SAHM I am (9 page)

I can answer that one, Phyllis. Why make a new group just because some people on the first group get on your nerves? If we had done that, we might not have met you or Brenna or any of the other really sweet women on our loop. But beyond that, you never can tell why a person behaves the way she does. In Rosalyn’s case, we figure something went terribly wrong in her childhood. That’s the only reason we can think of for someone to turn out that way. Just watch—there’s this weird undercurrent when she talks about her family. And someday, if Rosalyn’s “perfect little world” falls to pieces, she’s going to need us to love her, even with all her faults. So that’s why we stay.

Dulcie

Wow. I stand corrected. You’d think as a pastor’s wife I’d know these things by heart. But I don’t think I’m a very good pastor’s wife, really. I’m just a normal person who has a lot to learn. Thanks, Dulcie.

Love,

Phyllis

Griffith stuck his head inside our neighbor’s kitty scratching-post tower and I can’t get it off. Any advice? He’s outside with the neighbor, screaming and trying to walk. Just ran into a tree, I think—gotta go.

Z

Why on earth are you e-mailing us? Call an ambulance! Dulcie

Don’t panic, Zelia. I know exactly what to do. First, remove the carpeting and any extra posts or platforms. Then simply take a wood clamp and insert the ends in the hole, on each side of his neck. Crank the clamp apart and it will crack the wood, allowing you to ease his head out. Watch for splinters. In fact, it would be a good idea to try to work a washcloth up inside the tower to protect his eyes. Can you open up one of the ends of the tower so you can reach his face?

Rosalyn

Well, if he got his head in, he can wiggle it out. Offer some chocolate—that should motivate him.

Brenna

Try packing his head with ice. It’s supposed to relieve swelling, and it will numb him. Then if you pull wrong, it won’t hurt as bad.

Good luck!

Jocelyn

Well, ladies, MacGyver you are not. Griffith wouldn’t hold still for the clamps—which we had to borrow from the neighbor, since Tristan owns nothing more than a hammer and a screwdriver. And the poor thing can’t wiggle out—he keeps trying, but I’m afraid he will hurt himself. We did remove the carpet, but we can’t get the platforms and bars off without either pounding or using a saw—either of which sends him into hysterics. And there’s not enough room for ice. So I don’t know what to do.

I called Tristan at work, and he is on his way home. The pediatrician said if we can’t work his head out, we should take him to the hospital. But I don’t think he will fit in the car. Dulcie might have the best suggestion yet—call an ambulance.

The neighbors who are home are all gathered outside, watching and taking pictures. They don’t have any good ideas, either, although one old lady suggested we soak a rag with chloroform and stick it up the hole to put him to sleep and then cut off the tower with a buzz saw. Remind me not to let her babysit….

Z

Tristan got home, just as a Channel 11 News van pulled up. He tried to make them go away, but the neighbors were only too willing to offer comments. When Griffith heard that the TV people were here, he begged to talk to them—even though he couldn’t see them. The interview went something like this:

“Hi, Griffith! This is Jennifer. Can I ask you some questions?”

Tristan, by this time, has grabbed the phone and called the ambulance, angry that I didn’t do it before. I try to explain that I was waiting for him to get home because we need someone to stay with Seamus and Cosette. He’s still mad.

Griffith’s voice sounds muted and yet echoey. “Are you on TV?” he asks the reporter.

Her perfectly coifed brunette head bobs as she smiles and nods at the kitty tower. “How’d you get your head stuck, honey?” She holds her microphone toward the tower.

“Seamus.”

Ah, the truth comes out. I should have known.

“Who?”

“Seamus, my big bruver. We were pretending. Seamus said he was the cat. But I wanted to be the cat. Seamus said I could be a woodpecker.”

At that point, Tristan booms out, “A WOODPECKER, SEAMUS?”

Seamus scuttles under the porch and doesn’t come out until the ambulance arrives.

Jennifer’s face twitches and she lets out a strangled sort of cough. Composure regained, she points the microphone back at the tower. “And the kitty tower was your tree?”

“Uh-huh. I pecked a hole in it. Seamus said woodpeckers stick their head in the hole to get bugs. But I didn’t want to eat bugs! But Seamus said woodpeckers think bugs are as good as candy.”

