Telling Tales

Telling Tales

 

By Angel Kane

Wilson Living Magazine

 

 

Who will it be?

 

Like most parents, my husband and I have each assumed our parental roles.

 

I’m the Mom that requires good grades and clean rooms, reminds them to say “please” as well as “thank-you”, and returns them to their room when skirts are too short, shirts are too wrinkled or hair is disheveled.

 

And their Dad, like many other dads, is the fun one. 

 

The Dad who takes them on roller coasters while I sit waiting, on the bench, holding backpacks, jackets and caps.

 

The Dad who lets them jump off the side of the boat into the deep ocean or ride the wave runners while I scream “be careful!” from the dock, in my oversized life-jacket whilst clutching their SPF 100 sunscreen.

 

The Dad who avidly cheers them on at tennis, cross country, soccer, baseball and basketball in his matching team shirt while I desperately try to find a signal - - any signal - - on my phone.

 

So it won’t come as shock to any of you that when it comes to field trips, any time the list of items to bring includes: bug spray, hiking boots, flashlight or your own pillow - - I’m basically out. Likewise, you’ll understand then that during a recent parents meeting for our eldest daughter’s upcoming missions trip to Honduras, when the words: rebels, malaria pills, no running water, tent and jungle - were uttered, in perfectly legible writing (so that there could be no mistake), I wrote down: Brody Kane will be attending as Guardian.

 

 I didn’t even let the fact that the teacher had advised he really didn’t need dads on the trip but instead needed moms, stop me from writing down: Brody Kane will be attending as Guardian.

 

Brody then whispered, “Didn’t you hear him, he wants mothers to go, not fathers. This one is yours.”

 

I whispered back, “Are you kidding me, the rebels will smell my fear one mile away. I might as well tatoo - “take me” on my forehead.”

 

 “The rebels don’t want you! After three days they’d give you back. I can hear it now - ‘there isn’t hot water in my cage, my coffee is too strong, are you kidding me, you guys don’t have wi-fi in this camp!’

 

Laugh all you want funny man, this one is yours! (And for the record, I’m pretty sure my ransom would be double his.)

 

So I was completely taken aback, when two weeks later, while visiting colleges with our eldest, it hit me like a ton of bricks - - her leaving us forever was imminent.  Soon, there would be no more field trips, no more lists of what to bring, no more permission slips to sign, she would be gone and I’d regret that we’d not experienced this trip together.

 

After a few days of thoughtful consideration, I announced over breakfast, “I’m going to Honduras with you!”

 

The silence was deafening.

 

And then it started...first they all just looked at each other, then nervous giggles and then outward, hysterical laughter.

 

“Mama, you won’t make it! They said the landing is one of the most dangerous ones in the world. There is a mountain right before landing and the plane has to take this nose-dive to miss it. You’d freak out even before we got there.”

 

Huh? Malaria pills, no running water, and now....a nose-diving plane.

 

And just like that I remembered that I still have two other kids I can attend field trips with.  Sounds like fun dad is going to have the time of his life!

 

To read more of Angel and Becky’s columns go to www.wilsonlivingmagazine.com or www.wilsonnpost.com.

 

 

 

By Angel Kane       

Wilson Living Magazine

 

People often ask Becky and I how we met. Like many other women, we bonded over “motherhood” when our children attended the same Preschool. Through the years, we‘ve been there as our babies have grown into teenagers and along the way, laughed until it hurt and cried until there were no more tears, always thankful, that there was another Mom out there experiencing the same adventure.

 

In honor of all Mothers this upcoming Mother’s Day - we bring you an Ode To Motherhood.

 

          And so it began...

 

1.   Buying not not one but four pregnancy tests - confirming and reconfirming that there really is a baby in there! Going to the OB/GYN and being utterly horrified when he explains EXACTLY how that baby will come out!

 

          Thinking...the hell it will!

 

2.  Reading “What to Expect When You’re Expecting”  three times. Buying maternity                  clothes long before they’re needed. Stocking up on baby must-haves way before they’re necessary. Decorating the nursery before one should. Telling everyone you can about your birth plan. Picking a name that is perfectly perfect....and then waiting....waiting...waiting.....

 

3.  Feeling the first contraction and realizing what you’ve always known - you don’t do anything in life naturally. You eat processed food, you don’t recycle, your carbon footprint is enormous, you medicate to fly and aging gracefully just seems moronic.

