Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree

Well maybe sometimes it is.  But seeing as how my neighbors still have their Christmas lights on, I figured what the hell; let’s do the annual end of the year holiday recap right now, today.  Who cares that we’re a complete two weeks into the new year anyway?  These stories are timeless right? Better late than never right?  It’s better to finish the race last, than to not finish at all…right?  Okay, so have I completely talked myself out of being a lazy bum and slacking on the holiday post?  Yes you say, well great, let’s proceed with the recap of Christmas, Tre’s Bday, and New Year’s.

Christmas 2011

This year our Christmas was a little bit different than it has been in past years, this year, for the first time ever, Ty was not with us.  Let me be the first to tell you, it sucked!  It sucked for us, and I know it sucked for him, but as part of the ruling (read about that foolishness here), Ty was forced to spend Christmas week in NC.  We did have a few extra attendees for our Christmas day festivities, but neither my Mom nor the cameo appearance from Uncle Carl could make up for Ty’s absence.

We got the festivities started early this year in preparation for Ty’s departure.  We started a new tradition of cutting down our own Christmas Tree, (if you haven’t read about that, go do it now, it made the top 11 of ’11), made our annual ginger bread houses (this year featured a tree), and sang Christmas carols (with the help and assistance of the I Am T-Pain app).  So as you can see, each of our traditions had a little bit of something new to them; it seemed fitting since our biggest tradition of being a family on Christmas was forcefully being broken.

Open Up Wide Kiddo

Gingerbread Tree

Another twist to our Christmas traditions was the Christmas Eve wrapping marathon that Fefe embarks on every year.  Each year she is up until 1-2am wrapping gifts, which means I’m up until 2-3am organizing them under the tree.  This year, I implored her to start wrapping earlier in the week, she resisted and on Christmas Eve she was faced with a mountain of gifts, a mountain of paper, and only a small amount of time.  But this year was different, she called in for backup.  There was a 4 woman sweat shop going, and man where those woman efficient (or so I thought).  In addition to having help this year, Fefe (and crew) also helped herself to a few glasses of wine as well.  This seemed innocent at the time, but as we later found out, the drinking and wrapping tradition will not be making a repeat performance next year.

The Stage Is All Set

Christmas morning arrived and I couldn’t wait until Tre woke up so we could open gifts.  As some of you already know, when it comes to Christmas I’m a big kid.  I’m seriously considering seeking help for this condition.  By all logic, I should have grown out of it by now, but for the past 15 years, I have been unable to sleep for more than 3 consecutive hours on Christmas Eve.  This year taking the cake, raking in a whopping total of ZERO hours of sleep.  I felt like a crackhead, gifts being my poison.  By 5am, I was sneaking into Tre’s room, flicking his lights on and off, hoping to wake him up.  By 7, after watching A Christmas Story nearly 3 times back to back, I resorted to more drastic measures: let the dog out and throw his ball in Tre’s room.  It worked, a few minutes later Tre came stumbling into our room and “woke” me up.

The poor child was clearly still in a stupifiedsleepy state, I mean seriously, the boy woke me up and exclaimed that his socks came off.  You would have thought that our house was robbed and all of the gifts were gone by the way he sounded.  I couldn’t believe it, it’s Christmas morning and all Tre is concerned about was his stupid socks?  I’m gonna be honest, being a Christmas fanatic and all, it kinda pissed me off.  After waking Fefe up and wiping the crust out of her eyes, we all headed downstairs and the look on Tre’s face was priceless, I mean, you hear people talk about the money shot, this was definitely it!  He was super excited and couldn’t wait to tear into his gifts, but first we had to go wake up Nani and attempt to wake up Uncle Carl.  Once the gang was all together (with this exception of Uncle Carl) Tre went to work.

The Money Shot - Total Disbelief

The first gift he grabbed belonged to Ty, as did the second, and third.  Fortunately, we were quick enough to avoid any re-wrap situations and explained to Tre the importance of actually looking at the name on the present.  Things went a lot smoother after that conversation.  For some odd reason, Tre kept making reference to the sun and finishing this work (opening presents) before the sun came out.  I have no clue where this came from, or why it was so important to him to have all of his gifts opened before the sun came out.  It was extremely funny until he was unable to complete his goal, and was heartbroken. He was seriously upset, once the sun was up, he had a semi meltdown and gift opening had to be put on hold for a few minutes.  This was strange, but no stranger than his bow fetish from last Christmas.  Luckily, we were able to get back to our regularly scheduled program and enjoy an entire day of playing, and playing, and playing.

