Mothers…

They always get to do what they want.  It’s maddening.  And they’re always telling you what to do and how to do it.

And if you have a good idea, they pretty much shoot it down because it might get something dirty.  Or get something broken.  Or make something smelly.

So, my suggestion of naming my new brother “Bill” was not going over well.  It was clear I wasn’t going to win.

I begged, I pleaded, I called him Bill just to get her warmed up to the idea and to see that, HECK YEAH, he was a Bill!

But it didn’t work and she did what she wanted to do and named him after my dad and a priest if you can believe it!

Well, guess what????

She ain’t writin’ this blog so now I get to win!

My brother will be Bill.  

Because he is amazing.   Because he is smart.  Because he is going to have to be tough with three older sisters around.  Because he is talented.  

And…because he is a survivor…just like another man I know…

My mom is huffing and puffing.

And as the labor and delivery nurses wheel her down the hall to the room where she is going to do some pushing, my dad is walking along side her.

“How about Kelly?” he says.

My mom huffs and puffs.

“How about Kristina?” he offers.

She is still puffing.

My dad thinks some more as the nurses wheel my mom into the delivery room.  The doctor is waiting and my dad says, “How about Katherine?”

My mother finally finds enough breath to say, “This…baby…is…a…boy!”

My dad, I’m sure, just rolls his eyes in response.

The pushing starts.

In my life, I know of two explanations for the mysteries of child birth.  One is from Carol Burnett and the other from the movie Look Who’s Talking.  

Carol Burnett describes child birth as taking your bottom lip and pulling it over your head.

Hmm…

Kirstie Alley says, “You try squeezing something the size of a watermelon out of something the size of a lemon and tell me how you feel about child birth.”

Double hmm…

So, my mom is going through the above and she pushes and she huffs and she puffs and the baby just isn’t coming.  Finally, she says, “What is going on?” and she sits up, preparing to get that baby out whether it wants to come or not.

The nurses try to make her lie down, but her doctor, God bless him, knows she’s had three other kids and she is just fine.  

My mom gives it one good push and out the baby comes.

“It’s a boy!” cries the doctor.

A very shocked father says, “You’re kidding.”

And, while he’s finally got someone who’ll see his side of things, he has had another example of the truth…

Girls are always right.

My mom is pregnant! 

And this time, I am older and I can remember what she looked like.  I can remember what it felt like to wait for the baby to arrive.  I can remember how it felt when the baby kicked her tummy.

It was exciting!  And me and my two sisters knew, with every ounce and fiber of our being, that it was a boy.

My dad did not share our conviction.  But, he wanted a boy.  Oh, yes, he really did want a boy.  

And we wanted a brother.  We had sisters, and they were great, but a brother would be even cooler!

And I already knew what his name would be…

Bill, of course! 

Learning how to spell “Bill” was the best thing I learned in Kindergarten.

So, I informed Mom that the baby would be a boy and his name would be Bill.

She did not agree with me.  About the name anyway.

But, I didn’t let that bother me.  In my mind, he was Bill and that was what he was going to be.  

During Art class, I took to making family portraits.  I drew every member of our family in order of birth and wrote their name over their head.  Dad was first, then Mom, then me, then Maria, then Wendy, then our dog, Misty, and last, Bill.  He wasn’t born yet, but he was a part of us already.

I proudly showed my drawings to my mother and father.  Mom said it was inaccurate because his name wasn’t going to be Bill.  Dad said it was inaccurate because the baby wasn’t a boy.

Well, we’ll see who wins this one…

There are barrettes and bows and ribbons and clips everywhere.  There are flowers on the bedspreads and pink paint on the walls.

There are sing-alongs and plays behind curtains made of beach towels or sheets.

There are high-heeled shoes on too small feet and long dresses on bodies not nearly developed enough to fill them out right.

“Dad, you’re stepping on my hem!” Wendy cries.

“Dad, are you gonna sit down and watch our play?” asks Maria.  “It’s Snow White!”

Drummond sighs inwardly and tries very hard not to roll his eyes.  He sits in the appropriate chair, hands Maria his ticket and waits for the play to unfold.

But, before it can start, Kara comes busting through the curtain, knocking it down and crying, “YEEHAW!”

“Kara!” Maria and Wendy shriek at the top of their lungs.  

“We’re having a play and you’re wrecking it!” Maria declares.

Kara only throws a laugh over her shoulder as she races for the back door and the neighbor boys who are waiting outside.

