Sure to be a Christmas classic....

First things first.  My Gran, who was my mother's mother, hated the word hate.  Wait, scratch that, she would have never used the word hate. My Gran disliked the word hate. Her explanation was simply this, hate is a very strong word.

So wait, I don't dislike Christmas, I hate Christmas. And if you grew up with my other grandmother, you would know that the feeling you got about Christmas from her warrants a very strong word.

This story is about my MawMaw, my father's mother.  I know my MawMaw grew up poor & with little education. She always seemed pissed about this fact.  She probably still is.  Did I mention this miserable person is still alive? The only 1 of my 4 grandparents who still is.  I'm convinced she sold her soul to the devil long ago.  Evil never dies.

If you know me, you well know I would NEVER speak this way of someone.  Unless it was all true!

Everyone now needs to get in their way back machine.  Go back to, I don't know, the 1st Christmas that I'm old enough to have a conscience memory, and that will do. Every year & I mean every year, my MawMaw told us what selfish children we were.  All kids, at some point, during Christmas probably get a little selfish.  It's all the hype, it's all the sugar, it's the hype & the sugar.  But guess what? Those selfish children, they don't be us!

Oh no! She's starting to take over my thoughts already with her bad education too! Stop the insanity!

Seriously though not 1 of us, not me, my sis, my 2 cousins or even my half-brother, are selfish. We all grew up in median households.  4 out of 5 of us went to Catholic school.  Still no selfish children here.

The part of the story that might make Jesus himself hate Christmas is the tale of the brick baby doll.

What did you say?   You mean Cabbage Patch Doll?  No! I said the BRICK BABY DOLL! (I said this in all caps so that you would know I was shouting it.)

My MawMaw always claimed that they were so poor that they couldn't afford for her to have a baby doll so all she had to use to make a doll with was a brick. Really woman?  I find this hard to believe.  Not the poor part, I know that's true she had 9 siblings. Why a brick for a doll? To make it even more pathetic, she said how she had to take a small scrap of cloth to make a blanket for her doll.

It's a brick, not a doll! Ok Mo, deep breaths, deep breaths. This memory makes me start to foam at the mouth.

I think next she used to say that they only had 1 candy cane for 10 kids & her father used to take a hammer & break it up & it was every man for himself. Really, you could afford tools? I'm shocked he didn't further traumatize you & grab your baby, AKA the brick, to crush the candy cane with!

Deep breaths, deep breaths....

Still don't believe me? I have a sis, 2 cousins & a half-brother who are all as scarred by my MawMaw's tale of woe.  Even my other half was exposed to this bat shit crazy mess enough that he could testify under oath to its validity.

Now do you know why I hate Christmas?

Guess who I don't spend Christmas with anymore?

Oh wait, never mind, I just DISLIKE Christmas!

My birthday wish for you...

The final countdown has begun.  It is less than 10 days away.  In fact it is only 6 days until I turn the F word.

Get your minds out the gutter people!  I am talking about the other F word.

F-O-R-T-Y!

For the record, it will officially be the 1st anniversary of my 39th birthday.  Well it is!  And if you think otherwise I'm gonna beat you up!  Not really because you can all outrun me anyways!

I have been thinking about some birthdays past & the different things I've done to celebrate.  When I was 20 I had a spacewalk party.  My now 27 year old cousins, who were then 7, just reminded me of this.  They thought that I was the coolest cousin ever.  Probably because I am!  Right Shane & Sean?

For my 21st we acted very adult & wore Burger King crowns & went to the Star Casino to go gambling.  Back when gambling was a brand new thing.  When I turned 24, I was having a nice brunch with my then fiance' & my friend Jen when the GD Brightfield crashed into the Riverwalk.  Jeff got called into work.  I didn't see hin for 2 days after that.  Jen & I kept the party going into the night that day.

Back to the title of this post.  I am making my birthday wish for all of you.  My faithful readers.  My wish for you is that you are never afraid to do or to try something new.  Upon reflection of my birthdays past, I now realize that there are so many things I wish I could do.  And now I can't do.

I certainly can't relive the spacewalk party.

I always wished to go to Rockefeller Center & ice skate.  That's out.  I used to love to ice skate.  Do you remember when there were ice skating rinks in Elmwood, Chateau & the Plaza?  I do.  I skated them all.  I even skated the Houston Galleria.  I skated when they had the rink in City Park.           No more.

I wish I had gone on a zip line.  I had the chance but was too afraid.  I wish I had climbed the waterfall in Jamaica.  I wish I took helicopter rides when I was in Hawaii or Canada.  I wish I had swam with the dolphins.  Damn Jaws ruined that one!  There are so many wishes I've had to let go.  They say the only regret you should have in life is to have no regrets.  I never know exactly who "they" are but dammit if "they" weren't right.

That is why I'm making my birthday wish for you.  My wish will be for you to not have fear, to try things and to do things today because you don't know if there is a tomorrow.

Please honor my wish so that I can live vicariously through you.  That will make my birthday wish come true.

Tribute #1: "If u have to have cancer, this is the best one"

If you know my mother, and many of my FB friends do, you can totally hear her saying this statement in the title.  It was probably more along the line of, "well if I had to get cancer, breast cancer is the best cancer to get".  Seriously!?!?  Who says this stuff!?!?  My Pollyanna glass is always half full mother.  That's who.  Although I guess she is right.  I don't think you want pancreatic, liver or brain cancer.  Breast cancer is not so bad.

In honor of her upcoming birthday I thought I would share one of her funny cancer stories with you.  You know how the American Cancer Society says they are helping celebrating more birthdays?  I feel like every birthday I've shared with her since The Great Cancer of '08 is an additional bonus year.

