Heather

11/30/13

Happy Birthday Heather!  28 years ago at 6 a.m. I was admitted into the Navy Hospital at Patuxent River, Maryland in active labor and at 6:46 a.m. you were born.  My first child.  My only daughter.

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to get married and have children.  As a child, my favorite toys were dolls and all they encompassed.  I knew I wanted more than one child and I knew I wanted at least one girl.  I did not know you were a girl when I was carrying you.  I'll never forget that moment when I heard the words, "it's a girl!".  I cried tears of joy.  My heart was full and overflowing.

I had decided not long after I had met your Daddy that your name would be Heather, since I loved the way Heather Hodges sounded together.  Your middle name, Rochelle, came from a baby book.  Your Grandma Ethel pointed out your initials, HRH, stood for "her royal highness".  When your Grandpa came to see you the day you were born and you opened your eyes he said, "She's so smart!  She opened her eyes already!"  I reminded him that babies could open their eyes and maybe he was thinking about puppies, but he was convinced you were the smartest baby ever!  He wasn't wrong.

I'm sorry, but you didn't get any presents your first Christmas (you were not even a month old).  We didn't have any money for presents, but I felt like the richest person alive.  You were the sweetest, most agreeable baby.  You slept through the night at 7 weeks.  As you got big enough to move around and reach things, I only had to tell you no once.  A stern look from Daddy or me would usually be all it took to correct you.  You made us look like fantastic parents...but I know better.

Some funny things I remember:

• You were about 5 and I had been dieting and you overheard me tell someone I had lost weight.  You said, "I can tell you lost weight Mommy!"  Just as I was feeling all proud of my accomplishments, you continued, "your toes look skinnier!"  Thanks sweetie...thanks a lot.
• I think you were 4 when someone asked what you wanted to be when you grew up and you said, "a skeleton!"  I don't know what prompted that, it was probably around Halloween.  I'm glad you chose Dental Hygienist since I hear Skeleton doesn't pay that well.
• Speaking of Halloween, the year you were 9 you wanted to be a Power Ranger and wouldn't be happy until I made you the Pink Power Ranger costume.  Well, it had four billion different pieces to sew together out of pink and white felt which took me forever to make and when you put it on for trick-or-treat, you hated it because, "it was hot and scratchy."  Uhhhhh...you're welcome?

You are the best big sister.  When I was pregnant with Ricky, you said you hoped he was a boy.  When I asked you why you said, "Because if I have a sister, she will try to steal all my boyfriends".  You were three when he came home from the hospital and you loved him so.  I remember when you found out that all babies do not have feeding tubes in their tummies, like your brother did.  Even at your young age, you showed him compassion far beyond your years.  Ricky died when you were 5 and although you thought your heart would break in two, you knew he was safe with Jesus.

When Bobby came along you were 8 and like his second mommy.  He was born on Groundhog's Day and when you went to school to tell all your classmates, they laughed and teased you that your brother was a groundhog, which made you cry.  I'm so thankful you two are close as adults.

I wrote this poem when you were 7:

Ribbons and bows
Short, stubby toes
Sweet button nose
My little girl

Dressed up in pink
Bracelets that clink
Learning to wink
My little girl

Mud pies for lunch
Weeds in a bunch
Cookies to munch
My little girl

High heels and make-up
Tea in a small cup
Loving your new pup
My little girl

Giggling happy
Boo boos on your knee
Singing "Jesus Loves Me"
My little girl

My heart wants to soar
I couldn't love you more
I thank God that you're
My little girl

Heather, you are the daughter every mother dreams of.  I am so proud of the kind, caring, loyal, thoughtful, strong, hardworking, determined, sweet, funny, compassionate, loving, smart, woman you are.  I thank God for you.  On this day, and everyday, I am blessed to be your mom.  It may be your birthday, but I get the best gift - you.  I love you.

Bobby

Today, our family celebrated Thanksgiving.  Bobby will not be here on Thanksgiving since he leaves early Monday morning for Navy boot camp in Great Lakes, IL so we held it early.  I know in my heart that holidays will never be the same.  I was used to spending many holidays without my husband throughout his military career, but I've never had to spend a holiday without Heather or Bobby.  I guess I will learn a "new normal".

