By barbara.wilkey
This is a prologue to a novel I'm considering writing. Numerous people I've spoken with through the years have mentioned that I need to write down the experiences I've had raising four boys while being a military spouse. Basically, a geographic single parent. As I've spoken with many of you either through reviews or PM's, many have said 'you need to share that story with all of us.'
I've decided to start this project. It'll be a series of short stories, many will be shared with my granddaughters, some won't. The topics will be varied as I post them, depending on what my muse prompts me to write about at that time. I won't be posting them on a once-a-week basis, but whenever something pops into my head.
If I decide to eventually publish this, I'll group the similar topics together. One of the topics I'm considering is, as I've said, raising four boys. My boys were far from angels. They were honest to goodness rowdy boys, who enjoyed experimenting and exploring. My husband, Brian often mentioned they were a tag team match. One of them was always doing something they shouldn't. When we settled that problem, a different child would start. Something was always going on.
Another topic will be living abroad. We spent a total of eight years in Germany, not all at once. We got to Germany by way of the Army. Along with these stories will be stories of living within the military community and what it's about. It's a different lifestyle, with its ups and downs. I wouldn't change it.
If I choose to write about it, being a battered wife. It's a hard subject to discuss, but it's real. I struggled getting my freedom. Some of this story is discussed in my first novel, 'Two Tattered Hearts'. A huge surprise this is my only novel without a dog. I have often felt I need to go back and change that. LOL
A possible topic would be the death of my infant, Michael and how that impacted my faith.
I could even write about how being retired has affected my life or even getting older. I could also include stories from my former first graders.
These are just ideas I'm playing around with. I'm pretty sure I've forgotten some. I have no clue how this is going to turn out. I've put myself out there a little in writing my novels. I doubt any author can write without sharing a piece of themselves, but this will be the first time I've written about me. Well, I did when I wrote about my experiences going through breast cancer and chemotherapy. There may be a little more about that experience too and its lasting effects.
I hope some of you have found this interesting and will want to read. If not, I do understand. My life is probably boring. I often believe it is. Maybe I can find a way to liven it up. LOL
| Author Notes |
Thank you, Pinterest for the artwork. I may use it on every post. Not sure, yet.
Guess What??? This is only 500 words. Short for me. LOL There are things we don't want to happen, but we have to accept. Things we don't want to know, but we have to learn. And people we can't live without Thank you Pam(respa) for finding this for me. I found this and don't know who said it, but I like it and feel this is what I hope this novel of short stories is about. It sums it up really well. Thank you for dropping by and reading. I appreciate all commets. |
By barbara.wilkey
Eleanor
This is not at all how I had planned this going. I'm preparing a chapter explaining all the family members as the characters, so you'd know each one and have a feel for them personally.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately my just turned four-year-old granddaughter, Eleanor, her birthday was July 29th, gave me something to write about, and I couldn't pass it up.
This story was told to me by my son, Andrew, we FaceTime every Sunday afternoon. Andrew works at Barnes Jewish Christian Hospital in St. Louis, Missouri. He takes Eleanor to the daycare provided by the hospital for their employees every morning.
Andrew had stopped at a stoplight on the way to the hospital. Next to them a car had stopped, and a fluffy spotted dog stuck its head out an open backseat window.
Eleanor sat in her car seat and said, "Daddy, do you see the furry dog?"
"Yes, I see the dog."
"It looks like a nice cuddly dog."
"I'm sure it is a nice dog."
"Isn't that dog beautiful? I like dogs."
"I know you like dogs. You like all animals."
Eleanor was silent for a few moments. "Daddy, can we get a dog?"
"Hurry up light," Andrew muttered under his breath. "No Ellie, we can't get a dog."
"Why not? Dogs are nice."
"Yes, dogs are nice. Your mom and I both work. We're not home enough."
"Charlotte and I'd play with it all the time when we get home. Charlotte likes dogs, too."
"I know you both would. Dogs poop. I don't want to clean up dog poop."
"Dogs don't poop a lot."
"Yes, they do. Remember when we were at Grandma's, and you stepped in Harley's poop. It was hard to get out of the treads on your shoes. You wouldn't like that, would you?"
"When Harley visits here he doesn't poop in the backyard."
"Yes, he does. Grandma cleans it up."
Again, Eleanor got quiet for a few minutes, before she started again, "Daddy, in Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, he asks the neighbors to help. That's what neighbors do. They help each other. We have really nice neighbors. Maybe they'd help clean up dog poop."
"El, it doesn't work that way. We do have nice neighbors, but they don't want to clean up our dog poop. Would you like to clean up their dog's poop?"
"No, but maybe our neighbors like dog poop."
As Andrew's telling this story, I'm laughing and then say, "Andrew, dogs make really good friends. You boys always had a dog growing up, remember? The girls need a dog."
"Mom, you're not helping!"
| Author Notes |
Andrew's wife, Katie is a biology college professor. They have another daughter, Charlotte, who is six and will start first grade in August.
Dogs will teach you unconditional love, if you can have that in your life, things won't be too bad. Robert Wagner This post is a little over 400 words Thank you google images for the photograph of a dog with it's head out the car window. |
By barbara.wilkey
Steven
It seems stories are presenting themselves whether I want them to or not. So, I'm guessing the introduction to my family members will be presented as they do something or I remember something that might, well, sort of maybe, be story worthy.
Lyenochka, one of my favorite authors on FanStory wrote a short story titled, 'Spirit's Nudge'. If you haven't read it, you should. It's well worth your time. This story reminded me of a prayer my son, Steven lifted up while having lunch at Arby's.
Steven, Andrew, one of his older brothers, and I went to Arby's for lunch. Steven was probably around five years old at the time. Andrew was somewhere around twelve years old. My older boys were already living on their own. My husband, Brian, was off doing Army things. We were stationed at Fort Campbell, Kentucky.
As I placed our order at the Arby's counter, I repeatedly asked Steven, "Are you positive you don't want any curly fries? I'm not coming up here again for curly fries."
"Mom, no curly fries today."
"Are you positive?"
This conversation was repeated over and over again, numerous times, but I didn't order him curly fries.
After Steven quickly finished his sandwich, he asked, "Mom, can I have some curly fries?"
Not at all happy, because of our earlier conversation, I reminded him, "You said you didn't want curly fries. I told you then I wasn't getting you any later."
With his sad puppy dog eyes and a full pout, he continued asking, now almost begging for curly fries.
In full mom mode, I set my mind to making sure I didn't give in and was going to teach this child a lesson. I didn't back down.
A little later Steven changed his question, "Mom, can I have a quarter for a large gumball?"
"Okay." I gave him a quarter.
Steven went up to the gumball machine and got his bubble gum. He danced back to our table. His face glowing and eyes twinkling. "Mom! It has a star! I get free curly fries!"
I gave in and allowed him to go to the counter to get his curly fries.
When Steven returned to the table, Andrew asked, "How did you get that gumball? I've tried and tried and never got one with the star."
Steven held up a curly fry. "I prayed for it."
Andrew shook his head. "You can't pray for curly fries."
I agreed. "You shouldn't pray for curly fries."
"It worked." Steven enjoyed his curly fries as Andrew, and I shook our heads.
| Author Notes |
Thank you Lyenochka for bring up this memory. Please read her post 'Spirit's Nudge."
This post is a little over 400 words Thank you google images for the photograph of a dog with it's head out the car window. |
By barbara.wilkey
Steven's Longhorn
I was searching for artwork to go with Sunday's post and was reminded of another Steven story. In this story, Steven is in high school, probably around fifteen years old.
One of Steven's household chores was to take out the garbage after dinner. He did and when he returned inside, he said, "Mom, you're not going to believe this but there's a longhorn steer in our front yard."
We live on top of a steep hill. On the back side of the hill is a limestone quarry where numerous deer live. I frowned. "Steven, I know you're a city boy, but it's a deer. I need to get you to the country more."
"Mom, it has horns."
"On deer they're called antlers."
"I know. You need to come outside and see for yourself."
We walked out the front door and in our oak tree grove was indeed a longhorn steer.
"Mom, I know a deer from a longhorn."
"You do." I called Brian, my husband from his den, "We have a longhorn in the front yard."
"What do you want me to do about it?" asked Brian.
"Maybe call the police. It's lost and probably belongs to someone."
Brian did call the police and was told, 'We don't do longhorn steers. Leave him alone and he'll go back home.'
The following morning, the longhorn was gone. I guess he did mosey his way home.
It is comforting to know my teenage city boy did know the difference between a longhorn steer and deer.
| Author Notes |
Texas is an open-range state. This means the ranchers aren't required to put up fences. Many do, but there are plenty of ranchers who choose not to have fences. Some counties have voted to not allow open ranges in recent years. My county has not.
As I looked at the photo, I realized this isn't a steer. You'll see the same photograph Sunday. This post has a little over 200 words. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 4
I'm going back a few years with this story. Thank you, Iza Deleanu for the memory. The year was August of 1986. My husband, Brian, had joined the Army and left home the previous December for Fort McClellan, Alabama.
I remained in our hometown with three little boys. Steven wasn't born yet. Greg was eight years old; Jeff was six years old, and Andrew was one. I learned quickly what being a geographic single parent was all about, along with being thrown into being a military spouse.
During this indoctrination, my husband completed basic training, AIT (Advanced Individual Training,) and then he flew to Germany, our first duty station.
I discovered such things as waiting lists for housing. There was no housing for families in Germany, at this time, and there was a waiting list. Of course, I didn't understand that and wondered why he didn't send for us. All sorts of things went through my mind. Since we are still married, you can figure out that I learned about housing waiting lists. He arrived in Germany in June. We received orders to leave in September. We were separated for nine months.
My next problem was navigating the military system to figure out how to get household goods packed and sent to Germany. I, again, learned how to maneuver the military system. The secret, be more stubborn than they are. The old 'squeaky wheel gets oiled logic' works every time.
We were now ready to fly to Germany. Our first flight left from Quad Cities International Airport, in Moline, Illinois, and flew to Lambert-St. Louis International Airport. Our home was a small rural town in Illinois.
I was very lucky this flight was noneventful because Jeff, my ornery child, decided he wouldn't get on the plane. After all sorts of bribery, he decided he would get on the plane. If the flight had been bad, I wasn't sure I'd get him on the flight from St. Louis to Frankfurt, Germany.
Our flight from St. Louis to Frankfurt was on a MAC flight, Military Air Command. Our flight was to leave around ten o'clock that morning. Loading the plane with food, the catering door somehow broke. They had to have the replacement piece flown in from New York.
I'm now stuck in an airport with three young boys. Greg got sick to his stomach, Jeff was his usual pain in the butt, and Andrew had diarrhea. I had packed four outfits for him and plenty of diapers, but he ended up pooping all of them. I had to buy him new clothes and diapers at airport prices. Money was scarce at this time in our marriage. We waited in the airport for twelve hours. For real! My already strained marriage wasn't getting any better.
Finally, we loaded the plane. I see some hope. Nope, we got the pleasure of sitting on the tarmac for hours. It was really hot and crowded. Jeff, my wild child, chose to show his true colors and he had many.
