Everybody does it. At least, I think they do. Cut school once in their life. I was a late bloomer with this one. I had been a good girl all the way up until my senior year. Never did a bad thing in my life; no smoking, drinking, drugs, sneaking out... nothing. But there came a day where a friend of mine and I decided it would be fun to skip the morning classes and go get breakfast. I had my parents Van that I had been driving to and from school for a while. It was pretty dirty, thanks to me and my lazy ways. So I thought, what a great surprise it would be to take it through a car wash for Mom and Dad and have it looking good again.
So we did. My friend and I paid top dollar for the best car wash you could get. A whole $7!!! We were so excited after it was all over that we high fived each other. If we were gonna get caught cutting class, at least we did something productive! Maybe to lighten to load of the punishment? It's funny the way kids think.
After the car wash, my friend and I headed over to Burger King for our needed breakfast. We both ordered milkshakes (yes in the morning! Yum!) and an egg sandwich. We had taken our breakfast out to the Van for fear that someone, anyone, might see us and report us skipping school. When we came outside to the Van we were amazed and furious at the same time. It would seem that every bird the in Delaware Valley decided to take a dump right on my car. It was just covered from end to end in bird dung. What a waste of a good $7!! We got into the car and drove down the pike, towards a parking lot to pull over and eat when I got the BRILLIANT idea to turn the windshield wipers on... I had no wiper fluid mind you so you can imagine what happened next. Well, the bird crap didn't just go away, it smeared ALL OVER the windshield to the point where I could barely see. By this point, it was so stupid it was funny and my friend and I were laughing hysterically. What were we going to tell my parents? Actually, to this day, I don't think I did.... even though I am sort of telling them now.
Sorry Mom.
And here's the kicker. My friend had had enough of her milkshake and SHE had gotten the bright idea of letting it go outside the window of the moving Van. Now you can imagine what happened after THAT! Yes, of course because of the wind and the traveling Van, the milkshake did not drop to the street like she had hoped but rather streaked down the entire side of the vehicle! What a mess two teenagers caused in little over one hour!!
I don't remember how we cleaned it up; that $7 was all we had. But I do believe we found a way to get the car clean and looking fine by the end of the school day, which we never made it to.
I miss those days!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Babe
There was this movie, Beethoven, that came out I think in the late 1980's. It stared a heart warming, lovable Saint Bernard. From the moment my brother laid eyes on the dog, he knew he had to have one. It took some convincing on his part to get my parents out to a breeder to see a few dogs. And in one of these little crates as the most softest, cutest, sweetest puppy you would ever have seen. She immediately rolled over for, what became known as, a "Tummy Rub". My brother, who was 13 at the time, picked her up and never put her down. You could see the thoughts racing through my parents head as they tried to figure out a way to say "no" but the more they got to know the pup, the harder it became to do so and so, within a few hours, we were on our way home with our newest member of the family.
I remember being in the back seat of the Van, my brother in the middle with the dog, and everyone was throwing up names for her. "Princess" "Killer" "Shadow"... but nothing seemed right. She was too darn cute for some and others just didn't fit. Now, I don't remember who came up with the name (most likely my mother) but "Babe" was suggested and, without hesitation, "Babe" became her name.
She was a BIG puppy!! For only being a few months old, she dwarfed some of the older dogs on the block. We didn't have a fenced in yard at the time, so each of us had to take turns walking her and taking her out back to play. Eventually, when it got warmer out and she didn't want to come in, she would use her size against me and plop herself right onto the ground and wouldn't get up. This was both hysterical and irritating at the same time. I either had friends I wanted to go play with or homework to do. In either case, there was no moving this gigantic puppy. A few months ago, I would have been able to pick her up and carry her into the house, but Babe grew quickly and soon she had it one over me.
