Night Terrors

A few days ago I attended a funeral for a young man in town who was killed in a robbery. I didn’t know the guy, but went in support of the family who was suffering a tragic loss. After the funeral, I had so many appointments and errands that I did not return home until after Steele (now 15 years old) had gone to bed.


First let me say that I make it a habit of kissing and hugging my son regularly throughout the day, especially before he goes to sleep. What can I say? I’m an affectionate person. But this particular night, the events of the day were weighing heavily on my heart. I had watched a mother openly mourn the tragic loss of her only baby boy. Regardless of the fact that he was 25 years old, it had me thinking of how blessed and grateful I was to have a happy, healthy child who was safe from harm.

Overwhelmed by my emotions, I tiptoed into his darkened room and bent over him and kissed his forehead. Quietly I whispered, “I love you Baby Bear.”

Okay, not so quietly apparently because suddenly his eyes flew open like retracting window shades and they were flooded with instant terror. You see, at that very moment as he was jolted awake from his deep slumber, my face could’ve only been maybe 4 inches from his. In the seconds that it took his brain to process the situation, his fear involuntarily escalated his movements and he bounced back with mouth wide open and eyes bugged out searching for answers. My instant reaction was to also jump back in reflex…mainly to avoid getting punched in the face. And then he was like, “Who…what are you doing?!?!” And I’m all, “Aww babe, I just came in to tuck you in and kiss you goodnight because I’m so lucky to have you.” His response? “You scared the crap outta me! I’m tryin’ to sleep, ugh!”

So much for tender loving moments. He laid his head back down and instantly returned to his sleep. I walked out of the room, annoyed as usual.

P.S. Kinda weird how I flipped the script on you and went from such a heart-wrenching post to a “reality bites” one, huh? Well, sometimes I think we over-romanticize how certain aspects of our lives should be. These fantasies sometimes come to fruition, but a lot of the time they just leave us feeling slighted or short-changed. I guess the main thing to remember is to count your blessings. Be happy with all that you DO have, even with its flaws. Because there ARE those out there who would give anything to have what you do…an opportunity to show love to someone special, and receive it in return…eventually.

Santa Got Lost In Translation

Ahh family tradition…a few years ago my mother inadvertently began a new sort of Christmas family tradition by gifting my father a little gem of sorts. It was a t-shirt. And, harmless as it may seem, the long-term ramifications of this gift could not possibly been foreseen. As usual, along with Christmas activities came the annual sporting of the t-shirt…and thus, the memories and laughter begin…

My mother did not move to the states until adulthood, and although throughout my lifetime she has adapted to American culture and terminology, she sometimes gets a little lost in translation. Case in point, the Christmas family celebration of 2006.

Mom was effortlessly making her way through the piles of wrapped gifts when she announced the “super sale” she found while shopping a novelty store in New Orleans that season. She was like, “I found the cutest store full of coffee cups, t-shirts, and hand towels and EVERYTHING was on clearance! I bought a TON of them and now I can give them to everyone!” Dad unwrapped his new treasure and as he examined the bright red t-shirt, his eyes lit up and a roar of laughter welled from within. Mom was all, “Isn’t that the cutest little Santa?! I got such a good deal!” It was then that my father turned the shirt for my sisters and I to see. Immediately we were in tears laughing.

Mom: I know! Isn’t the Santa so funny?!
Me: I don’t think it’s the Santa that’s so funny, mom.
Annie: Oh My Gosh! Three Hos are better than One!! Bahahahahahahahaha
Mom: Yeah, like Ho Ho Ho! Because it’s Santa…get it?
Annie: Oh, we GET it! Do YOU get it.
Dad: (in tears now gasping for breath) THAT is a good shirt, Momma, Ima put it on RIGHT now.
Me: Dad, you can’t wear that today! Everyone will be over later for dinner!
Dad: It’s my new Christmas shirt your momma got me and Ima wear it.
Mom: Okay Annie, this one’s for you. Here, open it…
It’s been five Christmases since the revealing of this “dirty Santa”, and every year my dad pulls out the shirt and wears it. Sometimes visitors will mention how great it is and my mom will chime in with, “I have another one in the closet if you want it!” I still am not sure if anyone told her exactly what the shirt implied. Either way, it brings fun to the family Christmas every year.

