The Scooch Doctor

**Warning for MEN: Just don’t read this today.

Go read about Barbecue or Fishing or Golf. Thank you.**

So today was the day. THE day. My annual check-up at the OB/GYN. Well, just GYN right now, but he was so much more fun as the OB.

At OB visits, you are excited about what you weigh, you get to hear a baby heartbeat, you don’t have to get undressed and you don’t feel quasi-violated.

But today was the GYN visit. It started off in the waiting room for a while where nice “lite sounds” music was playing and there were stacked magazines coming from every direction. One lady was there waiting and she didn’t want to chat. I’m always a little suspicious of those types.

Then when I got called {Ooh! Lucky Me! What do I win?}, I went back to the rooms- all I’m familiar with from 2 recent pregnancies- and got weighed. Ugh. Just as I suspected. That winter weight is lingering around until spring. I think the scale Sprang forward 10 pounds or so last weekend.

Then back to the room, blood pressure checked {110/60}, then instructions to wait for the doctor and to “put on these”. Of course she meant to take OFF all my clothes and last shred of dignity {what was left after the scale} and put ON the paper towels that they call robes. Then the waiting began.

You’ll be happy to know that I DID shave my legs, but I forgot toe nail polish! Oh no! Chipped and half- painted pink isn’t showing off my best side, but I guess that wasn’t what they were there to see.

I had to wait a particularly long time today because of someone’s emergency surgery (did they even consider me??), but I made the most of my time casing the tiny room.

• Ceramic cross cut vagina model? Check.
• Nuva ring display {how in the world that thing could actually work}? Check.
• Mandatory large calendar and picture of babies on the wall? Check.
• Plastic bubble wand looking things stacked in some sort of display case with jelly nearby? Check.
  

Then I counted the weeks until Memorial Day on the giant calendar and counting how many pounds I should lose each week. That would be 2 pounds a week for 10 weeks and then I will be in pretty good shape to be seen in a swimsuit. Check. I’ll get right to that. As soon as I can get OUT OF HERE.

At this point, I’m sweating through my paper towel gown and hearing the doctor’s voice in the hallway booming that he needs a nurse in 3. What room am I in, again? Then I hear a knock, knock on another door. Danggit.

Finally he got to my room and the exam began. The conversation is always weird, isn’t it?

My doctor always feels obligated to ask about my kids- I guess since he delivered them and all- then it’s usually on to something like football or asking me what church we go to for the 18th time. It doesn’t matter what the conversation is, it’s just a band aid to cover up the action that’s really going on. The truth is that someone is doing what you might not even encourage your husband to do and might be considered illegal in a few bordering states.

Can’t think about it. Think about football.

Then the dreaded words, “Could you SCOOCH down a little bit?” Down the chair that is, of course. Because they need a better angle whilst your legs are forced into the squat position hoisted in the air. Nothing makes me cringe quite like the word, “stirrups”. Bleeeewwww.

Finally. O. Ver. With. YES!

I made it back out the hallway, to the front desk and out the door to freedom.

Until next year, Scooch Doctor! Have fun with your crazy bubble shapes or whatever it is you do with those things. Please don't tell me. I promise I don't want to know.

Spring:: She is dead to me

After losing an hour of very meaningful sleep this weekend and “spring”ing forward, I was ready for one of my favorite seasons to arrive.
Monday and Tuesday were Beautiful! Some of my favorite sights were here!
Scrumptious Strawberries: {from Sam's! Did you know they have super big fruit, too? And the fruit bowl was a gift from my mom years ago- most likely from TJ Maxx or Marshall's- something that you'll never find again, you know.}

Blooming daffodils- and soon to bloom little buds (the ones after the original ones that died in the BLIZZARD OF 09!!! light snow last weekend):
And bare little legs with shorts! WOOHOO!
But today, we are back to yuckiness and 56 as a HIGH. What?

Why, you ask? Well, Spring has tricked us all. She is a tease and I, for one, am upset. At who? {And I know it’s supposed to be “whom”, but that is sooo presumptuous.} I don’t know. But I think this is affecting my mood. It's called Seasonal Tease Disorder and I'm tired of it.

Speaking of the hopeful arrival of spring and shorts, can I ask you something?
Do you shave your legs all the time?

