“I realized something the other day,” my husband said. “I’ve been married to you for over half my life.”

I couldn’t tell whether he was happy or depressed.

So I came up with the only answer I could think of off the top of my head.

“You lucky man,” I said with enthusiasm. “Think of all the things you’ve learned from me. You should be thanking the angels that you’ve known me for over 35 years.

We both laughed, although I laughed harder than he did.

It’s true he’s learned a lot in the three decades we’ve been married.

He’s learned that mathematically challenged people can be an asset.

The fact that I can’t remember the date of our anniversary means I never expect a gift.

He’s also learned not to argue with irrational people.

That would be me.

He realized my irrationality early on. When we got married, he had a well-behaved and quiet cat, the first cat I’d ever been around.

When I found out I was pregnant, I remembered hearing my elderly aunts repeating an old wives’ tale – cats will get into a crib and suffocate the baby.

At the time, there was nothing separating the bedrooms from the living room. I panicked and said I wanted a door blocking the hall from the rest of the house.

I told my engineer husband what my elderly aunts, and well-meaning cat-hating friends, had said about cats getting in a baby’s crib.

“I’ve heard that could happen,” I added.

“You’re being irrational,” he finally said in frustration.

“That’s correct,” I said. “And the only way to deal with irrational people is to humor them.”

The door went up the next week.

Over the years, I know I’ve spouted off useful, empowering words of wisdom, lessons that put his life on a more productive road.

Gems of knowledge that opened his eyes to truths he never knew his wife possessed.

I just can’t think of any of those gems right now.

His gems are easily recalled. First, remain calm in emergencies. One year, he went hiking in Arkansas. A few days into his trip, he called.

“Hi honey, it’s me,” he said, his voice calm and cool. “I’ve been shot. Don’t panic because I’m okay.”

I practically dropped the phone, but he explained a hunter didn’t see him and hubby was hit with some buckshot.

A trip to the emergency room ensured he was in no danger, but I don’t know very many people who could calm their wife down from the emergency room as a doctor removed buckshot from their body.

He taught me how to methodically put things together. Before we were married, my do-it-yourself steps included dumping the box out on the carpet, starting right in and ignoring the directions.

Husband taught me to make sure I had the right tools, to count the parts before I got started and to gasp, read the directions first.

He never spends time straightening up a closet or drawer because he keeps things neatly organized. Unlike his spouse, he always knows where his car keys and wallet are and he never loses a sock in the dryer.

I, on the other hand, have probably spent years cleaning up closets and straightening up my desk. I frantically look for my car keys at least once a week, misplace my wallet almost every day and there’s a gallon Zip-loc bag in the laundry room filled with mis-matched socks.

Some of us are lucky enough to get through life with a full deck of unbent cards in the original box while others have a 48-card deck of mis-matched, dog-eared cards in a Zip-loc bag.

Somehow, we’ve made it work for 36 years.

Maybe it’s because my husband is one lucky guy.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Some people fall asleep the minute their heads hit the pillow.

I’m not one of them.

I usually toss and turn, replay events over and over in my mind or worry about everything and everyone.

Having a set routine the 30 minutes before bedtime often works to convince my brain it’s time to sleep, but sometimes reading doesn’t do the trick.

A friend suggested downloading white noise onto my phone and using the noise to help me relax.

There are dozens of calming noises on the internet, from the quiet sound of rain falling to cars and taxis on a busy city street for those who prefer a metropolitan mix.

She was right – the sound of the rain was quite relaxing until an Amber alert went off on my cell and rattled my brain back to full awake mode.

Lying there, I found myself remembering the original white-noise generator – the attic fan.

Growing up in Baker, La., there were seven kids in a three-bedroom house, and it was tough to find peace and quiet, especially at bedtime.

That’s when my parents turned on the attic fan.

For those who didn’t grow up with one, an attic fan pulls hot air from the attic and, at the same time, blows cooler air into the house.

I have no idea if the fan saved energy, but the attic fan had one main benefit – the loud, rhythmic pulsing sound the fan made at night was powerful but soothing.

