|Pauly Shore would most certainly be the SECOND Son N Law|
Since "Precious" is Decidedly "PERFECT" in every Way.
Monday, May 23, 2011
As I blog on this beautiful South Mississippi afternoon, I feel like I have to disclose that I am in "Bitsy" "Heaven". Things always seem to be less intense, alot more light hearted, and alot sunnier when I'm visiting with the Lil Momma, Precious and the Webbman. I guess it's God's way of "re-energizing" me and getting me back on track when I fall into the "long distance grandmadulldrums". Anyhow, as I am here staying with the kids, I can't help but think to myself what amazing "kids" they are. I could go on for days about the Lil Momma, but the thing that has always struck me the most and that I have found most admirable about her is her composure and her calm rational way of dealing with life's everyday events. While alot of young adults would wring their hands, mope, whine and complain about the circumstances that fall in their path, I find that she is most assuredly a "problem solver". She is a "nurturer", now don't get me wrong . . . . . like every only child, that bottom lip will protrude in a New York Minute (whatever that is, because as far as I know, it's still only 60 seconds of elapsed time). She can "close up and shutdown with the best of them", but I have to say, she is ALWAYS the one to make peace. When someone else storms out and leaves angry, she reaches out and makes peace. What an amazing trait for one so young. I suppose it comes from having two squabling parents as a teen. As a Mother, She is much more relaxed in her role than I could have ever dreamed of being. She is much more "in tune" to the world around her than I ever was at the ripe old age of 26, and then there is . . . . . . "Precious".
The Son n Law "process" was so totally painless with "Precious" that I questioned whether someone could be so perfect for my only child. The clincher was the "smile" that radiated my daughter's face and the affection that permeated her voice. He was most certainly "the one". He was kind, respectful, loving and Christian. He was focussed, motivated and ambitious, despite the fact that his Grandpa insisted it took his "favorite first born grandson" eight (8) years to graduate from college. This was not the fact, but I'm quite certain that it seemed that way to the parents who paid for said education. I looked as hard as I could for things to object to. I looked for red flags raised at least to half mast. He was a Fraternity boy. He was a veritable "Sports" Fanatic in every way, shape and form. He liked to party, and yes, on occasion, I believe he had been known to climb out on the "occasional" roof after a few drinks. All these things just served to make him that much more endearing and human. On top of all these things, we liked his parents. Heck, HE liked his parents. That spoke volumes. After 3 1/2 years of marriage, he has never been disrespectful, apologized willingly, even when not necessary. As I mentioned, I have found myself wondering on a number of occasions just how I would "Mother n Law" more than one "Son n Law". How would I be impartial and unbiased and non-judgmental? How would I react to the differing personalities and yes, quite frankly, a whole nother family to learn to love and interact with? I would like to believe that I would do it "flawlessly", but "Precious" has been so seamless and has proved such an easy young man to love, that I believe a second Son N Law would have a "hard act to follow". As a side-bar, WHY I am the least bit concerned about this particular thing is TRULY beyond me since, A) the Lil Momma is an only child, B) this Bitsy is too OLD and thoroughly removed any ability or inclination to to have a second child, and C) there is not a snow balls chance in hell of an immaculate conception or an adoption in my "near" or "distant" future.
Well, I'm signing off from Webbland on this glorious Monday night. Have I told you I'm spending the week with my grandbaby? Have I told you that he's perfect? Have I told you he has the most amazing blue eyes this "Bitsy" has ever seen? Perhaps I have, but one can never brag on a grandchild too many times.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Just "WHAT" do you miss when you're a long distance grandma?
"EVERYTHING" is what you miss when you're a long distance grandma.
For the life of this Bitsy, I can't seem to see a happy ending to this gig.
When did I become such a "sad" "mopey" "sourpuss"?
When did I become a "cryin' in my beer" non-beer drinker?
When, did this happen? I'll tell you when. . . . .
October, 2010 when the moving trucks left Atlanta, that's when!
I'm certain ya'll get tired of reading about how devastatingly awful it is to be a long distance grandma. Truth be told, I get tired of talking about it BUT I just can't help it. I just can't seem to see anything without realizing what I'm missing. This just isn't how I "envisioned" Grandmahood or Bitsyhood or whatever the heck this is because it darn sure ISN'T any semblance of FUN.
This is kind of how it goes. I get in the car to go to the grocery and I see someone pushing a stroller up the sidewalk in the subdivision. I feel my foot pulling away from the gas and my foot pressing down on the brake. I think to myself . . . . . "I'm going to have to do that with Webb". "I'm going to have to take him for a walk and we can go to the pool and . . . . " Then, I stop. Then I regroup. Then, I wipe off the tears that are streaming down the "thank God I quit wearing makeup face" that I'm wearing, and continue my drive out of the subdivision to the Kroger.
I get out at the Kroger, get a buggy and wait patiently for the little boy with his Momma helping him get in the buggy that is shaped like a racecar and watch her strap him in and tell him to sit down. I say to myself . . . . . "I cannot wait to take Webb to the Grocery and push him around in a cart like that and . . . . " and then I stop. Then I regroup, Then I wipe off the tears that are welted up around my "no makeup wearing face".
My next trip is to the Library, where I get out, get in line at the book drop and in front of me "Lo and Behold", it happens again. There he is - an adorable little boy, with his momma and grandmomma standing on his tip toes reaching in as they patiently wait for him to push his books through the slot. I say to myself "I cannot wait to take Webb to . . . . . " and I stop, I regroup and realize long distance grandmom's get at the most 10 - 12 good full days a year to cram in whatever quality things they can. They spend the better part of their days planning and thinking about all the ways they love their grandchildren and planning and thinking about all the ways they are going to "show" their grandbabies how much they love them. It's a slow painful way to watch a very bad movie play out in real life. It's a Lifetime Movie gone bad. It doesn't have the happy ending that it should. It quite simply, is what it is, even though what it doesn't seem to be is "fair".