My mom was never sad about cancer, she was mad.  She said,"I don't know why I have breast cancer.  I have no family history, I had 2 children before age 25 & I breastfed both of them.  I shouldn't have cancer".  I remember telling her she was right chances are she should not have cancer.  I said to her,"You should have been buying lottery tickets since you like these impossible odds".

I also reminded my mom that when I found out I had MS that I had decided I had enough disease to cover the whole family.  I thought I got her to sign a contract.  I guess I forgot to file it.  She then laughed and told me that she was tired of me getting all of the attention.  I laughed and told her that next time she felt neglected she could just tell me.  She didn't have to pull out the big guns, like cancer, to get attention.  Geez!

And so along with cancer comes so many fun events like surgery, chemo and radiation.  Oh my.  All the things you need to really have a party.  My mom had 2 surgeries.  Next was chemo.  She told me that she was determined not to throw up from chemo.  I told her to let me know how that worked out for her.  But you know what, she never did throw up.  Don't mess with my mom you stupid cancer.  You have met your match.  Two go into the ring and only one leaves.  My mom is the one who is leaving.

My mom and her hair loss due to chemo were a very interesting study.  She didn't mind losing the hair on her head at all.  In fact my mom made a field trip out of wig shopping.  She bought 4 wigs.  Why not have fun with different looks?  One of them looked exactly like her normal everyday hair but one of them was quite wild.  My little sis called it her "Tina Turner" look.  My mom could not wear that one around my sis.

The story that will show you why I am full up on crazy goes something like this:
Mom: Do you know what happened to me today?  (in an unamused tone)
Me:  No not until you tell me.
Mom:  I am 6 weeks done with chemo and today my eyelashes fell out!  (very annoyed tone)
Me:  Well I guess chemo is not done with you.
Mom: (now laughing) I guess you're right.

The eyelashes, as far as my mom was concerned, was cancer drawing it's line in the sand.  That was the last straw and cancer better not mess with her ever again.

I know you are probably thinking that I am totally crazy laughing about cancer on her birthday.  I think when you are faced with the reality of your own or a loved ones mortality when you get through it, life is so much sweeter.  It only seems fitting to me that on the day my mom started her life that we should not forget to celebrate the fact that she still has a life.

Don't you think?

Happy Father's Day or it's hard for me to say I'm sorry

I couldn't always say Happy Father's Day to my Dad.  Our relationship over the years has been stressed and sketchy.  That's I guess what happens when your parent's divorce when you are 6 years old.  We didn't have an every other week or weekend arrangement.  It seems like every once in a while he would call on a Saturday  morning & he would come and get us and we would be home on Sunday in time to go to 11am mass.


Wow what quality time.  Thanks for spending less than 24 hours with me.


In fact, very few people I know have ever laid eyes on my Dad.  I think they wondered if he even existed.  I would show them pictures as proof of his existence.  If you have ever had a sighting of my Dad, I assure you it's an event as rare as sighting Halley's Comet.  It only happens once every how ever many years.


I often tell people that my Dad is an enigma.  An enigma is defined as a person of puzzling or contradictory character.  Yep, that's him exactly, puzzling.


There was a really long time where he didn't speak to me.  Or I didn't speak to him or whatever, bottom line, we didn't talk.  This lasted for 11 years.


Yes, we are a hard headed, stand your ground, never give in family.


There was a time in 2001 where he attempted to rekindle our relationship.  It was the end of September, after 9/11, and my grandmother had just died.  I remember that the phone rang and I saw my other half look at the caller id.  When he told me that it was my Dad calling he might as well  have told me my dead grandmother was calling.  I would have had an easier time believing that.


We talked back and forth for a few months.  One day I told my Mom that I felt like I was betraying her by talking to him.  She was the one who was always there for me, not him.  She told me not to feel that way because there was nothing that she shared with me that he could take away from her. It was his loss.


But it was my loss too.


My Dad didn't come to more than a few dance revues, he didn't attend my chorus concerts, my high school or college graduation or even my wedding.


Yes, it kinda smarts.


Soooo, in December 2001, when he doesn't call me for my birthday, I was done.  I felt like I had opened the door again only to get stomped on.  No more.  You're dead to me.


Fast forward to 2003, the year I find out I have MS.  I start thinking about my Dad.  September 11th had made me think, what if my Dad died and I had never spoken to him ever again.


Did I mention my Dad is a pilot?  Could have been him that day.


So now I have MS and this diagnosis really rocks my world.  I have a friend, who happens to be a priest, and we talk about the importance of forgiveness.  I decide it probably is time to forgive.


I was carrying all that hurt and pain around like I had packed a suitcase for a month long trip.  Stress doesn't help MS.  I needed to forgive.


And I did.


I told him there was no need to relive the past because nothing was going to change it.  We just needed to move forward and worry about our behavior from now on.


And we did.


Thank goodness.  I needed to live with him for 6 weeks after Katrina.


The morale of the story:
If you have your father and he has always been there for you make sure you tel him how much you love him for that because it is a choice to be a good parent.
but
if you haven't talked to your father in a while think about doing it.  It might be good for you.


After all, for now, we are living as happily ever after as we can.

I need to remember this person on Memorial Day...

You know we are not supposed to say "happy memorial day".  This is a day to remember those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for our country, their lives.  It is a solemn day.  It is not just a 3 day weekend or a chance to BBQ.

Thank God not everyone has a fallen soldier in their family to remember.  I have one.  My maternal great uncle who died during his service in WWII.  I should almost have more with all of the relatives I have who were in the military.  My father and my maternal uncle were both in Vietnam.  My grandmother had 4 brothers who served during WWII.  3 of them came home with purple hearts.  My paternal grandfather served during the Korean War.  My maternal grandfather served during WWII.  But their holiday is Veteran's Day not Memorial Day.