On hot summer nights, we’d lie down in the short hall of the house, shoulder to shoulder, turn on the attic fan and take turns yelling up into the fan and laughing as we heard our voices echo and rumble around overhead.

The only arguments were if we got kicked or someone was taking up too much space. But pretty soon, the loud thumping sound quieted us down, and we were calm in a short amount of time.

On a recent sleepless night, I found myself thinking about that attic fan and the other ways we found to chill in the summer. The handiest way was the plastic sprinkler we got from the hardware store.

The sprinkler was inexpensive, handy and a lot of fun until the yard flooded and we made huge mud holes. We loved sliding through the mud, but our mom wasn’t thrilled about all those muddy clothes.

Our neighborhood had a community pool, and we spent almost every afternoon there as did every kid in Baker Estates, our middle-class neighborhood.

I remember the pool opened up at 11 a.m., and we’d head off on our bikes as soon as “The Young and the Restless” was over.

We stayed at the pool until we were starving, and I don’t remember worrying about the heat as long as we could swim.

Seven kids and the summer break meant extra snacks. Watermelon was our number one choice, but that was only if mom had gone to the grocery store.

Occasionally we’d use the ice-cream maker, but none of us wanted to sit there for an hour and turn the crank. The worst part of home-made ice cream was after all that work, you only got about two cups of ice cream.

The one staple we always had plenty of was Kool-Aid.

My mom bought some plastic Popsicle containers from a Tupperware party one year. We’d carefully fill those up with Kool-Aid at night and the next day slurp those frozen treats up in the heat of the day.

But of all the ways we found to stay cool in the summer, nothing beat that attic fan.

Maybe I’ll give that white noise app another try and see if I can download the sound of an attic fan.

The noises from my childhood might be the perfect ticket to a good nights’ sleep.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

It’s difficult to find things to be happy about right now.

The coronavirus is spreading like wildfire, the Texas Education Agency said kids will be going back to school in the fall even though there’s no vaccine or end to the pandemic – what about teachers, youngsters and staff who are in the danger range – and racism is alive and angry in our midst.

If I choose not to read or listen to the news, I’m a frustrated coward, ignoring the hateful bigotry in our country or the latest ridiculous plan legislators have to open the schools.

If I’m not cleaning my house, I feel lazy.

If I’m not exercising, I feel like a failure for the extra weight I’ve packed on while quarantining.

If I eat cookies, I feel bad about those who don’t have enough to eat.

And that doesn’t even begin to touch global warming, pollution or littering.

I walked around my house, telling myself I should clean something or gather up outgrown clothes to donate when things open up.

I straightened some pictures on the wall, and then I noticed them – the rocks.

There’s a dozen or so small rocks in a plastic basket on a table in the hall. It’s a collection of rocks I’ve gathered for years. I pass the box all the time, but today, I stopped and sorted through the stones.

I’ll admit to being a rock hound. With two geologist brothers, the interest comes naturally.

If there’s a rock pile on the side of the road and there’s time, I’ll pull over and rummage around because even the plainest rocks have their own quirks and beauty.

In some, it’s a ribbon of pink or red that runs through the center, or a well-worn spot that allows you to use the rock as a worry stone. I have a couple of heart-shaped rocks as well as one that looks like a car.

At the bottom of the box was a piece of quartz, a gift from a friend.

Sections of the quartz are clear, some are milky, and the pyramids fit together beautifully. I held the rock up to the light and was delighted to see something so simple reflect such beautiful light.

Digging through the box a bit more, I found one of my favorite rocks, one I’d forgotten I had – a geode.

The prettiest one I have looks like hardened mud on the outside, but there’s deep white and purple amethyst quartz crystals on the inside. They look like tiny diamonds inside that tough outer shell.

Another geode is polished, and the glassy browns, beiges and scarlets blend together seamlessly.

One afternoon when our grandchildren came to visit, they discovered the box. They thought the driftwood and some polished stones I picked up at a rock store were cool, but they fell in love with the geodes.

The thrill of finding a treasure inside a plain rock is one I wanted to share with them, so I bought a couple of geode kits.