The pilot announced we're ready for take-off. YEAH! But no, Andrew had tubes in his ears because of repeated ear infections. Guess what? Once the jet started rising so did the pressure in his ears and he screamed the entire flight, almost a full nine hours. My anger for my husband rose.
I did everything possible to get his ears to pop. I had weaned him and went back to nursing, hoping it would help. I tried a sucker. The stewardess came to help. I walked the aisles. Nothing worked. The good news is this was a MAC flight. The families had center seats. Active-Duty soldiers sat on the floor along the sides. As I walked, the soldiers had sympathy and made comments about their spouses having to go through the same thing. I began to understand the military community a lot better, but it still didn't get my husband out of trouble.
Andrew was still crying but we landed at Rhein-Main Air Base, just outside of Frankfurt, Germany. My husband was waiting and very happy to finally get his family back together.
I handed him the boys. "Here's your kids!" I searched for the window for the next flight back to the US. Brian did talk me into not making any hasty decisions. Long story short, I survived twenty-three years as a military spouse. This past Saturday we celebrated forty-seven years of marriage.
When we returned after our four-year tour of Germany, our seats on the flight were separated and I refused to sit with Andrew. Brian had to. The funny part was the other two boys, and I sat beside drunk National Guards men, who had just finished training. Probably another story about the return flight. LOL Andrew would've been the better choice. Be careful what you wish for.
| Author Notes |
Please read Iza Deleanu's story 'Stranded At Home'. It's worth your time and is what helped me remember this incident.
Thank you, Google Images, for the photo of a Mac flight. In the 1980's there were not seats on the side. The Active-Duty soldiers sat on the floor. This post is a little under 800 words. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 5
For some reason, I'm in a military life mode. LOL Here's another memory that recently came to mind.
We had just returned to the US after our first Germany tour. It was July of 1990, and we took thirty days leave to visit with family.
We were at my parents' house and at the end of our leave, preparing for our next duty station, Fort Meade, MD. My husband, Brian, was in the basement working out. I heard him yell numerous profanities. I went downstairs to see what had happened. About 100,000 Iraqi troops had invaded Kuwait.
A little surprised at his outburst, What does this have to do with us? They're on the other side of the world. He went on to explain in detail that we'd probably go to war. To be honest, I felt Brian was overreacting.
The middle of August we arrived at Fort Meade, MD. Once on the military post, Brian reported to his unit and then we went to housing. The housing list was about six months long. Our next stop was the military motel, 'the guest house'. With military orders in hand, Brian secured us a room. I need to point out that Steven was not born yet. Greg, twelve years old, Jeff, ten years old, and Andrew, now four years old. The significance is, have you ever been contained to a two-bed motel room with three rambunctious boys. Probably not. The following day, Brian reported for duty. I found a playground within walking distance.
This continued for a little over a month. We searched for apartments on the economy, the surrounding towns, but found nothing available in our price range. Pretty sure we were stuck in this motel until we moved up on the housing list, which to be honest, I checked daily.
Then it got worse. Brian came home and announced, his unit was deploying to Saudi Arabia. Maybe some good news, his commanding officer was working with Housing trying to get us into housing before they deployed. Bad news, it didn't work.
While still in the guest house, Brian deployed to Saudi Arabia October 6, 1990. We remained in the guest house. A little good news. In September, I had a job interview for an assistance director of one of the Army's largest daycare centers and got the job. School had started, and Andrew would be able to go to the daycare with me.
Our life continued with the older boys going to school, Andrew in daycare, me working, and Brian now, deployed. We got into a routine. Of course, still in the guest house.
A few weeks after Brian had deployed, I got a call from housing. We were moved up on the housing list and now secured a three-bedroom house. Thank you, God. Bad news, I, once again had to contact the moving company and move our furniture into the house by myself. Got to love the military. It's character building, right?"
Okay, I got this. I can do it and did. We are now in a spacious three-bedroom house with a yard and a kitchen. GREAT!!
Communication with Brian was almost non-existent. His unit, 519th MP Battalion, was on the move. Phone calls only happened when they were in an area where they could use the phone and then the soldiers had to wait in long lines and the calls were timed so all soldiers could call home. Normally, I received a call every six weeks, but often it was longer.
Things continued like this for about a month, then the unthinkable happened. I went to get Brian's LES, Leave and Earnings Statement. It stated, 'no pay due'. What?? I called Brian's unit. They leave people behind who are supposed to assist the families. They couldn't help but asked me if Brian had given me power of attorney to go to finance and get it 'squared away'.
Brian had given me a very detailed and inclusive power of attorney. He thought every angle had been covered. Matter of fact, the unit lawyer who helped the soldiers write these questioned him on giving me that much power. He'd seen soldiers who had been taken advantage of by spouses left behind.
At finance I explained the problem in detail and proudly showed the lady my extensive power of attorney.
She kindly said, "Sorry, ma'am. This power of attorney doesn't specifically say 'finance'. She handed back the papers.
I searched through the papers and found the paragraph that said, I had the authority to handle all financial issues that came up. Mentioning this was a financial issue.
She said, "Ma'am, it doesn't state you any authority over your husband's LES."
"I don't want to make any changes to it. I want to address the 'no pay due' problem."
"That's easy. Your husband came into this office and took out the money in cash."
"Ma'am, my husband is in Saudi Arabia. Are you telling me he flew in, came into your office, without stopping to see his family, withdrew the money, and flew back to Saudi? That's impossible. My husband wouldn't do that. Besides what did my husband buy, a camel?"
"You never know what these young soldiers will do."
"My husband is not a young soldier. We have three children."
"Ma'am, I have a paper trail."
"I'd like to see this paper trail."
"You can't. You don't have the correct power of attorney." She hesitated. "Next?"
I left frustrated, but not defeated. My next plan was to contact our congressman, Dick Durbin. I did and things got resolved. Although I did get a phone call from my husband asking if I really contacted the congressman. I guess when soldiers are deployed news does make it to them, when the Army decides it's necessary and they can get phone privileges.
| Author Notes |
Not sure where this memory came from, but it popped into my mind.
Thank you, Google Images, for the map of Desert Shield/Desert Storm. This post is a little over 900 words. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 6
I'm not sure why this memory came to mind. I think because of the length of my prayer list and the problems in some states due to hurricane issues.
This memory goes back to the summer of 2002. The Army had placed us at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. The waitlist for officer housing on post was about four years long. We were designated to be there for three years. We rented a house on the economy, in a small town close to Fort Jackson.
At this time our two older boys had graduated and were on their own. Greg was in the Army and stationed in Germany. Jeff was a chef in Missouri. Andrew was in high school and sixteen years old. Steven was still in elementary school and was nine. Yes, he's finally born.
Brian was deployed to Iraq. While at Fort Jackson, he deployed twice to Iraq.
Our house was in the Lugoff/Elgin school district, which was my boys first civilian school, having previously gone to school on Army posts. I wanted to make sure they got a good start in the schools so elected to remain home for at least a year before I went back to work.
I did take the youth director job at our small church. I got to set my own hours and both Andrew and Steven attended youth group.
The larger district this church belonged to supported a summer program called Salkehatchie. This program had different two-week programs throughout the summer where teenagers went to different poverty-stricken areas in South Carolina and helped families repair their homes.
During these two weeks the teens slept on the floor of the local church and different churches in the town supplied their meals. In the evenings, they held church activities.
This particular summer I signed Andrew up. Steven was too young. As I helped Andrew pack for these two weeks, he asked, "Mom, what did I do to make you so angry to send me to this?"
"Nothing. I think it'll be a great experience. Here's the deal. Go this year and if you hate it, you won't have to go next year. Deal?"
Long story short, Andrew had a great time. When he returned, our pastor asked him to describe his experience during church the following Sunday. He stood up and told this story.
'I was on my hands and knees with some sort of chisel tool tearing up a linoleum floor that already had holes in it revealing the dirt the house sat on. It was hot and humid. Sweat poured off me. Sorry, mom, but I was cussing you out for forcing me to go to this. I was angry, and I swung that chisel, and it broke a water pipe. I sat there and looked up. 'Okay, God. You have a sense of humor. I get it. The water's cool and I'm not hot anymore.
'The church district hadn't planned on replacing the water pipes, because of money, but now they were forced to. The pipes needed to be replaced anyway. This family got their new water pipes. God showed me how He could take this situation and turn it into something good.'
As a mom, I was proud of Andrew standing up and sharing this story. I wish I could have been there. I want to share another story about what also happened this summer.
As we ate lunch one day, sandwiches, Steven complained about only eating sandwiches. He wanted something else. Andrew got angry and said, "You're being a spoilt brat. The kids at the house I worked on didn't have any food. They went hungry. They'd be happy for a sandwich. After work, we weren't supposed to bring them back to the church, but did so they could eat."
That summer Andrew learned a lot and grew into the wonderful young man and father he is today. He volunteered to go back the following year. This time he helped re-shingle a house. Andrew was only one of the few who were strong enough to carry the bundle of shingles up a ladder.
| Author Notes |
Andrew played football and during the summer they had a weightlifting and conditioning program to keep the players in shape. His coached willingly supported Andrew attending this program.
This is the summer that I feel Christianity took hold in Andrew. I witness his growth. This post is about 700 words. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 7
Many of you may remember reading about Eleanor, my four-year-old granddaughter attempting to talk her dad into a dog. They still don't have a dog. I've done my part in explaining to Andrew that my granddaughters need a dog but have gotten nowhere. LOL
Last Sunday on their way from the church service to the parking lot, Katie, Andrew's wife said, "I'm not used to it being so hot this late in October. Growing up in New Hampshire, we'd already have snow."
I need to pause here, with the story. Andrew, Katie and the girls live in St. Louis, Missouri. Katie's originally from New Hampshire.
Eleanor heard her mother and said, "Great, Mommy said we're getting a new hamster."
Andrew held Eleanor's hand in the parking lot, and said, "No, Ellie, Mom didn't say we're getting a hamster, she said New Hampshire, the state where she grew up."
"Daddy, she said we're stopping on the way home and getting a new hamster before it snows."
Charlotte, six years old, now got involved, "I think it's a great idea we get a hamster. Can it be black and white?" She tilted her head. "Ellie, I don't think it's going to snow today. It's too hot."
"It is going to snow, Mommy said it was. And I want a brown hamster," said Eleanor.
Katie frowned. "I didn't say it's going to snow. I said in New Hampshire it's probably already snowed."
"And nobody's getting a hamster," stated Andrew. He stared at Katie. "I think you need to weigh in on the hamster part."
"All I said is in New Hampshire it's probably snowing." Katie's eyes lit up as she teased, "You got this."
"See Daddy, Mommy said we're getting a new hamster. I want a brown one. We'd better hurry before it snows."
Frustration could be heard in Andrew's voice, "I don't got this, and we're not getting a hamster." He hesitated as he thought. "Besides LC will kill it."
Grandma break: LC, Little Cat, is their cat who is not opposed to killing anything that resembles a rodent or a bird. Bunnies are fair game too.
Both girls were securely in their car seats, but the hamster situation continued.
