Monster Mom

We had a surprise retirement for my dad this past weekend and had decided to make the 5.5 hour drive (give or take...mostly give) home to be there. There were several moments that I almost gave it away in my blog before reminding myself that my dad has my blog downloaded to his Kindle and made the necessary edits. We were supposed to leave Thursday, as the party was Friday night, but hubby's job proved to be a little more time consuming than expected so we left Friday morning...early.

I hate this trip. Just the driving part. (Here's why.) At least I had hubby with me this time. Things should go easier. We stopped and filled the gas tank (heart attack and a whole other blog-rant when I get a chance). We needed to be there in time to unpack, change clothes and get to the party without Kaiden spilling the beans. We were making pretty good time, but it was exceptionally windy and Kaiden's bladder forced us to stop 4 TIMES, and usually right after we passed a rest stop. Each dirt road pit stop we made, I had to get out with him to check wind direction and point him the right way. Thank goodness for boys!

I had been telling Kaiden that we were 'going out to eat' with Papa and Grammie in hopes of keeping the secret. But after we arrived and had changed clothes, Kaiden's lightbulb went on. He caught me in front of the bathroom mirror, "Mom, when is Papa's party?" I proceeded to tell him that it was that night, but we were PRETENDING to go out to eat. I also warned him not to tell Kamrin, because he certainly would not keep a secret. The entire time before leaving the house, Kaiden kept reiterating how he just "couldn't wait to GO OUT TO EAT (wink, wink)." We took separate cars. If the kids acted up, Shawn would take them back to the house.

Long story short, I thought Kaiden was going to blow the whole thing when we entered the restaurant and were headed up the stairs, prominently labeled 'Private Party Room.' My mother had told my dad that we had special permission to eat up there because of the boys (and if you know my boys, this reasoning seems perfectly acceptable), but Kaiden can read. He saw the sign and grabbed Grammie's arm, pointed to the sign and gave her the thumbs up signal. The party was a success, my dad was completely surprised and the kids were behaved. In fact, at the end of the night, the waitress said how well the boys did, and I looked over my shoulder to make sure she was talking to me. Of course, Shawn made a quick escape shortly after dinner so who knows how the night could have ended up?

They were well behaved...that night, but it was downhill from there. The 70º Friday turned into a freezing, gale-forced wind with snow (yes, I said snow) nightmare. We were stuck inside. Shawn actually attempted fishing (true sportsmanship), but couldn't even tell if he had a bite with the amount of wind (so he tells me). The boys fought about EVERYTHING...who was player one on the Wii, whose markers were whose, who got to sit where and whose glass of water that was. It was exhausting. When constantly reminding them of the consequences of their bad behavior, I was met with, "I didn't do anything!" even though I was sitting right there and watched them do it. We decided to leave Kam with Papa while Grammie, Kaiden and I, went grocery shopping. He insisted on pushing the cart and our 10 minute shopping trip turned into 30. Mom and I uncorked the first bottle of wine when we got back.

They fought over the movie to watch. Grammie tried to coax Kaiden into reading her a book. He insisted that he read to only Shawn or I (and Grammie was the only one NOT watching the movie). She thought it would be fun to give the boys a bath in the jacuzzi tub, which is very similar to bathing in Cool-Whip. Suds were everywhere.  They had decided to 'swim' and created tidal waves large enough to spill over the sides. There was a small pool of water on the floor, and the walls had acquired a new white, poofy, polka-dot pattern. While Grammie scurried to wipe up the mess, I shuttled the boys from tub to shower to rinse them of there bubbly hair-dos and beards.

Dried off and smelling like lavender, it was finally bedtime. This seems to be a special bonding time for my mom and it all sounds perfect, until you actually go to bed. Grammie is a light sleeper, like myself, and every toss and turn, slap in the face and leg tossing no matter how large the bed, will have you reaching for the light. Needless to say, Grammie didn't get any sleep.

