Telling Tales

By BECKY ANDREWS
Wilson Living Magazine

It’s no secret to my friends, family and anyone wandering the cleaning isle of the local grocery that I don’t enjoy cleaning. I enjoy cooking, eating, reading. I do not enjoy cleaning. It’s a necessary evil though, so I oblige with my barrage of cleaning products neatly placed in a storage caddy that I carry from room to room. The only time I stop complaining is when I’m gagging while cleaning my boys’ bathroom. (I will never understand how a man can be trained to hit a target at one thousand yards away but hitting the space inside a toilet eludes him?)

It’s the time it takes to clean that bugs me most. When I go at it, I go at it with both barrels. Everything gets cleaned and organized; even the toothpaste cap and pantry. There are times when someone “pops” over without notice or I agree to host a jewelry/cooking tool/clothing party when I must rush the cleaning process. This is what I call giving my home the “illusion of clean.” Don’t open a door, you might get hurt.

As the storms were bearing down on Wilson County Friday night, I did what many of you did.

Started prepping.

By BECKY ANDREWS
Wilson Living Magazine 

It seems like it happens at least once a year. In the middle of gro ery shopping, I find myself in the greeting card isle. On most of the ‘food store’ trips, while passing this section I’ll do a quick mental check list of all birthdays, anniversaries, christenings, and graduations, to make sure I don’t have an immediate need before moving on to the freezer section. I don’t know why. It’s like a strange magnetic force that pulls me in. Before long, I can’t get enough of cut down poster board with kitschy jokes at a cost of nearly 5 dollars each. 

So it’s no surprise that on this trip, I again found myself scanning the card section because one caught my eye. It was a quirky, chunky shaped little ditty with an odd punch line. In short, it was the greeting card version of me. And that lead to picking up another, and another, and another. It wasn’t long before, I had cards for each of my sisters, brothers, 3 college roommates, and a get well card for my dad’s neighbor, who I’d only met once, but knew well enough to realize she’d get a chuckle out of ‘Mildred’s’ latest escapade.

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine

Often when I can’t sleep, I’ll get up in the middle of the night and watch television.

So, it was one night this week that I stumbled upon “Doomsday Preppers” a new National Geographic television show.

Within 5 minutes, I was both hooked and…terrified. Apparently, there are all sorts of theories on how the world will end.

As if I didn’t have enough to worry about, I now need to worry about the North and South Pole switching places and tidal waves destroying our world. Or solar flashes from the Sun, taking out the power grid. Or hyper-inflation causing the world as we know it to disappear, causing a run on groceries and the complete destruction of civilized life.

By BECKY ANDREWS
Wilson Living Magazine 

My youngest is mad at me… again. When we pulled out old family movies and started the stroll down memory lane something (or someone) was missing. We watched my oldest coo, eat solids, laugh, roll over, crawl, walk and fall all for the first time. Halfway through watching his big brother delight at the ape at Animal Kingdom came the first, ‘Hey! Where am I?’

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine

If I were running the world and had to dole out punishment to those in my kingdom, I would make them do laundry.

In particular – my family’s laundry.

We are a family of five, but some days I feel there must be 55 of us living in this house, given the clothes I am constantly washing, folding and putting away.

By BECKY ANDREWS
Wilson Living Magazine

I knew it when I married him. I knew that when it came to romance he was more Ralph Kramden than Casanova. Truth be told, my husband has never changed. He is who he is, and that’s what I love about him. While I can be a bit wishy-washy, he makes his mind up and never questions the decision made. So why am I surprised that he’s STILL not a hopeless romantic and just “hopeless?”

I notice it more now than ever, because we are trapped in the busyness of life. With two careers, two children, three pets, three sisters, two brothers, one mother-in-law and one father-in-law, there doesn’t seem to be enough time or energy to devote to our relationship. Since the vision of ships passing in the night insinuates romance, I would say we are more minivans stuck beside each other in the car pool lane.

Not being an athlete, I’ve spent most of my life…in the stands.

When I was younger, I remember attending my brother’s soccer games. And it went something like this…

We’d walk in. Dad would pay for Mom and I. Mom would find her spot on the bleachers. Dad and I would sit three rows behind her.

The game would start…which meant within minutes…so would my mother!

I’m sick of it! Every time I turn on the TV, radio, computer or Dr. Oz, there’s something else I use every day that might cause cancer, crow’s feet or cardiac arrest! If I start to feel dizzy from the only perfume I wear, I can’t even dial 911 because my cell phone “might” cause a brain tumor… It makes me want to scream… Literally and out loud and in front of TV news people, NPR, bloggers and that little twit, Oz. Don’t they know they are making an already slightly neurotic mother who suffers from a mild form of hypochondria even more unbearable to be around?

As I sat with friends at dinner on New Year’s Eve, the conversation turned to Caroline’s mother’s heated mattress pad.

“She just loves it. Turns it on about an hour before bed and hasn’t missed a night in years.”

The New Year’s Eve festivities continued, but for me, the idea of a heated mattress, seemed outstanding, unbelievable …. and completely unfathomable that I had never heard of it before!

I liken it to when Bill Gates first saw Steve Job’s iPod!  

