Come Monday

I’m a firm believer in 2nd chances, and 3rd and 4th and 5th. Just ask my overgrown puppy. He’ll tell you. He looks at me with that sweet, trusting, loving face (see picture), and I immediately forgive him for the chewing, the barking, the sneaking in the house, and, yes, even the inappropriate sniffing that he does whenever I turn my back on him. In return, he forgives me for the fact that I grow weary of rubbing his belly after a few short minutes, I don’t walk him enough, and sometimes I slip off to the lake without him.

Back to 2nd chances, while some people dread Mondays, I look forward to them each week. I guess I take after my mom in that regard. Every Monday she would turn over a new leaf – start a new diet or exercise or cleaning regime - every Monday without fail. Funny how certain things from childhood stick with you.

Anyway, tomorrow is Monday, and I can’t wait. I’m going to work-out, go to bed earlier, so I can get more rest, work on my novel, query, query, query, be a better mom, plan ahead for dinner meals and no longer forget to write those thank you notes. And you know those character flaws of mine? If you know me, then you are nodding your head yes. Well, come Monday, they’ll be gone, or well on their way, anyhow.

After all, if I’m aware of them, I can do something about them, right? At least that’s the theory I’m working off of. Because although some may disagree, I truly believe people can change, if they want to. And, who knows? Maybe one day, I’ll turn into the person my dog thinks I am. It just might take a lifetime of Mondays.

Georgia on my mind

“Georgia, Georgia, the whole day through. Just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my miiinnd ...”

Be glad you can’t hear me singing that. Although I don’t sound like Ray Charles, I do love that song.

It reminds me of watching the laser show at Stone Mountain as a child. One summer night a year (inevitably the hottest), my family and I would show up around dusk, spread out a big red Georgia Bulldog blanket (that I still own and use for picnics) and settle in to watch the laser show.

It was a huge event for my little sister and me. For one, we were introduced to the waffle cone there, which we got to buy only after we named the three Confederate heroes depicted on the mountain’s carvings. (Confederate President Jefferson Davis, General Robert E. Lee and Lt. General Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson. Can I have my ice cream now?)

Dad would then give us a Georgia history lesson, which we happily listened to while we looked at the stars and played with our glow sticks that we’d begged for. Then the show would start with the country bears, followed by “The Devil went down to Georgia,” but always finishing with “Georgia on my mind.” That song felt like the national anthem to us.

So, when I stumbled across a blog called, Georgia on my Mind, I had to stop and give it a read, despite the fact that I was in the middle of research for an article with a deadline. I soon realized this was no ordinary blog.

Georgia on my Mind is an extensive collection of blogs authored by folks from my fair state. The founder of the site is a history teacher, and this site has enough Georgia history to satisfy even the most ardent buff such as my father.

The site is also home to the Georgia Carnival, which is Reader’s Digest-like collection of blogs written either by Georgians or about Georgia/Georgians on a variety of topics. (The moderator was kind enough to include my blog in the current listing). In addition, Georgia on my Mind blogs are categorized for the reader’s convenience. Click here to check it out. I can’t wait to find one about Stone Mountain’s laser show! And for some strange reason, I'm really craving a waffle cone!

Introducing Mr. and Mrs. ?

I commented to a good friend that a recently reacquainted male friend had a different last name than he did in high school.

“Maybe he got married,” said my friend, tongue-in-cheek.

Which made me wonder…is there a man out there anywhere who has taken his wife’s name. If so, then, number one, I would love to interview him, and, number two, he must have had a really lousy last name!

Now, I’m not a raving feminist. I didn’t want to hyphenate my name (What happens once you have children? Is theirs hyphenated, too? And think of how much writing that will be for them in Kindergarten).

I didn’t want to keep my maiden name. (Our town’s still small enough that everyone would whisper that one’s children are illegitimate. Trust me, it bothers some people so much that mothers and fathers have different last names in the birth announcements that they write into the paper each week complaining, never considering that the mom might have hung onto her own name.)

Having said that, I had no problem taking my husband’s name. In fact, I dropped my maiden name altogether because I had to choose between it and my first name, which I happen to like. I just think it’s a pain changing everything over. Not only is it a pain, it’s virtually impossible. I’ve been married for 13 years, and my phone bill still comes in my maiden name. And I don’t even know how they got my maiden name! Just something to consider...

(Btw, thanks to the power of Google, I found the man! Click here to read more.)

Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah

My daughter will be starting middle school soon, which made me nostalgic for my middle school days – NOT.

Middle school, which I attended in 8th grade versus 6th for her, was a huge adjustment for me. I came from a country school, where my mama worked, so everyone knew me, and I had no choice but behave because the teachers, lunchroom ladies and custodians didn’t mind telling her if I didn’t.

My new middle school housed over half the county and worked under a modern theory. Instead of closed classrooms, we had open pods. Had I worn my glasses, I could have waved at my friends across the pod. Instead I waved at strangers. You see, since I couldn’t see a lick, and my parents wouldn’t buy me contacts, I ended up saying hello to everyone in the halls as not to appear stuck up. As a result, I made lots of new friends; I just don’t know what they looked like.

