[Past Piedmont Chronicles] - Bess Tuggle: Memoirs of Surviving Children - The Cigarettes Incident

*ed. note: this piece was originally published in 2018. And, exciting news! It appears we're getting the band back together. Look for some new pieces from Bess moving ahead. As always thanks for reading.

Smoking cigarettes is a really bad habit. I can say that because I smoke. Not only is it a bad habit, it’s an expensive one, too, and I wish I’d never started. It was also an indicator to my boys of Mama’s mood. If I walked out the back door, cigarette in hand (I never smoked in the house) they knew they’d better settle down or the paddle was coming out.

I always had a rule with my boys (yes, you could say this was a double-standard, I do and you can’t, but I meant it). If you want to smoke, I’ll teach you. I kept a couple 5 gallon buckets behind the house and a pack of unfiltered Camels in the freezer. If you want to smoke, fine. We’ll go down to the creek, buckets in hand for seats, and the pack of Camels.

My other promise was that we’d walk back up the path to the house together. I’d have a sore throat, and they’d be green faced and puking.

Didn’t –I- get busted!

My oldest started sneaking my cigarettes (ultra lights) and smoking them at the bus stop at the end of the driveway. The driveway was half a mile long, so he really thought he was safe. Ummm… Our Tax Commissioner lives right around the corner (I’ll save my praises and accolades for her in another column). She called a mutual friend, busted my kid out, and I got to scare him. Scared him silly.

My child came home and I had the pack of Camels in my hand. I simply looked at him and said “We’re going to the creek.”

I got tears. Not alligator tears, but –real- ones. “No, Mama. NO!” Yes, he was scared silly. The Camels were left in the freezer. I can’t say he never smoked again, but he did think twice about it.

I’ll save that story for another day.

- Bess Tuggle 

A jack of all trades, Bess Tuggle has been a Covington resident since the late 70’s. She's been a K-Mart cashier, cabinet builder, vet tech, office manager for a beef cattle ranch and water well company (where she was able to hold benefits for D.A.R.E. and Scouts), a court reporter, business manager, assistant at a private investigation firm, legal assistant, convenience store clerk, landscaper and elementary school substitute teacher.  Her greatest pleasure is being a wife, mother and grandmother.  Her stories are all real, and all names will be withheld to protect the innocent, and also maybe the guilty, depending on the crime & the Statute of Limitations. 

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Merry Christmas From TPC

 *Ed. note: well, gang, I lied again. With the change of format I promised that TPC would average at least one post a week. That hasn't happened, YET, but in the words of Ray Goff: we're gonna work hard to get better! Seriously, we will. In the meantime, here are some past Christmas write-ups from Yours Truly & others that have graced these pages. Hope you enjoy & hope you all have a very Merry Christmas --MBM

Glory to God in the Highest Heaven and on earth Peace to those on whom His Favor rests

A Good Christmas, Indeed 

A Christmas Novella by Marshall McCart 

A Christmas Tradition 

A Christmas short story by Perrin Lovett 

Remember Christmas Trees Past 

From Bess Tuggle's Memoirs of Surviving Children 

And a very special Christmas write-up I did several years ago in a different publication: 

Christmas Time’s A Comin’
~from the December 2009 issue of About Covington to Madison~

Hey everyone. So glad to be back with you again. Wow, December already! It’s hard to believe. Time really does seem to speed up as we get older. But the Holidays are upon us once again and that makes me very happy. Christmas…man, it just doesn’t get much better. A celebration of faith, love, and fellowship—it’s obviously a very special time of the year.

What is Christmas exactly? That answer can be as varied as the people you ask. For a lot of us, Christmas is a celebration of the Lord Savior Jesus Christ as we remember his entrance to our earthly world. But Christmas is also simply about love. Love of our fellow man. Love of our families and friends. And love of the things we hold most dear. While Thanksgiving is certainly about giving thanks, Christmas, for me, is just as much about gratitude. It is also about the spirit of giving. But what about the history of Christmas?

The roots of Christmas go back to the Romans. They had a festival called Saturnalia that celebrated Saturn, the god of agriculture, marking the end of the fall harvest and honoring the winter solstice. During the heyday of Rome , this was the festival and was considered the most important time of the year. Other cultures and other peoples in other parts of the old continent also had celebrations around this time of the year. In the early years of Christianity, church leaders were looking for ways to help spread the Good Word, so in the 4th century A.D., they adopted the time of Saturnalia as the “Feast of the Nativity.” Within a couple of centuries, it had stuck and December 25 to this day remains the celebration of Christmas.