Tank Sporting His New Christmas Gifts

Check back tomorrow for the Bday update!  I’ll keep posting holiday themed posts for as long as my neighbors Christmas lights are up, because remember, it’s never too late.

Me & My Momma

Listen up people, I’m about to let you in on the United States best kept secret, matter of fact, screw that, this is probably the best kept secret of the entire world!!! All of the various world organization leaders have had this knowledge for quite some time and decided to withhold it from you, for fear that you would not be able to process and accept the magnitude that this secure holds.  But you know what? I am here and i am not afraid, I’m am standing up to my oppressors and telling them that I will not stand for it any longer, I know the truth and so should my peers!  So if they won’t tell you, I most certainly will.  Today is a world wide holiday that has been suppressed by the powers that be for many years.  This day, November 9th, should be sang out from the mountain tops as a joyous occasions, yet it passes by each year with only a mention of it being the day that the first issue of Rolling Stone Magazine was published (1962).  Well I say NO MORE, I am breaking the boundaries and letting the people know of the significance that this day holds!!! Follow me people, learn the truth, which has been hidden from you for so many years!

You’ve read this far, so I must applaud your tenacity to go against the grain and seek out what your oppressors have withheld from you for so many year.  Clap, Clap, Bravo!!! You are truly an inspiration to the millions out there who are afraid to step outside of the bubble and deny the hidden agenda propaganda that is forced upon them on a daily basis.  So why is this day so great? You may be asking yourself, why did I risk everything to read on and combat the lies that modern society have fed me?  The answer is simple, to know the truth!  I have the truth, and the truth is: this is the greatest day in the history of mankind because on this day NOT TOO MANY YEARS AGO, the greatest woman of modern society was born, yup, that’s right, my mom was born on November 9th, and due to the fact that years down the line after her birth, she produced a fine specimen such as myself, is merit enough to get her birthday inducted into the World Hall Of Fame!

Okay, so maybe giving birth to me (an uber cool, ultra marvelous being, such as myself) doesn’t qualify her for the person of the year award, it does matter to me and since this is my blog I can showcase what matters to me however I choose!!!!  Haha, yup, I totally just went “it’s my party and I can cry if I want to” on you guys.  But no, seriously, all jokes aside,  my Mom is awesome, she helped make me the man I am today and I honestly don’t know where I would be without her.  The reason that I raise my kids in the manner that I do is because of her, so by extension, the reason that this blog exists is because of her.  So even if you haven’t had the pleasure of meeting my Mom (in which case, I feel terribly sorry for you), the fact that you are reading this blog is more than enough to wish her a Happy Birthday.

Mom, I Love You & Wish You A Very Happy Birthday!!!

The Hair, Look At The Hair

The old Ty is back and I couldn’t be happier. For the past 6 months I have been staring at that child and asking myself why? Why does my child have to look like a Little Rascals extra, why in the world did he desire to grow his hair out? I already knew the answer to that question, so I’m not sure why I repeatedly asked it. Maybe it was a coping mechanism, my way of making it through the pain of having a self induced nappy headed child. But that’s all over now, as I said, the old Ty is back and what you see below is all that is left of those painful 6 months that have just ended.

That's A Lot Of Hair

I previously stated that I knew the answer to why Ty wanted to grow his hair out; sadly, that reason is his little brother. Tre gets a TREMENDOUS amount of attention due to his wild hairstyle and although Ty will never admit it, he was a bit envious. Naturally as a young six year old, he craved the hair attention as well and asked to grow his hair out because (according to him) FEFE should have never cut it when he was a baby. Funny how Mom’s always get blamed whenever ANYTHING goes wrong.

