Things I think:

Things I think:

1. If it is flameless…it is NOT a candle.  It’s a light.

 2.  If you are one of the four out of five women that cannot read a pregnancy test, you should NOT be having children.  You are stupid.

3.  Even if you didn’t take a little blue pill, any erection that lasts longer than 4 hours requires medical attention. Frankly, your wife needs to get examined too!

4.  Future episodes of Degrassi on the Nick TV channel should NOT be advertised during iCarly reruns; especially the ones about lesbianism.

5.  You should NOT check the “Correct Blemishes” box on your child’s school photo ordering sheet.  Kids should not think they need to be photo shopped to sit on their parent’s shelf.  They are perfect.

6.  Teenage kids should not be able to express themselves by wearing any part of a military uniform unless/until he or she has worn it in combat or in service to their nation. 

7.  Stay at home moms deserve the right to represent what they do at career day.  They don’t stay home because they are unable to do anything else.  It’s because they are putting their considerable talents into raising their children.  Trust me—it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

8.  If you are a commissioned officer in the United States military (or a retired officer drawing retirement pay) and you use contemptuous words against the President, you are in violation of Article 88 of the Uniformed Code of Military Justice and are subject to a court martial.  Yes.  If you are retired they can reactivate you and court martial your butt.  That is the case even if you do it with a wink and a smile and a nudge.  Clean up your act.  You fight for democracy, you don’t live by it.    

9.  Skinny people do NOT eat McDonald’s food. 

10.  Going to the McDonald’s drive through, ordering coffee and having the little black box ask you “Where’ve you been?” is NOT a good sign.

11.  If you have 18 children, that’s enough.  Really, 18 of anything is enough.  If you cannot control yourselves please stay in separate rooms.

12.  If someone offers you a reality television show you are odd.  In some way you are odd and there is nothing good going to come of it.

13.  If you do get a reality TV show, when things in your personal life go to crap please, please, please don’t go on the talk show route and talk about the intrusion into your personal life.  Refer back to #12 and probably #2.  You are odd and you are stupid. 

14.  If airlines are going to sell food or alcoholic beverages then they should have adequate change for people who buy the food and beverages they have to sell.  I’ve been flying in airplanes since I was 16 years old and they STILL announce they can’t make change when you buy a drink.  Is this rocket science?

15.  If you are 24 years or under – you don’t have a “life story”.  Don’t write a book.  It makes us 40 somethings mad.  Only people that have lived longer than a horse should be able to write a book about their life story. 

16.  The world changes when both your parents have passed away.  If you are in this situation, you know what I’m talking about.  Home is no longer someone or someplace you go to visit.   There is a  painful hole that you will never fill with anything but sweet memories.  I respect the process and the whole circle of life thing, but I miss my mom and dad.

17.  If for some reason you are not speaking to one of your children, you need to fix it.  You are the parent, you are the grown-up, and you need to fix it.  It may hurt and it may be the last thing you think you need to do or you owe to your child; but someday you will die.  When you do, you want to leave someone grieving your loss.  It means you impacted a life. 

Your tombstone will not say:

“I was right by God”. 

and…

even if it does;

No one will come to read it.

Parenting Tip of the Day:  We struggled with our decision on letting the boys see their Grandmother’s body.  My husband was traumatized by that process when he was young and we all worried that perhaps our boys were too young.  In the end, we asked them for their thoughts.  We were very frank with our children that the body was not their grandmother that she’d left.  In honesty, they did not know her very well.  She was sick for about the past seven years.  They opted to be a part of the service and I’m glad they were there.  They heard me speak about her legacy and they rallied around me in support.  And the oldest, the one that did know her, he cried.  I’m glad he cried.  Some things are worth being sad about.

Lessons

When the boys ask me why I rest my hand on their father’s leg when he’s driving, I think about all the miles my family would travel in the car on summer vacations.  I remember looking to the front and she’d be sitting there with her hand resting on daddy’s leg.  They didn’t speak too much but occasionally they’d look at each other and smile.  When I touch my husband’s leg, or reach over and hold his hand in the car I tell the boys:

My momma taught me that. 