For many of us, Christmas always brings back memories of being young and anxiously awaiting Santa. The origins of Santa Claus are as interesting as the origins of Christmas itself. It starts with St. Nicholas, a monk born in the 3rd century who gave away all of his wealth to help the poor and sick. He was known as “Sinter Klass” by the Dutch and this would turn into Santa Claus by the 18th century. The image of Santa that most of us have with his red suit, large belly, and white beard can be traced back to the drawings of Thomas Nast in the 19th century and further reinforced with ads from the Coca-Cola Co. in the 1930’s.

There are many wonderful Christmas stories throughout the annals of history but perhaps there is none better than the story of the WWI Christmas truce. In 1914, on the fields of Flanders  German and British troops were squared off in their trenches fighting a terrible war. Then on Christmas Eve, German troops lit candles and started singing Christmas carols. The British followed suit and in no time, a truce had been called and the fighting stopped. Germans and Brits exchanged gifts, spent time together, and even played soccer. This phenomenon occurred in several other places along the battle lines and in some cases lasted all the way until New Year’s Eve. To me, that is a story that truly captures the Christmas spirit.

One of the key aspects of Christmas also has to be the music! There are so many wonderful Christmas songs. “Silent Night” is probably one of the better known and ingrained of all Christmas songs; it was written in the early 1800’s by a couple of Austrians. Originally written in German, it was later translated to English with a slightly different melody and that version is the one we know today. “White Christmas” has been ranked as the number one Christmas song of all time by several groups and publications. Written by Irving Berlin, the original recording was done by Bing Crosby. Speaking of Bing Crosby, if you want a real treat—search Youtube with the key words: Bing Crosby, David Bowie, and Little Drummer Boy. You will find a magnificent version of that song by two of the greatest artists of the 20th century. The title of this column is a new favorite of mine. I had never heard this song until I played it a while back with the Biggers Family Band—a country, bluegrass-gospel band that I play with from time to time with my wife and her family. But probably my all-time favorite Christmas song has got to be—“Come Home for Christmas” also known as “Bells Will Be Ringing.” Released by the Eagles as a Christmas single in 1978, it is such a great tune.

As I write this column, the calendar still reads November but I am starting to feel an almost child-like excitement for Christmas that I haven’t felt in years. It will be the first Christmas for my little baby girl and I am so very excited. From my family to yours—Merry Christmas &  Happy New Year.

Bess Tuggle's Memoirs of Surviving Children: Matching Dishes & Silverware

 

  All my children are grown- ups now.  Just as sure as death and taxes, they grew up on me.  But they never cease to give me enjoyment – and a royal case of the giggles (I can write that in retrospect).

Once upon a time, I had a dream.  

It wasn’t a big one.  Just a lil’ want for one time in my life. I wanted a matching set of dishes and silverware.  I didn’t think that was too much to ask.    

Well, I got it.  My Gramma gave me a -beautiful- set of dishes!  Light blue floral print and silver around the outside edges.  Plates, bowls, saucers, cups…  I LOVED them!   Still do, but they’ve been stashed in the china cabinet and only get pulled out for special occasions now.

My youngest, Thing 4, was still at home at the time she gave them to me and it took us a lil’ while to figure out the problem.  He used the good dishes, the only ones we had, but I didn’t realize how much he used them.  

Our microwave died.  I didn’t know why, but it completely croaked.  We took it back to Wal-Mart and they replaced it – only to have the new one take a dump a month later.  

On microwave number 3 it finally clicked – the silver lining.

Thing 4 was nuking his food on our good dishes.  Did you know microwaves don’t like anything metal?!?

We bit the bullet (after getting our 3rd microwave) and got cheap Wal-Mart dishes.  They work.  You can eat off them, put them in the micro, and if one hits the floor it’s only about $1.50 to replace.  The dye lots differ (I know this from washing them), but they’re close enough to matching to count.

My Gramma and Mom also got us a NICE set of matching silverware!  Talk about hog-heaven!!!  They all MATCHED!!!  And they didn’t last long - we had grandchildren. It’s amazing how quick silverware can disappear.   

Did you know you can get a dozen forks/spoons/knives at Wal-Mart for a dollar?  Matching doesn’t even matter anymore.  Smiles do – and I’m hiding my chop-sticks!  