After about a month of constant badgering, Fefe and I sat down and had a long discussion. If they boy wanted to let his hair grow, then we were not going to restrict his creative juices. We would suffer through the pain and agony of watching our handsome, dapper young man turn into a disheveled, ungroomed, ruffian all in the name of creative freedom for Ty. We informed him that he would no longer be receiving regular haircuts and the kid couldn’t have been happier. A split screen shot of our faces spliced with Ty’s at the exact moment that the news was broke would have shown a completely opposite picture (something like this   

Fast forward 4 months and the moment of truth is upon us, it’s finally time to get Ty’s hair braided. This is it, this is what we’ve all been waiting for, the moment when Ty goes from looking like Buckwheat to Bone Thugs In Harmony. Okay, maybe that was a bad example. At any rate, my Mom went ahead and braided Ty’s hair and all were pleased. He was no longer looking rough and ragged, he was once again semi-presentable. Three days later, it was all over, the glory days faded quickly, the braids didn’t last long at all and we were back at square one.

Ah, So Much Better

Any other parents would have pulled the plug at that very moment, but no, not us, not the “cool” parents. We wanted to give Ty another shot, he was so pleased with his braids; irregardless of the fact that they only lasted for 3 days, so we couldn’t break his little heart. A few more hair braiding attempts, and a few more disappointed faces 3 days later and we finally hit rock bottom. I’ve never been happier to have a relative hit rock bottom, sad I know, but justified.

Last Friday Ty came home from school, it was a beautiful day and EVERY kid in the neighborhood was outside playing. Ty quickly requested to go outside and was met with the standard “after your homework” response. See, we’re cool and trendy, as well as responsible parents. After completing his homework, Ty jumped up, eager to go outside. As soon as he got his shoes on, the doorbell rang and his hair braider was here. This was a devastating blow, it had been cold all week and this was the first nice day, not to mention it was a Friday and instead of going outside to play, Ty was forced to sit in the house having his hair yanked and pulled. I think the disappointment weighed on him, because he cried while getting his hair braided. He usually shows signs of discomfort during the procedure, but it has never brought him to tears. I think this was the last straw; the kid was denied access to his friends and on top of it was in pain.

After his hair was done, the kids were all gone and you could see the frustration rising in Ty’s face. He came to us and said, if my braids come out quickly this time, I think I want to get my hair cut. BINGO, YES, BAM, BOOM, , SUCCESS, MISSION COMPLETE!!! Not only did Ty come to the realization that the hair thing isn’t for him, but he got to see that we respected him enough to give him the freedom to come to his own decision.

Cut, Cut, Snip, Snip

Even though this was a painful process for Fefe and I to go through, it was a worthwhile one. I think that it is very important for parents to value their child’s creativity and personality (however misguided it may be). I’m happy we gave Ty the opportunity to test the waters and find out for himself that the hair thing is Tre’s thing, and he gets attention for many other things that are exclusive to his character.

Welcome Back Ty

Very recently, within the span of two weeks I encountered two very different kinds of hustlers. I tried very desperately to teach each of these people a lesson about hard work and honesty, but surprisingly got two extremely different results. This experience has given me the opportunity to understand the underbelly of the hustling world, to really dig in and get up close and personal with these unsavory individuals. During my recent experiences, I have learned that not all hustlers are unscrupulous characters. Some of these hustlers actually have a moral code, there are ethics to their dealings and a general sense of honor in their dealings. Of course the two hustlers that I encountered are none other than my very own children; Tre & Ty. They both had angles to work recently, only one of them went about it in a way that can only be described as COMPLETELY SHADY!!! For the remainder of this post these hustlers will be known as hustler #1 & hustler #2; I’ll let you judge for yourself which child is associated with what hustle.

The Tale Of Hustler #1 – Hustling On A Hunch

A few weeks ago while my Dad was here, we were out to dinner getting some Juicy Lucy’s and enjoying some good ole family time. While waiting for our food to come, my Dad pulls out his phone & takes a few pictures. Hustler #1 quickly jumps at the opportunity to inform me that Grandpappi had my phone. My Dad and I both have iPhone 4s, but the last time that Hustler #1 saw Grandpappi, he had the original iPhone. Therefore Hustler #1 was extremely confident in his assertion that my phone had been pillaged. I tried to explain to him that my phone was safely tucked away in my pocket, but Hustler #1 being over confident proceeded to fall short of telling me I was full of it. As a father, I saw a golden opportunity to teach the young whipper snapper a lesson: if you’re gonna bet, make sure it’s a sure thing.