My great uncle, Lt. Lloyd Joseph Schexnayder, he's the first one on the bottom left, was a navigator in the U.S. Army Air Forces stationed in England.  He studied navigation in Hondo, TX. before receiving his commission in June 1943.  He was reported missing in action over Germany in November 1943.  Lloyd was only 24 when he was finally reported as killed in action in 1944.

Lloyd had no wife or children.  The only family to remember him were his parents and siblings.  He now only has 2 surviving sisters.  One of his sisters, my Aunt Maggie, just turned 96 this past February.  I have tried to get her to tell me his story.  It is still a little hard for her to talk about.

My Aunt Maggie gave me this picture and a newspaper clipping about Lloyd.  She also told me about him and showed me a scrapbook with photos and clippings about him.  The saddest thing is the collection of letters that drag on for months declaring him missing in action and then finally killed in action.

I'm told that his mother, my great grandmother, never got over his death.  Lloyd died in 1944 and she died in 1950, probably a little of a broken heart.  As a child I remember going to the family tomb and seeing his name inscribed on it.  That's it, there are no remains there.  How hard it must have been to have a funeral with no body.  It also had to give my family, some strange hope, that maybe he survived.  Maybe he would just show up again some day.  That never happened.

I'm also told that in WWII every service man had a $10,000 life insurance policy.  In 1963, when Lloyd's father died, the money was just still sitting in the bank, almost 20 years later.  I guess they couldn't touch it because it felt like "blood money" to them.  Trust me they could have used the money, they were not wealthy people.

So Uncle Lloyd, I want to thank you for your ultimate sacrifice for my freedom.  I'm sure you would have loved to meet your 2 nieces, 2 nephews, 2 great nieces, 5 great nephews and now 1 great, great nephew.  I'm sure we all would have enjoyed meeting you.  I promise to share your memory with the others.

I can't wait till your great, great nephew is old enough to know your story.  I will make sure he knows all about our heroic family member, Lt. Lloyd J. Schexnayder.      

This is dedicated to the one I love...

My mom could win "Mother of the Year".  Hands down the winner could be her.  She would definitely at the very least put up some fierce competition.

I was trying to narrow down the reasons that make her an awesome mom.  I think the best one I came up with was: She knew how to be silly.  More importantly, she taught my sis and I how to be silly too.

Every Saturday morning at our house was cleaning day.  My mom wasn't using us as child labor, but as a single mother, she needed help doing certain things.  Oh and P.S., our house was only about 1,000 square feet.  My sis & I would either be assigned to do dusting or vacuuming.  My mom always did the bathroom because nobody cleans the bathroom to her standards.  We only had 1 bathroom.  It's a good thing it was only us girls.  You NEVER got privacy in the bathroom at our house.

The way my mom made the cleaning more fun and more silly was to play music.  She played records. Remember those?  Remember that you could stack like 3, 4 or 5 records so that when 1 record was done the next one dropped?  My mom would do a good mix of her records and our records.  There is probably not one Beatles song that I don't know the words .  Unless it is anything past Sgt. Pepper because my mom lost interest in them after that record.

My mom, my sis and me would sing and dance like crazy while we cleaned.  Beatles & The Beach Boys for her and the Grease soundtrack & Michael Jackson for us.  It was so silly & so fun.

Saturday nights always included baths and hair washing to keep us in theme with the day.  Then let the silly factor resume with the best night on TV.  I'm talking about The Love Boat and Fantasy Island.

Thank you Aaron Spelling for such great and cheap entertainment right in our home.  I don't remember exactly when cable was available.  I also don't remember when VCR's first came out.  "Not much money, oh but honey, ain't we got fun?"  It didn't matter when cable or a VCR came out because my mom couldn't afford it anyway.

That didn't ruin our party.

My mom would always pop popcorn for us.  Do you remember popcorn before the microwave version?  I remember throwing that 1 tester kernel into the hot oil to know when it was hot enough to put the rest in.  I would be yelling to my mom that it was ready because I wasn't allowed to pour the rest in by myself.

My mom was silly but not insane.  You don't let your kid play with hot oil.

The most exciting part of the night, besides the popcorn, was staying up past our bedtime.  Fantasy Island came on at 9pm.  This is normally when I would have to go to bed.  I got to stay up "late" to watch it.  Although it usually involved some convincing on my part.

My sis is 3 years younger than me & would do the same plea as me to stay awake.  I don't think she ever made it past 9:15.  Lightweight.  My mom & I would go back & forth about the additional hour of time.

Do you remember that every once in a while Fantasy Island would be kinda of dark & creepy?  I do.  I'm a big chicken and when the subject matter would go this way she would ask if I was scared.  I would always answer no and then later on I would wind up in her bed.

You think one of us would have caught on.

She probably actually liked me coming into her bed to snuggle.

I hope she knows now that the little things really do mean a lot\, that you don't need lots of money to have fun because after all, to quote our favorite band, "all you need is love."

Make sure you tell your own mother how much you love her on Mother's Day and every day!

Except you don't have birthdays when you're dead...

April 21st would have been my Gran's 97th birthday.  Except, according to my mother, you don't have birthdays once you die.  I guess this is true.  The age you died at is the last age you will ever be.  You don't have another birthday because you aren't here to have another one.

I guess it is like you are frozen in time.  Or even forever young depending on what age you died.

My Gran was 86 when she died so we'll just say she was frozen in time.  Although because she had Alzheimer's if you caught her on a bad day and asked her how old she was she probably would have told you she was 39.  Maybe it was a good day for her after all.

I remember once when I was a little girl telling my Gran that I wished she would live forever.  She quickly and firmly told me that she didn't wish the same thing.  I didn't understand this at the time.  Once she got Alzheimer's I was sorry I had wished eternal life on her.

It's hard to remember my Gran sometimes when she could still remember things.

