Tonight as I was searching for something else I stumbled upon this photo:
Holy crap! Either my Mom got some botox done, or Olivia went back in time to 1979! I look so cute I want to hug me! It is sooo weird to see my likeness in someone else.
Here is an actual photo of Mom and Olivia. Yep, O has my hair (and my Mom's)--sorry, O!
And Marian and Olivia, where you can see the side profile likeness.
On a related note, my mom saw this photo in an album that my cousin Bonnie made for Granny for Christmas. Mom said, "How did you get that photo of me and April??"
(To give her credit, back in the day she did have a shirt exactly like this one...)
What strikes me is that it took me 30 years to realize this.
It all started one early Sunday morning last fall. Mom and Dad had gotten up earlier than usual. To go to church, you ask? No. To take part in another activity that is perhaps just as holy to my parents: handgun class.
So Dad was standing at the stovetop making eggs when Mom walked into the kitchen and started to whoop and holler. There, at Dad’s feet, was a giant RAT. The rat jumped up and ran across Dad’s feet before it escaped under the cupboards and to its safe haven of the basement.
Mom was all in a tizzy then. The whole family was set to come over for Thanksgiving the next week, including little Olivia. “We can’t have a rat when the baby comes!” Mom exclaimed. “It could eat her hands!” Now, before you think that my mother is overreacting, Google “rats biting babies.” Granted, the possibility of Olivia getting eaten on by a rat was quite slim, seeing as someone would be holding her just about the entire time and my parents don’t live in a slum with flesh-eating rats, but still.
The rat was quickly killed, along with six of his mousy friends. I asked my mom how big the rat was, as I am a journalist at heart and don’t do exaggerations. Mom said that the dead rat was as big as a hamster.
I was surprised to hear about the rat, since my parents have never had rodent problems. I think it was because we regularly had a kennel of Jack Russells (renowned for their rodent-killing abilities), several feisty barn cats, and children constantly running in and out of the buildings and basement. When there’s people, cats, and dogs around, mice and rats don’t have much opportunity to party. For 20 years my parents have lived in that house on 75 acres with several outbuildings, and we’ve only had one rodent problem before this.
Back before my parents remodeled the house, we had a resident rat named Curly. Krystal, who followed Mom everywhere, and saw him several times, named him.
After rat #2 (dubbed Larry...see the pattern?) last fall, I asked Mom how she knew we had Curly living in the house and she said, “I saw his happy little face!”
Dad would leave for work around 4 or 5 a.m. and Mom would sit on the couch and read her Bible and pray until us kids got up for school. The living room was over 100 years old and my parents had not been able to fix it up yet. One of the walls even had a little mouse archway chewed into it, just like in the Tom and Jerry cartoons.
“I was reading my Bible one day when I saw two little eyes (in the mouse arch) so I got down and looked and he was looking right at me. I said, ‘You dirty rat!’”
She told me this all quite matter-of-factly, which is my Mom’s way. Nothing in this world is really out of the ordinary to my mother. I am the same way, but I know that if I came face to face with a RAT, I would be a bit unnerved. Though I’d probably call him a dirty rat, too.
Mom continued with her rat story. “Then, when I was putting wood in the stove (in the basement) it jumped up and it was the flying rat.”
Krystal corroborates this story. "I was down there when she saw him that time," she told me. "The first time I saw him mom was loading wood in the basement. He ran vertically up the wall into a hole."
Curly was a tough rat to get. Dad tried several tricks, but Curly got wise to his antics and outsmarted him every time. Dad had even created this elaborate trap, which was an advanced version of “walking the plank.” A common way to catch a rat is to put a ramp up to a deep bucket of water and put a treat at the end of the plank. As the rat walks to the end of the plank, the plank will tip into the bucket with the rat on it, and the rat will drown. However, a clever rat will climb back up the submerged plank and hop out of the bucket. Dad crafted a plank with a hinge, so that as soon as Curly got to the edge, it would drop him in, and then swing back into place, leaving Curly with no way to climb out.
Curly figured out the plank and after walking out on it once (and somehow escaping), he never went back on it for the treat.
My parents eventually had to resort to the Blue Death, which is a poison. With children, dogs, and cats about, they didn’t want to use poison, but they had no choice. It worked. Curly was found dead one day, and he was tossed out by the barn.
Until 5-year-old Krystal found it. The story about THAT is in my attic. I think. I will look for it.
After they caught Larry this fall, I told my mom that I think she had a rat problem because she had killed all the snakes in her basement. Snakes eat rats, so if the snakes go away, the rats come out to play, right?
See, I wasn’t completely honest about our “only 2 rats” rodent problem. We also have had a few snake incidents.
This is where my mother’s fearlessness comes in.
Our basement used to be a Michigan basement, meaning that it has really low ceilings. Here is a photo of the basement today (note how long the jeans are hanging down—that should give you an idea of how much we have to stoop over to walk around down there). It looks a lot less creepy because Dad installed new windows and the place is all cleaned up. But back in the day, it was dark and scary and had lots of hidden cracks and crevices. And the ceiling is a sky of low rafters, heat ducts, and cobwebs.
