BIRTHDAY TRIALS & APHORISMS

I took a step back from my strawberry birthday cake to admire the silly words I had written in blue squeeze icing.

For the record, I try to never toot my own horn OR decorate my own cake. But this year my birthday happened to fall on Easter, and in our family any holiday is an excuse for a party.

So, when I saw the misspelled word, I had to laugh.

Because, yes indeedy, birfdays can sometimes be a trial. But they are special days that are always worthy of celebration and acknowledgement.

And when all the cards have been re-read and all the guests have gone...it's always good to sit back with a big ol' piece of leftover cake and reflect on the many lessons life has beat into my hard, hard head.

Here's a few of my favorites; okay...more than a few. There are exactly 54, one for each of the more-than-a-few years of my life:

1. JesuslovesmethisIknow.

2. Never go to sleep with chewing gum in your mouth.

3. The only normal people are the ones you don't know very well ~ Alfred Adler

4. You will ALWAYS run into someone you know when you try to sneak into Walgreen’s wearing stained sweats and no makeup.

5. You should never roll down a hill in a cardboard barrel.

6. If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull ~ W.C. Fields

7. When a guy says ‘pull my finger’…don’t do it.

8. A deal's a deal.

9. Don’t cry over anything that can’t cry over you.

10. Time is relative. Sleeping for five minutes after hitting the snooze button goes waaaay faster than sitting for five minutes in the gynecologist’s office with your feet in the stirrups.

11. If it has tires or testicles, you're going to have trouble with it ~ Linda Furney

12. Hell hath no fury like a mad Mama.

13. If you tell your husband you dented the car then flash your boobs, he won’t get nearly as upset.

14. You really are exactly as happy as you make your mind up to be.

15. It is possible to cram your way through grad school. But not
recommended.

16. Never try to explain the stains on your lab book to someone who has never taken Gross Anatomy.

17. People who were hurt as children need lots more hugs as adults.

18. You can imply a lot with a well-placed ellipsis…

19. Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end ~ Paolo Coelho

20. A mother’s love can’t heal everything.

21. You should never do aerobics in a push-up bra.

22. An hour spent in a hot bath with a good book can change your perspective.

23. Political Correctness is for pussies.

24. Never laugh at a naked man --- unless you’re absolutely SURE he’s trying to be funny.

25. Nothing makes you feel as young as slow dancing in the arms of your high school sweetheart to the music of your youth.

26. There is nothing more humbling than watching the sun set over the ocean.

27. Never pass up an opportunity to pee.

28. It's true: when one door closes, another opens. But those hallways sure can be a beeyotch.

29. I’ve found that all people really care about holding onto when they leave this earth is the hand of someone they love.

30. Having grandbabies is like love on crack.

31. Being kind is more important than being right.

32. Don’t mistake religion for spirituality.

33. Never take for granted the wisdom of someone older than you.

34. Family is everything. Friends are next to everything.

35. Whatever doesn’t kill you – or hurt your knees – makes you stronger.

36. Whether things are really good or really bad…they will eventually change.

37. All it takes is all you’ve got.

38. Rest assured that at any given moment in time there will always be
somebody somewhere that does not have their sh*t together, either.

39. Everyone I’ve ever met is better than me at something.

40. Menopause is not for sissies. Or for sissy husbands.

41. I would rather be wise than intelligent.

42. There is nothing more magical than watching your grandbaby fall asleep in your arms.

43. It is sometimes easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

44. Never offer up a defense with an apology.

45. Serenity is an inside job.

46. A stroke patient once taught me the difference between a victim and a survivor. It's all in the attitude.

47. I believe there are angels among us. In fact, mine is big and hairy and smells like Old Spice.

48. Moderation in everything. Especially brussel sprouts.

49. You are tougher than you think.

50. Never trust anybody who thinks they know everything. Or who starts a sentence with "Trust me...".

51. When I’m waiting for a storm to pass you probably won’t find me dancing in the rain. But you will find me standing underneath an umbrella.

52. You teach people how to treat you.

53. It's harder to fly when people keep tugging on your cape.

54. God will always give me what – and who – I need.

And because I hope to never stop learning...here's one to grow on:

55. Every day is a school day. Sometimes I’m the student and sometimes I’m the teacher.

We Are FAM-I-LY...

