vickeymalonekennedy.com Blog

The times they are a changing

Administrator — Tue, 20 May 2008 17:06:59 +0000

My son will graduate from high school this Friday. He doesn’t turn eighteen until Sept. But I figure once he’s a high school grad he’s pretty much grown. He’s always telling me I need to cut the umbilical cord.

Anyway, there is a part of me that is really excited about him growing up because once he is an adult I don’t have to be one anymore. I won’t be legally responsible for anyone but myself. It won’t be considered child abandonment if I just take off and stay gone for weeks at a time. I doubt I’ll have any more money but I won’t feel as guilty about spending my money on me, me, me, instead of the kids.

I’m not too worried about the empty nest syndrome. My daughter lives less than a mile away and comes home nearly every day for something. Usually money. He is planning to go to college at (not OSU his dear ole mum’s Alma Marta) but that other Oklahoma university right down the street from my house. So he’ll be living at home at least his freshman year. They got rules.

Still, I’ve been a mother -stop laughing Bill- most of my life. So it will be an adjustment. Of course I will still be their mother but there is a difference in being the mother of minors and adults.

I’m accustomed to telling them what to do. Not that I actually expect them to do what I tell them. I will probably always put in my two cents worth. But how do I transition from the ‘because I’m your mother and I said so’, parent to the ‘may I offer my opinion’, parent?

The Klingon in me says, “Just beat your opinion into them!”

But the Klingon in me isn’t always reasonable. (Of course I would never tell her that)

Happy Dance

Administrator — Sat, 05 Apr 2008 06:01:38 +0000

I finally got a new computer! Now all I need to do is learn to use it. It’s an HP which I’ve never owned. It has Microsoft Word instead of Word Perfect loaded on it. Which I am not accustomed to using. So as great as it is to have a new computer, at last, it’s also a bit frustrating.

Seems, I’m never satisfied. Unless there is grape seed oil involved.

I’ve got good news and bad news.

Administrator — Wed, 23 Jan 2008 02:18:21 +0000

The good news first: I sent the first three chapters of ‘Lost Lizards’ to Mojocastle Press. Stefani sent me an email saying “This is wicked.” (that’s a good thing, right?)

Any ways, she did say she wanted to see the rest of it.

Which brings us to the bad news: My computer crashed and died. The Geek Squad implied the Death Squad had taken a contract out on my poor little computer. Prognosis; Put her out of her misery.

More good news: They can save my documents.

Bad news: They can’t save my programs, which I paid good money for, but of course I can never keep up with disc. Once I load them onto the computer I toss them onto the table next to my chair. Eventually a pile accumulates atop of whatever is on the table. Eventually the pile ends up in the floor, then in a box next to the table, then in the garage, then . . .

I’ve never been able to figure out what happens to the things that end up in the garage. They are still in there, of course. Amid a million other boxes of unidentified, albeit extremely important, never throw it away, stuff. But if you can find anything in there you are luckier than I.

Good news: Melissa loaned me her computer!

Bad news: I can’t get on the internet with her computer. Don’t ask why.

Good news: I can get the book ready to send in. Copy it to a disc. And then find another computer to email it from.

Guess what? It’s all good.

Achy breaky back

Administrator — Wed, 28 Nov 2007 21:44:48 +0000

The doctor released me to work four hour shifts, desk work only. So I’m working six hour shifts. For a couple of weeks I helped with the computer training classes, because I am computer friendly and one of the computer resource people for my unit. This week I’m filling in as a unit secretary and my manager has me scheduled to go back to the floor full time Dec. 10^th, because I have a doctor’s appointment on the tenth.

The problem is that the six hours on the desk are kicking my rump. My back aches. My neck aches. My incision area aches. I get tired too quickly and I never seem to get enough rest.

I’m freaking falling apart. Too tired to do anything I don’t absolutely have to do. Too tired to do a lot of things I absolutely need to do. Too tired to write.

Other than that I’m feeling just fine physically. I’m actually feeling better emotionally as well. I made a decision a few weeks ago that I was not wasting any more tears on anyone that doesn’t love me. And I haven’t cried over anyone since. I’ve actually started talking to my ex again. Don’t know where it’s going from here. At the moment I have no expectations. One day at a time. That’s all any of us can really handle.

