Cheese in My Hair

Although there’s no fear as I’m floating around, I admit I feel best with two feet on the ground.

The water is slapping the side of my float, I doze and pretend it is really a boat.

Fingertips wet from the dip in the swell,  doing best to ignore what creatures underneath dwell.

The sun, it is blazing, the top of me’s hot.  My bottom snuggled into the water is not.

My eyes crack open the tiniest bit.  Can I still see the land, am I castaway yet?

I shift myself forward, to dip my big toe.   Is that the bottom?  Crap!  Where did it go?

The shifting sand bottom, it matters not.  Whatever touched my foot, well, that matters a lot!

Me thinks I shall paddle a bit closer to shore, where my feet touch the bottom and there’s people galore.

Today I read an article about a school committee in Provincetown  Massachusetts, that unanimously adopted a condom distribution policy for the elementary school and high school.   It is part of their “safe sex education.”

OK, where to begin……First, I would like to point out the folks in Massachusetts must not have middle school because they left that group completely out of their policy.  I’m guessing they are part of the high school.  Either way, in my opinion sex education begins at home and  starts a whole lot sooner than most folks think it does.  Having to actually teach them safety in regards to sex makes me sad, but it is what it is.

I will never forget the time when Alex was somewhere between two and three, we had apparently forgotten to lock our bedroom door and in the midst of the throes of passion I feel two eyes upon me, and it was not the cat.

I look over to my left and find myself staring straight at  Alex, chin propped up in the palms of her hands watching us with wide eyed interest.  She says in a  sweet, little voice; “Hi mommy, what you doing?”  I look up at Ray, who at this point is looming over me with a look on his face akin to a deer caught in the headlights, and say “I don’t know, what we doing Ray?”

I believe this is where the “Ask your momma.  Ask your daddy” scenario originates in every household, your kid walks in on you while your having sex.  Now, we don’t tell our children that’s what we’re doing, nooooo God forbid they should find that out!  Eventually, they do put two and two together though.

Kids for the first six or seven years of their lives are typically given the run around whenever they walk in on their parents “napping” in the middle of the day or “showering” together.  Once, one of the kids in children’s church informed the entire class, when asked what their plans were for after church; “We always go home to eat lunch and then my mom and dad take off their shirts and wrestle while we are supposed to take a nap.”

We as parents tend to steer our kids line of vision away from dogs going at it in the yard, and we hope they don’t ask how fluffy got all those cute kittens in her tummy.  My kids have seen the frogs outside fill the kiddie pool to the brim with eggs and witnessed the resulting plague of frogs.  They have seen “Nacho riding Josie like a dirt bike” as Ray so eloquently puts it, but to this day,  neither of them has ever asked either of us those words dreaded by parents the world over; ” Where do babies come from?”

Ray say’s it’s because I have told them so many whoppers over the years they wouldn’t believe me anyway.  I always thought I would be well prepared because the truth is so fantastic, what better tale to tell!   I have been robbed!  Let’s face it, they know where they come from, from the mommy’s tummy, duh!  Isn’t it lucky that I got to tell them how they got in there?  The question is,  do they know it can kill them?

When I was coming up, one of the worst things that could happen to a girl in school was to get pregnant out of “wedlock”.  (Wedlock? That never sounded appealing, who thought that term up?)  These days kids go to school and exchange sexual favors like silly bands and label it “friends with benefits”.

We have television shows that in my opinion remove the stigma from promiscuity or teenage pregnancy.  What do I mean?  How many of you were shocked and speechless the first time you saw that first plane fly into the twin towers on 9/11?  Ok, how many of you were still speechless three days later after you had seen it countless times?  You became numb to it all didn’t you.

