  But that was only because he was in a multi-year relationship with a South African princess, who was from an all women family.  She made sure to point out on several occasions what my mindset was and where I was coming from.  He was completely baffled and when he asked me about it, and I concurred, he was totally amazed.  Now that that relationship has ended, I'm pretty much back to square one.

One summer weekend we actually ended up with "baseball free".  I'm still not too sure how it happened, but I find it better to not question certain things in life. I've learned to just enjoy them!  So with this "free weekend", I thought it would be fun to go to the Lake of the Ozarks on a little getaway.  After all 5 out of 6 Baker's enjoy fishing.  One Baker Boy is all about it, as long as something is on his hook, besides bait, in a matter of five minutes and continues to do so for the remainder of the fishing experience.  If not, he's good to go read.

I personally find that with a family our size it is much more comfortable to get a condo or a house as opposed to renting two hotel rooms.  (HomeAway and VRBO are two of my favorites!)  I got online and luck and the cosmos were with me, as I found a perfect house, on the water no less!  This place was huge....  So me being the idiot I am, who thinks "the more the merrier", told everyone that they could each invite a friend.  The night or so before we were ready to leave on this fun filled getaway, everyone told me who their friend was that would be joining us.  Number 1, 2, 3, & 4, and then my hubby pipes in and says, "oh, I invited my brother too".  I was dumbfounded! Really?!  Seriously?!!!  When I said everyone could invite a friend, I really wasn't thinking about YOU.  "I" am your friend!!!  Too late now, the deed had been done.

So yep, there we all were, me and TEN testosterone makers.  The big house was not feeling ALL that big once everyone got there and spread out.  The downside of renting a house or condo is that with the exception of some nice tropical rentals, they do NOT come with cleaning or cooking staff.  Don't jump to any conclusions!  I did NOT have to do all the cooking and cleaning.  As a matter of fact, all the boys (sans the brother-in-law) all pitched in and helped.  I went to the grocery store (the Laurie Market loves to see me coming!) and made our purchases for the long weekend.  (Remember with 10 TM's, there wouldn't be enough room in the vehicles for food and their cloths and sports/fishing equipment.)

They grouped up and all took turns making breakfast.  Then the other group would cleanup.  I whipped up sandwiches or burgers for lunch and then the tag-team approach would work again for dinner.

Sounds rather idyllic, right?  And it was, except for two things:  1) the brother-in-law didn't lift a freaking finger the entire long weekend (To the extent that the boys were talking about it and apologizing for his behavior.); and 2) I spent the entire long weekend with ten crotch grabbing, scratching fools.  And the worst part was they don't even realize when they are doing it.  I know they all spend a lot of time on the baseball field, but come on man!!!

It really got the best of me when I was sitting in a chair on the dock fishing and reading (yes, I multi-task....  it keeps me from getting bored!) one TM walked up to ask me a question and BOOM right at my eye level, he grabs his junk.  When I point out that he really didn't need to hold on to it, as it wasn't going to fall off his body and get lost, he just chuckled (but didn't let go).  A while later a couple of TM's walked up and again, in my general eye level vicinity, BOOM.  Yep there were a lot of hands holding or adjusting junk.  I then let go with a sermon as to WHY I didn't want to see it anymore.....  I then left my chair to go inside and cool down.  I could hear the murmurings as I walked away.  The general gist of the conversations were, "What's wrong with her?".  "Why did she just lose her chit?"

At dinner time when I was seated at the table and the TM who was getting ready to take a seat next to me "adjusted".  I called a meeting to order immediately.  I informed them that they were so complacent and laissez-faire about it, they really needed to make some changes.  (I cringe at the thought of their dates or girlfriends or people out in public having to witness this spectacle of the testical.) I told them that for the remainder of the weekend, every time they grabbed, scratched, or adjusted, I was going to grab my boobs with both hands.