And then I stumble upon things like a note she wrote to me my 1st semester at LSU.  I know she missed me when I went to LSU.  My Pepaw had just died in April and then away I went in August.  I was with my Gran a lot that year.  My Pepaw had gone into the hospital in January and then he died in April.  My Gran didn't drive so I got my Pepaw's car with the disclaimer that I had to drive my Gran wherever she needed to go.  At 17 I wasn't exactly thrilled with this idea.  Now I wish I had that time back.

I found a note my Gran sent to me at LSU.  I could cry every time I see it.  It is written on her church notecard.  She LOVED her church.  Here is some of what she said to me:

"Dear Monique,
                        I think about you and say a little prayer for you every day.  Don't forget to find a time to pray.  You were so good to me taking me to church on Sunday.  I hope you will enjoy the football game this weekend.  Study hard and have fun and give my best to Jeff.  I look forward to seeing you the next weekend you are home.
All my love, Gran"


All this was written in my Gran's beautiful handwriting.  I can almost smell her perfume.

I think I have to find a time to pray for her now.  Happy Birthday Gran.  I don't care what your daughter says, it's still your day.

When I picture myself

I was looking at this picture of myself from this past weekend. This was at my friend's wedding. I have known all these girls since grammar school. I hate this picture though. I hate it because like most pics of myself in the last few years, there it is like a giant pink sore thumb, my walker.

I'm sure I tried to move it out of the picture. I usually do. You can tell I tried to push it from in front of me like I don't even know whose it is. Yeah, doesn't always work.

I can assure you that whenever I pictured myself in the future, this is not the picture that appeared in my head. I don't know if I even thought I would be using a walker when I'm elderly. For Pete's sake I took dancing for 14 years! I guess that doesn't repel MS.

I've been going to physical & occupational therapy for years. The only goal I'm told I should have with that is to not get any worse. I probably will never get any better.

OMG, you know what I really can't picture, what I would look like if I got any worse. I'm blocking that picture out!

I have tried to lighten the mood of using a walker. The one I have now is an adorable frosty pink. It's still a walker. One year it even had it's own Halloween costume. It went as the Cash Cab. Funny right? Not really so much to me.

There are days when I'm tired of it being a part of me. I don't want to see it in the picture.

On the other hand, it has in some odd way made me the center of attention. Or at least it makes everyone gather with me and around me.

With a little help from my friends...

"Old friends are the best friends." Although since my friends and I are all turning 40 this year I may have to revise that. Instead of "old" I will say "friends I have known since our SCS days". That sounds better, just longer.

This past weekend I went to a bridal shower for Stacy, one of my "friends I have known since our SCS days". Also in attendance at this event were two other "old" friends, just deal with it we are old, Cathie and Tara. It was at this absolutely beautiful historic home on St. Charles Ave. As I walked down the sidewalk and got closer to the gate and peered inside, I felt this overwhelming moment of my biggest fear.......................

STEPS!!!

It doesn't matter if there are 5 or 50 they have gotten REALLY hard for me to navigate. Notice I did not say impossible. I was raised to be a strong independent woman. I'm not sure at what point exactly my strength and independence jumped ship. I'll have to look into that.

Cue 2 really corny songs now, "With a Little Help from My Friends" & "Lean on Me" because that is exactly what happened next. Well actually first I had to go around to the side entrance because there were less steps there. I had to take like 2 rest breaks to get to the side entrance but I made it. There were only 3 steps now. Piece of cake. No problem.

No problem with the help of not 1, not 2 but 3, yes 3 of my friends to get me up. Tara was 1 of the friends I was leaning on which in hindsight is funny because she is so skinny I could snap her like a twig. Cathie had a slightly easier job. She was the leg lifter. I would tell her each time I was ready for her to put my foot up on the next step.

Talk about your team effort.

Amen for these 2 girls I have known for what seems like eternity. The ones I had sleepovers with, went on summer trips with, and most important of all, laughed at myself with.

"A true friend is one who thinks you are a good egg even if you are half-cracked."

I'm glad that they don't mind the hard job it is to be friends with me now. It means more to me than you will ever truly know.

DISCLAIMER: There are many, many others that take time to spend time with me and my PIA self. My other half, my sis and numerous other friends and relatives. Thank you as well for lending me a helping hand or foot or leg or whatever body part of mine isn't on board at that moment.

This just happened to be the most recent event of my friends giving their "poor old disabled" friend some assistance.

And to further embarrass these 2 I'm making my first attempt to add pictures. Hello, I'm in the pictures too, you are not alone.

MS destroys connections

"Multiple sclerosis destroys connections. It disconnects the mind from the body and people from each other. Defy this disease with the very thing it seeks to destroy: connections,"

This is a quote from the Nat'l MS Society webpage for MS Awareness Week which is this whole week.

I kept reading it over and over yesterday and finally thought, "This is just too depressing".

I kept thinking about it. MS has destroyed some connections between my brain and my eyes. They communicate a little. Sometimes. When the mood strikes them. Not a great connection between my brain and the right side of my body. Especially my right leg. Damn thing just up and went on strike one day.

One of the worst social connections MS cut from my life was work. I know you think that you would never miss work. Trust me you would. "Don't know what you got till it's gone." It's the connection that you have with people at work. It helps you feel like you have a purpose or in some small way are making a difference. Numerous people's identity is linked to their jobs. If you ask them what they do they say they are a teacher or a nurse or whatever job title they possess.

I got nothing.

No response.

I miss the connection I had with my co-workers. I would follow their marriages, children's births, birthday, etc. I now hardly have any daily connection with anyone. My husband and my cat are many days the only ones I talk to.

Yes, I talk to my cat. Don't call the men with the straight jacket yet. He doesn't talk back.

People sometimes love to rag on Facebook but it is one of the only ways I still feel connected to the outside world. I love keeping up with my grammar school and high school friends. I love keeping up with family and people who live out of town, like my 2 nieces. Facebook keeps these connections alive for me.