Classes were separated by partitions, so I could hear the teacher next to me, who would inevitably be more interesting than mine. I went from two teachers to seven with a rotating schedule. For example, Monday would be classes A-G; Tues. would be G, F, A, B, C, D, E and so one. Despite its drawbacks, my new school had one major thing to offer that my elementary school didn’t – air condition!

Fashion was a big concern for me in middle school. My best friend had parachute pants in ten different colors – ten – just think about it. My mother, sensibly, told me I may have one pair. To my horror, it was a knock-off brand, so they looked a little like Lilly, Herman Munster’s wife’s, cape. But, hey, I wore them proudly, every other day. I also bought some camouflage pants from the Salvation Army. I was determined to be cool.

It was during middle school that I made a big discovery - I, Meredith Leigh Knight, was not gifted with the voice of a canary. I desperately wanted to be in show choir. They sang; they danced; they wore shiny costumes. I really wanted that. But, I had to try out. The days of being selected because my mama worked at the school were over. So, I practiced my song – “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah,” day in, day out. (My poor parents!)

Mother politely told me that the judges were probably looking for someone with a lot of personality, so I needed to smile while I sang. Heeding her advice, I practiced singing loudly with a smile on my face in the bathroom mirror. For weeks. Did I mention we only had one bathroom? (Again, my poor parents!)

So, the big audition day came, and my name was called. I went back ready to dazzle the judges with my bright smile (having just had my braces removed), only to find a curtain. I would be singing behind a curtain. I was being judged solely on my voice. I was so rattled that my “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah,” sounded weaker than ever (Think American Idol rejects). But I had a smile on my face, even if no one could see it.

Fortunately, my daughter is blessed with a beautiful voice. I have no idea if she’ll ever want to join show choir, but I do hope she can keep a smile on her face no matter what obstacles middle school presents. If not, I can always cheer her up with my rendition of "Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah." After all, it's hard to feel down with Mr. Bluebird on your shoulder.

All in a week's time ...

Forgive me readers. It’s been one week since I’ve blogged.

Here’s what happened during that time –

My kids went to camp.

I tried some new medicine for migraines that gave me a migraine (not to mention made me a little crazy).

My husband went out of town.

I realized the house was so quiet that all I could hear was myself think, which I didn’t find peaceful; I found nerve-wracking.

Wrote 1,000 words on my novel

Did zero housework

Forgot to feed my kids’ fish and guinea pig while they were at camp

Found out my mom broke her femur and shoulder on her first day of vacation

Learned mom’s ambulance broke down twice on two separate trips with her in it. Our family is snake bit, my father says, which means unlucky (not that I need to explain that).

Played tennis and lost

Got to see Alan Jackson in concert on the lake

Got highly annoyed with a friend and a vice versa

Wrote three articles; procrastinated three more

Clapped when my daughter won "Camper of the Week"

Explained to my son what the word "instigator" means, when he brought home the "Instigator of the Week" award

Cried remembering a teenager who died in a plane crash

Water skied until my legs hurt

Texted and called my daughter a dozen time until I determined she’d been kidnapped

Learned her phone had been stolen

Talked on the phone with my sister for two hours and realized how much I miss her

Took my Girl Scout troop to Savannah, survived a storm and made lots of memories

Watched taffy being made

Wished I had more time to spend with my middle daughter

Shared some laughs with a good friend

Made it home safe and sound

Learned my son’s friend fell on the concrete and hit his head and is the hospital in serious condition

Laughed as my son tried and spit out the sour cream and onion cricket I bought him as a joke

Covered his horrible case of poison ivy with Calamine lotion

Tucked the kids in and promised to read to them tomorrow

Pondered the meaning of life

Ate some leftover boiled peanuts and vowed to blog more, write more, clean more and love more

All in a week’s time …

CHICKEN!

I heard over the weekend that “chicken” is the funniest word in the English language. I don’t know how researchers conducted their study, but they certainly never asked a mom whose child has chicken pox.

My son, along with his sister, have been signed up for summer camp since, oh, January. This would be the first time they’ve both gone away from home at the same time, which means I keep a calendar in my office with big X’s marking the countdown until the first day of camp - not for them, for me.

To say I was excited would be an understatement. Not that I don’t love them dearly but a week free of sibling squabbles, bedtime battles and guilt that I haven’t taken them to Six Flags sounded very, very good to me. I had a brief scare early in the month when my college-aged daughter called and said, “Oh, they’ll be gone for a week? When? I may be coming home…” In my mind, I screamed, “NOOOOOOO.”

Alas, that bullet was dodged, the kids were packed, and all was well. I decided that during their absence I would get a pedicure since my first and last one was seven years ago. Since my husband would be busy part of the week with business, I also decided that I would take myself out on a date to my favorite restaurant. I could bring a book, order a cocktail and eat without having to cut up someone else’s meat. More importantly, I would be eating food prepared by someone else, served to me by someone else, and, the piece de la resistance, cleaned up by someone else. Ah, yes, that would be the life!

