Dad’s are in a very tough place right not and it’s really not fair.
In the 50s, 60s and 70s dads in America knew their place and their job. It was pretty black and white, even on tv. Dad’s were the bread winners, the wise men with a steady hand. Their job was to support the family. Look at tv dads from that era. Leave it to Beaver had Ward, there was Andy Griffith, in the 70s Mike Brady was the voice of reason and a money making architect and Howard Cunningham on Happy Days was steadfast rock the family could count on.
Now tv fathers are bumbling idiots. they are laughable in their ineptness. The dads in Modern Family, Blackish and Fresh Off The Boat are morons and mom always has to clean up their mess.And dads today are expected to be kind of metro-sexual pansies in order to be effective caring parents. Well that’s not fair.
It’s true, studies and my life experience have show a woman’s work day is on average three hours longer than a dad’s because after we get home we do the majority of the cooking, cleaning and child care. But those numbers are shifting. Now that I work and Alex stays home there has been a 100 percent flip in our house and I have to be careful that I don’t over look his hard work.
Today is Father’s Day. Appreciate the dad and husband he is. Moms need to stop allowing the kids to be disrespectful to their dads. Make your girls stop their eye rolling. Maybe your dad doesn’t know much about texting or PMs on facebook, but he knows other stuff, that’s a lot more valuable.
Don’t get mad at him when he’s trying to protect you. He’s only doing that because he loves you so much. And an over protective dad is a whole lot better than one that’s not there or simply doesn’t care.
Listen to your dad, and watch what he does. Men sometimes speak a different language. They may not say “I love you” all the time but they show up in the middle of the night to change flat tires and they sit through endless band concerts.
Today, give the old man a break, a hug and let him have the tv clicker all day long.
Tags: disrespectful daughters, Father's Day, fathers, tv culture
Last night I was wrestling with hamburgers on the grill. They were big fat burgers, we always call “Love Burgers” (thanks Uncle Daley). I kept trying to flip them too soon so they wanted to fall apart.
Then, just as things started to take shape with my grilling efforts, I got distracted.
Alex was playing catch with thirteen year old Sandor in the yard and it was just about the cutest most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen. Alex is still pretty slow moving because of his surgery in October. But he was trying. Wearing a bulky catchers mitt, he gamely threw the ball at his son. Unfortunately, every fourth or fifth throw the dog got involved and snatched the ball our of the air, or chased it down before Sandor could get to it. Then there was a ridiculous chase scene that ended up as slobbery wrestling match.
Alex didn’t get annoyed or impatient. And when they were finished, Sandor walked past me and said, “that was awesome.”
I flipped the burgers again, looked up at the Lord and thanked him. Then I gave Alex a hug that he didn’t really understand. Standing there in his grubby jeans and old tee shirt he had no idea how much I loved him because he played baseball for a few minutes.
Men don’t seem to understand that the sexiest thing they can do is be a good dad. When they love their children and make them happy, women naturally find that not only desirable but smoking hot. It tells us we picked the right guy, our instincts were correct. And you know how much women like to be right.
It was a sweet moment until Sandor walked back out of the house. We were still hugging and Alex had his hand on my butt.
Sandor interrupted, “Hey there Mister, keep that hand north of the equator.”
“But I like the equator, it’s warm,” Alex replied.
“Noooo,” Sandor replied and disappeared back into the house as the Love Burgers burned up on the grill.
Comments Off on He Doesn’t Know He’s SexyTags: baseball, children, love, marriage, sexy dad
This blog only matters to five people in the world, so nobody else needs to read it, unless you really want to.
I’ve been trying to be more thankful lately and not just thankful for people. I’ve been trying to figure out the things and actions and people who bring me joy.
So, today, as I sat in one of the new blue Adirondack chairs Alex got me for Christmas and Aries the giant puppy has chewed all to hell, I realized I needed to say thank you to our yard and porch.
First let me say I’ve had a love hate relationship with our house for 25 years. It’s a beautiful mess, a five acre red neck ranch. Projects are never finished, the laundry is never done and there’s always an old broke down pick up truck somewhere on the property. But it’s ours.
And we have an enormous front yard. Because of all the foliage you can’t see our house, yard or driveway from the highway, but here we sit. Some of the happiest, most magical moments of my life have taken place out there, despite the stickers, dandy lions,the rocks and the patchy grass.