    

- Bess Tuggle 

TPC Chief Staff Writer, Correspondent & Contributing Writer 

Bess Tuggle

A jack of all trades, Ms. Tuggle has been a Covington resident since the late 70’s. She's been a K-Mart cashier, cabinet builder, vet tech, office manager for a beef cattle ranch and water well company (where she was able to hold benefits for D.A.R.E. and Scouts), a court reporter, business manager, assistant at a private investigation firm, legal assistant, convenience store clerk, landscaper and elementary school substitute teacher.  Her greatest pleasure is being a wife, mother and grandmother.  Her stories are all real, and all names will be withheld to protect the innocent, and also maybe the guilty, depending on the crime & the Statute of Limitations.  

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Click here to read a sampling of Bess's columns 

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Bess Tuggle's Memoirs of Surviving Children: Memories Between the Pages

My mother is cleaning out her room.  There are SO many levels of “funny” to this, but I’ll try to keep it to the basics.

            When I was little, cleaning my room was a chore that I hated.  HATED!  My room pretty much got the white-glove treatment, and I flunked inspection every time.  EVERY SINGLE TIME!!!  I can’t forget our Pomeranian, Peachy, for calling me out on my chocolate stashes under my bed.  (This deserves a growl here; A LOUD one!)  The dog would steal my candy, then drag her butt across the floors for a week after munching my stash.  We had hardwood floors.  Cleaning them was my job.  Use your imagination.

            Now that my mom’s finally cleaning up her room (I don’t cut her a lot of slack; and I’ve been giving her h-e-double-l every time I try to walk into her room for years) we’re both reliving memories we’ve found from under layers.  I will admit that I’m  impressed with her efforts.  It looks like you can finally WALK through her room!  I saw a FLOOR under there!  Imagine that!  She also repainted her room.  I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m sure it’s -perfect-.  And she was smart enough not to ask me to help with that project.  I can stain and I can seal.  Put a paintbrush in my hand and you have a MESS!    

            My mom gave be a bookshelf. Not that I don’t have a gracious plenty, books and shelves, but I can never have too many of either. 

            I still have to move the rest of my reference books over.  HEAVEN HELP we have a dictionary on a bookcase that I can FIND!  F-Google!!!.  There’s a Thesaurus in easy reach.  Black’s stares at me from the second shelve.  All the classics are within reach…  (Not that they teach them anymore, but I still enjoy reading them)

            It’s the things between the books and pages that bring back the most memories.  I found a couple pictures of my grandparents wedding.  The envelope is legal size, and the postage stamp is 3 cents.  Military yearbooks and elementary school yearbooks.  Old pictures tucked between pages and/or books to keep them safe.  My mother’s Latin book from high school with a newspaper clipping tucked in.  She remembers it.  My “Christmas Books.”  I can tell you every present I’ve bought, and for whom, since the early 90’s.  Most receipts still tucked in.

Then there’s the kid presents.  I have a hot rod of some sort, made with bottle caps and some kind of putty.  There’s a home made ship in a bottle – the ship is drawn on notebook paper and stuck in a tequila bottle, but it’s still a ship in in a bottle.  I found the $100 bill that was given to me as a college graduation joke.  It was supposed to be counterfeit, but it’s not.  It’s just old.  1950 kinda old.  It can pass the ink test at the bank but they won’t except it because it doesn’t have “In God we Trust” printed on it.  (Quick history lesson – it wasn’t until the mid-50’s that “God” was added to our pledge and our money)  Handmade presents that still bring me joy remembering the little fingers that made them.

This was -supposed- to be a quick, easy project, moving books, but it’s nice to slow down and go through things, and remember.

One shelf down.  Two more to go.

- Bess Tuggle

Bess Tuggle's Memoirs of Surviving Children: Snoopy the Cussin' Bird

Cuss words were not a big problem when my kid’s were growing up, believe it or not.  I was a cabinet builder for 11 years, the office manager for a beef cattle ranch and well drilling business for 10; I was frequently referred to as the “token female.”  Add 4 lil’ boys to the equation and my filter was completely shot.  When Mama let it fly it just came out, and they knew to run and hide. 