There's a United Nations Meeting In My Belly

So my thankful week of gut busting is over and I find myself left with two things to show for it, leftover pie for breakfast and this little post to bring insight into the “melting pot” of a feast that my family calls Thanksgiving.  Okay…in all actuality, if it were my mom talking, she would put a slight Filipino accent spin on it and say Thanksgibbing.  My dad would abbreviate it with that southern drawl and call it Thanksgivin’.  Either way, you’ll be full when it’s over.

I was the host this year for the evening meal, so we DID actually have a traditional American meal, but my parents did not want to pass on the opportunity to host a few friends (and myself, of course) for their own “traditional” occasion during the lunch hour.   It was an eclectic mix of friends and food.  

It was a Melting Pot of Goodness...MmmmmMmmmm

So here you are…the menu at my parents Cajun Asian Turkey Day:

-Seafood Gumbo

-Cornbread Dressing
-Potato Salad
-Turkey (purposely not listed first because it is more obligatory than anything else)
-Spring Rolls
-Fruit and Vegtable fusion salad with sesame ginger dressing
-Miscellaneous assortment of store bought pies (whatever ones were on sale that day)
-left over Sinigang (Filipino broth-based soup with pork, radishes, green vegetables, etc.)

Was there gravy?  No.  Dad forgot and mom began her anti-gravy coalition when I was around 5 years old.  Mash potatoes?  No.  But there was a fresh pot of jasmine rice available.  Is that a giant bag of popcorn in the background?  Yes it is.  That’s what is known as the random “WOW factor” food item of the feast.  You never know what you’re gonna get.  And this year…we got popcorn.  You’re welcome.

The Honeymoon Is OVER!

Okay, so a few posts back I introduced that adorable little fur ball of fun, Benny. Everything about this new member of our family is charming...irresistably darling. We have forgiven him for chewing on our toes, leaving puppy chow crumbs on the floor, or leaving a puddle behind for us to step in…all at the bat of those big brown eyes. But yesterday…oh yesterday…Benny just went a little too far…

Check out my pretty new “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto” shoes. Don’t you just L-O-V-E them? Well I do! I got them last week. I woke with anticipation to wear them for the first time yesterday. I carefully selected an outfit to pair with my new shoes because, well, you KNOW that it’s ALL about getting a great pair of shoes and then putting an entire outfit together to compliment them. I get dressed and pull out the pièce de résistance…and that’s when I lost it.

“BENNNNYYYYYYYY you ROTTEN little ball of TERROR!!!!!! Where is he?!?! I’m going to BEAT him with my new shoe!!” He slowly rounds the corner into the hallway and we meet face-to-face, like a stand-off in the old country westerns. He, with his rotten cuteness and I with my damaged Gianni Bini red patent leather mary jane pump. SOMEONE was not going to make it out alive…SOMEONE with four stubby little legs and a bark that mimics a squeaky toy. He took his first shot… cocked his little floppy ears up, tilted his head to the side and gazed at me with the innocence of a newborn child. I was determined not to waiver. I marched toward him with the shoe in my hand, prepared to teach him a proper lesson, and then…he lost his balance and fell over like a little piece of freshly chopped timber.

My heart welled up and I began to giggle, which only made him roll over on his back and shoot those eyes at me from the upside-down cute angle. I was defeated. He had won. How could I stay mad at this little guy? Lesson learned. I can’t compete with that action. He owns me, and I should have known better than to leave my closet door ajar. Well played Benny Bop…well played.

He’s Got Electric Boots and a Mohair Suit

Our family dynamic has taken an interesting turn into retro cuteness with our newest addition…Benny “the Jet”. He’s an adopted eclectic mixture of terriers and other small breeds with a personality that packs a punch! Mischievous, playful, inquisitive, and full of spunk, this little guy has owned our house…and our hearts since the day we brought him home.