 

          Give me the big needle in the back please and make it a double dose  - I feel more pain than the average person.

 

4. Seeing, for the first time, this tiny, pink, wrinkled up creature whose piercing cry is like nails on a chalkboard.

 

          Oh hell, what have I done?

 

Watching her sleep for hours on end, poking her every 15 minutes  to make sure she is breathing. Terrified she will flip onto her stomach and suffocate. Thankful each morning when she’s still alive!

 

5.  Boiling bottles, fretting over the fact her IQ may be lower because you started her on formula, the guilt of returning to work and the secret guilt that it’s kind of nice to be back there.

 

Getting out of the house takes a good 45 minutes, packing the matching baby bag and diaper bag, the stroller that weighs at least 55 pounds, the car seat that never quite fits back into it’s holder, goldfish and cheerios in those perfectly proportioned plastic baby cups.

 

     Driving back up the driveway 5 minutes later because you forgot her blanket.

        

6. Deciding the most special baby in the world is lonely and needs a sibling.

         

        Hoping the second one is as cute as the first!

 

7.   It all works out perfectly because you’re still wearing the majority of the maternity clothes from the first baby.

 

     Who cares - all you do is work, take care of the baby, eat and sleep. 

 

The new doctor tries to talk you into Lamaze classes again - - explain this is not your first rodeo. You have absolutely no desire to breathe through any plan that doesn’t include high powered meds.

 

          Oh Hell, what is she writing down in your chart??

 

8.  Baby #1 tries to feed Baby #2 dog food! She looked so innocent while doing it...but it’s obvious she hates her. You’ve ruined her life.

 

They both cry in unison. That blood curdling, open mouth, closed eyes, turing bright                                   red, then blue, cry!

 

       This must be the 10th level of Hell!

 

9.  Two baby seats, and a stroller for two - cute matching bags go out the window, any old bag will do. Hoping against all hope you packed the right size diapers and formula, knowing  you can find some cheerios at the bottom of the bags.

 

Throw up in the van, throw up on the rug, throw up all over your new shirt. Ear infections, fifths disease, rashes and strep. Antibiotics, cough syrups, baby Tylenol, Vicks and cold compresses. 

 

Fish sticks become a complete meal, add Mac & Cheese and it must be your hubby’s birthday!

 

         Where are the matching bows??? They must have matching bows! Heads will roll if I don’t find those bows!

 

10.  Dance class, tumbling, four year olds playing soccer while skipping down the field,

the Easter Bunny and Santa photos scar them for life, finally doing Disney and realizing you are more excited about seeing Mulan than they are.

 

          Suddenly wake up from this hazy dream to find there are clones of you and your husband everywhere you go...they look crazed and tired.

         

11. Number 3  is almost here - most people think you’re crazy, others outwardly pity you,  no one believes it was planned.

 

Building a new house, selling the old one, moving into a rental when the new one isn’t ready. The builder becomes your mortal enemy, your husband is just glad you’re not yelling at him anymore.

 

        Outraged when the nurse at the hospital tells you its too early for the epidural. Lose your mind, your chart is checked, shot administered, emergency averted.

 

12. It’s a boy!!!

 

He wears pink onesies and pick socks, eats dog food every so often (you checked - its actually not a bad source of protein), the girls carry him around and you’re just thankful for the help. Hope against all hope he’s as smart as the other two, convincing yourself he’ll be fine - a kid can learn a lot from watching every episode of Zack and Cody.

 

13.  Homework and class projects that keep you up all night, Christmas programs that never end, field trips you forget to sign up for, much less pay for. Basketball, tennis, baseball, cross country, soccer, birthday parties, movie parties, bowling parties, painting parties...I am seriously out of money!

 

14.  Uncontrollable giggles, slumber parties where no one sleeps, crushes and tears.

Deciding the meanest human being on earth comes in the form of an 11 year old girl!

 

Hair pulling, screaming out “MOM” at the top of their lungs just to ask you a question, footballs and baseballs in every corner of the house, name calling, closet raiding, clean clothes on the kitchen table, dirty clothes everywhere else, threatening to put the dog to sleep if someone doesn’t feed him.

 

      I don’t know -  made sense at the time.           

 

15. Grades matter, permits, licenses, ACTs, SATs, everyone has an I-pad, I-pod, I-phone - except you! Confirming there is no greater power on earth than taking away I-pads, I-pods and I-phones!

