Are They Really Just Words?

In raising our boys, Mike and I work hard (as ALL of us do!) to instill morals and values that will carry them throughout their lives. We want them to grow to be men of character and conviction to know what is right. As a teacher, I have the same responsibility for them. I shared this story of a conversation I had with S just a few nights ago.

He wanted to know why some words were bad. He wasn't talking about racial slurs or outright vulgar words. He was primarily talking about cr** and su***. Aren't they just words? No. They are trashy. They sound horrible coming out of an adult's mouth, and even worse coming out of the mouth of a child/tween. We don't say those words. Period. (OK, I may let cr** slip out, but I'm mostly a "damn it" kind if girl.). It seems that both those words are in the vocabulary of almost every middle school student in the country. He said it made him feel weird to say "crud" and "stinks". And that sometimes he slips when he is around his friends. I was so proud that he told me that - that he confessed. He shared. And I told him how proud I was.

I asked him if anyone ever teased him. He said no, that no one really seems to notice. I asked if he was losing friends. He said no, that he was making even more friends in his new school and always had people around him. Do all your friends use that language? No, he met a new kid named J whom he really likes who seems to have parents "who believe a lot of the same things as you, Mom".

So, things are fine. But I gave him a bit of advice that is really the crux of what I told my students.

Pretend Mimi or GrandMuz are with you all the time. If you would want them to hear it, then say it. If not, then you know what to do.

If only we would all remember to do that...

Bevy

Tuesday's Pawley's Inspiration

This past weekend was one of the best I have had in a long time.  My mother (Mimi to those who are regular readers!), sister and I spent the weekend at my parents' home at Pawley's Island.  Pawley's  is a small but well-established beach community located in coastal South Carolina, about 70 miles north of Charleston and 20 or so miles south of Myrtle Beach. This relaxed resort area is often described - with great pride - as "arrogantly shabby" and is known to be one of the oldest and most popular summer resorts on the East Coast.  The quaint community is surrounded by salt marshes on one side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other.  Historically, plantation owners flocked to the area seeking a retreat from the balmy air of the Waccamaw River in search of the cool sea breezes. Pawley's Island preserves its commitment to its roots, having only 600 homes on the entire island and no stores or restaurants  Not bad for a small, non-commercial island that is only four miles long and a quarter of a mile wide!

My father's parents built their home in the 1940s.  Not antebellum... but "arrogantly shabby" none-the-less!  We have been summering there all my life.  And this past weekend lived up to all I imagined it would with the two women closest to me.

All Mama wanted for Mother's Day this year was for the three of us to spend a weekend at Pawley's.  When I arrived late Friday afternoon, AS (my sister) and mother greeted me with a glass of white wine and an invite to "cocktail hour" on the dock.  We must have laughed for hours...

The next day was spent buying treasures at the shops on the mainland and a pedicure for our tired feet.  AS and I love our Jack Rogers...

But that night was what we were really looking forward to: supper at the divine Frank's Outback where we solved problems of the world over numerous cosmos and scrumptious food.  Again, we laughed and laughed, flirted (as only happily married women can do and get away with it!) with the waiter, and dined on some of the best food on the east coast.  We had so much fun that a family of three decided that we were perhaps too much fun to sit next to... so they moved tables!  The mother "humphed" a bit at this sixty-five year old lady and her two daughters. What a coup that was!  It made the evening that much better.

 

Yes, AS and I made it down to the beach the next day.  Sorry, no pictures of the sun goddesses... on purpose.  However, two discoveries were made:  A) When beach bags are concerned, great minds (or sisters) think alike!

and B) Who knew Perrier came in beach friendly bottles (plastic)?  They rock!

 

It was a Golden weekend... and one we plan on doing year after year!

Would You Care to Shag... um, I Mean Dance?

Last night we celebrated my father's 70th birthday.  My mother, sister and I sent out almost 100 invitations for a soiree with jambalaya, beer and shagging.  It was a wonderful affair, with 150 of his dearest and closest friends celebrating a man they love.  The supper was eaten, the Amber Bach consumed, and the shagging commenced. 

"What?  The 'shagging commenced?' " you non-southerners may say.  (And you Brits may be a little more appalled.)  Yes, shagging.  I do know what some of you may associate with the term, but if you live south of the Mason-Dixon line, your parents do it right in front of you, and encourage you to do so too!

Shagging is the state dance of South Carolina... yes, our legislature obviously didn't have much on their plates the year it was passed.  Think a variation of the 40's jitterbug, old Motown (affectionately called "Beach Music"), and a couple in bare feet on the beach.  Shagging is so ingrained in our society down here that at my debutante balls, in addition to the Grand March and the waltz, we danced to The Drifters, The Four Tops, The Temptations, and the other old Motown bands.

