The First Day of Summer

The first day of summer. This little phrase is enough to strike terror and dread in any mother's heart, for it is the beginning of the end of her peaceful existence, as she now knows it. The tranquil morning hours sipping coffee after the children have left for school is over….OK, OK…I know you’re asking, what planet is she living on? Certainly not mine. Well….

For the 9 to 5'er mother…it means that she had better have her ducks in a row. The teenage babysitter should have been lined up since Christmas for the upcoming competitive Summer Season. And even then, this mother may be at the mercy of the whimsical teenager who on June 1st decides she would rather work on her tan and has been offered employment at the local pool. “I’m really sorry but I have to get some real work experience,” she says with a smile. "But call me some other time," she texts. Yeah right. That's a 'bad burn' for any working mother to endure.

As every well-prepared Mother knows the key to having a good summer with the kids is what? FOOD!.. And lots of it. How did these children ever manage at school with just one snack and lunch. Now, they graze all day long. I recommend stocking up on your kid's favorite frozen foods. They beauty of frozen foods… it's already prepared and the kids can fix it themselves.

Some of the more highly recommended staples.
1. Corndogs
2. Popcicles
3. Pocket sandwiches
4. Ice cream sandwiches
5. String Cheese
6. Frozen pizzas
7. Various Toaster treats

Note: All of the items above can be eaten with the hands or off paper plates. The smart mom will also hide all of the dishes and have a large abundance of paper plates. Otherwise…And I have learned this the hard way…There is a perpetual sink full of dirty dishes. Another tip…Sport-bottles with the kids' names on them. Forbid the use of glassware. Again, the alternative is the perpetual full sink issue.

Now for the working matriarch who has slightly older offspring…well, the worries multiply. I have actually overheard grown women in suits hissing into the phone, "Who else is over there?" or “Where are you going? Who is going to be there? When will you be getting back? How far is it? How much money?” You know the general Who, What, When, Where, How questions posed to teenagers world-wide.

Or "Your sister did what? Let me talk to her right this instant." Discipline over the phone is a tragically humorous thing to watch. Somehow threats over the phone do not have the same effect as your child personally seeing the whites of your eyes and knowing that you mean business. At times this mother has to play Condoleezza Rice and settle disputes that make the Middle East seem like a sandbox quibble. "Let her have her turn on the computer RIGHT NOW!"

Then there are the food crises. "There is too, a frozen pizza in the deep freeze. Well who ate it?" Or, "We are not out of bread…JUST LOOK!"

And then there are the true emergencies over the phone, like "Hold direct pressure over the bleeding! And DON'T LET THAT CAT OUT OF YOUR SIGHT!" Or, "Don't let your brother play with your father's power tools in the kitchen." Or, “The last time I saw the remote control it was under the middle couch cushion."

Now the stay-at-home mother has the best of intentions on June 1, to provide fun yet educational experiences for her children. However by August 1st this woman bears no resemblance whatsoever to June Cleaver, Carol Brady or even her own mother. She has been abused, victimized and tortured by her offspring to the point which she has been reduced to a screaming Ninja who could care less if the children have learned 2 + 2 much less read Great Expectations. After the fourteenth chorus of "Mom, I'm bored…" She has finally resorted to yelling, "Go play in the street." Or “Why don't you paint the house. That blue spray paint is a nice shade." The most blessed words she hears is "School starts tomorrow."

In all seriousness, I suppose summers are great. Even through juggling hours at work and the children's summer schedule…you know…swimming, guitar lessons, weeks at camp, ball schedules, one does tend to spend more "quality time" with the kids. And as the old sage once said, “It is the quality of our work which will please God and not the quantity”….Mahatma Gandhi

Next year, I think Mommy will go to camp…..I nice long camp for adults only, located on the sunny shores of Jamaica.

The Boy in the Yellow Shirt


There is a phenomenon known as “kid envy”. You know…it is that feeling…”Boy, I wish my kid had entered that essay contest and won a trip to Washington, DC” or “Karen’s daughter has the best manners…I wonder how she did that” or “little Elliot over there goes and visits strangers in the nursing home and actually converses with them.” Kid-envy. If you’re an honest mother, you have felt it too. By contrast there is also an occurrence know as “Whew-I-am-glad-that-is-not-my-kid”. This is a story about the latter.

Upon arriving at the local state park for the end-of-year 2nd and 3rd grade field trip, I was greeted with enthusiastic cries of “I’m glad you are here, Mom. I’ve already eaten my lunch. Bye, Mom.” My eight year old child, Will, then runs off to play among the other 120 children on the playground. I go to converse with some of the women who are my friends as well as Will’s teachers. An hour goes by and then I notice that a park ranger is striding purposefully toward the covey of teachers and me. She informs us that someone has been dialing 911 on the pay phone by the drink machines. She would like for the teachers to address this problem since it is a matter of serious repercussions, especially if the EMS and paramedics show up for a hoax call.

All six teachers rise at once and advance to the drink machines to investigate. Their investigation turns up three third grade girls who report that “some boy in a yellow shirt” is the culprit and they just watched him dial 911. Upon hearing “yellow shirt” I immediately tune out the rest of the report because my one and only charge of the day, Will, is wearing a bright orange shirt. “Whew-I-am-glad-that-is-not-my-kid.”