Charlotte said, "Daddy, I clearly heard Mommy said we are getting a hamster. Ellie and I will keep LC away from them. Besides they'll be in a cage. My teacher has a hamster in cage."
"There will be no hamster and no hamster cage. Katie, are you fixing lunch, or am I?"
"Maybe we need to grab something on the way home. Charlotte has to go to a birthday party this afternoon at one o'clock."
Andrew nodded. "Okay."
As Andrew parked the SUV to run into a sandwich shop, Eleanor yelled, "We're stopping for a hamster."
"We're stopping for lunch. We're NOT getting a hamster." He opened his car door. "I'll be right back with sandwiches, not a hamster."
As he the closed door, he heard Eleanor, "Mommy, remind Daddy to get the hamster."
*****
Charlotte giggled. "Maybe Daddy'll get two hamsters, a black and white one and a brown one. We'll each have one."
"Dad isn't getting any hamsters." Katie shook her head.
When Andrew returned to the SUV, with sandwiches, both girls frowned. Eleanor spoke first, "Are the hamsters in the bag? How can they breathe?"
"There are sandwiches in the bag. We aren't getting a hamster, and when did it become hamsters?"
"We need a black and white for me and a brown one for Ellie," explained Charlotte.
"Nobody's getting any color of a hamster. We aren't getting a hamster. Your mom's from New Hampshire, it's a state on the east coast. We took a vacation there two summers ago. Remember?"
"Is that where they had faces in rocks?" asked Charlotte.
"No that was this summer and it was the Black Hills in South Dakota. We went to New Hampshire two summers ago."
"I don't remember, but what do faces in rocks have to do with getting a hamster?" asked Eleanor.
Charlotte frowned. "I think it means we're not getting a hamster, right Mommy?"
"You're right," said Katie. "We're all too busy for a hamster. Your dad's right, LC would kill it. Nobody's home during the day to protect it."
*****
Inside their house, Andrew laid out the sandwiches as Katie got the place settings and said, "Girls, get to the table it's time for lunch."
"Since there's no hamsters in the bag, I'm not hungry," said Eleanor.
"Ah Dios, mio. I'm the only normal one in this family." Andrew sat and ate.
Katie kissed his cheek and took a bite of his sandwich. "I'm right there with you. Maybe we should've had boys."
He studied the missing bite from his sandwich. "Not according to the stories Mom tells. Right, Mom?"
"Right!"
| Author Notes |
I couldn't help but share this story. Andrew works at Barnes Jewish Christian Hospital and Katie is a biology professor at a university. They are both extremely busy between work and raising these two little girls.
I hope you enjoyed reading. This post is about 800 words. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 8
My husband, Brian and I got tired of our ridiculously high cable bill, well over 250 dollars monthly, when we rarely watch TV. I'm the only one who regularly watches TV and when I do watch, believe it or not, it's the Hallmark Channel. Hopeless romantic. We got rid of our cable and Brian put on the roof an old-fashioned antenna. We still receive thirty or forty channels. Brian only watches 'Grit' on rare occasions. He likes the old westerns.
We can't get the Hallmark Channel with the antenna, so I stream it in the bedroom on my laptop. I have a cable hooked up and watch in on my TV screen. It only cost about $50.00 a year, not a month. Not a bad price for my movies. A lot less than cable.
This story happened a few nights ago. On my remote control the 'off button' and the 'source button' are next to each other. I turned off the TV and accidentally hit the 'source button'. I knew it happened and turned off the TV anyway. Once the TV was off it would correct itself, right? NOPE!!
The following evening, I turned on my TV and got all sorts of scribbling lines. I clicked the 'source button' because that's what had caused the problem, right? Nothing happened. Darn!!
I called Steven on Facetime and explained my problem very eloquently and in great detail.
When I've frustrated him, I get 'Mother'.
"Mother, where do I live?"
"In Victoria, but..."
"Mother, where do you live?" interrupted Steven.
"In Copperas Cove, but..."
"Mother, how far apart are we?"
"Three hours, but you're closer than your brothers."
"Mother, I know where my brothers live. I can't do anything three hours away."
I turned the phone and showed him the TV screen and then held up the remote control. "You just need to tell me what button to push. I can push buttons."
"Just start pushing buttons until you hit the right one."
"But you guys have forbidden me from pushing buttons, because..."
"We know why, because you get yourself into situations like this," interrupted Steven. "Now you're going to have to do it because I'm in Victoria."
"I think before it said HDMI, but I tried it, and nothing happened."
"You don't know what you watch your movies on?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you set it up and I didn't pay any attention."
"Mother...."
"Yeah! I hit the right button. It's HDMI 2 in case you need it again."
"Mother?"
"Thank you for your help. I love you."
"Love you too. You're addicted to Hallmark. It's not healthy. You need to expand your movie watching. You can stream 'Netflix'."
"Love you, bye. I'm hanging up." I bet Charlotte and Eleanor don't have problems with remote controls.
*****
Another short Steven story. We visited with him over Labor Day. One thing Steven and I do together is go to HEB, a large Texas grocery chain.
I'm doing low carbohydrates, not Keto, but low carbs.
Steven needs to lose a few pounds. While grocery shopping, he said, "You'll be proud of me. Instead of Pop Tarts, I'm eating tortillas and peanut butter."
Happy to hear this, but not fully relating that message, I said, "You can get zero carb tortillas and zero added sugar peanut butter."
Steven stared at me. "Mother, do you need to sit in the car while I finish shopping?"
"I guess that's a no, right?"
******
Steven is our youngest and he and I have always been close. Banter is part of our relationship. I was almost forty when I had him. The oldest, Greg, enlisted in the Army when Steven was two. Jeff left when Steven was three, and Andrew left when Steven was eight. Brian, being active military, was never home. For years it was Steven and me.
| Author Notes |
The Hallmark Channel also has drama and murder mysteries. Of course, there's always a romance involved. LOL
Steven is 31 years old, and single. He teaches High School Math. His school district is almost 68% Hispanic. It's close to the Gulf of Mexico, and fairly close to the border. Steven is bilingual. He will be coming home for Thanksgiving. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 9
I've decided to go back a few years to around 1992 or 1993. I was pregnant with Steven, and we were stationed at Fort Meade, Maryland.
Desert Shield/Desert Storm had ended, but Brian was off doing Army things. To be honest I don't remember where he was during this incident.
Greg was around 15 years old, and I had asked him to water the flowers in the front yard. He did with only a minimal amount of grumping. He was a teenage male after all.
I opened the front door and said, "Don't forget to water the flowers out back."
I received a relatively small amount of grumping so went upstairs to put laundry away.
Walking downstairs a few minutes later, I noticed a trail of water from the front door, through the hallway, and through the living room. It continued through the dining room, and out the back door. Not being happy about this I stormed out the back door.
Greg must have noticed my unhappy expression but pretended to be innocent. "Is there a problem, Mom? You told me to water the flowers out back."
Doing my very best not to do a complete volcanic explosion, I asked, "Why is there a path of water through the house?"
"I'm watering the flowers out back."
"Maybe moving the hose to the back yard would've been the right way to handle this." My voice elevated, "Not bringing it through the house."
He pointed to the basketball court a few yards from our house. "There's a pickup game. I needed to hurry," he said very proud of his logic.
"Guess who's not playing basketball?"
"Would that be me?"
"After you clean up the mess in the house, I doubt you'll have time to play before dinner."
*****
Greg did grow up to be a very wonderful man. He was the oldest and one of my more peaceful boys. He enlisted in the Army right out of high school and did 26 years active Army before he retired. He's married. He and his wife, Nicole, have a 12-year-old daughter, Kinley. They live in Florida.
Greg did five tours of Iraq and has a 100 percent disability from his service. That being said, he's doing extremely well. My husband and I are beyond proud of him.
| Author Notes | Greg was pretty easy to parent. I haven't started on my wild child, Jeff, yet. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 10
Some of you have asked me to write about my wild child. So, it's time to write about Jeff, my second son, he's 44 years old. I can honestly say that Jeff taught me everything that didn't work as a parent. I tried it all. When he was a teenager, I tried parenting classes, because nothing else worked. Guess what? They didn't work either. What did get him through his teenage years was me on my knees in prayer.
One of Jeff's problems is he's highly intelligent, with an IQ of 165. But he is, also, severely ADHD. The combination of the two is frightening.
One of his football coaches told me that 'Jeff was the best pure athlete he'd ever seen, if he could only get his head on straight.'
This incident took place during our second tour of Germany, so around 1995. Of course, Brian was gone; deployed to Bosnia.
Greg and Jeff were both in high school. We were stationed in Darmstadt. They didn't have an American High School, so the boys rode a school bus to the closest American High School which was in Wiesbaden. It was almost an hour away on the Autobahn.
The legal drinking age in Germany, at that time, was fifteen. It may have changed since. It didn't take the football linemen long to figure this out. Jeff was a defensive lineman. Next problem, the high school had an open lunch schedule. The linemen would walk across the street to the Esso gas station during their lunch period and buy alcohol. It was legal. Only when they stepped back onto US soil, the military base, it wasn't legal. The MP's figured this out and arrested the linemen. On more than one occasion I had to pick up my son from the MP station for underage drinking.
New problem, the linemen figured out if they didn't return to class, MPs couldn't arrest them. They skipped their afternoon classes, but did return for football practice. I didn't realize this until the report cards came out. Parent communication wasn't a priority at this school.
When I saw his number of absences, I went immediately to the school and had a talk with the principal and Jeff's teachers. I told each one that if I didn't call the school and tell them I had kept Jeff home, that he was truant, and I wanted a phone call. I couldn't' correct the situation if I didn't know about it.
I thought I'd handled the problem. Nope. He continued skipping school. I put my request in writing to be notified. Still no notification.
I mentioned to Greg, "You're up here and know what he's doing. Why don't you stop him?"
Greg's answer, "Mom, he's like the Eveready Bunny. He keeps on going and I can't keep up."
I withdrew Jeff from school. His response, "Momma, you can't do that."
My answer, "Watch me. I'm a certified teacher. I'll home school you. You're not coming up here for an education, but to drink."
I was a DODDS certified teacher. I wasn't teaching at that time because Steven was an infant, and I'd stayed home with him.
I believed I had my problem solved. The next time my parents called I told my mom about the situation. A few days later, I got a call from my dad. They offered to take Jeff until we returned to the states. I accepted their offer. They lived, and Mom still does, in the middle of nowhere in Missouri, surrounded by an Amish community.
Jeff was always one step ahead of me. I didn't realize until about a year later, when we were clearing housing what Jeff had done during his home-schooling time. We lived on the fourth floor. He had cut a hole in his window screen and rigged up a pulley. His friends would buy him alcohol, and he'd pull it up to his room.
Jeff was a child who had to be kicked in the head about twenty times before he realized that mule kicked. There will be many more Jeff stories. I have numerous. They do get worse.
Today, Jeff is an excellent Chef and has his own thriving business. He doesn't like being told what to do, so it's best he works for himself. He has three kids, two boys and one daughter. Their ages range from 19 to 25. His oldest son, Geoffrey will make me a great grandma the first of this April.
His youngest, Jace, is just like his father. I often got the call, "Mamma, what am I going to do with Jace?"