Hmm, connections. I hadn't really thought about all the types that I have in life. I hadn't really thought about how much MS affects them.

Food for thought.

Did you know I used to ....???

I love to play this "game" with my 8 year old goddaughter I'll call Princess. It always amazes me that kid's seem to think that you had absolutely no life until they came into existence.

Don't they realize if their parents weren't here before them that they would have no existence? Never mind, she is not old enough for that conversation.

I especially love to make this statement to Princess, "You know, way back in the last century, when Nanny was in school". Fill in school with a wide variety of words that apply to things I did in the last century. There were lots of them. 28 years of things to be exact. I graduated high school, college, got married, moved to another state, etc, etc.

Princess goes to a gift & talented school. Apparently her talent is musical theater. For any other 2oth century peeps out there it is what we called chorus. I love that she is so into this because I was too. I sang in grammar school, high school and even a couple of years in college.

Princess recently had to sing two songs for a group of judges at school. I had also done this but not until I was in high school. She performed these songs as solos.

When she originally told me she was performing 2 solos, I was amazed. I told her that I would have never done that at her age. Heck, I don't know if I would do it now.

Wait, never mind, I KNOW, I wouldn't do it now.

It wasn't for lack of encouragement that I never performed a solo, I was always too afraid. I don't know if Princess knows the meaning of the word fear. She wants to know how much longer she has to wait to try out for American Idol.

After her performance, she called to tell me she had gotten "superior" ratings on both songs. That is the highest rating you can get. I told her how proud of her I was.

I suddenly remembered that I too had gotten superior ratings for group performances I had done. We got a certificate and a medal. I now had to go to my "box of crap from the last century" to find it. I hoped the medal actually said "superior" on it. I couldn't remember.

Low and behold, I found the medal. It did say "superior". It looks like a military medal. It hangs from a small piece of red ribbon. I actually had more than one.

The next time I saw Princess I gave her the medal. She actually immediately wanted to put it on. I was happy she was that happy about it. You never know how these 21st century kids are going to react to things. She was then walking around, with the medal pinned to her chest, showing it to all my other half's family. She almost looked like a little Khadaffi.

The other half's grandmother was amazed that I gave the medal to Princess. She said, "You were a superior singer too?". I told her yes I was. Then she questioned whether or not I wanted to let Princess "keep" the medal. Again yes. I told her that I had others at home. I also thought that after 23 or 24 years, which is when I got the medal, it was time to pass it on.

So did you know I used to be a superior singer?

You know way back in the last century?

I think Princess deserves an extra medal for bravery. Something I certainly didn't have.

I'm so proud of her.

Happy 21st Birthday to my other half!

I know. You're thinking I've lost my mind. You know that my other half turned the big 40 today.

So why am I saying happy 21st?

That's easy. That's how many birthdays of his we have spent together. It's almost hard to believe. I remember 3 years ago when we had spent 18 years together that I told him, "Do you realize that from this year forward we will have always known each other longer than we hadn't known each other". Now we have known each other more than half our lives. Crazy.

I remember when we first met. Jeff's friend, John, and my friend, Jennifer, had dated for a while. I had told Jennifer that I needed a date for our senior prom and did she know anyone that I could go with. She told John that she thought Jeff and I should meet. So John told Jeff , you know to reel him in, that I was, let's say, well endowed. Jennifer told me that Jeff had a black Jeep Wrangler.

Hello. What were your priorities at 17 and 18 years old. Geez.

On April 20, 1990 was our first date. We doubled with Jennifer and John. We went to see "Pretty Woman". At the end of the night, and Jennifer NEVER lets me forget this, I told her,"Well he didn't talk to me much so I guess we'll just go to the prom together and that will be it."

It has been almost 22 years since I met that boy. He certainly learned to talk more.

I don't have those boobs anymore and he doesn't have that black Jeep either. I guess we found out other things to keep us together.

To my darling other half, or as he has turned into some days, my other 3/4's, I wish you happy birthday. I hope we spend many more together.

Oh, and don't forget, we have spent 1 more of my birthdays together than we have of yours. So lucky you, in December, I will be turn 22. I'll be older than you.

Watch out for the traveling circus train

Now if I go somewhere that alot of walking is required, which for me is over 150ft., I have to ride in a wheelchair. It's certainly not the mode of transportation I always dreamed of, but it works. It is what it is.

So yesterday I went to the mall with my mom, my sis & the Honeybadger. Trust me when I tell you that the mall involves more than 150 ft. of walking. Therefore I'm using my wheelchair. The Honeybadger is only 5 months old so obviously he can't walk 150 ft, either and he gets to ride in his stroller. Picture this: 2 women walking with 1 pushing a stroller & 1 pushing a wheelchair and there you have our traveling circus train.

My mom claimed that her knee was really hurting so she made my sis push me and she pushed the baby. I personally think she doesn't want anyone to think she is old enough to have a "baby" my age. She denies this.

Here's the back story as to why I call us the "traveling circus train".

We were getting ready to throw my sister's baby shower and trying to decide about decorations. The baby's room has a jungle animals theme. My mom suddenly remembers that she still has the Fisher Price circus train that belonged to my sis. She now just has to find it.

If you truly know my mom you know that she is extremely clean and tidy. But she has a dirty little secret. She has 1 room in her house that my sis & I have named, "the room of no return". It's upstairs and she always keeps the door closed so you would never even know it's there. It could easily qualify for an episode of Hoarders.

And this is where she has to go to recover the circus train. I thought the poor unborn grandchild might graduate from high school before getting this as a gift.

Low and behold, she finds it. The engine, the caboose, the cage car, the animals and the most important part of any Fisher Price toy, The Little People.

Now she wants to know how we can be sure we have all the parts. I tell her, why Ebay of course! You can't believe how much old school Fisher Price stuff is for sale on there. Everything from complete boxed sets to individual pieces. Incredible. I'm looking at a set that has the box to do a checklist of the pieces we have.