Shows on TV like The Girls Next Door, 16 and Pregnant or A Baby Story de-sensetise us  from the fact that sex  has come out from behind closed doors and is no longer something shared by a man and a woman joined in holy matrimony.  I want my girls to know that sex is not a game to be played with multiple partners, having a baby when your a teen is a big freaking deal and will make your dreams in life harder to achieve.  It’s good that they see that love between a man and a woman is a wonderful thing and is best shared when your in a committed relationship, and as a result of sex in the relationship children will be born.  But I think that with the showing of this on television day in and day out, it takes away from what a true miracle  the birth of a child really is.

All in all, don’t be afraid to talk to your kids.  Give em the facts jack, don’t be afraid of filling their heads with ideas, they have plenty of  friends that will do that for you.  Truth is power, and this kind of truth can save their lives, so bite the bullet and have a talk with them. Don’t assume they already know.

My youngest, Abby, is going to be 12 in seven days.  She is already getting boobs, knows all about “periods” and I’m pretty sure if there are any questions regarding sex she will be glad to answer them for me.  I’m kidding, she and I have had “the talk”.  If  I ever bring the subject up, she turns red and gets all embarrassed.  I’m glad! I prefer her just the way she is, sweet and goofy, with a bottomless pit for a stomach that has currently discovered the delicacy of bacon covered with Redi Whip.  I hope she stays that way a little while longer.

In my never ending search for the leg up in life I have been led down many a path.  Today, I decided to investigate the website:  www.govbenefits.gov

This site allows you to take a questionnaire that uses your responses to multiple choice questions to determine what government grants, benefits, or programs you may qualify for.   Around question number 50,  I began to wonder if there was some sort of hidden camera logging my reaction to what I was being asked.

At first the questions were what I would categorize as typical; birth date, marital status, number in household, highest grade achieved.  Then, they began to delve further into topics I hadn’t even realized there might be a grant or program for.  For example:  At one point I was asked if I was a victim of torture.  Well, I AM a parent of two girls, that does count, right?

Also, if I was suffering from any “military sexual trauma” there was some sort of program that I just might qualify for.  I have to admit that produced a kaleidoscope of images in my mind while trying to figure out just what MST was.

I happen to be someone that believes our military deserve every benefit, freebie, grant, handshake, hand pat, leg up, free ticket, or discount available out there in the USA.  I also do not understand why they, their spouses or minor children pay for anything. They have already committed their lives to their country, I believe that is payment enough for the rest of their lives.

Other questions wanted to know if I had fallen victim to any areas that had been declared a natural disaster or if I was the surviving spouse of anyone that had lost their lives in 9/11.    If I was a coal miner there was apparently a niche I fit into as well.  I’m guessing after this year, there will be questions regarding my falling victim to BP’s little disaster in the Gulf.

I answered all their questions with complete honestly and thirty minutes later was given a list of programs that I just might qualify for.  All I needed to do was go onto each of their websites and fill out yet another questionnaire or application to determine eligibility.  All in all, I got exactly what I expected, a habit trail of websites to venture out on.  These sites were actually local government programs such as TANF and are great programs for those in need.  I just think it was a whole lot like going out the front door to get to the barn.

Why did I waste my time?  Well, so that I could provide you all with my slightly askew opinion on one of the sights that many of those “free money” authors are giving you in exchange for the dollars you are earning  by the sweat of your brow…..or via unemployment if you are amongst the almost 12% in our area.   I think I will continue to check out these million sellers and report back to you on whether or not they are worth your gold or are instead,  fools gold.

Perhaps I can get enough folks to pay for  a subscription and I will develop a newsletter that will publish results of checking out all these places for you.  If you hear of something that sounds too good to be true, more than likely it is, but shoot it over to me, I will check it out for ya! (cheeseinmyhair@bellsouth.net)

In the meanwhile, I think I’m  gonna go back and answer those questions again and choose some of the more obscure answers and see just what else the government might have available to me.   Mmmmm,  I probably should be  determining exactly what color my parachute is…..honestly, I am more concerned with the functionality of my parachute over the color, currently, it seems to be dragging behind me, whilst the suspension lines are getting caught up in all manner of debris.