I believe I know why God probably intended on two people being married forever through thick and thin, better or worse, richer or poorer, til death do you part. I believe I know why families are not supposed to split, multiply and divide. I believe I know why parents, children, brothers and sisters are meant to live within driving distance. No, none of these things are written in scripture. No . . . none of these things were on the tablets of stone, but these things I know in my heart. Life gets way way too complicated when you have more than just your family in the mix. Somebody loses out no matter how much you love them. Somebody comes up with the short end of the deck, and don't get me wrong, I would not give anything in this world for my role as a Bitsy, I just wanted so much more for Webb and for me.
I'm on my way to see the Webbman, to grab a visit in with my sister, see my brother and his family, share the happiness of my nephew graduating from high school and get a few girlfriend visits in (all done in a week's time). Needless to say, I'm on my way and I'm already sad thinking about having to leave the lil man. Yep, this is how long distance grandma'ing goes. You dream and dream and dream some more. You plan and plan and plan some more and for me, I write and write and write some more, but ultimately, you get your happy time in "just" long enough to make you want more. It's like giving a person on a diet a damn cookie. Sorry to be such a whiney baby. It's all good. It has to be right? That's what every good Bitsy does . . . . . . #suck.it.up
One thing is for certain. . . . I don't have to like this long distance thing, and I don't have to be a silent sufferer. Moving right along here~Let me just show ya'll a few things I've missed . . . . . . .
|When did he get bigger than his bathtub? I missed that.|
|When did he get big enough for his high chair? I missed that.|
|When did he get almost as big as his Bear? I missed that!|
Hope we all make it through today with no earthquakes! Thanks for reading. Blog at ya'll later.
I'm going to throw this out there and hope to God some other "Momma", "Grandmomma", "Mother n Law" and/or "Wife" experiences something remotely like the series of events I'm going to describe. Although with that said, I wouldn't wish this frustration on anyone, or anyone I "LIKE" anyhow. Bear in mind that this is a generic conversation, although some portion of it is pretty interchangeable with any number of members of my family.
Bitsy: "Oh, I didn't know that."
Other Person: "Yeah, you did. I told you."
Bitsy: "No you didn't"
Other Person: "Yes, I did" and then I hear a slight chuckle.
Bitsy: "When, What were we talking about?"
Other Person: "The Other Day, or maybe the Other Night?"
Bitsy: "Well, I don't have any recollection of you telling me that, and I think I'd remember."
Other Person: Slight chuckle and then "Well, I did."
Bitsy: Long Aggravated Sigh.
The slight chuckle is what sets me off. It's that chuckle that comes across like "God, it must be awful to be old and getting senile, so I'll just blow off the remainder of the conversation and she won't even notice, I'm chuckling and I think she has memory loss problems." Let me add this tidbit. I have been known to be told things after 9:30 at night that I oftentimes have no recollection of being told. This is a direct result of the Ambien or Lunesta that I take and I have told everyone I know. . . . . . . "Don't get on the phone with Bitsy after 9:30 at night and expect her to remember much of the conversation." "Moreover, if you KNOW, it's that time of night and I've taken my Ambien or my Lunesta, WHY the heck would you tell me anything important anyhow"? Do us both a favor and tell Bitsy during the day when she has full use of her faculties. All snickers and chuckles aside, the INABILITY to sleep is an awful thing and I have found it gets worse with age, so I make no excuses for the use of Ambien or whatever medication of choice my "Well Paid, Highly Experienced, Highly Educated Emery Medical Center Physician" finds appropriate to recommend. I just say God Bless HIM! By the way, the many conversations in my life which take place as described above triggered me to discuss it with aforesaid "Well Paid, Highly Experienced, Highly Educated Emery Medical Center Physician", who subsequently sent me for some "Highly Coveted, Most Expensive, Well Tested MRIs/Brain Scans and Blood Work", only to discover that Bitsy was not senile or at a loss for any of her senses, except "the patience to deal with people who insist I forget!".
It truly does get on my last nerve when certain people in my life use this "inability to remember" as an excuse for not remembering "themselves" to "remember" to tell me. Yes, it quite certainly does. Why is that? Well, I guess it's because I have gotten to the ripe old age that I know I'm scattered, I know I get distracted, but I also KNOW that when it comes to the few important things I do need to remember, this Bitsy isn't going to forget because for anyone who knows me well, they also KNOW I have THE LIST. If YOU remember to tell me, I'm going to "remember" to put it on the LIST - unless of course YOU "forget" to "remember" to tell me before 9:30 at night and you "remember" to tell me in a conversation which may quite possibly be Ambien ladled and at which time, I have no access to "THE LIST".
This is it for today, and even though the World is Supposedly Coming to an End for some of You tomorrow, I'll be on a train to see the Webbman . . . . . . . . Oh that is "IF I REMEMBER" that I'm supposed to get on it!
Posted by Bitsy at 4:26 PM
Thursday, May 19, 2011
What is it about the human race that "sometimes" makes us so focused on "death"? According to Harold Camping and the rest of his 12 some odd followers, a huge devastating earthquake is going to hit our earth on Saturday, May 21, 2011. Yes, that would be NOT today, NOT tomorrow, but the NEXT day. This man obviously DOES NOT KNOW that Saturday, May 21, 2011, is the day that I am going to see the "Webbman". This man must have his series of "heavenly" happenings screwed up. It's not like we don't have enough tragedy between Gaddafi's, Libya, Syria, Afghanistan, Pakistan and "whateveristan". The theory is not a bad one for those who are going to be "saved", those that will ultimately be beamed up to heaven in an immediate state of significant "euphoria". For everyone else, who, as Mr. Camping would have it, are supposedly left to roam the earth for another 5 months until 10/21/2011. I'm going to be one angry woman if I had to wait 54 LONG years to become a "Bitsy" only to have this bunch of loons try to tell me that I won't get to see the Webbman on Saturday, that I won't get to see him make it to the 7 month mark NOR will I get to WATCH the Preakness. Worse yet, they're indicating that the Webbman was put on this earth and will be departing us long before the world has an opportunity to see his potential or, for that matter, that HE has the opportunity to see the WORLD's potential. It's a ludicrous thought. I'm going out kicking and screaming, not to mention the fact that if everybody croaks except the "blessed few", I'm NOT going to get my social security that I paid in. I mean think about it? Where the heck is my social security going to go? Social Security Heaven? Do they have that? I'm really MORE than a little annoyed with this whole "Rapture/Last Judgment/Doomsday" thing that Mr. Camping and Crew have going on. I'm not going to get into quoting scripture, but obviously these people have convenient "Bible" reading skills and only absorb what they want to. Maybe they'll be standing on the fault line. Just maybe, right slap in the middle of it.
