Black taffeta with a balloon skirt

In response to yesterday’s post, the fabulous Spiffy Tiffy (a.k.a. Hyena) sent these beauties to me this morning. Thanks to her, I don’t have to attempt to verbally describe the black taffeta chaos (with ruching, a balloon skirt, and a demure sweetheart neckline) that I described yesterday as a dress. You can see it for yourself.

First, a photo of Tiffy and me. Who knows what we were doing or where we were. Judging by the hair, it was at least 10th or 11th grade. I know this for sure because if it was any earlier than that, you would have jumped back from the page a bit by Tiffany’s exploding bangs and curly/fried permed hair.

Next, is a photo of that dreadful prom night. Notice the dress? I like the way the camera and the light worked together to pick up the swirls in the taffeta. The camera did not, however, do the balloon skirt justice. That skirt was full and bulbous and absolutely huge. Maybe it was the dress that led me to my cruel and heartless breakup?

My mom pulled out all of my and my sister’s old dance dresses from the attic a couple of years ago. I tried this one on (it was the only one with elastic – camouflaged by the ruching, of course). It did not fit. Man, I was skinny back then!

And finally, a photograph of me and Chip on prom night 1990. This was a pretty interesting evening/weekend. First of all, Chip had already moved to Nashville. We had been having a long distance relationship for about a year (we hadn’t quite hit the 1 year/5 month mark – that happens when he actually comes back to Memphis for college the next fall). So, Chip is living in Nashville and it is prom season. Because we have a long distance relationship, somehow, Chip needed to get to Memphis for my prom. This led Tiffany and I to the following brilliant idea: Road trip!

We decided to drive to Nashville on Friday after school and pick him up and return to Memphis in time to get ready for prom (I can’t remember if we drove back immediately on Friday or if we waited until Saturday morning). Because our plan was so last minute, Chip and I had no plans for any of the prom madness. All of our friends were busy getting drunk in their hotel rooms, while Chip and I were stuck way out in Germantown at my parents’ house trying to figure out where to go out to eat while I curled my hair. We decided on Grisanti’s and I think I ate lasagna. This was before I trained my palette to have a little adventure. That night it also poured rain, so my dyed to match red shoes were bleeding all over my cream stockings, and my curling iron curled hair was flat before we got to the restaurant. We had fun though. I recall stopping by Tiffany’s hotel room, but being the only sober ones in the room was not so fun. And I’m pretty sure we had a pretty early night. Gosh, my memory is killing me!

The funniest part of the story occurred on Sunday. We were leisurely hanging around my parents’ house and having a relaxing day when my father asked how Chip planned to get home. Ummm, wha? How is he getting home? I don’t know. We, being the responsible and genius teenagers that we were had not thought about the fact that Chip actually had to get home. It was a school night, so my parents would not let me drive him. My parents would not drive him because they had to work the next day. Chip’s parents would not come pick him up for the same reason. So what brilliant plan did my oh so practical father devise? Greyhound bus, baby. That’s right. I had to drop my boyfriend off at the then scary Greyhound bus station on a Sunday afternoon. I think it was some kind of punishment for us being so stupid. Of course my father drove to the station because, you know, it was in downtown Memphis. Danger! Danger! It wouldn’t be smart to let his 16 year old daughter drive down there in the middle of the day. Of course not. So I watched Chip board the bus, and what normally would have been a less than 3 hour trip by car, took about 20 hours or something like that. I think his bus stopped at every little Podunk town in the 210 mile stretch between Memphis and Nashville. Poor Chip.

So what is a C-dog Mama?

Many, many years ago, waaaay back in high school, I liked a boy named Chip. Chip liked me, too. So, we kissed a lot. We tried to keep our affair somewhat hidden because Chip was living with my ex-boyfriend’s family at the time. You see, it all started when RT and I broke up. RT and I had dated for over a year. A year and 5 months to be exact (this duration turned out to be my limit for any relationship until I met the Professor. Until then, at approximately 1 year and 3 months, I would start to get that feeling. Panic would set it; I would lose my breath, sweat, and seriously analyze the relationship, always ultimately determining that I needed to be single again and live freely. I think this is due to my prowess at keeping my guard and various emotional walls up for a very long time. At about a year and 2 months, the person near and dear to me is always able to begin cracking away at the shell, forcing me to be myself, and that person finally gets to know me for me. And this is what always sent alarm bells through me, insisting that the relationship needed to end.)

*Now, I can’t say that at the ripe old age of 17 that I was really capable of understanding all of my emotional baggage. RT and I had dated for over a year, and it was time to end it. It was prom night, 1989. We went to prom with my best friend Tiffany and her date (GH) in his ancient 1970 something Volvo. We had a nice dinner at Captain Bilbo’s, and then we went to the dance at the Peabody. I wore a black strapless taffeta dress with a balloon skirt that I don’t think I could ever describe on paper. It was truly hideous. RT and I fought for a good part of the evening. On our way home, we decided to stop by Audubon Park to, I don’t know, “talk.” At least that’s what Tiffany called it. That’s when RT and I broke up. It was miserable and painful and when I look back on it, I am ashamed that I instigated it – ON PROM NIGHT. Just call me cruel. It also didn’t help matters that the Volvo broke down on the way home, so RT and I were stuck in the car with Tiffany while GH went to call his mom. Fun! I really think I need to apologize to RT for that horrible night. I mean, what kind of person does that? A really emotionally screwed up person, that’s who.