 

16.   Oh Hell No!!  How much do I weigh!?

 

Stalking old friends on Facebook and noticing how much they look like their mothers.

 

Joining a gym, planting a garden, reading a book, taking a trip that doesn’t include visiting an aquarium, a zoo or having breakfast with a princess.

 

17. Watching your eldest drive away one morning, with the younger two smiling and waving out the back window.

 

      Googling - how old is too old to have a baby?  

 

 Buying a new car instead.

 

18. Seeing a random stranger out with her precious new baby.

 

     Oh Hell....really wishing you could do it all again. But this time you’ll do it all perfectly! Promise...

 

 

 

Blessings

 

Thank You Sweet Jesus for giving me, not one, but two, teenage daughters at the same time. For were it not for them, I:

 

1. Would not to know that Facebook is now for old people, and that anyone older than 22 is forbidden from being on Instagram.

Except for Ms. Jamie, and “that’s just weird, Mom.”

 

2. Would have never guessed that listening to 80’s music is so incredibly painful to the teenage ear that earbuds must be worn at all times while in my car to drown out the likes of Journey and Billy Joel.

“Who are those people? They sound old.”

 

3. Would probably still be trying to hook up my new Apple computer and would have NEVER figured out that the keyboard and mouse don’t need to be hooked up to anything because of this wonderful thing called Bluetooth!

For that one and for their iPad, iPhone and iAnything capabilities, I do thank    you, sweet baby Jesus!

 

4. Would still be wearing white Keds.

“Why are you wearing those, you are not a nurse.”

 

5. Would still be able to find my shoes, jewelry, scarves, jackets, sweater, make-up,  perfume, brushes, hair bands, curling iron, blow-dryer, shampoo, conditioner and razor.

Madison-Zoeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! It’s just become one word.

 

6. Would have never had to sit through a Miley Cyrus or Taylor Swift concert.

And for that one, Jesus, I may never forgive you.

 

7. Would get to eat an entire plate of anything, without someone trying to eat my food, drink my drink, or steal my last piece of chocolate hidden away in the depths of my secret drawer.

 

8. Would not get to be part of the uncomfortable three-some ensemble called a first date.

      That one, I’m going to have to go to confession for, Lord Jesus, because I know        

      You know what I was thinking when I had to partake of that fun fest.

 

9. Wouldn’t be one of the lucky few who get to spend their hard earned dollars in the likes of Forever 21, Altar’d State and Charming Charlies.

      “Please, just this one scarf, I’ll pay you back.” Really, how? You don’t have a             

       job! No, cleaning your room is not a paying job.

 

10. Would miss out on hugs and heartaches, tears and triumphs, late night jokes and giggles and all those moments that will one day be the only moments that matter!

But honestly, Jesus, Taylor Swift? There had to be another way to prove you are a    miracle worker.

By Angel Kane

I consider myself a pretty patient person. So patient, in fact, that one of my claims to fame are my outstanding blood pressure numbers.

They are incredibly low. Low enough that medical professionals sometimes find it concerning. I just smile and inform them, “Oh no, that’s just normal for me.”

But, I’m pretty certain that if I were to run by Walgreens this morning and stick my arm in that cuff, SIRENS WOULD GO OFF! (And men in white jackets would come cart me away!)

As I write this today, Brody and my three children are begging me not to tell you about the subject, or should I say subjects that have basically ruined my life.

But I have reached my limit!

It all started so innocently as I perused Pinterest and came upon the most lovely of all pantries. It was a walk in, with shelving, and on each shelf the food products were laid out; first all the tin cans, then the baking products, then the cereals and so on.

It was so ordered, so organized, so OCD, that it literally spoke to me. (Yes, I know, my family has the men in white jackets on speed dial.)

Three weeks later, I converted one of the small rooms off our kitchen into a walk in pantry. I had shelves put in and then spent an entire Saturday moving the food into the pantry, lining everything up, labeling tins, putting like food groups with like food groups …it was my own, personal heaven-on-earth.

One week later, I reached for a bag of flour and the bottom fell out!

Flour went everywhere. I was covered, my tins were covered, my walls were covered, my pretty multi-colored floor mat was covered, and as I reached down to look at the mess, I noticed the bite marks on the bag and the little black specks of…………..AGGGHHH!!!

When I’m 65 years old, and go in for my first MRI - I’m quite certain the Doctor will ask me, “Mrs. Kane it appears you’ve had a stroke sometime in your past, can you recall when that may have happened?”