When I come down in the evening in my PJs and the boys come rushing over to sit by me, Sam will raise his head and say:

 “Ohhh….you have on that perfume don’t you?”

 I think about hugging my mom over the years; burying my head into her neck and smelling her perfume.  I remember it warmed me and made me feel safe and loved.  So when the boys snuggle down next to me taking in long breaths of whatever perfumed lotion I’ve slathered on, I think:

My momma taught me that.

When I give a stranger a couple of dollars  I remember watching my mom reach into her pocket book and pull out money at the grocery store.  She’d help the person in front of us if they were a little short.  I’d walk away from the register holding her hand, looking up at that beautiful face, and feeling so proud.   Charity is one of the things she taught me.

When I start to put together a meal, I think about all the meals that she made in our kitchen.  Meals weren’t just something you ate, meals were an event.  Meals were cornbread and pinto beans, collard greens with ham hocks and sausage gravy and biscuits.  Saturday dinner was a steak, always a steak, sometimes in the kitchen or sometimes in the dining room where you “dressed” for dinner and ate by candlelight.  The kitchen table was a place of ritual and family, sometimes heated discussions and always good food.  When people ask me where I learned to cook I tell them:

My momma taught me that.

When I stand on the porch and wave goodbye to family and visitors pulling down the driveway and I take a moment to say a little prayer for their safe journey, I remember all the times I left my home on May Avenue, watching momma wave to me as I pulled away.  I know how important that last wave is and I think:

My momma taught me that. 

Even as mom started her slow journey from us, even when she didn’t always know who I was or where she was, even then she’d hug me and tell me she loved me.  That was her nature. 

I wonder if I would want to live the last years of my life as my momma did.  I can’t help but think about how much comfort and joy she brought us by being there for us to visit, to touch and hug.  We’d sit and share a cup of coffee, maybe watch a cooking show or take trip out to the garden.  Sometimes we were strangers, sometimes we were her daughters but always her gentle nature recognized us as friends. 

She gave so much and continued to ask for so little.  I’d want to do that for my boys as well.  She allowed us to let her go slowly and when it came time to say goodbye, we did.  My sister was there when she left us.  As gently as my momma lived, she died.   

Many years ago, right after my grandmother died, I found my mom in her bedroom writing down her thoughts.

Through her tears she said:

“You can read this when I’m done.”

She wrote pages about the things her momma did that made her world so full of love.  

If you wonder why I thought it important to write these things down now,

through my tears I can only tell you:

My momma taught me that.

                                                            Janice Irene Austin (Barrett)

                                               October 17, 1923 to November 7, 2009

                                             Every good thing I am; is rooted in you!

 

Things that Suck!

A guide to things that suck:

•      Men that cheat on their wives.  They suck.  Hey buddy-have the guts to say something’s wrong and work on your marriage.  I’ve seen brilliant, beautiful, amazing women who’ve had their self respect and their family torn from them because he thinks he has the right to go outside of their marriage.  “She didn’t make me feel special anymore”.  Really? Grow up!  You are pitiful and you don’t deserve the women I’ve seen you tear up. 

 

•     Women that cheat with married men.  They suck.  Remember when you were a kid and you couldn’t take something if it wasn’t yours.  IT’S THE SAME THING.  He’s taken.  He’s not yours.  Leave him alone and find your own man.  If he tells you what is wrong with his wife DON’T LISTEN.  He needs to work on his marriage PERIOD.  It is NOT your job.  There is NOTHING he is telling you that is true.  Honestly.  Even if she is as bad as he says-it is not your right to insert yourself into their marriage.  Have some self respect. 