I have a secret to share with you. I RARELY shave mine. As in, it might be a month or so in the winter between shavings. And this is not only because I’m cheap (you know- expensive razors and all), but also because I am uncoordinated. I can’t for the life of me shave standing up in a shower! I have to get in a bath tub {with piping hot water, preferably} to make it happen. And how often does that occur? About as often as I get my hair highlighted or a pedicure- not nearly as often as I need. {I kind of put all those things in the same category of special perks!}

Here’s the nice part, though: I have fine, blonde hair, so you can’t really tell. Until I feel it flap in the wind when I walk down the hall in the mornings before I put my jeans on. Then I can tell it might be time to take care of a little hairy business. And my hubby doesn't care all that much {I don't think...}. Jason's test is if he can physically pull the hair, then it's too long.

But I am a strong believer in the theory that if you don’t shave, you don’t have to shave. Anybody else? I heard this a long time ago and it has been true for me. What’s your routine?

Is this a gross topic?

Delayed Spring is good news for the rest of the world: I’m back to jeans for another week or so. Next time maybe I’ll look like this lady right here . {If you get talking pigs at that link, scroll down to "Bicycle, Unwronged". It will totally be worth your time for a good giggle.}

Housekeeping

I sure hope you know me well enough to know that I don't clean well or nearly enough to give anybody REAL housekeeping tips.

This is about BLOG housekeeping. That, my friends, I can do.

As you may have guessed, the domain name of this blog will change to www.theothermama.com in a week on March 16th. {Wait! Come back! Don't click there, yet! There are only GoDaddy ads there right now and nobody needs to see Dale Earnhardt, Jr. in that much leather.}

I hate to even ask you, but to come along on my bumpy adventures, you will need to change your bookmarks, side bar links, reader feeds, tattoos, etc.

This site will still be here in a different format, but it won't be the main page, so it would be super kind of you to change to the main page.
I would be ever so grateful and thank you ahead of time for your help and kindness.

I'll be right here this week, but I wanted to give you plenty of time to plan ahead.
Because I'm thoughtful like that. And you might need to call so they can "work you in" to the tattoo parlor. I hear they're busy over spring break.

Alright. Back to my duster and maid uniform.

Why "The Other Mama"?

In the quest to find a new name for this blog, I kept finding myself falling into that “other” category.

You know those questionnaires that ask if you are Caucasian, Hispanic, African- American, Hawaiian/ Samoan {really?} or Other? I’m definitely Caucasian in real life {just call me Whitey Whiterton-from the pale side of the family tree- see my dance moves if you have any question}, but I would check “other” in plenty of other areas.

For example, I work full time, but I work from home. {Go ahead and e-mail me here because I know you all want to know what I do to be able to work from home. ‘Cause it’s so glorious and all.} I don’t fit into the category of office workers and I don’t fit into the group with stay at home moms. I’m somewhere in between.

I’m also the “other” mom on the soccer field. Not the one who gets to chat casually with friends over a juice box swiped from the snack cooler. No, I’m chasing a screaming one year old off the field who wants to play on his 3 year old brother’s team. Then I’m coaxing the 3 year old back onto the field to try to run after the ball- and not the ball or the girls on the next field.
Yes- hi- that’s me.
You probably have one of those at your soccer field, too. I’ll let you in on a secret: she needs something stronger than a juice box after the game.

Every now and again, when the moons align and I wear matching earrings and have a decent hair day, things come together and for a brief shining moment- I HAVE IT ALL TOGETHER. And then I get to pre-school and find out one child has dumped a truck full of rocks on another child’s head and the other child is crying because we forgot to bring his show-and-tell.
Ah yes. Back to myself again.
So, I carry them out, one screaming under each arm, and just smile at the people who give me the look of, “I’m so sorry ” and those who stare and point. Unfortunately, they are NOT pointing at my great hair.

In many ways, I fall into “The Other Mama” category, but the most important factor in the name of this blog is a person- My Other Mama.

When the first grandchild my mom’s side of the family was born, the all-important grandparent names were chosen. The in- laws received the basic Grandma and Grandpa {original, huh?} and my grandfather decided he was going to be Big Daddy. My grandmother’s famous quote was, “there is no way in Hay-ell that I’m going to be ‘Big Mama’!” She decided to be “Other Mama”- which stood for the “other” grandmother. Most people might think this would be derogatory or ordinary, but she didn’t- and neither did we. On the contrary, we thought she was the coolest grandmother around.

