When their oldest child, Savannah, was born, Shonda was employed as an assistant manager at Walgreen’s pharmacy. When she came off of maternity leave and went back to work, she just couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her baby girl with some stranger. It wasn’t a so much a case of separation anxiety, as it was that she just didn’t want to work at a job where the hours weren’t consistent. (okay, okay, maybe it was a mild case of anxiety). Along with her initial reservations about going back to work, Shonda and Chris had decided to find an at-home daycare provider so that Savannah could spend her days in a familiar setting instead of the typical, and unfriendly, confines of a “center” type facility.
What they settled on, was a younger woman, not much older than they were, who also had children of her own. In retrospect, their internal warning systems should have gone off when they found out that this would be her very first “student”. But she seemed nice and trustworthy and so they decided to give her a shot. Little did they know that Savannah would cry so much during the day that this woman made quite a deal about it on the first day when they came to pick her up. As Chris pulled up in the driveway, the woman practically ran out the door with the baby already in the pumpkin seat, ready to go. Chris assured her that when Savannah had grown accustomed to her that she would settle down. She made some wisecrack about Savannah “driving her to drink” but Chris thought nothing of it. In fact, the only thing he considered on the way home, was that he thought it strange that she made such a big deal about a baby crying. She was a home daycare provider, right?
Without dwelling on it too much, aside from telling Shonda when he got home, Chris took Savannah back the next morning and proceeded to work. Later on that day, Shonda called him and said that the lady was complaining, again, about Savannah’s crying and that she wasn’t sure if she could continue. Chris finished his day at the office and made the trek through rush hour traffic. This was another sore spot for this woman; even though Chris and Shonda both explained to her that he would not be able to be there any sooner than about 5:45 or 6:00 pm to pick her up, she made a huge ordeal when he got stuck in traffic the first day. Chris sighed because he was running late again. He spent the majority of his drive time by mentally preparing himself for another scolding from someone he barely knew.
On that second day, when Chris pulled up in the driveway, he was not met by the woman. He actually had a chance to walk up to the door and knock. When she opened the door, Chris was already prepared for the “you’re late” talk, but he was completely unprepared for what he saw. As the door opened, he saw that Savannah was already in her pumpkin seat. As the woman was bitching again about him being late and about how much the baby cried, he barely noticed a man sitting in the woman’s kitchen. As he turned his attention back toward the woman, something that he had just noticed began to nag at him. He looked back into the kitchen, this time being more observant. He noticed that the trash can was one of those that had the swivel type of lid. He also noticed that there were several beer cans that were keeping it from shutting all the way. He also noticed that there were four or five beer cans on the kitchen table, and that the man he presumed to be “husband” or “boyfriend” was busy finishing one off.
As he stood there, not really paying attention to the buzzing that was coming out of the woman’s mouth, he could feel the blood start rushing to his cheeks. All of a sudden, the woman’s off handed remark about “driving one to drink” became perfectly clear. He surmised that the woman had literally thought that getting drunk on beer would somehow make the day go by a little easier. To avoid a physical confrontation and a possible trip to the local precinct, Chris kept his mouth shut took out his check book. He wrote it out for the amount that they owed her, and then told her they wouldn’t be coming back. Then he picked up his baby girl and took her home.
Shonda was so enraged when she got home later that evening and Chris had informed her of what had happened that she started to pick up the phone give that chick a piece of her mind. He convinced her to just let it go and that they needed to figure out what they were going to do next. What Chris had expected her to say was “Honey, I’ll take a few days off from work and try to find a more qualified individual to care for our child during the day.” Instead, what she said was “Honey, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”
“Thinking about what?” Chris asked.
She said, “Listen, before you freak out, I want you to know that I was researching this the entire time I was on maternity leave…”
“Researching what?” he asked as he was starting to get a little worried (and somewhat annoyed) that she was being very vague.
“…and I think that I can really do it and make something out of it.”
“Something out of what!” he said. At this point his irritation was starting to show.
“And, if we gave that stupid chick a chance, then think of how many people will come to us, because I know I can do a better job.” She concluded this last statement and just stood there looking at him.
“For the love of God! What are you talking about?” He was upset by now.
He was getting a little more than nervous about this exchange and he had good reason. Shonda had a slightly annoying habit of starting off conversations with statements like “Don’t be mad but…” or “Listen, I know you told me not to but…” And he never knew what earth shattering news was about to be delivered or what miniscule event had happened to warrant this type of opening. Usually, these beginning salvos were followed with “I flex paid a new digital camera from HSN and it’s only going to cost us fifty five dollars a month for the next twelve months.” Or “I know you told me to wait but I went ahead and rearranged the entire living room while you were gone.”
This time, it was a little more important. When she finally decided that she had tortured him enough, she went into detail about a plan she had recently devised. She explained to him that when she was searching for someone to take care of Savannah, she thought she had lucked out when they found this lady. Most of the in-home daycares that she had spoken to charged upwards of one hundred seventy five dollars a week to care for an infant. The lady she had found only charged seventy five dollars a week. At the time Shonda didn’t mind that this would be her first student, because she thought she was making out quite well at only three hundred a month for child care.
When she started to crunch some numbers, she realized that she could almost match her salary at the pharmacy if she were able to watch four kids at one hundred fifty a week. She also figured that by charging less than the average of what most other people were charging, she would be able to get four kids in no time.
“Not only that,” she continued, “we won’t have to spend money on child care ourselves. That alone is worth about eight grand a year right there. So when you really think about it, I’d be making the equivalent of almost forty thousand a year!” Shonda had started to get excited all over again about her idea. “And, as if that weren’t enough, I would be able to take care of Savannah myself, and not have to worry about sending her off to someone like that douche bag trailer whore.”