As fate would have it, however, I looked over at my son at the breakfast table the morning before camp. He had complained the night before about itching, and I chalked it up to chiggers. If you don’t know what those are, count your blessings. So, I glanced across the table and saw that my son was covered with little red dots.

“WHAT IS ON YOUR FACE?”

“Syrup?” he answered.

Immediately, I got up and pulled up his shirt and saw that they were on his truck, neck, legs, and, of course, I asked the question, the one only mothers do, “Are they on your private parts, too?”

“MOM!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Go ahead and finish your pancakes, son.”

“I’m not really hungry now,” he said.

To add insult to injury is the fact that I had not taken him to the doctor for his second chicken pox vaccine.

“For heavens sake, it’s not like measles or mumps or rubella. When I was growing up, we all had chicken pox,” I told the nurse, the principal and the candlestick maker.

Since it was Sunday, and no one gets sick on Sunday (yeah, right), I took him to the Minute Clinic. I waited an hour and a half for the very sweet nurse practitioner to tell me that she could not treat him. I needed to go to the Urgent Care Center.

Since it was lunch time, I asked him, “Are you hungry?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Five minutes into our two and half hour wait at Urgent Care, he declared he was starving. And he was itching. And he might die at any minute from either.

Finally, in his misery, he exclaimed, “I’ve seen better service than this in a graveyard.”

I exploded with laughter, causing the room of poor sick folks, which included a man whose wedding band was stuck on his swollen finger, a guy with a five-inch gash in his leg and a coughing six-year-old girl to look at me like I was crazy.

Turns out there is humor in the word “chicken,” after all, especially when pox turns out to be poison ivy. One shot of cortisone in bottom, and the boy is off to camp. Unless he chickens out, that is. And that is definitely not a funny thought.

After the honeymoon - Advice to new grooms from an old wife

By Meredith Leigh Knight

1. If you don’t like something she cooks, just eat it anyway. Don’t ask if it’s a new recipe, don’t make a big production of scraping the burned part off, and, for heaven’s sake, don’t brag about it! She’s eating it, too, and knows it tastes bad.

Once my husband ate a casserole with raw chicken just so I wouldn’t get upset. Don’t go to this extreme. It has the opposite effect on women. When I saw the raw chicken on my fork, I was horrified. My husband, who was half-finished with his meal, said, “Yeah, I was afraid to say anything.” To which I responded, “You mean you’d rather get SALMONELLA than tell me the chicken is raw! Do you think I’m that crazy? Do you? DO YOU?”
Then I ran to the bedroom in tears.

Later in your marriage, you might think one of your wife’s failed cooking stories is funny and decided to retell it in front of her friends from the Junior Service League. In which case, you will be eating raw chicken from now on, and she will no longer care if you catch Salmonella.

2. If your new bride is running late, don’t repeatedly tell her the time. She knows she is late. And don’t go to the car and honk. This is not helpful, because then she will get angry and forget what she is looking for, which most of the time will be something that you need. Either ask what you can do or get out of the way. And, if she asks, her dress looks beautiful, and, please, try to be sincere when you say it.

3. When you are both in a hurry, do not ever jump into the shower right before she does. It doesn’t matter if she uses all the hot water. Trust me, jump in before she does, and you’ll throw her off her game, and you’ll be late. And it will be your fault.

4. No matter how frustrated you get at her (and, yes, you will), do not whistle, sing or hum the lyrics, “Now, I’m praying for the end of time” from Meat Loaf’s Paradise by the Dashboard Light. Not only will this make her mad, it will make her want to laugh, which will make her furious.

5. Do not try to be an interior decorator. That is her job. I don’t care if you hate the color red. She will, too, in a year and want to change it anyway. By the way, it’s mauve, not pink, and it’s a great bedroom color. And, yes, blue and brown go together now.

6. Always buy her a gift for her anniversary, even if she says she doesn’t want anything. If you agree to not exchange gifts, then buy her a card, a sweet one. Funny is okay as long as it’s funny-sweet. Yeah, I know, it’s subtle. Do not get her an IOU unless you intend to let her cash it in the next day. Otherwise, it’s a piece of paper.

7. When she is talking to you about her day, and you are tuning her out (and you will), make some kind of reply such as “Wow.” “Really?” “How about that?” “How’d you find that out?” Say anything, but do not ignore her. If she has to ask mid-sentence, “Are you listening to me?” then you are ignoring her. And that means raw chicken tonight.

8. Do take her out to a nice restaurant now and then. That pricey appetizer and small steak will not only make her happy, it will probably allow you a few trips to Hooters in between.

9. Take the trash out. Do I really need to put this one on here?

10. Tell her good morning even when you are grumpy, good night even when you are tired, and I love you even when you don’t feel like it, and you’ve got the makings for a long and happy marriage.

Best wishes and God bless.