Our pest control guy called Saturday morning to tell us he was on his way, which of course was my cue to run around the house like a crazy woman...moving piles of crap from one room to another.

Now ordinarily, I would not have bothered to clean up the clutter in anticipation of bug killing, but this bug killer just happened to be related to me. In other words, he already knows that I'm crazy, so I couldn't very well let him know that I'm both crazy and messy.

As my first-cousin-once-removed removed my pesky roly-polys, it once again occurred to me just how blessed I am to have landed in The Best Family Ever. Not the sanest, nor the most functional, but absolutely the best! I especially love that there are so many of us - with a couple more waiting to join the fun, even as I write. In fact, little acorns fall off our family tree at such a rapid rate that we should ALL be wearing protective gear :o)

Our big, boisterous, beautiful extended family is living proof that there is strength in numbers. Irregardless of our varied levels of dysfunction, at any given time there is at least ONE of us doing something right. Which means even though Cousin Joe might be in the pokey for a DWI and Aunt Beth has run off again to join the circus...we can always find someone to brag about.

Truth is, we would make for a very lively and entertaining reality TV series...falling in a category somewhere between The Cleavers and The Osbournes. Probably more along the lines of the Grizwolds.

Those of us that share common ancestors, share them proudly. But ancestors only provide the initial connection...love and life and marriage provide a connection just as strong. In laws, outlaws, halfs, steps, by birth, adoption or marriage...once you connect with ONE of us, you connect with ALL of us. We've even learned to embrace the (thankfully few) mixed marriages. In our family, a mixed marriage means somebody went and married an uninformed, unenlightened soul who does not root for the Rangers or the Cowboys, thereby proving that craziness in our family is not just, well...relative.

But the biggest perk of belonging to the special-est of families, is that we are literally surrounded by specialists. How lucky am I that at any given moment I can reach out and touch a family connection who can help me through just about any situation? We've got an Optometrist and an Optician; an Exercise Physiologist and a Physical Therapist; an Accountant, an Investment Specialist - or if it's too late - a Foreclosure Expert. We have a Draftsman who can draw up plans for a home, a Contractor who can build the home, a couple of Insurance Providers who can insure the home, a Carpenter who can fill the home with lovely handmade furniture, a Seamstress who can cover the windows, and Interior Decorators to pull it all together with a pop of color.

We have access to Nurses, Nutritionists, one and one-third Pharmacists and a Cardiologist-in-law. There is a Birthing Coach who can deliver our babies right in our own homes, Teachers to teach those babies how to read and write, Athletic Coaches to teach them how to run, throw and wrestle, and a couple of Preachers who can marry us with joy...or bury us with love.

Amongst our ranks you'll find Artists, Writers, Musicians, Singers, Comedians and Public Speakers. I can seek advice from experts and specialists in the fields of Computer Programming, Web Design, Management, Marketing and Business Administration...as well as several Expert Hunters and Master Baiters. And at the end of the day...we can call our very own Massage Therapist to make all the knots go away...or a Life Coach to make all the 'Nots' go away.

And now my very own Bug Zapper. Sigh.

It goes without saying that I am blessed. Even so, I say it as often as possible. I am blessed.

And not just because my roly polys are gone...

A. Hot. Mess.

As I stumbled into the kitchen this morning with mascara smudges beneath my eyes, hair all over the place and my t-shirt smelling of last night's buttered popcorn...I was greeted by the obnoxiously smiling face of my handsome husband as he sweetly presented me with a breakfast tray of hot tea and scrambled eggs.

"Why?" I whined. "Why are you so nice to me - I'm such a mess." And in true Billy Joel fashion he replied, "I love you just the way you are". Now, I'm pretty sure Billy never intended for his song lyrics to be abused in such a way, seeing as how those words were written about the always perfect Christie Brinkley. That wench probably doesn't even eat buttered popcorn.

As for the Dickman, I really think the man is crazy for putting up with me. Him with his OCD and me with my 'Oh What the Heck'. We both find it hilarious when we come across people who actually think I have my crap together. Because seriously, I haven't had my crap together...in years.