Chris just stood there staring at her with an open mouth. Equally stunned by how much research she had already put into this idea before springing it on him, as he was by the shock of hearing the words “douche bag trailer whore” come out of his lovely bride’s mouth.
“How are we supposed to get by on just my salary until you find four kids?” It was the only thing that he could think of to say. Inside, he was actually getting excited himself. What a completely beautiful and extremely intelligent creature he had had the luck of finding and getting her to say “I do”.
“It’s funny you should ask that” Shonda replied. “I’ve already put an ad in the local paper and a few people have already responded to it.”
“Besides,” she continued “if it doesn’t work out, I can always get my job back at Walgreen’s.” “In fact, I may even just tell them I need a few more weeks of time before I come back to work for good.”
Chris considered it for a moment. This would be the first most major decision that they would make. He knew she was probably right about Walgreen’s taking her back, but it was still a very scary proposition to think about her quitting. She made more money than he did and they already had trouble making ends meet as it was. But aside from the uncertainty of how long it would take before they found families to come to the daycare, he really couldn’t think of any reason not to at least give it a try. So against his better judgment, they dove in feet first.
That was several years, couple dozen daycare kids, two more of their own children, and three houses ago.
Showing posts with label Well Water. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Well Water. Show all posts
Monday, June 8, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Well Water...Part Three
Chapter 2
Chris and Nicholas walked through the foyer of their modest two story home and passed by the downstairs bathroom. The door was closed and Chris could hear the exhaust fan running and he knew that Shonda was inside putting on her makeup, which was the final step of her morning ritual. They went through the kitchen, which opened up into the family room and Chris sat Bit down in front of the TV. Before he had even turned it on, Bit was asking for “Sponge Bob”. Only it sounded more like “punbob?” He settled for Fairly Odd Parents because it was only a little after seven a.m. and SpongeBob SquarePants didn’t come on until eight o’clock. Once he saw that he was sufficiently entertained, at least for the moment, Chris started for the kitchen to start the morning pot of coffee.
Over the years, Chris and Shonda had developed a very specific recipe for coffee. They only used whole beans that they ground themselves and they had a tightly controlled “scoop of beans/cups of water” ratio that was strictly adhered to. Their recipe varied when the amount of people drinking coffee changed, and who those people were. For example, if company was visiting and everyone was drinking java, then it was grind three scoops of whole beans and then fill the entire carafe to the top. If it was just Chris and Shonda, then it was two scoops of beans and fill the coffee maker up so that the water line was half way between the “6” and the “7” cup line. If Chris was just making coffee for Shonda, then he used one scoop and the water gets filled to the “4”.
He knew they would probably be considered anal for being so picky about coffee. But the one thing that Shonda enjoyed the most on a daily basis was her morning cup. It was her moment before the madness of the day ensued. The calm before the storm, so to speak. Those few moments of peace before the work day began. And what Shonda had chosen to do as a profession, which was born out of anxiety more so than necessity, was to run an in-home child daycare.
In all the time that she had been doing this, Chris could never understand exactly where she got the energy to cope with toddlers and babies all day long. He was astounded by the fact that she could take care of so many children all day, every day, including their own. He would challenge anyone who considered what Shonda did as “babysitting” to actually put on her shoes for one day and see if it was their cup of tea or not. Not only did she care for various toddlers and infants: morning and afternoon snack, lunch, naps, potty breaks, diaper changes etc., but she also had an actual curriculum that she followed. They partook in various activities that included arts and crafts as well as learning letters and numbers.
On the rare occasion that Chris took a day off while the day care was open, he was always surprised at how hectic and non-stop the daily pace was for her. In fact, the only break during the entire day came during nap time for the children. But did she sit back and enjoy the quiet time by dozing on the couch? No. Did she enjoy and uninterrupted viewing of that day’s episode of All My Children or the previous day’s Young and the Restless? No. Usually, she did housework of some sort. And on occasion, Chris had come home from work and an entire room had been edged and painted. Or the front flower garden had been planted and mulched. It was for these reasons that he literally would get offend when people called her a baby sitter. What she did was raise people’s children for them while they were busy making a living. “Babysitter” is a term for teenage girls who are watching your kids for a few hours while you go grab dinner and catch a flick.
And the daycare was quite lucrative. So lucrative in fact, that when things were going well she could almost triple what Chris made in a year. And this never bothered him in the least because he knew that she earned every penny of it. He thanked God on a consistent basis that she found something that she enjoyed to do and for the crazy circumstances that led her to choosing this as a career.
Chris and Nicholas walked through the foyer of their modest two story home and passed by the downstairs bathroom. The door was closed and Chris could hear the exhaust fan running and he knew that Shonda was inside putting on her makeup, which was the final step of her morning ritual. They went through the kitchen, which opened up into the family room and Chris sat Bit down in front of the TV. Before he had even turned it on, Bit was asking for “Sponge Bob”. Only it sounded more like “punbob?” He settled for Fairly Odd Parents because it was only a little after seven a.m. and SpongeBob SquarePants didn’t come on until eight o’clock. Once he saw that he was sufficiently entertained, at least for the moment, Chris started for the kitchen to start the morning pot of coffee.
Over the years, Chris and Shonda had developed a very specific recipe for coffee. They only used whole beans that they ground themselves and they had a tightly controlled “scoop of beans/cups of water” ratio that was strictly adhered to. Their recipe varied when the amount of people drinking coffee changed, and who those people were. For example, if company was visiting and everyone was drinking java, then it was grind three scoops of whole beans and then fill the entire carafe to the top. If it was just Chris and Shonda, then it was two scoops of beans and fill the coffee maker up so that the water line was half way between the “6” and the “7” cup line. If Chris was just making coffee for Shonda, then he used one scoop and the water gets filled to the “4”.
