FabGrandma’s Christmas Memories

As most good Fab Grandma’s do, I have stories that I tell my children and grandchildren, over and over, at certain times of the year, ad nauseum…It is like a tradition to tell them even if no one wants to hear them again. So, with that in mind, here are a few of my Christmas memories, some good, some bad, but memories just the same. I wrote this last year on my FabGrandma blog, but like I said, I tell the same stories over and  over…

The first Christmas I can remember was when I was about 5 years old. I had asked Santa for an electric train for my gift. Wouldn’t you know it—he did leave one at our house, but he mistakenly put “To Preston” (my younger brother) on the tag. How depressing is that? You ask for a train, a vehicle with power to let you escape into all the imaginary far away places a little girl could think of to travel, only to receive a stupid baby doll that hollers “Mama” at you, all the while peeing sweetly into her little panties. Now I suppose that in 1957 no respectable little girl would even ask for, much less actually receive, an electric train. No, we were relegated to practising to become little mothers, staying home spooning gruel into one end and wiping poop from the other, of our darling little babies, whilst our HUSBANDS, the MEN, traveled the work in their trucks, trains, and planes. I wish someone would invent the toddler doll that would wake up during the night with an asthmatic wheeze and rattle in their chest, crying “Mama” in agony while it throws up on the bed and squirts diarrhea out it’s little hiney. They could name it “Reality Check Carla” or something like that. Of course, there may not be much of a market for it, maybe young women whose husbands were pushing them to have a baby could get one for their spouse…Or, it could be part of that child care course taught to high school kids instead of using those stupid eggs. 

Oh, I’m sorry, I was supposed to be telling a story here. Well, that little electric train was really cool. It puffed smoke out of its fake smokestack. We thought that was pretty amazing. And as far as Betsy Wetsy was concerned, my older brother cut her head off to find out how she worked. 

Several years later, when I was 9 and my sister was 18 months old, I asked for a jewelry box. In my little girl brain, I could see the little ballerina dancing around and around to the music from the music box. So, on Christmas Eve, all of us kids went to bed, too excited to sleep. After a while, we could actually hear Santa in the living room. He was playing with our toys, and from the sound of it, he seemed to be talking to Mama and Daddy. Suddenly, I could hear the music box playing—I think Santa must have enjoyed hearing it because he wound it up and let it play about 15 times. So, in the morning when we finally got out of bed and went into the living room, I saw to my horror that the jewelry box Santa brought was a satin covered, velvet lined pink box that was obviously meant for a much older girl. It had no music box, and no ballerina. The music I had been hearing was a wind up Fischer Price clock for my baby sister. I was too stunned to say anything. I tried really hard not to cry. I cannot think of a single other time in my life when I have been more disappointed. 

The jewelry box I received that Christmas stayed in my possession until I was almost 50 years old. My older brother had taken a magic marker at some point and written “DUMB GIRL” inside the lid. I saw that every time I opened that box. Maybe that is why I don’t wear much jewelry. 

So, fast-forward about 30 years. When my oldest daughter was 14, she could hardly wait for me to open her gift to me that year. For weeks before Christmas I had jiggled and wiggled it, shook it and held it, trying to figure out what was inside. It was not the shape or size of anything I had asked for. On that Christmas morning, Rebecca, Emily and Seth insisted that I open that gift first. Because of that, I think maybe I expected it o be a camera. Imagine my surprise, when the wrapping paper came off, to find a little jewelry box, with a ballerina and a music box! I cried like a baby! Those were uncontrollable sobs and a flood of tears. My children sat there, the looks on their faces telling me that they thought they had done something terribly wrong. How could they even begin to understand what that jewelry box meant to me? How could they know they had given me my childhood?  That there was so much more than just a little jewelry box inside that gift? Yeah, a stupid as it sounds, that one moment is THE moment in my life that I cherish most. I still have that little music box, and the little ballerina presides over my most precious jewelry.  All the rest of it goes into an empty baby wipes plastic box. 