            We -did- have one hard, fast rule though.  They were -never- allowed to cuss me.  I was the holder of the paddle, and used it accordingly!  They were also never allowed to cuss in public.  If it was in the yard, or on the property, it was called “Deer Camp Talk” and was acceptable.   Take away the animosity, the taboo, and cussing no longer held any appeal.  One of the best compliments I’ve ever gotten came from my favorite “rent-a-kid.”  I raised them all with “supervised chaos.”

            There were a lot pets over the years.  You name it, we had it.  The ones that consume my mind right now were our rescue birds.

            There was a lady in Social Circle that moved in with her mom to help her go through end-stage cancer.  Her mom had several birds.  It was a sad situation.  When she moved her cats in, in was a -bad- situation.  She listed birds as looking for a new home, and we ended up with 3.

            Snoopy was an umbrella cockatoo.  He was a big ol’ boy, 11 years old.  Peachy was a smaller cockatoo, but I can’t remember what kind – we had a love/hate relationship.  Or maybe I should say a hate/hate relationship.  We never got along.  Then there was “Rocky.”  A sun conure that fell in love with my youngest son.  As we were looking at the birds I heard the owner’s daughter say “By the way, don’t go near…”  That’s when we turned and saw the conure kissing Thing 4 through the cage while he petted her head.  That bird was given to him.

            One of the birds, Snoopy, was actually purchased for a captain as a gift to his wife and daughters.  I only had a couple weeks with the bird, but we developed a bond.  Then off he went.

            About a month later, Snoopy came back home!  Said captain’s wife and daughters’ were afraid of him.  Snoop had a really nice back porch enclosure at his other home, but he was also really loud.  After 3 $65 tickets for “noise nuisance” in their subdivision he came back.  Heaven help me, I got him back.

            Snoop, Snoopy, Loopy, Snoop-Man TERRORIZED the house!  And my children helped him!!!

            If you had a piece of pizza, you had to share it with the bird.  He’d chase you down until he got a bite.  He also had a penchant for coffee and tequila, not to mention chasing our pit bull down just to bite his tail.  You couldn’t turn your back on a beer if he was out.  Chewing -anything- and everything was a given.

            The worse thing was the -bird’s- vocabulary!  I blame the boys!!!

            Snoopy learned “Mama” first.  Go figure.  He’d start screaming it, at the top of his lungs (umbrellas are LOUD), every time I pulled in the driveway after work.  “Mama, mama, Mama, MAMA!!!” due to the influence of my boys’…  Then he learned how to bark, thanks to our dogs. 

            Snoopy was finally taught the “F” bomb.  He would -scream- it as loud as he could when he wanted attention.  Over and over and over.  I could teach my boys not to say it in public, but the bird wasn’t havin’ none of it.  He had a mind of his own.  Thankfully, it was tough to pronounce “f” without lips.  Most folks didn’t understand what he was saying, but we did.  He also learned to “shoot a bird.”  Not an easy feat for kids that couldn’t pick-up their own laundry, or clean their rooms, to teach a bird to give you the middle finger.  But they did.

            The Loop Man finally moved to California with my eldest, Thing 1, where he was a happy hangar bird – until he fell in love.  I got thrown in the ditch.  Snoop fell for a cute, disabled blond that worked from home and could give him all the love and attention he needed and deserved without kids, dogs, cats and other distractions.

            I threatened my boys’ that I’d will the bird to whoever I was pissed the most at when I wrote my will.  Umbrella’s live to be approximately 75 years old, even with bad habits (Snoopy smoked, too).  My boys’ are safe, for the time being.  I ain’t making no long term promises though.  Still have my heart set on a capuchin monkey.

- Bess Tuggle 

 

A jack of all trades, Ms. Tuggle has been a Covington resident since the late 70’s. She's been a K-Mart cashier, cabinet builder, vet tech, office manager for a beef cattle ranch and water well company (where she was able to hold benefits for D.A.R.E. and Scouts), a court reporter, business manager, assistant at a private investigation firm, legal assistant, convenience store clerk, landscaper and elementary school substitute teacher.  Her greatest pleasure is being a wife, mother and grandmother.  Her stories are all real, and all names will be withheld to protect the innocent, and also maybe the guilty, depending on the crime & the Statute of Limitations.  

