SAHMs, I Salute You

All I wanted to be when I grew up was a stay at home mom.  That did not happen for me exactly, but at 55 going on 80, I have come to terms with it.  The other day someone brought up the fact that if you did not stay home with your children during their formative years, you were not developing them to their potential. 

OK, OK, I still beat myself up about the time Clif called me from the new house on N. Princeton in 1997 after I picked him up from school (my chosen lunch hour) and delivered him for the first time to the hacienda as a latch key child at the tender age of 10.  He called me at the library an hour later and said he had set the pinestraw outside the breakfastroom window on fire that almost burned the house down.  I hollered but not too harshly I hope.

Yet Clif and I had a love affair in Marshall, TX in January, 1990 to January, 1991, when we eventually moved to Mansfield, LA.  He was 2 going on 3 and we had the best time in our lives playing together...walking, swinging, tricycling (he not me), playing at the schoolyard down the street, swimming at the tennis club, kicking through fall leaves and vaccuming.  That bear liked to vaccum.

I have worked all of my life.  From the time that I was 16 years old.  My first job was at Joske's Department Store in Town & Country in Houston, TX.  I sold linens, tallied sales on an electric cash register that gave me fits.  It was the kind of register that you had to put the sales ticket in the top.  It was so eerie being in that department store late at night and empty.

Then I worked at a hardware store down Katy Freeway with my best friend.  We both were the only girls and the youngest employees at the hardware store.  We both had to get our paychecks by sitting on our bosses' lap each week.  Ick.  This was back in 1972 when sexual harrassment was HA! unheard of. 

My first venture in the business world was working as a receptionist for an investment banking firm called Stewart Johns.  My first day I had to go out to all the salesmens cars and get their umbrellas...in the soaking rain.

I then went to an investment banking firm on their trading desk.  It was much larger and because I was the only girl on the trading desk, I was subject to entertaining clients with the traders at strip clubs.

Many years later when I met Jim at Western Geophysical, I was secretary to the Vice President of Eastern Hemisphere Land Operations.  Jim worked overseas.  He came in from overseas, we met and dated.  He swept me off my feet and we went to Acapulco to get engaged.  When we returned the President lauded Jim for making a conquest but fired me for taking away one of his valuable employees.  Go figure. 

And all I ever wanted was to be a SAHM.  The last eight years I have worked for a miserly, filthy rich attorney who values me less than his house maid.

But I have outfoxed them all.  One of the only two of the loves in my life is happy in Baton Rouge and set to graduate next year from LSU - a goal common to all Moms, whether staying at home or not.

Ruffinism for the day...the journey all important, the love especially sweet, the side riff raff-not so much.  The Ruffinista.

McDonald's Fishing Toooornament - I won it!

We had a blast at the lake last weekend.  We have never been on the lake for the McDonald's fishing tournament but we decided to fight the crowd this year.  We were warned of boats everywhere on land, on the lake, churning up the water, racing back and forth.  It was rather interesting.  Fishermen are serious people when money is involved.  These guys all have bass boats with 250 hp or 300 hp motors on the back of them.  One guy told us he has to wear goggles BECAUSE HIS BOAT GOES 80 MPH. 

Ha! Jim and I refer to those boys as twirlers (think about it and don't ask me to elaborate on the nickname).  However, I did have the pleasure of waking up Friday morning in the dark at 5:00 a.m. and watching the red, green and white light parade from the bedroom window as at least fifty boats cruised out from the boat ramp nearest us...and then took off at full speed at 6:00 a.m.

We've met a few couples that camp (understatement-these folks have 100k+ fancy rvs) regularly down at Rayburn Point.  Ricky Don and Sue explained the tournament rules to us (weighing in on the hour and/or overall).  And some of the rules are the stupidest I have ever heard like both people in the boat have to be entered in the tournament, if one catches a fish they both have to go to weigh it in, and this is how serious these folks are - YOU ARE SUBJECT TO A LIE DETECTOR TEST.  Right then and there.

You ask how I won the tournament?  Thank you for asking...I snagged two whole baggies of frozen filleted perch from Sue's freezer.  Who says I can't fish?