My claim to fame at our previous church was my hair.   For years I wore it long, usually slightly longer than shoulder length.  Those that have known me for a very long time know that my natural hair color is dark brown.  Natural…..perhaps Original would be a better way to put it.

I found that after having my children, I still liked wearing  my hair long, but it was becoming a nuisance.  It seems that while holding a sick infant in your lap, if the child is vomiting into your cupped hands, you need to grow two more arms in order to have enough hands to hold back your hair or your hands won’t be the only thing that needs washing.  Who’da ever thunk it?  Vomit in your hair and it wasn’t because you overindulged on cocktails!  Who signed me up for that?!

I learned many lessons from my girls, and your better off putting your hair up in a ponytail was one of them.  Don’t get me wrong, the spewing didn’t last forever, but my desire to have flowing locks  ended when they kept getting caught up in the closures of disposable diapers or crusty with boogers.  All in all,  it was just better to wear it up or in my case cut it short.

Something else I learned, if at all possible, while your children are toddlers, it is best to wear a shirt that can be tucked in.  You may not always have a tissue handy, but a shirt tail will do in a pinch.  You just tuck it back in and no one is the wiser.  Wait, now I’m chasing rabbit’s.  What was it I was talking about? Oh, yeah, hair.

At the same church that labeled me the girl with a thousand hairstyles, I met one of the best friends a girl could ever have, my friend and partner in crime, Trina P.    Many an adventure has began on the top of my head and she has been there right behind me, poised over the chair ready to give her opinion, encourage, or nix any idea that I may come up with in regards to what to do with the hair on my head.  You find yourself a good friend that can also did your hair, well, you have yourself something special!

This past Tuesday, Trina was kind enough to trim my hair for me.  She was very patient as always since I had mentioned the previous week that I might want a perm…might.   She will tell you that translates into I am bored with my hair and while everyone else thinks it looks great that is not good enough because I don’t think it looks great.  Ya’ll should really pray for her, cause I imagine she is gonna need some of the vertebrae in her neck replaced after all these years of shaking her head at me.

I felt that since I am currently in the market for gainful employment, it would be best if I was, well, looking my best.  That is why I got my hair trimmed.  Today, while attending yet another class at the unemployment office, I noticed something on the ground ahead of me as I approached the sidewalk leading into the building.  At first I thought it was a necklace made from a piece of leather.  Uh, no.  It was a rat tail.

Now, I don’t mean the tail end of an actual rat like Templeton from Charlotte’s Web.  I’m talking about the hairstyle that was popular in the 80′s.  Apparently someone decided that before entering the unemployment office they should rethink their hairstyle as well, and do their very best to tidy up a bit .  I guess whoever it was, found it beneath themselves to pursue  a career in trash collection considering their total disregard for the available trash receptacles and instead chose to litter.

Don’t get me wrong, I, of all people, believe in freedom of expression, especially when it comes to your hairstyle.  I myself have sported every hair color normally found in nature and a couple only found in a bag of skittles, so I’m no goody two shoes about it.  I just don’t understand why they just threw there on the ground instead of in the trash.  Perhaps they knew I would be walking by and wouldn’t be able to resist blogging about it?

Either way people, if your gonna try and do a little personal grooming in the parking lot of an establishment, let’s limit it to clipping your nails and clearing any bat’s outta the cave.  If you feel the need to go hacking away at your rat tail or mullet, for crying out loud, throw it in the trash!

It’s hard to believe that just seven days ago, right about this time (11:36 pm) I was packing the items Abby and I painstakingly compiled for her to take to youth camp at The Wilds.  OK, the reality of it was Abby made a huge pile out of things she had flung willy nilly from all corners of her room, and I took it from there and either yayed or nayed her wardrobe choices.

