A Different Millers Tale

This week, I have a special treat.  Jan Miller, my funny friend from across the pond, has graciously consented to be my guest blogger.  Here's her Valentine's Day story:

A Different Millers Tale - All True, it could only happen here....

I woke up February 14^th a bit excited, we’ve been married 32 years this year but I would still describe my personality type as hopeful. Steve bought me tea in bed with my favourite biscuits, a card that’s got lovely sentiments (I’m wearing my "Wonderful Wife" badge now) and an inside joke inside! GSOH* -  very important.  

I eventually located my card for him - better than Christmas when my card for Steve just disappeared in a menopausal moment. (If you got the “Dear Husband” card in December instead of yours please let me know and I’ll stop looking.)  

Anyway, I’m not good in the morning and who would have thought the card I wrote and hid in my knickers drawer only last night would have fallen down the back of cabinet so I had to remove the drawers to find it, knocking over the tea in the process? 

We got everything sorted, read our cards .... and then there was a knock.  We wondered was it our front door?   Steve opened the window to check why Postie wasn’t using the bell, leant forward into the frame  and his glasses tumbled from his face... down the porch roof, bounced over the gutter and landed on the driveway, our good mood all broken down with a loudly -swearing semi-naked hubby dashing about putting on his trousers to go downstairs.

Wow, what a lovely surprise – the cutest Flowercard has arrived from our very good friends and the scratches have almost polished out of the glasses!  

*GSOH  Guy with sense of humour 

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

   

Little Men

My darling grandson Brody (a.k.a. the cutest toddler ever) welcomed his very own cousin Logan to the world today. The little guy has a shock of black hair that most men can only envy.  A new life.  What a reason for celebration! 

Little Men

How can you not remember the births of your own children when you gaze upon a brand-new baby?

Our firstborn was conceived during that phase of our lives when we were kids masquerading as adults.  In the fall of 1976, at the ripe old age of twenty-three, we anticipated our baby's arrival together.  Jerry and I moved from Louisiana to Ohio and had just bought a 1920's bungalow that we were fixing up. 

We spent the day wallpapering the nursery.  Wallpapering is tedious and all that running up and down the ladder tired us both out.  We watched Johnny Carson then fell into bed, exhausted.  As Jerry was drifting off to sleep and I was relaxing, I felt an odd sensation, a pang of pain. 

"This is it!" I cried. 

"Roll over and go to sleep." replied Mr. Compassion.

Instead of taking his advice, I leapt up and my water broke all over everywhere.  Suddenly Jerry was wide awake.  This was no fire drill, it was the real deal!  I called our parents while he got the car.  It was an hour's drive to the hospital and that was the longest ride of my life.  Every time we hit a pothole, I flinched.  I made sure Jerry was aware of my pain too.  Turns out I'm not at my best during labor.  Who knew?

For a while Jer was driving carefully, avoiding potholes.  I was thinking that maybe I didn't really want to be pregnant after all, wondering if it were too late to back out.  Suddenly I noticed that the car had stopped.  Although somewhat distracted, somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that we were not in the hospital parking lot.  No.  We were at the gas station.  My husband chose this moment to buy gas, something that I felt was totally inappropriate.  I told him that, too.   

"I have to drive home and the gas stations might be closed by then," he reasoned.  He was not endearing himself to me.  I was certain that I was about to give birth in the back of his orange Toyota Corolla.

Turns out that I didn't have to worry because I had one of those long, drawn-out affairs where the nurses tell you to "push" and when you do they say, "I can see the head.  Push harder!" And when you push harder and nothing happens, they say the same thing over again. "Push!"  "Push!"  May I point out that I had taken birthing classes and, in my mind at least, was the valedictorian of the group, overachiever that I am?

This is not how the experience was supposed to be unfolding.  We had seen the film in which the mom pushed roughly three times and the baby was born.  No baby was emerging here and no drugs had been administered either.  I pointed out this omission.  "You don't want to drug your baby," they said.  No, I didn't want to drug my baby.  I wanted to drug myself, a small but crucial difference that somehow I was unable to make them comprehend. 

Somewhere after hour twelve, the doctor came in and there was whispering about "the poor girl."  Silly me, I thought they were talking about the woman in the next bed.  I even felt sorry for her.  My mistake.  Shortly thereafter, the doctor ... I still can't believe this ... shoved the baby back up -- that's right, you read that correctly -- and said, "Don't push, you'll injure the baby."  Now, this is after twelve hours TWELVE HOURS of being told to push.  Nice.  Real nice.

Ever the drama queen, as they are wheeling me into surgery, I am yelling, "Save the baby!  Save the baby!  Organ donor!  I want to be an organ donor!  Take everything!  Just save the baby!"  I don't remember anyone actually slapping me, but I bet a couple of people wanted to.  