And I’m going to know EXACTLY when it happened!

You see my friends, we have RATS.  A word Brody can’t quite commit to.

“Would you please stop calling them rats, they are field mice. And stop telling everyone about them.”

It appears I’m not the only one who coveted my pantry. Apparently a friendly field mouse also thought it was smoking hot, so he told all the other field mice in town about it, who are now having a convention in my pantry.

Since that fateful day, I have been purging, cleaning, scrubbing, bleaching, re-bleaching, screaming, yelling, googling…fighting an all-out losing battle…against field mice.

Most evenings as Brody walks by the pantry and sees me crazed, on hands and knees, checking my traps, he says in a quiet voice …so as not to antagonize…”Field mice just come in when it’s cold. They leave in the spring. I think you’re going overboard.”

“Overboard. Overboard? Google Haute Virus or the Plague! And by the way, these are RATS…if you say the word field mice one more time, I’m going to lose my mind!” (He clutches the phone. Go ahead, call the men with the jacket, I don’t care.) 

And don’t even get me started about the cashier at Lowes. I’ve been in there three Sundays in a row.

First, I started with the glue pads, six boxes of them. “They are for my son’s class project,” I said. She nodded and looked sad for me. 

The next week, I got the poison. The big bag - the one with the scoop. Eyes averted, I whispered “Our neighbors have field mice. They’re getting into our shed.” She pities me, I can tell. I hate her.

This last weekend, when I went to Lowes, I spent over $150 on equipment that I read about on an online Rat Forum. These Plug-Ins emit a piercing sound that field mice hate but humans can‘t hear. I handed her eight of them to ring up.

We made eye contact. “We have Rats.” I said and smiled. She looked away. 

As soon as I got home, I plugged them all in.

Oh God….I think I can hear the buzzing sound! (At least my padded room won’t be infested.)  

By ANGEL KANE

Wilson Living Magazine

 

I consider myself a pretty patient person. So patient, in fact, that one of my claims to fame are my outstanding blood pressure numbers.

They are incredibly low. Low enough that medical professionals sometimes find it concerning. I just smile and inform them, “Oh no, that’s just normal for me.”

But, I’m pretty certain that if I were to run by Walgreens this morning and stick my arm in that cuff, SIRENS WOULD GO OFF! (And men in white jackets would come cart me away!)

As I write this today, Brody and my three children are begging me not to tell you about the subject, or should I say subjects that have basically ruined my life.

But I have reached my limit!

It all started so innocently as I perused Pinterest and came upon the most lovely of all pantries. It was a walk in, with shelving, and on each shelf the food products were laid out; first all the tin cans, then the baking products, then the cereals and so on.

It was so ordered, so organized, so OCD, that it literally spoke to me. (Yes, I know, my family has the men in white jackets on speed dial.)

Three weeks later, I converted one of the small rooms off our kitchen into a walk in pantry. I had shelves put in and then spent an entire Saturday moving the food into the pantry, lining everything up, labeling tins, putting like food groups with like food groups …it was my own, personal heaven-on-earth.

One week later, I reached for a bag of flour and the bottom fell out!

Flour went everywhere. I was covered, my tins were covered, my walls were covered, my pretty multi-colored floor mat was covered, and as I reached down to look at the mess, I noticed the bite marks on the bag and the little black specks of…………..AGGGHHH!!!

When I’m 65 years old, and go in for my first MRI - I’m quite certain the Doctor will ask me, “Mrs. Kane it appears you’ve had a stroke sometime in your past, can you recall when that may have happened?”

And I’m going to know EXACTLY when it happened!

You see my friends, we have RATS.  A word Brody can’t quite commit to.

“Would you please stop calling them rats, they are field mice. And stop telling everyone about them.”

It appears I’m not the only one who coveted my pantry. Apparently a friendly field mouse also thought it was smoking hot, so he told all the other field mice in town about it, who are now having a convention in my pantry.

Since that fateful day, I have been purging, cleaning, scrubbing, bleaching, re-bleaching, screaming, yelling, googling…fighting an all-out losing battle…against field mice.

Most evenings as Brody walks by the pantry and sees me crazed, on hands and knees, checking my traps, he says in a quiet voice …so as not to antagonize…”Field mice just come in when it’s cold. They leave in the spring. I think you’re going overboard.”