Yepper, pretty silly to think that would embarrass any of them.  Needless to say, by the end of weekend my "girls" had quite a workout.  And the reconditioning was for naught.

In conclusion, if you see any of my birth sons or my fifth sons or ANY man for that matter out in public, grabbing, scratching, or adjusting - do NOT blame their momma.  I'm sure she diligently tried, but we're only human.  Some things are out of our control!!

Davis Tears Syndrome

Davis Tears SUCK, sometimes!  If you come from the Davis side of the family, you have a 95.9% chance that you are going to suffer from the debilitating condition termed Davis Tears Syndrome.  It causes you to cry over a myriad of situations and scenarios.  It doesn't differentiate between anger or happiness.  It will hit you for either or both.  This definitely is NOT a condition that lends itself to fair fight arguments either.  It's hard to make a valid point when you are having to do so through a stream of pouring tears.  And when you're already a sensitive person and you suffer from Davis Tears Syndrome....................

I never really thought much about Davis Tears Syndrome.  I've always had it. You just accept it and go about life.  We used to laugh that I had gotten it from my dad.  He and I used to cry while watching old Shirley Temple movies, or listening to music, or watching a stupid Hallmark commercial, or reminiscing about loved ones who had passed on.   You can imagine what it's like when something REALLY unsettling occurs!  I never thought much about it growing up, it just was.  My Grandfather Davis also suffered from it.  I remember walking out of the last movie we ever saw together, "Savanna Smiles".  My Gram was exclaiming what a nice movie it was and my Grandpa was shaking his head in agreement as his hankie was blotting his red rimmed eyes.  And me, I was just a snot drenched mess.

Now remember, I mentioned earlier that the tears flow for happy, as well as joyful, exuberant, sad, and mad and angry and hurt.  Or a combination thereof. Case in point: My wedding day was one of the most wonderful days of my entire life.  I was marrying the man of my dreams.  I could not have been more thrilled! As my father and I stood alone in the back of the church waiting for our music cue to start our walk, I looked him in his tear filled eyes and that started me going.  And when I say going, I mean going......  From then throughout the ENTIRE ceremony.  I'm talking through all the Who Do's,  I Do's and We Wills. Through the kiss and the Mr and Mrs introduction.

Following the ceremony, our entire wedding party stood in a receiving line on the steps of First Presbyterian Church to greet everyone leaving.  This is also the time that my hubby was getting to meet most everyone in attendance for the very first time. (Remember, I'm STILL blubbering - those Davis Tears are still flowing freely!) It was at this point that a sweet little old lady, she must have been one of my gram's friends, leaned in for a big hug and whispered into my ear, "Honey, are they making you marry this young man?".  Startled and more than a bit in shock I responded, "Oh my goodness no!  Why would you even ask such a question?". Her response, forever branded in my brain, "Well honey, I've never seen a bride cry throughout her entire ceremony.  It got me to thinking that maybe they were forcing you!".  I then quickly told her that I suffered from Davis Tears Syndrome and I cry when I'm incredibly happy too.

It wasn't until I connected with my cousin Melissa (thank you Facebook!) that I found out that Davis Tears Syndrome runs rampant in our family.  And that the Ben Davis portion of our family was not the only members to actually call it Davis Tears!  It permeates our entire trunk and all the little branches of our entire family tree. While I've never actually seen a Coat-of-Arms for our family, I'm thinking the design would have to incorporate the outline of the great state of NC, the mountains of the aforementioned state, a symbol for family and most DEFINITELY giant teardrops.

So if you suffer from this condition, welcome to the family!  Somehow, somewhere we must be related.  And don't worry, Davis Tears Syndrome is not fatal.  Just remember, you need to keep yourself hydrated,  you'll never know when the next bout will seize you.  :)

Hot Babe in a Bikini......