I proposed a friendly gentleman’s bet to Hustler #1: if I could immediately present my phone, he would have to pay me a dollar. However, if Grandpappi did in fact have my phone, I would have to pay the Hustler 2 dollars. Hustler #1 being such a hustler at heart couldn’t resist such a lucrative deal. Obviously the kid lost, and was shocked to find out that he did indeed have to pay up. There was a bid discussion about welching and reluctantly Huslter #1 agreed to pay up as soon as we made it home.

Feeling satisfied in the day’s lesson that was handed out, I patted myself on the back and totally forgot to collect my winnings. The next morning, I woke up to a crisp one dollar bill on my nightstand. Hustler #1 later informed me that he had placed the dollar there to settle his debt. I was so impressed & proud of the integrity of Husler #1 that I decided to give the little guy a quick job to complete and paid him $2 for his services. He learned not only that making bets is risky, but also that you need to honor those bets. In addition, he also learned that honesty and hard work pays off.

The Tale Of Hustler #2 – A Hustler’s Ambition

Hustler #2′s story is a bit different. It happened only a few hours ago and is still fresh in my mind. It occurred around bedtime, when I informed Hustler #2 that he had seven minutes left before bed. In a true hustler fashion, the kid blurted out “I need 10″ with a rapid fire speed that could rival a semi automatic weapon. So once again, I saw a learning opportunity for the young fella. I tell the boy, we can thumb wrestle and if I win he only gets 5 mins before bed, if he wins the 10 mins are all his. He tells me that he doesn’t know how to thumb wrestle, so I proceed to provide a quick lesson. I explain (by verbal & visual instruction) that you have to pin you opponents thumb down and count to 3. Before I could complete the lesson, this guy proceeds to take the index finger of his opposite hand and touches my thumb, counts to three and shouts out “that’s 10″; meaning that he had won his 10 mins. I asked him why he felt he had won & he said because I held your thumb down and counted to 3. Fefe quickly pointed out that I hadn’t provided any instruction as to how the thumb needed to be pinned down, so Hustler #2′s rationale was perfectly legal and he hearted his 10 minutes. I felt like Ortiz after last weeks boxing match, there was nothing I could do.

By now I’m sure that you’ve guessed who was Hustler #1 & Hustler #2, I think it’s pretty obvious. Even though I got outwitted by one child and humbled by another, I still think that valuable lessons were taught to both of these hustlers.

This Is Where I'm From

So today is my first day back to work, both in real life and on this blog.  After an 11 day hiatus, I must admit, it was extremely tough getting back into the swing of things.  But alas, here I am blogging my little heart out; ready to spill all the gory details regarding our recent trip to the mean streets of Buffalo, NY.  After 3 years of being away from my hometown, a 10 year high school reunion presented the perfect excuse for a return trip back.  The reunion was the reason that brought us back to Buff, but surely wasn’t the only thing we had on our agenda during our stay.  I’ll be doing a series of short posts detailing the various aspects of our trip, so be sure to check back regularly to ensure you don’t miss any of the excitement.  The first post in the series will be about my experience at my 10 year high school reunion, click the link to check it out.  But before you do, be sure to check out the 10 most important things that I learned from this recent trip to my hometown.

1. Buffalo has changed a lot

2. Buffalo hasn’t changed at all

3. You can’t make up for 3yrs in 8 days. There will inevitably be some people that you don’t get to see

4. Moms cooking can erase 4months of weight loss in one quick week

5. Strip Clubs can be very dangerous places

6. As an aging adult, 4am is now waaaayyyy too late for bars & clubs to stay open

7. $2000 is not too much to pay for plane tickets to avoid a 16hr car ride with a 6 & 3yr old

8. Long distance grandparents are the best babysitters in the world

9. High School class reunions aren’t as popular as they once were

And last but not least

10. There is no place like home (I just can’t stay there for extended periods of time)

All Packed & Ready To Go

Fefe & Tre come back to Minneapolis tonight, FOR GOOD this time and I thought it was only fitting to share with you the story of Tre’s first plane ride, train ride, and (Minnesota)car ride; which took place a little over a month ago when we made the trip to Minneapolis for the first time (and what we thought was the last time).  It was actually his second plane ride, but seeing as how he was only a few months old for the first one, I think this trip qualifies as his (un)official first trip on an airplane.