Bobby is my third child, second son.  I was 36 when he was born an he'll be 20 in a few months.  Bobby was an easy baby, but happiest when he was finally moving.  It seemed like he went from crawling to running.  I don't remember much walking.  What a busy little fellow he was.  I wanted to share some of my sweetest memories.

• When Bobby was about 10, he and I were flying from Florida to Virginia to visit my dad.  Our plane had climbed above the clouds and the sun was shining brightly, reflecting off the clouds below and they were sparkling.  It was such a beautiful sight, he turned to me and said, "Mama, are we in Heaven?!?"  I still find that precious to this day.
• I have a card at work Bobby made me when he was about 9 that says, "I love you more than video games". 
• At about age 8, he informed me I made "the best grilled cheeses in the whole world".  A degree from Le Cordon Bleu, would not mean as much to me as that statement has.
• Bobby was 12 when we visited my brother, Danny and his family in Pennsylvania one year.  We were spending the day in Amish Country and had stopped at an Amish Market.  As we were crossing the street and Bobby was running (go figure!) across, he fell flat into the only pile of horse doodie for miles!  Bob cleaned him up the best he could, but it was quite a stinky ride back to my brother's house.
• At age 6 the young son of a black family down the street used to come to our house and play and one day after the boy left, Bobby said, "he is my favorite brown friend."

Bobby, there is so much in my heart that cannot be put into words.  I am proud of you.  I thank God for you.  I will pray for you (as I always do).  Your Dad and I have tried to give you the tools you need to survive and succeed in this world.  You will do great.  I love you and am blessed to be your mom.

Act your age

I've been thinking about age lately and what it means to "act your age".  I'm 56.  I don't care to be any other age than that.  I love being 56...which really works out well.

I know vibrant, active 80 year olds and idle, dull 30 year olds.  Age is a number assigned to the years we've been allowed.  At 56, I'm on the downhill slide.  I'm past middle age, meaning I'm not likely to live to be 112, so I'm more aware of making my remaining years worthwhile.  I don't have a bucket list, things I feel I must accomplish before I die, but each day I'm allowed I strive to:

• Be kind.  I learned that it's usually more important to be kind than be right.
• Learn something new. 
• Forgive others and myself.
• Love people.  Not just the easy people...all people.

Do I get it right every day?  Hardly, but I begin each day anew.  A fresh start to be the best 56 year old I can be.  Watch out world, I'm acting my age.

Little Miss Stuffit

Little Miss Stuffit
  by Gina Hodges

Little Miss Stuffit sat on her tuffet
eating her cakes and pies
When she overate, along came more weight
which went straight to her hips and her thighs.

Gym Class

I never cared for Gym Class.  Take an overweight teenager, stuff her into a hideous, one-piece, red gym uniform and ask her to perform feats of strength and endurance.  Oh how I envied the girls who could run and jump and glide gracefully with their ponytails flowing...while I huffed and puffed like a river dancing hippo.

It's hard to narrow down which part of Gym I disliked the most.  Each semester held it's own misery.  One semester was Field and Track and gave us Field Hockey, Archery, and Cross Country....oh, the torture that was Cross Country.  I think I may hold the school record for slowest time running Cross Country.  Running may be an overstatement.

Another semester was dedicated to Gymnastics.  Trampoline, balance beam, the horse, parallel bars, un-parallel bars...all torture devices waiting to maim and kill.  We also did tumbling in Gymnastics.  My worse day in Gym was during a tumbling class.  The Coach explained what we were going to do.  One girl would be on her hands and knees on the mat.  We would take a running start and when we reached that girl, we would spring over her head-first, doing a forward roll.   A running forward roll.  Over a live person. 

As soon as the Coach explained it, I did not know how I could possibly perform this act.  I watched as girl after girl sprinted up to the human barrier, floated over her, rolling gracefully on the other side.  I told the Coach I could not do this.  I had never done a running forward roll in my life.  She said I had to try it.  So off I galloped toward the waiting girl (I pray she wasn't looking) I leaped up in the air and crashed down right on top of that poor helpless child.  My pride was bruised, but my neck wasn't broken.  And that girl...I think it was her worse day in gym class too.