 

•     Moms that pass judgment when another mom messes up.  They suck.  I left my sweet, sweet son standing with his coach in a dark field (I mean pitch black) with another mom, and had to endure her calling me “ridiculous” for being late.  Hey lady, you suck.  And the coach that didn’t return my sincere note of apology with at least an acknowledgement – he sucks too. I was in a panic when I dropped the oldest at football practice and turned back to pick up my son on the soccer field and realized the sun was setting too fast and I would never make it.   I was nauseous when I got out of the truck and called to Sammy and heard his voice come back “I’m here mommy”.  YES, I SCREWED UP.  I should have, could have, and needed to do a million different things to NOT have that happen.  But I screwed up!  My son has accepted my apology; two nights later I’m still laying awake tormenting myself in that special way that we moms do when we err in our judgment and now I have to face this coach and this mom, still angry and ashamed of myself and somehow understanding and getting their judgment my of actions.  I PRAY I have more compassion the next time a mother does something wrong and take solace in the fact that I will stand there with her child waiting for her and when she shows the slightest angst about being late I will tell her “we’ve all been there and you need to forgive yourself”.

 

•      People who throw their cigarette butts out the window.  They suck.  I hate seeing your mess on the side of the road; seeing your absolute disregard for the planet and for any sense of civility.  Grow up and clean up your act.  I don’t want to see your butt.

 

•      Mean people. They suck.  Every time they talk mean to someone; either a waitress or a store attendant or an elderly gentleman driving in front of them; their children watch them and think THAT is the standard for humanity.

 

•      Bullies.  They suck.  I see my children and other children dealing with the little snips and snarks that come from kids that are brought up thinking it is okay to hurt other kid’s feelings.  Not enough for a sixth grader to ask mom to intervene, but enough to hurt his feelings.  We have a family that is deeply involved in their faith living in our school sector.  Their commitment to their church and faith is terrific, but their son is tormenting another child in the neighborhood at school.  Get a hold of things and make sure that your kids are practicing what you preach. 

   

Some might say people who make statements like this suck.  Then I suck.  I do take a stand on things I think are wrong.  I HATE injustice and I hate feeling like I’m not making life better for someone.  I guess that is what I think life is all about.  Spreading the good and speaking out when you think something sucks.

Parenting Tip of the Day:  Let your children know that there are things that people do that are wrong.  FLAT OUT WRONG.  Not everything can be put into context or should be understood.  Teach them to stand up for things that are right.

Apple Season

I always smile when other moms tell me their children are in the “gifted” program.  Not in a mean way.  We’re all proud of our children and life is all about setting and achieving goals.  I’ve set some goals for my boys too:

Goal #1:  Please stop eating your boogers.  It’s gross.

Goal #2:  Please put the seat up when you pee and down when you’re done.  Up…Down…Up…Down…

Goal #3:  Please don’t choke your brothers.

Goal #4:  When choking your brothers please mind the glassware in the house.  It breaks.

Goal #5:  When I have to leave on business; please have everything that was alive in the house when I leave, alive in the house when I return.  That includes fish, parrots, humans, dogs and my plants and flowers.  I know it calls for upkeep but it is my goal for you.

I was pleased recently when Benjamin, on the way from one football field to another, told his daddy about one of his goals.

Dad to Benjamin, “Did you eat the apple you brought?”

Benjamin to dad, “Yup”.

Dad: “Okay Ben, pass the core up to me and I’ll put it in the garbage bag up here.”

Benjamin:  “I can’t.”

Dad: “You can’t, why not?”

Benjamin: “I ate it”.

Dad: “You ate it?”

Benjamin: “Yup”.

Dad: “You ate the seeds?”.

Benjamin: “Yup.”

Dad:  “You ate the inside pieces?”.

Benjamin: “Yup”.

Dad: “You ate the little brown bottom and the stem?”.

Benjamin: “There wasn’t a stem but if there was I’d have eaten it.”

Dad:  “Why?”

Benjamin: “I try to eat one whole apple every year; been doing it since kindergarten.”

Dad:  “So now you’re good for fourth grade right?”

Benjamin:  “Yup”.

Gifted?  Probably not; but in this mom’s mind it is one step closer to setting a goal and achieving it. 

Maybe next I can get them to put the seat down.