Several years ago my mother was in the basement doing laundry or getting food from the pantry. “I saw something hanging and thought, ‘That looks like a snake,’ so I walked over and it WAS a snake!” Mom recalled.
Now who in their right mind would walk up to an unknown object, that you already think is a snake, that would be hanging next to your head, in a dark, creepy basement?!???
My mother.
(Apparently she was bothered by this enough to always wear a hooded shirt down there. That way, in the event that one DID drop on her head, it wouldn't slither down her shirt.)
Like rats, my mother has no time for snakes. They must be removed. When I was a teenager she had me help her kill a snake that was out in the yard. It was quite a gruesome ordeal, as the only tools we had were a baseball bat and a rusty hoe. It seemed to take forever and has scarred my memory ever since. Mom was not phased.
So this summer when she spotted some large snakes in her basement, she took action yet again. Next to the basement door she keeps this old farm implement which belonged to my great grandfather, Thomas Jefferson Davis Teague. It’s a very crude tool with an old wooden handle attached to a rusty piece of slightly curved metal. She calls it “Grandpa’s tool” and she kills snakes with it.
“I already killed a couple this year,” Mom told me. “With Grandpa’s tool. One was long, like 34” long. (The tool) killed three snakes and Dad said that Larry wasn’t dead so he took care of him with this (too).”
I asked her just how she killed a snake with Grandpa’s Tool.
“I pinned it down and I sawed its head off,” she said simply. “I sawed it in two.”
“Wasn’t it flailing all over the place while you did it?” I asked.
“No, you stand on it with both of your feet and then you use the Tool to saw it in the middle.”
I shudder just to think of being in the same room with a snake, but Mom has no qualms about standing on its writing body while she saws the life out of it.
Lately JB has been telling me that I’m my Mom whenever I say something funny or show a humorous mannerism. I take this as a compliment because I find my mother to be quite entertaining.
But fearless? Able to saw snakes in half with the flick of a tool?
Well my weekend went by in a whirlwind! But that was fine by me because I had a lot of fun.
On Friday, Lulu got her haircut and nails trimmed so now she’ll be fashionable for photos with Baby H and will stop tripping on the stairs because of her long nails. Since she had gotten banned from PetSmart (for story, click here), I took her to a private groomer who did a fabulous job with her. Even better than a red bow from PetSmart, Lucy got a pink bandana!
Saturday got kicked off with my Grand Rapids baby shower.
My mom and sisters all came from east Michigan for it, and there was the usual sisterly drama involved. This time Krystal was not ready at her dorm when they got to East Lansing, so they left her behind and she had to drive herself. There was much phone calls and discussion about all this while I was trying to get ready. One would think that Krystal was at fault for not being home at the appointed time, but she preferred to lay the blame on Anne. Haha.
“Didn’t you miss out on not having sisters?” I teased JB.
JB’s Aunt Helen, Aunt Rhonda, and cousin Sarah from Tennessee also attended the shower, though I think they arrived with less issue than the Teagues.
Again, I was shocked by everyone’s generosity. As my mom put it, “I got the mother lode!”
One of the gifts that JB had put on the registry that we did not receive was the video game Rock Band for his Xbox 360. Every time we go to Target JB asks if we can buy Rock Band, which is $165. Baby registry day was no different. I had told him, “No,” as usual. “Fine then. I’ll just register for it!” he had said. So he did. And now everyone asks why Rock Band is on there.
I thought it would be funny when we got home from the shower to tell JB that we DID get Rock Band from Tommy, who thought it would be a good gift for the baby.
“What? No we didn’t,” said JB.“…..did we?” He looked around at the presents.
“He was home last weekend and sent it with Mom today,” we said.
“Really? I don’t believe you,” he replied.
We then admitted that it was a trick, which JB said was a very mean trick. He didn’t really believe us, but had started to develop a small glimmer of hope nonetheless.
I thought it was quite funny. I also think that the baby does NOT need rock band.
After the shower the Teagues also showered me with more presents of cool hand-me-downs that they nabbed from different places. Mom and I discussed things that I have yet to obtain for baby and I mentioned having to shop for a breast pump.
“What! No! Don’t do the breast pump! Those things are terrible!” she exclaimed. This outburst got everyone’s attention, including poor JB, the only guy in the house.
“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do when I’m at work, Mom?”
“Just do it yourself! It’s much less painful. Those breast pumps will mangle your boobs!”
“You want me to milk myself, like a cow?”
Yes, she did want me to milk myself like a cow. I told her that I would not be doing that. She said that perhaps technology has advanced since she last knew about pumps. I said that none of my friends have come to me with horror stories, so I think it’s safe these days. Mom is still quite leary.
Then someone brought up borrowing a breast pump from a friend and Krystal was horrified, “That’s disgusting! I would never use a breast pump that belonged to someone else!”