He knew they would probably be considered anal for being so picky about coffee. But the one thing that Shonda enjoyed the most on a daily basis was her morning cup. It was her moment before the madness of the day ensued. The calm before the storm, so to speak. Those few moments of peace before the work day began. And what Shonda had chosen to do as a profession, which was born out of anxiety more so than necessity, was to run an in-home child daycare.
In all the time that she had been doing this, Chris could never understand exactly where she got the energy to cope with toddlers and babies all day long. He was astounded by the fact that she could take care of so many children all day, every day, including their own. He would challenge anyone who considered what Shonda did as “babysitting” to actually put on her shoes for one day and see if it was their cup of tea or not. Not only did she care for various toddlers and infants: morning and afternoon snack, lunch, naps, potty breaks, diaper changes etc., but she also had an actual curriculum that she followed. They partook in various activities that included arts and crafts as well as learning letters and numbers.
On the rare occasion that Chris took a day off while the day care was open, he was always surprised at how hectic and non-stop the daily pace was for her. In fact, the only break during the entire day came during nap time for the children. But did she sit back and enjoy the quiet time by dozing on the couch? No. Did she enjoy and uninterrupted viewing of that day’s episode of All My Children or the previous day’s Young and the Restless? No. Usually, she did housework of some sort. And on occasion, Chris had come home from work and an entire room had been edged and painted. Or the front flower garden had been planted and mulched. It was for these reasons that he literally would get offend when people called her a baby sitter. What she did was raise people’s children for them while they were busy making a living. “Babysitter” is a term for teenage girls who are watching your kids for a few hours while you go grab dinner and catch a flick.
And the daycare was quite lucrative. So lucrative in fact, that when things were going well she could almost triple what Chris made in a year. And this never bothered him in the least because he knew that she earned every penny of it. He thanked God on a consistent basis that she found something that she enjoyed to do and for the crazy circumstances that led her to choosing this as a career.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Well Water...Part Two
When he was finished and suitably clothed, he walked around to Shonda’s side of the bed and turned off the radio, which was still softly mumbling from when the alarm had gone off. He walked towards the bedroom door and towards the downstairs portion of the morning ritual. Chris headed downstairs and As he walked down the carpeted hallway of the second floor of the house, he peeked into the first door on the right. Savannah, as usual, was still sound asleep. Chris could hardly make out that anyone was in the bed at all because she had piled up a couple of comforters and assorted pillows and stuffed animals, so that all he could see was a small tuft of very blond hair. He blew her a kiss and started for the stairs.
As he approached the stairs he looked passed the half open door into his oldest son Noah’s bedroom. The boy, too, was still asleep. Unlike his older sister, Noah had thrown all of his covers off during the night and was now sleeping sideways on his bed in the fetal position. Both of his hands were clasped tightly between his legs and his head was hanging off the edge of the bed. Chris shut the door completely and decided to be preemptive and get their youngest child, Nicholas, out of bed before he started his own version of the morning ritual.
They had never discovered the exact time when Nicholas usually began his day. They weren’t sure if he worked his way up to the “grand finale” of his ritual or if he popped straight out of bed with guns blazing. All they knew was that what their youngest child did on a daily basis was quite possibly the most annoying thing that any living person on the entire planet could ever do while others were trying to sleep.
Nicholas, or “Bit” as his father called him (“Bit” being short for “little bit”), was 3 years old. He was a firecracker of a little boy with pale blonde hair and deep blue eyes. He had a very intense attitude towards life, as most three year olds do, and was just beginning to speak in full sentences. About a year earlier, Bit had started to wake up well before the rest of the household by about half an hour or so. Chris surmised that in those early days he simply woke up and then sat in his bed until someone came into to get him. Once Nicholas got tired of waiting in his bed, he began to get out of bed and wait by his door. When the sheer boredom began to get the better of him, he eventually switched to crying until his door opened. The problem with this was that no one could hear him crying while they were sound asleep. Noah and Savannah could tune out an artillery barrage while sleeping, and mommy and daddy’s room was just too far away for them to hear him. He would continue to cry until someone, anyone, noticed him and released him from his morning prison. Usually, it was when Chris or Shonda were on their way downstairs that they would hear the crying and see a tiny little arm sticking all the way out from underneath the bedroom door.
So when all of these actions did not produce the desired effect that Bit was looking for, he finally stumbled upon one that did. Once Bit realized that crying was an effort in futility, he switched to a more direct approach. When he woke up, he would get out of bed and lay on the floor directly by his door. While on this back he would lift his feet up and place them on the door. Then he would begin to kick.
It would be very slow at first. A rhythmic “thump…thump…thump” that you could even consider hypnotic under different circumstances. That hypnotic thump would then turn into a soft drumming sound that you couldn’t quite make out, especially if you were sound asleep. As he sped his feet up, you couldn’t quite make out what the sound was, you just know that something wasn’t quite right with the morning time serenity.
Then, as if he was the entire timpani section of the St. Louis Symphony being lead by a world class director, there would come a crescendo of sound…accompanied by a powerful, escalating vibration that you could feel throughout the house. Bit could pound his feet on his door so quickly that the resulting tremor literally shook the entire second floor of their two-story home. And then to accentuate this musical interlude of domestic percussion, he would highlight his performance with a two-footed door pound that could actually hurt your ears if you were too close. A few times, when Chris and Shonda had been downstairs while Bit was waking up from a nap, they could actually see the water in their drinking glass vibrate and picture frames shift on their nails.
But as annoying as this single act was, Chris had always had to give props to his baby boy because he always got the desired result from this action. He had tried to ignore it the first few times thinking that Bit would get tired of that too. But eventually Chris realized he just needed to suck it up and go get the kid, otherwise the entire house would be awake and then he’d be the bad guy for letting it happen.