Earlier that year, Chip’s family moved to Nashville, but because it was mid-year, they decided to let Chip stay in Memphis until the summer. Chip and RT had always been good friends, so he temporarily lived with RT and his family. Chip and I had equally been good friends. We were all the kind of friends that went out in large groups of people: me, Chip, Tiffany, RT, BT, BH, AN, etc. We didn’t go on real dates. We all just went out together. Before the end of the school year, Chip and I decided we liked each other. But, you understand, it was really difficult because he lived with my recent ex-boyfriend.

So, fast forward a couple of weeks. The annual Memphis in May festivities of 1989 saluted Africa. Tiffany and I were always excited about going to Sunset Symphony, and this particular year was not any different. We decided to secretly go with GH and Chip, and just not tell RT. I don’t remember what kind of immature lie we concocted, but we somehow ended up at Sunset Symphony – just the 4 of us. We had fun, but I’m sure we all felt a bit of the weight of that lie on our shoulders. RT eventually found out, and it was not pretty. It turns out, though, that he was much more mature than I was because he did not act like a complete shameful lying jerk about the whole thing like I did.*

So, C-Dog Mama? Well, at that particular Sunset Symphony, we listened to a band performing traditional African music. Throughout their set, the singer kept yelling out, “Jambo!” Our group of friends had previously thought it fun to give each other random nicknames, and “Jambo” became my newest nickname that day. Or was it Chip's nickname? I don't remember. Other nicknames we had were: Jasmine, BBB, other forgotten names that began with “J”, Cat, and C-dog (coined by none other than Spiffy Tiffy). Is there any meaning whatsoever to the name C-Dog? No. It’s totally random. It is just a name Tiff gave me a very long time ago. When I became a mama, it seemed only logical to add “mama” to the end of it. Thus, C-Dog Mama.

*[All dates and events are represented purely by my aging memory. There are probably several inconsistencies. The Professor and I have been married for over 8 years and have been together for over 11, but I do remember at 1 year and 5 months considering a break-up. I think I even tried but he wouldn’t let me. I am eternally grateful for his persistence.]

What's for Dinner?

...certainly not anything I want to eat. We are still battling the icky illness. The Professor came down with it last night and spent most of the evening in the bathroom. I stayed home from work today and spent the majority of the day sweating, asleep on the couch. Charlie, fortunately, only had a mild version of this last weekend; and he certainly handled it much better than the Professor or I have. So, Charlie went to school today and I got to rest. I am feeling better but I am not really looking forward to going back to work tomorrow.

While at home today, I had visions of being the stay at home mom that I long to be. I dreamt about how I would spend my mornings on long walks with Charlie, come home and have a story and a snack, and then whisk him off to a long nap while I dust, vacuum, scrub the bathroom and do laundry. He would then wake and we would head out to have a late lunch or coffee with my mom or sister. We would finally come home in time to make a nice, healthy, and complicated meal for dinner. I know, I know, this vision is so far from the reality of most stay at home moms. But it's my dream, damn it.

I am definitely coming to terms with accepting the fact that stay at home mom-ness is just not in the cards for me. For the longest time, I've wished and hoped (and blamed) that there could somehow be a way. But there just isn't. So, I am trying to accept this completely and move on.

When I really think about it, I don't even know if I truly want to stay home all day. In fact, I'm not sure I would even be all that happy doing it. I'd probably get fat and lazy and know WAY too much about daytime television. My main frustration with the whole notion is that I don't even have the choice to give it a try. Our finances just don't have any wiggle room to try to "cut back" to make it happen. We're already cutting back, and we both work full time. So, I guess I'll just have to save making complicated dinners for the weekends and look on the bright side. At least I won't have to clean the bathroom - I'll save that for the Professor. I hate cleaning bathrooms.

Hair!

Charlie has never gotten a haircut. I have long had a firm desire to let his hair grow long "just to see." This is the one time in his life that he doesn't have to worry about standards and norms for sex and gender. So, let him have long hair. Let him play with princess toys! He doesn't know the difference! That, and his shaggy curly hair looks really cute in pictures. I recall seeing a picture of my brother-in-law as a young child with long and curly hair. At the time I thought, "I want to have a picture of Charlie like this."

Last night, while bathing Charlie, I decided that he needed a haircut. You see, Charlie has this wild and crazy curly hair that makes him look like he has bed head most of the time. I have cut his bangs once before to get it out of his eyes. But when I cut it then, his hair was dry and I was able to give him a whispy, natural looking trim. Last night, though, well, he was in the tub. I had just washed his hair, and someone should have just stopped me before I took the scissors to his hair.

