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Life with relatives and MS! |
| After being diaganosed with MS in 2001 I decided that it was finally time to write that all important book! Now you have a front row seat to "My Life"! No ticket required, no need to dress up...bring your own bottle (you'll probably have to share) and settle down with some good ole fashioned home drama! |
| 911 When my son was young I tried to teach him good ole fashioned values. I thought that even though he was a boy he should be able to do things, you know, like dishes, making his bed, vacuuming. I thought he should clean his room; well he was the one who messed it up. You’re thinking... what kind of mother is she? Back then it was okay to teach your children to do chores (and not pay them for it), it was okay to tell them no (and mean it) and it was okay not to let them sit in front of the television (not having a remote helped). It was a Saturday morning, house-cleaning day in this house, when the 911 incident occurred. The usual battle had begun by my telling him that he needed to clean his room for the umpteenth time. Even at six they don’t listen so good. After several threats of no playing, no you can’t go outside and no, Timmy can’t come play, I did what any mother used to do, clean it up or else! Being my son, he had the audacity to tell me he needed help. What? He didn’t need my help to make the mess! So with strict marching orders to get it cleaned up or get a spanking he skulked off to his room. With my having hightailed it to the laundry room I never heard him dial the phone. Yep, 911. When the doorbell rang I was busy with the dishes, so imagine my surprise when I opened the door (dishpan hands and a towel slung over my shoulder) to see two uniformed paramedics! Insisting that they were responding to an emergency call at this location (namely my son’s room) I tried to explain that I hadn’t called them. My insistence did not pay off; they had indeed received a call for help, from my son! After assuring them that he did not need their help (yet), I was informed, ever so politely mind you, that I would be billed for their trip out. He just might need their help after all. The moral of the story, always explain the definition of the word HELP when teaching your child to use the phone! |
| I live in what’s commonly called tornado alley, just northwest of the Red River. We kids were raised in this area for most of our lives. We learned the tornado drill at an early age. It goes something like this: walk; don’t run, stay low to or underground and never, ever try to outrun one. To this day let a siren sound, kids and adults alike go nuts. We gather up the important stuff, you know, purses, photos and the family pet, so what if it's a fish. If your lucky enough to have a cellar, get there and quick because the neighbors who don't have one aren't far behind you! Everyone has a different opinion on what you should actually do. Take my sister and I for example. Lisa and I were raised in the same house, went to the same schools, had the same friends and we are only a year apart in age. Yet, while I have a healthy respect for them, she runs for cover if the weatherman even mentions the word tornado. How do you explain our difference of opinion? I blame it on my parents. My father would watch them with an air of casualness, usually in the yard. My mother, on the other hand, headed for the basement, usually taking Lisa with her. I was a Daddy's girl so I stayed in the yard, at least until the hail started. They don’t scare me, much; I’ll go to the cellar if the siren blows other than that I don’t worry about 'em, much. I'll stand on the porch and watch them form; listen to every weather report while correcting the resident meteorologist. He isn't from here anyway, so we all know he doesn't know what he's talking about. Anyway, who wants to stay underground when all the action is in the yard? And if I went to the cellar every time the siren sounded I'd be there every Friday at noon when they see fit to test the damn things! My sister, whom we call Chicken, on the other hand wouldn't even consider visiting a house during tornado season, unless it has a cellar of course. As a matter of fact, everyone within a two-mile radius wants to use her "fraidy" hole. I do have to admit though; it's probably the best-stocked hole in the ground I've ever had occasion to hunker down in. We've been known to stay down there after the all-clear sounds; well, we need to finish the card game! Chicken sees a funnel in every cloud, swears it wasn’t thunder, because thunder can’t be that loud and every lighting strike is a “blue flash” that must have been the transformer atop the nearest electric pole! She even plans, in advance, the fastest route to the nearest fraidy hole. Rand McNally has nothing on her! Never try to outrun it hell! She’s in the fraidy hole before it hits town. And no that is not how she got her nickname, that's another story! |
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