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Click here to read a sampling of Bess's columns 

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Bess Tuggle's Memoirs of Surviving Children: They're Always Listening

When my children were little I could tell who they’d been around by their vocabulary.  “Sh!t” meant they’d spent time with Gramma.  “God D*%@ it!” meant they’d been hanging out with Grandpa.  “AH-JO” indicated a ride with Grandma.  “AH-JO,” short for A$$-hole-jerk-off, was her road rage word when she tried not to cuss in front of the boys.  It didn’t take them long to learn what it meant.  Children are very astute.

            Thing 3 developed, at about two years old, a noise that had me stumped.  It was a cross between a grunt and a groan.  “Grumh” is the closest I can come to it, and that’s not quite right the right sound.  Close enough to count.

            The noise didn’t phase me at first.  With two older brothers and one younger brother, not a whole lot -did- phase me.  I chalked it up to yet another phase.

            I didn’t worry until the phase continued longer than most.  This is the child that also nick-named himself “Me-non.”  “Me-non wants…”  “Me-non needs…”  I was getting concerned about his little mind.  Strange names and guttural sounds too?

            Then I noticed he only did it when he bent over to pick something up.  A toy, a shoe, whatever.. was always accompanied by his lil’ grunt.  Now I was worried about internal/gastrologic problems.  This was a curve ball that hadn’t been thrown at me before.

            As I was finally getting up the gumption to call our doctor (can’t mention his name, he’s since retired, but he was -wonderful-) I had a revelation. 

            I was running late cooking supper.  I was over the stove when his father came in from work.  He sat down in his recliner, “grunt,” then bent over to take off his work boots and grab his slippers, “groan.”

            MYSTERY SOLVED!!! 

            I didn’t bother to share this lil’ bit of information with his father until his father finally noticed the lil’ grunt.  I looked at him and told him to pick up his slippers.  He just looked at me but yup, he got it!

            I’ll spare you details on what my boys’ taught my bird to say for another column.  That might be a short-story in itself.  Until then, “SSSSsshhhhhh…”  They’re always listening.  Always listening…   

- Bess Tuggle

A jack of all trades, Ms. Tuggle has been a Covington resident since the late 70’s. She's been a K-Mart cashier, cabinet builder, vet tech, office manager for a beef cattle ranch and water well company (where she was able to hold benefits for D.A.R.E. and Scouts), a court reporter, business manager, assistant at a private investigation firm, legal assistant, convenience store clerk, landscaper and elementary school substitute teacher.  Her greatest pleasure is being a wife, mother and grandmother.  Her stories are all real, and all names will be withheld to protect the innocent, and also maybe the guilty, depending on the crime & the Statute of Limitations.  

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Click here to read a sampling of Bess's columns 

The Piedmont Chronicles

Your Source for the REAL Story

Bess Tuggle's Memoirs of Surviving Children: The Wisdom of a Good Judge

I had my kiddo piece for this week all planned out in my mind. I really did – until I read about the early demise of our most recent Juvenile Court judge. It brought back memories…

Juvenile Court judges have one of the toughest, most heart-breaking jobs on the planet. They pour their heart and soul into their job, they’re dealing with young, moldable minds, and that’s a responsibility I can’t even fathom. But sometimes it comes with jocularity too.

One of my Things, I won’t say which one, got in trouble in middle school. I’m talking about -6^th- grader!

He, and 3 other friends, found a pill on the gym floor. A pill.

This pill got passed around between the 4 of them. None of them knew what it was. None of them took it, and I had no idea -any- of this was going on.

After passing said pill around between them for a couple weeks (I can only imagine the pocket lint that came with it), none of them had a clue what it was. -But- it was a prescription medication, out of the bottle of the prescribed individual.

One of the boys said it was a hormone pill. His mom took them, and if you gave it to a girl, she’ll like you. They collectively tried to decide what girl they wanted to slip that pill into her school milk. They never could decide -which- girl, or who was going to slip it into her milk so she’d like -him-.

Back and forth it went between them, until the last “holder” told my Thing he’d sell it to him for $1.00. My thing bought it.

Here we go to the principal’s office! The resource officer at the time wanted to charge it up to youthful stupidity. No one got hurt, so let it go. The principal at the time wanted to make an example of those dumb a$$ little boys and pressed charges. Now we enter the world of juvenile court.

All 4 boys received 3 juvenile felonies. Possession of a controlled substance, possession of a controlled substance out of the original bottle, and.. I can’t remember the 3^rd – it had something to do with talking about slipping it into a girl’s milk so she’d like them. My Thing got a 4^th felony – purchasing a controlled substance. -That’s- where his lunch money went.

