Wilson Post Blogs

So as I was drinking my coffee Friday morning, I had this surreal moment. Almost an out of body experience.  In the background, I could still hear Joe Scarborough of MSNBC discussing the morning politics.

Last summer I had an amazing dream about my mom. It was only the second time since she died that this has happened. However, this was the first time she talked to me. It was vivid and cloudy, fast and slow and she told me a lot of things. Some I didn’t know, like how happy she was and others I knew, but will choose to keep private.

So, the other day my husband came back from criminal court in Gallatin.

“You are not going to believe it”, he said “someone stole my I-pod right out of my briefcase!”

I thought to myself,  - - what kind of &#%$ steals while IN criminal court.

When I married my husband more than 11 years ago, I was confident I was getting the person who would have and hold me till death.  The one who would love me in sickness and health, for richer or poorer. Although at the time that last line was recited we were thinking “you mean poorer than this?” Even though it wasn’t mentioned in our vows I just assumed our betrothal also meant I was getting the person I could count on to fix things and put stuff together. My assumption was waaaaaay off.

People often ask Becky and I if we are sisters. To which Becky always responds,

“Yes, I’m the much younger, nicer sister.”

It was a good idea in theory. Fall break was approaching, I was long overdue for a vacation and the kids would be out of school. The only negative was my husband couldn’t take time off work, or so he said. With one phone call to my oldest sister we decided to caravan with our kids (her 17 year old son, my 10 and 5 year old boys) on what was sure to be a memorable family vacation. We were so excited… and headed for a ravine.

To this day, I can remember how excited my brother and I were each time my parents took us to the beach. It happened every few years. We would pack up the car and head to Florida. My Mom would make sandwiches for the trip …because there was no way in heck my Dad was stopping that car until he made it all the way to Destin.

It’s no wonder I’m tired. After the kids and husband have gone to bed, I can get so much more done around the house. Last night, as everyone lay peacefully sleeping, I was scrubbing fingerprints from switch plates and mirrors for what seemed like the 800th time that week. At one point during my midnight cleaning spree, I wondered how much of my life will be spent washing fingerprints from door facings or scrubbing grass stains out of baseball pants or using placemats to cover finger paint that stained the dining room table.

So the other day as I let my son out of the car to attend soccer practice - he looked at me - and said, “Where is my water bottle?”

I have a confession to make. I’m both embarrassed and nervous about actually putting it on paper for anyone to see. Since it has been said that, “the truth shall set you free,” here goes. I have not read nor plan to read, any of the Twilight novels. I know, I know. I can hear the collective gasps from Twilight enthusiasts, a lot of which are my family members and close friends. Now that my secret is out I fear I will be defriended from more than half of my facebook friends, party invites will cease and I will be forced to hang my head in shame.

While watching Man vs. Wild last week I realized two things. One, if I were ever stranded in a jungle with nothing but my wits to survive, I wouldn’t make it. (I don’t even think I’d try. Instead search and rescue would find me curled up in a fetal position sucking my thumb.) And two, Bear Grylls accent can get annoying after about thirty minutes.

I do admire how industrious the star of the show is and freely admit I’m no match for his knowledge about all things survival. But, I wonder how well he’d do in my jungle?

In this jungle, you don’t need to know the proper way to disembowel a wild boar before eating it. You will however need to know how much time it takes to cook 3 slices of bacon -in the microwave- to get it to the crispness needed to be appetizing to your 5 year old before a meltdown ensues.

If you plan on getting the kids to school on time, you will also have to make sure the 10 year old has all homework in folders, those folders are in the backpack and that backpack is in the car BEFORE you pull out of the driveway.

I would much rather remove a leech from my leg, than get half way to work and remember I forgot to turn on the crock-pot that has a twelve dollar roast in it just waiting to go bad. There’s no time to think about being late for your meeting though, because you’ve got to MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!

Survival in my world isn’t being stranded in a desert and resorting to drinking urine to pull through dehydration. Survival is managing to find a half full water bottle under your seat and giving it to your son during baseball practice because you forgot his at home.

Spearing a catfish, cutting its head off and eating it raw? Try looking under the seat of the car and finding a half eaten pack of peanut butter crackers and deciding to go ahead and eat them because you don’t have time to stop. Besides, you left your wallet at home.

When the show ended my oldest said, “He’s awesome! Daddy, what does it feel like to get stung by a scorpion?”