As with everything that Tre is involved in, associated with, or a part of, his plane ride was full of spectacle, laughter, drama, and pretty much plain ole pure entertainment.  So sit back, kick your feet up and get prepared to enjoy the Tre Variety Hour (or 15 mins in this case).

Tre has been fascinated with airplanes ever since he was able to understand that his Nani has to get on an airplane to visit him.  So you can imagine his excitement when we told him that he would in fact be getting on a plane to join Daddy in Minneapolis.  The entire week leading up to our departure, Tre would spend about 10 mins per day practicing rolling his suitcase.  I guess he wanted to perfect his technique before the big day, because he performed the task religiously.

When Fefe went to pack Tre’s suitcase, she found several items in his bag (pictured above).  Puzzled, we asked Tre why those things were in his bag and he explained to us, (in what appeared to be an offended tone) that he had already packed his bag and those were the things that needed to go on the airplane to Minneapolis with him.  I know that due to increased luggage fees, etc. people have started to pack a little lighter, but this is taking it overboard.  The boy packed 2 dogs, a silly band, a pair of socks, a pull up and some underwear.  I would truly pay top dollar to spend just a few hours in the mind of Tre.  To be so carefree that the items I just listed are what you consider essential for your relocation survival kit must truly be a priceless feeling.

A Toddler's Survival Kit

Once the packing situation was sorted out and we actually got to the airport, the real fun started.  All of Tre’s training and practice at rolling his suitcase flew straight out the window.  After 3 minute of rolling it, he decided that it would be best if Fefe or I took command of his bag; never mind the 4 bags plus a dog that we were already responsible for.  Maybe it was his way of protesting our refusal to let him pack as light as he originally planned.  At the security gate, Tre reminded me that I needed to take my shoes off.  How he knew that this was a requirement is beyond me, but he definitely saved me the embarrassment of being “that guy”.  I decided to repay his kindness by taking his bag off of his hands for a few minutes.

I kept a close eye on the creepy 'Tre Stalker'

When we arrived at our gate, I decided to let Tre come with me to find some breakfast.  As we were walking away, he had a total meltdown.  He realized that he didn’t have his suitcase with him and as this was in direct violation of airport security policy, he protested profusely.  He started crying, repeatedly telling me that “I left my suitcase”, “I need my suitcase to go to Minneapolis”, “We NEED to go back and get it”.  Can you say, taking the “do not leave your bag unattended” rule just a tad bit too far?  I assured him that his bag was with Fefe and it would be safe until we returned; that wasn’t good enough however, it wasn’t until we got to the moving floors that he perked up and completely forgot about his bag.  The moving floors were a big hit, we spent a good 45 minutes just going back and forth on those things, he loved it and I loved them for giving Tre something constructive to do.

As you can imagine, if the wait in the airport was this eventful, things could only get crazier once we actually got on the plane.  Of course Tre didn’t want to abide by the seatbelt rules that the captain pushes on to all passengers, but he did.  But when I tell you that as soon as that seatbelt light was turned off and Tre heard the “ding”, he was up out of that seat faster than (insert your favorite analogy here: actually put it in the comments so that I can laugh).  Once the light was off, he was up looking out the window, walking in the aisle telling anyone who would listen that he was on the airplane to go to Minneapolis.  When the seatbelt light came back on, he would reluctantly sit back down, but waited and watched that light like a hawk until the captain turned it off again.  It actually made keeping him entertained quite simple.

Once we landed, it took us 45 minutes to get out of the airport. That may not seem too bad to some people, but we didn’t even check any bags folks!  It took so long because Tre and his suitcase were moving slower than molasses, like seriously, there were little old ladies utilizing walkers going faster than him.  I so wish I was joking about that part.  He was so busy looking around and taking in the sights of the airport (maybe this kid needs to get out more), that he couldn’t keep up a steady pace.  45 minutes later, we made it to the train that would take us to my car.  Tre was a little less excited to be on the train than he was on the airplane, but he did take time to tell the other passengers that we were riding on “Thomas the Train” several times.  The entire car ride home, Tre repeatedly asked if he was in Minneapolis, if Mommy and Daddy were in Minneapolis, if Tank was in Minneapolis, his suitcase, my car, and on and on and on.  YES KID, Minneapolis welcomes you, now get over it!!!  No seriously, I was happy that he was so excited to be starting this new chapter in life (even though there aren’t many chapters there yet).  I hope when he gets here tonight, he shares the same enthusiasm for being back.