We just have to take whatever the world tosses at us one thing and one day at a time. Try not to dwell on the past. Try not to worry about the future. Just try to survive the here and now. If we manage that then we’re doing all right.

home again, home again

Administrator — Sun, 18 Nov 2007 19:17:10 +0000

On my way to work Saturday, Oct. 20, severe pains stabbed me in the lower right abdominal area. No not appendicitis. I had a dying ovary. They cut me open, to remove the ovary, discovered tumors on my ovaries, uterus, bladder and abdominal wall, took biopsies, then closed me up again.

For the next four days I was terrified. My doctor seemed very certain it was cancer. Thankfully it wasn’t. I did have to have a total abdominal hysterectomy and a bladder suspension. I had needed the bladder fixed for years. Actually I had needed the hysterectomy for years. But you know nurses make the worst patients.

I had a couple of near death experiences. They had me on a continuous Morphine drip and I stopped breathing every time I fell asleep. Scared my mom to death. I tried to explain to the nurse that I thought I was being overdosed and I needed Narcan, but she thought I was just one of those nurses trying to dose herself.

Thank goodness my doctor didn’t agree with her. But before they had a chance to stop the PCA I accidently pulled the IV out trying to get out of bed to go to the bathroom. It probably saved my life.

I have to admit that the morphine did a great job of relieving the pain, but I had some bizarre hallucinations. One was about these three rats ducked taped to a black felt hat. They kept flipping the hat over. Really weird. Really comical according to my family. They are still making fun of my rats on hats.

My mom lives at Lake Texoma. She insisted I go home with her when I got out of the hospital. Probably the smartest thing I could have done. No one at home to take care of me. My mom waited on me hand and foot during my recovery. It was nice.

I love it at the lake. Except my parent’s boat is broken so we did not go fishing, not even once.

My dad has all these friends down there with boats, and they go fishing all the time, but not one of them invited us along during my visit. Not to mention that someone stole all my dad’s fishing poles and tackle boxes. What a bitch.

One of my parent’s friends brought us fresh catfish a couple of times. It was fantastic. Home fried, fresh catfish, right out of the lake is better than the finest cuisine from any five star restaurant in the world.

My sister, Chris, won two hundred bucks from the lottery while I was there. So my folks and I played the lottery unsuccessfully the next week. My niece, Brooke, babysat me while my parents went out gambling on Thursday nights. Gambling was a repetitive theme.

It didn’t rain while I was there. Which was a good thing because the lake is high. Not as high as it was a few months ago but still high.

It was a remarkably uneventful couple of weeks. That’s exactly the reason I enjoy the lake. I like the peace and quite. I like sitting on the porch for hours at a time doing absolutely nothing. I love the way time seems to slow down and almost stand still long enough to catch my breath. It truly is like living in another time period.

Of course it was really tough to be away from my baby boy and the internet for two weeks. I had some serious withdrawal symptoms. Started dreaming in HTML. Then I got home and my wireless wasn’t working. It’s going to take a month to catch up with all my e-mail, but I promise to get back to everyone as soon as possible.

Physically I’m getting better every day. Still tired. A trip to the grocery store nearly kicks my ass. My blood pressure has been completely out of control for about a month. It’s probably just stress. But otherwise I’m recovering physically.

things are looking up

Administrator — Sat, 20 Oct 2007 07:04:13 +0000

Baby Brother and I went to see “The Game Plan”, staring The Rock, this evening. It was one of those feel good family movies full of laughs and a couple of really enjoyable necked chest shots of Dwayne. Defiantly worth the full price tickets.

It’s the first time Brother’s been out of the house in days. As if a broken arm wasn’t enough of a burden, he’s had an upper respiratory infection all week. He’s been miserable.

It’s been twice as miserable for him because I’ve been so depressed. Poor baby couldn’t get his poor ole moody mother to pet him while he’s feeling bad. But thanks to some really wonderful folks petting me the last few weeks things are beginning to look better.