After I secretly laughed and said to myself, 'It couldn't happen to a better person,' I responded, "Pray and love him through it."
A few summers ago, while we were visiting, Jeff asked, "Mamma, could you take Jace home with you for the summer? We need a break from each other."
I said, "I'm sure it's all right, but I need to check with your dad."
Brian said 'okay', and Jace spent the rest of June, July, and part of August with us. We had no problems with him and enjoyed his company.
Jeff is still Jeff. I doubt he'll ever fully grow up. He has one of the biggest hearts you'll ever find and has a super work ethic. He's a great husband and father. Family is everything to him. We often end our facetime conversations with, "Jeff, remind me the next time I see you to kick your butt." This is because of something totally ridiculous that Jeff has said, just to get a reaction.
He laughs. "Sure will, Mamma. I'll even bend over for you."
When Jeff's children were teenagers, he apologized to me for all he put us through and has done so numerous times.
| Author Notes |
This post is a little over 900 words.
I know it sort of rambles to different areas, but I feel it's necessary for this story. I do have plenty of Jeff stories. I think next week, I'll share one where the older boys used baby Steven as a football. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 11
When pregnant with Steven, Greg was 14, Jeff was 12, and Andrew was 6 years old. The Army had sent Brian, my husband, away. I don't remember where.
During my pregnancy, Greg was completely embarrassed that his mom became pregnant, or more to the fact that his mom had done what was necessary for her to get pregnant. Moms, in his eyes, weren't supposed to do that. He wouldn't go anywhere with me. He didn't want to be seen in public with me.
One story I have where he did go with me, I forced him, was to one of Jeff's football games. he needed to support his brother. At this time, Jeff played football with the Army's Youth Services team.
This game was away, we played surrounding communities' teams. Greg and I sat at the top of the bleachers next to the edge. They were only maybe five feet tall. Andrew was playing on the ground below us. I had eyes on him.
Beside us stood a dad behind the bleachers, resting his arms on the top bleacher. He talked with another dad who sat beside Greg. The man standing's little boy came crying to him. The child was about three, at the most four years old. The dad asked, "What's wrong?"
The child pointed. "That boy over there hit me."
The dad backhanded the child in the face, hard enough it knocked him to the ground. "Why you coming crying to me? Take care of it yourself."
I jumped up ready to take care of that man.
Greg grabbed me and angrily whispered, "Mom, stop, sit down, you're pregnant. You need to think. You can't do anything. The man's a jerk. He'd have no problem hurting you, and I don't feel like fighting him."
I sat but was furious that any man would backhand a child and tell that young of a child to take care of a situation by himself. This incident ruined the game for me. To this day, I still get angry over it.
| Author Notes |
This post is a little over 300 words.
Thank you google images for a photograph of Army Community Youth Sports at Fort Meade, MD. This post is about my early pregnancy with Steven. Next week's story will be more about Steven making it into this world. I felt we needed a little background information here and I didn't want to make any of the stories very long. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 12
This incident happened in 1993, after Steven was born. We're still living at Fort Meade, Maryland. Brian was gone, again. I don't remember where. He would come for a few weeks and then was off doing Army things. The four years we were stationed at Fort Meade, Brian was gone three and half years. Although not all at once; in and out.
Within a month after we moved to Fort Meade, in 1990, I had gotten a job as an assistant director of one of the military's largest day care centers. I worked there during this incident. My hours were supposedly 6:30 to 3:00. Some of the caregiving staff wanted to be at the center early and get their rooms ready to welcome children. For them to be in the building I, being the opening administrator, needed to be present. I opened the building around 5:30.
The next problem was the child to staff ratio needed to be met at all times, no exceptions. A different ratio was required depending on the age of the children in each room. By the end of the day, that was difficult, and I couldn't go home on time if the ratios weren't met in the rooms. I, more times than not, ended up staying until the center closed at 6:30 or later depending on a late child pickup. (The center director would also stay, but there needed to be two adults with a child.) I'd go into a room and help take care of the children.
On this day, I had stayed to cover a room. I hurried home with Steven, who was maybe four months old at the time. Steven attended the day care center where I worked. I needed to fix dinner, so handed Steven to Greg, who was now fifteen years old and said, "Please watch your brother while I fix dinner."
Greg's reply, "Sure, Mom."
In my mind, I had it covered. I was incorrect.
From the kitchen I heard all sorts of noises and none of them sounded like Greg watching the baby. I rushed into the living room. "This sounds like a football game. You're supposed to be watching your brother."
With all the innocence in the world, Greg responded, "We are." He held Steven tucked under his arm like a running back. "He's the football."
Doing my best not to blow all my child development training at this moment, I said, "He's a baby, not a football."
Greg grinned. "We know. He's having fun."
"But, but, but..." I gave up and went back to the kitchen, having no clue how to handle this situation.
During dinner, we did have a discussion, basically one sided, about the importance of keeping a baby safe.
It fell on deaf ears.
My second Steven as a baby story, for now, until I remember another one.
We're still stationed at Fort Meade and Brian is, still, off doing Army things.
Steven was about seven months old. We're attending one of Jeff's youth football games. Steven was a little fussy, so I carried him along the sidelines as I watched the game.
Greg walked up. "Mom, I know he's got to be heavy, let me carry him for a while."
On a side note, Steven weighed nine pounds and fourteen ounces at birth and was six weeks premature. Today he's over six feet five inches tall.
I was eager to hand Steven over and proud Greg offered to help.
Almost fifteen minutes later, I glanced at Greg and the numerous young female teenagers fussing over Steven and Greg, I realized Greg didn't offer to help for concern for me but was using Steven to attract girls.
I called Greg over and took Steven. "You can't use your baby brother as a babe catcher."
Greg gave me an impish grin. "Mom, it works."
I just shook my head and walked away with Steven.
I feel this needs a better ending, but that's it. LOL
| Author Notes |
This post is a little over 600 words.
A couple more side notes. I was the Assistant Center Director and was salaried. No matter how many hours I worked, I didn't get overtime pay. What I did get was if I worked three extra hours, I got time off for three extra hours. Steven was born on March 17th. I ended up on complete bedrest just before Thanksgiving and had enough extra hours added ups, I didn't have to take any leave. I had a difficult pregnancy, and he wanted to be born earlier than he was. During this time Greg was in High School and Jeff was in Middle School. Andrew was in elementary school. Jeff walked Andrew to school in the mornings, and Greg would pick him up after school. Lucky for me, the beginning and ending of their school days worked perfectly. Andrew always had a big brother with him. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 13 Codi
Many of you were interested and had questions/comments about Greg using Steven as a 'babe catcher'. Here's another story, but Greg didn't use Steven. He used our yellow Labrador, Codi.
We moved to Fort Meade, Maryland in September of 1990 from Germany. Brian had deployed to Saudi Arabia, Desert Shield, Desert Storm in October.
Brian understood me and before he left, he got us a kitten, and said, "While I'm gone, don't get a dog. You have a cat. You don't need a dog."
Those of you who regularly follow me have a pretty good idea that I love dogs, since they play a significant role in my novels. I do believe everybody needs at least one dog.
I followed Brian's instructions until the middle of February when we accidentally came across a three-month-old registered yellow Labrador. She was cheap. She only cost four hundred dollars. She was also very cuddly and precious, with huge dark brown eyes. How could I not get the boys a dog? We named her Codi. She had a much longer registered name, but I don't remember all of it.
On one of the phone calls, I told Brian about Codi.
He said, "She better not be sleeping on our bedroom floor."
I honestly said, "She's not." She was sleeping in bed with me. I told the truth, she wasn't on our bedroom floor, right?
When Brian returned, Codi found somebody else to sleep with.
Greg being the oldest, walking Codi pretty much became his job. It was one job he enjoyed. I didn't fully understand why but was happy he enjoyed walking Codi.
Late one night after one of Jeff's baseball games, it had gone into extra innings, I parked the car and noticed a young teenage girl wearing a bikini leaning over a fire hydrant. I thought that was a little strange, until Greg said, "I'd better walk Codi."
"Not tonight, sweetheart. I'll walk Codi. You watch your brothers."
"But Mom."
"We'll discuss it when I return."
When I returned, all the boys were mysteriously in their rooms ready for bed.
I knocked on Greg's door. "May I come in?"
"I'm really tired, Mom."
"Too tired to talk with your mom?"
"Yes."
"Or don't want to have this discussion with your mom?"
He was silent.
"Thought so." I opened the door and sat on the edge of his bed. "I take it girls are attracted to Codi."
"Codi's a great dog."
"She is. But you can't use Codi to catch girls. Should I walk her?"
He frowned. "No, I understand."
"Good."
Side notes on Codi. She was a wonderful dog. She flew back and forth to Germany with us. We took her on vacation with us. When Steven was born, she was very protective of him. Codi lived to be seventeen years old. My boys literally grew up with her.
When we were stationed in South Carolina, she was diagnosed with cancer. We made the decision to make her comfortable until her time came.
She would crawl into Andrew's bed and sleep with him. Andrew was in high school. When I'd wake him up for school, he was curled up in a ball and Codi was at the foot of the bed. She had a large pillow in his room.
I said, "Andrew, she's a dog. You can send her to the floor. She has a bed."
"I know, but when I do, she gets confused."
A few weeks before she died, Andrew would carry her outside in the mornings until her legs started working. She'd walk back inside.
One morning her legs wouldn't hold her. My parents were visiting. Dad went with me to the veterinarian clinic while they put her down. I held her as she breathed her last breath.
We didn't live on the Army base but rented a house. I couldn't bury an eighty-five-pound dog on someone else's property. I had her cremated. To this day, we haven't figured out what to do with her remains. She sits in a pine box on the top shelf of my closet. When the boys come home, they check the closet to see if Codi is still with us.
We've owned many dogs, but Codi was probably the best of the best. Great with kids, hardly ever barked, very gentle, and adapted to wherever the Army sent us.
Whenever the boys had a fight, Codi would stand between them and give a low growl. As if to say, 'that's enough.' Never any teeth, but it was enough they'd stop.
I would rather have traveled with Codi than the boys. She never asked, "Are we there yet?" She also never got into a fight in the backseat. When the car stopped, I walked her. She did her job and laid back down in the car until the next stop.
I'm sure all good dogs go to Heaven.
Rest in Peace, Codi.
| Author Notes |
This post is a little under 800 words.
I do not edit this as much as I do my novels. You'll find many errors. I do edit about four times, but that's not enough. After we returned from our second move from Germany, we also got a black Labrador and field spaniel mix, Phoenix. Phoenix had the sweetest personality you could ever find in a dog, but unfortunately intelligence wasn't her thing. We'd often just shake our heads and wonder about how or why on earth she did that. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 14 Little Bug
I haven't written a story about Andrew, my third son, as a young boy. I've decided to write one about his early love for football.
This story takes place at Fort Meade, Maryland, in the fall of 1991. Of course, Brian was off doing Army things. When Andrew was four, he played soccer. He walked around and said to anyone who would listen, "My big brothers play football. All I get to play is peewee soccer."