So Chris, hoping to avoid an encore performance of bedroom door percussion, opened up Bit’s door and stepped inside. His room was still dark with only a thin beam of sunlight coming through a crack in his very dark and heavy curtains. Chris walked over and gently whispered “Good morning little man”. Bit immediately woke up and then jumped into his daddy’s arms. Chris scooped him up and they both went downstairs together. As they passed the other kids’ rooms, Nicholas raised one finger to his lips and said “shhh” with a very serious look on his face. His father laughed and they both went down the steps.
As he approached the stairs he looked passed the half open door into his oldest son Noah’s bedroom. The boy, too, was still asleep. Unlike his older sister, Noah had thrown all of his covers off during the night and was now sleeping sideways on his bed in the fetal position. Both of his hands were clasped tightly between his legs and his head was hanging off the edge of the bed. Chris shut the door completely and decided to be preemptive and get their youngest child, Nicholas, out of bed before he started his own version of the morning ritual.
They had never discovered the exact time when Nicholas usually began his day. They weren’t sure if he worked his way up to the “grand finale” of his ritual or if he popped straight out of bed with guns blazing. All they knew was that what their youngest child did on a daily basis was quite possibly the most annoying thing that any living person on the entire planet could ever do while others were trying to sleep.
Nicholas, or “Bit” as his father called him (“Bit” being short for “little bit”), was 3 years old. He was a firecracker of a little boy with pale blonde hair and deep blue eyes. He had a very intense attitude towards life, as most three year olds do, and was just beginning to speak in full sentences. About a year earlier, Bit had started to wake up well before the rest of the household by about half an hour or so. Chris surmised that in those early days he simply woke up and then sat in his bed until someone came into to get him. Once Nicholas got tired of waiting in his bed, he began to get out of bed and wait by his door. When the sheer boredom began to get the better of him, he eventually switched to crying until his door opened. The problem with this was that no one could hear him crying while they were sound asleep. Noah and Savannah could tune out an artillery barrage while sleeping, and mommy and daddy’s room was just too far away for them to hear him. He would continue to cry until someone, anyone, noticed him and released him from his morning prison. Usually, it was when Chris or Shonda were on their way downstairs that they would hear the crying and see a tiny little arm sticking all the way out from underneath the bedroom door.
So when all of these actions did not produce the desired effect that Bit was looking for, he finally stumbled upon one that did. Once Bit realized that crying was an effort in futility, he switched to a more direct approach. When he woke up, he would get out of bed and lay on the floor directly by his door. While on this back he would lift his feet up and place them on the door. Then he would begin to kick.
It would be very slow at first. A rhythmic “thump…thump…thump” that you could even consider hypnotic under different circumstances. That hypnotic thump would then turn into a soft drumming sound that you couldn’t quite make out, especially if you were sound asleep. As he sped his feet up, you couldn’t quite make out what the sound was, you just know that something wasn’t quite right with the morning time serenity.
Then, as if he was the entire timpani section of the St. Louis Symphony being lead by a world class director, there would come a crescendo of sound…accompanied by a powerful, escalating vibration that you could feel throughout the house. Bit could pound his feet on his door so quickly that the resulting tremor literally shook the entire second floor of their two-story home. And then to accentuate this musical interlude of domestic percussion, he would highlight his performance with a two-footed door pound that could actually hurt your ears if you were too close. A few times, when Chris and Shonda had been downstairs while Bit was waking up from a nap, they could actually see the water in their drinking glass vibrate and picture frames shift on their nails.
But as annoying as this single act was, Chris had always had to give props to his baby boy because he always got the desired result from this action. He had tried to ignore it the first few times thinking that Bit would get tired of that too. But eventually Chris realized he just needed to suck it up and go get the kid, otherwise the entire house would be awake and then he’d be the bad guy for letting it happen.
So Chris, hoping to avoid an encore performance of bedroom door percussion, opened up Bit’s door and stepped inside. His room was still dark with only a thin beam of sunlight coming through a crack in his very dark and heavy curtains. Chris walked over and gently whispered “Good morning little man”. Bit immediately woke up and then jumped into his daddy’s arms. Chris scooped him up and they both went downstairs together. As they passed the other kids’ rooms, Nicholas raised one finger to his lips and said “shhh” with a very serious look on his face. His father laughed and they both went down the steps.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Well Water...Part One
It was a Tuesday morning, just like any other Tuesday morning at the Davisson household. In the master bedroom, darkened only by the thick drawn drapes covering the windows, an alarm signaled the start of the day. The clock, which was set to go off at 6:20 am, turned on and a soft muffle of country music caused the occupants of the room to stir. Shonda, reached over and hit the snooze button, just like every other Tuesday morning. In reality, it was only 6:10 am. Shonda was one of those people who liked to set the bedroom clock ahead about ten minutes. Her husband, Chris, never really understood why but guessed it had to do with some sort of psychological effect.
They both lay snoozing for another half hour. Then Shonda, who was usually the first to rise, willed herself awake and got out of bed. Chris, who usually lay in bed for another 15 minutes while Shonda got ready, could hear the shuffle of her feet on the hardwood floor as she made her way across their bedroom and into the walk-in closet. After choosing her wardrobe for the day, a pair of khaki Capri pants and a light colored tee shirt and a pair of pink flip-flops, she quickly got dressed and went into the bathroom to finish getting ready.
From his cocoon of sheets, pillows and comforter, Chris could hear her in the bathroom. The sound of running water indicated that she was either brushing her teeth, or washing her face….typical morning ritual stuff. He continued to lay with his eyes closed, not really sleeping but not fully awake yet, desperately trying to catch those last few moments of peace and quiet before having to face the day. When he heard Shonda pull the bedroom door closed, he sighed and hopped out of bed to begin his own version of the morning ritual.