My mother also wanted to go to church the next morning. I don't enjoy this either. (Here's why.) She insisted that she would be able to take the boys without me. Right.  First, she has to help my dad (who suffered from a stroke and needs assistance) and then to deal with MY two boys...again...riiight. Secondly, I know my mom, and if I didn't go, she has the gift of passive aggressiveness. I know. I have inherited this trait. And my last few hours would be painfully strained. So we go to church. The fighting begins. The boys notice I am chewing gum and insist on having some. 'Insist' being the nice way of saying 'crying, pounding fists and trying to reach their hands in to my pockets'. I cave. On the condition that if it even ONCE leaves their mouth, they are to forfeit aforementioned gum. They agree. Not ten minutes into the service, Kam has a string of strawberry gum linked from his mouth to the tip of the pencil provided in the church pews. Amazing. Kaiden complains he's bored and asks me every two minutes if, 'we're done yet.' Oh joy, we have communion this service as well. Nice leg-stretcher for the boys. My mother takes my dad's arm and navigates him as I herd the boys and keep them moving forward. The pastor hands out the sacrament to the adults and as Kam is passed by, he loudly proclaims, "Heeyyy! Where's mine?!" And Kaiden, who has not mastered the art of whispering says, "Are you really drinking blood?"

My parents decided to meet their breakfast group after church. The ladies at my end of the table try to reassure me that they are grandmas too and I shouldn't be uptight, as they have seen it all. Bless their hearts. But it's always different in hindsight where you can laugh about things than when it's actually happening. While paying the bill, my youngest ran off and I nearly had a panic attack wondering where he was. Never mind the fact that I should have been astounded that he left the building and was able to locate my parent's car in the parking lot...by himself! I had to restrain myself from throttling him in front of my parent's friends.

The trip back to Fargo was miserable.  The fighting, the decibel level of their voices, the repeating of the word "fart" over and over again followed by insatiable giggles was more than I could take. They had been warned several times and my jaw hurt from me gritting my teeth. They were too hot, then too cold. I rigged blankets in their windows to block the sun. They punched, pinched and kicked one another. They kicked the back of my chair, played with the windows and got marker on my car seat. They threw pieces of wadded up paper at each other and thought it was hilarious to have a burping contest. Enough was enough. When asked if we could stop for something to eat, I said a resounding, "NO!!" I was then informed that they, 'wanted different parents!' (Hear blood boil and clenching of fists). I swelled to twice my size, I actually took my seatbelt off to turn around and explode, "You want new parents?! Fine!! I'll have your dad pull over right here and you can stand by the side of the road. But with your behavior, no one will want you!!" Yep. That was me. I actually said that. Shawn shot me a sideways glance which told me it was too much but he wasn't about to touch that.

An hour later (and also only an hour away from our destination), they looked like this:

This couldn't happen sooner?!

And guiltily, I thought, "How could I have been so mean? It's a 5 1/2 hour trip and they're young. I've probably damaged them for life. Did my parents ever say things like that to me and my brother? Maybe, but I don't remember. Is that a good thing?" It must not have had an everlasting impact, as they were back to fighting the minute we walked into the house.

The only comfort I have is reading other blogs and know that I'm not alone. We all have weak moments. And I am truly grateful for that knowledge.

42 Years of Work & All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt (this is for you dad)

After 42 years working for the state, my dad is retiring from work this Friday (well, technically Thursday, they're closed on Friday). Forty. Two. Years. Serving the community of the State of South Dakota. It's not often that you hear of people who have basically worked for the same 'company' for forty two years.

Let me put that into perspective. My dad was hired in 1969. The same year that we put a man on the moon. That's black and white television people!

I'm sure my dad has seen numerous people come and go. A lot of his comrades have already taken that road to retirement, as he watched with a half-envious eye. But he stuck it out. The people that work with him now, may or may not know the amazing accomplishments he has had during his extensive career, but do they really know the man? I'm guessing they could have an idea. BUT....

I'm here to tell you *big sly grin*!

So, a list of things you may or may not know about James (Jim, Jimmy Bob, Bob) Douglas, in no particular order:


A long, long time ago, in a land not so far away, my dad played a mean acoustic guitar...

in striped shorts and black socks...

with cowboy boots.