On another note, I was reading an article today and it was about a 16 year old child who was petitioning the State to have her name legally changed. It caught my eye and the more I read, the more horrified I became. What could be so bad about her name? Your name gives you character, it strengthens you. I mean I lived an entire 54 years as "Carleen Odile". Don't think I didn't ponder petitioning the court my own self, but it was a family name and as I got older, the more it meant to me that I had been named after my grandmother. It gives me a feeling of "family" of "connectivity" of "grounding". The story unfurled as the "child" petitioned the Court because her mother, "Nina" (notice it's short and sweet), wanted to surround her child with every blessing in the world, so, she gave her seven names, including Astravaganza and Angeletta, that were Russian, Greek, and even made-up names for Hope, Stars, Butterfly, and more. Poor "Astravaganza Angeletta was asking the Court to simply call her "Lola". "Lola" which is decidedly NOT on the roster that her Mother chose.
This whole story peaked Bitsy's interest, only to find that "Wmffre" (pronounced OOM-fre, the German variation of Humphrey) was Parenting.com's 2009 Top Name for Boys! What the hell? Seems to me this would cause parents remorse in lieu of gratification? Why not just name your child "Subdivision" or perhaps "Boulevard"?
What happened to us? Former generations were content to name their children after relatives, or simply to pick a popular one they liked (Jennifers and Jasons know all about it), the current crop of parents is particularly invested in their children’s names being original, special, meaning-laden. And they are willing to go to extraordinary lengths to secure such uniqueness. Case in Point . . . . . "Astravaganza". I will thank the good Lord every night for "Webb". Just pure simple "WEBB" which is Webb's Honey's Maiden Name~just plain Webb. Thankfully, our lil man won't be petitioning any Court anytime soon - at least not because he's named "Astravaganza".
I'm thinking about selling T-shirts? Would anyone like one? You know . . . the Webbman . . . . . College Fund . . . . . . Disney?
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
|Samson and his good friend Deuce.|
Deuce will grieve too.
This "Bitsy" has found herself in a precarious position today, but with that duly noted, "What's New"? Today, I find myself needing to pay my respects to someone I never had the pleasure to meet. Today, I find myself grieving and genuinely "sad" for the deep loss of another.
Before I go on, I'll let you in on a very important piece of this puzzle. The "dearly departed" was a most revered family member and as a side story, a feline family member . . . . a cat. Not just ANY cat, but Samson DCat of Facebook Fame, 137 fans strong. Samson lived a life that any lesser being could only aspire to, that any normal human being would be envious of. He travelled, attended sporting events, went clubbing and was pampered in ways only royalty could know. Samson was in fact, a "prince" among "cats".
Seriously, I have found my heart heavy since hearing this news. Samson's Momma loved Samson with all the devotion and loyalty that comes with the relationship between any Momma and child, because for all practical purposes that's what their relationship seemed to be. It was caring. It was loving. It was nurturing. Samson brought joy and comfort to her life and joy to her heart and he will be sorely missed.
What is it about cats and dogs that capture our being and pull on our heart strings? What is it that makes us pour out our series of days events talking to them with wild abandon? I believe it's that they have all the traits that we, as adult humans seek. They listen, they gaze, they look at their owners longingly. They purr, they sigh, and most importantly, they give us NO GRIEF. They are, for all practical purposes, the captive audience that we all seek. They are, the loving friend that expects nothing, the friend that demands nothing (but food) and yet provides us the greatest of satisfactions. After a long aggravating day, what is more relaxing than a glass of wine and a heart to heart with your pet? Well, lets factor out the hug of a child, and once we do that, the pet scenario . . . . well it is quite literally "the sh*&", which I am told is today's version of "the bomb"-which I am also told "nobody says anymore" :(
I have thought alot today about just how a person, such as myself, could come to grieve for an animal that I had never met. I've asked myself a number of times, just how I knew so much about Samson and why I felt such a connection to him. Well, it finally dawned on me that I felt this way because Samson's Momma loved him enough to write about him, to talk about him, to project herself and her life through Samson. This Bitsy understands the physical word, the written thoughts and musings about another. Afterall, it's what I do about the Webbman. It is one of the greatest expressions of love and admiration.
Through the writing and imagination of his Momma, Samson ran with the bulls. Samson was buddies with Deuce McCallister. Samson participated in the Sand Sculpture Competition and while few people know it, Samson was the sole reason that LSU won the 2007 Championship Game! I could go on and on and the reason I can, is because Samson was so loved by his Momma, that she shared. She shared her love of adventure and her amazing sense of humor through Samson and his life with her. Samson was just "special" that way, and his Momma let the world know just how "special" he was. What Samson's Momma did was compile a "history"of sorts of her relationship with Samson, his "projected" adventures and through all of this, it became obvious to me that Samson was a "special" cat. Samson was a special friend. A cat, that through his expressions, the look in his eyes and through the way he moved, portrayed a certain "devil may care" stance on life. Because Samson couldn't speak, his Momma spoke for him. You see, it was through his Momma's "musings" that I came to know about Samson, and what an amazing cat he must have been. May he live on in the hearts of those who loved him and who love his Momma. This is my "tribute" to Samson and to his Momma. He will live on in infamy thanks to the loving thoughts of his Momma.
Here's to a life well lived-Samson. You will be missed, and to your Momma, the Turcotte's of Atlanta, have you close in our heart and in our prayers.
A few memories of Samson borrowed from his Momma's facebook page. Oh Samson, you were quite the "cool cat", in fact I believe you were quite possibly the "coolest" of cats.
You will live on "Samson" in the hearts and memories of friends and family.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Bitsy's Been Busy, GRADUATION BLUES, & American Idol's "Scotty" Copied my Nephew "Cayce's" adorable face!