Happy Birthday Ricky

Warning..what you are about to read might make you sad.  That is not my intention. 

25 years ago today our second child was born.  Our first son, Richard John Hodges, "Ricky".  During a routine ultrasound when I was 5 months pregnant with him, they discovered his urinary tract was blocked, which resulted in severe kidney damage among other things.  We were told he had no chance of survival.  The doctor told me I would carry him to term and he would die soon after he was born so we should plan for his funeral...it would be easier they said.  So we did.  Instead of a crib, we bought a casket.

The weeks dragged on and then on August 23, 1988, Ricky came into this world.  He wasn't crying, he wasn't even breathing.  The Neonatal team at Sacred Heart Hospital whisked him away to do what they could.  The day passed and Ricky was still with us.  A week passed and it was time for me to be discharged.  Ricky had to stay, but he was still with us.  A month passed, then two.  After four months, Ricky was finally discharged and came home.  We had already returned the casket and bought a crib by that time.  Months turned into years.  There were many doctors and hospital stays and procedures and surgeries. 

Then on March 22, 1991, at Wilford Hall Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas, while I held him in my arms, Ricky left us.  2 1/2 years after he arrived...2 1/2 more years than we ever imagined.  While there have been tears shed, our hearts are full and overflowing.  We feel blessed beyond measure.  We were allowed 2 1/2 years of his smiles, his laughter, and we are eternally grateful.

What I know:
1.  Doctors are not God.  They don't know everything.
2.  Bad things happen to good people.  Rain falls on the just and the unjust. 
3.  Without my faith in God and the comfort of my Savior, Jesus Christ, I would not be able to tell you Ricky's story with joy in my heart.
4.  It's important to be kind to others, you never know what they are going through.
5.  People sometimes say the wrong thing when you're grieving.  Forgive them.
6.  Life is short and precious.  Tell the people in your life that you love them...better yet, show them.

Happy Birthday Ricky.

My Brother

My Mom named him Danny after the singer/actor Danny Kaye.  Two and a half years older than me, I thought he was the greatest thing ever.  I was never happier than when he let me participate in whatever it was he was doing at the time.

As older brothers often do, he delighted in teasing me.  If  he came up with a clever idea, he'd always let me try it first to work the bugs out.  If things went wrong, he'd always say, "I'll give you a quarter if you don't tell Dad".  I wouldn't have told on him anyway because I didn't want him to stop letting me hang out with him; the quarters were just a bonus.

I was probably 11 and Danny asked me if I wanted to try out the parachute he just made.  A parachute?!?  WOW!  Of course I wanted to try it out.  No kid I ever knew had flown in a parachute (do you fly in a parachute?...jump?...sail?) and I was going to be the first!  We proceeded out to the barn where he had one of Mom's sheets with rope tied to the four corners.  He tied the ropes securely around my waist and instructed me to climb up the ladder in the barn to the highest point.  When I reached the top he told me to hold the parachute out and jump into the bales of hay about 40 feet below. 

Now, I was not the least bit afraid.  After all, this was my brother.  He had invented this parachute and he was letting me take the maiden flight, what an honor!  I stepped to the edge, held the ends of the sheet in both hands and jumped off; fully expecting to float gracefully down to Danny waiting below.  Instead I dropped like a rock and ended up falling head first with my head stuck between two bales of hay.

I think I deserved two quarters that day.

Jiminy Christmas

I lived on a Thoroughbred horse farm in Maryland from age 11 until I left home at 18.  My dad trained horses for our landlord and also had his own Thoroughbred, Jiminy Christmas.

Thoroughbred horses are working animals, not pets.  We could not ride them, that was only for the jockeys.  They are very feisty and you always had to be on the lookout since they loved to bite and kick.

There was always lots to be done on the farm.  I helped with the hay baling by riding on the wagon.  As the bailer spit out the bales, my brother and I would stack them up neatly.  We also cleaned the stables.  Danny would be in one stall and me in the one across from him with the manure spreader backed up between us.  We cleaned the stalls with pitchforks, throwing the manure into the spreader.  I remember Danny being very strong since his forkfuls of manure would travel through the air, completely missing the spreader, usually landing somewhere on me!

