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.