We also found out that when Norman runs with us while we're on the bicycles, his favorite cove to go swimming in to cool himself off after a five mile run has a sixteen foot alligator in it.  Gracious me, the little feller wouldn't have a chance, he's been flirting with jaws...so we must now find another spot for him to lay in after his run.

How Does The Garden Grow?

Quite nicely this spring:

Coming soon!  Results of the McDonald's Fishing Toooornament from last weekend on Rayburn.  Including Norman's brush with the alligator and boats and boats and boats with a little Led Zepplin (why oh why god) and some tall fishing tales.  Fishermen are some crazy characters.

Channeling Mamaw

At 56, I find myself growing more in physical appearance like my maternal grandmother everyday.  Her name was Lenore Lipscomb Williams.  But we called her Mamaw.  For most of my childhood I thought Lenore was an UGLY name, more befitting an old fat woman...which she was.  And yet, today in 2010, I think Lenore is one of the most beautiful names that rolls off of my tongue.  What comes around, goes around.

Mamaw and Papaw lived in my hometown, Houston, TX.  They were from Malvern, Arkansas via Wylie, TX.  They followed my parents to Houston in the 1950s.  When I was young in the late 50s, they lived two houses down from us, but their house might as well have been in Brazil.  As children, we were not allowed down at Mamaw's house except on very, very special occasions.  And then we were relegated to a corner of the living room to play Tiddly Winks QUIETLY!  Believe me, Tiddly Winks SUCK as entertainment.  It has all the excitement that round, flat plastic discs flipped into a plastic cup can summon.

My sisters and I used to sneak outside to climb the fine and HUGE mimosa tree in her front yard but Mamaw would always catch us and scream, "You kids get out of that tree before you fall and kill yourself!"...mumble mumble..."sue me for all that I'm worth."  She had an immaculate house, a husband she sniped at, and who sniped back at her.  Mr. Ruffin and I have pretty much followed Mamaw and Papaw's daily regimen going on 28 years now.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.   

CRIMINEY DUDE GET TO THE POINT!  Mamaw made the best spaghetti (of which I have successfully immitated) and fried chicken (maybe not so much) in the world, Papaw listened to Paul Harvey on the radio every morning.  She loved purple periwinkles and called couches "divans."  She played the piano superbly yet sang like Teddy Kennedy.  She was known for using such salty language as "fiddle faddle" and "balderdash."  Mamaw and Papaw slept in single four poster beds that were as high as a dresser (you needed a ladder to get in them) all of their lives.  Mamaw actually had an old pedal pump Singer sewing machine that I learned to sew on.  And her house smelled of old people.  Not a bad smell, actually it was a pretty good smell, like old timey perfume and fluffed feather pillows.  Imagine my surprise the first time I walked in my house and smelled Mamaw's house.  Hmmmm.

And I have to admit I'm quite happy channeling Mamaw these days.  I'm kind of glad she and Papaw were my kinfolk. The nut doesn't fall far from the tree.

"Hey kid...you lost your training wheels!"

We were at Rayburn again this weekend but children were the great equalizer...from the twin curly haired boys next door and their two springer spaniels that ate all of the eggs in the boys hunting area before they got up, to the two boy cousins who kept running up to our rv and Norman, and trying to get Norman to chase them (little did they know all they had to do was bring food), to Janet's (the host) son who left for Michigan (and a new life), to Joshua, Mr. Training wheels. 

I got to the park at about noon on Thursday with few people there except Josh and his sister.  They both had bikes...Josh had plastic training wheels that you could hear across the whole park when he pedaled.  He was Mister Destruction, he slammed his bike down in front of the bathhouse many times that day, talking serious to it as only a dirt biker can.  He looked too old to be burdened by training wheels...and sure enough his sister, on her sleek bike beat him in every race they had.  I harked back to when I learned to ride a two-wheeler.  5 years old...Come Friday morning, Joshua was riding his bike without training wheels.  I screamed, "Hey kid, you lost your training wheels!"  He screamed back, "My Mom has them." I thought to myself:  high time Joshua!  Come Saturday morning Joshua was riding his sister's bike and she was riding his.  However, as a big sister, all races ended with her winning because she cut through our yard.

Enjoy my weekend pictures - Norman got the run of his life many times.

 Ruffinism for the day:  Life is so daily...aren't we the luckiest people?