Oh my holy gosh. I looked up this morning and said "THE BLOG". What about the blog? Well, I'm quite certain for many of you, this will be very hard to understand, but do me a favor . . . . . "Just Try." I began this labor of love for the Webbman. It began as a daily wrap up of thoughts and milling's over of things that go on in Bitsy's head. While that has potential to be "nightmare" territory, it was my opinion that my little guy would one day look back at my musings, whether he be 18 or 58, and say "Gosh, I didn't know that about Bitsy, or ask the Lil Momma "Mom, Did you know this about Bitsy"? Bitsy's Bits was and is my way of coping with long distance grandma'ing and leaving something for the Webbman to consider once I am gone. This business venture of mine has kept me hopping. I looked up this morning and realized "I've been too busy to blog." This particular thing made me sad, so I'm stopping from all my "Bippity Boppity Boo Boutique Mail" activities and doing some blogging, just for my lil man!
Today, it's not a particularly easy feat to get my "entry" done. The stupid space bar on my laptop seems to be sticking. I have never stopped long enough to think about what a bummer that little sequence in events can be. It slows a person down, cramps their style, not to mention their fingers. My thumbs are definitely getting every last little bit of aggression pounded out of them as I blog. I'm gonna work on the space bar another time, and for now, I'm going to keep on "pounding". OK, let's get rolling with Bitsy's thoughts for today.
I've been thinking alot about graduation. This time of year is filled with beaming graduates, so full of life, so full of optimism and potential and . . . . . . . "parties" and "good bye Mom and Dad's" and "I promise I'll call" and "Don't Worry, I'm going to be Fine" activities that I almost, and "mind you", I said "almost" don't miss it. My youngest nephew, Cayce, is graduating Memorial Day weekend and when I received his invitation, my heart skipped a beat. This Bitsy adores her some "Cayce Thomas". I had flashbacks to the days of picking him up from school, keeping him til his mom got home and loving every minute of Cayceworld, even when he would pee on the wall and laugh about it! Those were good times and I am extremely proud of the young man Cayce has grown up to be. As a sidenote, I have to tell you that that kid "Scotty" on American Idol is a dead ringer for my nephew Cayce. I guess the kid saw Cayce's potential and decided to work off of it! Anyhow, I know our Cayce Thomas will do well in life and I know he has a full life to look forward to. What I also know are the things this "Bitsy" won't miss when it comes to Senioritus and Graduation.
In honor of the 2011 Graduating Class of every high school in the world, let me touch on a few reasons, this "Bitsy" will NOT miss having my own teen graduating from high school.
a. Been there, done that, bought a whole pile of Tshirts.
b. The expense - Senior pictures, graduation announcements, Senior rings, class yearbooks, the cap, the gown, the after graduation outfit, the after "after" graduation outfit . . . . the shoes, the "after shoes" shoes.
c. Going back to Senior pictures. With boys, it MAY not be as dramatic - or knowing some boys, perhaps it may, but anyhow with girls from start to finish Senior pictures are wrought with trauma, drama and more trauma. There are "official School portraits" and then there are "external Senior portraits" Let me note that the Lil Momma was tasteful and appropriately clad and covered in her informal Senior portraits unlike a few some other people's children :( Funny, what Momma's don't forget, huh?
d. The never ending cost - yet again, but moving along to Part II of "the cost". Graduation Gifts - Oh sweet mother of pearl.
e. Bless me good holy Lord, but graduation and Senior year mean college plans, college application fees, food plans, sorority dues, FAFSAs, travel to and fro. Got the picture.
g. Senior prom. Pre Prom parties, After Prom parties, the sleep overs (thankfully most of these were at our house, but worry ensues no matter where they are. Enough said. If you've ever gone to one — or had a child go to one — you know what I mean.
h. Then there are the Graduation night parties. Fear and trembling on the part of parents with kids who think the flip of a tassel has made them an adult and they're ready to party like one. (Kids who don't realize that adults typically party hearty in a less hearty — and more safe — manner. Usually.)
Thankfully here again, we were usually the home that the party was at or we accompanied the kids to said parties. Still a night frought with worry (if you are the sober one, which I generally was).
i. The summer before college. Again, fear and trembling on the part of parents with kids who think they're adults ... except when it comes to picking up their room, saving money, packing all the right stuff for college, and being considerate of parents who still expect them to come home before the crack of dawn (or at least call if they're not).
j. The next chapter: The empty nest. It's a tough one to get used to. Been there, done that, too. Can't say that this Bitsy has ever gotten used to that. And am so glad I don't ever have to go through the transition again.
k. Missing your children's friends - your adopted children by default. I worked very hard at staying involved in the Lil Momma's friends lives throughout college and on through their early marriages even to the point of hosting baby showers for them. Sometimes, a Momma just CAN'T LET GO.
All kidding aside, to those who do have lovelies marking the end of their high-school careers this graduation season, I sincerely say Congratulations! (And good luck!)
Aunt Carleen Loves You Cayce Thomas.
Now, go get the world and when you're famous, don't forget to write!
You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. You are the guy who'll decide where to go." - Dr. Seuss
Posted by Bitsy at 1:27 PM
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Today was just an amazing day. Got up early, worked on the shipments that needed to head out today, boxed them up and hit the post office. Talked to the Lil Momma for awhile and here is where the day gets "as good as it gets" (which is pretty good, yep up there on the amazing level). Pay close attention.
Here's the conversation:
Lil Momma: "Mom, I'm going to put you on speaker phone, OK? I'm fixing Webb's bottle."
Bitsy: "Sure sweetie."
Lil Momma: "Momma, Can you hear me?"
Lil Momma: "Oh Momma, you should see Webb's face. He hears your voice and doesn't know where you are."
Bitsy, as her heart melts and drips all over the floor . . . "Awhhhhhhhhh. hey Webb. It's Bitsy. Hey lil man. What's going on? Kate, what's he doin'? Is he smiling? Is he grinning?"
Lil Momma: "Yeah Mom, he is, but he has that "I'm not sure what's going on look. He . . . . . Oh Mom, I gotta go. Can I call you back? He sees his bottle and he wants it. He wants it NOW."
Bitsy, as Webb begins to pitifully wail: "Ok, Kate, Give him the bottle BUT it's NOT the bottle. He's obviously upset because he WANTS his Bitsy. See what YOU did to my baby. Call me later."