Chris, at the ripe old age of 36, was a man of a little less than medium height and a little bit more than average weight. His father was well over six feet, but his mother and her entire family only topped out at five feet. So he made himself feel better about his lack of stature by blaming it on them. The latter, his packing on of pounds over the years, stemmed from the fact that he imbibed his fair share of Budweiser product and didn’t really count calories on a daily basis the way he probably should and didn’t have the energy to exercise.
As he reached the bathroom, he flicked on the light and stood peering with one eye closed at his blurry reflection in the mirror. For reasons he never really understood, every morning his eyes were so heavy with the sleep from the night before, he could never fully open them until he had put in his contacts.
He turned around and relieved himself at the commode and flushed. Step one of the morning ritual was complete.
He turned back around, washed his hands and dried both of his middle fingers on a nearby towel. Being very careful not to touch his index fingers to the cloth and thereby contaminate his fingers with bits of dust and towel particles that would inevitably end up on his contacts. He opened his contact case, right side first, and plopped his finger into the reservoir. As he pulled his finger out, he placed it about two inches from his eyeball so that he could see if his fishing expedition was successful. It was, and he proceeded to insert his “catch” into his eye. The shock of the cold contact solution was rather refreshing and he was able to open his eye just a little bit more. He repeated the process for his left eye and stood peering at his much clearer reflection in the mirror. Step two of the morning ritual was complete.
He rubbed his hands quickly through his short cropped brown hair, which was only lightly spattered with gray at the temples. Years earlier, when the first few gray hairs had sprouted out of his head, Shonda used to amuse herself by plucking them out with tweezers. Only she wasn’t very good at it and usually ended up taking quite a few non-gray hairs as well. Chris was glad that she had discontinued this pastime. Satisfied with his hair, he started for the closet.
He sighed deeply and started steps three and four of his morning ritual. This involved brushing his teeth while at the same time putting on deodorant. It was a complicated procedure that involved a one armed application technique. Sometimes, although he would never admit it publicly, when step one involved “sitting down” he could combine steps 1, 3 and 4. And while that may sound gross, he was always extremely careful to avoid any chances for “cross contamination”. And, it was a time saver.
With steps 3 and 4 out of the way, it was time for a quick “head under the sink” maneuver that had a two-fold purpose: to shock his still groggy head with some cold water, therefore waking him up completely and allowing his hair to be styled for the day. For Chris, whose hair was only about half an inch long at the most, “styling” consisted mainly of a small amount of a hair product quickly run through his hair and then spiking his bangs. It wasn’t a salon quality styling, but it got the job done. With step five of the morning ritual completed, it was time for wardrobe.
Chris was almost ashamed to admit it, considering he was in his mid thirties, a husband and a father of three, but he still lived like he was in college with regards to the clothing he wore and how he treated it. If his work clothes weren’t visibly dirty and they passed a smell test, then he was going to wear them. Granted, Shonda, his beautiful bride of over eight years, did all of the family laundry on a weekly if not daily basis. But he felt as if he was lessening her load by doing this. He was sure that by recycling his clothing until the last possible day, that he was saving her huge amounts of time that was better spent on other issues. Plus, he had an off the wall theory that your clothes would last longer if you didn’t wash them all the time. And, since Chris hated shopping for clothes, this little quirk of his was a “win win” situation for everyone. However, before you judge him as some fat, dirty smelly guy; please know that he has never applied this theory to underwear, because that would just be gross. Even Chris realized that applying the smell test to one’s own drawers was probably not going to be a pleasant experience.
He made his way into the walk-in and surveyed his side of the closet. He wore his clothes on a rotational basis. That meant that he had about three pairs of dress pants and a finite number of dress shirts and ties. His pants were all colors that you could wear with either a blue or white dress shirt. And his ties were all colors that would match any of his shirt/pant combinations. For example, he could wear his dark green pants with his white shirt and maroon tie. And then turn around two days later and wear the same shirt and tie combo with his khaki or brown pants. By mixing and matching these various combinations, he could get the equivalent of five or six business days before he really needed the wife to do some of his laundry.
While Chris’ place of employment requires a business dress code (shirt and tie) on a Monday through Thursday basis, during the summer months it was business casual five days a week. What this meant for him, was that instead of having to wear a tie that started to choke the life out of him by 5 o’clock, he was free to wear any of the several colored polo type shirts he’d collected over the years. He loved business casual summertime, because that meant that his wardrobe choices increased exponentially and his rotation lasted for about ten business days before laundry was a necessity. He could literally mix and match and not have to wear the same thing twice within a five day period.
Today he decided on fresh clothing: khaki pants and a salmon colored shirt that he looked quite good in when he was tan, and he had the picture to prove it.
He had purchased the shirt a year earlier in preparation for their first real vacation since their honeymoon. Chris and Shonda had booked a cruise on the Caribbean and he knew that he would need some decent summer threads to lounge around in. He had selected this shirt on the next to last day of their trip, which was also about the time that the initial third degree tropical sunburn he got from the first day had worn off. For some idiotic reason he felt the need for a good “base” coat before applying the SPF 50 and he paid for it for the next three days. However, after the redness (and the pain) had worn off, his skin was about as tan as it had ever been and it offset the pink color of the shirt quite nicely. During that leg of their trip they had just left a port of call and were sailing back to the starting point of their ocean voyage. They had just passed through a late afternoon/early evening thunderstorm which had left the sky smattered with various clouds of all shapes and sizes. They were still about an hour from their pre-determined dinner reservation and we were wasting time on the Promenade deck waiting for the sun to set. Chris wasn’t a very poetic individual, but even he had to admit that watching the sun set in the middle of the ocean in this particular setting was quite a spectacular sight to behold. He and Shonda stood staring out to sea, watching the sun’s last rays of the day poke through the assortment of clouds left behind by the storm. With great anticipation, they watched and waited as the blazing orange globe sunk further and further down into the waiting sea. Chris found himself watching so intently that he half expected to hear a loud “hiss” when it finally did touch the blue waters of the Caribbean.