 

Parenting Tip of the Day:  All my boys have different eating habits.  I don’t know why or how it happens.  Some of them eat salads and veggies and some of them cannot stand the idea of anything green.  I work on it slowly and now one of them has started eating tomatoes.  As long as I’m getting them a spread of vitamins, I’ve had to ease up on it a bit.  The dinner table is together time for us; not a time for fussing and tears.  That’s the homework table.

 

There’s a Booger on my Lampshade

There’s a booger on my lampshade;

 a bunch sticking near my bed.

I’ve got quite a good collection

by the pillow near my head.

I don’t want my mom to find them

‘cause she fusses all the time;

about my picking and my digging

“It’s like you worked inside a mine”.

Sometimes I like to flick them;

they go clear across the room,

but I have to do it quickly cause

my mom could walk in soon.

“Don’t do that” she will holler;

first she’ll gag and then she’ll wretch.

Then she’ll rub my nose clean off

with some stupid, pink Kleenex.

I just can’t seem to help it,

there’s some in there I can tell.

 I love to clean them out but,

“No tissues near…oh well.”

There’ll be boogers on my lampshade;

and some tucked beside the couch.

A few flicked on the doggies;

maybe one inside my mouth.

But what’s a kid to do,

it brings me so much joy;

I simply must continue digging

after all, I am a boy!

On baseball

My husband said he wants me to watch more baseball.

I said I want him to stand in a corner and poke his eye with his thumb till it bleeds;

same thing.

He doesn’t understand why I don’t get it and I swear to God I don’t understand WHAT he sees in the game. 

So I asked him.

“It’s the strategy” he tells me.

“Do you know those pitching coaches will watch one hitter from an opposing team for hundreds of hours,

HUNDREDS OF HOURS,

in order to properly coach their pitcher against the hitter.”

“Hmmm” I thought.

Now THERE’S a man who needs a life.

Some facts:

On August 22, 2007 the highest scoring modern game of baseball was played.  In game 1 of a double header the Texas Rangers beat the Baltimore Orioles at Baltimore by a score of 30-3!

The guy that posted that information on a site I visited recently then wrote

“My team may be ranked at the bottom this year, but they are AWESOME!”

That, my friends, is a man with very low aspirations.

He probably still lives with his parents and thinks HALO is real life warfare.

Okay-so a score of 30 is the highest.  Let’s see, each play takes about 20 seconds to complete, and frankly that’s if there’s an error and someone bobbles the ball. 

No, I’m not counting pitching as a “play.”  I know you purists are screaming.

COME ON!

It is ONE GUY MOVING HIS ARM.

To me that’s about as interesting as watching someone sitting on their porch waving at passing cars. 

There is NO sane woman in the world that will sit there and watch ONE GUY for five hours,

sit there and watch him move his arm,

 even if he moves it really, really fast,

 and think something cool is happening.

Let’s remember people.  You’re watching a game where a NO HITTER is one of the best things that can happen.

ABSOUTELY NO ONE MOVES…and people are screaming like they’ve hit the lottery.

Okay-so 20 seconds a play.  Let’s say each one of those 30 runs took 4 plays to make.  Probably an over the top exaggeration since at least one of those guys probably brought in a couple of runs when he actually connected with the ball. 

So that’s 120 plays, at 20 seconds each.  That means that over the course of a four or five hour game, something was actually happening,

I mean someone was moving more than his arm,

for about forty minutes.

FORTY MINUTES out of FIVE HOURS.

The rest of the time you’re basically eating hot dogs, drinking beer and yelling for some guy to throw you peanuts.

You’ve got to wonder about a sporting event where, as folklore has it,

the largest President ever in the history of the United States, William Taft, supposedly couldn’t stand it any longer and had to get up to stretch to wake up and everyone else said:

“hey THAT’s a good idea.”  so they stood up and stretched to wake up;

that moment speaks for itself.

Somebody must have recognized its value because they built it into the game.

I’ve said it before.

Watching baseball is like watching farming. 

Still, I have four boys so I understand that baseball is a part of my life.  We spend hours on the fields, hours practicing and hours talking about what went right and what went wrong.

The good news is after the game, I get to do the laundry. 