Yep. Old West meets a hippy wannabe. He used to sing too, but just let me say, the stroke hasn't affected his singing ability. He used to play a song by Meatloaf, "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad" and he'd have me be the backup singer. To this day, "Bat Out of Hell" is one of my favorite albums (CD, whatever).

He used to make stop-motion videos with an 8mm camera. For those of you who don't know what that is...think of it as a precursor to Pixar. He used to make playing blocks chase one another and make him and his friends magically disappear from atop a picnic table. Truly amazing back then.

My dad used to be a land surveyor on the weekends. I seriously hated that. Because, let me tell you, holding zero was definitely NOT on a 15, 16, 17-year old girls' top list of things to do on a weekend. "Holding zero" meant that once he found the metal stake in the ground, my job was to hold the zero on the measuring tape over the stake while he took the other end where ever he had to go. I got paid $5 an hour to do this (which was beyond fair, actually). Here's the thing, my dad never wrote anything down until we were completely finished and back in the old orange metal truck. Then he would sit and do a quick sketch of the plot completely from memory.

My dad worked a lot, but he always managed to make some time for my brother and I. I still remember him helping Brant and I build a snowman out in the front yard. But not your ordinary snowman. Ours was a frozen replica of Snoopy. For the final touch, my dad spray-painted his ears, nose and eyes black. Can you say awesome? He built snow forts and took us sledding. I don't mean that he stood and watched, he was on the back of the sled right behind me.

He always loved going to the movies, and it was a special treat for him to take us...right after we stopped at the corner gas station where he loaded my brother and my pockets with candy bars and other goodies and then instructed us to keep our hands in our coats until we sat down. I think one of the first movies I got to see with my dad was Star Wars.

The original one.

My dad used to check my Trigonometry homework for me...in his head.

When my first dog, Bojo (named after the song, Mr. Bojangles) died at 16, he took her to the top of Flag Mountain and buried her there so "she could see where we used to live." We lived on Taylor and there wasn't a soul living on the mountain back then. She died during the night and my dad buried her before I could see her in that state.

My dad has NEVER, and I really mean NEVER EVER said anything bad, degrading or mean about ANYONE. I have never heard him. Even when he had every right in the world to do so and no one would blame him. He just didn't. He always found the good in everyone and still does.

In the same sense, when I was growing up, my mom and I would often be at odds. But even if he didn't agree with her, he didn't fail to back her up. They were always a team. A force to be reckoned with. I couldn't get my way with dad when mom had already told me "no." I think that says something about BOTH my parents.

My dad was the one who got me my first library card for the "grown up" section. I will forever be grateful as it fueled my love of mystery, thriller and who-done-it novels.

He had an uncanny ability to explain things to me in a way that I could understand. He had the patience to explain it over and over and over if need be.

He taught me to snow ski and how to drive.

I have, sometimes unfortunately, inherited his dry sense of humor. You just get it or you don't.

I could go on forever about how he dealt with his stroke and recovery, but let me just tell you that the doctors told my mother he would either die, or be a vegetable for the rest of his life. That gives you only an iota of the amount strength, faith and determination he has. Of course, because of that strength, faith and determination, the rest of you are stuck behind him in traffic..while driving...5 mph.

I know you see his red truck and take a different route.

I had more than my share of teen angst, boy problems, popularity problems and the huge drama high school can bring a girl or the feeling of being overwhelmed in college. I used to try to get my dad to help me. A lot times, I would get so frustrated because he would just sit there, for the longest time, and not say a thing. When he finally did speak, it was usually some short sentence that was supposed to make me feel better. At the time, I would sigh, roll my eyes and wonder why I had even bothered to talk to him. But, those sentences are the very core by which I try to live my life. Two of the most powerful statements were:

"What was meant to be, will be."

and one that I use often:

"Life is like eating an elephant, you do it one bite at a time."

Wisdom at its very simplest, and yet so widely profound. I think that pretty much describes my dad to a tee.

It's hard to know your co-workers for the person they are outside of that environment. This is just the tiniest glimpse of who he is as a whole.

Congratulations, dad. I love you and I'm proud of you. I hope you enjoy every minute of every single day without the responsibility of punching a time clock.

(Oh, and good luck to you too, mom *wink*).