The name, you ask? Well, his name was initially Elvis Aaron Presley (because there is a little hound dog in all of us). So we were on the long drive home when the radio chimed in with Elton John’s classic tune, and wouldn’t you know…little “Elvis” sat up, cocked his ears, and started howling. It was the funniest thing ever. The song ended and he quieted instantly. I began to tease him saying things like, “Elvis? Do you like Benny and the Jets?” And every time he heard the word Benny, his little head turned and his ears stood at attention. Needless to say, Elvis had left the building and Benny was here to stay.

I know, right? Benny “the Jet” Miller. It sounds a little mafia. But you don’t know the half of it. Yesterday I brought him home a bone and he was chewing it and using the blunt end as a teaser toy for our other dog Maggie. At some point my cousin Del looks over and was all, “O-M-G that bone looks like a cigar in his mouth!” Yes people…Benny “the Jet” Miller went all gangsta, and earned his street cred. This little guy means business.

For Halloween, Benny surprised us with this uncanny impression of George Burns.  You're Welcome.

The Halloweaster Bunny

I’m not a big Halloween person; maybe because my parents barely acknowledged the holiday throughout my childhood. And also there was the fact that we lived in a more rural area so our annual trick-or-treat visitors would total somewhere along the lines of two neighborhood kids…three if Michael Hickman wasn’t in trouble that night. The four acre distance between homes was a pretty good deterrent for parents becoming motivated to walk the kids from house to house; not to mention the idea of children wandering the streets after dark dressed like hooligans and begging for food like paupers only to come home and fight a battle over how much chocolate is too much before bedtime.

Muahahaha!  I vant to suck your Cadbury mini eggs!

I do recall one particular Halloween, however, where my mother made an extra effort to put her own spin on celebrate the occasion. You should know that my mother is a well-educated woman who sometimes falls victim to culture shock. She moved to the United States as an adult, so while she does understand the concepts of all American holidays and the meaning behind them, she sometimes gets “lost in translation” when it comes to the actual traditions. Case in point:

Halloween night, 2003. I was an adult; however, my 6 year old son was excited and filled with anticipation for special Halloween with his maw maw. I was excited for a night out with friends and a free babysitter. I got to my mother’s house and walked inside where she whisked him away and promptly returned with a bright orange foam pumpkin sporting arms and legs and bearing an uncanny resemblance to my son. Her witch hat didn’t quite go with the hospital scrubs she wore to work that day, but mom ALWAYS had a way of making things work in her favor. “Hellooooo Brandon! I am Glenda the good nurse-witch! And we are gonna have soooo much fun hunting for Halloween candy! Peter Cottontail has visited and there are candies and surprises hidden alllll around us!” She grabbed his little hands and started bouncing around with her 70’s disco moves singing "Here comes Peter Cottontail. Hoppin’ down the bunny trail…"

Wait…what? I was lost. Peter Cottontail? Please tell me my dad was not about to jump out of the hall closet wearing cover-alls, bunny ears and his Sunday church shoes. (He didn’t by the way…BIG relief) So I was all, “Mom, Peter Cottontail? That's an Easter thing.  Aren't you going trick-or-treating tonight?” And she was like, “Of course! We are gonna trick-or-treat right here to find all the goodies, right Brandon!?!” And of course Brandon was practically jumping up and down and screaming “Let’s go maw maw!! Bye mom! Let’s go!”

Apparently, after work, my mom bought a few bags of Halloween candy and hid the pieces of candy all around her house for Brandon to find.  And yes, in the end there was a "golden prize egg".  Because a hunt wouldn't be the same without one!  My mom always had a way of making things exciting for little kids. Her enthusiasm is contagious to say the least. To this day I have a theory that my son enjoys going over to their house strictly for the possibility of finding candy in the least expected places.  Kind of like a modern day Hansel and Gretel effect.  Maybe there was something to this whole Halloweaster bunny concept.

I DO...Everything You Say From Now On

So another family wedding coming up this weekend and my cousin is the beautiful bossy blushing bride. Kidding, she’s far from the bridezilla type, but a little conversation she shared with me today had me questioning it for a moment.
The other day my cousin, the bride, was going over the last minute details of the wedding events for this weekend, and she says to her fiancé, “Okay babe, so Friday you need to meet me at the church to help decorate for the wedding.”

And he was like, “No wait, I already made plans to go hunting on Friday so I won’t be there.”

And she was all, “Well you NEED to be there because I need your help getting everything set up.”

