Military

I have a really mean mom. She was born and raised on the west side of Paris, IL and had to walk 5 miles to school every day. She was raised by a single mother, and didn’t have it easy her whole life. She had to haul buckets of coal into the house each morning in the winter, and owned all of 3 dresses. She had to get mean to survive the west end. As soon as she could, she joined the Army. It was the only place someone as mean as her could go and not get thrown out. She and the Army got along fine.

Later when she had kids, she started her own army. There were regulations to follow, rules to obey, a standard of cleanliness to be kept, and you didn't dare question authority. And for all that, I'm a better person.

My dad was in the Air Force before he met my mom. He's not as mean. He just has lots of stories to tell. I'm thankful that both of my parents served in the military. I know it made a big impact on how my siblings and I conduct ourselves.

Unfortunately, none of the three children they raised ever joined a branch of service, although I did think seriously about it at one point in my life when I had to start over. It would have been a good decision, I'm guessing.

I have a soft spot in my heart for our military personnel. Maybe it's because they have the courage to do what I never could bring myself to try; to stand up and fight for America. Oh, how I wish they didn't have to go, but I am so thankful they are willing.

The Villa Grove City Council is trying to put together a cool way to honor our local service men and women. They are gathering names of current active and reserve service men and women, and will display their names, rank, and branch on signs that will be posted along our major streets. Tuscola has done this for a while now. I think this is an excellent way to show our support of those who are standing in the gap, standing in our place, to secure our freedom.

Unfortunately, few names have actually been turned in thus far. So I'm spreading the word about the project. If you know of any active or reserve service men or women, please contact Mike Akers at 832-9778 with the soldiers full name, rank, and branch so they can be included in this project. Also, if you would like to help in any way, Mike would greatly appreciate it. I'm looking forward to seeing the names displayed proudly along the town's streets.

I don't know if I'm raising any future service men or women, but from the looks of the army guys, jeeps, and plastic toy guns lying around my living room, I'd guess I am. I hope I do a good job, so they can. Please honor our Veterans, as they serve near and far. Meanwhile, I'll try to get a little meaner.

Holding It All Together - Simulated Patient - by Amy McCollom

I won't be winning a Grammy or walking the red carpet any time soon. I won't be seeing my name up in lights. I won't be schmoozing with the stars or attending any Hollywood shin-digs. But for a few times each spring, I put on the act of a lifetime.

Nope, I'm not in a play. But with my experience, I'm beginning to think I could be. What I'm talking about is the little job I've been doing for the past 3 years. I'm a simulated patient at the U of I medical school. I'm sure a lot of you have never heard of such a thing.

What I do is act out a scenario of symptoms, and allow the medical students to perform examinations on me to get practice for the real job of being a physician. It's very interesting, and helpful for the students. I've had to pretend to be everything from depressed, to living in denial of a health concern, to having pneumonia, heart disease, stomach ulcers, and a drinking problem.

These scenarios are carefully planned, and are several pages long. I have to remember the history of my "fake" family members, and be ready to answer any of the students' questions about what is bothering me. I am given a list of complaints to present, but have to wait for the student to ask about each one. It's kind of a game at times, only the student gets good feedback, either from the video of the encounter or from the assistant teacher who is in the room at the time. It's a very good way of teaching.

It's not as easy as you think. There is a tremendous amount of information I must remember, like who in my family has had similar symptoms, when do the symptoms occur, what makes the symptoms better or worse, when did the symptoms first begin, and exactly what do the symptoms feel like. I have to be convincing, sometimes even "fake coughing" to make myself more believable. There are usually 6-8 students that you have to perform this scenario for in a day, so this can be rather tiring. Especially if I have to pretend to be depressed, by the end of the day it takes a lot of work to convince myself that I'm not having these symptoms.

The physical exams are really good for the students, as most of them are just starting to work with patients and have no idea how to go about draping, tapping on the back, inspecting the skin, and other examinations. And after being poked and pressed on by 6-8 students in a row, I do get a little sore.

But it's for a good cause. The medical students need practice to get good at what they will be doing, and it's cool to be a part of their learning process, and be able to give feedback to them about what they can do different, or what they do right. They are always so thankful and appreciative. It makes me feel good to be able to help them learn.

So how did I get hooked up with this gig? Well, my brother is a doctor. He teaches medical students for the SIU medical school, along with being a family practice doctor, and suggested I look into the U of I medical school's program. I contacted my personal doctor, and a few emails later, I'm interviewing for the job. Next thing I know, I'm getting up early for what they call an ASCII (o-skee). My first scenario to act out. I had a blast.

But isn't life just one big act anyway? I mean, no matter what you do for a living, you have to act. The shoe salesman convinces you his store sells the best shoes at the best price. From politicians to the waitress at the truck stop, all are trying to convince us of something. Do you really think all the people you encounter in a day actually like seeing you as much as they seem to? We're all actors, some of us get paid, and some do not.