I was at work as a teller just starting my career in the banking industry when I got a call from my brother. "Lisa" he said "We're going to have to put Babe down tonight". I just about dropped the phone. "Her hip is unrepairable" he continued. "We're going to wait until everyone can get here and say good-bye. She is comfortable now". I remember hanging up the phone with a sense of denial. This wasn't real. No, Babe would last forever. But sure enough, as I made my way to the Animal Hospital, the reality of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. My Mother, Father, Brother, Aunt and myself were all there for her and taken to a large room where they'd bring her out to us. We all stood in the hallway, waiting for her. As they brought her around the corner, she lifted her head instantly when she saw us, her tail wagging quickly. She was strapped down yet she struggled to get up. As we all gathered with Babe in the room together, she tried so hard to get up; wanting to come home with us. This wasn't to be. The nurse gave us a few moments to be with her. And there we stood, trying not to cry as we didn't want to upset her. My brother stood at the top of the stretcher with her gigantic head in his arms. I stood next to him, with my arms around her torso and my parents stood on the other side with their hands gently petting her to calm her fears.
When it came time for everything to happen, it happened very fast. The nurse did what she had to do and soon, she fell asleep in our arms. Everyone she loved the most was there. My Aunt stayed in the hallway as she could not stand to see an animal be put down. And we all cried for her. To this day, we cry for her. She was a beautiful, loving animal that will never be matched. Her heart was the size of the universe and I pray that we meet again, across the Rainbow Bridge.
I remember being in the back seat of the Van, my brother in the middle with the dog, and everyone was throwing up names for her. "Princess" "Killer" "Shadow"... but nothing seemed right. She was too darn cute for some and others just didn't fit. Now, I don't remember who came up with the name (most likely my mother) but "Babe" was suggested and, without hesitation, "Babe" became her name.
She was a BIG puppy!! For only being a few months old, she dwarfed some of the older dogs on the block. We didn't have a fenced in yard at the time, so each of us had to take turns walking her and taking her out back to play. Eventually, when it got warmer out and she didn't want to come in, she would use her size against me and plop herself right onto the ground and wouldn't get up. This was both hysterical and irritating at the same time. I either had friends I wanted to go play with or homework to do. In either case, there was no moving this gigantic puppy. A few months ago, I would have been able to pick her up and carry her into the house, but Babe grew quickly and soon she had it one over me.
Babe grew to be an enormous dog! She was the largest dog in my town and everyone know of her, about her and had, in one way or another, met her. She was a gentle giant. As she grew, the normal troubles of a dog that large began to plague her. Hip displaysia caused her to go down fast. My mother recalls watching her outside, saw her slip down the hill and knew instantly when she got up that she had injured herself. From that day forward, she began to put all her weight onto the other, uninjured leg. This was fateful for her because the other leg just could not support the weight of her. After a year of x-rays, treatments and pain killers, at the age of 7, she was brought into the Animal Hospital for another look.
I was at work as a teller just starting my career in the banking industry when I got a call from my brother. "Lisa" he said "We're going to have to put Babe down tonight". I just about dropped the phone. "Her hip is unrepairable" he continued. "We're going to wait until everyone can get here and say good-bye. She is comfortable now". I remember hanging up the phone with a sense of denial. This wasn't real. No, Babe would last forever. But sure enough, as I made my way to the Animal Hospital, the reality of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. My Mother, Father, Brother, Aunt and myself were all there for her and taken to a large room where they'd bring her out to us. We all stood in the hallway, waiting for her. As they brought her around the corner, she lifted her head instantly when she saw us, her tail wagging quickly. She was strapped down yet she struggled to get up. As we all gathered with Babe in the room together, she tried so hard to get up; wanting to come home with us. This wasn't to be. The nurse gave us a few moments to be with her. And there we stood, trying not to cry as we didn't want to upset her. My brother stood at the top of the stretcher with her gigantic head in his arms. I stood next to him, with my arms around her torso and my parents stood on the other side with their hands gently petting her to calm her fears.
When it came time for everything to happen, it happened very fast. The nurse did what she had to do and soon, she fell asleep in our arms. Everyone she loved the most was there. My Aunt stayed in the hallway as she could not stand to see an animal be put down. And we all cried for her. To this day, we cry for her. She was a beautiful, loving animal that will never be matched. Her heart was the size of the universe and I pray that we meet again, across the Rainbow Bridge.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
MaSarah Jay
My name is Lisa. Lisa Marie. Dad was an Elvis fan, thank you. So you might be wondering exactly why the link to my blog is that of MaSarah Jay.