Drummond, remaining silent, waits patiently for Wendy and Maria to hang the curtain up and get situated.  It takes probably ten minutes because, of course, the curtain has to be just right.  No peeking, they tell him!

The play begins and he watches as Snow White meets the dwarfs (their dolls) and then the evil step-mother (a picture glued on a stick) gets the girl to eat a poisoned apple.  And, of course, there is much arguing because Wendy forgot to enter stage left when the dolls are racing to save Snow White.

And then the Prince (Wendy) kisses Snow White (Maria) awake and soon Drummond is clapping as the girls curtsy.

“Is that it?” Drummond asks.  “Y’all are done, right?”

“Here is your ticket to Cinderella!” Wendy announces.

Drummond takes it with a forced smile and rushes hastily into his bedroom.  He finds M’Lynn standing at their bathroom door, with a special glow in her cheeks.

“I’m pregnant!” she cries.  

(He did not pass out.  He just said with a smile, “That’s great.”  But I’m certain he was cussing a blue streak in his head.  Because, of course, it was going to be a girl.)

I don’t think everything I learned came from Kindergarten.  I certainly learned some things.

1)  Fifth graders were special because they were the only ones who got to play on the playground.

2)  Be prepared for lunch, or you were going to be hungry.

3)  Jumping in a dress probably wasn’t the best idea.

4)  Running to the big tree and back wasn’t enough to help me release my energy.

5)  When the bus went into the dip it felt like a roller coaster.  Especially if you stood up.

6)  It cost $0.90 cents to see the puppet play of “The Wizard of Oz”.

Interesting facts, but nothing I really needed to remember.  Until…

I wasn’t able to get the sandbox one day, so I ended up playing with the little chalkboards.  Which was okay because my neighbor was playing with the blocks and that center was right next to the chalkboards.

There was another boy playing with the blocks.  His name was Bill.

I asked him to spell it for me and when he did, I wrote it on the chalkboard.

It had four letters, just like my name.  And it happened to be the name of my grandpa, one of the coolest people I knew.  (He had go-carts.)

So…

7)  I learned how to spell “Bill”.

You will soon see just how important that was...

I walk into the cafeteria of my elementary school.  There are rectangular tables surrounded by wooden chairs of various shapes, sizes, and styles.

I wait there, singing, swinging my legs, and waiting to be told to line up.

It is December.  I am wearing my coat. (It is the coat that saved my life once.)

We are told to line up and after we are single file, we walk back to the kindergarten area.  I stay in line, my ability to control myself while walking, increasing.

We enter the room, which is large enough to hold three classes.  Our area was to the right of the door.

There are cabinets lined up behind all the tables along the right wall of the kindergarten area.

Everyone has to put away their lunches and coats.  Our coats are hung up on these metal silver coat hangers.  One by one, we all put our things away in an orderly fashion.

We all sit down.

This normal morning routine probably lasts 30 minutes.

And that is too long for me.

I promptly stand up, walk back to the coat cabinet and proceed to take everyone’s coat out, one by one, and drop them on the floor.

“Kara,” my teacher calls in her nice, sweet, placating voice.  “Why are you dropping the kid’s coats on the floor?”.

“I don’t know,” I say.

But, of course, I know why I did it.  School and I did not get along.  And the more people tried to help me, the worse it got.  I have always known my own mind.  And I work through my problems, usually, on my own.  So, if you leave me alone, you will get farther in helping me feel better.

But, how in the world would my teacher know that?  Poor lady…

Jo’s third child, the one they had the baby shower for, was born on this day.  I don’t know what day of the week it was.  It was probably the perfect day of the week and at the perfect time of the day.  Because Jo’s third child is always perfect…

Hmm…

I am having the hardest time coming up with a name for her.  Several have passed through my mind and I cannot settle on one, so we are going to have a discussion and we will see what happens at the end of this post.

Sunflowers remind me of her.  Partly because her favorite color was yellow at one time.  And partly because, when she smiles, her face is luminous.  But, sometimes she can be grumpy, so calling her Sunshine may not be an option.

The character from Steel Magnolias, “Ouizer”, reminds me of her.  But, she’s way cuter than that and usually a little nicer.  Though, I can definitely see her saying, “I do not see plays because I can nap at home for free. And I don't see movies 'cause they're trash, and they got nothin' but naked people in 'em! And I don't read books, 'cause if they're any good, they're gonna make 'em into a miniseries.”, in her old age.

She also has an affinity for my father and I named him Drummond…so…Ouizer is out.