I'm not exactly sure when the bottom of my pathetic box of organizational skills dropped out like an overloaded flimsy paper plate. Although I have always had a penchant for procrastination, it seems my descent into disorganization progressed rapidly in direct correlation to my never-ending trek into the wretched Valley of Menopause. Well, that and the fact that I have pickled my brain with mass consumption of Diet DP.

This lack of having my sh*t together has never really bothered me until lately. Lately, my tiny 4-year old powerhouse of a G-girl has begun to notice "things". And in all her well-meaning diligence, she never hesitates to point them out to me. Or anyone else within earshot.

Last night it was my legs, and the fact that I hadn't shaved them since my cruise in January. I really didn't think anyone would notice the sparse hairs showing below my capris. Silly me. How could I have forgotten Mandie Lee the Nazi Inspector? She not only noticed, she became thoroughly engrossed in watching the very few and fine hairs blowing hither and fro in the wind like brownish stalks of hay.

So, I did what any self-respecting G-Mom would do. I went straight home and shaved. (Out of the mouths of babes and all that crap.) When I put my reading glasses on so I wouldn't mutilate myself with the razor, I was amazed to find a 3/4-inch long hair growing right below my knee. I became fascinated with this long and lonely dark straggle of hair. I took pity upon that hair and decided to keep it for awhile. As a, uh, scientific study...to see how long it will actually grow. The hope here is that it will eventually grow long enough for me to string brightly colored beads on it and let it hang down my leg. Thereby distracting Mandie Lee from the fact that my second toe is freakishly longer than my big toe.

It's not that I'm scared of her (okay, she scares me a little). It's mainly that I want her to be a bit older before she realizes just what a hot mess her MiMi really is.

Now, please excuse me while I go from room to room collecting last year's receipts to begin working on my taxes. I was so hoping the government shutdown would buy me a few more days...

Don't Worry, Be Happy Mama!

My mother's capacity for worry - and for love - has no bounds.

She worries that I don't get enough sleep. She worries that she asks too much of me. She worries that someone will kidnap me (HA!). She worries that I give too much of myself away. She worries that my melanoma will return. She worries when I fly. She worries when I drive. She especially worries whenever I drive on windy days.

Seriously, anytime the wind blows over 40 MPH, I can expect a call from my Mom.

MOM: "Is today a traveling day?"

ME: "Yes, Mom."

MOM: "Are you gonna be driving by the wind farm again?"

ME: "Barely, Mom. The turbines will be way off in the distance."

MOM: "Oh, Robin...please wear a helmet! The wind is horrible and you never know when one of those blades might blow off and fly through the air - right towards your car."

ME: (This is where I'm forced to lie) "...uh, sure Mom, I'll wear a helmet. Don't you worry." (Forgive me Baby Jesus.)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Along with being a worrier, my Mama is also a blurter. Totally filterless. Which makes for plenty of embarrassing - albeit hilarious - moments.

Last week we were sitting together in a doctor's waiting room when I happened to notice an elderly couple coming out of the office. (And by elderly, I mean barely moving.) The shuffling little old woman was wearing a pair of denim overalls with - I swear this is the truth - a tube top underneath. I immediately went into full panic mode. Moving quickly, knowing I had only a few seconds to act, I slammed my hand over Mom's already moving mouth. Not in an abusive-call-adult-protective-services kind of way, but in a proactive-need-to-prevent-speech-but-allow-breathing kind of way. Mom started laughing, but I didn't dare remove my hand until the couple was safely out of hearing range. And even then I gave her a warning before I let her speak:

ME: "Now Mom...please be nice. Remember: What Would Jesus do?"

MOM: "Well, you're one to talk. Just how happy do you think Jesus is when He has to listen to your potty mouth?"

ME: "I'm pretty sure Jesus has better things to do than keep a cursing scorecard with my name on it."

MOM: "Well...I know what Jesus wouldn't do. Jesus would never wear a tube top under his overalls. That is just tacky."

And this is why I love my Mom. Not only does she make me laugh harder than anybody can, but really...who else is gonna pray for my protection from flying turbine blades?

You Had Me At Hello...

March 30, 1984...