And he was like, “But I talked to my mom about it and she said I didn’t need to be there for that part.”

And she was all, “Oh…okay, but just so you know, once we are married Saturday, I’M the boss of you, NOT your mom. Got it? Love you! Have fun hunting!”

I love this girl…she’s so right…and he can’t say there wasn’t fair warning.

Snap, Crackle, POP Culture Overload

Recently my family traveled from all over the world to gather in New Orleans for my sister’s wedding.  One of the great things about a destination wedding is that the guests can treat the weekend as a vacation as well as support the bride and groom.  It’s pretty much a win-win situation. 

My family members are all pretty much reluctant to hang around each other for extended periods of time independent, so we all branched off and did our own things around the French Quarter during our down time between scheduled wedding festivities.  On one of the days I met up for lunch with my sister, Joyce, and her husband, Ted, who were visiting from their home in New York.  Ted was giving me a run-down on that day’s events, which included several historical building tours.

Ted: It was pretty neat.  The ceilings and walls were covered with beautiful paintings, you know, like that artist guy, Leonard Da…what’s that guy’s name again?  Leonardo Da…

Me: Caprio?

Silence

Joyce: Isn’t that the guy from Titanic?

Me: Oh yeah…ooops.

Ted: Vinci!  Da Vinci.  Yeah… him.  Beautiful paintings.

It was then that I realized I probably needed to scale back my pop culture magazine consumption and visit a few high culture art exhibits before my brain turns to mush and I go all “Jersey Shore” intelligence on people.

Yeah, we’re a cultured bunch.

Don, A Girl's Best Friend?

Last week my sister Annie, her husband Mitch, my brother Chris, Steele and I met at my parents’ house for dinner. It was just casual home-cooked meal accompanied by conversation about upcoming family events and the latest work drama. When out of the blue my mom looks across the table at Annie’s hand and she’s all, “Annie! That ring is BEAUTIFUL! Where did you get it?” And Annie was like, “I got it at Don’s Pharmasave. Same place I get my medication.”

Her response was met with brief silence broken by my uncontrolled laughter. Now THAT is a ONE-STOP-SHOP!


I'll take that ring, a box of Cracker Jacks, and a refill on my Valium prescription, please!



MAID OF disHONOR

My sister Alysson is FINALLY getting married this weekend, and I was forced asked to participate in the ceremony as her bridesmaid, along with our other sister Annie. It’s really a no-brainer. I mean, of COURSE I’ll be there to support my favorite sister on her special day as she freaks out and murders everyone in a bridezilla rampage joins in matrimony with that poor sucker the love of her life, Miah.

The bride was blissfully unaware that her bridesmaids
had already abandoned her for a sale on designer shoes.

So last night, the bride and I were discussing last minute details for this weekend…on speakerphone so her fiance’ was included in the conversation:

Me: Okay, so things are falling into place now. Annie went yesterday and got her tan and I have an appointment to get my nails done on Tuesday. Did you confirm our appointments with the hair stylist for Friday? I’m a little worried about Annie’s bridesmaid dress fitting properly, but just in case, I’m packing a necessities bag to bring to New Orleans this weekend. You know, important things we may need like bobby pins in case Annie or I need them for our hair, safety pins in case our dresses malfunction, duct tape…well, we won’t talk about what the duct tape is for...

Bride: WAIT! What exactly are you packing for ME? Helloo! You’re supposed to be making sure that I’m taken care of the day of my wedding. Thank goodness I have a new sister-in-law, my only sister who actually CARES about what MY needs are.

Me: Oh! Well, I guess we just assumed you had it all together on your end. We all know Annie can be a hot mess sometimes. Hahaha

Bride: I’m gonna need snacks, drinks, a fan, all kinds of things and I’m going to count on you guys to make sure I’m eating and getting enough water and not sweating too much and that kind of stuff.

Me: Well then what kind of snacks do I need to pack for you? Don’t you like those chewy chips ahoy cookies?

Bride: No

Me: the crunchy ones?

Bride: No. I want Oreos, I like Oreos. And anything with peanut butter or chocolate would be good.

Me: Oreos? Um…no, they will turn your teeth black on your wedding day. I’m banning the Oreos. See? I got yo back gurl!

