A new addition

This is Abbie - Another Gemini in the family

Okay, this post is part joy, part rant and part opinion poll.  Your comments are welcome.  Last Wed my niece gave birth to her first child, a girl she named Abbie.  She was anxious for this kid to arrive plus my sister was anxious to be a grandparent.  Congrats to the new mother and baby who are doing well.  I know my niece will make a great mother.  She loves kids.

 Abbie with her mom

 

The thing I have to rant about is that they rushed this delivery along because of the upcoming Memorial Day holiday.  This wasn't the case twenty-thirty years ago.  But today it’s for the doctor’s convenience because it seems the medical staff no longer wants to be interrupted in the middle of the night or on holidays.  A long time nurse confirmed this.  I really have a beef with this kind of attitude and I have a sister that agrees with me or maybe more than one who does.  I haven’t discussed this with all of my siblings.

Abbie with her dad

When a doctor goes to medical school he/she knows very well what is entailed as the years go along.  They take an oath to provide medical care and that oath doesn’t exclude holidays, weekends, vacations, etc.  Medical people are paid well for their expertise and service to the community and patients.  For everything there is a price.  Doctors aren’t excluded.

Of course the new grandparents don’t want to even discuss this issue at all.  This baby wasn’t due for another week and the mother and child weren’t in any danger.  If that was the case I’d be all for it (inducing labor), but otherwise I think nature should take its course.  What did they do years ago before any of this stuff was invented, or even thought of before childbirth?

So I realize my opinion doesn’t really count in this situation but I’d like to know what the rest of you think about this.  Thanks for your input.

The Haircut

Free Clipart

When we were kids, Houston Mamaw (Mama’s mother) would always come every summer to visit.


On these summer trips, she would drag all of us girls out for a haircut. I always hated those visits because, I decided at a very early age, I wanted my hair long. Everything else about her visits were doable, even if we were thrown totally out of our normal routine.

When I was six-years-old, Mama and Rosenberg Mamaw (Daddy's mother) decided I should have a haircut and a perm for the first grade. They took me to Mamaw’s house, down the road, and had me sit in a chair in the kitchen.

Mamaw then proceeded to cut my hair to about three-inches long all over my head. After my haircut, assisted by Mama, she gave me a home pemanent. I absolutely hated that and I protested the whole time, but the complaints of a child of six fell on deaf ears. Needless to say, after this experience, nobody ever touched my hair again. I was determined and would do whatever it took to keep myself from encountering that scenario for a second time.

I remember telling them that was the last time someone was getting me in a chair and cutting my hair unless I wanted it done, which I didn't. I learned you just couldn’t trust adults, and after that I managed to evade the scissors.

When Houston Mamaw came to take us all to the salon every summer, I would hide and refuse to come out. I advised my sisters to do the same, but that’s one time they didn't listen to me. Mamaw even told me I could just go along with everyone and sit in a chair and wait while they all got their hair cut. I knew this was a trick and once they got me in the car and in the salon, I would have to get a haircut as well, so I decided to stay home.

I tried to tell my sisters not to get in the car, but they wouldn't listen. I think they were afraid to assert themselves when they knew the adults were in charge of our lives. So when they all came back, later in the day,with those sad, tearful faces and those pixie haircuts, all I could say was, I told you so.

Naturally, they would be very upset at having their hair cut an inch long all over their heads. “How could that even be possible?” they exclaimed!

They wanted to hide until it grew out some, but of course that wasn’t going to happen. We had to work in the fields and go about all the other adventures we had as kids and then, of course, there was school to think about, once fall arrrived.

This happened every year and I suppose, being the oldest, I should have raised more of a fuss and made more of an effort to keep them from being shuffled off to the salon. But of course adults have their own ideas about things and you can only do so much while still being respectful.

I told my sisters they just had to put their foot down, on that kind of thing, unless they really wanted the haircut. Mama sympathized with me and I never had to go. She knew how bad I hated that home permanent and even she had to admit it wasn’t the best job around. I was pretty sad looking until it grew out.

Those poor girls came back looking so pathetic every time with sad, puppy dog faces. They may as well have been the little elves from my stories. They never seemed to learn, or muster the courage to protest.

Mama tried to talk her mother out of it, but Mamaw had a mind of her own and Mama knew it was no use to argue, so, in the end, she would just say, “yes ma’am,” and let the girls be put into the car for the trip.

As the years passed by, they got used to the dreaded trip to the beauty parlor and I don't think they minded as much. I do think they would have preferred to pick their own hairstyle instead of getting that pixie haircut, which went on until they became teens.

This is re-blogged from 9-26-2012

Railroads and Hobos

Railroad tracks - Public Domain Photo

Growing up on the farm, we lived about a mile from the railroad tracks, maybe less. I’m not too good at distance. Our grandparent’s house was just off the highway and beyond that were the railroad tracks. Our house was further away from the highway, down a winding gravel road.