Twenty-seven years ago today, I lay shivering on a freezing cold slab covered with a thin scratchy sheet in an over lit operating room at Golden Plains Hospital in Borger. (You can blame your big brother for the insult of having to enter the world in such a stark, sterile setting. Your big-headed big brother, whose cranial circumference required an alternate mode of entry for all who came after him. Namely, you.)

So there I was...lying flat on my back, looking up at the bright lights and listening to the beep-beep-beeping of machines. I remember trying to control my shivering so as not to shake the sheet off my naked bloated body. And I remember trying to act tough, as though the prospect of near-evisceration during unconscious sedation was old routine to me, by now. To say nothing of the fact that God was once again allowing me to accompany Him in one of his finest miracles...the miracle of birth.

Dr. Ingham - sweet Dr. Ingham - had come into my room earlier that morning. He had prayed with Dickie and I, and had given me a little pewter cross. That cross was now clenched tightly in my fist beneath my shivering sheet. Truth be told, assisting in miracles was nothing short of terrifying.

The anesthesiologist must have smelled my fear. He blinked at me over his green mask and teased, "What are we having today - a he or a she?" "It's a he", I said confidently...heretofore void of any scientific proof (excluding peeing on Drain-O, with inconclusive results). "And just what are we gonna call this little boy?" asked the doctor. I smiled, and in my best Moses-Coming-Down-Off-The-Mountain voice replied, “Jacob. His name will be Jacob.”

The doctor's kind eyes crinkled above his mask in obvious approval. And as the numbing anesthesia slowly seeped into my veins, I fell deeply asleep to the sounds of an operating room choir spontaneously singing, “We are climbing Jacob’s ladder…”



(Okay...so maybe they didn't quite sound like the choir in the video, but you get the picture.)

Hours later, I woke up nauseated and groggy and mumbling for my baby. They wheeled my bed up and down the halls to the nursery and brought you out to meet me. I wasn't at all surprised to learn you were indeed a 'he'. A furiously screaming, red-faced, 7 lb. 14 oz. bundle of wonderfully made Cooper-Haney DNA. They laid you across my chest - your face inches from mine - and I was swamped with the glory of you. I stroked your downy soft head and told you over and over how much I loved you, how very happy I was to meet you, and shh, shh, baby boy...please don't cry. At the sound of my voice, you immediately stopped crying. And there we lay...nose to nose. Eyes locked in wonder. Souls connecting.

Minutes passed before I heard a nurse say, "Would you just look at that face!" Dickie proudly boasted, "Yeah, he IS a good-looking boy." But the nurse said, "No...I was talking about his Mama. That's nothing but love a'shining on her face."

Love at first sight. Happy Birthday, Baby Boy.

Love Me Like A Rock?

In the wake of the horrible devastation in Japan, it’s not surprising to see people showing more compassion for each other...spending more time and effort focusing on the things that really matter. And isn’t that always the case? Doesn’t it always seem to take a global catastrophe to kick us in our collective butts and make us realize that the only reason we’re here is to love each other, to help each other along? At this moment in time, it doesn’t seem so important that the people of Japan don’t look like us or talk like us, or may not hold the same tenets and beliefs as ourselves. What matters is that their suffering has become our suffering; their loss has become our loss. Such horrific tragedies always make the world seem smaller by leveling the playing field of humanity in the name of compassion.

Once again, we find ourselves shocked at the reminder of how out of control we truly are. That even with the most brilliant minds utilizing the finest materials to create the most scientific structural designs - all it takes is one big shake of planet Earth to send our best laid plans splintering to and fro like so many tinker toys. God must surely laugh at our feeble attempts to ‘Save the Planet’. It is laughable, when much of the time we’re only making a half-assed effort to save ourselves. The truth of the matter is that this Big Blue Ball is gonna keep right on spinning long after we’re gone. This planet is in much better shape than its people. Like the irreverent comedian George Carlin said…we are but a “surface nuisance” and one day “the planet'll shake us off like a bad case of fleas”. Seriously, can you blame her?