A year or so after I received the ballerina music box, my children surprised me again. This time, it was Emily’s gift. That year, my son and I went together on a Saturday morning to take the test for a GED. I had never finished high school and Seth had quit as soon as he turned 16.  So, to get him to go take the test, I volunteered to go with him. We both passed with flying colors, and received our GED certificates in the mail. That year, Emily gave me a high school class ring for Christmas. It has the year I took the GED test, the name of the high school I attended when I was a teenager, my first name, and a tiger on the outside of it.  There is an emerald green stone, because my birthstone is an emerald. My initials are engraved on the inside.   I didn’t cry like I did when I received the jewelry box, but just knowing how proud my children must have been of me was a wonderful feeling.  I keep that ring in my ballerina music box.

Hope you all have a very Merry Christmas

Written by...Babe Karen -- @ Blogging Babe of the Month, Family & Friends, Humorous, Way Back When | Comment (1)

Xomething to Worry About

You know that xong, “Xittin’ On  The Dock Of The Bay” by Otix Redding? It hax been in my head all day long today. And the reaxon for it being there ix xilly—I loxt my “S”. At leaxt I loxt the little plaxtic part marked with an “S” that ix on the keyboard of my laptop. I xtarted thinking about that xong when that happened, becauxe it made me think about all the money I xpent on our truck lately, and I thought “Well, xhit, What next? I hope I don’t have to buy a new computer xoon.” 

When we were travelling a couple of weekx ago from Gettyxburg, PA to Carrollton, GA, we had only gone about 60 milex when our truck broke down. There we were, “Xittin’ On The Xide Of The Road…” in the middle of nowhere, (ok, maybe not in the middle of nowhere, it wax in Leexburg, VA) truck broke down and towing a 34 foot travel trailer with all our worldly poxxexxionx inxide it. At that exact moment in time, I thought to myxelf “How crazy doex one have to be to get themxelvex into a xituation like thix?”  Then I remembered that I have a cellphone.  I called 411 and axked for the phone number of a towing xervice. When I called the towing xervice I told them my truck broke down and I needed a tow to the nearext Ford dealerxhip, but that I wax alxo towing the trailer. He referred me to xomeone who not only came prepared to tow both the truck and the trailer, but actually repaired the truck on the xide of the road and got ux back on our way in lexx than two hourx. We were xaved, but it had itx price–$260 for a new flywheel pulley and a uxed belt. 

All the rext of that day, we watched ax the truck battery indictor xhowed that the battery wax loxing  power. The next morning, we were at the Ford dealerxhip in Charlotte, NC having a new altenator and a new belt inxtalled—another $475. A 760 mile trip that xhould have coxt ux about $350 had already coxt ux more than $800 and we were not even half way there! 

We made it to our dextination without further incident, and have tried to be really frgual xo far, trying to recoup our loxx and hold the line on our budget.  My hubby ix wanting to take the truck in to the Ford dealerxhip again to make xure the uxed pulley the guy put on in Virginia ix going to be okay for towing the trailer to Arizona. He keepx xaying he can hear a “tweet” under the hood. I can uxually hear it when there ix xomething happening that xhouldn’t be, but I juxt don’t hear what he ix talking about. I think he ix juxt afraid of getting xtuck xomewhere that ix really out in the middle of nowhere.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, I worry about that xort of thing, too, but in this caxe, I juxt don’t think it is necexxary. 

I am more worried that I will lose my “X”  next, and then what will I do?

Written by...Babe Karen -- @ Blogging Babe of the Month, General, Humorous | Comment (0)

Look What I Stumbled Upon

Contrary to what mom has always taught you, there are times when it IS OK to use the F word! While they are all so true, I can totally related to the second example.

Ever wonder why Help Desk Tech’s are so grumpy? Well, stop wondering, the answer has been revealed.