“Overboard. Overboard? Google Haute Virus or the Plague! And by the way, these are RATS…if you say the word field mice one more time, I’m going to lose my mind!” (He clutches the phone. Go ahead, call the men with the jacket, I don’t care.) 

And don’t even get me started about the cashier at Lowes. I’ve been in there three Sundays in a row.

First, I started with the glue pads, six boxes of them. “They are for my son’s class project,” I said. She nodded and looked sad for me. 

The next week, I got the poison. The big bag - the one with the scoop. Eyes averted, I whispered “Our neighbors have field mice. They’re getting into our shed.” She pities me, I can tell. I hate her.

This last weekend, when I went to Lowes, I spent over $150 on equipment that I read about on an online Rat Forum. These Plug-Ins emit a piercing sound that field mice hate but humans can‘t hear. I handed her eight of them to ring up.

We made eye contact. “We have Rats.” I said and smiled. She looked away. 

As soon as I got home, I plugged them all in.

Oh God….I think I can hear the buzzing sound! (At least my padded room won’t be infested.)  

To read more of Angel and Becky’s columns go to www.wilsonpost.com.

 

   

So Valentines Day went down like it usually does each year.

A few days before the big day, I issue my warning, “I don’t want flowers. Do not buy me flowers. I will lose my mind if I get flowers!” (I know what you are thinking, what a joy to be married to me, right?)

But in all fairness, how can anything that rots and dies be considered a gift?

My Arrogant Ways

By ANGEL KANE

Wilson Living Magazine

My husband says being late is a sign of arrogance

I think he says that because he knows that I’m better than him

Being late is a family trait…on my side of the family. My family is from the old country, so when somebody says “Be there at 7”, I was raised to believe 7 was merely a suggestion.

It’s as if they’re saying, “We suggest you come at 7, but really at 7 we will barely be ready, so in all honesty, we prefer you come at 7:45.”

Brody on the other hand, would like to be in their driveway at 6:58, so that we can ring their doorbell promptly at 7.

As you can imagine since I have to live with his man, on a daily basis now, going on 18 years, this is turning into a problem.

At first it really didn’t bother me. I mean, what’s he going to do, drive off without me? (Being  completely nuts is another family trait …so he knows better than to take that option.)

Instead, he stands over me. Right over me.

Pacing back and forth…back and forth…and back and forth…

“Are you ready?”

“Let’s go.”

“You always make us late.”

“Geez, get the rollers out of your hair, we should have been there by now.”

“I’m going to the car.”

“Do not change your clothes again.”

“Really, really, you are changing again? I’m just going to sit in the car until you are ready!”

And then he honks. Two short ones. To test me. 

And then he honks again…the long kind!

(Using words in ways others may not think they can be used, comes from my Mother’s side….) So when he gets to the long honk, my children flee the scene.

And this is where the problem has really found footing.

It would appear, these children of mine, these children that I carried in my womb for 9 plus months, who have given me stretch marks, grey hairs and sleepless nights, who have depleted every bank account I ever wished to have…these children of mine…have inherited their Daddy’s punctuality gene.

To the point, that I now have four people menacing me as I try to get ready.

“Mama, hurry up, we can’t be late for school again.”

“Oh my God, you are not painting your nails right now!”

“We need to leave now, or I’ll miss the beginning of the movie!”

“Pleaaaaseeee can we go?! The game starts in five minutes and it takes us 15 minutes to get there.”

“Daddy, can we just leave her.”

Seriously, given the conditions under which I now live, the fact that I don’t drink and do pills is a miracle!

So on Friday night, everyone was anxiously pacing.

Madison had the ACT test Saturday morning and had to be there at 7:30. Brody had to be in Smyrna with Neill at 7.

All eyes were on me…judging me. 

Yes, of course, I got her there on time. (I figured the ACT people weren’t going to buy my “old country” garbage.)

Only to find out, when we got there, ON TIME, she had forgotten her I.D.

And she doesn’t get that from my side either!

 

To read more of Angel & Becky’s columns go to www.wilsonpost.com and hit Blogs.

Mama is M.I.A.

By Angel Kane

Wilson Living Magazine

Do you ever wonder what life will be like when you die?

Will my kids be ok? Will Brody remarry? Will my friends like his new wife?

I’ve never really thought about it – as the odds are Brody is going first.

But just this past week, I had a glimpse into this world and let me just say, for all our sakes, I need to start taking a multi-vitamin.