We called her Other Mama {or Other for short}, but her real name was Smiles. {Oh, wait, her real name was Veneita, but she might be mad at me for telling you that.} Her father started calling her Smiles as a baby and it stuck; it was even on her checks. She grew up in Piedmont, AL, and then moved to Apalachicola, FL, when she was in middle school. She met my grandfather when she was 14 and he was 19 at a mixer at the local USO dance hall. She said it was love at first sight.

Other Mama in High School:

They got married when she was 18 and raised their 4 children in the quaint and beautiful fishing town of Apalachicola. The town puts Mayberry to shame for small town lore and their family was a vital part of the community. The stories go that my grandfather was most definitely the disciplinarian in the family and Other Mama was the soft spoken, kind mama. She wanted you to make the right decisions and taught Christian morals and values, but was very understanding with all her children and their friends.

I wish I knew the secret to this and hope that I’m able to be that kind of mom. I think they had stronger support networks in small towns in the 1950s and maybe stronger drinks. I think I should do some research in both those areas.

Of course, she was even more lenient with her grandchildren, as most grandparents are. She did everything she could to spoil, lavish praises and reward us. Other Mama had a special sort of compassion in her spirit. I don’t know how to describe it other than telling you that if she was sitting, her fingertips were in constant motion either caressing a pillow, your arm, or a bourbon and water. Something about that constant motion made me feel assured and comfortable. She had a quiet confidence, a quick wit and a determination to love the heck out of you.

Other Mama and Big Daddy {maybe in the late 70s or early 80s?}.

They were married for 58+ years before he died in 2005.

She was a true Southern Belle: a graceful hostess, a charming story teller {with a few off-color jokes mixed in} and a good friend. She threw great parties with amazing seafood appetizers and always had napkins made for the occasion. She had a group of girlfriends that she played bridge with for 50 years {and possibly shared a few drinks with over the decades}. When I called her to tell her I was pregnant with Henry, she told me that all of her friends used to call each other and their code was, “Well… guess what?” {Ours is, “You’re not going to believe this…”}

She loved to travel and passed that love on to all our family. She took me and my cousin DK to Disney World when I was 9. She and Big Daddy paid for our entire family (17 of us) to go on cruises to Mexico, Canada, Alaska and many more trips. She told me on the dock of a cruise ship in Alaska that the most important thing in life was spending time with your family.

My mom, me and Other Mama in 2002.

She died unexpectedly just days after Henry was born. I was still in the hospital when I got the call. I was not allowed to travel or attend the funeral {because of the C-section}, so I didn’t get to mourn with my relatives. She left behind a large brood, who rode the tides of laughing, crying, believing and reliving. We still do it every time we’re together- which is pretty often. She would be proud of the legacy of importance of family that she left behind. She is in heaven with my Big Daddy, now and heaven is much better off. I’m sure they have matching napkins with their parties since she has arrived.

So here I am. Trying to enjoy every day with my family, write a good story every now and again and laugh my way through the bumps. I have given up the quest for perfection and have decided to settle for memorable. Perfect isn’t any fun anyway, right? Even if people say, “Remember that girl who always had crazy hair, macaroni stuck to her jeans and made fun of her kid’s art?” at least I’m memorable.

I hope you’re an “Other Mama”, too. You don’t even have to be a mama! Just someone who enjoys a good story, time with your family and a fun time with friends {bourbon not required, but suggested}.

Going through The Change

Going through "the change" at such an early age? Why, yes. I am.
Just a little blog change-aroo around here. You like?

There are still a lot of things to be done, so pardon our progress during construction. If I had a little yellow man to stand up here, I would.

And when I say "our", I mainly mean Deanna's. She is a lovely friend from California who I met at the Blissdom Conference and she is graphically talented {where I am graphically challenged}. She is amazing and manages 3 sites: The Domestic Chicky, The Design Chicky and The Apronista. I'm telling you right now you will love her.

I think there are only a few people in the world that know my level or quirkiness: my parents, my husband, my college roommates- and now Deanna joins the ranks! I don't know if there is some sort of medal that goes with this accomplishment, but there should be. Maybe free drink tickets? I'm not sure.

I will be blogging about the same embarrassing and funny stories that happen to us on a daily basis. Won't you come along for the fun? I'll explain all about The Other Mama very soon. And there will be an awesome giveaway {that I keep promising} THIS WEEK, so stay tuned.
Thanks for coming along!