Now THAT’s exciting.

Parenting Tip of the Day:

Get your kids into sports.  It will teach them teamwork, leadership and how to deal with winning and losing.  If they join a team though, don’t let them quit.  It’s hard because honestly sometimes they will whine till the cows come home that they don’t’ want to get dressed or get ready.  But that’s all a part of it and they will learn that when they make a commitment, they have to live up to it.

“What’s Wrong With Mom?”

Sunday Afternoon (The scene):

      Four boys sitting on one couch looking down and playing their new DS games they purchased earlier in the day.

     Husband of four boys sitting in “his chair” (why do men have “a chair” anyway); looking down at his laptop.

     Mom walks in, sits down and literally as her butt touches the cushion:

——————————————————————————————–

Brother #1 (not looking up):

    “What’s for dinner mom?”

Mom:

     “Flank steak and roasted red potatoes.”

Brother #2 to Brother #1 (not looking up):

     “What did she say?”

Brother #1 to Brother #2:

     “Meat and potatoes.”

Brother #4 to Mom.

     “What kind of potatoes?”

Mom:

     “Roasted red potatoes.”

Brother #4 to Mom:

    “Do I like those?”

Mom:

    “Yes.”

Brother #2 to Brother #4:

    “What’d she say.”

Brother #4 to Brother #2:

    “Potatoes I like.”

Brother #2 to Mom:

    “Do I like those kind too Mom?”

Mom to Brother #2:

     “Yes, you like those kind.”

Brother #1 to Mom:

     “They’re not the kind I like are they mom?”

Mom to Brother #1:

     “I’m not sure you do like those kind Jake.”

Brother #1:

     “Oh Man.” (In that long drawn out “maaaaaaaaaaan” sort of way.)

Brother #3 to Brother #1 (without looking up)

    “What’s wrong?”

Brother #1 to Brother #3:

     “Mom’s making the kind of potatoes I don’t like for dinner.”

Brother #3 to Mom:

    “Do I like them mom.”

Mom (a little louder):

    “I DON’T KNOW IF YOU LIKE THEM BEN.  But those are the kind I’m making.”

Brother #4 to Mom:

    “Can’t you make French fries?”

Mom to Brother #4:

     “Yes, I COULD make French Fries, BUT I’m making roasted red potatoes!”

Brother #1 to Brother #4:

     “Huh?”

Brother #4 to Brother #1:

     “She won’t make us French Fries.”

Brother #1:

     “Oh man!”

Brother #2 to Mom (not looking up):

    “Can we have peaches?”

Mom to Brother #2:

    “Yes, if there are peaches you can have peaches.”

Brother #4 to Mom:

   “But I don’t like peaches.”

Mom to Brother #4:

    “Then you don’t have to HAVE peaches.”

Brother #3 to Mom:

    “Can’t we have mandarin oranges.”

Mom to Brother #3:

     “I DON’T CARE if you have mandarin oranges instead of peaches; it’s up to you.”

Brother #1 to Mom:

    “How about salad.  Are we having salad?”

—————————————————————————-

Husband to Mom:

    “Where you going?”

Mom to husband:

    “I’m going to watch TV in my room.”

Husband to Mom:

    “What’s for dinner?”

Mom to husband (Who is STILL looking down):

     “You’re kidding me, right?”

Brother #3 to Dad:

    “What’s wrong with Mom?”

Dad to Brother #3:

     “She’s a little edgy today.”

Brother #1 (without looking up):

     “What’d he say?”

Parenting Tip of the Day:

When they were little I started serving the boys spinach with ranch dressing.  It was “dark green lettuce” I told them.  Now they are very happy to “eat their spinach”.  (All except #4 who won’t eat ANYTHING other than meat and potatoes.)

The Life Cycle

“I killed it.”

 Well I guess I should say,

“We killed it.”

Not sure what the cause of death is officially, but it was a long time coming and the smell, once death was pronounced, the smell was awful. 

We had 22 good years together so I can’t complain.  How many things in your life do exactly what they’re supposed to do for 22 years? 