Who would have thought that these would be so valuable

How many times have you received a gift that you just didn’t want? I mean one that was so bad, you actually considered giving it back to the person who gave it to you? Now that’s a pretty bold move, considering it’s the thought that counts. Returning a gift to someone basically says not only does your gift suck, but I also don’t care much about your feelings. Who would be so callous to do such a thing? You guessed it, I would! I have done it, and probably shouldn’t be so smug about my actions. The gift giver was my mother.

Before you get all bent out of shape and call me the worst son to ever walk the earth, let me explain. This story starts off many many years ago, nearly 10 years now that I think about it. It was Christmas during my first year of college and I had returned home to celebrate with my family. Up until that point, my Mom had bought a gag/joke gift for me every year and loved seeing my reaction opening all of the horrific gifts over the years. Well this year I decided to take a stand and fight back! This year’s gag gift was a set of hot wheelesqe cars. Now these weren’t collector’s items, in fact, they were cheap cars bought from the dollar store. To make matters worse, it was the last gift that I opened that year, talk about ending on an anti-climatic note. You can probably imagine my displeasure, I’m a grown man, and I receive a pack of children’s cars as a Christmas gift? I decided that this year presented an opportunity to fight back, since I was leaving to go back to school, I’d simply leave the cars at my parents house and let them deal with them. Cleaver huh? I certainly thought so. Little did I know, this simple action would spark a lifelong tradition between us.

A few weeks went by and I had totally forgotten about those silly cars. Then I received a package from my Mom and as a college student, there is no greater feeling than receiving a surprise care package from back home! Well maybe there are a few feelings that could surpass it, but for the sake of argument, let’s just go with care packages = greatest feeling for college students. So I enthusiastically open this package expecting to find treasures, treats, possibly MONEY; to my dismay, the only thing inside the “care package” was that stupid pack of cars. Arrrrrggggggg, I was fuming; not only did she get her laughs in during Christmas while watching me open this gift, she was now probably sitting back somewhere eagerly anticipating the phone call in which I expressed my displeasure with her care package. I refused to give her the satisfaction, we were now at war! I struck first, and she decided to retaliate, after that care package, all bets were off.

Since that point, these cars have been exchanged back and forth between us numerous times, too many to count at this point. With each exchange the stakes rise and creativity is paramount. For example, during one of her visits while the cars were in my possession, I slipped them into her suitcase before she left. Talk about a parting gift, lol. I didn’t see the cars for quite some time after that, not until her next visit. Before she left, she took upon herself to hide the cars throughout the house. 6 little cars hidden in cabinets, coat pockets, DVD cases; you have no idea how long it took me to locate all of them. With each one I found, the desire to top her increased exponentially. So I crafted a plan, which I just unleashed this week and is the inspiration behind this post.

Who Wouldn't Accept This Gift?

During her last visit here, I knew she would be expecting retaliation; despite how tempted I was, I resisted the urge to return the cars. Instead I held off for greener pastures and it definitely paid off. I contacted one of her co-workers and asked if it’d be okay to send a package which was to be secretly delivered to my Mom at work. The offer was accepted and the plan was in motion. I sent the above package to my Mom’s friend and she, using all of her covert ops training was able to place it on my Mom’s desk without being detected. Once she found it, she thought it was a gift from the staff (it had been over 6mnths since the last car exchange, so cars were the furthest thing from her mind). She believed it to be candy, a little trinket perhaps; then the package was opened and I wish I could have been there to see her face.

She was shocked, happy, and relieved. Since it took me so long to retaliate, she thought our tradition was lost. I’m glad I could clear up that misconception for her. I can only imagine what she has in store for the next exchange, but I truly welcome it. This is something so simple that we do, yet it brings us so much joy and strengthens our bond. I look forward to continuing this tradition for many years and possibly having something similar with my own children when they grow up.

A few years after starting this tradition, my Mom came across the following email. I was amazed that someone else would have the same silly “feud” going on and it made me appreciate those cars so much more. I’m not sure who the author is, but I truly enjoyed the read.

The baggy yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread and snaps up the front. It was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape. I found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give away.

“You’re not taking that old thing, are you?” Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt. “I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!”

