Sweet Potato Pie And Lumber

I had sweet potato pie for breakfast in memory of my Mamaw (who made the best ones ever) and Daddy (who loved sweet potato pie as much as me). 

Mamaw died February 2000 and yesterday would have been her 100th birthday. Daddy died November 8, 2010 and tomorrow will be rough for me and my family. I miss them both so much. 

Mamaw was the glue that held our family together. She knew everybody's secrets and never breathed a word to anyone. She taught me to bake biscuits from "scratch" and let me mess up her kitchen experimenting with recipes. 

Daddy was strict and overprotective of his girls, but it was out of love. It took me a long time to realize that. He taught me to love creating, both the process and the end product. He did woodworking and I still love the smell of sawdust and lumber. I can walk through the lumber aisle in Lowe's and be transported to his shop. I still have the first piece of furniture he made for me and hope to pass it on to my oldest son. 

Because of Dad, I can do basic troubleshooting on cars--except for changing a flat, which for some reason I never learned. 

My gift to my children is to teach them the things my mamaw and my dad taught me. And I tell them where every lesson was learned. My dad even started writing a few months before he died. He said I inspired him to do so. They both may be gone from this earthly existence, but they're always in my heart. Memories, both good and bad, are a gift. 

Phone Call From Heaven

A few months after my dad passed away, I was home alone; the hubby had gone to work and the kids were at school. I was having a hard time adjusting to Dad's death and it was having an effect on my sleep. On that particular day, I decided to take a nap. 

The phone rang and I answered it, half asleep. Anyone who knows me, knows I don't function well when I first wake up. 

The man on the other end of the line said, "Hi! How're you doing?"

I looked at the caller ID and saw my dad's name and number. I was surprised, to say the least!  

I asked, "What phone are you calling from?"

"My cell."

"Do they let you have cell phones there?"

I asked. 

"Yes...are you okay?" he asked. 

"Well, no! I miss you!"

"I'll be home soon!" he said. 

"Okay, Dad, you're dead!  You can't come home!" I said. 

There was a long pause. Then he said,"Honey, it's me. Your husband."

I never found out why the number showed up incorrectly, but maybe, just maybe it was my dad's last practical joke.  :-) 

Drama King

My youngest child is a drama king. He trips and breaks a fingernail and moans for an hour.  Last Friday, he fell on the playground and skinned his knee. Oh merciful goodness!

He got into the truck Friday after school and said, "I could see my bones in my leg today."  

Of course, his dad and I were like, "WHAT?!?"

Then we find out he fell and skinned his knee, went to the nurse and got it cleaned up and bandaged. 

Now, a week later, he's still moaning about it. I admit, it looks rough. He landed on a rock when he fell. He asked last night why we hadn't taken him to the hospital yet. Sigh. 

Will we go to the hospital with a partially scabbed-over knee? Will we call to alert the media over our broken fingernail? Will I drink all the wine in the house before Monday? Stay tuned to the next episode of "Confessions of a Drama King" for the answers!

Fishing

When I was around four or so, I remember going fishing with my dad. I

And by going fishing, I mean I put on a lifejacket (is that one word or two?), my old clothes (okay, the clothes went on before the lifejacket), climbed in a boat or stood on the side of a pond with my daddy, had Daddy bait the hook, and waited patiently to catch a fish (while asking no less than 287 million questions). When we got back home, I'd watch him clean them and engage in my favorite part of the process...

Want to guess what the favorite part was? Eating the fish? No, it was good, but there's something even better! Touching the cold, slimy fish eyes! 

For some unknown-four-year-old-bizarre reason, I LOVED touching fish eyes. 

You really should try it sometime. Of course, there's a difference in being 4 and doing that, and being (cough, cough) 30ish--shut up!-- and doing the same thing. If nothing else, people look at you a little more, um, critically. "Isn't that cute?" becomes "What kinda freaky shit is that?!"

Now, you may wonder why this story popped into my head and why I felt compelled to share. Because I love you? Okay, no, not because I love you...I mean, I DO love you, of course. (Even though most of you are relative strangers. Or would that be strange relatives?) No, the reason I'm sharing this story is because we're taking our boys fishing this weekend. For the first time. Oh, and did I mention that two of my three hate bugs? Yeah, so this should be...interesting. As in, "Holy shit! What the freak were we thinking?!"  I haven't been fishing in...um...well...yeah, a while. My husband hasn't been fishing in...a long time (because we're counting the drunken, deep-sea fishing trip he went on in his 20s as actual fishing).  

But we're making memories here, folks. Making memories--fish eyes, bugs, and all!  Stay tuned for the follow-up post! Here's hoping there are no ouchies, booboos, bug bites or snake sightings!