I remember twenty years ago, lying on my back, all by my self, when I was pregnant with Lex and smiling because I knew I could feel the gentle curve of the earth. I remember twenty two years ago hiding in the bushes while Mary and Jack waited for the school bus. Jack didn’t want me to walk them down because he said he could protect Mary though he was only six or seven.
After a big snow, I remember telling the kids not to have a snowball fight with Alex because he grew up in inner city Detroit and snowball fights were lethal. They didn’t listen and ended up crying and bruised because Alex packed his snowballs until they were as hard as cannon balls and he always aimed for the head.
We set up so many swimming pools in our yard, and they all collapsed because our yard isn’t flat. We have a running joke “Warning Eminent Pool Wall Collapse.” We had historic Ramin Noodle wars, chased puppies and Fred the Goat.
All four of the kids have jumped on the trampoline so much over 25 years, we’ve gone through three mats. In elementary school Lexie spent hours jumping jump rope and talking on the phone on the trampoline.When Jack was 13 I thought he and his friends were all out there “talking” on the trampoline and years latter learned they were all making out. Sandor and Sam love pulling the trampoline under the basket ball goal and making epic slams. Sadly, last week they thought smearing the trampoline with Vaseline would make it more fun. That didn’t’ work and we still cant get it off.
There’s a special place in out big yard where Mary buried her dead parakeets. She forgot to water and feed them sometimes. And once she accidentally kicked her dog Bear in the mouth. We thought she broke his jaw but found out from the vet, after I payed him two hundred dollars, that he’d been chewing on a pork chop bone and it was just stuck in his mouth.
We’ve shot bottle rockets, paint balls and bb guns at each other in the yard, hunted for eggs and candy, run out into snow storms in our underwear and had massive water balloon fights. We’ve slung each other behind a four wheeler with a ski rope. for years Alex beat young Jack in basketball in the yard until one day, when Jack was 13…..things changed. It was a shocking day for Alex.
Once Jack got mad at me and climbed the Magnolia tree, said he was going to stay there all night, so I threw him a pork chop and told him to enjoy dinner.
There’s been a lot of dancing in the yard, especially between Mary and Lexie. Ask them to do the Sexy Dolphin Dance…it’s fun. We’ve argued, played guitar, howled at the moon, chased and hugged in the yard. We’ve welcomed new and magical family members and puppies into the world. It’s been a really good yard.
Today in the yard, our garden gave us a massive zucchini and cilantro for our tacos.
Thank you yard. You’ve given me so much and I’ll never be able to repay you. You’ve made my life better.
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This morning I was grumpy. Schools out so every one in the house get’s to sleep late. All I wanted was coffee and a moment to sit in the bathroom and read my book with the hot water running. This morning ritual drives my husband, Alex, crazy, because it is very wasteful, but I love the cocoon of steam, I love my little straight back chair, my time to read and my cup of coffee.
But this grumpy morning, I was out of milk. Slamming the refrigerator door I mumbled something like, “Seriously?” My black coffee was hot, bitter and not what I wanted.
Before disappearing into my steamy bathroom, I let Aries is our 110 pound German Shepard type dog out. She’s a happy, goofy dog and as my ex-husband used to say about me, “untroubled by serious thought”. Our biggest problem with Aries is she’s a kleptomaniac . The things she steals from our neighbors at night are bizarre, and sometimes useful. In the last two months Aries has appeared on the porch with a twenty pound bag of fancy cat food (hair ball reducing), a very fresh three pound cat fish, a full bottle of Windex and a brand new pair of Toms (still in the box).
After reading for twenty minutes I gave up on the coffee. I’m a baby. Black coffee just doesn’t work for me. I showered, dried my hair and tried to find something to wear. But it was one of “those” mornings when nothing looks right and nothing feels right. I think women are the only ones who understand these dreadful days, when discarded clothes pile up on the foot of the bead like fallen soldiers.
With my phone and bag in hand, I stepped outside and there on the porch sat Aries, with a jug of milk. It was plastic gallon with at least a pint left. The jug was dirty, obviously Aries dragged it through the woods to bring it home, but she was so proud of herself. I have no idea how old the milk was in that jug, but I went back inside and found a treat for my beautiful piliferous Aries.
I believe in miracles . They happen every day, though some refuse to acknowledge them as such. I truly believe God or Aries, or both, were trying to get me out of my funk. And it almost worked.