I’ve got some fantastic friends. They’ve got sturdy, soaking wet, shoulders that I’ve really had to lean upon a lot to help get me over the hump. It’s reassuring to know there are so many people out there that have got my back. Especially this time of the year.

Of course a really good back rub would make me feel so much better. A heart rub is probably out of the question. But there is a gallon of Butter Pecan ice cream in the freezer, and a whole Pecan pie in the fridge. That ought to do the trick

not for the squeamish

Administrator — Fri, 19 Oct 2007 18:50:50 +0000

Some rules are universal: Thou shalt nots that everyone should know instinctively without constant reminders. Thou shalt not kill, steal, covet, etc.

But there are a few relationship rules that should be, but simply aren’t, obvious to some folks. These rules must be reiterated, or learned the hard way.

Rule One: Just say NO! Just because someone makes a pass -or multiple passes- at you, doesn’t mean you have to take them up on their offer. Even if you really, really want to!

Rule Two: Some men are always, always off limits!

Married men, even common-law married men, men with live in girlfriends, and any of your female friends’ current, or ex, husbands or boyfriends.

When approached by these men; slap them in the face and tell them they should be ashamed of themselves. Even if you really, really like them. Even if they are really, really hot.

Rule Three: No woman ever really wants her current, or ex, husband or boyfriend to want another woman!

Not even when she pretends she’s okay with it. Not even when she hates his guts! Especially not when she is still seeing him.

Rule Four: Never, Never cross the line.

The line is any sexual contact with any of the men that are always off limits. (See rule Two) That includes phone sex, cyber sex, hand jobs, and oral sex.

Rule Five: People that break rule two are always convinced that there are justifiable exceptions to that rule.

Rule Six: When in doubt, refer to Rule ONE!

Rule Seven: Always remember: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned!

You could consider these rules as the seven deadly relationship sins. Because breaking them is a sin for which you will do penance in one form or another.

If this commentary offends you, perhaps it’s because you’ve broken one or more of these rules yourself. Shame on you!

time does not heal all wounds

Administrator — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 19:11:05 +0000

It sneaks up on me every year. I know it’s coming. I know it’s going to kick the shit out of me. But I’m never really prepared.

I wake up on the tenth of October and realize it’s been another year. Fifteen years to be exact. Fifteen years and it is still just as painful, still just as difficult to believe, still just as horrible as it was that day.

It doesn’t get any easier. It doesn’t get any more bearable. It doesn’t get any better.

On October the ninth I dropped my daughter, Mayree, off at school for volleyball practice. She hopped out of the car laughing and leaned into the window. Bathed in a halo of sunlight, her hair pulled up in a pony tail, she glowed like a golden Mona Lisa. Like an angel blessing her loved ones she bid us farewell.

I don’t remember if I told her that I loved her that day. I don’t know if she ever knew how very much I loved her. I should have told her every single day, every single time we parted. But I don’t know if I did or not.

After volleyball, she called to let me know her friend Dawn was going to give her a ride to work. I was relieved I didn’t have to drag the babies to the city. Around eight thirty that evening her step-father said he had told Mayree she could spend the night with Dawn after work.

I started to call her to tell her she couldn’t spend the night with Dawn. A little voice in the back of my head whined, “you never let me do anything. Every weekend you find some reason to keep me at home. I never have any fun.” I put the phone down. I’ve regretted that decision every minute since.

Around six-thirty in the morning, on the tenth, a police officer knocked on my front door. I thought the neighbor had complained about the dog barking again. I had been awake for a little while and there had been no barking.

When the officer asked if I was Mayree’s mother my first thought was that she had been arrested. But the police don’t come knocking on your front door when your seventeen-year-old is sitting safely in a jail cell.

Around one in the morning, on their way home from work, they ran out of gas. They hitchhiked to a gas station. They didn’t call anyone for help. They didn’t have enough money with them to rent, or purchase, a gas can. The clerk gave them an old metal can from the trash. The can exploded on their way back to the car.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” I asked the officer.

“Yes Mam, we believe she is,” he replied.

The girls were the same age, same size, same coloring. One had died instantly. The other had been heliported to the burn unit at Children’s Hospital. The police had no way of knowing which one was Mayree.