They were so caught up in the moment of it all, that Shonda asked a fellow passenger to take their picture as the last few bits of the sun sank into its nightly resting place. The resulting photo was quite nice and both subjects looked extremely “vacationy” and happy. Shonda, who always took a great picture, was stunning in her blue satin dress. Of course, if you asked Chris, Shonda always looked stunning. That stemmed from the fact that she had a natural beauty and didn’t really require much of the maintenance that some women do.
Shonda had long auburn brown hair that fell passed her shoulders. She had beautiful brown doe-like eyes, was tall and slender and there was a “girl next door” quality to her that made more than a few members of the opposite sex turn their heads to look. On this day, she had her hair pulled back in a pony tail with a few locks falling about her face. She was also tanned and looked great, especially against the back drop of a blazing sunset.
Chris, on the other hand, rarely took a good photo. While he still considered himself to be a least somewhat handsome, in most of the photos he was in, he felt as if he looked like a fat pasty white boy. So because the setting and subjects were just right in this particular shot, it turned out to be a nice little vacation memory. So nice, in fact, that when they returned home from their trip Shonda had the print enlarged and framed. It was now hanging in their living room right next to their wedding day photo.
He reached up and grabbed hold of the shirt by one of the sleeves and gave it a pull. As it came free, the hanger which had held it popped up into the air and for a split second held an Olympic gymnast type of pose. Like that moment on the parallel bar right before the athlete goes from a hand stand into some acrobatic flipping, turning, dismount. To Chris’ dismay the hanger just fell back down and rocked back and forth a few times before finally stopping.
With shirt in hand, he grabbed his khaki Dockers from the hook on the back of the closet door, bent down to the shoe rack and picked up his brown shoes and snatched his belt off the shelf. With his arms full of clothing, he walked out and made his way back out into the bedroom, pausing just long enough to use his elbow to turn off the closet light. He shuffled back across the floor to the bed and flopped back in, clothes and all. For a split second, as he lay in bed and watching the blades of the overhead ceiling fan go round and round, he considered taking a vacation day. He peered out of the window which was directly behind where his head usually rested on his side of the bed. It appeared as if it was going to be a very nice day. He decided against calling in because he only had five vacation days left, and then slowly sat up and got dressed.
They both lay snoozing for another half hour. Then Shonda, who was usually the first to rise, willed herself awake and got out of bed. Chris, who usually lay in bed for another 15 minutes while Shonda got ready, could hear the shuffle of her feet on the hardwood floor as she made her way across their bedroom and into the walk-in closet. After choosing her wardrobe for the day, a pair of khaki Capri pants and a light colored tee shirt and a pair of pink flip-flops, she quickly got dressed and went into the bathroom to finish getting ready.
From his cocoon of sheets, pillows and comforter, Chris could hear her in the bathroom. The sound of running water indicated that she was either brushing her teeth, or washing her face….typical morning ritual stuff. He continued to lay with his eyes closed, not really sleeping but not fully awake yet, desperately trying to catch those last few moments of peace and quiet before having to face the day. When he heard Shonda pull the bedroom door closed, he sighed and hopped out of bed to begin his own version of the morning ritual.
Chris, at the ripe old age of 36, was a man of a little less than medium height and a little bit more than average weight. His father was well over six feet, but his mother and her entire family only topped out at five feet. So he made himself feel better about his lack of stature by blaming it on them. The latter, his packing on of pounds over the years, stemmed from the fact that he imbibed his fair share of Budweiser product and didn’t really count calories on a daily basis the way he probably should and didn’t have the energy to exercise.
As he reached the bathroom, he flicked on the light and stood peering with one eye closed at his blurry reflection in the mirror. For reasons he never really understood, every morning his eyes were so heavy with the sleep from the night before, he could never fully open them until he had put in his contacts.
He turned around and relieved himself at the commode and flushed. Step one of the morning ritual was complete.
He turned back around, washed his hands and dried both of his middle fingers on a nearby towel. Being very careful not to touch his index fingers to the cloth and thereby contaminate his fingers with bits of dust and towel particles that would inevitably end up on his contacts. He opened his contact case, right side first, and plopped his finger into the reservoir. As he pulled his finger out, he placed it about two inches from his eyeball so that he could see if his fishing expedition was successful. It was, and he proceeded to insert his “catch” into his eye. The shock of the cold contact solution was rather refreshing and he was able to open his eye just a little bit more. He repeated the process for his left eye and stood peering at his much clearer reflection in the mirror. Step two of the morning ritual was complete.
He rubbed his hands quickly through his short cropped brown hair, which was only lightly spattered with gray at the temples. Years earlier, when the first few gray hairs had sprouted out of his head, Shonda used to amuse herself by plucking them out with tweezers. Only she wasn’t very good at it and usually ended up taking quite a few non-gray hairs as well. Chris was glad that she had discontinued this pastime. Satisfied with his hair, he started for the closet.
He sighed deeply and started steps three and four of his morning ritual. This involved brushing his teeth while at the same time putting on deodorant. It was a complicated procedure that involved a one armed application technique. Sometimes, although he would never admit it publicly, when step one involved “sitting down” he could combine steps 1, 3 and 4. And while that may sound gross, he was always extremely careful to avoid any chances for “cross contamination”. And, it was a time saver.
With steps 3 and 4 out of the way, it was time for a quick “head under the sink” maneuver that had a two-fold purpose: to shock his still groggy head with some cold water, therefore waking him up completely and allowing his hair to be styled for the day. For Chris, whose hair was only about half an inch long at the most, “styling” consisted mainly of a small amount of a hair product quickly run through his hair and then spiking his bangs. It wasn’t a salon quality styling, but it got the job done. With step five of the morning ritual completed, it was time for wardrobe.