This is a memory, while terrible, one that I will never forget, and I use her name in the memory of a the little girl that never came into my life. I suppose the time wasn't right, the stars we not aligned or what, yet whatever the reason, I lost a baby girl 6 months into a pregnancy that seemingly was going fine.
In late 2004, I was working as a Bank Manager out in Central PA. I had a great group of girls as my staff who worked hard so that I could do what I needed to do most; bring in the business accounts. Life was very stressful in this job as the District Managers in that business are never satisfied with what you bring them; even if its gold on a silver platter. In my situation, I was hired as the Assistant Manager, in charge of branch operations yet quickly was given the job of Branch Manager because the current one just one day up and left. Classy AND professional! The branch was a mess; the efficientcy of the records and security of everything was just all wrong. And we were scheduled for an inspection the following day to make sure we were up to code. I think you can guess who took the hit for that.
I'm not the type to keep my mouth shut in situations like this so I was VERY vocal in my own defence that I had a short tenor there AND had just aquired the job that week. There was no possible way I could have fixed the problems they needed to see fixed in that short of time. Yet for weeks, I was hung out to dry as the scape goat. Somebody has to blame someone, right?
What does this have to do with MaSarah Jay?
It was weeks later after all that stress came down on me and feeling sick because of how terrible I felt about my job that I thought that perhaps my sickness was a little more than stress. I was right. The strip read "pregnant" and I was happy as could be!! I made an appointment for the very next day for my ultrasound and my husband and I showed up an hour early, we were so excited (and scared).
We were taken back to the small room where they would check my baby. I laid down on the bed and put my arms above my head, turned to look at the monitor. The technition began her ultrasound and was rubbing my belly with cold goo. Looking at the computer screen, I could see the actual baby. "There's a baby in there!" I said. Yet the technition was quiet as she nodded and said "yes, there is a baby in there". Things became quiet and she continued her test. I looked at my husband, who we both knew something wasn't right. When she was finished, she cleaned off my tummy and her equipment and said "You're all done. You can go have a seat and the Doctor will see you soon".
We walked together out of the room and waited for, what seemed like, forever. When we were finally called back into the doctors office, we had smiles on our faces. We wanted to know EVERYTHING! The doctor sat across from us and folded her hands on her desk. "You are just about 6 months Pregnant. However, we were unable to find a heartbeat for the baby." My eyes went blank. What was she telling me? That my baby hasn't developed a heart yet? I was young and just was too stunned to understand yet my husband knew exactly what they were telling me and took my hand, squeezing it as if to prepare me for what was going to come next.
"You're baby has grown to 6 months and has died" the doctor said. "I am surprised you haven't miscarried on your own but we need to get you into the operating room as soon as possible."
What? You're taking my baby from me? Wait, I'm not ready for this.
The scheduled the D&C procedure for that Friday and told me that if I should miscarry on my own, to head to the ER as quickly as possible.
The day of the procedure, my parents came from Philadelphia to be with me. I wasn't ready for this. Nobody was. I sat in the waiting room wondering "Why me? Why MY baby?" Of all the things in life I have wanted to be, a mother was on the top of my list. This just wasn't happening. Yet out came the stretcher for me and they took me away.
The doctors asked if I would like to be awake or asleep for the procedure. I would have to give birth to a still-born child. If you know me, I'm a strong girl but this wasn't something I could conciously do. So after the induction, I was out and woke up an hour later in recovery with a terrible pain in my stomach, and my heart. I immediatly touched my stomach; I knew my baby was gone. The doctor came over to me and said how sorry she was as I fought back the tears of the reality of the situation. "Do you want to know what it was?"
I was confused by the question, coming out of a deep sleep and everything. "Do you want to know the sex of the baby?" She asked.
I thought for a moment. And said "Yes". This baby deserved to be remembered for the life she did live inside of me for a short while and know that it's mother loved her.
"A little girl".
And so I left the hospital later that day and kept quiet to myself. I named her MaSarah Jay. And every year, no one knows, that on that very same day, I have a small prayer for her to celebrate her birth into heaven.