Oh sure, there were times it was overwhelming.  All the bending and lifting; crossing the line between dirty and clean over and over again. 

Nothing in my life has brought me such grief and such joy as that which I am now laying to rest.

Goodbye washer.

Goodbye dryer.

You’ve served our family well.  I don’t think it was the first 10 years that were too tough on you.  After all it was just the two of us. 

It was these past 12, all the itty bitty socks and t-shirts that became hundreds of pairs of sweat socks you repeatedly cycled around and around.  All the baby clothes laden with food spills and unspeakable matter, the description of which is too foul to print, spewed across the front and back.  All the candies you were forced to reduce to silver slivers of paper, slivers that became trapped in your vent; and of course the occasional red marker and game boy game that you sadly rotated to oblivion knowing they would never function correctly again.

The pain of watching your kids pull those small rubber bands that go on their braces from your inner workings; listening to them as they howled after realizing their favorite Pokémon card or DS game was destroyed in your rinse cycle. I’m sure it took its toll. 

We did share some times didn’t we?  Remember those hours upon hours of me folding clothes; me talking to you about how recently we’d just washed a pair of those exact same looking jeans.  My screaming exclamations of:

“THESE AREN’T EVEN DIRTY.”

or

“OH MY GOD; WHOSE ARE THESE?  THEY’RE DISGUSTING!”

As I stormed from the laundry room calling one boy or another, preaching what is now a well known sermon that we wear pants 2 or 3 times and underwear only once!

All the times, in the middle of the night, I came rushing in with sheets covered in whatever midnight body functions had shown themselves in one of the boys rooms.  Starting your soak cycle, filled with Clorox or any other germ killing detergent I had at the time. 

We can never get those times back can we?

You never complained. 

I bought your replacements yesterday.  They’ll be here next week, and the men in white jackets will take what is left of you to the recycle bin.

I asked Steve if we could keep you.  Maybe put you out in the yard and give the boys some screwdrivers and let them have at it.  It would have been hours of fun for them,

 and I sure would love to know where that yellow sweater went.

But I was overruled.  I think my husband worried that I’d want to start stacking up our used tires in the yard, and maybe get a chicken or two.

I don’t have much faith the two shiney, white, brand new replacements coming from Maytag will live up to your reputation.  How could they?  They’re so young and naïve.  With all their fancy cycles and steam clean options.  I won’t be able to share the same stories and midnight visits with them I did with you.  After all, the boys are older now and I really don’t have the emotional energy to invest in another relationship like the one we shared.

In retrospect, I probably hung on too long.

Even after you wouldn’t stop cycling when your lid was lifted,

I kept you. 

Even after your cycles wouldn’t stop without manually turning your dials to “off”,

I kept you.

Even after your tub would slam so violently from side to side during the spin cycle that I could watch you dance out into the hallway,

I kept you.

After all, you still cleaned the clothes, and well; frankly,

I’m pretty cheap.

But once I heard you screaming; screaming so loudly I couldn’t run you through your drills and not wake the boys; when the smell of rubber was so pungent it burned my nostrils. 

I knew it was time for us to part. 

Enjoy retirement dear friend.  You have served our family well and you will be missed.  I just hope your replacements are ready to be put through the wringer.

Parenting Tip of the Day:

If you have many children, that means many, many socks.  To keep them straight mark their socks with a laundry pen when you get home from buying them so you can match them to each other and to the child who owns them.  I used the “dot” system; one dot for the first born, two for the second and so on.  That did two things.  I was able to couple socks when they came out of the laundry and send them off to their rightful owners; and I could also immediately pinpoint which son thought it was okay to leave their dirty, smelly socks on the dinner table.

Kid Speak

For posterity: odd words and phrases: and definitions of those words/phrases, used routinely in the Flett household.

1. Goopies. (Pronounced: goo peas), n.

 Those things you clean out from the inside and outside corners of your eyes in the morning or after being out at the baseball fields.

Common Usage

“Okay boys; clean your goopies.”