The nurse gave Jerry my wedding rings and glasses to hold because he was not able to go into the operating room with me.  And so the Daddy-to-be sat and waited.  He'd been up for over twenty-four hours by now and was getting sleepier and sleepier as the minutes ticked by.  The surgery went fast and before he knew it, we were in recovery.  Jerry assured himself that we were both okay and then went home to bed. Who could blame him?  (Me, as it turns out.) 

He drove home with my glasses still in his pocket and, in his sleep deprived fog, he also neglected to call my mother to tell her that we'd had a son.  Heck, he even forgot to call his own mother.  Not his smoothest moves, right?

Now Jerry's home sleeping and I am bitter that I don't have my glasses.  I am telling this story to the medics as they are wheeling me down the hallway to my hospital room.  I must have been louder than I thought ...

...because in that very room was a lady who was praying to God - earnestly begging him not to bring this loud woman (me) into her room.  God, of course, has a wildly wicked sense of humor and that's how I met my friend Margaret. 

When the mothers finally got to the hospital to see the baby, they totally forgot about being annoyed with Jerry, so strong was their love for their sweet grandson.  Babies are like that, so adorable and full of promise that they make everyone around them want to be better people.

As they say, all's well that ends well.  Congratulations, Brigit and Jeff.

Before the Rooster Crows

Every working day of my married life, my husband Jerry has gotten up well before the rooster crows, taken a quick shower, downed an iced tea and headed off to work.  (I believe he kisses me goodbye before he leaves the house, but I wouldn't swear to it.)  He arrives at his destination several hours before work officially begins.  A creature of habit, he likes his morning routine.  He says his schedule offers many advantages:  he beats the traffic; he has time alone at work to answer emails, tie up yesterday's loose ends and plan today's agenda.  

I have a morning routine that I like too, it's just happens later than Jerry's does.  A lot later.  I awaken when I'm done sleeping, then I get up and go for a walk, usually with my friend Mary Ann.  I then come home and start my day, sometimes eating breakfast at the same time my husband is having lunch.   While he feels most alert and energized in the early morning, my most creative time is hours after that and so we have arranged our lives accordingly. 

This year, I've had the dubious pleasure of leaving the house prior to my          husband's departure twice already and it's only February.  This has shattered several items on my long list of 'nevers.' (I never do this...I never do that...I never brush my teeth with cortisone cream - that one was an accident.  All tubes feel the same when you're fumbling around in the dark.)

The first event was a health fair where I ran smack dab into another night owl out of her element.  She was dressed in a nurse's uniform trying to blend in but I recognized her as one of my own.  "How?"  I knew because I complimented her on her glasses which turned out to be new.  As she was telling me about where she got them, she looked right at my bespectacled face and sweetly said, "Do you wear glasses?"  BINGO! That was a classic night owl blunder.  (Thank GOD it was after she'd drawn my blood!)  We both burst out laughing, which, when I think about it, might have actually frightened the others in the room who were waiting for their turn at the vampire's table.    

The next occasion I had to sally forth into the pre-dawn was of my own choosing.  I decided to join Toastmasters.  It was a New Year's resolution but it took the entire month of January before I was actually able to get up in time to make the 7:00 a.m. meeting.

Since I didn't know exactly where the Toastmasters met, I felt the need to leave the house forty-five minutes early to allow for traffic and the inevitable "getting lost three times" that always accompanies me whenever I drive anywhere.  I set my alarm for 5:30 but woke a half an hour early.  Because I was so excited, I had had trouble falling asleep the night before, so I was working with about three and a half hours' sleep.  I was beginning to understand why people find drinking  coffee so charming.

It was lucky that I had allowed extra time because when I got outside, my car was covered in a layer of frost.  Normally it would have been burned off by the sun but the sun wasn't up yet.  Instead, there was a big, beautiful full moon and the bright lights of cars and city. 

If this is sunrise, Jerry took the picture

I'm a big fan of sunsets and thought that one of the perks of getting up at an ungodly hour was that I'd have an opportunity to see the sunrise but it was even too early for that.  I arrived at my destination in the dark.

During Toastmasters time, the sun rose without me but I still couldn't take advantage of Charlotte shopping because it was too early for the stores to be open.  (Who knew?)  Prime-time rush hour was now occurring but good fortune smiled upon me because my drive was in the opposite direction of the wolf pack. Then, in the distance, I witnessed something I haven't seen in years: yellow buses picking little kids up for school. 

Even children were now up and ready for their day to begin.  Not me though.  All I could think of was, "If I hurry home, I can take a nap before breakfast."