Keep watch over your Mother, my child. And guide your little brother through life. He needs you and we will meet again in paradise.
Love,
Mom
This is a memory, while terrible, one that I will never forget, and I use her name in the memory of a the little girl that never came into my life. I suppose the time wasn't right, the stars we not aligned or what, yet whatever the reason, I lost a baby girl 6 months into a pregnancy that seemingly was going fine.
In late 2004, I was working as a Bank Manager out in Central PA. I had a great group of girls as my staff who worked hard so that I could do what I needed to do most; bring in the business accounts. Life was very stressful in this job as the District Managers in that business are never satisfied with what you bring them; even if its gold on a silver platter. In my situation, I was hired as the Assistant Manager, in charge of branch operations yet quickly was given the job of Branch Manager because the current one just one day up and left. Classy AND professional! The branch was a mess; the efficientcy of the records and security of everything was just all wrong. And we were scheduled for an inspection the following day to make sure we were up to code. I think you can guess who took the hit for that.
I'm not the type to keep my mouth shut in situations like this so I was VERY vocal in my own defence that I had a short tenor there AND had just aquired the job that week. There was no possible way I could have fixed the problems they needed to see fixed in that short of time. Yet for weeks, I was hung out to dry as the scape goat. Somebody has to blame someone, right?
What does this have to do with MaSarah Jay?
It was weeks later after all that stress came down on me and feeling sick because of how terrible I felt about my job that I thought that perhaps my sickness was a little more than stress. I was right. The strip read "pregnant" and I was happy as could be!! I made an appointment for the very next day for my ultrasound and my husband and I showed up an hour early, we were so excited (and scared).
We were taken back to the small room where they would check my baby. I laid down on the bed and put my arms above my head, turned to look at the monitor. The technition began her ultrasound and was rubbing my belly with cold goo. Looking at the computer screen, I could see the actual baby. "There's a baby in there!" I said. Yet the technition was quiet as she nodded and said "yes, there is a baby in there". Things became quiet and she continued her test. I looked at my husband, who we both knew something wasn't right. When she was finished, she cleaned off my tummy and her equipment and said "You're all done. You can go have a seat and the Doctor will see you soon".
We walked together out of the room and waited for, what seemed like, forever. When we were finally called back into the doctors office, we had smiles on our faces. We wanted to know EVERYTHING! The doctor sat across from us and folded her hands on her desk. "You are just about 6 months Pregnant. However, we were unable to find a heartbeat for the baby." My eyes went blank. What was she telling me? That my baby hasn't developed a heart yet? I was young and just was too stunned to understand yet my husband knew exactly what they were telling me and took my hand, squeezing it as if to prepare me for what was going to come next.
"You're baby has grown to 6 months and has died" the doctor said. "I am surprised you haven't miscarried on your own but we need to get you into the operating room as soon as possible."
What? You're taking my baby from me? Wait, I'm not ready for this.
The scheduled the D&C procedure for that Friday and told me that if I should miscarry on my own, to head to the ER as quickly as possible.
The day of the procedure, my parents came from Philadelphia to be with me. I wasn't ready for this. Nobody was. I sat in the waiting room wondering "Why me? Why MY baby?" Of all the things in life I have wanted to be, a mother was on the top of my list. This just wasn't happening. Yet out came the stretcher for me and they took me away.
The doctors asked if I would like to be awake or asleep for the procedure. I would have to give birth to a still-born child. If you know me, I'm a strong girl but this wasn't something I could conciously do. So after the induction, I was out and woke up an hour later in recovery with a terrible pain in my stomach, and my heart. I immediatly touched my stomach; I knew my baby was gone. The doctor came over to me and said how sorry she was as I fought back the tears of the reality of the situation. "Do you want to know what it was?"
I was confused by the question, coming out of a deep sleep and everything. "Do you want to know the sex of the baby?" She asked.
I thought for a moment. And said "Yes". This baby deserved to be remembered for the life she did live inside of me for a short while and know that it's mother loved her.
"A little girl".
