Friday, January 12, 2018


This is the conclusion of a 4 part series on my family.
Part 1 was about Bud.
Google screwed around publishing it.
If you missed it & want to read it,
you can find it by clicking on "older post" a few times!!
(or not)

But then I wouldn't have Blake!!

(This is reworked from a lot of old posts, with some new stuff thrown in.)

Raising Blake wasn't easy, not by a long shot.  He had a major attitude problem.  I was confined to a hospital bed in our den waiting for back surgery when he left to go to college in Denver.  One of the last things he said to me was "Your husband is an ass."  College, or just being away from us, made him do a 180 in his feelings.  A lot of friends came to see him graduate & so there were a lot of cars.  I was riding home with him in his car & it was just the two of us.  I told him he was a lot like his father.  He said that was what a lot of his friends told him & he agreed.  From that day on he could have a difference of opinion with his dad & they could talk it out without arguing.  We are father, mother & son but we are also the best of friends.

Here are some good & bad things that I remember, in no particular order:

Blake was a hypochondriac as a kid.  When he was around 8 years old, he was acting up; running around me, waving his hands in my face & driving me crazy.  I grabbed at him to make him stop & got his hand.  He claimed I hurt him but I couldn't see anything wrong.  He kept complaining so Bud took him to the ER.  When they came home, Blake had a splint on his little finger. He looked at me & told me (with a great deal of satisfaction), "See?  I told you that you broke my finger!!"  It's amazing what little it takes to make some kids happy!!

When he was a teenager, he & a friend kidnapped Matt's room & put it in my studio.  They took everything, including his bed, & left a ransom note under Mister Potato Head's feet.  The rest of Mister Potato Head was upstairs.

We took the family on a cruise to Alaska.  Blake asked me to dance to some modern music.  I was used to slow dancing & I found myself sweating profusely.  I said, "I can't do this; I'm sweating like a pig."  He told me that I must be doing it right because he did the same thing!!

My husband may have shown me too much affection in front of the kids.  Blake was very young & he was standing next to me at the kitchen sink while I was making dinner.  He pointed to my leg & asked, "Is dat yours?"  I told him yes.  He then pointed to my arm & asked, "Is dat yours?"  Again, yes.  Next, he pointed to my breast & asked, "Is dat Daddy's?"

Around that same time his sister was about to transition, or “cross the bridge”, from Brownies to Girl Scouts.  I was her Brownie leader.  I decorated a mirror with a bridge & some Brownie figures.  Blake saw it & said, “Dat pwetty.”  I said, “Thank you.”  He asked, “Dat fo’ us?”  I said, “No.  It’s for the Brownies.”  He lowered his head & walked away mumbling, “Ev’wy damn t’ing in dis house fo’ Bwownies!”

Pride comes before a fall. And every now and then, pride also comes before accidentally setting your kids on fire.  Blake was about 7 or 8.  The kids were in their pajamas & robes at the kitchen table.  I had left my cigarettes & lighter on the table.  Blake started playing with my lighter, which both scared & annoyed me.  I grabbed the lighter & we started arguing. He stood there with his arms straight out, as if he were ready for crucifixion.  He was wearing an old terry cloth robe, with its fraying strings hanging down.  I was making a point about the lighter being dangerous & was stupidly waving it (lit) under his arms.  I swear it was at least a foot away, when the threads hanging under his arms caught fire!!  We were able to get the robe off & the fire put out with absolutely no harm to him or anyone else; but I guess I made my point.
I should have given him this cake.

We got a call from the elementary school once that we would have to come & get him & take him to the ER.  It seems that he got mad at another boy & tried to punch him in the stomach.  He missed.  He got him in the belt buckle instead & broke his knuckle.  And then there was the time the school called because he had hurt himself falling UP the stairs.  Yes, I said UP.

When Blake was about 2, the kids were having lunch & I was at the sink, with my back to them.  He knocked over his glass & spilled his milk.  I wiped it up & poured him some more.  He knocked over his glass again, & again I wiped it up & poured him more.  I warned him not to do it again or he would be sorry.  I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he deliberately knocked it over one more time.  I picked up the gallon milk bottle (which had probably a quart or so left in it) & emptied it on his head!!  Childish, I know, but it made a beautiful waterfall—or, I guess, a milkfall.  He didn’t even cry; he just sat there with his little mouth hanging open in amazement as the milk cascaded from his head.  As far as I know, none of our kids ever deliberately knocked over their milk again.  Not while I was in the room, anyway.

Blake is now a wonderful, caring adult who deeply loves his entire family & would do anything for them.  He goes on 100 mile bike rides for charity with his brother (whom he talks to every day) as a member of Teamfish.  He was with me during my mastectomy & cared for me during & after.  My husband fell in the shower & Blake installed shower bars the next day.  I don't do the marketing anymore because I can't walk that much so Blake takes Bud to the supermarket & Costco & shops with him.  When they get home he puts everything away.  We go out to dinner almost every Saturday with him, Nameless & her husband, who live 30 miles away & he always drives.  He changes our light bulbs & does any chore I ask him to.  He helped me put up & take down our Christmas decorations.  He does all this with a sincere smile.  We could not function without him!!

I tried to type on my computer, “I’m a functional adult.”  Spell Check changed it to “fictional adult.”  I left it as is, as I feel that’s more accurate----fishducky