2. No Poke Zone. (Pronounced: no po oh ke z oh n eh) n.

That effect created by crossing your arms over your chest; flattening out your hands and holding them in Cleopatra fashion over the portion of your shoulder just above your armpit.

3. Worst Poke Ever (pronounced: wurst po oh ke eh ver) n.

The execution of a successful poke in the area described above when said area is not protected by the successful execution of the “no poke zone”.

Common Usage

Pokee after being poked:

“Oh no, that was the “worst poke ever”.

4. Coner (pronounced: ko ner) n.

 The act of shaping your hand in an “O” shape and successfully placing that “O” on the target’s chin.

5. No Cone Zone (pronounced: no kone z oh n eh) n.

Target of incoming coner is successful at shaping their thumb and pointer in an “L” shape (think the “loser sign”) and placing that “L” directly in front of the chin, with the thumb running under the chin, to stop any incoming coner assaults.

6. No Cone, No Poke Zone: (common pronunciation) v. n.

The simultaneous execution of a no cone zone and a no poke zone. Think Cleopatra with her arms folded over her chest and her head turned with her chin and resting in the “L” shape of her left hand which is in turn resting on her chest just above the armpit.

7. Best Bite in the Universe. (Common pronunciation) n.

The bite of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that is formed at the “neck” of two slices of bread where the crust doubles around on itself near the top. This is especially significant if the sandwich is made with white bread (which mommy hardly ever buys).

Common Usage

Boy about to take a bite yells to his brothers:

“Best bite in the universe.”

 To wit all of the boys say:

“Lucky”.

8. The Brothers: (common pronunciation) plural noun.

Term used by any one brother in search of any one or more brothers in the family.

Common Usage

“Mom. Where’s the brothers?”

9. Fix it: (figs iht) n.

An obsessive need to rectify something you know isn’t right.

Common examples include but are not limited to:

• Needing to crack all of your knuckles after one accidentally cracks

 

•  The compelling act of cleaning out aforementioned goopies when they are brought up.

 

• Not being able to sleep unless the bottoms of the sheets are tucked in. 

 

• Needing to feel pressure at the ends of your fingers. 

 

•  Repeatedly restarting your prayers with mom till you both say your parts perfectly.

 10.  “Roughed Up” (pronunciation: ruffed up) adj.

Something that is not right and should be corrected as in “messed up.”

Common Usage

“That’s roughed up!”

This is really a Flett Family experiment.  We want to see if this new term will catch on in America and spread around the United States.  Kind of how “turkey” or “phat” must have gotten started.  Keep an ear out.

11. Fluffer Nutter: (common pronunciation) v.

The act performed with the brothers after they are tucked in, where mother (it must be the mother) lifts the cover or covers and fluffs them down on the occupant of the bed. It is best if the occupant is compelled to “pose” their legs while the blanket is in the air.

 

Well I feel tons better now that I’ve gotten those written down for the official record. I’d been so worried that I’d forget some of the fun things we do that I was having “fix its”.

Parenting Tip of the Day:

Lighten up and be goofy with your kids. The boys recently had their spring photos taken at school. I told them they could do funny faces in the photo. So there they were, dressed up and making goofy faces to the photographer for their “official” spring photo. A mom came out of the room where the photos were being taken laughing and saw me waiting with the next class to go in.

“Did you tell them they could do that?” she asked me.

 I smiled and nodded.

“You know” she said, “I had my son in tears this morning because we couldn’t get his hair just right. I really need to lighten up.”

“Well,”  I thought to myself

“light sure is easier to carry.”

Thanks Daddy!

I recently finished reading “The Glass Castle” by Jeanette Walls. It is a wonderful memoire by a woman who lived a very challenging childhood and came through the rigors of having an incredibly dysfunctional set of parents. Despite having a mother and father who were, at least by today’s standards, very neglectful of their children’s basic needs, Ms. Walls loved and loves them very much. Her stories are, at times, painful to read, but she shares them with a nonchalance that emphasizes how forgiving children can be. I was particularly touched by the fact that her last and longest “home”, really a broken down shack on the edge of the town of Walsh, West Virginia; is spitting distance from where my family is from.