We have all except one. The clown.

The clown had a cute pointed yellow hat. My sis put everything in her mouth when she was little. I have no doubt that the hat made a wonderful chew toy for her.

My mother then says, "Are you sure we are only missing one person? Because I have the engineer and the ringmaster but there are 4 seats on the train. Who's the other seat for?".

I told her that they must keep that seat open for the kid who wants to run away and join the circus. Now we are killing ourselves laughing. It's about this time when the other half walks into the room & is listening to our conversation.

My mother tells me that I MUST try and get a clown for our circus from Ebay. She pleads with me and says,"our circus can't be short a clown". My other half hears me tell her that I promise to bid on a clown so that our circus will not be short a clown.

After I hang up with her the other half looks at me and say, "if there is 1 thing your family will never be short on is clowns".

I'm sure he is right. Although maybe that explains it. My family is crazy because we're 1 clown short of a circus.

Go figure.

I'm a Barbie girl! (w/ no one to play with)

This past weekend I was with my brother-in-law and his 2 girls and my sis and her little boy. Although at 5 months and 18 pounds he's far from little. In fact I call him "big boy". My nieces are ages 4 and 9 months.

My brother-in-law, the BIL, was telling my other half how he thought my older niece would like to see my husband's Lionel train. We then talked about my BIL's replica of the Alamo. You have to see this thing it's impressive.

So then I was thinking. My BIL has 2 girls and he & my other half have tons of heirloom boy toys. Then here's my sis with a little boy. She & I have a bunch of heirloom girl's toys.

We need to do a toy exchange.

The one toy, or I should say toys because we had a TON of them, I hoped to have someone to play with me was Barbie. I LOVED Barbie. My sis & I could play for hours. In fact we would sometimes get so involved in their very busy lives that we might even forget to fight. Go figure.

We had some interesting scenarios for Barbie when we played. We did not have a Barbie dream house. Apparently we didn't dream big enough. Actually that forced us to construct our house. What we wound up setting up was more like sets for a play. There was one Barbie's bedroom where they all hung out. There was a classroom for when they went to high school. We used imagination.

We also owned a series of strange accessories for Barbie. There was no house but we had 2 pink Corvettes. One for me, one for my sis=no fights for my mom to break up. We had a Barbie horse. This was acquired during the "western" phase that Barbie had during the Urban Cowboy years. In keeping with the white trash, I mean, Urban Cowboy theme, we had a Barbie camper and a Barbie hot tub. Yes, my Barbies were classy with a capital K! I'm sure these 2 items were acquisitions made by my MawMaw at a garage sale. Or at least I'm making her the fall guy for these symbols of poor taste.

I'm trying to remember all the different varieties of Barbies we had. The afore mentioned Western Barbie, Kissing Barbie, Twirly Curls Barbie, Pretty in Pink Barbie and numerous others I can't recall.

I had a Ballerina Barbie. Key word: HAD. She was so pretty in her white & gold costume, crown permanently affixed to her head and unlike all the other dolls, her feet were molded to fit into a pair of white pointe shoes. Until Jaws, I mean, my sis got hold of her. Do you know what the inside of a Barbie's feet & legs look like? I DO BECAUSE MY SIS CHEWED HER FEET & PART OF HER CALF OFF! There are just sticks inside. No skeletal system. Sticks. This was in the mid 1970's so there was no reconstructive surgery or prosthetics available. There was no hope for her to ever dance again.

I should have sent her to the place where they made the Bionic Woman and the Six Million Dollar Man. I bet they could have fixed her.

Our Barbies also had a man shortage. I guess that was actually a Ken shortage. We had a 1960's Ken that was my mom's and he was a dork. His hair had literally started falling out because he was, after all, old. We had 2 other Kens. One was a Western Ken. He looked very Burt Reynolds like. The best part of Western Ken: his ability to move at the waist. You know so he could thrash about while riding a bucking bronco? He also sported a fabulous pair of faux leather pants.

If you think that kids don't pick up on stereotypes or are too young to understand certain things. I haven't told you the best part of our Barbie world.

All of our Barbies were authentic Mattel Barbies. All except one. How do I know? Number 1 she didn't have Mattel stamped on her ass and #2 she was a brunette. No Barbie is a brunette. Not that she would claim to be anyway.

The absolute terrible, awful that my sis and I did to this poor brunette doll, because she wasn't a real Barbie, was we made her wear a black dress and serve as maid to all of our beautiful blonde Barbies. I sometimes can't believe I ever did this. For Pete sake's I'm a brunette! My sis was originally a blonde at least.

Maybe it's not such a bad thing I don't have a next generation to play Barbie with after all. I would have shown them a world where it was okay to have a sort of caste system. That poor doll did nothing but have brown hair.

Oh God, I hope I didn't make her live in the camper. Maybe I can make it up to her now and offer her a private train. I could also offer her a private city inside the Alamo.

I'll have to ask the other half how he feels about another brunette living here. Hey, she cooks and cleans.

It's all about compromise (way more by me than others)

The day I could no longer drive became the day I knew I now had to always rely on others. Thank goodness I have a lot of "others" to rely on.

You just don't know how much being able to drive is true freedom. I guess kind of like a bird that gets it's wings clipped. It is still pretty to look at but it can no longer fly.

Does that bird then want to peck his friend's eyes out?

No, the bird isn't a metaphor for me. I mean I'm not going to peck anyone's eyes out. Hello, I don't have a beak.

I hardly ever get to pick where I want to go anymore. It usually involves the other person telling me where and when they are willing to drag me to. The time is not always negotiable either. I can't be late for anything anymore because Lord help me if I'm not ready at the time the other person thinks we should be on our way.