I’ve always wondered what a stomach bug looks like. It sounds like it would be a cute little character that would appear in a Pixar movie. I’ve now decided that little twit is anything but cute.  Someone should change the description of this menacing little contagion that hits households every year just in time for Christmas. The “bug” hit us this year with a vengeance. Especially me!

End of the year means lots of things to lots of people.

In the Kane household, it means…check ups. From the adults, to the kids, to the pets – everyone gets their annual physical right before the year ends.

And in our household, we are firm believers that doctors are on a need to know basis.

That’s because I have every intention that one of my children will one day be President. And as we all know, when that time comes their medical records become public.

T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house

Not a gift had been purchased without the click of a mouse.

The stockings sat upright on the living room floor,

No chimney meant Santa would be using the door.

The children complained about going to bed

And because the XBOX controller batteries were dead!

Mom and Dad in work clothes, trying to wrap

Not believing that once again, they bought all of this crap

In the beginning, there were no sleepovers…

When birthday time rolls around for my boy’s one item always listed on their celebration itinerary is ‘sleepover’. We host sleepovers throughout the year but the birthday sleepover is different. Instead of one friend, there could be 5, 6, 7 or 8. Eight was the magic number this year for my youngest child’s birthday soiree. An event of this magnitude is as elusive as Bigfoot to the adolescent. Parents know what goes down at these things. No matter how fun the party, kids just want to stay up all night.

So armed with only pizza, juice boxes, XBOX360 and our wits, my husband and I were ready.

The drop off…

There are three types of parents when it comes to a sleepover.  The concerned, 'are you sure about this’ parent.  This is the same parent pulling away in their car when asking that question. Then there’s the, ‘No take back, who cares if you changed your mind, we’ve already made plans for a date night and nobody is going to keep us from a dinner out where no one spills juice or milk’ parent.  And lastly, the,  ‘Now if he gets scared in the middle of the night, forget my name, forget my number, forget me. He can wait until the morning’ parent. 

When all the boys arrived, we started to get concerned. The adult to child ratio was 2-8. Because of the power shift, we did what any normal parent would do- deleted ‘Lord of the Flies’ from the DVR and braced for a long night.

Almost 2 years ago our beloved Sasha went to doggie heaven. She was 14 years old and seriously the sweetest dog. She was our child before we had the two little humans who inhabit our home now.

Shortly after Sasha died, my husband and our children began the search for a replacement. Don’t get me wrong, I loved her, but when she died I assumed that was the end of our dog days. As much as I adored her, I didn’t want another pet. Not because I didn’t want to replace her or my heart was too broken. Our family just doesn’t have the time to give a puppy all the attention it deserves. Sure my husband does all the feeding and playing and training. But what happens when he forgets to pick up dog food, the dog gets sick or has to go out to pee in the middle of the night. That’s right, it’s my job. Since giving birth to my first child, I have enforced a strict rule: I don’t feed, water or play with anything unless I’m required by law to do so. It’s not like I will purposefully ignore the needs of our pets or houseplants, there’s just a good chance I’ll forget to feed or water it.

It wasn’t long after we married that my husband decided against sending an innocent houseplant to its inevitable death just because it was our anniversary. Instead he opted for a nice Fichus tree. It’s still as green as it was the day he gave it to me AND it doesn’t shed dead leaves.

My husband and I have been married 17 years! Truly amazing…given we are complete opposites.

I’m the type who never puts the cap back on the toothpaste, wipes the fog off my window shield with my hand, the only place I ever show up on time is court … and that’s because jail scares me, and believe letting my kids eat cake for breakfast makes me the best Mom in the world!

My husband, on the other hand …well, let’s say is a little more rule-oriented.

I recently found out he has folders at his office with all our children’s names on them, and in them places their extracurricular schedules, their grades and all the print outs their teachers send us. (I call them the “when I divorce Angel – I am so going to win custody files.”) He shows up for everything exactly on time, remembers everybody’s name, and his side of the closet looks like a picture out of a Brooks Brothers catalogue with everything perfectly lined up and color-coordinated.

It’s midnight and I can’t sleep. So instead of just enjoying the quiet hum of an otherwise bustling house, I think.  And you know what “that” leads to... I start out thinking about the birthday party I need to plan for my youngest. Then I remember Thanksgiving hits right before his birthday, so I need to mentally and physically prepare for hosting a day full of brothers, sisters, and in-laws, not to mention nieces and nephews with sticky fingers, loaded diapers and missing parents.

Have I told you about my new home? Oh, it’s to die for!

It’s about a year old, has heat and air, wall-to-wall carpeting and great acoustics. It’s a little on the small side, but that just means less space to keep clean. Did I mention it has 360 degree views, large windows and a skylight?

Most evenings you can find me in my new home, playing on my phone, flipping through Pottery Barn catalogues and drinking Dunkin’ Doughnuts coffee. And sometimes, if you look closely through the windows, you may even see me ….banging my head …repeatedly…against the walls of my new home.

No worries though – it doesn’t hurt – the walls are made of fake leather.

Oh, wait – did you think I bought a new house? Oh, no – I didn’t buy a new house. I mean, what’s the point, I no longer live in a house.

These days - I just live in my car!