Yesterday, my G-Boy Matthew excitedly introduced me to his new pet rock, Nick (not a bad looking feller, as pet rocks go). It was clear to see that my Mattman and his pet rock had forged a strong bond in their short time together. Nick was obviously being well taken care of in his little butter bowl of a home that was beautifully decorated with pink and red hearts (courtesy of big sister Mandie). Nick even had a leash so he wouldn’t wander off, or go sailing across the room as Mattman spun him round and round on the table. I watched as he spent well over an hour in total absorption with his pet rock. He would let Nick out of his little house to tinkle…put him down for a nap…and spent long moments intently teaching him all the important things that a pet rock would need to know. When I reached over to give Nick a friendly pat, Mattman pushed my hand away while patiently explaining to me that his rock didn’t want to be patted, he wanted to be left alone.

It warmed my heart to see my 3 year old grandson demonstrate such loving care to an ordinary chunk of rock with a silly drawn-on face. Even so, it didn’t surprise me when I asked about Nick today and Matthew nonchalantly shrugged his little shoulders. He told me that he had no idea where Nick was, then ran off to play with his rubber snake. Not that I was worried about Nick. I’m pretty certain he can take care of himself and reintegrate into the 4.5 billion year old planet from whence he came.

We are the ones that need taken care of. We are the ones that need to love each other enough, to value each other, to carry one another’s burdens. Because even if this world keeps on spinning and the sun keeps shining and the wind keeps on blowing...does it really matter if we don't have love?

Colour My World

There never was (nor ever will be) sweeter music for falling in love than the music of the 70’s. And fall in love I did…to the background of songs such as: You are the Sunshine of My Life (Stevie Wonder), Let’s Stay Together (Al Green), and everybody’s favorite: Colour My World (Chicago). Those three were mine and the Dickman’s favorite songs…the songs that underscored the friendship and love between high school sweethearts.

Even though I've never been given a satisfactory explanation as to why there is an extra ‘u’ in the title…the song that meant the most to Dickie Gene and Robin Lee was Colour My World. In truth, I really couldn’t say if it was the beautiful melody or the oh-so-sappy words...but it became Our Song. The One That Curled My Toes.

Our Song became even more special at our wedding in 1977. Standing at the front of the church with my soon-to-be husband, I realized something was amiss…my wedding was somehow going awry. When I tried to determine the cause, I wasn’t surprised to see the culprit was my soon-to-be-brother-in-law Jackie. I watched as he broke rank as Best Man and made his way to stand directly in front of us with his guitar. But it wasn’t until I heard the first strum of that major 7th chord that I realized the Haney Boys were surprising me at my very own wedding with my very favorite song. As Jackie gifted us with his beautiful angel voice, there wasn’t a dry eye in the chapel. (Although the snazzy baby blue tuxes might have caused a few of those tears.)

Throughout the years the Dickman and I have remained stupid about Our Song. Whenever one of us catches it on the radio, we will fall all over ourselves trying to call the other in hopes of relaying the last few notes over the phone. Unless, of course, the Dickman is in the Doghouse. Then I can't turn the darn radio off fast enough.

Music has always been a big part of my life, having been born into a family of singers then marrying into a family of musicians. These past few weeks have been an especially musical time in da hood. In between two Geezers Gone Wild dances, Jackie also played a solo gig at Marty’s Restaurant. We went to hear him a few nights ago, along with his wife Lili, my oldest son and daughter-in-law and their three babies: Mandie Lee, Matthew Cooper and Michael Thomas (the only fruit of my loins - so to speak - that has not been spoiled).

So there we all were, having a wonderful time listening to ‘Uncle Jackie’ while enjoying our meal...when I heard Jack say, “I'd like to dedicate this next song to my brother and sister-in-law, a song that I had the honor of singing at their wedding 33 years ago.” And once again, with the first sound of that major 7th chord, I was swamped. I looked across at my gray-haired husband holding our fuzzy-headed grandbaby and my heart grew five sizes too big as two sets of identical blue eyes smiled back at me. I stood up as Dickie and baby Michael came around the table to hug me,and somehow we all started dancing...


As time goes on, I realize just what you mean to me. And now, now that you're near...promise your love that I've waited to share, and dreams of our moments together. Colour my world with hopes of loving you.

It was a moment. A moment of remembering that soggy bride in the pretty white dress standing at the altar with her heart chock full of ‘hopes of love’ for herself and her handsome groom. And a moment of realizing that young bride could never have imagined all the bright and beautiful ways God would colour her world with the fulfillment of all those hopes.