Although you would think they would always play me like the ace up their sleeve. I can hear them telling other people, "well, look at her, poor dear, she's a little slow now so we were running behind". I'm always running behind. Well, not actually running, more like sauntering behind. Looking at people's behinds. Okay, that was a joke.

It's not that I don't appreciate people taking me places. It's not that I don't want to go anywhere. There are just some days where the getting ready time just does not seem worth a quick trip somewhere.

I don't really want to waste the make-up. Oh and I need more of that these days.

This is not a pity party. I've told you before that no one wants that invite.

I don't want anyone to not want to take me anywhere anymore. Just give me a little advanced notice.

I can no longer be a "fly by the seat of my pants" girl anymore.

My pants don't fly. They got their wings clipped too.

And maybe once in a while say, "where do you want to go today, I'm all yours".

At least then I may still feel the breeze move my feathers.

A tribute to the one who left my life too soon

Exactly 1 year ago today, my stepmother died. I still can't believe it. I can't believe I just called her "stepmother". She didn't like that term and neither did I. I didn't feel that way about her. "Stepmother" usually makes you think of the evil stepmother in Cinderella. Sally was as far away from that stereotype as she could be.

There are some people in your life that you feel blessed when they cross your path. Sally was one of those people. She was only 8 years older than me. She was 15 years younger than my Dad. I used to constantly tease him about how she was closer to my age than his. Truth hurts. This is why we became such good friends.

My Dad has not always been the best procureur of wives. Sally was his 4th wife. He hadn't gotten it right since wife #1. Who happens to be my mother. Go figure why I was partial to that one.

I didn't meet Sally until 2004. She and my Dad had been married a few years earlier but that was during the cold war years when I wasn't talking to my Dad. Or he wasn't talking to me. Or whatever. You can never remember how that stuff gets started. I only had 6 years with her. The blink of an eye.

The absolute best time I ever had with her was after Hurricane Katrina. There was nothing good after Katrina. My Mom & sis went one way. My husband had to go to Orlando to work. I went to Nashville to live with my Dad and Sally. I didn't have a clue I would be there for 6 weeks.

It was a good 6 weeks. All things considered because I got to really know Sally. My Dad was working out of New York at least 3 or 4 days a week so the rest of the time it was just me & Sally.

We had some great gab fests. We shared tons of stories about our crazy families. She had some great crazy relatives stories. I knew she was meant to be one of us!

Remind me to tell you her tale of Pu Wu. Another time, another time.

The last time I saw her was 2 weeks before she died. I almost didn't go to see her that day. I didn't know it would be the last time I saw her. Sally and my Dad were at my MawMaw's house. A place I try to avoid at all costs. Swarms of locusts, pestilence and famine all reside there. I decided to go anyway. I knew that my MawMaw as mother-in-law was a lot for Sally to deal with alone. Thank God I went to see her. It was the last time.

So on this day Sally please know how blessed we all were for having you in our lives. I will try not to be sad but I'm not quite there yet.

Thank you for sharing some of your crazy with me. Thank you for the crazy memories of crazy times we shared together.

Please know I will never think of Pu Wu without thinking of you!

Loved my pal Sal. Until we meet again.

I guess b/c I'm crazy, people tell me some crazy sh*#!

I know, I know, because I'm crazy, craziness is attracted to me like a moth to a flame.

I really love the things that people decide are okay to say out loud to me. I got WAY used to this when a married a funny last name. One of these days I may lose my cool and strangle the next person who thinks they are telling me the most clever comment about my name that I have never heard before.

Yeah, right. They could out run me anyway. Hell, they could gayly saunter and I would barely have a chance of catching them.

Oh but here is one of the best comments I have heard to date about my "condition". A woman told me, just the other day, I was too pretty to have all of these health problems.

Too pretty? Is that how this stuff is assigned? Because if it is we need to do some SERIOUS restructuring.

I guess I didn't realize that my walker has a flashing neon sign that says, "Hey ask me any crap about my condition that pops into your head". Don't get me wrong, I don't mind telling people that I have MS. I know not everyone knows about it or understands it. But maybe they need to think about what they say. Or how they say it.

I wouldn't want my pretty to turn ugly on them.

And yet another person recently told me how much they admired how I "handled everything". How else am I supposed to handle it? Should I throw a pity party? That's an invitation no one wants to get.

Like my momma always said, "you just do whatcha gotta do".

I know that the minute I started walking around with a walker, a pink one no less, that the title of MS poster girl was thrust upon me. America didn't call in and vote. It just happened. And that's fine. I don't have a problem being outspoken. My speech has not been affected. Thank God.

It just that somedays, people throwing all this responsibility on my shoulders sometimes weighs me down. That makes it harder to walk. Then I'm going to start slouching. That won't make me too pretty.

So do you think if I turn ugly I'll be cured? Probably not.

I guess being pretty makes me a better MS poster girl. It makes me more approachable and that makes me a better advocate for MS.

I guess it's good I still have a pretty voice.

What do u do with _____? What a dilemma!

My 1st dilemma: What do you do with Christmas cards after Christmas? Do you just through them away? I'm not talking about just dumb cards from Hallmark. I'm talking about the cards that everyone sends out now with pictures on them. They are usually of their kids. Sometimes them and their kids and then sometimes a pet makes an appearance. I can't throw them away! I can't throw away a regular picture and I feel like these cards are no different.

Sooooo I am slowly turning into my Gran. I keep putting pictures in a box. They are not organized or properly marked. They are just in a box. Because I feel guilty and can't throw them away.

My 2nd dilemma: What do you do with prayer cards? You know the ones you get from a funeral. They have the person's name, birth date & death date on them. They also usually have a prayer or bible verse or both on the other side. I can't get rid of these either. It seems sacrilegious. There's stuff from the bible on them for Pete's sake. God might appear and strike me dead the minute they touch the garbage can.