Bride: Then just get the blonde ones.

Me: Ooooooooh the GOLDEN Oreos. I really like those! They are soooo yummy!

Groom a/k/a Peanut Gallery: Great, now she’s gonna eat all your Oreos, too.

FAIL. Okay, so I’m not the best bridesmaid in the world. Realistically, we were BOUND to find SOMETHING I couldn’t do perfectly right? And hey, at least I’m not the worst! I’m pretty sure my other sister will prove to be the worst.

Little Miss Magoo in her Myopia Utopia

So recently I purchased a new pair of glasses, something I hadn’t bothered with in the last ten years since I primarily wear contacts.  I was chatting with my sister, Alysson, later that day and I was telling her how blind I felt when I could not even see my own face in the mirror 3 feet away without corrective lenses.  Alysson quickly reminded me that she is far worse off than I in that department, being as her prescription is so strong that she is considered legally blind.  Then she reminded me of the “driver’s licensing exam dilemma” which I am more than happy to share with you today.

It was finally Alysson’s turn to get her ticket to freedom by becoming licensed to drive in the State of Louisiana.  Alysson was anxious about her driver’s licensing exam that day and my dad used the drive to the local department of motor vehicles as an opportunity to give her a few pointers.  Dad was like, “The best thing to do is take your eye exam WITHOUT your eye glasses.  That’s what I do.  That way you don’t get any restrictions put on your license.”  (Dad always gets a kick out of “stickin’ it to the man”)

Being the obedient child that she was, my sister who has the sight capacity of Mr. Magoo tucked her glasses away in her purse and walked to the counter for her sight test.  She gazed in the direction of the eye chart and quickly and confidently rattled off the letters.  “oh PEE oh PEE, pee pee oh PEE!” And the DMV lady was all, “Ma’am, its numbers not letters,” so Alysson was like, “Oh okay…zero…” and the DMV lady was all, “Um, no.”  So Alysson was like, “Okay let me just get out my glasses.”  FAIL

Sometimes we see what we WANT to see, not what’s really there.  It’s always better to recognize your weaknesses and take measures to overcome rather than hide them.  One of Alysson’s greatest attributes is her ability to recognize her strengths as well as her weaknesses, and use both to make a difference in the lives of others.

A Classy Place to Poo

This past weekend included a 6 hour road trip to Austin, Texas to drop Brandon off at camp for the next two weeks. For fun, I brought along my sister Annie and a friend whose identity will be kept anonymous to protect the reputation of the ashamed innocent.

A few hours into our trip, somewhere near Huntsville, we collectively decided there was a need for a pit stop. I was asking where we should stop in this small town and my friend chimes in with, “I don’t know I just need to poo.” So I’m all, “Okay look, there’s a Shell station. We can stop there.” And she emphatically rejects my suggestion by yelling, “No! The gas station is disgusting! I need a classy place to poo. “, So I’m like, “A CLASSY place to poo?” And she’s all, “You know, somewhere clean and spacious. Where I can relax and concentrate.”

Realizing now that she was absolutely serious, the other occupants of the car are throwing out suggestions through their laughter.

Annie: “How about that Golden Corral?”

Classy Poo: “That’s no good. It’s a restaurant. People are eating and they might smell it when you come out. It would ruin their meal.”

Brandon: “There’s an office building right there, they would have a bathroom.”

Classy Poo: “Oooooo Brookshires, that looks like a nice place.”

Me: “No, that is a grocery store…they probably don’t specialize in classy bathrooms or feng shui atmosphere.”

Classy Poo: “Oh okay, well just stop at that McDonalds on the left. We can go there.”

So we all file inside so my friend could take a dump for rest and relaxation, and as everyone gathered back at the car, Brandon comes out and says “I don’t know about ya’ll, but my classy bathroom had KKK scratched into the toilet lid.”

That's one classy gal on the door!

On the road again...

Stupid is as stupid does

Let me take a moment to introduce you to Maggie “Doodlebug” Miller.  The photo here pretty much sums up our little simpleton…so cuddly, so sweet, and oh so very DUMB.  This was her response to the “SIT” command.