Chris was almost ashamed to admit it, considering he was in his mid thirties, a husband and a father of three, but he still lived like he was in college with regards to the clothing he wore and how he treated it. If his work clothes weren’t visibly dirty and they passed a smell test, then he was going to wear them. Granted, Shonda, his beautiful bride of over eight years, did all of the family laundry on a weekly if not daily basis. But he felt as if he was lessening her load by doing this. He was sure that by recycling his clothing until the last possible day, that he was saving her huge amounts of time that was better spent on other issues. Plus, he had an off the wall theory that your clothes would last longer if you didn’t wash them all the time. And, since Chris hated shopping for clothes, this little quirk of his was a “win win” situation for everyone. However, before you judge him as some fat, dirty smelly guy; please know that he has never applied this theory to underwear, because that would just be gross. Even Chris realized that applying the smell test to one’s own drawers was probably not going to be a pleasant experience.
He made his way into the walk-in and surveyed his side of the closet. He wore his clothes on a rotational basis. That meant that he had about three pairs of dress pants and a finite number of dress shirts and ties. His pants were all colors that you could wear with either a blue or white dress shirt. And his ties were all colors that would match any of his shirt/pant combinations. For example, he could wear his dark green pants with his white shirt and maroon tie. And then turn around two days later and wear the same shirt and tie combo with his khaki or brown pants. By mixing and matching these various combinations, he could get the equivalent of five or six business days before he really needed the wife to do some of his laundry.
While Chris’ place of employment requires a business dress code (shirt and tie) on a Monday through Thursday basis, during the summer months it was business casual five days a week. What this meant for him, was that instead of having to wear a tie that started to choke the life out of him by 5 o’clock, he was free to wear any of the several colored polo type shirts he’d collected over the years. He loved business casual summertime, because that meant that his wardrobe choices increased exponentially and his rotation lasted for about ten business days before laundry was a necessity. He could literally mix and match and not have to wear the same thing twice within a five day period.
Today he decided on fresh clothing: khaki pants and a salmon colored shirt that he looked quite good in when he was tan, and he had the picture to prove it.
He had purchased the shirt a year earlier in preparation for their first real vacation since their honeymoon. Chris and Shonda had booked a cruise on the Caribbean and he knew that he would need some decent summer threads to lounge around in. He had selected this shirt on the next to last day of their trip, which was also about the time that the initial third degree tropical sunburn he got from the first day had worn off. For some idiotic reason he felt the need for a good “base” coat before applying the SPF 50 and he paid for it for the next three days. However, after the redness (and the pain) had worn off, his skin was about as tan as it had ever been and it offset the pink color of the shirt quite nicely. During that leg of their trip they had just left a port of call and were sailing back to the starting point of their ocean voyage. They had just passed through a late afternoon/early evening thunderstorm which had left the sky smattered with various clouds of all shapes and sizes. They were still about an hour from their pre-determined dinner reservation and we were wasting time on the Promenade deck waiting for the sun to set. Chris wasn’t a very poetic individual, but even he had to admit that watching the sun set in the middle of the ocean in this particular setting was quite a spectacular sight to behold. He and Shonda stood staring out to sea, watching the sun’s last rays of the day poke through the assortment of clouds left behind by the storm. With great anticipation, they watched and waited as the blazing orange globe sunk further and further down into the waiting sea. Chris found himself watching so intently that he half expected to hear a loud “hiss” when it finally did touch the blue waters of the Caribbean.
They were so caught up in the moment of it all, that Shonda asked a fellow passenger to take their picture as the last few bits of the sun sank into its nightly resting place. The resulting photo was quite nice and both subjects looked extremely “vacationy” and happy. Shonda, who always took a great picture, was stunning in her blue satin dress. Of course, if you asked Chris, Shonda always looked stunning. That stemmed from the fact that she had a natural beauty and didn’t really require much of the maintenance that some women do.
Shonda had long auburn brown hair that fell passed her shoulders. She had beautiful brown doe-like eyes, was tall and slender and there was a “girl next door” quality to her that made more than a few members of the opposite sex turn their heads to look. On this day, she had her hair pulled back in a pony tail with a few locks falling about her face. She was also tanned and looked great, especially against the back drop of a blazing sunset.
Chris, on the other hand, rarely took a good photo. While he still considered himself to be a least somewhat handsome, in most of the photos he was in, he felt as if he looked like a fat pasty white boy. So because the setting and subjects were just right in this particular shot, it turned out to be a nice little vacation memory. So nice, in fact, that when they returned home from their trip Shonda had the print enlarged and framed. It was now hanging in their living room right next to their wedding day photo.
He reached up and grabbed hold of the shirt by one of the sleeves and gave it a pull. As it came free, the hanger which had held it popped up into the air and for a split second held an Olympic gymnast type of pose. Like that moment on the parallel bar right before the athlete goes from a hand stand into some acrobatic flipping, turning, dismount. To Chris’ dismay the hanger just fell back down and rocked back and forth a few times before finally stopping.
With shirt in hand, he grabbed his khaki Dockers from the hook on the back of the closet door, bent down to the shoe rack and picked up his brown shoes and snatched his belt off the shelf. With his arms full of clothing, he walked out and made his way back out into the bedroom, pausing just long enough to use his elbow to turn off the closet light. He shuffled back across the floor to the bed and flopped back in, clothes and all. For a split second, as he lay in bed and watching the blades of the overhead ceiling fan go round and round, he considered taking a vacation day. He peered out of the window which was directly behind where his head usually rested on his side of the bed. It appeared as if it was going to be a very nice day. He decided against calling in because he only had five vacation days left, and then slowly sat up and got dressed.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Well Water...Prologue
"It takes a soap opera, to be in a soap opera…" Melody Thomas Scott co-host of Soap Net’s Soap Talk during an interview with Chrishell Stause of ABC's All My Children.