In our childhood games, we would walk to the highway and look across the road to watch the freight trains coming down the tracks, so we could wave to the man in the caboose. I wonder what he thought about a bunch of dirty, barefoot farm kids standing there waving like mad. He always waved at us, and I imagine we weren’t the only ones to do this. We were always looking for entertainment.

Caboose

We spent the night at Mamaw’s house several times during the summer. We would lie in the bed and watch the reflection of light that ran across the walls, left by cars going down the highway. We heard the wailing horn of the freight trains across the road, as they passed by the house.

Every year, we would walk across the highway to the railroad tracks to pick the wild blackberries that grew there, taking ladders with us to throw over the brambles of berry bushes that grew in large clumps, dense as a thicket.

Blackberries - Public Domain Photo

However, the scariest things to us were the hobos. In those days, they travelled by riding the boxcars, jumping off and wandering to the farmhouses in search of a meal. At first, we didn’t know what to think. They scared us to death, scruffy old men in need of a bath and a shave. They were dressed in shabby clothes and worn out shoes, carrying the typical stick over there shoulder with all they owned tied up in a bandanna or worn-out rag, just like something out of the movies on TV.

Hobos - Public Domain Photo

Mamaw would never turn them away. She made them wait at the gate to the yard, or at the bottom of the porch, if they ventured into the yard. She would scrounge up something to give them to eat, even if it was leftover biscuits. She used to tell us they were down on their luck, and the right thing to do was to help them. She had a big heart that way.

Old Boxcar - Courtesy of Wikipedia

On the other hand, she always made sure we stayed in the house, until they walked back to the highway to hop the next train going by.

The Haircut



When we were kids, Houston Mamaw (Mama’s mother) would always come every summer to visit.


On these summer trips, she would drag all of us girls out for a haircut. I always hated those visits because, I decided at a very early age, I wanted my hair long. Everything else about her visits were doable, even if we were thrown totally out of our normal routine.

When I was six-years-old, Mama and Rosenberg Mamaw (Daddy's mother) decided I should have a haircut and a perm for the first grade. They took me to Mamaw’s house, down the road, and had me sit in a chair in the kitchen.

Mamaw then proceeded to cut my hair to about three-inches long all over my head. After my haircut, assisted by Mama, she gave me a home pemanent. I absolutely hated that and I protested the whole time, but the complaints of a child of six fell on deaf ears. Needless to say, after this experience, nobody ever touched my hair again. I was determined and would do whatever it took to keep myself from encountering that scenario for a second time.

I remember telling them that was the last time someone was getting me in a chair and cutting my hair unless I wanted it done, which I didn't. I learned you just couldn’t trust adults and after that I managed to evade the scissors.

When Houston Mamaw came to take us all to the salon every summer, I would hide and refuse to come out. I advised my sisters to do the same, but that’s one time they didn't listen to me. Mamaw even told me I could just go along with everyone and sit in a chair and wait while they all got their hair cut. I knew this was a trick and once they got me in the car and in the salon, I would have to get a haircut as well, so I decided to stay home.

I tired to tell my sisters not to get in the car, but they wouldn't listen. I think they were afraid to assert themselves when they knew the adults were in charge of our lives. So when they all came back, later in the day,with those sad, tearful faces and those pixie haircuts, all I could say was I told you so.

Naturally, they would be very upset at having their hair cut an inch long all over their heads. “How could that even be possible?” they exclaimed!

They wanted to hide until it grew out some, but of course that wasn’t going to happen. We had to work in the fields and go about all the other adventures we had as kids and then of course there was school to think about, once fall arrrived.

This happened every year and I suppose, being the oldest, I should have raised more of a fuss and made more of an effort to keep them from being shuffled off to the salon. But of course adults have their own ideas about things and you can only do so much while still being respectful.

I told my sisters they just had to put their foot down, on that kind of thing, unless they really wanted the haircut. Mama sympathized with me and I never had to go. She knew how bad I hated that home permanent and even she had to admit it wasn’t the best job around. I was pretty sad looking until it grew out.

Those poor girls came back looking so pathetic every time with sad, puppy dog faces. They may as well have been the little elves from my stories. They never seemed to learn, or muster the courage to protest.

Mama tried to talk her mother out of it, but Mamaw had a mind of her own and Mama knew it was no use to argue, so, in the end, she would just say, “yes ma’am,” and let the girls be put into the car for the trip.

As the years passed by, they got used to the dreaded trip to the beauty parlor and I don't think they minded as much. I do think they would have preferred to pick their own hairstyle instead of getting that pixie haircut, which went on until they became teens.