The following year Andrew turned five and somebody told him, I promise it wasn't me, that he was now old enough to play football. I have a feeling it was one of his brothers, but neither of them has admitted it to this day. Jeff would be my usual suspect.
It came time for Andrew's first practice, all decked out in full uniform to include cleats, pads, and helmet. He held my hand, his choice, as I walked him onto the field to meet his coach. His coach looked at him and pointed. "Ma'am, peewee soccer is on the next field over."
Andrew held his ground. "I'm here to play football."
The coach grinned. "Okay, little bug, let's do it."
From that day on, until the Army moved us, Andrew was 'Little Bug'. He had the same coach for the following two seasons.
Army Youth Services had a policy that each level of football not only had age restrictions but also weight restrictions. Before each game they had a weigh-in and if a child weighed a little too much, they were only allowed to play certain positions. If they weighed way too much, they had to sit that game out or move up to the next level. I don't remember all the specifics. They did this for the boys' and girls' safety. Yes, girls were allowed to play football if they wanted too. The guidelines were well posted and explained, so everybody knew it before going into the football season.
Andrew went over with the rest of the players for his first weigh-in. When Andrew returned to the sideline, I noticed tears.
I had already, since the older boys played football, been warned, 'moms aren't allowed on a football field, no matter what.' I sent Greg over to check on him.
Greg returned grinning.
I asked, "What's wrong with Andrew?"
"Nobody told him he passed the weight requirement. He was afraid he'd failed. I told him he was fine, and football players don't cry."
"Greg, it's okay to cry."
"Mom! On the football field it isn't."
I never understood but accepted it. BOYS!!!
After the game, the coach came to me and asked, "What was wrong with Little Bug? I saw his brother with him."
"Andrew was worried he didn't pass the weigh-in because nobody told him he did."
The coach grinned. "He'd have passed it if he held two bricks in each hand." He walked away chuckling.
I spent many years with my rear-end gracing the bleachers during football games. I just did the math, from the time Greg started to play until Steven's last game totaled twenty- seven years. To be honest, I do miss watching the boys. Those were good times filled with many memories. I see high school football short stories in my future.
I want to share a summary of Andrew's football career. He continued playing with Youth Services through all our moves until we reached Fort Campbell, KY.
Andrew attended Fort Campbell high school as a freshman. They had a small high school and Andrew started on the varsity team as the center.
For his sophomore year we moved to Fort Jackson, SC. They had a larger high school, and Andrew was classified as an eight-quarter player. I had never heard that term before. He started Jr. Varsity on Thursday's nights and dressed out for the Varsity games on Friday nights. He did play some in every varsity game.
By the time Andrew was a junior he had secured a starting varsity position. He played left guard. I still remember his jersey number, fifty-four.
Andrew's senior year looked great for him. Academically he was at the top of his high school class, and had numerous times been selected district player of the week.
West Point was his college of choice. He had been accepted, but during a football game with our school rivals he tore his ACL and meniscus. Surgery was required.
The surgery was a success, but West Point was no longer a choice. He was unable to do the 'duck walk'. Not kidding, it is a requirement for all Army physicals. He passed everything, except the stupid duck walk.
A mother's side note. The Global War of Terrorism was in full swing. During Andrew's senior year and the following years, I had my husband, my oldest son, Greg, and my brother-in-law, Jared deployed to Afghanistan at the same time. If Andrew had gone to West Point, he probably would've ended up in Afghanistan. I was secretly glad he didn't. In my book, God knew what he was doing.
A note on Jared. He was much younger than my husband and just about three years older than Greg. I guess my in-laws got tired of parenting because Jared spent most of his time with us. I was like a second mother to him. He fit right in with his nephews.
University of Missouri Science and Technical School at Rolla, Missouri became Andrew's next choice. He wanted to be a mechanical engineer. This school only specializes in engineering, and one needs to be a math geek to get in. If you don't want to become an engineer of some sort, don't go to that university.
We took a trip so he could look at the campus. He liked it and had an appointment with the head football coach.
After showing the coach videos, Andrew asked, "How many offensive linemen do you recruit each year?"
The coach chuckled. "How many offensive linemen do you know who can do advanced calculous?"
"I get your point." Andrew grinned.
He told Andrew he'd need to be ready to play by the end of July to make the team. Andrew worked hard to rehab that knee but had lost some speed and chose not to go out for the team.
Andrew remains very active and works out daily. He and his wife, Katie, run marathons together and climb mountains. When he does these activities, he still wears a knee brace. My nickname for Andrew is 'Geehunk' a cross between a geek and a hunk. He doesn't seem to understand the humor.
~~~~~
Here are the current weight regulations. They were a little different back in 1991, but you get the idea.
AGES & WEIGHTS: TACKLE FOOTBALL
Leagues have options with how to structure their program. While leagues can continue the current structure where a player is placed in a division based on his or her age and weight they may also instead choose to register players based on age only. Currently, an estimated 75-80% of youth football nationally follows an age-only structure.
There are Six Divisions of play, all determined by an age/weight scale.
Age/Weight Division Age(s) Certification Weight End of Season Weight
TINY-MITE 5-6-7 35-80 lbs. 89 lbs.
MITEY-MITE 7-8-9 45-105 lbs. 114 lbs.
JR. PEE WEE (older/lighter)9-10 60-120 lbs. 129 lbs.
11* 60-95 lbs. 109 lbs.
PEE WEE (older/lighter) 9-10-11 75-135 lbs. 144 lbs.
12* 75-110 lbs. 124 lbs.
JR. VARSITY (older/lighter) 10-11-12 90-160 lbs. 169 lbs.
13* 90-135 lbs. 149 lbs.
VARSITY (older/lighter) 12-13-14 105-185 lbs. 194 lbs.
15* 105-160 lbs. 174 lbs.
*The asterisked provisions in each division allow the so-called "older but lighter" player to also qualify. The last year of eligibility falls under more stringent weight restrictions, per above.
A child's age on July 31 is his/her age for the season.
| Author Notes |
This post is a little over 1000 words.
I do not edit this as much as I do my novels. You'll find many errors. I do edit about four times, but that's not enough. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 15 One of Jeff's poor choices.
We were living at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. The years were 1997 until 2001. We moved there from Germany. When we left Germany, Jeff was living with my parents because of some poor choices he'd made. (I've already written about it, Chapter 10 Jeff.)
After his senior year of football, yes, all my boys loved football, he decided to join us at Fort Campbell, for the second semester of his senior year.
Jeff had college opportunities, with football scholarships, but decided to go out on his own and find himself. He was eighteen, so basically nothing we could do. Off he went into the world to make his own mistakes. Jeff was a child who needed to be kicked in the head by the mule twenty times before he realized that mules kick. Please understand, Jeff's highly intelligent. Children like that are often the most difficult to parent.
He took off with a less than desirable young lady, Tay, who was a few years older than him. I'm not sure where they went, but Jeff called me faithfully every week to let me know he was still alive. I'm also not sure of everything they got into.
During the summer of 1999, Jeff and Tay returned with news that Tay was pregnant and due in September.
They found an apartment, we paid the downpayment and first month's rent, and they found jobs. Jeff was a fry cook, and Tay waited tables.
Jeff and his dad, Brian, were barely on speaking terms at this point.
In the middle of the night September 3, 1999, I got a call from Jeff, "Momma, Tay's in labor."
"Okay, there's nothing I can do, you need to take her to the hospital."
I was asked to join them at the hospital and did. I stayed until Geoffery was born.
Just back in bed, a few hours later, I got another call. "Momma, can you come? The baby's in trouble."
"I'm on my way."
Tay's mom lived in town and refused to come. Her mom as a drug counselor and both, Tay and Jeff, used drugs.
The infant, Geoffery, struggled because of the things Tay had done to her body while pregnant. Geoffery was taken that night to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) at Vanderbilt University Medical Center in Nashville, TN.
I stayed until the baby left. Tay checked out of the hospital and she and Jeff followed. Before they left, Tay hugged me and asked if I could be her mom.
Early the following morning, I got a call from Jeff, "Momma, can you come to the hospital?"
"You know I get lost every time I go to Nashville."
"Have Dad bring you."
"You know how stubborn your dad is. I'll ask but make no promises."
I did ask Brian, and he agreed to take me, but said he'd remain in the car.
At the hospital, I got out of the car and Brian said, "I'll wait in the waiting room, but won't talk with Jeff."
"I appreciate you bringing me."
I knocked on the NICU door. Jeff came to let me in. He hugged me, kissed my cheek, and said, "Where's Dad?"
I pointed to the waiting room. "Over there."
Jeff ran to him, and they hugged. Prayers were answered and peace was made.
This story doesn't end here. Jeff realized this baby was solely dependent on him and he straightened his life out and became as close to a model citizen as Jeff is capable of being. He remains my wild child.
He got a job and trained as a chef. He left Tay and got complete custody of Geoffery. Tay had a little girl, two years old, of whom she'd lost custody, a fact which didn't help her case.
I don't know what happened to Tay. I do know Jeff went to school and got his culinary arts degree, married a wonderful lady, Crystal, and they have two children. Crystal raised Geoffery as her own. Geoffery is 25 years old and doing extremely well. He and his wife, Whisper, are expecting their first child at the end of April. I'll be a great grandma.
Jeff is a chef and has his own catering business. He is extremely busy and is the 'go to person' for all catering needs in that area. His business is flourishing.
I feel I need to add that I'm positive the time I spent on my knees in prayer asking God to protect and intervene in Jeff's life made a huge difference in his outcome. I also want to mention that Jeff came back years later and apologized for everything he put us through.
| Author Notes |
Thank you, Google Images, for a photo of Vanderbilt University Medical Center in Nashville, Tennessee.
This post is a little over 700 words. As something pops into my head, I take notes. I just following down my notes. I'll get to Christmas with my granddaughters soon. I do not edit this as much as I do my novels. You'll find many errors. I do edit about four times, but that's not enough. I just posted this and have already corrected three mistakes. I'm sure there's more. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 16 Andrew's knee injury
In Chapter 14, I mentioned Andrew had a knee injury during a football game that kept him from attending West Point. I'd like to go more into this injury. We lived in South Carolina and the year was the fall of 2003.
The game was a home game against our school rivals. For some reason we hadn't beaten the bulldogs for many years. I don't remember the exact number. Our freshman and our junior varsity could beat them, but not our varsity. Some said the games were jinxed.
The best news is even though they were our rivals, we hadn't been the same conference since the day before a bulldog homecoming game. A few of our football players painted their field our team colors. That happened before the Army moved us to South Carolina, so I don't know the year. It was decided then that we should be in different conferences but still play each other and were still rivals.
This game was a home game for us. It was the fourth quarter, and we were losing only by a point. The score, we had six, they had seven. Only an extra point kept us from being tied. There were two and half minutes left on the clock, and we had the ball. Twenty yards to go for a touchdown and it was first and ten.
The center hiked the ball. The play proceeded. The play ended. We got eight yards. Only number fifty-four didn't get up. Andrew was on the ground. The head coach and an assistant coach ran onto the field. My husband, Brian, and I remained standing and held hands. The head coach called for the team doctor.
I was our church's youth director, and the youth group sat with us. One of the girls hugged me, "Ms. Barbara, Andrew's going to be okay, right?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe you should check."