I have straight hair. REALLy straight hair. When you cut it, nothing happens. It just gets shorter. Little did I know that when you cut short or wavy hair, there is actual science involved! Cutting curly hair involves precision and skill and the ability to understand that when wet, the curls are weighted down. When dry, the hair bounces up. So, in my misunderstood and ignorant state, I cut the hair above his brow and the hair at the nape of his neck. When it dried, it reminded me of the time I cut my sister's Barbie's hair. I laid the Barbie down, let her hair fall back (that's what they do in the salon when they wash it!), and I cut off all of Kissing Barbie's hair in one chop. All I wanted to do was give her a trim, but when I sat her back up, her hair looked like it had been run through the Cuisinart.

Fortunately, Charlie's hair does not look nearly as rough as Kissing Barbie's did 20 years (okay 30 years) ago. He just has some seriously straight across bangs and a big divot at the nape of his neck. All of this is surrounded by whispy bed-head curls that need to be neatened up a bit. I just can't bring myself to take the scissors to him again for fear of destroying all of his cute little boy tousled-hair look. I think I"ll take him to a salon and let a professional do it.

Sleepless Again

Yesterday evening I planned to go to bed early. Who cares that it was Friday night, the official start of the weekend? I was exhausted from the week and the lack of sleep the week brought. I wanted to nurse the hint of the cold that was coming on. I wanted to get lots of sleep to ensure a fun and grump-free weekend. I was so looking forward to waking up refreshed and ready to take on my Saturday. Well, I'm sure you can guess where this is going.

Yesterday, I felt a little more exhausted than usual. When I got home from work, the Professor and I ate pizza for dinner, and ever since that meal, I just did not feel quite right. I felt disgustingly full even though I hadn't eaten more than I normally would. I decided to go to bed around 10:30 in hopes of feeling better by morning. At 3:00 a.m. I woke with heartburn and horrible stomach problems. It was awful. So awful that I couldn't sleep. After 2 or 3 trips to the bathroom, I decided to spare the Professor from my getting up and down and my tossing and turning, and I decided to make a night of it on the sofa.

By 5:30 a.m., after watching terrible late night television, I had finally downed enough Pepto Bismal to go back to sleep. I woke again at 7:00 to Charlie enjoying his breakfast; at that time, I reclaimed the bed. At 9:45, I got up for the day and have tenderly wandered my way through it in a daze. I attempted to keep up with our original plans of errands and a football game, but I just found myself feeling like a big disgusting lump that did not want to move. I am feeling better now and am hoping that tomorrow morning will bring complete relief. OH PLEASE let this be gone by tomorrow.

What a way to spend the weekend.

I HATE getting sick.

Halloween

Last weekend, we took Charlie on our second annual pumpkin search/photo shoot. Last year, we just happened upon a local church “pumpkin patch” and decided to go back to the same location this year. They won us over with the abundance of props for photographs and their impeccable service. The youngsters at the patch are more than willing to help with selecting the best pumpkin, with prices, and toting your load to the car.

So, Sunday afternoon, we donned Charlie in his costume and headed for the pumpkin patch. [We had originally planned to attend a Halloween party at Aunt D’s house immediately after selecting pumpkins, but the party had to be cancelled at the last minute; thus, the costume on a day other than Halloween.] Charlie had a blast checking out all of the pumpkins.

Saturday night, we dressed Charlie again in his cowboy ensemble and headed to the Zoo Boo with some of the Professor’s co-workers and their families. We were hopeful about the evening but worried that we might have a similar experience to last year’s Zoo Boo experience. I happily report, however, that Charlie had a fantastic time. He gawked in amazement at all of the kids dressed in costumes, rode the Zoo’s train for the first time, and devoured his first candy (jelly beans and Raisonettes). He also got to eat a free mini ice cream sandwich from the nice people at Blue Bell. We hit most of the attractions and even though the event is geared more toward kids who are a little older, I am glad that we are introducing to some of our fun traditions early in life. His jelly bean buzz did not wear off until after 10:00 p.m., though.

Sunday night was pumpkin carving night. Charlie did not participate much. I think he is a little dainty when it comes to getting slimy stuff on his hands. He did NOT like the pumpkin guts. (For some reason, though, that does not prevent him from smearing oatmeal all over his face.) He was so appalled by the pumpkin guts that he threw up all over himself halfway through the carving! (No seriously, the barfing was just left over from a mild illness that struck him earlier that day).

NaBloPoMo

Ok, so I decided to do it. I had planned to do it earlier last month, but as October dwindled away, November got even closer. I began to have doubts. I begin to worry that just one more thing would be enough pressure to make me crack. But, my good friend Stephanie convinced me this afternoon that it would be fun just to see if I can do it. So, I’ve joined. I am committed. I will post each day for the month of November. I hope that this experience will help me bring more clarity into my life, vent more of my frustrations and perhaps help make me a better writer. So, bear with me as I will probably have to dig deep on some occasions just to get more words out than “this is my post for the day.”

NaBloPoMo is a challenge to bloggers to post every day for the month of November.