The look on the judge’s face during their sentencing was priceless! I have -NO- idea how he kept it together!!! The kids were too scared to notice the smile on the judge’s face when he put his head down and covered his eyes with his hand, but he -had- to sentence something. These were -NOT- bad kids. Naive, yes. Bad, no.

Each child was sentenced separately, but it all came down to the same thing. Juvi “Boot Camp.” Boot Camp was just what you’d expect, but these were little, spry children compared to the lazy, “bad a$$” teenagers going through the same camp. All was held at the old Cousins, and the lil’ kids enjoyed the break from school. Run up the hill, roll back down, run up the hill, roll back down… It was PLAY time!!!

Juvenile records are sealed once the child reaches legal adulthood; 18 years old. Bet there are a lot of adults that would kill for the same thing. These lil’ kids were given a gentle lesson, and all turned out to be good men (don’t tell them I said so!).

The wisdom of a good judge can change a lil’ life forever. I thank all our Juvenile Judges for their service.

- Bess Tuggle 

Bess Tuggle's Memoirs of Surviving Children: Rites of Summer

Summer is almost upon us.  Officially summer begins June 20th in Georgia this year.  I don’t put a whole lot of stock in that date.  

Georgia weather is strange on a good day.  We really -don’t- have actual seasons.  All seasons meld together.  Once you think you got it figured out a frost, freeze, drought, or heat-wave can readjust -everything-.

One rite of “summer,” when my Things were coming up, was “The Summer Crew Cut.”  I called that one by the last day of school.

Crew cuts in our household -was- the beginning of summer.  All heads got shaved!  Cooler, easier to clean, no brushing/combing…  Heaven!  I think the boys’ were also ready to get rid of the bowl-cuts I gave them the rest of the year.  (Only exception was the lice letters I got from school.  It was -all- coming off then..  Another respite from Mama’s bowl cuts).  

Thing 3 had a tendency to be last in the hair cut line, by choice.  I don’t know why, but he paid for it dearly.

The last assembly crew-cut line I remember, Thing 3 was at the end of the line.  Bless his lil’ heart.  

I had a chair in the kitchen, clippers plugged up and ready, and sheared the heads.  I even had the ear guards for the clippers that faded out the sides!  Only one problem.  When you’re at the end of the line, you’ve got brothers’ distracting Mama.  This is not a good thing.

Having successfully given 3 outta 4 a good crewcuts, Thing 3 sat down in the chair, with brothers all around him.  They were a -major distraction!

Thing 3, with a smile on his face and brothers’ being brothers
,’ allowed me to cut his hair.  I promise, this one was my mistake.  With all the boys running around being boys, I forgot to put the guard back on the clippers.  I started in the middle.  Thing 3 had a runway down the middle of his head.  No guard.  Skinned clean to the skull.  I did the best I could with the rest, but… 

The last time I cut Thing 3’s hair, same child order, I kinda clipped the bottom of his right earlobe.  Not my fault.  Blame it on his brothers..  By then he -should- have known better!  

The Marines have done a much better job. 

- Bess Tuggle

Bess Tuggle's Memoirs of Surviving Children: Cherishing New Memories in the New Normal

Covid-19. Covid-19. Covid19. That’s -all- you ever hear about anymore. Sheltering in place might be a pain in the arse, but it brings back memories and is creating some new, often hilarious, ones for me.

My youngest, Thing 4 (for those that don’t know or remember, I never mention names; I call them “Things,” in birth order, with thanks to Dr. Seuss’ “Cat in the Hat”) has been a foodie since he was born. This child is -serious- about his food! He could make his own grits, and let me sleep in, by the time he was three. I’d put 1 tablespoon of grits in a bowl, put the tablespoon next to the bowl and leave it on the kitchen counter. He -knew- the number 3, his age (and how I remember it). Three tablespoons of water in the bowl. Mix it up. Drag out the step-stool, put his bowl in the micro, and hit the “3” button on the front. He got his grits and he was -happy-! And so was I. It was a rare occasion I got to sleep in back then.

As he got older, he got better – and worse. His nickname became “Hoover.” This child didn’t eat his food, he -inhaled- it! He also couldn’t keep his fingers out of a bowl or pot while I was cooking. Just so you know, that doesn’t cut it in my kitchen and by then he was too big to spank.