I thought the worse job was feeding them.  To me, they were giant, biting, kicking machines and I remember easing their stall doors open quietly, throwing the feed in their buckets and slamming the door shut quickly before they knew what happened.

My dad has a picture from the 70's in his apartment of the winners circle.  Danny is standing there in his striped bell bottoms and newsboy cap, holding Jiminy Christmas and Dad is standing beside of him with his stogie and handlebar mustache and I can tell my the look in that horse's eyes, he couldn't wait to get home to bite me.

A Children's Book

I wrote this back in 1994.  I entered it into a contest for a children's book, but did not win.

Little Patty Puddinhead

Little Patty Puddinhead
never cleaned beneath her bed.
When her mom said, "Clean your room",
Patty'd run to get the broom,
and then she'd sweep with all her might
'til everything was out of sight.
But while her room looked good as new,
the mess beneath her bed just grew.

Patty didn't seem to mind,
even when she couldn't find
her favorite doll or ruby ring.
In fact, she'd lost most everything.
"It isn't lost, it's beneath my bed".
She'd stomp her feet and shake her head.
"I told you once, I do not care.
I am not cleaning under there!"

All was fine until the day
Patty went to her room to play.
As she walked past her bed, much to her wonder,
she slipped and fell and rolled right under!
She struggled and kicked and tried to get free,
but there was just too much stuff under there you see.

She started to scream, holler and shout.
"Someone please help me, I cannot get out!"
Her mother came running, she saw Patty's plight.
She grabbed hold and pulled with all of her might.
Patty popped out and along with her came
every lost book, all her video games!
Her favorite dress with a bow on the sleeve,
and there was her stuffed hippopotamus, Steve.

A marble, four hair bows, a piece of dried cheese.
The necklace Aunt Ruth gave her when she was three.
Her doll that could wink and say mama too.
Her two favorite hats - one was pink, one was blue.
Balls, blocks and buckets for sand.
There was even the flute she once played in the band.
The dog's half-chewed bone, the cat's rubber rat.
Her brother's ball glove (he's been looking for that).

There were crayons and markers and green glitter glue.
A duck that went quack and a cow that said moo.
Six cups to her tea set (there may have been more).
A seashell she'd found on her trip to the shore.
All her lost things were finally found.
Then Patty declared after turning around.
"My room is a mess!", and then Patty said,
"I'll go get the broom!"  Her mom just shook her head.

Walk This Way

I must confess I'm not a big fan of exercise.  Oh I do it, but I do it so I don't have to ride in one of those scooters when I go to Wal-Mart since they all seem to be in use when I'm there. 

Through the years I've partied off the pounds, sweated to the oldies, disco sweated, and boogied down the pounds with Richard Simmons.  I've thigh-blasted and butt-busted.  I've Jazzercised and Zumba'd.  I've even joined a water aerobics class with a pool full of seniors (don't you EVEN say I should have fit right in!).  I was clearly the young-un of the group.  They didn't care an awful lot about the exercise, but used the time to discuss Myrtle's latest bout with bunions and bursitis.

Four months ago I joined Planet Fitness and go for an hour every weekday.  My torture device of choice currently is the treadmill and I give it all I got without breaking into a run.  I read in a fitness magazine years ago about the "correct" way to walk...with your arms bent at the elbows...pumping them as you stride to get the most benefit.  So here I am, headphones on (yes, those big hulking noise-cancelling headphones that cover your whole ear, to which my daughter says..."you wear THEM at the gym?!?", while secretly thankful she belongs to a different gym), treadmill speed 3.6-3.8 depending on the tunes on my MP3 at the time, arms bent at the elbow, chugging along like The Bushwhackers marching out on the World Wrestling Federation (watch "The Bushwhackers WWF Full Entrance" on YouTube to see what I'm talking about).  I'm sure it's a sight, but I don't have time to worry about that.  Myrtle looked pretty feisty and I don't want to have to fight her for a scooter.

Friends

I wrote this poem in 2008.

Friends

My diet isn't working
The pounds upward, they creep.
Do you think it could be caused
By the company I keep?