After making sure that she had enough changes of clothing to carry her through two weeks of living away from home, even though she was only going to actually be gone one, I began the task of trying to efficiently pack these items into one very large suitcase, my suitcase.   A couple of thoughts running through my mind as I was huntin’ and gatherin’ for this trip I was about to send my youngest child on were; “I wonder if this suitcase will ever be the same or will I want or be able to use it again once it returns from this trip”.  It was touch and go there for awhile, but I finally got everything crammed in and was able to zip it all up without even having to sit on top of the bag.

As I waved goodbye to her the next morning I had an “oh crap” moment when I realized there was no way she would be able to repack everything back and get the suitcase re-closed.  It was then that the voice of reason said to me that once she placed all her dirty clothing into the black trash bag that was included in the suitcase for just that purpose, she shouldn’t have any problems repacking since there wouldn’t be a whole lot of stuff left to pack.  Too bad I didn’t pack the voice of reason in her bag.

Today, when we went to pick her up after the bus returned to the church,  I didn’t see a full black trash bag next to her suitcase.   Upon inquiring about the status of her dirty clothing, Abby informed me that she just packed everything back into her suitcase.  Everything that was dirty, clean, and in-between.  She said it wasn’t a big deal since there were only a couple of things left that were really clean anyway. Well, there ya go!  I hope to God I don’t find 5 pairs of clean underwear, since I only packed 8.

Although I have yet to take inventory, I must admit that my baby is no longer a baby and was able to go away for a week from home and come back with everything that she left with.  Well, at least that is the tale as she is telling it.  Tomorrow,  in the light of day, when I actually unpack her suitcase I may be telling a whole different story.

Tonight, I shall sleep tight and not think about the possibility of mold and mildew slowly creeping through all the clothing wadded up inside of my suitcase originating from the wet bathing suits and beach towels that are probably still in there even though Abby swears they are dry……

Tonight on Everybody Loves Raymond, Ray and Debra were wielding one of the few superpowers that married couples have over one another, the withholding of sex.  If you are a regular watcher of the show, you already know that Ray is continuously turned down by Debra for any number of reasons, as well as for no reason at all.  There are times when she just tells him he is an “idiot” and then turns over and goes to sleep.

Tonight Raymond decided to teach her a lesson and show her how it feels, so he started turning her down.  After about day three, Debra became upset and while visiting her sister in law she finds out what Ray is up to.   Once back home, Debra tells Ray that he had her convinced she was a “fat, ugly, old lady” and what he had been doing was essentially not fair.  He then tells her; “You’re talking to the president of the Fat, Ugly, Old Ladies Club. Welcome!  Have a donut!”

Somehow, his explaining to her that the continuous rejection made him feel exactly the same way didn’t seem to impact his wife quite the way he thought it would.  Typical of his manner of communicating with Debra, he only made things worse, and  27 days passed before relief was had by either one of them.   As pitiful/funny as it is, this scene is played out in households all across the country, whether it be consciously or subconsciously, it’sa happenin’!  That’s right girls, we have the power and as Debra found out it is not fun when the shoe is on the other foot.

Around our house, that power play is not exercised, at least not on purpose, and especially since the kids were born.  After 25 years of marriage and two kids later you find that games like that are a whole lot like grounding a sulky teenager, you suffer more from the punishment than they do!  Power plays around here are displayed in other ways.

At the Martin household,  Ray is currently teasing me with putting up, or should I say, the lack of putting up the clothesline that used to be at my parents house.   With temps hovering in the double digits, not using a dryer would sure help keep the temperatures inside the house at a more tolerable level, not to mention help our electric bill as well.  There is also the added bonus of having bedsheets that have a scent I have yet to find bottled anywhere.

Perhaps I can sell him on the idea that having those sun dried bedsheets would be the perfect touch in the boudoir.  Then again, having to explain what a boudoir is would suck the romance out of it….

What am I currently playing keep away from Ray with?  Nothing comes to mind, apparently he is the only one being a meany right now.

Why do couples play these games?  Who knows, I just know this one thing;  it’s all fun and games till somebody feels like a fat, ugly, old lady.   Remember girls, use your powers for good and not evil.