I was supposed to be out of town for just one day. One day turned into five.

By day three, Brody was in a panic.

“Seriously, would you please answer your phone when I call! I’m not calling to chat. I need you to tell me where they keep their clothes. We’ve run out.”

The calls, texts and emails continued, including one from my middle child titled “HELP!”

Needless to say Friday night when I arrived home, I was a tad bit hesitant as I drove up the driveway.  

As I tried to push open the back door, I noticed that something was keeping it from opening all the way. As I continued to push, there stood a mound of dirty clothes keeping it from opening.

Well, I say they were dirty.

In actuality the mound appeared to consist of a combination of dirty clothes on the floor and clean ones in the dryer, half way falling onto the floor and into this mound.

Apparently Brody had found their clothes! Every last one of them!

The clothes led to backpacks, backpacks led to coats, cleats, basketballs, tennis balls and books that lined the way from the back door, all the way to the kitchen.

The kitchen counters were filled with empty bags of Wendys, Painturos and Jersey Mikes.  And it did appear, from the 100 bowls in the sink, that their father had fed them breakfast every morning as well.

Between the kitchen and the den, I saw books and pencils all over the floor as well as my new laptop – homework – check!

I went from room to room finding destruction everywhere I turned.

It seemed as they destroyed one room, they would move on to the next. It also appeared that at some point during the week, they had decided to break my rule and allowed the dog back into the house.

Finally I found them all, sitting in our office.

Our office consists of a desk and computer. We have one over-sized leather chair and a television in there, basically for one person. All four of them were huddled together in the dark, in the chair, watching television. The dog was sitting beside them. Brody was asleep. 

Their clothes looked un-ironed, their pony tales looked askew and I’m pretty sure my youngest had failed to bathe all week.

They looked happy and content.     

If I were to die first, my kids will be ok. 

And given the state of my house, I seriously doubt Brody could remarry anytime soon.

 

To read more of Angel and Becky’s columns go to www.wilsonpost.com and hit Blogs.

IT’S A WEIGHTY ISSUE

By Angel Kane

Wilson Living Magazine

By the time, you read this article, I will have been eating meat and only meat for a solid week!

So, about six months ago, I woke up with the worst back pain. And like any sane person, I refused to go the doctor. So month after month, I have just wallowed in my pain.

Finally, those around me couldn’t take my complaining anymore, demanding I see a doctor.

As I explained my symptoms to the nurse, she required I get on the scale.

And herein lies the problem with doctors.

No matter what the symptom…be it a raging cold, fiery rash or bulging disc…for some reason, only known to these so called medical professionals, they insist on knowing my weight.

And honestly, if they would just ask me, I’d tell them.

I weigh 110 pounds. The same amount I have weighed since high school. See, I don’t mind saying it out loud.

But Nurse Hatchet didn’t buy it, insisting I get on that scale to prove it.

So, Becky called me after I was done with the X-ray.

“Did the doctor find anything?”

“He is supposed to call me tomorrow but I’m sure that X-ray is going to show I’m secretly pregnant with a 12 pound baby, because if it doesn’t, I am going to blow up his stupid scale!”

Unfortunately, the X-ray was fine and it turns out the only bundle of joy I’ve had lately, consists of my late night hot chocolates made with whole milk and my deliciously warm peanut butter, chocolate chip cookies.

As a result of my regrettable run in, with that clearly malfunctioning scale, I convinced Becky to start dieting with me. But this time we are doing it right! We joined an actual diet center.

You know, the ones where you hand people hard earned money so they can tell you all the things you can not eat and then they ….weigh you.

Because that’s not insane.  

By Angel Kane

Wilson Living Magazine

As I was walking towards the kitchen last Saturday, I heard my dear husband, Brody, speaking in a rather loud voice. And anyone who knows Brody knows he pretty much never raises his voice, so, this intrigued me. As I walked from the den through to the kitchen, I stopped.

Brody was holding Court.

He was standing and our two girls were sitting at the kitchen table, arms crossed. In his hand, he was holding ….Exhibit A.

It seemed the girls (the Defendants) were on trial and Brody was cross-examining them …in his outside voice.

“Would you agree I am the tallest person in the house? And therefore, I have the biggest foot.”

He pointed to Exhibit A, a black dress sock.

(I decided to stand back…as this was going to be good. The only thing missing from thisJudge Judy episode was some good, buttery popcorn.)