And so I left the hospital later that day and kept quiet to myself. I named her MaSarah Jay. And every year, no one knows, that on that very same day, I have a small prayer for her to celebrate her birth into heaven.
Keep watch over your Mother, my child. And guide your little brother through life. He needs you and we will meet again in paradise.
Love,
Mom
Monday, March 28, 2011
My First Memorable Moment
They say children do not remember their childhood very much before age 5. I will beg to differ as my very first memory comes at the age of three in the living room of my childhood home outside the City of Philadelphia. A beautiful little town with tree's, green grass, an endless supply of playgrounds; my home had the warmth of a Southern Town Home.
As a three year old in pigtails, I'm not sure I could understand what exactly what was going on while I watching Television with my Father. I just saw a bunch of colorful cars driving fast around in circles and people in stands cheering and my Father jumping up and down when his #3 would take the lead. Sucking on my thumb with my whoopie in my hand, I sat on the top of my couch which was pushed against the wall of the house, facing the TV. I saw Daddy's #3 car come up behind another car and hit him from behind, causing the car to crash into the wall. "DADDY!" I remember yelling, "Why'd he do that? That was mean!" I was confused.
I remember my Father laughing at me slightly with a smile. "Lisa," he said, "they had an accident. Everybody wants to win this race. It's called the 'Daytona 500' and sometimes they crash". I got really angry! I thought, how mean it was for the #3 driver to push the other car into the wall just to win the race! What a poor sport, this little three year old thought to herself, sliding down the couch and coming to a stop on her bottom, still with whoopie in hand.
"I don't like him, Daddy." I said.
Dad laughed. The fact that his little three year old baby girl would know that hurting someone is not what we do as people most likely made him very proud.
I now I have a five year old little boy. I can only imagine the memories he must have if I am able to remember so very clearly my first at the age of three, in my living room with my father; watching the Daytona 500. Little did I know years later, that #3 car would be in a horrible crash himself he would never walk away from. It wasn't until that fateful day when I was an older girl, that I put the two together. How guilty I felt for disliking him for all those years.
I am creating memories every day with my child, I hope you cherish and create your own. Someday, I hope to create memories with someone that will last a life time to share and laugh with as we grow older together. That is the glory of the memory. Though time has passed, memories remain and the feelings you felt while creating them are never forgotten and can be relived through recounting them with those you love the most.
Best,
Lisa D.
As a three year old in pigtails, I'm not sure I could understand what exactly what was going on while I watching Television with my Father. I just saw a bunch of colorful cars driving fast around in circles and people in stands cheering and my Father jumping up and down when his #3 would take the lead. Sucking on my thumb with my whoopie in my hand, I sat on the top of my couch which was pushed against the wall of the house, facing the TV. I saw Daddy's #3 car come up behind another car and hit him from behind, causing the car to crash into the wall. "DADDY!" I remember yelling, "Why'd he do that? That was mean!" I was confused.
I remember my Father laughing at me slightly with a smile. "Lisa," he said, "they had an accident. Everybody wants to win this race. It's called the 'Daytona 500' and sometimes they crash". I got really angry! I thought, how mean it was for the #3 driver to push the other car into the wall just to win the race! What a poor sport, this little three year old thought to herself, sliding down the couch and coming to a stop on her bottom, still with whoopie in hand.
"I don't like him, Daddy." I said.
Dad laughed. The fact that his little three year old baby girl would know that hurting someone is not what we do as people most likely made him very proud.
I now I have a five year old little boy. I can only imagine the memories he must have if I am able to remember so very clearly my first at the age of three, in my living room with my father; watching the Daytona 500. Little did I know years later, that #3 car would be in a horrible crash himself he would never walk away from. It wasn't until that fateful day when I was an older girl, that I put the two together. How guilty I felt for disliking him for all those years.
I am creating memories every day with my child, I hope you cherish and create your own. Someday, I hope to create memories with someone that will last a life time to share and laugh with as we grow older together. That is the glory of the memory. Though time has passed, memories remain and the feelings you felt while creating them are never forgotten and can be relived through recounting them with those you love the most.
Best,
Lisa D.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Subscribe To MaSarah Jay's Blog!
Posts
All Comments