Comments Off on Weird Little MiraclesTags: coffee, german shepard, miracles
I hate most country music right now. That’s a bad thing because I work at a big county radio station that I love. I make my living on county music. But most of it just sucks right now and doesn’t work for anyone over thirty five cause we aren’t hot girls any more, most of us don’t wear Daisy Dukes and dance in the back of pickup trucks in corn fields. Most country music right now is horribly over produced, predictable, commercial oatmeal. I’m not sure how it got so far away from it’s original sincere story telling roots.
I’ve had a long life with country music. When I was five and my mom was listening to Fiddler On The Roof in the living room I stayed locked in my room listening to How Highs the Water Mama? by Johnny Cash. In the eighties, when my friends finally got out of my car I’d take out the Talking Heads or Cheap Trick tape and listen to Waylon, Merle and John Prine.
But there’s hope! For months my oldest son, Jack, has been telling me about this girl in Nashville. Margo Price. At first he just talked about how good she was. Then, when she got signed by a real record label he was really encouraged and I started paying attention. When her first album, Midwest Farmers Daughter came out and I saw her on a news program I started telling the country DJs in the building about her. I stood behind them and forced them to watch videos and I said stuff like, “Look, she’s a real musician, and check out her band. It’s freaking awesome.”
Then Margo was interviewed on NPR and appeared on Saturday Night Live. For the first time I started to think there was a little hope for country music. If you haven’t heard her she’s a lovely mashup of old school, traditional, twangy country with a brilliant modern twist. She’s honest and smart with a killer steel guitar player. And this womanl has actually lived, she’s suffered and sinned, loved and lost…. so she has something to write about. This is so much better than the vacuous frat boy stuff we’re listening to now.
And today it happened. Tom Duke a legendary country music DJ, walked past and said, “Well, I noticed that girl charted today.”
Maybe the crappy country tide is turning. Maybe Margo was the necessary stone on the country music scale that will start the tipping.
Yaaaahhhh. Thank you Margo Price. You’ve given something to me that I loved and lost. And for the first time in five years I might start listening to our station again, and I’ll even listen to the music, not just the commercial breaks to make sure my clients are taken care of.
Here’s one of my favorites: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9b7QwdCWhw
Tags: country music, Margo Price, Midwest Farmers Daughter, nashville
Being a nineteen year old has to be one of the hardest things on the planet. Your technically and adult, so you are supposed to know what you’re doing. But nineteen years olds don’t even have fully develop brains so they might be crazy smart and still do the dumbest stuff. And it’s not really their fault!
Most 19 year old are on their own for the first time. So they have to deal with things they have never ever even considered. Landlords for example. He has power, he’s a grown man, he owns the place you live. You have to pay him money but you have to hold his feet to the fire and insist he fix things when they are broken. Demanding a grown up do something for you for the first time is awkard. But that’s what happens at 19.
At 19 you don’t have your mom or dad making judgmental observations about your friends. At first you think it’s great. But then, bad things start to happen because you accidently pick terrible friends.
When you were 16 you folks would say things like “Honey, I think your friends are kind of snarky bitches, kind of back biting don’t you think?” And you would realize it was true.
Or “Honey, I think your friend is a drug dealer and maybe using you for your car.”
I remember once, years ago, one of my kids was 19. They moved into a terrible terrible Little Rock neighborhood. They thought they were friends with the low life neighbors. I tried to warn my kid. “No Mom, they are my friends. You don’t understand.”
A week latter the trashy friends stole everything in the house including the laptop with lots of irreplaceable creative stuff on it.
Nineteen year olds have to move away and grow away from their parents. that’s natural. But it’s so hard.
For a nineteen year old there are just so many new and really important issues and situations they want to handle and need to take care of but they end up calling home for advice. Even though that’s the last thing on the planet they want to do because they are trying to be independent. There are insurance deductibles, and deposits, and groceries, bills, over draft charges, flat tires, dead batteries, lost keys, tax returns, utilities and direct deposit pay checks that arrive two days after all your bills are due. Parents handle most of this stuff until you move out on your own.
Even health is an issue. Without your parents hovering and annoying supervision 19 year olds don’t get enough sleep and eat really crappy food. Then they get sick and feel terrible. After months of feeling puny, though you are in the prime of your life, you relize what your parents preached was true. In order to be strong and feel great you have to eat well, sleep well, help other people and exercise. You have to take care of your body if you want to feel good.