“So…” Jennifer finished for him, “you put your head in the hole.”

“And now it won’t come out!” His voice wobbled, and I knew he was going to cry again, so I interrupted the interview. About this time, we heard the ambulance siren. I made some inane statement to the reporter, and she bustled off to talk to the neighbors.

The EMT guys tried to get his head out, too, but Griffith started screaming again, so they stopped. It took them a few minutes to come to an agreement about the best way to load him into the ambulance. I rode with them, and Tristan took the other two over to a friend’s house before coming to the hospital.

The doctors had to give Griffith a tranquilizer shot. Then they used a little cast saw to cut around the hole enough to take the tower off. (I guess the old lady’s suggestion wasn’t so far off.) I had to hold him up since he was unconscious, and I could hardly bear to watch. I kept thinking about what
would happen if they slipped and accidentally cut his throat. But they didn’t.

After he woke up, they checked him again and released him. Our friends videotaped the news segment for us. And this morning, Tristan went to work and then called me, complaining that everyone in the company had heard about it or seen the story on TV and were teasing him unmercifully.

Seamus got in big trouble and is grounded from playing at the neighbor’s house for a month. He also has to do chores for us and the neighbor to earn money to pay for a new kitty tower.

Griffith is okay now, but I think he may end up being slightly claustrophobic from here on.

Why do these things always happen to us???

I’d come up with a good quote from the Bard, but my brain is too fried….

Z

Ros, I just wanted to remind you that November 12 is my induction ceremony for the Houston Professional Women’s Association. Mama and Daddy are fixing to attend, and I’d be riding high if you was able to come, but whatever melts your butter, of course. It means so much to Mama and Daddy to have at least one child pursuing a real career, so I’m aiming to make this special—for them, you know. If money is a problem, Frank and I would love to cover the plane fare for
you. We’re walking in tall cotton these days. At least you don’t have to worry about trying to get time off from a job. Every day is a vacation day for you, right? :) Just let me know ASAP, okay? Gotta run…this
professional
woman has work to do, so there ya go!

VIM

Wifely Wonders,

It’s a crisp autumn morning here in Hibiscus, and the sun is just beginning to make an appearance. I’ve been thinking recently about the importance of taking my job as a SAHM seriously. Sure, the kids’ activities are fun, the cooking and cleaning rewarding. But how can I foster a more professional attitude toward this best of all careers? If I were a teacher, I would constantly be taking classes to improve my skills. If I were a computer person, I’d be reading industry journals. So what can a SAHM do?

This week I’d like to hear from you—what things do you do as a SAHM to refresh and expand your mind? Share about books you’ve read, retreats you’ve been to, or groups that help you grow and learn. Let’s encourage one another to nourish our own minds and souls, even as we nurture our little ones.

With great respect,

Rosalyn Ebberly

SAHM I Am Loop Moderator

Darling,

I got some very interesting packages in the mail today. Three of them. One was a box. The second was also a box—a bigger one. The third was a large mailer. What do you suppose ALL of them contained?

ROMANCE NOVELS! Addressed to you, from the following
women:
Kelly Thames (box #1), Justine Williamson (box #2) and Michelle Ostler (mailer). Justine’s box also contained a rather interesting letter, which I have re-typed below for your convenience:

Dear Tom,

Thanks so much for having lunch with me on Thursday. It’s great to have someone I can talk to and who has such a unique perspective on all the things we discussed. Kelly and Michelle were hoping you would be willing to have lunch with them, too, since you have such a way of helping us understand men better. Please consider these novels our way of saying thanks for connecting with our intellect as well as with our emotions.

Yours truly,

Justine

All right, Thomas—WHAT IS GOING ON???

Yours “truly” AND IRATELY,

Dulcie

Wonderful topic, Rosalyn! The book I am currently soaking in is
Domestic at Heart: Taming the Shrew in a Woman’s Soul,
by Jane LaDrudge. It challenges us women to return to “authentic femininity”—docilely giving of ourselves with no thought of anything in return. I’ve been so convicted and yet encouraged by Jane’s uplifting exhortations to “quell the longings in our hearts for approval, relaxation, excitement and individual achievements—all things that lead us astray from our true calling as women…to serve and nurture everyone else.” It’s a magnificent book, and you all should get a copy and study it.

In His service,

Connie