She could swim at a very early age.  I remember holding her in the pool and as long as you counted to three, she could go under the water with you at like 2 years old.  She was on swim team when she got older.  So, I thought about calling her Esther.  You know, for Esther Williams, the bathing beauty of the 40s.

But Esther sounds too old ladyish for her.

You know, what she really is, though, besides perfect, and beautiful with a sunny smile, and blunt, and smart, is loyal.  She is fiercely loyal.  If you have the ability to capture her heart and her respect, then you have a friend for life.

I have no idea what her criteria is for liking someone, but she has it.  And if you pass the test, you are probably a truly amazing person.  So, I consider it an honor to be her favorite person…just kidding.  

(She and Wendy were each others favorite people.  They united against me, Maria, and Roxi many times.  We were cool and they couldn’t take it.)

So, we shall call her Lela.  It is French, meaning “loyal”.  

(I am 75% sure she hates the name and hates that it is French.)

It is a day like any other.  

M’Lynn (I have decided to call my mother this and my dad will be Drummond), Grace, and Jo get ready for the day.  Their children are dressed and relatively clean.  The car is packed.

And by 8:30 a.m. they are off to take their children to Mother’s-Day-Out.  Another lovely program they helped start at our church.  Only they usually couldn’t take advantage of its true purpose because they worked Mother’s-Day-Out.

But, not on this day.  This day they were going to take some time to themselves.  

Jo didn’t know that, though.  She wasn’t aware a day of fun had been planned for her until M’Lynn and Grace came to her room and took her away.

Baby Shower Napped!

Jo was pregnant with her third child and the joyous upcoming event simply must be celebrated.

I have no idea where they went or what they did. However, I’m sure there was talking, laughing, shopping, eating, chocolate, carrot cake, tea, ice cream, pie, diet coke, chocolate, and dessert.

They took a day to themselves to celebrate the soon-to-be new arrival, to remember what it was like to walk into a store and not have to say, “Be still!”, “Don’t touch that!”, “No, I don’t have any snacks.”

I’m sure it was lovely to be able to open presents without little hands grabbing at the paper, and saying, “Mine, mine, mine!”.

Oh, what a day it was!  Relaxation, rest, peace.

Until…

They returned and learned that Roxi had climbed a shelf and fallen down, knocking her two front teeth out and now her face was black and blue from the nose down.

Ahh, the joys of motherhood.

School did not get better for me.  No matter how hard my mom and dad tried, no matter how many stickers, or check marks, or pieces of candy my teacher gave me, no one could prove its relevance.

I did not understand the worth of school, nor could I conceive of a time when I wouldn’t want to slide, swing, or play dodge ball.  

A job?  What would I need that for?

But, there was one good thing about Kindergarten…

Centers.

And my favorite was the sandbox.  

Yes, the school had a sandbox INSIDE.  How awesome is that????  I found this to be very ingenious and proof that maybe my teacher wasn’t an idiot after all.

However, there were days when someone would beat me to the sandbox.  (Only two people allowed at a time.)

So, I would console myself with the blocks or with the small chalkboards.

One day I got stuck in the kitchen center with the other girls.  I had to play dolls, and wash dishes, and eat pretend food.  It was a horrible day.

There was another good thing about Kindergarten…

Dwayne Hart.  He was pretty cute.  And he had to be because look at what his last name was!

He knew I liked him and while that was true, I knew nothing beyond that I thought he was cute.  What does one do after that?  

So, unfortunately, his last name and good looks didn’t wash away any of the horrors of school.  He wasn’t that cute.

I am always an early riser.  6:00 a.m. rolls around and I am out of bed and down the street to our neighbors house wondering if the boys can play.

The days were my own.  And I filled them with everything possible.  Kickball, digging, singing, building, singing again, dancing, acrobatic feats, sliding down the stairs, hanging off the stairs, etc.

Most of this was completed, and completed well, by lunch.

And then, one day…it happened.  The worst of all things imaginable.  The horror of horrors.  The darkest day known to mankind.

Kindergarten.

I had to wear nice clothes.  I had to brush my hair and keep it neat.  I had to listen and get in line and sit down and walk, NOT RUN, and be quiet and behave and…oh forget it!  The list is too long!

Even more excruciating than this was the learning and the producing of the learning.  

“Look, Kara, if you do these math problems, you can color the picture.”  (A sing songy tone accompanies this statement.)

I colored the picture and did not do the problems.

“Look, Kara, if you stay in line, you can have this sticker.”  (Another sing songy statement.)

No skipping, no hopping, no jumping in line…and all I get for my great control is a sticker that looks like a rainbow?

My mama didn’t raise no fool!