There's my neighbor, Betty Crocker
She's really quite a gal.
I invite her over every day
She is my special pal.

Mrs. Paul lives down the street
And stops by whenever she can.
But if she's busy, I just call
The Gorton's Fisherman.

Hungry Jack and Peter Pan
And those cute little Keebler Elves
Keep me company when I'm lonely
They live there on my shelves.

Oh, and I can't forget my relatives
They moved here from 'Carolina.
They just showed up and wouldn't leave
My Uncle Ben and Aunt Jemima.

Sara Lee stops in from time to time
And along with her she carries.
Her husband, Famous Amos
And their bad boys Ben and Jerry!

So I guess you see my problem
I now must make amends.
If I'm ever going to lose this weight
I need some different friends.

Rus-Joy Inn

My first job was as a waitress at the Rus-Joy Inn in Manchester, MD.  It was actually in Melrose, but you'd be hard pressed to find Melrose on any map and even if you lived in Melrose, your mailing address was Manchester.

The Rus-Joy Inn was a locally-owned family restaurant that was famous for their fried chicken and their family-style way of serving.  If your family came for dinner and you ordered the fried chicken, it was served on a platter and the sides you chose came in large bowls for everyone to pass and share. 

I started there in 1972 at the age of 15.  My pay was .60 cents an hour plus tips.  I loved working there and was able to save enough money to buy my first car a few years later.  I have many fond memories of my time there, but one thing stands out over the rest.

In 1972, most waitresses wore uniforms.  If you're too young to remember them you may have to Google "waitress uniforms of the 70's" to get an idea of what I'm talking about.  I wore the two-piece pantsuit uniforms.  They were very light, made from nylon-type material.  This particular day I was wearing a uniform I had made.  The restaurant was closed and I was cleaning up before I could clock out and go home.  I was sweeping the floor and thought it was getting awfully hard for me to move and just as I looked down, my boss walked in through the swinging doors from the kitchen to see me standing there...with the broom in my hand....and my uniform pants down around my feet!!  I don't know who was more embarrassed, but I was mortified.  He quickly did an about face and I retrieved my pants from the floor and refastened my zipper.  I quickly finished cleaning and hightailed it home.  We never spoke of that day.

I learned so much from that first job.  How to manage money, how to deal with a wide variety of people, how to make a milkshake and most importantly....to always, always sew a hook and eye closure at the top of your zipper when you make uniform pants.

Military on my mind

I'm about 9, which would make my brother, Danny, 11.  In the yard we've pitched Dad's pup tent and I have a green metal helmet on my head and a military backpack on my back.  I'm running as Danny calls out, "HIT THE DIRT!"  I do a belly flop into the soft grass and wait for my next command.  Danny is the Drill Instructor and I am his recruit.  We spend many days playing, what our dad did for real.

I've been a military dependent for 48 of my 56 years.  My Dad is a Marine (I'm not going to say he "was" a Marine since they say you never stop being a Marine).  He spent 20 years on active duty and retired in 1968.

I met Bob when he was a young Sailor, and when he asked if he could come over to see me, I told him yes as long as he wore his uniform.  Something about a military uniform gives me the vapors!  Well he wore his uniform and the rest is history.  Everything I had learned from being a military brat came in very handy when I married Bob.  I was an old pro at moving and understood what was expected of, and in store for, the family of the military member.  Bob served 23 1/2 years in the Navy aboard the aircraft carriers Nimitz, Forrestal, Lexington and Enterprise; and shore duty in Patuxent River, MD and Pensacola, FL.  We loved Pensacola so much we never left! 

Now a new military chapter is starting in our lives as our son, Bobby, has joined the Navy and leaves for boot camp in November.  To say we are proud of him is an understatement...you bet your Yankee Doodle Dandy we are!

I will always get a lump in my throat when they play the National Anthem, Taps, the Marine Corps Hymn or Anchors Away.  Whenever I can I will stand and salute with my hand over my heart in appreciation for their sacrifice and service...and then I will kneel and pray for their safe return.

Alfred McNair

I love to write poetry and will be sharing them here on my blog.  I wrote this is 1992.