But little by little they figure things out, they learn what to do. They don’t call home every day for help, or even every week. They figure out how to be an adult. And for a parent that’s a really proud and heartbreaking day.
Tags: college life, daughters, nineteen years old, sons, teens
I was in the soup isle at Kroger when a couple rolled up behind me.
The forty year old wife said “I didn’t really like that thing I fixed last night. It wasn’t very good. What did you think.”
The man wisely said, “It was ok.”
“You’re lying,” she snapped. “What are you doing?”
I accidently laughed out loud. “He’s trying not to fall of the ice burg into the cold black water, that’s what he’s doing.”
The husband laughed out loud and I’m sure the wife glared at me as I rolled away. I probably got the guy in trouble. Once in the car I’m sure she hounded him about who I was and why I would say such a thing.
The truth is women are always setting traps for men. And I don’t know why we do it. We turn their words around, upside down and back wards then accuse them of being heartless, uncaring, cold or distant. When in reality men are just trying to figure out how to answer a question without getting in trouble.
But women can’t let it go. We insist on making a fight out of absolutely nothing. I’m guilty too. When I’m feeling insecure or unloved and I ask Alex how I look he sometimes makes the unforgivable mistake of saying “Fine.”
Well, that just blows me up. “Fine is average, fine is ok or mediocre. You’re saying I’m a five out of ten? Cause that’s what fine is. You didn’t say fine like Barry White your fine is a five.” and our night out is ruined.
Splash, my unwitting husband has fallen off the ice burg into the bottomless , frigid pit of my heart. And he didn’t even know he did anything wrong.
I will agree that most men, including my husband, don’t realize how callous they can seem, even accidently. And they don’t realize how hard it is to be a woman over 30. We are sensitive and needy creatures.
But maybe it’s time to cut them a little slack. We shouldn’t use their own words to crucify them when they were actually trying to be nice. I’ve started trying to warn Alex before he says the thing that will set me off. I say “The water is very very cold,” and most of the time he backs up from the edge and trys to say the right thing.
You see, if we let them fall off the ice burg, or we push them off all the time, pretty soon we’ll find ourselves standing there all alone. And nobody wants to be alone.
Comments Off on Woman vs ManTags: insecurity, insults, men, trap
Dear Granger, I’ve been thinking about you a lot.
Today Alex and I repainted an old doghouse that the dog absolutely refuses to enter. But it’s too big to move. At least it looks better.
I was winding up an electrical extension chord in the yard and discovered a big animal had pooped on it. Pretty gross but I guess that’s why they make soap.
Mary in in Indianapolis working at a super inner city Boys and Girls Club. Good Lord the stories she calls with all the time. You’d be so in love and proud of her . She’s unspeakably gorgeous and silly.
Sandor is thirteen now and off riding his dirt bike. Last night he stayed with a friend. His brother got a fish hook caught in his face so that was the big story for the night. He’s selling some kind of meat sticks this week so he can go to band camp. I’m sorry your not here to help with the cause.
Jack called this morning. He went to see John Prine last night. Fifth row at the Ryman in Nashville. We are working on a screenplay together about Dad. I know you’re glad to hear that.
Last night Alex made me chicken picata and Lexo stopped by the house for a little while. She’s so beautiful now, you’d be astonished. She brought her guitar too and played. I wish she wasn’t such a good song writer so I could discourage her. She and Alex put on Leprechaun garb and I laughed till I had to pee. You would have loved the chicken and the two of them. Every time you called on the phone you always asked what Alex was fixing for dinner.
It’s been a pretty good weekend here on planet earth. I had a dream last night that I died and when I got to heaven you were all there. But I missed the kids so much that it wasn’t heaven at all, so I asked you all to send me back.
Tomorrow will be a good day too because I have my family. Tomorrow is also March 15th, The Ides of March. Remember? that was the day Mom killed herself. She left me that note on the door that said, “Beware of the ides of March.” She was nuts! Who does that? It’ll be a good day.
I love you and miss you. You’d be proud.
Comments Off onTags: Granger McDaniel
My parents fell in love in third grade, during the Great Depression.