Sit Maggie

We first learned of her condition a couple of weeks after we adopted her.  Concerned about a guttural hacking noise she kept making, I brought her to be examined for what I suspected was some sort of respiratory infection.  After careful observation and testing, the vet was like, “Maggie here is perfectly healthy.”  And I’m like “But what about the horrible hacking noise?” And, as if on cue, Maggie takes a few steps, trips over her own foot and let’s out that sound.
 
Me: “See?! That’s the sound!”

Doc: “Well that’s just a bark.”

Me: “A bark…really?  It sounds more like she's chaneling the spirit of a toad with laryngitis.”

Doc: “It seems as though Maggie has what is called an abbreviated mental capacity.”

Me: “Are you saying my dog is retarded?”
Doc: “Basically.”

Me: “And that affects her bark.”

Doc: “You’ll probably find many idiosyncrasies as she develops.  But as far as her health goes, she’s good to go.”

Great.  Just what I needed. The Forrest Gump of cocker spaniels.

So I present to you the list of “idiosyncrasies” revealed:

-at adult growth, she is 20 lbs dwarfed from her normal breed size

-one ear is half the size of the other, this is typically disguised by her long hair, but sometimes we ask for a summer cut at the groomers, and she pretty much just walks around looking like her head is cocked to the side all the time.

-sudden energy bursts cause her to run wildly back and forth across the yard, sometimes colliding with the columns on the back porch

-she usually barks ferociously at her reflection in the glass door as she walks by

-one time she charged at her reflection and became so frightened by the display that she avoided that room for the rest of the day

-she humps our other dog, Mojo, when she wants to play because to her it is a form of wrestling

-she runs through the dog door at full speed and sometimes misses the hole

-when she hears Mojo alerting with his bark, she mimics the barking, but instead of focusing on the cause of his barks, she swings her head in a Stevie Wonder-like motion while staring off into space

-she pees herself a little every time someone with a baritone voice greets her

"Ooof!"

Over the years we have adapted to our doodlebug.  Her antics warm our hearts, but the grunt-barks are still so annoying.

Mi Hermano

A couple of weeks ago, Brandon’s graduating 8th grade class took a trip through history along the east coast and we used this opportunity to piggy-back a weekend vacation to Boston so that he and his half-brother, Kristopher, could meet in person for the first time. As one of five siblings, I know how important it is to have a friend who knows all of your strengths and weaknesses, or who understands your sense of humor and laughs despite the fact that it was not very funny anyway.

I was overjoyed when I first spoke to Jennifer (Kris’ mom) and discovered that she was absolutely supportive of the boys getting to know each other as brothers. And so then there we were, together in Boston, getting to know each other as well, but mainly bonding through the similarities that exist between the boys. First of all…the obvious…they have the same eyes. Well actually, they are pretty much the same from the eyeballs up, but I’ll continue the list of similarities as follows:

~ SAME HAIR – cowlicks and all…gotta love those cowlicks!

~ SAME EARS – they are a tad oversized, a little crooked at the corners, but adorable nonetheless

~ SAME STRUT – I don’t know how many times Jenn and I found ourselves following behind the boys, and noticing that their bodies move in the exact same manner when they are casually strolling along.

~ SAME SPORTS & HOBBIES – basketball, video games, reading

~ SAME ALLERGIES – and allergy medication lol

~ SAME STORY-TELLING STYLE – yes, they are both verbose and excessively detailed in recounting the events of a day, or the contents of a show, game or story they have encountered, so much so to the point where they end up on a tangent of their own storyline, abandoning the original point all together

~ SAME OBSESSION FOR READING – constantly thirsting for the next book in the latest series of novels, devouring one book after the other with their appetite for expanding their horizons

~ SAME DEMEANOR – both personalities are ruled by traits such as being mild tempered, obedient, independent, intuitive, sensitive and funny

~ SAME STYLE – last year, each of them received a new pair of glasses. They each chose their own style and ran with it. As you can see in the photos, they chose the same.

~ SAME TASTE IN MUSIC – Alternative rock…including their “favorite band” – Green Day

I was all smiles during the trip as I noticed that Brandon’s little brother (3 years his junior) was beginning to idolize him in the small ways a 10 year old does. He would chose to wear the same color as Brandon, sit the same way, or even mimic some silly thing Brandon did. I was proud of my son as he strived to be a good example to his brother, and offer guidance on things that only someone “older” and “wiser” would know.