After the officers left the house, I called the morgue. Not the hospital. The morgue.

I asked which girl they had. The medical examiner answered, “I’m sorry Mam, we have both girls now. The other girl died around six.”

Mayree was the one that had died instantly.

For fifteen years I’ve thought of my life in terms of the day before, and the day after. Every day, every memory, every detail of my life exist in the day before, or the day after. The day before Mayree died, my life wasn’t perfect but it was so much better. Every day after her death has been just a little less perfect than it could be, just a little less happy than it could be, just a little more painful than it used to be.

I didn’t want to be one of those women that people look at whispering behind their back, “she has never been right since her daughter died.”

No one can be right after the death of a child. You can never be the same. You can survive. But I don’t know how.

I’m amazed every day that I’m not wrapped in a little white jacket, rocking back and forth, in a little padded cell. I’m amazed every day that I don’t fall into a million pieces. I’m amazed every day that I can breathe in and out without my lungs collapsing and sucking my entire body in on itself.

About six months after Mayree’s death my mom went through a mental crisis. During that crisis she said Mayree came to visit her all the time. She said Mayree talked to her and she told her to do things.

A few days after her death I had a dream that Mayree came to visit me. She crawled into bed with me, put her arms around me, and told me everything would be all right. I woke up and told everyone that Mayree had been there. I didn’t say I had dreamed she was there. I said she had been there.

I had felt her crawl into that bed. I had felt her arms around me. I believe, even now, that she was really there.

If I ever end up in that little white jacket, in that little padded cell believing Mayree is there with me, then just leave me alone, and let me stay there. I’d rather live the rest of my life in the day before.

Emergency Exits

Administrator — Tue, 09 Oct 2007 08:31:52 +0000

Life is like jumping from a 747, at thirty thousand feet, without a parachute. Not that a parachute would matter during that jump. But it would give us a false sense of security and we might not panic.

Bungee cords should come standard at birth. When we jumped in over our heads the cord would pull us back onto dry land. When we went over the edge we wouldn’t crash and burn. On really bad days we could just dangle, upside-down, until we got a new perspective on the situation.

Time machines should be on sale every Tuesday. Then we could go back to the weekend and enjoy life three days early every week. More importantly, we could go back and correct any mistakes we made the previous week. No one else should remember our mistakes. No one should ever make the same mistake twice.

Hearts should be made of shatter proof glass or better yet reinforced titanium plating. Puppies should never pee on the carpet. Friends should never rain on our parade. Babies are the only people that should ever have a reason to cry. Children should never die. Love should never fade. Forgiveness should be a law.

Instead, life is like jumping from a 747, at thirty thousand feet, without a parachute. There is no where to go, but down, from there.

not all it’s cracked up to be

Administrator — Sat, 06 Oct 2007 11:26:04 +0000

What do you suppose that stupid egg was doing up there on that wall in the first place? Didn’t he know it was dangerous? Didn’t anyone ever warn him to stay off the damn wall?

Maybe it was suicide.

Maybe it was homicide. Someone pushed him. Of course that would mean they had to drag him up there screaming and kicking in the first place. Which you would think someone would have noticed and reported to the authorities.

Maybe he climbed up there to escape some crazed skillet wielding housewife that was too fat to follow. Maybe he was rehearsing for an audition with the circus to be a tight rope walker. Maybe he just wanted to get away from everyone in a nice quite spot with a view.

Bet he had a lovely view of the kingdom from up there. It was probably peaceful to stare across the rolling green country side beyond the castle walls. And if he bored of that he could look back into the city at all the hustle and bustle below peaking into windows at fair shelled girls doing their chores.

Maybe he thought there was an eagle inside his fragile exterior and if he hatched while he was up there he’d be closer to the sky and ready to soar. Maybe his mother laid him there in the first place. She could have found a safer nesting area.

It’s a shame he was up there all alone, with no one to reach out and grab him when he started to fall. It’s a shame super glue hadn’t been invented. It’s a shame, the king didn’t plant thick soft clover along the base of the wall.

Doesn’t really matter why the poor fellow was up there, it’s a bloody shame he had to fall.