I could tell my husband was already envisioning our child in a survival vest and using a compass deep in the jungle to find clean drinking water. He was proud of his soon to be adventurer. Almost as proud as I’d be if he came home and told me he wanted to do anything that would not involve contact with poisonous insects. “I’d say it’s painful. But with training, you could handle it.”

He looked at his dad with all the confusion his 10 years could muster before asking the real expert. “What do you think mom? Does it hurt to get stung by a scorpion?”

“No more painful than say childbirth honey and until Bear does that in a jungle, I’m not impressed.” Then we changed the channel.

Email Becky Andrews, This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

Register to win 2 tickets to “Taste of Wilson County” by logging onto www.wilsonlivingmagazine.com and don’t forget to register to win all the goodies in this issue’s Founder’s Favorites.

Telling Tales 

Angel Kane and Becky Andrews live in Wilson County. This is their story (or tale) about their life, families and times that they share. Besides their weekly column Telling Tales Angel and Becky Co Founded Wilson Living Magazine. The idea of developing a magazine for Wilson County first came to Becky and Angel one afternoon while they sat on her back porch watching their children play in the backyard. 

They were discussing the outpouring of emails, calls and responses to their column “Telling Tales” and wanted to find a way to capture that community spirit. People were stopping them wherever they went to share their own “tales.” They suddenly realized everyone has a story to tell and many of these stories were amazing. And in that moment, Wilson Living Magazine came to life. Be sure to check out Wilson Living Magazine at www.wilsonlivingmagazine.com

You can read Angel and Becky's weekly column on-line at www.wilsonpost.com under the Style section.

As I get ready, I am so anxious. What to wear, what to wear? Do I go with the capris, the jeans or the summer dress? Do I wear my hair up or down, big loop earrings or tiny pearls?

My little sister was my first best friend. Mom was a close second, followed by my big brother, Mike. I think he put up with me out of pity but I didn’t care, we were buds. This is where I got my first lessons on what it means to be a friend. When my little brother came along however, I got my first lesson on why it’s a bad idea to put makeup and nail polish on a little boy and parade him in front of your parent’s close friends.

A friend of mine’s husband recently passed away. There were obviously lots of tears as he was one of the “good guys” that was destined to only be with us 47 years. His wife asked me to go to the funeral home with her in order to make the funeral arrangements.

After a weekend spent cleaning everything from baseboards to cobwebs, I was exhausted. I even cleaned all the little fingerprints from around switch plates and walls. I gave specific instructions to my husband and our offspring on how “we” were going to work as a family to keep this house clean. This was going to work. Because if I had to spend one more Saturday trying to scrub the smell out of each bathroom floor I was going to lose my mind. They all appeared to be listening but, should have known better.

It was chaos. Long lines, screaming kids and sighing parents blanket every corner. One might think we were waiting in line for Jonas Brothers concert tickets. Nope! We are all waiting to get our hands on wide rule paper. It’s back to school and with that comes back to school shopping. The supply list rivals that of an assignment given to the Impossible Mission Force. But even Jim Phelps’ quick improvisational skills couldn’t have helped complete this task.

As I sat in the Dekalb County Community Hospital Emergency Room last weekend, I knew one thing - I was in big trouble! Even the lady behind the admissions desk knew it. She avoided eye contact with me, so I just sat in my chair staring at the EXIT sign above the emergency room door. As I waited, I had this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I sat at my desk recently and stared at the headlines coming in on the CNN website. “Unemployment rate soars in third quarter”, “Healthcare Crisis Looms over US”, “Professional Athlete victim of Murder/Suicide” and it went on and on. As much as the news of the day was seriously starting to affect my mood, I just couldn’t turn away. As if I didn’t already have enough to worry about, now I had to add the national debt, unemployment rates and swine flu to my list of problems to solve.

Like all classic “Who Done It’s”, this one began on a non-descript Saturday evening. There had been a warm breeze blowing all that day and the smell of imminent rain was now lingering in the evening air. The murmurs of children could be heard in the dark night as they chased lightning bugs oblivious to the foretelling rumblings of thunder. And the adults were comfortably sitting around the back yard listening to classic 80’s music, enjoying the company of friends while debating whether the rain would wash out the fireworks show.  It was a simple Fourth of July cookout that became  - - - not so simple.

Every year millions of women make the pilgrimage to the shopping mall, outlet store or boutique in search of the only item of clothing that can induce tears and anxiety at the mere mention of its name. That’s right, it’s bathing suit season.