“It’s just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class, Mom. Thanks!” I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object. The yellow shirt became a part of my college wardrobe. I loved it. After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings when I cleaned.

The next year, I married. When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big-belly days. I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois But that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years earlier.

That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for her “real” gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely. She never mentioned it again.

The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and Dad’s to pick up some
furniture. Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its bottom. The shirt!

And so the pattern was set.

On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad’s mattress. I don’t know how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed before I discovered it under the base of our living-room floor lamp. The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added character.

In 1975 my husband and I divorced. With my three children, I prepared to move back to Illinois . As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own. I wondered if I would find a job. I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort. In Ephesians, I read, “So use every piece of God’s armor to resist the enemy whenever he attacks, and when it is all over, you will be standing up.”

I tried to picture myself wearing God’s armor, but all I saw was the stained yellow shirt. Slowly, it dawned on me. Wasn’t my mother’s love a piece of God’s armor? My courage was renewed.

Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother. The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer.

Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station. A year later I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet.
Something new had been added. Embroidered in bright green across the breast pocket were the words “I BELONG TO PAT.”

Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added an apostrophe and seven more letters. Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, “I BELONG TO PAT’S MOTHER.” But I didn’t stop there. I zig-zagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from Arlington , VA. We enclosed an
Official looking letter from “The Institute for the Destitute,” announcing that she was the recipient of an award for good deeds. I would have given anything to see Mom’s face when she opened the box. But, of course, she never mentioned it.

Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend’s garage to avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head. It felt lumpy. I unzipped the case and found, wrapped in wedding paper, the yellow shirt. Inside a pocket was a note: “Read John 14:27-29. I love you both, Mother.”

That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found the verses: “I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn’t fragile like the peace the world gives. So don’t be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me.”

The shirt was Mother’s final gift. She had known for three months that
she had terminal Lou Gehrig’s disease. Mother died the following year at age 57.

I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave. But I’m glad I didn’t, because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I played for 16 years. Besides, my older daughter is in college now, majoring in art. And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.

Taking The First Link Off The Chain

Are you guys in full blown Christmas spirit mode yet? I know that I am, Christmas is my favorite holiday of the year, it’s been that way for as long as I can remember and I hope to make it the same for my children.  We have several family traditions that we partake in each year around the holiday season, so this week I’d like to spend some time sharing those traditions with you and hopefully hearing some of your own family traditions.

One of the first things we do to get the Christmas spirit jumping in our house is to create a Christmas Countdown Chain.  I really enjoy this activity because it allows us to get in some good quality family time.  We work together as a family to cut the construction paper, design the links, and then put them together to create the chain. I think I enjoy the decorating of the links the most, it makes taking them off a little more interesting. The boys take turns each night, and are always excited to see whose artwork they get to pull off the chain.  This year my Mom was here to help with the construction of the chain and designed a few links herself.  This has added a nice twist to the tradition because now the boys fight over who will pull off one of Nani’s links.  I don’t get it though, what makes her links so gosh darn special? I think my designs are much more artistic and imaginative personally, lol.

So there’s a glimpse into how the holiday season is kick started in our household.  I’d love to hear what activities you guys do each year to signify that Christmas is on the way, please share.

Christmas Countdown Chain

One of Nani's Links

One Of Ty's Links

One Of Tre's (Attempted) Links

Admitting it is the 1st step to recovery

We interrupt your regularly scheduled blogging content to bring you this very important message. Paid for by the MBA (Momma’s Boy Association)

Okay, so it’s no big secret that I’m a momma’s boy, but if you had my Mom, you would be too.  This woman has always been there for me, sacrificed and dedicated her life to enriching my own.  In my 27 years on this earth she has never let me down, and that’s not something I can say about anyone else I’ve grown to know over the years.  That’s a pretty tall order there, 27 years is a long time to never disappoint someone, almost impossible even.  I mean, I’ve disappointed people within the first 5 minutes of meeting them, so to have a 27 year streak really says something about a person’s character.  That’s why I’m proud to be a momma’s boy and will gladly except any ridicule that comes along with it. 

Today is my Mom’s birthday and I’ll be busy ensuring that she knows how much we appreciate her all day long.  I’ve got a long list of surprises lined up for her, and the first was this short, simple, blog post to wish her Happy Birthday and let the world know that she’s the BEST!!!!!