The older he got, the worse he got. When he’s home, we don’t feed him (or my step-son) steak. It’s not tasted, savored or enjoyed. It’s inhaled! Chicken ‘n dumplins? His favorite. Try to cook a pot while he’s sneaking the chicken as I roll out the dumplins. Brownies, cookies – same thing. He -has- to have his fingers in the bowl. A good one is pecan pie. It’s one of his favorites. When I bake them I always make two out of necessity. He is -going- to grab one and lick it! That’s his way of insuring that’s “his” pie! All his, only his.

Now that he’s stationed in Okinawa, the fun, and food, continues. The child -loves- sushi. LOVES it! He’s told me it’s much better, and cheaper, than state-side. He can eat his weight in sushi every single day. He’s 6’2” and -all- muscle. That’s a LOT of sushi!

But, with the “sheltering in place” he has to spend more time at home – with his wife and daughters. They’re there with him. I love the pictures of him playing on the playground with his girls. The smile on his face is -priceless-! What I really laugh about is his wife, Thingette 4. Bless her heart…

My daughter-in-law has decided to learn how to bake. I applaud her for it! Especially learning with two little girls (a 2 year old and a 6 month old) to care for. She’s enjoying it, too! I’m more than willing to share recipes with her and looking forward to them coming back state-side so we can bake together. But, aside from the girls, she’s learning to bake with her husband, my youngest monster, in the house. He still can’t keep his fingers out of a bowl or pot. She’s gone deeper into baking than I’ve ever thought about. Can make a good pecan pie, too! I sent the recipe. How she made it with the monster in the house is beyond me.

I suggested locking the kitchen door, but that won’t work. Two entrances to the kitchen. Only one has a door (ours has two entrances and -no- doors). I think she could use a paddle, but he’s twice her size. Even if she can -keep- him out of the kitchen, that doesn’t mean he won’t “thunder” through the house. He’s a bull in a china shop. Anyone that’s ever had a cake fall from “stomping” through the kitchen will understand this frustration.

I could go on and on… LOVE the snippets I get from Japan.

All this to say: New memories are being made. Enjoy them. It’s been a time to re-connect, even if it’s at a distance. Cherish it. Learn more about friends that you’ve never met in person… Maybe it -was- about time for a re-set. Looking forward to the world on the other side of it. I have to believe it’ll be much kinder and gentler.

- Bess Tuggle 

Bess Tuggle's Memoirs of Surviving Children: Home Schooling the Grandboy

I’ve been pretty slack with my writing lately.  In my own defense, I’ve been busy home schooling a 4 year old.  Mr. B.  Most of it’s been really fun, but I’ve learned some important lessons.

We work on learning letters on the ‘fridge. 

Did you know those magnetic letters can suck up dog hair?  Seriously -suck- it up!  We have two big house dogs.  I now have a big towel in the kitchen to place on the floor when we study ‘cause I don’t want to scrub dog hair out of plastic letters  again.  Ever.  

Mr. B can now kick anyone’s butt at the card game “War” (basically flipping cards, and the one with the greater number wins).  I took the face-cards out of a deck of cards, and he knows his numbers 2 through ten, and also greater and lesser.  He -loves- to beat me, and no, I don’t stack the deck.  I do turn a blind eye when I flip a card and he searches through his cards to get a bigger number.

He also knows the number one, too.  Ticks him off when he only gets -one- gumball out of the machine.  (We count those and discuss colors).  His favorite number is five, but he has to brush his teeth before we spin the gumball machine again..

We took a “field trip” from studies one day.  We watched Spider Man in bed, complete with popcorn, strawberries and PB&J sandwiches (which he makes on his own now).  Those sheets are now in the wash pile.  Crumbs are one thing.  The dogs clean them up.  Our big dog trying to lick the PB&J out of the sheets is a whole different story.

I dug out puzzles that I bought for his sister’s.  I have 3 100-piece puzzles.  I chose “The Lion King” for Mr. B.  That’s when I learned his sisters weren’t too conscious when putting up their puzzles.  The pieces are all mixed up.  I got called a “butt crack” over arguing about the piece for the monkey’s face.  That was an automatic time-out.

But the best was explaining to my visiting Marine why I had Cheerios in the bathroom.     Aim control, Baby.  Aim control!   

I almost forgot one other important thing.  Boogers come in many colors.  Crayola crayons don’t match any of the colors, but our puppy will eat them regardless.  

- Bess Tuggle