He might. Maybe. You don't know.

Unless you do know because you have thrown them away before and nothing happened.

If so, let me know because I have a box of those going too. Just like my Gran.

God help the person who has to clear out my house one day when I'm gone. There are lots of boxes of unexplained things.

They had better think before they throw those prayer cards out.

They call me Nanny That's not my name

That's not my name. Do you know this tacky little song by a group called, wait for it, The Ting Tings? No, probably not because like me you are old. Well, not really old but WAY too old for this song. My 8 year old goddaughter, I'll call Princess S, did a competitive style dance to this song. I didn't understand what "style" was. I took dancing. 14 years of it. No "style" for me. After seeing the DVD of her dance I'm now thinking "style"" could possibly be code for "stripper". They wore thigh highs as part of the dance. I often weep for the future.

The memory was burned onto my brain. I watched it the day before my breast reduction. The next morning when I was starting to come out of the anesthesia, the 1st thing I remember thinking about was that damn song. Over & over. That's not my name, that's not my name.

Your brain on drugs can be a weird place.

That made me think of this:

Princess S, I do believe, was the first of my godchildren to call me "Nanny Nique". I'm not quite sure how that got started. Princess S is my 3rd godchild. I have 6 total. Yes, 6. What can I say, I'm just a girl who can't say no.

My 1st godson, who is also my cousin, never called me anything other than my name. I was only 13 when I became his godmother. He's a twin so I guess they were scrambling for 4 godparents. Oh and yeah, we don't have a plethora of relatives.

2 godsons I rarely see because they live in Texas. They called me "Mo". Since that's what their mother, my friend, calls me.

Another godson, the Jackelope, calls me "Mo". Since again his parents, my friends, call me that.

My final godson and nephew, the Honey Badger, will call me "Nanny Nique". He will call me that when he can talk. Nothing yet. He's only 4 months old.

Oh Lord, I hope he doesn't invent his own name. I'm going to become Sybil.

Princess S has a brother, the Prince, who also calls me "Nanny Nique" although I am not his godmother. No big deal, kids need consistency. One time he did ask why I wasn't his godmother. I told him to ask his mother. This is when the rolls were still open. They are now closed

I also have 2 nieces who are cousins with the Princess & the Prince. Therefore, they too, call me "Nanny Nique".

When I saw my 4 year old niece, J-girl, right before Christmas, she heard the other half call me "Mo". She got the most puzzled look on her face. She then asked me,"Who's Mo?". I told J-girl that my name was actually Monique. Not "Mo" and not "Nanny Nique" but Monique. She was a little perplexed by this and spent the rest of the day calling me Monique.

Wait! That's not my name! Oh, wait, it is!

Auld Lang Syne or New Year's Day always meant something different to me

Auld Lang Syne loosely translated means long, long ago or for old times sake. This day always had a totally different meaning for me because it was my PePaw's birthday. He was born long, long ago on Jan. 1, 1914. So today would have been his 98th birthday. My mother would argue that once you are dead, you no longer have a birthday. Point taken. But it's not like you are just suddenly going to erase this from your memory. For old times sake, let's have memories of my Pepaw for his birthday.

Earl Joseph Schexnayder was the oldest of the six children of Maurice and Lydia. On Dec. 8, 1914, his sister, my crazy great aunt Mildred was born. One born on New Year's Day & one on the feast of the Immaculate Conception. A good way to start and then end 1914.

I am the oldest grandchild. My Pepaw obviously loved me since he let me turn what should have been Grandpa into Pepaw. I was only 17 when he died at 76. My sis was 14, my oldest cousin was 10 and his twin brothers were 5. I know I'm lucky enough to have the most and best memories of him. I try to tell them little tidbits here and there so they feel like they knew him a little better..

My Pepaw was dead serious about education. He went to night school to earn a bachelors, masters and law degree. I was worn out after a bachelors degree! I NEVER thought IF I would go to college, it was WHEN I went to college. It was not an option not to go. Period. It's a shame he never even saw me graduate from high school. Pepaw would have been happy that 4 out of 5 grandchildren have bachelors degrees.

My Pepaw was a very faithful Catholic. He had a brother that was a priest for Pete's sake. He said the rosary every night before he went to bed. Every night. Even when he would make what seemed like an annual trip to the hospital, 1 of the first things he would ask my Gran to bring him was his rosary. My Pepaw would say to me that he was offering up his suffering to God as prayers. I remembering thinking, don't you think you've reached your quota yet?

In fact, he was immediately worried about my eternal soul when my parent's didn't give me a saint's name. My Pepaw knew I would be condemned to eternal damnation. Thank God, pun intended, his brother, the priest saved the day. He said, "Earl, Monique is a form of Monica & there is St. Monica". Amen Uncle. Amen. My parents didn't make this mistake when they named my sis.

My Pepaw loved to go out to eat. We went almost every Saturday night. He really loved to go to the Gulf Coast and eat seafood. He would then often take us to Marine Life. Remember that place with the dolphin show?

My Pepaw, who was mostly serious, could often be such a good sport. He had lost hearing in 1 of his ears at a young age & as he got older was losing it in the other. He wore a hearing aid in that ear. Whenever my sis & I would ride in the car with him he usually had on talk radio. Not really on a kid's request list. I would say, "Pepaw, can you turn down your hearing aid so we can put on our radio station?" and he would! That's love.

Notice I keep saying "my Pepaw"? I feel I coined it so I owned him! I kinda did.

My Pepaw's 1 request for his birthday cake every year was a pineapple upside down cake. I don't exactly know why. I'll have to ask my mother if she knows. I always thought it was an odd choice of cake but hey, it was his birthday.

On today, Jan. 1, I choose to remember that a long, long time ago and for old times sake, that the greatest Pepaw ever was born. And I don't care what my mother says, I say it's still his birthday.