I Love You Mom

Your regularly scheduled blogging content will return shortly

"Dope On The Table"

The mess that you see above was found in a secret spot this past weekend while Fefe and I were rearranging our living room. We were both shocked when we came across this discovery, but mine wore off quickly. Because I’ve been here before, it was like seeing a glitch in the Matrix, déjà vu if you will. But in order to explain, we must travel back, far back in time. The “stash spot” started two generations before Tre and has mysteriously been handed down genetically with each new rendition of the Keiths.

Yes, my father is the culprit who originated the stash spot in our family. The motives have changed over the years however, what began out of necessity has now transformed into mere mischief. I was told the story of my father’s stash spot during my teen years, long after I had developed my own. But hearing the origins of one of my own habits actually put my mind at ease about what I had been doing for so many years.

My Dad grew up with 8 brothers and sisters and because of this, he felt the need to “protect” what was rightfully his. What is it exactly that he felt so compelled to protect you may be asking. Well hold on to your socks while I reveal this. Are you ready? Okay, here it goes, my Dad needed to protect his snacks! Yes, snacks people, and I’m not talking about super exclusive “last pack of original starburst ever created” snacks. I’m talking about penny candy and other commonly obtained items. No matter how unimportant his items appear to you and me and most other individuals on this earth, he felt the need to ensure that no one besides himself was able to access them. So what did he do? He created a secret hiding place that unbeknownst to him would plague his children and his children’s children for many years to come. The man put a hole in the wall of his room; he carved out a little safe (if you can call it that) behind his dresser and then kept all of his valuables there, hidden from the world. The only problem is, apparently, his hiding spot wasn’t very good; my aunts and uncles repeatedly raided the hole in the wall and ate my Dad’s snacks at their leisure. Unfortunately for my Dad, he was a little too good at protecting his items. He stashed so many things in that wall that when it had been pillaged, he had no clue. He didn’t find out about the crimes of his brothers and sisters until a few years later. And there you have the birth of a family tradition, because at some point in time the stash spot is always discovered.

My stash spot was a little less elaborate, but no less secret. It didn’t require any construction grade tools to create, like my father’s did; but I’m sure it outlasted his hole in the wall (meant literally and figuratively). My stash spot was the bottom of my dresser. I would take out the bottom drawer and throw my valuables in there and replace the drawer without anyone ever knowing. It was brilliant; no one would expect my most prized possessions to be hidden basically in plain sight. My Dad hid snacks, while I on the other hand typically hid items that I had pilfered from him. I’d take things like watches, rings, and I remember a key chain that said curse words. My stash spot was filled with all sorts of stolen trinkets and I lived a pretty comfortable life for quite some time. But as you know, what goes up must come down, and when my criminal enterprise came down, it came down crashing and burning. After a few years of smoothly operating the stash house without a hitch, I was busted with my hand in the cookie jar so to speak. Of all things to get caught retrieving from the stash spot, I got caught pulling out condoms. Not sure how my Dad crept up on me while my stash was exposed, but he did. The gig was up, all of the items I had collected over the years were stripped from me and my reign as the stash spot operator was over.

Fast forward to present day and the third operator is currently in action. The curse tradition is occurring way earlier than previously. At 2 years old, I would have never considered opening a stash spot, yet Tre has decided that his time to control the reigns has come and he would seize his opportunity. While Fefe and I were rearranging the furniture, I picked up my sub woofer and noticed an excessive amount of rattling. This puzzled me, so naturally I decided to investigate. I took a look through the speaker’s opening and couldn’t quite make out what was in there. Fefe volunteered (more like, was forced) to stick her arm through the hole and retrieve the contents inside; both of us now extremely curious. We spent the next 20 minutes pulling things out of that speaker. Tre had hidden creepy crawlers (do you guys remember those?), letter magnets, marbles, beans, and a ton of other things in my sub woofer. I felt like narcotics agents who had just discovered a drug kingpin’s supply. After looking at the items for a few moments, it hit me. The curse was upon us, and from this day forth, no item would be safe again. This was only the beginning, a baby stash spot; what would come next, would be much worse. At least we’ve been given a heads up and now have time to prepare; Fefe and I will not lose the war on stash spots!!!