Alfred McNair

Alfred McNair
had birds in his hair
they just moved in one day.

"Please leave", he said politely
(they were rather unsightly!)
but the birds would not go away.

He tried every shampoo
even combing them too
he tried sprays, gels and mudpacks.

He teased, squeezed
let his hair blow in the breeze
but the birds just said, "thanks for the bath".

For years they lived there
in Alfred McNair's hair
they seemed so very content.

'Til one afternoon
in the middle of June
they took Alfred's hair and they went.

Thinking about cussing

Calm down, I'm not thinking about spicing up my language.  I was trying to remember when this swearing free-for-all became commonplace.

I came from a swear-free home.  Oh, Dad would let out an H-E-Double Hockey Sticks every now and then, but as a general rule it was not acceptable.  I was raised that men did not cuss in front of women and no-one cussed in front of children.  I remember fishing at a pond across from our farm with my brother and dad and a convertible pulled over to the side of the road near the pond and the man and woman were swearing up a storm at each other.  My father walked over to the car and told the occupants he didn't really care what they did, but they were not going to do it in front of his children.  The car pulled away and although I don't remember what they said to each other, I do remember feeling protected and special.

Our children were raised with the understanding that certain words were off limits.  I'll never forget the day 5 year old Heather and I had this conversation:

Heather:   "Today, Timmy said the 'S' word."
Me:           "The 'S' word?"
Heather:    "Yes, the 'S' word!"  Her eyes growing big.
Me:           "What's the 'S' word?"
Heather:    "Oh, I can't SAY it!"
Me:           "Well, just this once you can tell me and you won't get in trouble."  I was really curious as
                    how she even knew what the 'S' word was.
Heather:    With all her innocence, in a soft voice she said..............................."Stupid."

You see, we did not allow that word in our home.  It was an ugly word that was better left unsaid, so of course she would be surprised when she heard someone else use that word.

I know, it's only words, what's the big deal?  Just because we are able to do something, does not mean we should do it.  Words can hurt or words can heal.  They can lift you up or tear you down.  They are powerful tools, and we should use them wisely.

I have to admit I will probably always be offended by swearing in my presence.  If you choose to do it though be careful...Dad may be just around the corner.

Thoughts about Mom

Sometimes I walk past a mirror and catch a glimpse of my Mother.  Sometimes it's her voice I hear when I open my mouth.  The other day I laughed and it was just like I remembered her laughing.  Born in 1914, next year she would have been 100.  "I'd like to live to be 100", she'd say.  Well Mom, you made it to 90 and that's longer than most. 

Mom was 43 when I was born.  I was the last of her 6 children and I nearly killed her, so the story goes, from hemorrhaging.  Thankfully she didn't die of that...or from all the times I broke her heart through the years.  She may have been older than my friends mothers, but she didn't act any different.  Always full of fun and adventure.

I remember her in pedal pushers and bobby socks, starched cotton dresses with an apron on when she was cooking, and in her Sunday best with a hat and gloves for Church.  She sewed many of her clothes and mine too.  She could make an outfit without a pattern, just by looking at a picture in the Sears catalog.  She made me dresses out of feed sacks.  Before you start imagining I was a hobo in a burlap sack, the feed came in beautiful cotton print material.  She sewed clothes for me until I became a teenager and decided homemade clothes were not cool.

She loved to cook and loved her family through her cooking.  Wonderful meals every day.  There had to be a meat, a starch, one or two vegetables and bread and butter.  We always had water with our meals.  Kool-Aid and iced tea were for special occasions like picnics, not mealtime.

I remember sitting on her lap in the rocking chair while she sang "The Old Rugged Cross" and "In the Garden", her two favorite hymns.  She loved music, singing and dancing.  In her retired years she played the washboard in a jug band with other seniors.  She loved life.

My Mom is the reason I can sew and cook and love to do both.  She's the reason I love aprons and have an apron collection.  Her love of God and "starting me off in the way I should go" is a big reason I have a personal relationship with Jesus today.  Her adventuresome spirit gave me the courage to learn to scuba dive at 55, and learn sign language and desire to keep learning new things. 

Thank you Mom.