Happy Mother's Day

      When my daughter was born, it was December, but unseasonably warm. She arrived, but in a series of false starts. Labor began, everyone was called to the house---except for the doctor---and then labor stopped. My mom, my mother-in-law and my friend Bobbie (a woman I adopted as a grandmother) went home. No baby that night...

      And so I walked the neighborhood. It was so warm, I just wore a long-sleeved sweater, and was quite comfortable. (The 25-pound "oven" attached to the front of me probably helped a bit...)

      The next evening, we waited until we were sure the pains were not going to disappear, and made the call. When the doctor arrived, the evening turned into a concerto of stringed instruments. Everyone moved around calmly, orchestrated by Dr. Duhart, and when the baby was born, we were thrilled. A girl!  It was the happiest moment of my life...

photo by Tara Haire

      Almost nine years later, I was again about to give birth. I was teaching at  a vocational school, and when labor began that afternoon, I told my director, "I won't be here on Monday," and when I told him why, he got hysterical; he wanted me to leave right away--more for his sake than mine, I'm sure. My students had weeks ago given me a shower---they collected money and bought me what every pregnant, fashion-disabled white lady needed: a maternity top made out of snakeskin-styled fabric, in olive-green and black. 

     However, I had another hysterical man to contend with at home. My husband (a new model; the old one had been cast aside) was deadset against a home delivery, but since the baby was going to come out of my chute and not his, he didn't even have a vote in the matter. As a compromise, he wanted an ambulance waiting in front of the house, its engine running, just in case. I vetoed that idea as well...

      When I called Michael at work that evening, to tell him labor had started and reminded him to get film for the camera and Sprite for me (for when I got thirsty during delivery)---the only two things we had left to buy---he went into hyperdrive. In fact, he was so anxious, when I looked out the front door, thinking he had gotten home, I saw he was indeed home. He had driven up into our yard and parked just a few feet from the front door, headlights still on! 

     But after our son was born--the second happiest day of my life--my husband could not stop blathering about how wonderful home deliveries were. Dr. Duhart was so impressive, the delivery was so low-key, and we had cake and coffee afterwards with the doctor, just like we did with my daughter.

photo by Kristen Morgan--www.lanierstar.com

       I thought nothing would surpass those two moments---joy-wise---yet when my granddaughter was born, it was a hat-trick. Happiness had come full circle.  My daughter and her partner are far better parents than I ever was. They're more patient, more thoughtful, more creative and and more gentle-spirited than I ever was. I am sure I will be in awe of my son's parenting skills if he becomes a father at some point. (But hopefully that won't be for a while...)

       Reading Linda O'Connell's post about Mother's Day  sent me back in time.  I hope that all women have a great Mother's Day today. Whether you gave birth to children, whether you are raising children borne by others, or whether you are kind of filling in as a parent---as a teacher, a social worker, a minister, a neighbor, a friend, an aunt---we all came from a mother. If she is still here with us, celebrate with her.  If not, celebrate her memory today.

       And after you get teary-eyed over her sentimental post, read Linda's earlier one. It's scary. Cellulite takes over the city!  Yikes!  Run for your life!

And welcome to my two newest followers. I'v been following one of Tricia Grissom's blogs for a while. I just found out she has four blogs!  Wow!  I'm impressed. (I can barely keep my one blog going...The other blog is written by my Golden Retriever.) Tricia--thanks. I hope you at least occasionally see something worthwhile here.

And thanks also to The Old Geezer.  He has---as of a few minutes ago---2634 followers. Good grief!  How does he suck up so many followers to his blog?  Let us in on your secret... 

Book Blurb Friday #10---Yahoo!

         Go to Lisa Ricard Claro's blog.  Drink in the photo. Write a book "blurb" that is 150 words long, or less if you can, post it on your blog, and connect yor blurb to everyone else's via Lisa's friend, Mr. Linky.

       Oh, and don't forget to comment on the other blurbs. That's what makes BBF such fun--reading the path others took after they became inspired by the picture.

       Here is my blurb and the photo, provided by Becky Povich:

The Final Word


Bernice was a talker, hardly pausing to take a breath when she talked; she never shut up, she had a horrible case of diarrhea of the mouth---her talking just never stopped running.

Surrounded by constant noise, her husband was losing his mind. He pleaded, he prayed…but nothing would stop the juggernaut that was Bernice’s mouth.

“Let’s go to Babbler Park on Saturday,” he suggested. It was fitting, since Bernice babbled like a brook, that the end of her talking would happen there, surrounded by the noisy water flowing over the rocks…

Harold shivered, delighted with the idea of finally being cocooned in silence…Read this gripping novel to find out how their day at the park played out.

“A great addition to your DIY shelf!” Prisoner #517983, Folsom State Prison


“What Harold did worked better than duct tape!” Tim “The Tool Man” Taylor

(146 words)

Fiction is Stranger Than Life

       It was a flight to Boston. Not a direct one, but I was going to be able to stay on the plane while they partially unloaded and then reloaded.