A mere five minutes pass and Will’s teacher, Mrs. F., motions me to come over. She has Will with her and she is postured for interrogation. From across the playground I mime, “Is Will involved?” She shakes her head affirmatively. I slink towards them.

“Will, did you call 911 on the phone?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Will, did you call 911?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Will?”
“I didn’t put any money in the phone.”
“But you did dial 911.”
“Yes.” Head hung low.

After the confession and the subsequent elaborate explanations by Mrs. F. and myself about how pay phones can and do work even without money especially for cases of true emergencies, Will was released into the custody of his friends on the swings whose only remarks were “Hey, Will, are you in trouble?”

All I can say is, “Bless his heart.” There isn’t a malicious bone in his body. Mischievous. Yes. Malicious. No. His mother was obviously remiss in his “street education.” We had not gone over the operations of pay phones. We had talked about the need and use for 911. And I know that he would never dial 911 from a regular phone or even a cell phone unless it was a true emergency. At home, I have to beg him just to pick up the cordless phone and run it to me, because he doesn’t like to answer a ringing telephone. In fact, Mrs. F. informed me that the fire department had just had a program two days ago at school concerning the use of 911. The children were instructed on when and when not to call 911. I wonder what my child was doing during that assembly…After further investigation into the 911 incident, it was revealed that Will had only dialed 911 one time and when the operator answered, he panicked, hung up and ran away leaving the three girls…the three older girls …at the phone to answer the 911 operator who was calling back. They subsequently hung up on the operator several more times which I am sure just ticked the operator off even more. Thus the reason the State Park Ranger had been notified.

Moral to the story?
1. Don’t show out for older girls. It will get you into trouble every time.
2. Do not neglect the street education of your children. It will get you into trouble.
3. Do not dial 911 haphazardly. It will get you into trouble.
4. Third grade girls do not know their colors yet.

GREENBRIER
written in 2000

In honor of my mother on the 1st day of June. She continues the tradition, because she made a promise.


Our purpose on that blustery day in May---to refresh the flowers on my grandmother and grandfather’s graves at the Greenbrier Cemetery, before the all-crucial-date….the first Sunday in June, better known as “Decoration Day”. For those of us in the south, “Decoration Day” is the day for acknowledging our ancestors and those who have gone on, by paying special homage to their grave sites, with the addition of fresh, or in this case, silk flowers. My prim and proper grandmother, would have been mortified if her gravesite wasn’t at least as pretty as Aunt Gladys’.

My mother, my 8 year old daughter and I set forth on our adventure, a 2 hour drive that would take us on the back-roads of Williamson County, Tennessee, under canopied, tree-lined lanes and down the road of childhood memories. Names of roads like, Bending Chestnut, Lick Creek and Pinewood Road blazed like green beacons along our way. Greenbrier is one of those tiny little communities in the heart of Tennessee, that has almost died out. All that's left -- a church and a cemetery.

Of course, this was not my first trip to Greenbrier. I had been for the
occasions of the burials of my grandparents. But as I walked around the tombstones, softened by generations of wind and rain, I recalled the day 20 years ago, when I came here with my mother, my grandmother and two great aunts with the task of locating crucial dates for my high school history project – “My Ancestry.” Of course, those were the days before computerization of records and easy accessible genealogies on the internet. I could hear voices from the past … Aunt Ila, and Aunt Gladys, instructed me on the fine art of charcoal rubbings. The engravings even then had nearly been obliterated by lichens and the cool Tennessee winds. Odd names like Oggie, Missouri Enora, Wiley and Berry peered out from the rubbings. Family…although hundreds of years old…they were mine.

Today, we women of the next three generations, put the final touches on the new flower arrangements and decided to continue our exploration of Greenbrier. We traveled down a hill and around the curve, to "the old home-place." Surprisingly enough, the house was much the same as my mother remembered it from her childhood--- several rock chimneys, graying wood siding and porches galore on the two-story farmhouse. My mother never lived here, but this was the place her fond memories of childhood began…Weekends with her Grandma, romping with her cousins, riding the old sway-backed horse, and of course swinging on the sideporch swing. Nearby…Lick Creek-- the creek my mother played in and her father before her. It was a pretty little creek with a limestone base, which made the creek run crisp and clear.

As the three of us continued our wanderings, the smell of a light rain and
fresh cut hay wafted through our car. The gravel lane meandered beside the creek. My daughter squealed with glee when she discovered that in order to cross Lick Creek, we must drive our car down into the creek and back up again. (We city-folk rarely have the opportunity for such marvelous adventures.) We made four crossings in this manner before our trip was completed.

As we finally made our way homeward I thought to myself… This is our family history along these roads and buried in this earth. The people who once inhabited these hollows and ridges, I am sure, had their own traditions which are now long forgotten. For every year that passes, a family's history changes as well as their traditions. However, it occurred to me that we women of this family now have a new tradition which we will long cherish; the annual trek to Greenbrier before the first Sunday in June.