"No matter what happens, moms aren't allowed on the field. I've had that hammered into me." I gripped Brian's arm. "You go down. Nobody ever said dads can't go down."
After a lengthy conversation and Brian realized, I wasn't going let this drop, he went down to check on the situation. When he returned, he said, "Knee injury, but the team doctor said he'll be okay. It's not serious. They're icing it."
A few plays continued and I watched Andrew limp to his coach, got down into the three-point stance, and attempted to talk his coach into letting him back in the game. To be honest, I almost went down to give Andrew a 'come to Jesus talk'.
I noticed the coach nodded and motioned for Andrew to go in. I prayed, and Andrew could not raise that leg high enough to step over the yardage marker chain. He tripped and fell. My prayer had been immediately answered. The coach ordered Andrew back to the bench.
Back at home, Andrew reported he was to report to the team doctor's office every day and get treatments. This treatment consisted of a type of shock therapy, massages, and some exercises.
Now, this is where it got difficult. I need to mention that right after Andrew's accident Brian was deployed to Afghanistan. I made the mistake of believing this chiropractor knew what he was doing. He reported that Andrew needed to keep coming, insurance was paying, and that Andrew could continue to play. I noticed during the games Andrew wasn't at his finest.
What I didn't know was to play each game Andrew took a lot of pain killers.
Andrew's typical day went something like, get up, eat breakfast, go to school, come home around 8:00 or 8:30, because of football practice, eat dinner, do homework, and go to bed. There wasn't an opportunity for me to really see what was going on and unfortunately when I asked, I got the standard fine. Boys!!!!
It wasn't until Christmas break when I spent time with Andrew I noticed things weren't as I was being told from him and the chiropractor. I finally sat him down and had a serious talk. Well, I asked questions, and he answered, and there were a few mom lectures included. This is when I discovered the number of painkillers he took.
Against Andrew's wishes, I made an appointment with his primary care physician, who referred him to physical therapy. Within the first ten minutes of the first meeting, his therapist diagnosed a possible torn ACL and referred him to an orthopedist. After all sort of tests, Andrew was diagnosed with ACL and meniscus tears. He recommended surgery, and it was immediately set up.
I had a discussion with the chiropractor and explained the situation. He was furious over the possibility of Andrew having surgery and stated he didn't need it. Mother Bear came out. I was finished being nice, but I was polite.
The following school year, this man didn't have a job, and a medical doctor took over being team doctor.
During this, I felt I had failed my son. Andrew's view is if I had taken the rest of his football season from him, he'd still be angry with me. Was it a fair trade off? I still wonder. Andrew and I discuss it still today, over twenty years ago. But Andrew and I do have a fantastic relationship.
| Author Notes |
Thank you, Google Images, for a poster of an ACL tear.
This post is a little over 800 words. As something pops into my head, I take notes. I just following down my notes. The next post will be about Steven skipping on a football field. I'll get to Christmas with my granddaughters soon. I do not edit this as much as I do my novels. You'll find many errors. I do edit about four times, but that's not enough. I just posted this and have already corrected three mistakes. I'm sure there's more. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 17 Steven skipping.
This incident happened while we were stationed in South Carolina. I'm guessing it was about 2002. Steven would've been about nine years old, and Andrew around seventeen years old. The older two boys were adults. Greg was in the Army and Jeff was a chef. Brian, my husband, was home during this incident, but was still at work.
A few facts need to be explained. Steven weighed nine pounds and fourteen ounces and was six weeks premature. He was a large baby and as babies do, he continued to grow. He didn't play football for the Army Youth Services, but with the county league where we lived. In South Carolina we didn't live on the military post. This meant football didn't fall under the military's weight and age restrictions, and Steven could play any position. He played center, not because he was that good, but he left a hole large enough the quarterback could run through. After numerous parent complaints about Steven, because of his size, I carried his birth certificate with me. As a matter of fact, I cleaned out my purse the other day and I still carry it.
The parents literally complained about his size, fearing he was too large and could hurt somebody. This was not my concern, because Steven was and still is a marshmallow. He didn't and still doesn't have an aggressive bone in his body.
During one of his games, a small child from the other team came to Steven's huddle and tapped him on the shoulder. Steven turned and the child punched Steven in the chest. Steven shrugged his shoulders and continued with the huddle.
One of our team's moms stood beside me and said, "I wonder if he, (meaning that child), knows Steven is our only player who won't fight back?"
"Maybe so." I just watched and shook my head. Steven didn't appear concerned.
As the game progressed, Andrew showed up after his football practice. Our huddle had just finished, and Steven skipped to the scrimmage line.
Andrew asked, "Mom, what did Steven just do?"
"He skipped to his position."
"No! What did he do?"
"That's called skipping."
Andrew turned a complete circle with his hands on his head. "Mom, you don't skip on a football field."
"Steven does."
"Mom!"
"Steven doesn't take football as serious as you do."
"Obviously. Mom, can I go home?"
"I think it would be a good idea." I watched Andrew go to his car.
*****
Our fourth home state after South Carolina was Fort Hood, Texas. Steven is now in eighth grade. We moved there in October, so school had already started. When I registered him, he stood beside me.
Another quick note, Steven was six feet one inch and weighed about 225 pounds.
What we didn't know was the high school was a football powerhouse. The secretary who helped us asked, "Does Steven play football?"
I replied, "He does."
Steven said, "I'm not interested."
Okay, that was fine with me. But at home I asked Steven why?
He said, "Mom, at my size, I'd be the tackling dummy. I'm not interested."
It made sense to me, and I dropped it.
About two weeks later, I got a call from the head coach who was also the athletic director asking if I had a son who played football.
"Yes, I do but he says he's not interested."
"Has he ever played before?"
"Yes, he's played since he was five years old."
"Why doesn't he want to play?"
"Steven is large for his age and doesn't want to be a tackling dummy."
"What if I promise that doesn't happen?"
"I'll talk to him and see what he says. Just so you know, Steven can also write his name."
He chuckled. "Ma'am, I get your point. This is Texas, and we take football seriously, but not at the expense of the boys' education."
Steven did play football, and the coach was true to his word. Steven wasn't a tackling dummy. Immediately after school, they had a study hall for the football players where the coaches assisted the students with their homework and tutored any that needed help. The only problem was, students like Steven who were straight A students also helped tutor the other students, so didn't always get their homework done. It had to be completed when they got home, which was often after 9:00.
Steven continued to grow. He's six feet five inches and weighs over 300 pounds. He loves football but doesn't enjoy playing. He's still a marshmallow or a gigantic teddy bear. Steven teaches high school math by the Gulf. He's fluent in Spanish, which is important where he's at. Steven is the type of person who is almost impossible to make angry. I've never seen him angry. He does get frustrated with me. He says it's because I'm acting like a mom. Not sure what that means. LOL
I keep looking at the ending and feel I need to add something, but not sure what.
| Author Notes |
hank you, Google Images, for a photograph of youth football. I choose this one because Steven would be the person helping another child up.
This post is a little under 800 words. As something pops into my head, I take notes. I just following down my notes. The next post will be Christmas with my granddaughters soon. I do not edit this as much as I do my novels. You'll find many errors. I do edit about four times, but that's not enough. I just posted this and have already corrected three mistakes. I'm sure there's more. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 18 Concerns about growing older.
My best friend, Nancy, is a few years older than me. I was seventy-one in January and four days later, she turned seventy-nine. We met in 1988 while I was teaching first-grade in Germany. Her classroom was next to mine.
Nancy probably told me at the time that she lived in Texas, but to be honest, I didn't remember. One day at church, my husband pointed. "I think you know that lady back there."
I did! It was Nancy. I ran back, and we hugged. Since then, we've had lunch every Monday together and talk constantly on the phone.
I've tried to get Nancy to join me at the gym. She attends about once every other month. I've taken her numerous times to the ER for various ailments and falls. Each time the diagnosis is related to lack of exercise and not drinking enough water. At some point during our conversations, I ask, "Have you been drinking water?"
Her latest response, "I don't have time to drink water."
I kindly said, "That's an excuse. You have time to drink water." I was frustrated.
For Christmas, I got Nancy a Fitbit so she can check her steps. If she gets over 1000 steps a day, that's worth celebrating.
A couple of days ago, she called, "I have a colony of rats in my attic. The pest man is coming to get rid of them."
We both agreed that wasn't a good thing. She proceeded to tell me many things that needed to be fixed in her home. Her husband passed away in 2020. Since then, she hasn't been able to keep up with maintenance, or to clean her house. She has hired somebody to come in and clean.
I discussed the rat problem with my husband, Brian. He said, "Nancy needs to move into an assisted living center. She can't keep up with her home maintenance. She needs help." Then he asked, "What would you do if anything happened to me?"
"I'd have to sell the house. I can't keep up with routine maintenance by myself. I'd move to an apartment."
"You'd need to get close to one of the boys."
I thought about that and texted Steven, 'If anything happened to dad, could I move to an apartment closer to you?'
His response, 'Sure?'
I became a little concerned at his response but let it go. When Andrew, his family, and I FaceTime on Sunday, I mentioned it to him.
He said, "Mom, Katie and I have mentioned this to you for over a year and you're just now figuring it out. You need to move now, before something happens to either you or dad."
Jeff has been after me for about twenty years to move closer so he's available to help as we age.
I probably should add that Brian, and I are both in very good health. Neither of us are expecting any issues in the near future. My mom told me that her and Dad didn't start going to pot until they reached seventy-five. Mom will be ninety-three in February. Dad died about ten years ago.
Decisions, decisions, decisions.
| Author Notes |
Thank you, Google Images, for a poster about decisions.
This post is a little under 500 words. I was going to write about my granddaughter over Christmas but never got around to it. Hopefully next Wednesday. I do not edit this as much as I do my novels. You'll find many errors. I do edit about four times, but that's not enough. I just posted this and have already corrected three mistakes. I'm sure there's more. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 19
I'd already written my story about Andrew and his family coming for Christmas, but this story happened this weekend, and I couldn't help but share it because many of you have asked if Andrew ever broke down and got the girls a dog. I wrote about Eleanor wanting one back in chapter 7
The answer is 'YES!'. I'd like you to meet Phoebe. Phoebe is 12 weeks old and is of an unknown breed. In other words, a mutt. We believe she is part border collie and possible pointer. Andrew has teased that by the size of her paws, there may be some Great Dane in her heritage. Katie assures him that her paws aren't that large. She is a rescue.
I'm sure you can tell from the photograph that the girls have already put clothes on Phoebe. She took it much better than Harley did with his scarves. I have a feeling there will be many articles of clothing in Phoebe's future.
Andrew, Katie, and the girls were not visiting from St. Louis this weekend, but we did, and do, talk every Sunday afternoon for a few hours on FaceTime.
Eleanor promised with all the sincerity a four-year-old could muster, "I'll clean up all the poop and pee outside. Charlotte can clean it up inside." (Phoebe isn't housebroke, yet.)
Charlotte's response, "I'm not cleaning up poop or pee, but I'll make sure Phoebe has plenty of toys and play time."