Out of the mouths of babes. For Jane’s sake, I sure hope God has a sense of humor.

Written by...Babe Gayla -- @ Humorous | Comment (1)

I wanted to buy American this Christmas

… but the only thing I could find that was really American that could be bought was a bunch of politicians and then I wasn’t so sure about that.

See what I mean?

Written by...Babe Gayla -- @ Humorous | Comments (3)

Five Year Old Loss of Use of Limbs Syndrome

Someone call an ambulance, we need to get to the emergency room STAT! My child has lost all use of his limbs.

I’m not quite sure when he starting losing the ability to move his arms and legs but I’m guessing on or soon after his 5^th birthday last summer. Before that his appendages all worked fine. We went for long walks together and his legs worked fine. We cooked and cleaned together and his arms were of the fully functioning variety. We colored and pasted and the fingers moved with little effort.

The Boy loved to walk. We walked to all friends houses within a mile radius and even the half mile to school on the day I locked the keys in my car. In the younger days I took the wagon along for backup but usually its only occupant was a teddy bear. I started noticing the loss of the use of his legs when I suggested an evening stroll last summer. I thought we could walk to a nearby farm to look at the cows, one of his favorite destinations. “Too far,” he said. “Let’s drive instead.” He didn’t quite get that evening walks aren’t about driving.

The Boy loved to help with the cooking and baking, especially the baking. We baked cookies and breads and cakes and pies. At first I suspected he only liked to help because bowls and beaters needed licking, but then it began to appear as if he generally enjoyed doing this sort of thing. Imagine my surprise last week after I suggested we make some cookies he declined. “Too much work,” he said. “I just want to play.” Except all he did that afternoon was lay on the family room floor seeing how many items he can balance on his feet.

The Boy loved to make things with his hands. My walls are filled with drawings and there are more in boxes in the pantry. Both Grandmas have houses adorned with homemade ornaments, jewelry boxes and vases. Which is why I was alarmed to learn the fingers don’t work when it comes to doing homework.

From what I understand, Five Year Old Loss of Use of Limbs Syndrome afflicts many children this age. Symptoms include the inability to clean one’s room, hang up one’s jacket and backpack, and failure to remove dirty dishes from the kitchen table. Some severely afflicted children even develop the ability to talk back and throw intense tantrums. Many children suffering from FYOLOUOLS also develop picky eating habits, particularly a distaste for anything that constitutes dinner.

There’s no cure for FYOLOUOLS, I’m sorry to say. There are no magic pills or special vitamins. The good news is that it can be controlled with patience and love mixed with some time outs and loss of privileges. Be forewarned though. FYOLOUOLS can last for several years and is usually replaced with Teenage Moodiness Syndrome, or TMS. I have a feeling I’ll be talking to you about that one in about 7 or 8 years.

Written by...Babe Deborah -- @ Family & Friends, Humorous, Parenting | Comments (8)

I Don’t Mind Football…

While I can certainly see several reasons to hate Football, unless of course it’s little league and my kids are playing…I do have to admit it’s a time that I indulge myself by watching Snapped - uninterrupted!

However, in all fairness, I do admit to watching Super Bowl for the commercials!

Looks like football fans are as fanatic as the breast feeding minions that lashed out at Supernanny last year! Skeery!

And all this time I thought football fans had a sense of humor!

Written by...Babe Gayla -- @ Humorous | Comments (31)

12 Reasons to Hate Football

I don’t like sports. While there are a few I can tolerate like tennis, others such as football, make me want to pull my hair out. I’m not an athletic type and never saw the appeal in sitting on a set of bleachers during 30 degree weather just to watch a bunch of overweight athletes tackle each other senseless. This makes no sense to me and I can’t understand the obsession. Really, there’s no worse species than the football fanatic. Why do I despise football so much?

Continue reading »

Written by...Babe Deborah -- @ General, Humorous, Unhinged | Comments (131)