 

Well, not me, but my mother and father were both born and raised in Bluefield, West Virginia. That part of the country is incredibly poor and “The Glass Castle” brought back my memories of visiting my grandparents, and aunts and uncles that lived there. Bluefield, like Walsh, is a coal mining town. Both of my grandfathers worked in the mines and eventually contracted black lung. Every one of my father’s siblings, except one I believe, died from some form of cancer or accidental death (of course Aunt Sadie and Aunt Jean are still alive God bless them-but even Sadie is a cancer survivor).

 

We lived in Jersey from the time I was born; so for two weeks every summer we’d visit the Austins and the Barretts in Bluefield.  I remember going to town and how run down everything seemed. The roads were either not paved or were cracking, and all of the homes ran on coal. My Maw Maw Barrett (isn’t It weird that we called our grandparents by their last names) had a huge garage type space that was filled with shiney, black, lumps of coal for the winter. I couldn’t walk anywhere barefoot that my feet didn’t turn black.

 

The trips were always fun for us and I remember some of my cousins, whom I thought all talked funny, would run around in tattered dresses, barefoot, hair knotted and flying in the wind. Mom would always make us dress nicely when we visited our aunts and uncles; particularly Aunt Patsy.

 

As I reflect back on things, mom would always save Aunt Patsy’s visit for the end of the trip. She’d dress up in a  dressy outfit, a bag that matched her shoes and bright red lipstick to finish it off. My younger sister Lisa and daddy and I would all pile into the car and head into the city. Patsy’s house was at the top of a hill that was on one of the city streets. You had to climb probably 30 concrete steps with no railing, to get to the porch and when you got there one or more little kid, my cousins, would come running out to greet us; looking like they hadn’t showered in weeks.

 

Most times daddy wouldn’t go up there and I realize now that mom dreaded it but it was something she felt she had to do. She was the oldest after all, and had responsibilities to her siblings. I remember how bad the house smelled. It was dark and musty; hardly any furniture and nothing in the way of drinks to offer or share. Patsy was married to Jimmy and Jimmy was as skinny as Aunt Patsy was fat. I think he got a disability check and that was the only way they really had anything.

 

We’d stay with Aunt Patsy for a while.  She was really too big to even get up and move around the house while we were there.  After a bit mom would say it was time to leave. She’d always reach into Aunt Patsy’s pocket with some amount of money to leave as a gift.  Patsy would protest slightly and then just smile her black toothy grin. When we’d get back to where dad was waiting with the car, mom would put her arm up on the window and rub her head.

 

“Poor Patsy” mom would say.

 

And then the rest of our visit she’d break into tears now and again.

 

That’s how things were in Bluefield. I think dad knew he had to get his family out of there but daddy only had a 6th grade education. In fact of my father’s siblings, only two out of nine ever graduated high school. It just wasn’t that important when there was money to be made in the mines. So daddy started driving a truck for a company called Smith Transfer. Eventually Mr. Smith made him a manager and finally moved daddy up to New Jersey to run his northern terminal. Daddy was the night manager so he’d go into work at 4:45 at night and come home around 3 a.m.

 

To make ends meet he would get up at 5:30 a.m. and drive a school bus.  During the day he’d work odd jobs doing carpentry or paving driveways.  He’d work till his afternoon bus run and then come home and sleep for about 30 minutes after dinner.  By 4:45 it was time for him to start all over again. That was his routine. He did what he had to do to keep his family out of that cycle of poverty.

 

I remember how proud he was when I started college, although I wasn’t really aware of what it meant to him. Daddy didn’t get to see me graduate college. He died of massive heart failure when I was in my second semester of my senior year. He was 56 years old; way to young to leave us.

 

Daddy got us out of Bluefield, but it literally cost him his life.

 

Parenting Tip of the Day: Share your stories, start a blog or write your kids letters. My boys never met my dad; but they know about him and what he did for me and my family. I always tell them, the harder they work, the luckier they’ll get.