       When we got to Chicago and all but 24 of us got off, I got my bag out of the overhead compartment and moved to a seat a few rows from the front.  What luck!  I'll be able to pick out a primo spot. And on Southwest...Unheard of!

photo by vpickering

       As I was putting the bag into the overhead compartment above my new seat, one of the stewards said, "Don't bother stowing your bag."  She had a whiff of a smile on her face.

       "Why?" I asked. She told me she was not allowed to say, and turned her attention to doing something steward-y.

        Oh my gosh!  We are going to be the only ones aboard this plane.  Some kind of screw-up happened, and nobody else is getting on.  Only a couple of dozen people on this big ol' plane.  I don't have to cram my bag into some compartment because we are going to have lots and lots of room to spread out...

       I thought about the special fun we'd have on this special flight. Since it was Southwest, there'd be joking and cavorting, for sure. And I looked up at the ceiling and thought, Disco ball!

photo by createsimona

       I was sure there was a special "attic-type" door in the ceiling of the plane, and down would drop a disco ball.  And then the real festivities would begin...

         But then the steward got on the intercom.  "Ladies and Gentlemen:  We are part of a plane swap. You'll have to exit the plane, but..." She explained we were going to be allowed to board first on our new plane but get off, we must.

           I think I'm going to crawl back into my fantasy and continue the dream...


       

A Miracle!

         After spending an eternity three decades four years at college plus an internship, my son has landed a job.

         The next time I go to Taco Bell, he will be the the one making my burrito...

         Just kidding. He got a job in his field (music therapy) at a state mental health facility about 5 hours away from home. And although soon (within the month) I will have to deal with a completely empty nest, there will have to be some celebrating in the meantime.  

          When he was little, and even into his teenaged years, he could eat a whole batch of macaroni and cheese by himself.  And he had it several times a week. (He would have chowed down on it every day if we had allowed it.)

        After his first interview, I told him that when he became employed, we would go to Sweetie Pie's.  It's a soul food restaurant in St. Louis and has been voted as having the best macaroni and cheese in town.

         Now I can rest a little easier knowing he's not going to California or Minnesota or Vermont. At least not yet...

My Trip to Nigeria

           This weekend I traveled to Nigeria. No, not in real life, but via a novel I started on Thursday and finished yesterday.

              During a trip to Boston, I began a novel by Chris Cleave called Little Bee.  That's one great thing about the long waits at airports...lots of time to read...

          On the flight home, right before our descent, I finished it.  Little Bee was an enjoyable read because you got the story in little bits, as the characters felt comfortable enough or tortured enough to reveal more.

          If you were British (and white), and were on the beach in Nigeria (on vacation) and two Nigerian teenaged girls came running up to you, begging that you help them, would you?  Would you get involved even after you saw the armed soldier-wannabees who were hunting them?  Would you say yes even when you were asked to make a physical sacrifice for these strangers' lives?

          Little Bee explores several interesting issues: what does it take to "make it" in this world...where does one's committment end...how a tortured past can twist and disfigure our present and future...

                                          I would recommend this book. The storyline is engaging,
it's told by two different characters, and gives a marvelous glimpse into another culture's life-and-death struggles.

I'm Baaack!

        Bless me followers 'cause I've been absent. It's been a week since my last posting...

        A week ago Friday---Earth Day---our planet let us know that it was pissed off at Missouri. Perhaps it's the mess with Proposition B (the one concerning puppy mills; Mother Nature is angry that politicians are overturning what the people voted for). Whatever the reason, we had a tornado that tore through various parts of our suburbs and left behind many destroyed homes, but no lost lives...

photo by modps

       My school lost its roof, along with some windows and other damage. It was deemed uninhabitable for the rest of the schoolyear. So on Easter, instead of looking for colorful eggs among the grass, I was looking through my cluttered classroom to find what I needed to teach, because we were moving to one of the middle schools.

      (OMG!  That tornado did not break my windows, but somehow it left stacks of papers and piles of books on every surface!  How did it do that? It's a mystery...)

      Then I had to pack up my "old" room for the summer---without much notice---and prepare for a substitute teacher, because on Thursday evening I would be flying towards Boston. (I went to National Writing Project's Urban Sites conference. If you're a teacher and want to hang around while I get so effusive, my slobber starts spraying all over the place, email me at sroslawski@yahoo.com and I will be glad to tell you all about the group. It's just as exciting as skydiving---which I've done three times---but without the possibility of getting killed.)

      ("Dear Sub---If Sean says he has a nosebleed and wants to go to the nurse, do NOT let him. He has been digging in his nose. Tell him to STOP digging.")

        While I was out of town---temporarily torn away from my umbloggical cord---I missed posting, and I missed reading many posts. I fell in love with scallops--the small bay ones---and read a great book, which I'll talk about later this week.

         But now I'm back...