The weekend ended a success and the boys had a great time. We made commitments to get together again this year, and every year to follow.

I hope the boys know how important they will be to each other one day. I hope they really open up to one another as they grow older and develop a bond that cannot be broken. I hope they understand the sacrifices and efforts their mothers have gone through to keep them whole. I hope they had the time of their life!

I leave you with famous lyrics from the boys’ favorite band – Green Day

Another turning point; a fork stuck in the road.
Time grabs you by the wrist; directs you where to go.
So make the best of this test and don't ask why.
It's not a question but a lesson learned in time.
It's something unpredictable but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

(I bet it’s stuck in your head now right? Join the club)

My newly Puerto Rican Child

Okay, so I just returned home after spending 9 days in the British Virgin Islands so rather than make you jealous with about a hundred stories of how gorgeous, relaxing, exciting, fantastic and perfect my vacation was last week, I have decided to share with you the circumstances surrounding a small mishap we experienced during our trip home....Picture it..place-the airport at San Juan, Puerto Rico, time-sometime late afternoon Saturday. We had a 3 hour layover so my family and I were not too concerned about the 2 hours of customs and security checks before entering the U.S...so about 30 minutes before our plane is scheduled to take off, I decide to go the the gift shop around the corner and leave my family sitting there at the gate. Brandon INSISTED he come along with me and I had no objection at the time, so he came. About 10 feet before the gift shop entrance was an ever-so-tempting turn-style door that led to Baggage Claim and my son headed toward it with the enthusiasm of a coon-ass toward an unattended six-pack of beer. I snapped at him with my motherly reflex "Brandon, dont even think about it, no playing in the turn-style door, stay next to me please." So he obeys and we proceed into the gift shop...his hopes dashed. As I finalize my purchase, I suddenly notice that the "mom can I haves" had ceased and all was quiet. I look around and notice Brandon was not by my side. I walk out of the gift shop to find my son on the other side of the turn-style door, looking at me with eyes welled-up with tears, and he was holding the hand of a butch-looking woman who had more hair on her upper lip than on the top of her head. She calls me through the turn-style door and I go through...without thinking. It was only at this moment that the securtiy gaurd decides to inform me of the fact that once a person has passed through the door, they have left the secured area and must go back through customs and security prior to boarding their flight. Ok...two problems...one..my flight was talking off in less than 20 minutes and two..our passports were in my backpack which was with my family, who were sitting at the gate getting ready to board the plane and had no clue where we were!!! I had to get my passport and the security gaurd could not communicate with the security agent on the other side of the glass due to the fact that HIS English was extremely broken, and her Spanish was rusty at best. So I proceed to knock on the glass trying to get the attention of a fellow American who seemed to find the whole situation amusing from his seat at the gate. But then the security woman finally gives the proper Puerto Rican hand signals which prompt the male security gaurd on the other side of the glass, to go searching for my family. (apparently when you dont speak the same language, hand signals will do...I knew a few choice hand signals that I wanted to use at that point, but in the interest of not starting wars with foreign U.S. territories, I kept my feelings to myself). The male security guard says to me "I find family with passport..what you name?" So I tell him Miller and he disappears for what feels like an eternity. Finally my sister comes around the corner with our passports and we proceed to force them through the small gap between the glass. And I run, Brandon in tow, down the escaltor, through baggage claim, out the door, around the exterior frame of the airport, to the arrival section, through the entry, past the check-in counters to security. I'm practically hyperventilating and trying to tell the customs officer that I have nothing to declare. Long story short...as I boarded my flight only a couple of minutes before take-off, I took the opportunity to lecture Brandon. And when I asked "Have you leaqrned anything from this Brandon?" He replied "Yes ma'am. If you dont listen to your mom, you could be left in a foreign country and have to become a citizen of Puerto Rico forever." And my father, who at this point was laughing at my expense, decides to add his two cents by saying "Yeah Brandon, you were about two minutes away from having to eat nuthin but goats and chickens for the rest of your life."