Eleanor got concerned. "But what about LC? She'll get her feelings hurt if we spend too much time with Phoebe?" Such an empathic four-year-old.
LC, Little Cat, is their cat, who sneaked inside the house one day, and refused to leave. She's a small orange tabby. Yes, she's a real stinker, but fun to have around.
So far, Phoebe is very laid back and seemed to have adapted well to her new life with lively little girls. Although when I met Phoebe, they'd only had her twenty-three hours. I can't wait until next Sunday. I'm sure there will be many new stories.
I do feel there may be more stories about Phoebe in your future. Two little girls, one four, and the other six, and a twelve-week-old puppy. Parents who both work full time, what could possibly go wrong? LOL
Sorry! I meant to post it in advanced editor so I could enlarge the print but forgot until I was done. I hope the bold helps.
| Author Notes |
I took this photo of Phoebe from FaceTime as a screen shot.
This post is a little under 400 words. I wrote about my granddaughters over Christmas but this story told me it had to be told. Hopefully next Wednesday. I do not edit this as much as I do my novels. You'll find many errors. I do edit about four times, but that's not enough. I just posted this and have already corrected three mistakes. I'm sure there's more. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 20 Christmas
Every other year Andrew and his family visit for Christmas. Christmas 2025 I must share them with the other grandma. They'll visit us for Thanksgiving this November.
My visitors arrived like a gush of wind, or maybe a tornado. Steven was already here, but he's quiet. Our quiet home was no longer quiet. Immediately it became a hub of activity and talking. I loved every second.
One thing I'm not so sure about is these little girls are picky eaters. I raised boys and everything I put in front of them was devoured and they wanted more. I cooked in huge batches and still struggle downsizing for just my husband and me. We do freeze a lot for second, third, and even sometimes four meals.
Dinner finished, we attended the Christmas Eve candlelight service and then drove around town viewing the Christmas lights.
Back at home, Eleanor, age four, took her bath. From the bedroom we heard Eleanor as she argued with her mom. Andrew sighed and left. "I guess the voice of reason needs to step in."
I couldn't help but smile.
A little while later, Eleanor chose a book from my elementary collection for me to read for her goodnight story. "I happily read but finally asked, "Eli, why do you have on your pink princess dress and not your pajamas?"
"Because Santa comes tonight, and I don't want to waste time getting ready in the morning."
"Of course. I completely understand. I wouldn't want to waste time getting ready either."
"Mom, don't encourage her." Andrew gave that look that only he can get by with. He had mentioned before that I taught first grade for too many years because I think like them.
Charlotte with all the wisdom of a six-year-old said, "Grandma, Eli does what Eli does."
I kissed her forehead and said, "I understand, Sweetheart."
Goodnight kisses and hugs lasted much longer than necessary but the girls were finally tucked into bed.
When Katie returned from checking to make sure the girls were asleep, she asked, "Barbara, what are we going to do with Eleanor?"
I smiled. "My only advice is to choose your battles. Eli is a free spirit. Let her be herself. If it's not important, let it go."
Katie is extremely smart. She has a PHD in biology and teaches at a university in St. Louis. She also does research for the USDA on how the fertilizer farmers use affects the soil. I'm honored when she asks me questions.
A side note. I have two degrees, Early Childhood and Elementary Ed. I have a minor in Microbiology and a master's degree in early childhood. Young children are my thing. LOL
I could go on for pages about these few days. The girls and I made sock snowmen, well, one ended up being a sock duck. We won't discuss whose that was. I have a feeling you already know.
In our backyard, there are now two snail condominiums. They have everything a snail would need to be comfortable. I have promised to go out daily and check on them. I give the girls reports on Sundays during our FaceTime talks.
My back porch had the latest and greatest chalk drawings. Unfortunately, it rained, and they washed away. I wasn't happy about that. I'd smile when I saw the beautiful artwork every time, I check on the snails.
I have numerous lawn ornaments in my front yard. They are things like bunnies, kittens, and of course dachshunds. They are currently not where I placed them but are more grouped in a city of their own. I haven't had the heart to replace them.
A short update on Phoebe. She's doing better at being housebroken. Her favorite plaything is Eleanor. Surprise, surprise. LC the cat will play with Phoebe only on her terms. A typical cat. The girls had the flu last week, so it was a slow week.
| Author Notes |
I took this photo of one of the girl's snail condominiums.
This post is a little under 700 words. If I'd gone into everything we did over Christmas, this would have turned into a novel. I'm pretty sure other bits and pieces will come out later. This is a quick rundown. I do not edit this as much as I do my novels. You'll find many errors. I do edit about three times, but that's not enough. I just posted this and have already corrected three mistakes. I'm sure there's more. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 21
For some reason this Christmas post reminded me of another Christmas about ten years ago, maybe eleven years ago. Andrew and Katie came home for Christmas, but the girls weren't born yet. Steven was still living at home, attending college.
This incident happened the morning after Christmas. I was in the kitchen fixing breakfast. Katie and Andrew had joined me.
Pretty soon in walked Steven wearing a T-shirt and boxer briefs. Andrew had given him a new fancy calculator. They're both math geeks, and Steven had been playing with it most of the night or possibly all night, knowing him.
Steven walked up to Andrew. "Look at what this can do." He proceeded to show Andrew what he'd figured out.
"Great, but dude, you're in your underwear," said Andrew.
He looked down. "Yeah but watch this." He continued showing Andrew the calculator functions.
Andrew watched the next function and commented on it, and then Steven went back to his room.
After Steven had left, Andrew said, "Mom, do something."
"What? Steven is Steven and all he sees right now is that calculator."
Before long Steven returned, his clothing had not changed. "Andrew, watch this."
"Dude, you're still in your underwear."
Steven, again, looked down, but continued to show the functions on this calculator.
I smiled at Katie. "Welcome to the family. You've been fully accepted as part of our family."
She gave Steven a hug. "I'm glad. I understand. My brother, John, is a lot like Steven."
Andrew's reply, "He's still in his underwear."
Andrew even as a young child would not consider leaving his room unless he was fully dressed. It's amazing how children from the same parents, brought up the same way, act differently.
*****
I'm going to add to this a little about Eleanor and Charlotte when they were here this Christmas. I forgot to mention the bubble bath.
Just so you know, even though I raised four boys, I fully embrace being a girly girl and actually enjoyed the role of the princess of the house.
Eleanor always takes her bath first. She noticed on the bathroom counter my assortment of bubble bath. She said to her mom, "I like bubble baths. Can I have some bubbles?"
Katie's response, "You need to ask Grandma. They're hers."
Right! Like I'm going to deny these girls anything.
She came to me, completely naked, and almost whispered, "Grandma, can I have a bubble bath?"
Andrew yelled, "Katie, naked baby in living room!"
Eleanor turned to her dad. "Daddy, I'm not naked. I'm asking Grandma if I can use her bubble bath."
With one big arm swoop Andrew grabbed up Eleanor and carried her to the bathroom. "You are naked."
I called after them. "Of course, you can use any bubble bath you want."
This was repeated for Charlotte, only she came and asked before she took her clothes off. It was also repeated every night they were at my house. I'm betting the next time they visit, it'll happen again. I'd better stock up on bubble bath.
| Author Notes |
Thank you google images of a male in a T-shirt and boxer briefs. It is not Steven, but could be. LOL
This post is a little under 700 words. I do not edit this as much as I do my novels. You'll find many errors. I do edit about three times, but that's not enough. I just posted this and have already corrected three mistakes. I'm sure there's more. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 22
I've decided to go back to when we lived in South Carolina, 2001 - 2004. We didn't live on the military post. This was my boys' first experience not attending school on the military post. I chose to stay home until I was sure they got a good start in public education.
Andrew was starting this sophomore year in high school. Steven was going into third grade. Greg was active-duty Military. He and his wife, Nicole were stationed in Germany. Jeff was in Missouri working for a chef. He wasn't a chef, yet, but was in training.
Living in South Carolina, I chose to be a stay-at-home mother, with a husband who was often not present. I like to say I was a geographically single parent. This is where I began writing novels. One can only clean a house so many times. Even with two boys, two labradors, and one cat. Not only was my writing career launched here, but I also became our small church's youth director. I got to set my own hours and be with my own children.
One of the things I started as a youth director was the teenagers were paired with an elderly homebound person. They were to visit this person, maybe read to them, play games with them, or just talk with them.
Andrew was paired with an elderly gentleman, I don't remember his name, I'll call him, Alex. Andrew was a huge football fan as was Alex. Andrew and Alex would watch the Clemson Tiger football games together and discuss football. Andrew wasn't a Clemson fan, but he enjoyed listening and talking with Alex.
This continued for a little over a year. Alex continued to get weaker and sicker. He died. I suggested Andrew go to the funeral home during the visitation. He didn't want to. I didn't force him and went to my room to write.
A few minutes later, Andrew knocked on my door. "Mom, you ready to go?"
I quickly changed, deciding Andrew needed moral support, but we never discussed it. We arrived at the funeral home and Alex's wife ran up to Andrew and hugged him. She was extremely happy that Andrew showed up. She took Andrew's arm and led him to the casket. Proudly showing Andrew that Alex was wearing his Clemson Tiger socks.
Andrew faced me and nodded. He silently acknowledged that going to the funeral home was the right thing to do.
It's amazing what leaves impressions on children. If left to their own decisions, they most likely will make the right choice.
Andrew and his wife, Katie are in the process of having background checks done, so they can help Afghan families assimilate to the St. Louis area. This includes helping them get driver's license, get to English as a second language classes, navigate grocery stores, and things like this.
| Author Notes |
Thank you google images of Clemson football.
This post is a little over 700 words. I do not edit this as much as I do my novels. You'll find many errors. I do edit about three times, but that's not enough. I just posted this and have already corrected three mistakes. I'm sure there's more. |
By barbara.wilkey
I took this photograph Sunday while we did FaceTime with Andrew and his family. Our conversation started outside with the girls playing but ended up inside with tired girls and a tired puppy. LOL Eleanor didn't have her nap. I just had to share it.
My memory this week takes me back to last May (2024) when we visited Andrew, Katie, and the girls in St. Louis.
The day started out as a beautiful Saturday. It was sunny and the temperature very comfortable. We took a hike on a nature trail along the Mississippi River.
Toward late afternoon, the sky became cloudy and very windy. We all had that feeling that something was brewing.
When we arrived back at their home, Katie turned on the TV to check the weather and severe weather was heading in our direction. Andrew began fixing dinner and Katie and I watched the girls and the weather reports. My husband, Brian, decided to go outside and watch the weather.
Brian came to tell us the western sky didn't look very good and encouraged us to go outside and look. We did, and he was right.
About that time the news reported that we were in a tornado watch and it appeared St. Louis was right in line for a direct hit.
Time went by and the watch turned into a warning and now the weather reports were naming the streets in the danger areas.
The area Andrew lived in was told to take appropriate cover, now. Katie and I herded the girls to the basement. Brian remained outside to 'watch the weather'. Andrew continued cooking dinner.
I often worry about my menfolk. I don't think they always make appropriate choices.
Katie kept the girls occupied with activities, and I watched the weather reports, prayed, and kept Katie abreast on where the tornado was headed, without alarming the girls.