I ask ya'll . . . . . . . . isn't it amazing to be loved? Better yet, isn't "baby love" just the ticket? Isn't it just the cat's meow, the bees knees, the catepillar's spats? This woman is in a proclaimed state of grandbaby "awe". It's simply the best. I hope it never wears off.
On another note, we had another "prison break today". Baxter darted out the back door as the hubby came in from playing golf. Thankfully, it was peak time on the 8th hole and the one club member who didn't believe they had sighted a terrorist due to the white beard and crazed look, "snatched" him up and met the hubby on the cart path. I'm waiting for the call from Leon Panetta and Robert Mueller to tell me, he's on the watch list and sadly, I have a feeling there will be no flying for Baxter or Bitsy for awhile. Little jackass. He drives me crazy, but he is so loveable. There is justice in the world though . . . . as Baxter was out on his romp, Buddy snuck in and "snatched" the big ole ham bone that had been my gift to Baxter earlier in the day. Join me . . . . Let's say it together: "You reap what you sow. You reap what you sow."
Night ya'll. Oh, and by the way, I found the statue I want. Note the angel, in open dismay at the obvious loss. Yep . . . . It's exactly what I want, so ya'll remember this.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
I need to tell ya'll right off the bat - "I'm not planning on going anywhere for at least another 15-20 years, maybe longer". This morning though, as I perused the synopsis of high points from the recently croaked in today's paper, more formally known as the "Obituaries", it dawned on me I had some creative writing to do. A girl can never be too cautious I suppose. One of my bestest buddies, Peggy, has told me for years that I was delegated with the task of making sure her "final rundown" is befitting of her life. I have always considered that task as a privilege, but today, it hit me "Who the heck can I depend on to gather up all the high points (and low points) of my life and fluff them up to a sheer and total state of literary enthrallment? Certainly, not the Lil Momma. Certainly, not my Hubby. Certainly not my Family. Certainly NOT my ex-family, which is still like family. I fully understand that the aforementioned parties will all be floating around on Xanax, sobbing uncontrollably and lining up deviled eggs. I'm figuring, if I leave the high points here - in broad daylight for God and everybody to see, somebody will feel compelled to pass along what Bitsy feels needs to be noted.
"Bitsy" (yes, I want my obit to use my Grandma name. I figure if you don't like your God given name, everybody should have a chance to shed it when they become a Grandparent). If for legal purposes, someone feels the need to use my full name, I want them to use the whole thing, no partials, no short versions, the whole thing . . . . . I worked hard at being Carleen Odile #####, then even harder at being Carleen Odile #####-#####, and well I haven't done it as long but I'm going down kicking and screaming as Carleen Odile #####-#####-########, whether the ######## Family likes it or not. Somebody make a note of that, please.
First and foremost, this is something I really really insist on (I may even start looking for myself) I want an amazingly breathtakingly stop and pay compliments to her winged concrete angel over my "spot" I want her to have her head resting on her arm protecting me. I always thought these looked pretty cool. Seems to me if you have one of those on your "spot", you lived a good life.
I want to "ashified". For those of you that don't know what that means - think about it. I'm a firm believer in the old ashes to ashes, dust to dust thing. The Lil Momma, Precious and the Webbman can have half my ashes to do whatever they want with (there should be plenty to go around), if my Hubby is still kicking and he wants them, he can have a portion and the rest I want buried in Napolean by my Daddy, and I'd like a few sprinkled off the seawall in Cedar Point. I'd say put a portion of them by my Momma too, but since my Momma and my Daddy are buried in different cemeteries, it gets kind of complicated. Short version is my Grandpa (my Momma's Daddy) purchased burial plots for himself, my grandmother and my mother. He did NOT include the purchase of one for my Daddy. I think he may have rationalized the situation by thinking that since my Daddy was from Napolean and his family had a "family cemetery" that it was just OK for him to save the money and let Daddy fend for himself. Who knows? I quit trying to figure that one out a long time ago. For me, NO WAKE, NO FUNERAL SERVICE, NO bunch of people. Just pick me up from wherever I'm "ashified", find some containers you think Bitsy would like (personally, as much as I love Jiff peanut butter, I can't think of a better container, but PLEASE don't put me in there with the Jiff). The idea of being stuck on something for eternity kind of creeps me out.
OK, the rest of the obit can go something like this:
Bitsy attended Catholic School all her life. She was in the musical drama "Oklahoma" in 1972 at St. Stanislaus at which time she made her one and only singing debut as Aido Annie. From that point forward, Bitsy only sang to herself. Bitsy's sainted Mother passed away on Mardi Gras Day in her Senior Year of High School. Bitsy always noted that she was at the Royale Sonesta on a balcony on Mardi Gras night when she got the call to come home. Needless to say, Bitsy has a tough time with Mardi Gras and had alot of things she wished she had told her Momma. Anyhow, She dated the same good looking young man from 9th grade through her Senior year in college (although she enjoyed a number of other cute boyfriends from 8-9th grade, much to their Mother's chagrin). In Bitsy's Senior Year of College, at the University of Southwestern Louisiana, (now University of Louisiana at Lafayette) she was invited by a friend of her brother's to go listen to him play music at the Blackburn Coliseum. Said boyfriend of seven (7) years, went duck hunting one too many weekends. Blackburn Coliseum was the scene of the crime where she fell madly in love, broke up with said boyfriend of 7 years, crushed his heart (or so she believes), and moved back to the MS Gulf Coast to marry said musician. There was a degree from said University earned during this time period, one that Bitsy noted often "quite probably served no purpose". A few years later, Bitsy gave birth to the Lil Momma, adored her beautiful lil face and toes and hands from the minute she was born, and hung on her every word, where she would continue to hang had Bitsy not croaked. Twenty years of marriage and some poor, if not misunderstood decisions later, Bitsy was divorced. It should be noted that Bitsy always noted that it was a good run and she was glad she participated in it, although said musician may have another story. It should also be noted that Bitsy quite squarely laid blame for her label as divorce' on her brother for being friends with said ex-husband to begin with.