Out of the mouths of babes.....  Well, once they were babes.  Sweet, cute, adorable, precious little ones who loved and idolized their momma.  Now they are grown (sometimes stinky, sometimes hairy) men, whose brains forget to filter thoughts before it exits their mouths.  They can put their proverbial foot in their mouth as effortlessly and quickly as I can put a Hershey Bar with Almonds in mine.

Case in point, I'm on a new Lifestyle Change Journey ~ courtesy of my new endocrinologist.  It's not just a dietary change.  (Which is pretty significant since I have had to give up: dairy - ALL dairy - except for a little cheddar cheese now and then, flour, corn, soy, - almost the entire starch family - soda pop, no carb/low carb)  I am changing how, when, and what I eat.  As well as how, when, and what I do to exercise - daily.  I'm now taking yoga and cardio classes and am trying to find a local tai chi class.  (If you know of one north of the river in KC, let me know.)  Now back to the point.......

Because of this new Lifestyle Change I am utilizing all my resources to help keep me in line and able to achieve this endeavor.  I post LIVE FB feeds. Because I have been asked to.  That's right, my path has inspired others to make modifications in their lives as well.  I have a handful of "friemily" (friends who are so close that they are your chosen family) that I have on speed-dial.  When I'm standing on a carb ledge and ready to jump, they calmly talk me down.

Positive reinforcement for me comes from verbal feedback from friends, the way my clothes fit, what the scale shows, and photographs.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not jumping for joy with current photographs (that will come in time).  I'm talking about photographs pre-my loving sons.  You know before they absolutely destroyed my body (with my permission).  And here is where paragraph one ties into this long winded conversation.  I pulled out a photograph that I really liked from years gone by and put it on the refrigerator.  I'm putting a pic of my fridge below so you can tell that this photograph wasn't the only one front and center. My fridge looks rather chaotic but it's covered in LOVE.  I know where this special pic is and it positively reinforces my food selection before I open the door.

Needless to say, one of my sons (I shan't say which one as he is still recovering from the trauma) sees the new pic on the fridge and says, "Wow, who's the hottie in the bikini?".  I think he's kidding, so I respond with "Really".  He says, "Seriously who's the gorgeous girl?".  "ME!!  It's ME son!!!"  And that's when his mental trauma begins.  "Oh my gosh, the girl, the girl I thought was sexy was my mom.  ARGHHHHHhhhhhhh".  Remember paragraph one?  "... brains forget to filter thoughts before it exits their mouth".  Who the heck did he think I had put on the fridge?!?!  Needless to say, the picture immediately came off.

For now I'll stick to positive reinforcement from my friends.  But this is fair warning to ALL my SONS.....  One day there will be a NEW CURRENT photo of me on the refrigerator, in a bikini!!!  BE PREPARED

Inga Schvinga

Once again, reality busting chops is far funnier than fiction.  The year is 1998. The Baker family has made the move north of the river to a bigger house.  The actual distance from our first house to our second house is 16.1 miles.  In hind sight, I find it rather sad that I keep in contact and visit friends in Decatur, Al (682 miles away) and Allen Park, Mi (747 miles away) more than I do with friends 16.1 miles away.

My hubby had decided to do a bit of landscaping at the new house.  He had already brought one load of decorative landscape bricks in our van and decided another load was necessary.  He sent me on my way to pick-up the second load but not before he admonished me to be exceptionally careful, as the weight load was rather excessive and the springs on the van might be compromised if I drove too fast.

On my way into our new subdivision I had the mispleasure (yep, new word) of pissing off a new neighbor.  I could tell by the way she stayed 3/4" from my back bumper and the eye piercing glare she was shooting my way because my tortoisesq speed was not to her liking.  I really thought she was going to clip me when I turned into our cul-de-sac.

The next morning was Sunday, the hubby was up bright and early working on the front yard.  I had a couple of minutes to kill before our 8 month, 4, 6 & 8 year old sons were up and at it.  So, I decided to go out and visit with the hubbster while he piddled about.  Needless to say, when I made this decision I was still in a man's seersucker bathrobe with my hair piled high up on my head.  I grabbed an old folding lawn chair and promptly plopped down close to the weed pulling man. He took one look at me, laughed, and stated the new neighbors were going to think the Beverly Hillbillies had moved in.  Needless to say, I went inside and cleaned up.

