WTH??

So... today was a nice day- high 70s I think. We decided to get out and enjoy the weather. We grabbed a bite to eat and took it to the park. Everyone was out enjoying the weather. Folks were playing tennis, kids were playing in the play area, and birds were chirping. We sat a picnic table (Dude, myself, Maurissa and Myles) eating. I happened to look up and saw a man with two ladies with quite a few kids. The ladies were giggling and struggling to gather the kids before crossing from the parking area to the play area. The man stood out because he wasn't helping them and because he had bright red hair and was dressed in this black, karate-kid looking outfit. It reminded me of the black and white karate-type outfits that guys would wear in the movies who could not fight. You know the ones who would swing the numb-chucks? and make a whole bunch of noise. Then they would get knocked down or killed with one blow or kick, once they stopped all that nonsense. Anyway... when I saw him, I chocked a bit on my food and without thinking said,
"What in the world does he have on?"
Then our four-year-old, WITHOUT THINKING, looks and adds,
"Yeah, what the hell is he thinkin' about?"
Everything stopped.
I didn't hear the birds chirping anymore, the folks playing tennis or the 50 kids and parents across the street in the play area.
Dude looked at me and I looked at him. I looked around, trying to process it. Did he just say-
"What did you say?" Dude asked.
"Uh, uh, Daddy, do you have some more ketchup in that bag?" I asked.
I didn't want to give it too much attention and I wanted to see if he even knew it was a bad thing to say.
We continued eating and then turned our heads, confused. I mean it was not funny but it was... something. I didn't know if I should laugh, because he is four and didn't know or if I should grab a BRANCH from one of the trees and whip his little butt. We both tried not to laugh.
A minute or two passed and I felt more comfortable asking him,
"Uh, Myles where did you hear that from?"
"What, mommy?"
"What you said about that man," I answered, taking a sip from my drink.
He pointed and answered, "From you."
Chocking, I asked him what he was talking about.
Dude looked at me.
Then our six-year-old added her unsolicited words.
"Yeah, from your conversations on the phone sometimes!"
"You don't even know what I am talking about," I told her.
"When you say, 'What the hell'," she said.
Dude glared at me convincingly.
I really could not remember a time I'd said that and especially in front of them.
With an attitude I told Dude, "You just lucky you ain't been busted!"
(Oh, I ain't just gone be wrong and hold my head down now.)
"Yall shouldn't be in grown folks conversations anyway!" I yelled.

Missing my friend

I feel like I am still waiting for something to help me get through this. I wanted to call Kenya today to tell her something. Something was bothering me about another friend. I almost dialed her number- well almost pressed number 3 on my phone to automatically dial her- after all I have not taken her number out of my phone. I am still holding on to the text messages. I still visit her myspace page to listen to her songs and read her blogs. Without looking at her myspace page I can see her face so vividly, I can still hear her distinct laugh. And I can also see her face, the last time I saw her when she was in the hospital. She was uncomfortable, asking the nurse for pain medication and getting a dumb response, "Okay (sighing), um I can talk to your doctor about it but he probably won't agree to it," the nurse said. Kenya has asked for a morphine drip because her pain, at that point was sharp and it was becoming more consistent.
"Okay what is the procedure or steps I need to take to get it or can I just talk to him?" she asked softly. (This is important to note- because it would have been understandable if she raised up on her.
"I'll see if he is still here," the nurse said walking away.
This was Super Bowl day- I remember this because they (Baptist Hospital) were offering a Super Bowl meal consisting of wings and celery. I saw the little flyer by her bed. She put in an order and asked if I wanted any. I declined.
Some doctor came in after about 15 minutes. It wasn't her doctor. He seemed nice. Talked slow and often looked over at me. I wanted to give him half a peace sign- I mean why wash he looking at me. I wasn't the one moving around and groaning in pain in the bed. More silly questions:
"Miss Tillery, what's going on? You say you need something for pain?"
Calmly she explained why she wanted the morphine drip. The pills they were giving her (vicadine) was not doing anything anymore. It wasn't strong enough.
"On a scale of 1-10, how intense would you say your pain is?" he asked- looking over at me again. I squinted my eyes at him.
After explaining that it was probably at an eight, he told her that he would see if her doctor was available.
"WTH?" I thought.
I have that memory and I try to tell myself that she is better off- because I would not want her to be in pain. A pain that I didn't know.
Am I selfish to still want her her though? I still want my friend here. Now that she is gone, I want her to come talk to me. I want to know for sure that it is her. I want to know that she is okay. Days before she died, she was having a mental breakdown about the doctor saying that there was no hope. That would be hard for me- to have to tell someone that there was no hope for him/her to live. It has to be hard to hear that and not know what to do. But even then, I really felt that she would be okay.
I still miss my friend. I realize it is okay to miss her and to still cry. She meant a lot to me. I wish we'd had more time together. I never thought the day would come when she would not be here.