Bitsy often noted the many ways God blessed her. Bitsy married her "ex-bestfriend of thirty (30) year's" older brother after what was considered a proper number of years after "the divorce". For reasons unbeknownst to Bitsy, God decided to bring her someone else to love, and best of all, it was mutual (big butt and all-Bitsy's, not hubby's) and more than that, he was an amazing friend. Walter Francis (aka "Butch") somehow saw something in all of Bitsy's mess up's that was redeeming and for that she was forever thankful.
Bitsy noted that she had a number of good friends throughout her life and noted that there were only a few people that she really did not like and one of them predeceased her. She never questioned the justice in that. Bitsy also noted that her bestest friend and greatest pride was the Lil Momma, then bringing up the ranks there was her antagonizing "You're Adopted" Big Sister~Mary Ellen, Big Peg, Judy, Aunt Miche, Connie and her sister n law, Mary. She loved her sister n law, Candy allot. She adored her niece and godchild, Brianna Carol. She loved her ex Mother n Law, Granny, and missed her to the day she croaked (Bitsy, not Granny). She had alot of friends who she loved but the aforementioned were her die hards. She always said she wanted her obit to thank Big Herb Dubuisson, her big brother, Pat and Bill Lady for standing by her when she needed it.
During Bitsy's life, she participated in the following occupations/jobs: Legal Secretary, Secretary to Plant Manager, Word Processor, Bank Teller, Asst. Branch Manager, Branch Manager, Mortgage Servicing Manager, Admin. Asst., City Councilperson, Real Estate Agent, Consumer Loan Specialist, Chamber Director (which she openly noted was a nightmare), Flight Attendant, Sales Assistant, owner of Bippity Boppity Boo Boutique Mail. Bitsy noted that she was not particularly good at any of the preceding positions. She did note that the best job she ever had was Momma to the Lil Momma, and that she did a bang up job with that (depending on who you ask).
Finally, Bitsy knew beyond any doubt that her greatest joy was the Webbman. In fact, Carleen Odile Murphy-Moran-Turcotte made it clear, that this would be her epitaph:
Grandmom to the Webbman
Again, I'm not planning on going anywhere, but just in case I do - I felt the need to throw out some pertinent facts. Consider them "thrown".
Posted by Bitsy at 10:15 PM
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Mother's Day for all those who would rather it be Christmas, Living in a COMPOUND, & Subliminal Messaging.
|Let's skip Mother's Day and Move on.|
Happy Mother's Day to all my friends, family and those of you reading this in Germany, Switzerland, Afghanistan and the United Kingdom. I don't know anyone in the later places but I see you're reading, so if you're a Mother, and even if you're not, I wish for you the Mother's Day I've always imagined. Several months ago, when I noticed there were readers in Afghanistan, I JUST KNEW for CERTAIN, that it was Osama and his family scouring my blog for interesting ways to pass the day in the cave. Since last week, I KNOW that Osama wasn't IN Afghanistan, and I don't have any readers in Pakistan that I know of. Now, I see my folly and still have to wonder who's reading "Bitsy's Bits" up in those mountains, valleys and plains. Just wondering?
Anyhow, tomorrow is Mother's Day. Big Yip. I've never liked the holiday. I can't quite pinpoint whether it's because my Mom passed away before I ever really DID a Mother's Day "right" for her. Sure there were cards and hugs and the occasional azalea clump out of the yard, but was there ever a DAY, a full DAY when I stopped my own activities and devoted the DAY to WHATEVER Carol Theresa wanted to do? I guess when you're a Senior in High School, you don't think much about sitting with your Mom and actually holding a conversation about politics or her hair color or maybe the night you were born? There sure are alot of things I would do differently if I had the opportunity, and Mother's Day is one of them. I'll admit to the same thing about my Grandmother's. Both, amazingly wonderful women, who I adored but in "hind sight", I don't remember celebrating their "Mother" roles quite as flamboyantly as I should have. There were no crowns, no pageant sashes, no flags flying from their houses declaring my undying love. Did, they know I loved them. Yeah, I THINK so. I know I told them, but when it comes to showing them on Mother's Day, I think I fell way below the "limbo" bar. I reckon I would take the crown for "How Low Can You Go" on Mother's Day. I, sadly, didn't set the bar very high. Now, don't let my disdain for the Holiday bring you down, I believe it's all about your own personal experience with the holiday. If you sat around and had an opportunity to sing "kum ba yah" with family for most of the Mother's Day experiences, I can understand your affection for it!
Funny thing is, I guess you learn from loss, or I'd like to believe I DID. All Mother's Day does for me is make me WISH I had little ones around, wish my refrigerator was full of construction paper hearts, wish even more that I lived less than the 483 miles away from the Lil Momma and Webbman. It helps to know that they're not home any how this weekend, and it helps to know they are participating in a good cause instead of asking ME about my hair color or ME about politics (Well we couldn't talk about that anyhow because I'd be aggravated that they're Republicans, but I haven't lost my eternal hope that maybe, just maybe, the Webbman can be swayed to being more like Bitsy.) If I have to pick a holiday, I'll choose Christmas. It's one Holiday I know for certain that I'll get to see the kids. Here we go, fact is . . . . . . I need to let go. I need to realize that Mother's Day is just a day . . . . . . . but IF this BITSY could make a WISH...........it would be a DAY with the Webbman and the lil Momma. Fact is, whoever designed this dumb holiday set it up to fail. How can new Momma's get a DAY that is just for them IF they have to be worrying about their Momma's, their Mother-in-Laws, their Grandmom's and such? I think all these holidays work great if all the extenuating circumstances are "perfect", which in REAL life, NEVER quite shake out that way. The ever popular "nuclear family" concept. It worked. The grandparents lived with the parents, helped with the kids, helped with the house, just helped. If there were no divorces, if everyone lived in the same house or a compound~YEP, A COMPOUND THAT is the answer. I'm not kidding and I know where one is for sale. I'm just not SURE I can sell the Lil Momma and Precious on the benefits of moving to Pakistan. Anyhow, it's a beautiful weekend and I hope all of you have a wonderful Mother's Day. In the meantime, I'm trying to see which Real Estate Agent has "the COMPOUND" listed and then I'm going to be working on some type of subliminal messaging system.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
|Cinco de Mayo, Everybody Wears a Hat, Right?|
Today was going along just fine. Beautiful day in Atlanta. . . . . . sun shining, sky was blue all day long, hubby was golfing, Baxter only had an accident in the house once today . . . . . one may ask what more I could want from life. What kind of dilemma could have befallen "Bitsy" in the midst of the many blessings the good Lord has bestowed upon me today? Truly, I have been busier a salmon swimming upstream with the new business venture. Who could have known that so many people would want their children to be contacted by Fairies of all shapes, sizes, affiliations and representations? Who would have known we needed any kind of Fairy in our lives except the Tooth Fairy? Well, I've known. The Lil Momma has known, but it wasn't until several weeks ago that this "Bitsy" realized that all these Fairies needed their own personal letterhead. They needed to be writing letters to children. They all needed their own professional designations? It wasn't until Webb started approaching his half year mark and I realizied we needed to be planning a Birthday Party did it occur to me that we HAD to have a BIRTHDAY Fairy. The world cannot continue to spin without a SWIMMING LESSON Fairy. Every child needs to hear personally from the TBall Fairy, the Soccer Fairy and oh my gosh, our children cannot live another sick day without "Gertie", the Get Well Fairy. It was all so clear and thanks to theWebbman, this "Bitsy" has taken it upon herself to start letting these guys participate in all of life's little moments. Not only will they participate, they will make these moments pretty darn magical. Our Fairie Crew is planning on being a part of darn near every occasion that presents itself. We even have an "I Love You to the Moon" Fairie, just because we can and because we do . . . . . love our lil chillins to the Moon and as that wonderful author said "and back" . . . . . "to the Moon and back".