I, like all other young southerners, was expected to learn how to shag.  My parents are fabulous dancers, and my mother taught me by having me hold onto a door handle as "my partner" when I was around twelve or thirteen.  She also had me hold a pencil between my fingers and a cup of water filled to the rim in one hand because she knew that at some point I would probably have a "drink" and cigarette while I was dancing and she didn't want me to spill either.  (Yes, this is Mimi from previous posts!)  Needless to say, my sister and I are pros, and nary a drop has ever been spilled by either of us!

So now it is my turn to teach my children.  Sumter just started dancing with me just this past month.  And I must say he is pretty good.  So glad he is a willing partner!  Last night, he wanted to try some of the moves he saw the adults dancing.  I wish we had some pictures of us...

But I do have these little gems.  

This is Jackson and his best friend/cousin MS.  

Aren't they precious?

Please excuse the pollen "dots"!

Can you say "Dancing with the Stars"?

Mom, I thought my name was D*** it

In reading Jillian, Inc.'s post from a week or so ago, I was reminded that I say "damn it" too much.  But you really wouldn't know it spending time with me... just me. I am the girl who always says "Oh, my word!" and "Oh, my goodness!" - not "Oh, my God".   I say "shoot" and "shucks" - not "s***".  I say "That really irritates me" - not "That p***** me off".  I just don't.

But I do the "damn it" quite a bit.  And it's when I have FINALLY HAD IT with one or both of the boys.  I admit it.  I crack.  I am spent.  I am done. I'm like the Bill Cosby comedy segment where "...my brother Russell thought his name was Damn it!"



My youngest told his Mimi (my mother) a few weeks ago that I cursed at them.

Mimi:  Oh my, what does she say?
Jackson: She says "the D word".
Mimi:  Well, what do you do to make her say that?

Thank you Mimi!  I love you!

Thank you for the ride...

My sweet friend, Mama Henley, just blogged about "rules" her family had growing up.  It reminded me of one rule my family had.  It so sticks out in my mind:  Always thank the person who gives you a ride home.

I can remember practicing with my mother.  "Goodbye Mrs. So-and-So.  Thank you for the ride!"  It must be genuine, and our tone must reflect our true thanks.  And it was said every... single... time an adult other than our parents brought us home.  My sister and I were in numerous carpools for church choir, ballet, gymnastics - you name it!  It became rote.  And it still is... now for Sumter and Jackson.

I feel like my own mother, reminding them "don't forget to thank Mr. or Mrs. So-and-So for the ride!"  And they always remember.  I know, because Mr. or Mrs. So-and-So tell me.  We parents notice these things, don't we?  We notice gratitude and good manners.  We notice when our children show thanks.

Yes, we do... and we notice when our children's friends don't...

Three Little Dots...

 First, I am definitely on the mend!  Thank you all for your sweet, sweet, sweet comments.  My bout with the dreaded stomach bug was definitely the twenty-four hour version... and for that I am so thankful!  I am able to go to Sumter's last basketball game and, perhaps, spend some time outside in these glorious 60s degrees temperatures.  (Can you believe that last weekend we had five inches of snow???)

Which brings me to something I have realized about myself... I love "three little dots".  See, I just did it!  (Actually, they are called ellipsis points if you want to be grammatically correct.)  Don't believe I am an addict???  Look at the title of my blog:  "It's a Golden Day..."  Told you so.  I know they aren't the best for formal writing, so I never use them there.  But they add so much when writing my blog, or an email, or on Facebook.  I have to really control myself on Twitter... damn those 140 character limits!!!

But I don't think it's just the "three little dots" I love.  "Three little exclamation points" (!!!) and "three little question marks" (???) also score big in my book.   What is it about "three"?  I'm guessing it stems back from creating center pieces and arrangements with my mother... and what she told me:

 "Never use an even number of anything when arranging.  

It never looks right.
Three (or five) give it just the right punch."
  

And so I use three... because five would be just too much, don't you think?

Two Pictures, One Message

This past Monday, I had the opportunity to visit my mother for a fun lunch and an afternoon of shopping - just the two of us.  She lives around an hour away, so this was a quite a treat!  After a yummy lunch at Travinia's we hit the shops.  One store we visited was a favorite kitchen shop, Mary and Martha's.  There, I was able to make some wonderful purchases, including this beautiful and inspirational canvas I have hung over the double doors to the pantry that holds our food and other kitchen necessities.

That was going to be the end of my blog were it not for another piece of art I saw today:  a photograph that conveyed yet another message of God's greatness and goodness.  Kiki was pulled out alive from the rubble in Haiti after almost eight days.  Reaching out for him is his mother.

For God IS Great and God IS Good!