Annie looked over at her. “This from the girl who has no issue with wearing other people’s underwear?”
Annie's got ya there, K!
Before they left, we all went to dinner at Yen Ching. It was JB and us five Teagues. As we entered the restaurant Mom said to JB, “Look, JB and all these women. It’s like a polygamist colony and we’re your wives. Well, except for me. That would just be weird.”
But JB having four sisters for wives wouldn’t be weird?
After they left JB turned to me and said (as he always does), “I’m really glad we got to hang out with your family today. I had a lot of fun. I really like your family.”
That’s because, well, the Teagues are entertaining even when they’re just being themselves.
After dinner JB, Lucy, and I went directly to the Hilton to hang out with the Tennessee family. There, Lucy wowed the crowd with her dog tricks and jumping Jack Russell legs.
Sunday was church, Crochet Day with some work friends, and then Bible Study baby shower. (Again, more wonderful gifts and love felt from everyone.)
Kristen and Seth gave us this really funny gag book and magnets about how not to raise your baby. There were nice drawings to accompany it. For instance, after bathing the baby, should you a.) dry baby with a towel or b.) put baby in clothes dryer? Apparently, the answer is A. My uncles and cousins have tried drying their sibs in the dryer, and my siblings and I played in the dryer plenty of times (without being brave enough to turn it on, probably because of the horror story that mom told us about the little boy who got cooked to death in a dryer) but I guess we should wait until the kid is old enough to play in the dryer herself and not start her out at such a young age. Besides, my mom gave me these wonderful hooded bath towels that I’m really excited to use instead.
Tonight we had dinner at the Hilton. Sooo good. Then we played a crossword game, where I was given a hard time for spelling Whore. I'd like to point out that others who were playing spelled much naughtier words! You know who you are! :)
I traveled to Mayville to visit my family last weekend, and on Saturday us girls went down to Berkley to help my Aunt Carol with her neighborhood’s annual garage sale.
This year her sale was extra special because all the proceeds from her sale are going toward the fundraising for the "Susan G. Komen for the Cure" Breast Cancer Walk that she does each year (my aunt is a breast cancer survivor). This year her and my cousin are doing the walk together.
I had only been to the garage sale once before, and this year when I went around, I could tell that our sale was the best by FAR. All of our family brought in stuff to sell, as usual. There were MOUNTAINS of clothes in all sizes, and the clothes were nice quality—not ratty stuff that you usually find at a yard sale. We had furniture, jewelry, household, you name it.
My mother personally contributed one large “extended bed” pickup truck load and one carload to the sale. My cousin Bonnie asked Anne and I, “This was only a year’s worth of stuff? Where does she GET it all?!???” Good question, as my mother doesn’t shop anywhere except for Salvation Army and Victoria’s Secret (yes, weird combo). She’s not a shopper, but man, can she accrue stuff! (Okay, some of it is due to my sisters' castaway clothes, too.) My sister Annie and I had to remind our mom not to acquire any new treasures from the yard sales, as this is how it all starts. There is this large walkin closet at my mom’s house that used to be my brother’s bedroom and every year it becomes PACKED with stuff that she ends up bringing to the big yard sale.
So we had a little motto for my mom:
“Just say no to knick-knackery and pack-rattery!”
She kept repeating that mantra. She did a good job, as I don’t think she bought a single thing!
(However, my Granny, her mom, was another story. She is a true collector. Though we told her that anything she wanted was free, she insisted on paying, and purchased at least $60 in garage sale items. LOL. She shopped the sale the entire time, either selling things to shoppers or herself.)
People hit the sale in droves. It was crazy. At the end of the day, the sale had grossed over $750. My aunt said that was double what they’ve ever made in their sale, which she has been doing for probably 10 years. Yay!!!
If you want to help the fight against Breast Cancer, you can donate viamy aunt’s page:
This weekend my mom asked me what her name would be when she becomes a grandma. She doesn’t want to be Grandma, Granny, Nanna, etc. My dad has requested to be called Pop, but she doesn’t have any requests for herself.
I love picking out names, so I am excited about this assignment. However, I only have two so far.
The first one is Gangee (pronounced gang-gee). This is afer the grandmother on my favorite TV show, Arrested Development. However, Gangee is kind of an ugly word, and if you don’t know the show you won’t get the beauty of it. I proposed this to my mom, who thought that I wanted to name the BABY that, and she said that it sounded too much like “gangrene.” She’s right… But I still love it!
The other is Kiwi. Kiwi was one of my mom’s nicknames when she was little, perhaps because small children couldn’t pronounce Karen, so they mumbled out Kiwi instead. I also proposed Kiwi to her, but she was in one of those “keeps talking and doesn’t stop to comment on what you say” moods, so I didn’t get a response from her on that one.
What do you think? As you can see, my mom is a hip, youngish mom. She will never get the poodle haircut (short hair with a tight perm) or wear unstylish clothes. She is also fun to be around. So I need a name tor reflect all that.