See . . . . . . EVERY Fairy NEEDS a LOGO and a LETTERHEAD? Don't you agree?
|Fitting for a Dance Fairy, Don't you think?|
Ya'll still don't know what is so utterly terrible. Today, for the first time since last year, I heard a familiar sound in our neighborhood. Those nursery rhymes that sound like they're playing on an old phonograph that needs to be wound up again~that's what I heard. You know they sound like they are playing in slow motion or that maybe there's an Alfred Hitchcock movie playing on the t.v. in another room. It was the Ice Cream truck. Well, it USED to be my favorite sound until last Summer. Yeh, last Summer, the beginning of an emotional trauma of epic proportions. You see, there was a little mishap as one of the neighborhood "angels" pushed me out of the way to get his taste treat. Uh huh, all I was doing was standing there with my dollar. Yes, two scuffed up knees and pure humiliation later, I still didn't get my damn ice cream that day but TODAY, I did, so I think that emotional trauma is on the mend. Anyhow, this was another good thing about today. No pushing, no shoving, a Nutty Buddy Bar and you would think Bitsy would be floating on air. Well, she's not.
I'll tell ya'll and it won't sound like much to you, but it is CERTAINLY is to me. A little while ago, I got the cutest text from the Lil Momma with an adorable picture of our lil guy captioned simply "Happy Cinco de Mayo". It hit me, right then. I've been so wrapped up in Fairyland that I let my lil man down. It's his very first Cinco de Mayo and what was I thinking about? What was I doing? Well, I know what I wasn't doing that I should have been and that was standing in line at the post office waiting to mail Webb his package. "What package" you may be thinking? Well, all I can say is what self respecting grandmother, a/k/a/ "Bitsy" would allow her grandson to experience his first Cinco de Mayo "sombrero-less"? I'm a failure. Wait til next year . . . . . Just Ya'll WAIT.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
"Daddy, Did you Play with the Seals Today and WHY are you dressed like RAMBO?", Bitsy~Hillary & the Navy Jimmy Choo's.
Just like alot of you, The last few days I've watched as the news unfolded. I've mulled it over and over and over. Hours upon end, somewhere in the back of my mind, I have wondered just how our soldiers "got" Bin Laden. I've thought about what type of people they are and who comprised this Seal Team Six. I don't know about you, but I have been "safe harbor" for a life long fascination with spies, covert missions, special ops, undercover missions, stealth operations and well anything that may fall in the "cloak and dagger" category. Tale note, the typical "Sherlock Holmes" type of mystery doesn't seem to hold my attention but give me a 007 or a Bourne Identity type of drama with some red carpet activity and and maybe a little bit of "Rambo" . . . . you'll find me ass to elbows in my version of a bucket full of heaven.
I've even gone so far as imagining myself in a beautiful navy blue suit and a simple but fitting pair of Jimmy Choo peep toes, sitting in the "Situation Room" kind of like Hillary, with my hand over my mouth gasping, feeling some emotion that I can't even begin to describe. I just can't seem to grasp how a person would feel while quietly witnessing such a series of "horrific events" as they unfolded. We, as American citizens, just aren't wired to witness "murder" or assassination or whatever this is called first hand. We can hear about it, but seeing it, that's somehow a different story. We have been raised by parents who were ever mindful of the Ten Commandments. The "Thou Shalt Not Kill" one . . . . it's a biggie. As fascinated as I am with the whole kick butt operation, I've struggled. I've struggled with the feeling that this man that was removed off the face of this Earth by our military forces with no ability to fight back is just OK. That this man that was pushed gently into the Sea where his carcass is hopefully being nibbled on by an entire population of bottom feeders is just OK. I may even go further, THAT all of this is an amazingly self satisfying wonderful thing. I feel guilty feeling that it's OK to believe he relinquished any right to life that HE had when he made the decision to take that right away from every single victim of September 11th. That HE made that decision when he took brothers, sisters, parents, and friends away from those that loved them. My heart tells me it's wrong, but my brain tells me I'm glad we got him. I'm glad he can do no more harm and in my belief, he will have to face an after life in which he walks with his head hanging, where he has no followers, no pride, no family or friends. Again, I don't want to feel this way, but I do and I'm struggling. I cannot imagine what our leaders, those elected and appointed officials, who ultimately made this decision are feeling, but I do know that it can't be good. It can't be easy. It can't be comforting. I guess that's why we pay them the "big bucks". They have good insurance and should be able to afford a few Ambien or Lunesta. Really they should. All kidding aside, very tough decision. I have to believe that what they felt was a sense of obligation, a sense of responsibility to each one of us. The closest thing I can think of is how this Bitsy would feel if I had to make a decision that would serve to protect the Webbman. I can't help but think~this decision DID affect Webb. It did affect the Lil Momma and Precious. Tough tough decision. A decision this Bitsy is visibly not cut out to make.