After picking up the kiddos from school on Monday, I noticed the car in front of me entering the neighborhood had the woman in it that I previously detained.  I thought now was a good opportunity to introduce myself and apologise for my original speedless infraction.  (Not to worry about looking like Beverly Hillbillies, I was in a linen short set.)  She pulled in her driveway, opened the garage door but did not pull in, nor did she get out.  I exited by van but was leary about walking up on her.  After all, I didn't want to scare the bejesus out of her.

After a few minutes wait, I was finally able to catch her eye.  She gave me a big smile and got out of her car.  She greeted me with a very thick Scandinavian accent, thus the nickname "Inga Schvinga" came to life.  "Oh, I'm so glad you made it.", she stated.  I shook my head a bit and indicted I was her new neighbor and introduced myself.  She requested that I follow her to the back yard, when I asked why, she said that is where the area was that needed work.  When I questioned what "work" was needed, she laughed and said the "the gardening of course".  And that point I stopped and said there was miss in communications.  I reiterated that I was her NEW Neighbor......  And wanted to introduce myself and apologise for going so slowly through the neighborhood two days before.

At this point she turned her cute, perky head to the side and said, "So you're not the mexican gardener?"  "No", I said.  Just your new neighbor.  She asked what number I lived in.  I told her.  She said, "Oh, that's McX's place".  I indicated that it used to be, but that we purchased it, so now it was ours.  She then said, "Oh, so your husband is a doctor".  "No,  McX was a doctor, my husband isn't".  She then questioned how we found about the house if my husband wasn't a doctor.  I informed her that our real estate agent found the house for us.

She then shifted gears and said, "I know where you live now.  I know, I know..... but you must not.  You can't run a business out of your house."  I said that was fine, as I didn't have any business to run out of it.  And she said, "Well a daycare is considered a business". I agreed that a daycare was a business, but since I didn't have one, it wasn't a point of contention for me.  She then told me, "Yes, you do!  I've seen ALL those kids in your back yard".  Completely stunned, I started laughing and said those aren't DAYCARE KIDS, those are OUR kids! She said they can't be all ours.  She said she had seen me in the back with what had to be 5 or 6 kids.  I tried to assure her that 4 were ours and 2 were the next door neighbor's (whose shared gate opens up into our back yard).  She looks at me in complete disbelief and says, "So you don't have a daycare?" and then without skipping a beat says, "Would you be interested in taking care of my granddaughter?  My daughter needs help from time to time and I'm too busy to do it".

Seriously folks!!!  This is the conversation that went down.  When I quit choking on my tongue and my laughter died away,  I thanked her for asking but declined any future babysitting gigs.  I told her I had to get home and feed all my boys a snack and then climbed back into the van to hurry home as fast as I could.   I felt like I had been in a crazy, neverending nightmare.  Much like Alice in Wonderland.

When John got home from work that night, I informed him that it didn't matter how I dressed.  The neighbors didn't think I was the Beverly Hillbillies.  Instead, I was the mexican gardener who ran an illegal daycare.

Years later after most of my friends had heard the story, I was sharing it at the neighborhood pool one evening.  One guy with a very robust laugh couldn't contain himself.  It was at that point he said her name was in fact not Inga but rather XX.  He got a kick out of the story and I didn't feel bad for sharing it as everything I said was the God's honest truth.  It was then a couple of months later that she and I had occasion to be at a ladies neighborhood tea.  At one point she came up to me and introduced herself to me and then said that her husband had shared with her my story.  She lifted her head high and said it had NEVER happened.  I just smiled.

Inga Schvinga and I know the truth of that day and what transpired.  Or maybe, the entire conversation was simply lost in translation.