Our story begins on October 8, 1971. Well, it begins much farther back than that, but for our purposes we'll begin with the birth your humble narrator. I don't remember too much about my birth, in fact I don't remember anything at all. But I've heard stories. I was a child born of the minor "baby boom" that occurred close to the end of the Viet Nam war. It wasn't much of a boom, but since I was the by product of a "welcome home Tom party" I'm going to call it that. My father, Tom (obviously), was stationed in Viet Nam in the last years of 1960 and the first years of 1970. My brother, Neal, was born two years earlier than me, and my father was unable to be there. My mother, Judy, went into labor and my grandfather had to drive her to the hospital for the delivery. Dad was so saddened about missing the birth of his first son, that he definitely made up for it with his second and most favored.
Dad was finishing up his time with the Army at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. They lived in a little apartment on base which meant that Dad was close to work and the monthly rent was a little easier to make than off base housing. Mom was about eight and a half months pregnant with moi and was tooling around the base every day, taking care of little Neal and doing what Army wives do. One morning, bright and early, my mother went into labor. Not the kind of labor that you knew you had to get to the hospital very soon, but the kind of labor that wasn't going to what for anything. The kind of labor that screamed, “ready or not, hear I come!” Apparently, I was so intent on getting out into the world, I decided that the living room floor of my parents' apartment would be the best place for me to make my first appearance.
So there we were, birds chirping. My mother screaming in pain. Big brother Neal yelling out "Morning! Morning!" from behind the wooden child gate in the hallway. And me pushing my way through. Since there was no time to spare, we all decided that Dad would be the best person out of all of us to supervise this event. We did exam his qualifications before hand and were quite impressed with his resume. You see, Dad was a medic in the Army. You know, the guy that follows along behind the platoon and helps the wounded while that battle rages about 50 yards ahead. And while Dad was not really into the "engaging the enemy" part of being a soldier, he was shot at plenty of times while working. So benefit number one of Dad overseeing my debut, was the fact that he could work under pressure.
Another interesting experience that Dad had while stationed in Nam was when a sailor came into the medical tent after a bar fight. He was on the receiving end of a bottle to the face and Dad spent the better part of the night sewing this poor soul up with over 100 stitches. So benefit number two was that Dad could work in an environment conducive of a medical procedure.
Lastly, he was still in the army and therefore accustomed to following orders without hesitation. A good attribute to have when your “superior officer” is lying on the floor in the latter stages of childbirth.
These three qualifications, and the fact that Mom was somewhat indisposed to think clearly and Neal was too busy stomping and whining for attention, made pop the best choice. So seeing as how he completely missed the birth of his first child, we all feel that he was completely satisfied with the experience of the birth of his second child. There's nothing quite like hands on experience, is there?
Aside from the actual setting of the delivery, and the fact that Pop tied the umbilical cord with a shoe lace, it was a fairly straightforward birth. And thus, your humble narrator is born into this world.
Stay tuned...
Our story begins on October 8, 1971. Well, it begins much farther back than that, but for our purposes we'll begin with the birth your humble narrator. I don't remember too much about my birth, in fact I don't remember anything at all. But I've heard stories. I was a child born of the minor "baby boom" that occurred close to the end of the Viet Nam war. It wasn't much of a boom, but since I was the by product of a "welcome home Tom party" I'm going to call it that. My father, Tom (obviously), was stationed in Viet Nam in the last years of 1960 and the first years of 1970. My brother, Neal, was born two years earlier than me, and my father was unable to be there. My mother, Judy, went into labor and my grandfather had to drive her to the hospital for the delivery. Dad was so saddened about missing the birth of his first son, that he definitely made up for it with his second and most favored.
Dad was finishing up his time with the Army at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. They lived in a little apartment on base which meant that Dad was close to work and the monthly rent was a little easier to make than off base housing. Mom was about eight and a half months pregnant with moi and was tooling around the base every day, taking care of little Neal and doing what Army wives do. One morning, bright and early, my mother went into labor. Not the kind of labor that you knew you had to get to the hospital very soon, but the kind of labor that wasn't going to what for anything. The kind of labor that screamed, “ready or not, hear I come!” Apparently, I was so intent on getting out into the world, I decided that the living room floor of my parents' apartment would be the best place for me to make my first appearance.
So there we were, birds chirping. My mother screaming in pain. Big brother Neal yelling out "Morning! Morning!" from behind the wooden child gate in the hallway. And me pushing my way through. Since there was no time to spare, we all decided that Dad would be the best person out of all of us to supervise this event. We did exam his qualifications before hand and were quite impressed with his resume. You see, Dad was a medic in the Army. You know, the guy that follows along behind the platoon and helps the wounded while that battle rages about 50 yards ahead. And while Dad was not really into the "engaging the enemy" part of being a soldier, he was shot at plenty of times while working. So benefit number one of Dad overseeing my debut, was the fact that he could work under pressure.
Another interesting experience that Dad had while stationed in Nam was when a sailor came into the medical tent after a bar fight. He was on the receiving end of a bottle to the face and Dad spent the better part of the night sewing this poor soul up with over 100 stitches. So benefit number two was that Dad could work in an environment conducive of a medical procedure.
Lastly, he was still in the army and therefore accustomed to following orders without hesitation. A good attribute to have when your “superior officer” is lying on the floor in the latter stages of childbirth.
These three qualifications, and the fact that Mom was somewhat indisposed to think clearly and Neal was too busy stomping and whining for attention, made pop the best choice. So seeing as how he completely missed the birth of his first child, we all feel that he was completely satisfied with the experience of the birth of his second child. There's nothing quite like hands on experience, is there?
Aside from the actual setting of the delivery, and the fact that Pop tied the umbilical cord with a shoe lace, it was a fairly straightforward birth. And thus, your humble narrator is born into this world.
Stay tuned...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