From a completely different perspective, I've tried to imagine just what it would be like to be one of those 22 Seals who took Bin Laden's compound by storm. One of those who swept in in the dark of the night moving stealthily in pursuit of the bad guy. It is absolutely amazing to me that these Americans trot in a front door somewhere they call home most nights to their children and when their little one says . . . . "I missed you today Dad. How was your day at work?" These amazing Americans probably look down and with some degree of "plausible denial" say "It was just another day. My day isn't important. How was yours?" Parents . . . . Grandparents~Well, this Bitsy believes "We've ALL achieved Seal Team 6 classification in one way or another!". On that note . . . . "How was your day at work and did you get to dress like "Rambo"?"
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
|Bling band aids . . . . . I wonder what the FREE PRIZE inside is?|
Well yesterday the Lil Momma dressed the lil man up, strapped him in and headed on out. It's kind of sad to me because as a grandmom, I would really rather every outing be something to look forward to, a special event, something fun. I'd rather not think about the lil man wondering if the minute he's strapped in the car he's going for some more of those dreaded SHOTS. Wouldn't it be nice if we never ever had to introduce the lil ones to any type of pain? The Lil Momma told me today that for the very first time, she noticed the Webbman's direct association with the Nurse and the "Impending Pain" fast approaching. She said the terrorized cries began the minute she "handed him off" to Nurse Ratchet. The cry that only a Momma can hear the "NO, no pllllllllllease don't make me go with this woman and have her stick a cold thin piece of metal in my upper thigh. Pllllllease DO NOT LET HER DO IT!" Whether it's the smell, the touch, or being weighed in that kicks off the emotional protest, we all know it's coming. I have to say the Lil Momma has made a point of not holding the lil guy during any part of the shot experience, which is a good thing. He can loathe and detest the nurse but still find solace and comfort in his Momma's arms. Smart cookie that lil Momma!
Our lil sweet pea weighed in at a little over 18 lbs and got the "green light" to have some juice. The good doctor also gave him a permission slip to kick off his love affair with "the sippee cup". At least the lil man got something "sweet" to soothe him after suffering the indignencies of the Shot Nazi! The Lil Momma said he adored the juice and mastered the sip pee cup with ease. I mean, I KNEW he would. I KNEW this would be easy peasy for our little Einstein. A fella can't watch months worth of Baby Einstein DVDs and not have an IQ of 9,048. I mean it's quite likely a situation where his IQ can't be monitored and is "off the charts or chain or whatever it's off of". Irregardless, our Webbman is one amazing lil guy. Seriously, who can wear band aids like that? Such a fashion sense. He's going to be like his Momma. She can drape a dish rag around her and still look good. I remember her band aids made their own fashion statements too.
|Check out the band aids and the sippee cup.|
The Webbman is in full control!
Bitsy has been doing some research on band aids. It's critical that the Webbman has any kind he may need when it comes time for "Bitsy" to doctor. I want to ensure that using band aids is "fun" at "Bitsy's" house - no "Nurse Ratchet" for my lil man. Doctoring a boo boo at Bitsy's is going to be a big deal. So many many kinds to choose from~I think I may need to start purchasing a box every week for the next few years to make sure I'm prepared. Sooooo many choices . . . . . .
|I can live with the Jesus band aids, maybe they'll heal quicker, |
but what kind of TOY do you think they give in a box of JESUS band aids?
|I think my Hubby is going to want these.|
He can't be around bacon without tasting it!
|I adore these and the name . . . . "Boo Boo Care"|
I may sneak the catepillar out and keep it for Webb's scrapbook.
|A boo boo that looks so good it can't hurt!|
|Gotta love this concept . . . . "The Keep Calm & Carry On Band Aid"|
|Monkey Business :)|
|“I gotta pickle…I gotta pickle…I gotta pickle hey hey hey hey…��?|
“I’ll give you a nickel for a pickle…��?
“How about 2 cents?��?
|These are all just for "Bitsy and the "Lil Momma"|
What could be better than "Bling band aids"?
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Here we are. Can you believe it? Six months have passed since the Webbman hit our lives! 184 days, to be exact, have passed since our lil guy graced our family with his presence. It's hard to believe, but he is actually 1/2 of one year old. If you ask me, which I can assure you NOBODY did, we should celebrate "1/2 year" marks. For the life of me, I don't know why we let them pass us by without some sort of marked festivities. I mean really, when you ask a child how old he is, very rarely do they relay an even number. Most often, their proud answer is "2 and a half", "3 and a half" , "4 and a half", something and a half. These children, they're counting so WHY are WE letting them down? I'm planning the Webbman's 1/2 year festivities and saving them up for a few weeks from now when I get to see him. I'm fighting the urge for a big party, but an intimate gathering of family, with a few party hats, maybe a few monkeys . . . . . I'm thinking THAT just may be called for.
Apparently, there are roughly 490,000 babies born each day, that's around 14,709 each hour and 245 each minute. I mean that's alot of babies. It's hard for me to imagine any of THOSE babies could possibly be as amazing as OUR baby, but I guess everybody has an opinion. I was forced to use my best buddy "google" to get the baby statistic. As I read the facts, they felt it was important also to remind me that the average life expectancy is age 67. That leaves me an estimated 13 years left to wallow in my state of "Bitsydom". I have alot to do between now and the ripe old age of 67. I think I have a head start on most people because, as ya'll know, I have been making a list! I sometimes find myself worrying that I'll forget something very important that I need to tell my lil guy or some special place I need to take him!
Well, today's blog post is short because this Bitsy has a 6 month birthday party to plan. I KNOW we will need ponies~or maybe goats. Maybe we need ponies AND goats~and maybe elephants? It's quite possible we need ponies, goats AND elephants. I need to check to see if Bay St. Louis requires a permit for circus animals. Oh goodness, I really do need to go. I have to add to that frickin' list.
|I think maybe just 1 or 2 ponies is all we need?|
|Maybe just 3 goats?|
Night folks. Does anybody have any IDEA who I may call to see about getting a permit????