I did mention to Andrew that maybe dinner could wait. His answer, "Mom, we don't mess with the girls' routine. They eat, bathe, get read to, and go to bed."
Believe me, he wasn't raised with strict routines. He had me as a mother. I'm wondering, now, where I went wrong.
He has often mentioned that he thinks I brought home the wrong baby from the hospital, because there's no way I gave birth to him. He's a point A to point B type of person. I'll make it to point B, but I may stop and visit C and maybe D before getting to B.
One summer, after I'd had an ankle surgery, and two breast cancer surgeries, he came into my classroom to help me set it up for the upcoming school year. After arranging the desks as I'd asked him to, he stepped back and said, "Mom, it's not symmetrical."
I pondered that statement and replied, "First graders aren't symmetrical."
Back to the original story. I was used to Brian watching the weather. We've been married for too many years, I knew discussing how dangerous it was, wasn't going to do any good.
The tornado missed Andrew's neighborhood, but did cause a lot of damage on the Illinois side of the Mississippi.
Dinner continued as planned and the girls' routine was not upset, other than having Grandma, Grandpa, and of course, Harley visit. Throwing a dog into the mix always helps. I wonder how Harley and Phoebe will get along.
| Author Notes |
This is a photograph of Eleanor and Phoebe.
This post is a little over 550 words. I do not edit this as much as I do my novels. You'll find many errors. I do edit about three times, but that's not enough. I just posted this and have already corrected three mistakes. I'm sure there's more. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 24
I had planned another post, but after a FaceTime conversation with Andrew and his family on Sunday, this one just had to be written. It's almost too funny to be true. At least in my opinion.
I knew the St. Louis area had at least a tornado watch for Friday evening. My first question to Andrew was, "Were you affected by the severe weather Friday evening?"
"We were but that was minor compared..."
Eleanor began talking at the same time, so Andrew said, "Eli wants to tell the story."
He handed Eleanor the phone, and she told the story in one very long sentence as a typical, excited four-year old would do, "Grandma, the basement flooded and Daddy got a huge vacuum to suck up the water, and there was a snake and a duck, and the dog got all wet."
"Eli, did it rain so hard that the basement flooded?" I asked and then paused. "How did a snake and a duck get in the basement?"
"No Grandma." Then she repeated her previous long sentence almost the same.
"So, the basement flooded during the storm. Were you in the basement when it flooded?"
"A lot of rain and thunder. We hid in the basement."
"While the basement flooded?"
"No Grandma!" The young child started her story over again.
"Eli, give me the phone. Grandma's confused." Andrew retrieved the phone and chuckled. "Eli, told a great story."
"I somehow missed a few parts."
"I'm not sure how. Eli had all the events listed."
He gave me that ornery grin that all my boys have, before he proceeded to share the story.
"Okay Mom, on Monday Katie called me while I was still at work. She'd gone to a parent-teacher conference for Charlotte, and I figured she wanted to talk about it while fresh in her mind. I told her I'd be leaving in about ten minutes. I'd call her then. She said, 'On the way home stop and rent a vacuum that soaks up water.'"
"But the storm didn't happen until Friday. What happened?" I asked.
"Mom, be patient. This is a long story that spans the entire week."
"That doesn't sound good."
"It's not." Andrew took a deep breath, and I got that grin again. "On the way home, Katie described the problem. Eli and I stopped and bought a vacuum that soaks up water. I figured we'd need it again."
(Andrew picks up Eleanor from daycare. She goes to the one at the hospital where Andrew works.)
"Okay, already, what happened? Did your plumbing leak?"
"Mom, I told you to be patient." He gave me that grin again. "We decided with everybody gone it wasn't fair to Phoebe to leave her in a kennel all day so fixed an area in the basement for her. We'd put her pee pads in the shower so there wouldn't be so much of a mess to clean up. Evidently, she jumped up and turned on the shower. The pee pads soaked up the water and clogged the drain and the basement flooded."
"Oh no! Poor Phoebe. I bet she felt bad."
"Mom, no poor Phoebe. Poor Andrew. I had to clean up the mess."
(I need to mention that last summer they finished the basement, so it is like a family room. It has a sliding glass door that opens to a patio in the backyard.)
"I'm sure she also heard some bad words."
"MOM!"
"I don't understand how the snake and the duck got involved."
"That's a totally different story on a different day."
"What about the severe weather?"
Katie answered this question, "Six tornados touched down in the St. Louis area. We had warnings and the sirens went off. We went into the basement, but none touched down in our immediate area."
"Did they do a lot of damage in the area?"
"Not really, they were pretty mild for tornados."
"Good, but what about the snake and the duck or did I misunderstand Eli?"
Andrew shook his head. "No. There was a duck and a snake." That ornery grin, again. "Saturday, I was cooking dinner and Katie rushed into the kitchen with her hands held out and said, 'Move I need the sink. I had to fetch a snake from Phoebe's mouth.' I move aside so she could wash her hands."
(I need to mention that on weekends, Andrew cooks. Katie cooks during the week.)
"On my! I hope it was a friendly snake. Was it one of the ones that lived in the shrub by the steps?"
"Mom!" He faced Katie. "It was one of the garden snakes, right?"
"The remains looked like it," replied Katie.
Andrew nodded. "Good. Katie was outside getting the garden ready. She noticed Phoebe chasing a snake. Phoebe's really fast. Phoebe caught the snake, and Katie chased the dog around until she caught her and then fished the snake from her mouth."
"Harley has a bad habit of killing snakes too, but he doesn't eat them. At least not yet. But how did the duck get involved?" I asked.
(Harley is my dachshund. I think most of you already know that, but there might be some new readers.)
Andrew, again, gave me his grin. "We don't know how the duck got in our back yard."
"Was it a pet duck or a wild duck?"
"Mom? How would I know that?" I got a head shake with that answer.
"What color was it?"
"Does it really make any difference?" He exhaled. "It was brown, and I didn't check the sex of it, either."
"I wasn't going to ask that."
"Just letting you know in case you did. I think it was injured. I tried to catch it. It ran from me, flapping its wings. Before it took off it ran into the fence. I went inside and asked Katie how much space does a duck need to take off?"
Andrew said, "Katie looked at me like I'd grown ten heads and said, 'Why would I know that?' I answered her, 'Because you're the biologist of the family.' I didn't get an answer so went back outside and to catch the duck."
"Did you catch the duck?"
"I didn't. Now the girls and Phoebe came outside, so I gave up. The duck was in some tall grass in the corner. The girls and the dog played on the patio."
"What happened to the duck?"
"I don't know. But I haven't seen it since."
"Sounds like you had an eventful week."
"Phoebe caught and ate another snake. Couldn't get it away from her. Man, she's fast." Andew shook his head and said, "Two little girls, a puppy, and two parents who work all week. What could possibly go wrong? Well, it did."
Eleanor yelled, "Grandma, Grandma, I need Grandma."
Andrew handed her the phone. "Okay, talk to Grandma."
She carried the phone down the hall and pointed it toward the bathroom door. "Grandma, I have to go potty and the door's shut."
"I can't do anything about that, Sweet Pea. I guess somebody's in there. You'll have to wait."
"But I can't. I have to go now."
Andrew took the phone. "Bye, Mom, I need to handle this. Love you.
"Love you, too. Hug the girls for me. 'Bye."
Next Sunday, I'll ask about the parent-teacher conference.
| Author Notes |
This is a photograph of Eleanor while she was visiting over Christmas.
A little over 1200 words. I do not edit these as much as I do my novels. You'll find many errors. I do edit about three times, but that's not nearly enough. I just posted this and have already corrected three mistakes. I'm sure there's more. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 25 Clarksville, TN
To be honest, I remember this day as if it happened yesterday, but the year was 1999, the date, Saturday, January 23.
We were stationed at Fort Campbell, KY. Fort Campbell is blessed to be on the state lines of Tennessee and Kentucky. Actually, the majority of Fort Campbell is on the Tennessee side, but because of the Post Office is in Kentucky, its address is Fort Campbell, KY.
Andrew was in sixth grade and Steven was in kindergarten. The two older boys, Greg and Jeff, were on their own. Brian was actually home during this incident.
I was teaching sixth grade science. My Tennessee teaching certificate arrived before my Kentucky one and the job available at the time was sixth grade science. I know I'm an early childhood person, but I have a minor in microbiology. I love science. I'm not overly fond of sixth graders. LOL The following year a kindergarten job came open, and I quickly applied and got the job.
Friday, January 22, 1999, the temperature started out at freezing, but by early evening high winds rolled in, and the temperature rose to close to 80 degrees. In just a few hours the temperature rose around 40 degrees. We all knew something was going on. We could feel it. The north winds and the south winds started to battle to see who was going to win.
When we went to bed that night, storm warnings had been issued. Around two-thirty a.m. Codi, our yellow Labrador, woke me up. I attempted to ignore her, but she wasn't having it. I finally got up and heard the wind and thunder. I turned on the TV and the newscaster said, 'Fort Campbell, take cover now.
The weatherman detailed down to street level what was expected to occur. I woke up the rest of the family and we sheltered in place in the hallway with a mattress covering us. Codi had hidden in the bathtub.
During that time at Fort Campbell, officer housing was duplexes and didn't have garages, only car ports. The tornado removed our neighbor's car port and proceeded to leave Fort Campbell through the main gate. It continued on to destroy downtown Clarksville, TN.
An F3 tornado had torn through Clarksville demolishing a wide swath of the downtown area demolishing 124 buildings and damaging hundreds more.
The historic Montgomery County Courthouse was demolished. Twenty-two buildings at Austin Peay State University were ravaged and downtown Clarksville resembled a bombed-out London.
Clarksville did come together as a community and rebuild. Luckily no lives were lost.
For my family personally, we were okay. Steven spent the next few years every time a storm hit, cuddling beside me covered with his Scooby-Doo blanket. He did outgrow that. LOL We do still discuss this tornado when storms threaten.
*****
A side note: About a month ago, I received a phone call from Steven. He said, "Mom, I'm worried about the people in Victoria."
"Why? What's going on?"
"When we've been threatened with a Cat. 3 hurricanes about to hit us, nobody's concerned. They continue as if nothing is wrong. But a possible threat of snow flurries and the town closes. Only a possibility of a few flurries and they go crazy. It's unbelievable. Don't they know a hurricane can do more damage than the possibility of snow flurry? This is Friday and they've already closed school for Monday and Tuesday. It's 74 degrees. They don't even know if we'll get any snow."
"This part of the world isn't used to snow. It scares them. They don't have the equipment to handle it."
"But Mom, it's only a possibility."
He went on to describe some antics of his freshman boys. I've decided there isn't a lot of difference in behavior, only bigger bodies and more developed language. LOL
Victoria didn't get any snow. The temperature didn't quite make it to freezing.
| Author Notes |
Thank you, Google Images, for this photograph of Clarksville, TN after the tornado hit.
A little over 600 words. I do not edit these as much as I do my novels. You'll find many errors. I do edit about three times, but that's not nearly enough. I just posted this and have already corrected three mistakes. I'm sure there's more. |
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