They had a blast putting on the goggles, finding old socks to put the geodes in and choosing the biggest hammer in the workshop.

It took a while to figure out how to hold the sock without smashing their fingers and numerous blows with the hammer to get the geodes to open up.

But break apart they did, and the youngsters absolutely loved seeing the beauty that was hidden inside a plain rock.

There’s a lesson there, of course, that we shouldn’t judge anything or anyone by its outside appearance. Just because something is plain and ordinary on the outside, or even ugly, doesn’t mean you can’t discover true beauty inside.

The next time you’re on a lonely road, look for the rocks. Stop and rummage through the pile. As in life, you’ll find some plain stones, but remember while you’re looking, you’ve got hope. And in today’s world of doom and gloom, sparking a bit of hope is what we need.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Parents have a lot of responsibility – the safety of their children, preparing nutritious meals and making sure the Tooth Fairy shows up and pays up.

With three boys, we had our fair share of Tooth Fairy duties. I was on the ball with the oldest son. I couldn’t wait for him to go to sleep so I could slip a dollar underneath his pillow and quietly and gently take his little tooth.

I was the first one up because I couldn’t wait to see his face coming into the kitchen with the money the Tooth Fairy had left him.

With the second child, I was still diligent – making sure I snuck upstairs after he’d gone to sleep, sidestepping his clothes and empty cereal bowls, and then sliding the money quietly underneath his pillow.

I wasn’t quite as on the ball with the third child – if he wanted to wear his water boots to the grocery store, so be it.

If he wanted a hot dog for breakfast, at least he was eating something. I let my guard down, and that included Tooth Fairy duties.

The first time I earned a D-minus in Tooth Fairy apprenticeship was when he lost his third or fourth tooth.

I had good intentions of putting money under his pillow, but I fell asleep before he did. The next morning, I heard my son upstairs yelling about not finding any money under his pillow and I panicked.

I grabbed the two dollar bills off the counter – where I’d put them so I wouldn’t forget – and ran up the stairs.

He was on his hands and knees on the floor, looking for the money.

“Did you check underneath your pillow?” I asked?

He assured me he had. With the money hidden in my hand, I reached underneath his pillow, pulled out the cash and held it up.

“Hey, you must’ve missed something,” I said.

He yelped for joy and thanked me.

I felt like a heel.

Did this Tooth Fairy apprentice vow she’d never disappoint her child again?

Yes.

Did she forget the next time?

Of course.

A few weeks later, I remember waking up to the sounds of my youngest stomping around in his room yelling “where’s the money?”

My stomach flipped over, and I knew I’d forgotten again.

Thinking fast, I grabbed a five-dollar bill out of my wallet. This was twice the going rate because I figured I had a guilt fee to pay. I held the money out as I walked into his room.

“Hey, look what I found in the hall,” I said.

He was standing on his bed –the sheets and bedspread on the floor – and I could see he was close to tears.

“The Tooth Fairy must’ve dropped this on her way to your room last night,” I said as I gave him the money.

The look of relief on his face was immediate, and I felt awful.

The Tooth Fairy’s apprentice remembered every single time after that, and the youngest kid got a huge raise each and every time. Guilt will do that to an apprentice.

This past weekend, our grandchildren spent the night, the first time in months.

While we were eating dinner, our 7-year-old grandson held out a small tooth in his hand and said it had been loose. He hoped the Tooth Fairy could find him at our house, and we reassured him she could.

The apprentice was being offered redemption, and this time, she’d better get it right.

Not trusting myself to get upstairs before he woke up – James is always the first one up – I called all of the grandkids into the kitchen for a snack. While they were enjoying their ice cream, I snuck upstairs and put the money underneath James’s pillow.

Everyone headed to bed, and as I was cleaning up the kitchen, I heard James come thundering down the stairs, three dollar bills held up over his head.

“The Tooth Fairy already came,” he said.

“You must’ve been first on the delivery route tonight,” I said.

I think the Tooth Fairy’s apprentice has finally learned the ropes.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.