I don't know how many tears I have left, but I will use them all- and still not feel better. My heart literally hurts. My vision is blurred.
I keep drifting to sleep, hoping that the next time I wake, it would have been a dream.
I never believed she would go. No!! I know people die- I know this but not her.
I can't stop thinking about her. Her music, her friendship, just her. Our talks, our laughs.
Who will I talk to now when I want to say whatever I want about whatever I want, whenever I want?
She just texted me Monday. I don't understand. I don't want to. I just want to bang these keys, destroy the keyboard! It hurts so bad. I can't think!
I finally got up this evening and took a shower- and I began to cry- she can't take a shower anymore.
Maurice told me I needed to eat- but she can't eat!
No matter what I do, I cry because she can't do it.
When my phone rang this morning and I saw her number, I sprang up and was so excited.
"Hey! You know I was getting worried!"
But it wasn't her.
"Hey Melissa, this is Jeff- Kenya's uncle. How are you?"
"Gettin' over this flu-"
I stopped. Why would he be calling me from her phone?
"Are you sittin' down?"
NO!NO!NO!
"Kenya passed away this morning."
SHe couldn't have- I just got a text on the 4th and today is just the 8th.
This sucks!

What in the World?

Geeeeeeeeeez! I don't know if I should laugh or cry... or beat him down!!!

Our little four-year-old had been doing quite well at daycare. He was doing too well. I felt bad because he was doing so well that I stopped for a minute and thought, "Something is 'bout to go down." Well this week it did.
Wednesday he was the line leader going to the bathroom- it was short lived. He started playing and the teacher made him go to the back of the line. Well he started crying and then he was called a cry baby. Well all "preschool" broke loose. He temporarily lost his mind and started hitting the teacher on her legs. She said he kept doing it all the way back to the classroom. The couple who brings in their lunches everyday came in and the wife told him he'd better stop- he didn't. Then her husband came in and told him he shouldn't be doing that, then he stopped. He then calmly went to his seat to eat. The teacher told him she was going to call us and he (he's four and seems sane to us) said,
"I know I might get my tail whipped, but tomorrow I am gonna bite you!"
Well... you know he had to get got when he came home.
Daddy got the belt out and put it on the couch and called him in to talk to him before he got spanked. I'd gone out to the pharmacy and called to see if he needed anything. When he got off the phone he went back to have his talk and spank. Well the belt was gone and so was the four-year-old.
After searching for a few brief minutes, Daddy found the four-year-old and asked him where the belt was. He shrugged his shoulders, but... actually offered to help Daddy look for it. Can you believe that?
Finally Daddy just told him,"Well you know there are other belts in the house."
He started running in place crying. "Daddy just don't hit me hard on my butt. Last time Mommy didn't hit me hard!"
Made me look bad. The next day after I didn't hit him hard, he went to school and told the teachers, "My mommy spanked me but it didn't hurt."
Made me look like the dysfunctional one. Some disciplinarian I am.