The Defendants chose to remain silent and instead gave him the …are you kidding me, I got my phone taken up for this …look.

“Is that a YES or NO?” (Again using his outside voice.) Apparently, in Brody’s Court no one is allowed to take the 5^th.

“And sit up!”

Both immediately sat up and grudgingly agreed he had the biggest foot.

“If I have the biggest foot, then one should reasonably conclude I should have the biggest socks in my sock drawer, right?”

Again, the girls looked at him quizzically. Not sure if they should respond, make a run for it or call 911 to have him committed.

“I am asking an easy question here – what is the answer?”

Both in unison agreed that Yes, theoretically he should have the largest socks in his drawer.

“Then someone tell me why, WHY every sock in my drawer fits a 9 year old boy or your mother?”

It was his Perry Mason moment – the AHA! YOU ARE GUILTY QUESTION!

Both Defendants squirmed and then immediately ratted each other out.

“I fold and

Madison

is supposed to put up the clothes, I can’t help where she puts them.”

“That’s not true, I put up everything but socks, that is the one thing you are supposed to do Zoe!”

Neither was about to go down for this crime. And the Judge, by now, had lost his mind!

He pronounced his verdict…in an outside …. I’m in the middle of nowhere and need to scream really loudly so someone can find me…voice

“If I ever find a sock in my drawer again that belongs to anyone other than me, I am taking away your phones, computers, and I-pads for a month!”

With that he threw down Exhibit A and left the room. Seriously, John Grisham couldn’t have written the scene any better.

And somebody is a happy guy these days, all the socks in his drawer fit and his teenage daughters think he is completely nuts – which keeps everybody in line.

The Justice system…working at its best!

To read more of Angel and Becky’s columns go to www.wilsonpost.com and hit Blogs. 

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine 

There comes a time in everyone’s life when they find out who their true friends really are.

For me, that day was Thursday, Nov. 1, 2012.

It’s a day that I’ve marked down in Sharpie and can never be erased.

I blame most all that transpired on my husband.

As sometimes happens, life gets the best of us and that is exactly where I was on Monday night when I called Becky. “It’s Monday night, and I’ve got nothing to write about!” To which Becky usually responds, “No problem, I’ve got something, so I’ll write it.” 

But this Monday, Becky was as exhausted as I was. With work, the upcoming Holiday Expo and the latest edition of Wilson Living Magazine coming out next week, plus our customary drop off and picks up at basketball, football, cross country and soccer, neither of us found the time to write our article this week. 

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine

So, I was sitting in Court this past Friday, speaking with my friend Melanie.

Melanie is an excellent lawyer, and also a new Mom to a 7 month old baby girl.

We were looking at her phone as she was showing off some photos of her precious girl, and we kept scrolling and scrolling and scrolling and …. you get the picture.

This is her Baby #1.

If you have kids, then you know the story behind Baby #1.

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine

Every year when the Fair comes to town, there is one attraction I insist we visit before all others.

You’ve probably seen the attraction yourself.

At the very back of the Fairgrounds you will find a race course. Sometimes there are so many people gathered around the course, that I can’t easily find a spot, so with child in hand, I push and shove my way to the front.

The gun goes off!

And out come the two racing dogs, each with a monkey on their backs.

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine

A few months back, I convinced my husband to embark on a small remodeling project.

And actually, remodel is too strong a word. It was really an organizational project.

We are a family of clutter. At any given time there are trails of tennis balls, footballs, baseballs, cleats, shin guards, backpacks, dog leashes, bathing suits, goggles, purses, and files leading the way through our house.

“I just want to put in some built-ins for all this clutter. Maybe bump out the laundry room. That’s all - promise.” were the words that came out of my mouth.

And yet as I sit here writing this afternoon, I’m staring into a huge hole on the side of my house.

By ANGEL KANE
Wilson Living Magazine

WE are on a diet.

Because WE are going to the beach in five weeks.

And WE need to lose 15 pounds.

My husband and I have been having this discussion each and every Sunday evening for the past 15 plus years. And yet, every Monday morning, I find him in the kitchen, eating Cocoa Krispies with our children, as if WE were not dieting.

“WE are supposed to start out diet today!” I say in the most un-shrewish wife voice possible. (No really, I have a very pleasant voice. I’ve been told it’s very soothing.)

To which my husband responds, “Who is stopping you?”

Well that just sets me off, and of course, there is no way I can diet after being spoken to in that manner!