On bright fall afternoon, my father, Granger McDaniel, squatted next to Whittington Creek. Patiently, he jiggled a piece of string. There was a tiny piece of bacon attached. He knew most of the crawdads were gone this time of year but he had a feeling. Finally, Granger watched as a crawdad approached the bacon and snapped his claw onto the meat.
“Gotcha!” he said as he raised the string up and removed the crawdad. He looked closely at the crawdads face and bulging eyeballs. “I’m keeping you for the baby! He’ll think you’re really funny, I bet.”
He shoved the string, bacon and crawdad into his deep front pocket then without hesitation or thought, started running, into the woods and up West Mountain.
There wasn’t a visible trail but Granger knew exactly where he was going. He expected every rock and log. He knew each fork and tree. He’d run this game trail up and over West Mountain so many times he didn’t really have to think as he ran.
West Mountain was steep, but not terribly tall. Granger reached the summit in less than fifteen minutes. Grinning, stopped to take in the view for a moment and get his bearings. Then as quickly as he stopped he bolted down the mountain, sliding and skidding, sometimes sling shotting around thin trees to slow himself down.
Exploding out of the tree line, Granger stopped completely to catch his breath. He whipped off his hat, licked his dirty hand and smoothed his dark shaggy hair.
He was standing on the edge of a manicured lawn. A beautiful white colonial house with dark green shutters and trim loomed in front of him. After dusting off his pants with his hat, he suddenly sprinted to the back door and knocked twice.
He saw Louella, in her white uniform peek out the window at him before she opened the door.
“Hi Miss Louella, can Ann play today?”
“No, Dr. Stell said she needs to practice her piano.” She handed him a small plate with two cookies and a glass of milk. “Eat up and leave the plate on the table.”
“Can I take one of the cookies to my baby brother?”
“It’s your cookie, do what you want.” She watched him for a moment then said. “Tie your shoe before you leave so you don’t trip running down the mountain.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said as he shoved an entire cookie in his mouth then slugged down the little glass of milk.
Louella closed the door as Granger dropped the extra cookie into his deep front pocket with the crawdad. He squatted down and tied the lace on his ragged shoe, pulled his cap down tight on his head and started running.
Before my dad died, when he was fifty one, he told us to pour his ashes on West Mountain, because he’d always be running to his girl.
It’s always been said, my mom and dad fell in love in third grade. It wasn’t always easy.
Tags: Ann Stell McDaniel, Arkansas, Granger McDaniel, great Depression, Hot Springs, love, West Mountain
Last night, after getting the coolest hair cut ever, Sandor got a phone call.
I could only hear his side on the conversation.
“He said what?”
“Oh man, yeah, I’ll handle that in the morning.”
“Thanks, Buddy” he said as though he were in a business meeting. Then he hung up.
As casually as I could, I asked what was going on.
Sandor said, “This new kid at school he called my friend Katie a name.” Then he leaned over and said, “He called her a slut.”
“That’s horrible! ” I responded. These kids are only in seventh grade.
I thought about the girls in his class. Seventh grade is tough and wonderful. All the girls are going through a really beautiful and hopelessly awkward phase. Soon they will all look like through breeds but for now….
Alex jumped in “If you get in a fight, you’ll get suspended. Do not let that happen.”
“Yes sir. I know. I’d never throw the first punch. But I can’t let him go around saying that kind of stuff.”
I looked at him. “So what are you gonna do?”
And then with a calm, almost dismissive air he assured me, “I’ll handle it Mom.”
At that point I wanted to demand details but I have to let him be a man, a good man and a gentleman.
If I stop him from defending this girl because I’m worried about the outcome and his future, what message am I sending? If I squash his attempt to be honorable and a gentleman what kind of man will I be left with. One that looks away when somebody is being bullied or robbed. Who avoids conflict because they don’t want to get in trouble.
It’s a fine line parents walk now. Zero tolerance has left little room for heroics .
But the truth is, when I listen to his 7th grade stories it’s the hot headed boys who throw off their back packs and start swinging, who are in most of the fights and get in trouble. Something offends them and they all start throwing the haymakers.
Sandor knows how to punch but he’s also very reflective. He thinks things over, sometimes too much. I guess I need to relax. If he says he’s gonna handle it…..it will be handled.
Comments Off on Crushing the 7th Grade GentlemanTags: 7th grade, boys, bullies, bully, fights teens, zero tolerance