Jaques:

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances,

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages.

Holding It All Together - March Madness - by Amy McCollom

I didn't know when I picked March 12th as a wedding date that it would forever be in competition with a yearly event so much bigger than I could ever imagine. March Madness. Before I met John, I thought March Madness was a week of sales and shopping for Easter dresses. Then he introduced me to basketball.

Not being much of an athlete, I knew little about the game. When I was in high school, I remember having to play basketball in P.E., and basically ran from one end of the gym to the other, chasing the ball and the person who had it. I never got to touch the ball, so the game appeared to me to be a lot like tag. Only you didn't just tag the girl who had the ball, you had to take it away from her. Then you became it. Then everybody would chase you down to get the ball. I did a lot of running, and was never it.

My siblings didn't play the game, and my parents were never athletes, so I didn't really have anyone who could explain the rules. I was just expected to know how to play the game during P.E. So how in the world did I end up married to a sports nut? I'll never know.

John loves college basketball. I remember early in our marriage sitting beside him as he rooted for his favorite teams, the Illini being a really big one. He would get so excited, and almost turn back into a boy again. It was cute.

And although I liked watching the games with John because he made them fun, and would explain what was going on to me without making me feel like a big dummy, there is just something about basketball games on TV that is annoying Maybe it's the noise that bothers me. The crowds chanting, the horns blowing, and every two minutes somebody blows a whistle. Maybe I just have ADD. I just think I would enjoy watching a basketball game a lot more if I could put the TV on mute.

And so now we are well into this year's March Madness. Not only is it a big whooping deal for college basketball, but also high schools. Both boys and girls teams play for championships. There are conference tournaments, NCAA, and the NIT which the Illini went to this year. There are brackets, with four regions, each with 16 teams. Each team is ranked by "seed" and they play each other until the region winners play in the Final Four. Filling out your brackets is called "bracketology." Confused like me? John said, "That's why they call it March Madness, Honey."

I've been told that this year there have been more upsets than in previous years. I've read a lot of comments on Face Book where people are throwing in their brackets, it seems to be very difficult to predict who is going to win. John said that's what makes it fun and frustrating. If anything can be fun AND frustrating, I'd have to say that basketball would be it.

Our pastor made mention on Sunday about the under-dog team from Northern Iowa that beat Kansas. He loves modern day David and Goliath stories. And who doesn’t? It gives us little guys hope. It‘s been reported that someone told the Northern Iowa team "You don't have to be the best team, you just have to be the better team for the next 40 minutes." (or something to that effect) Now if we all could do just that, think of what we could accomplish in life. I guess what I’m saying is in this life of brackets and tournaments, under dogs and top seeded teams, raising kids and working jobs, and just holding it all together; look at each challenge as a game to win. Play your hardest, one game at a time, and you’ll have nothing to hang your head about.

Louisville

Holding It All Together - Louisville - by Amy McCollom

I had never been to Louisville, Kentucky until this weekend. And after spending 3 days on a trip I'll never forget, I couldn't wait to get back and tell you all about it. It wasn't just any ole trip to any ole city for any ole reason. It was a coming together of a family for the sole purpose of celebrating the life of someone dear to us.

It was John’s aunt Georgia's 85th birthday. The party had been in the planning stage since late November. Many preparations had been made, and real invitations sent out, not just simple hand written ones bought at the dime store. These invitations were printed on cream card stock, in a fancy type-set. I could tell shortly after I opened the envelope that this was no small deal.

I was so happy when my husband said we could go! And his cousin Shelley, Aunt Georgia's daughter, invited us to stay at their home. We arrived there on Friday afternoon, following computer directions, I'm always the navigator. We pulled up in front of the house and felt a little out of our element. It wasn't the small ranch-style house we were used to. No bikes in the yard, not a bush out of place. It was even up on a hill. I swallowed hard and warned the kids not to touch anything.

Shelley and David's home was beautiful! From the natural stone foyer, to the real wood floor and soaring ceilings in the huge living room, to the bold red dining room complete with chandelier, it was just like looking in the pages of a magazine. On every shelf, around every corner, the story of the lives of the people who lived there unfolded as if I was reading their biography.

In the far corner of the living room stood 2 tall pillars, each holding up an exotic looking stone statue at least 2 feet high. The floor to ceiling white fireplace flanked on both sides with matching shelves also showcased trinkets and treasures from obvious travels. Shells, and hand-made jewelry, and pictures, and stone eggs, and delicate paintings. As I browsed the displays I felt quite small, having never been out of the country, and just glad to get to go to Kentucky. But the richness of the surroundings enveloped me, like the arms of the welcoming relatives, even though they weren't "mine," I felt a part of all of this.

We were so thankful to be able to stay with Shelley and David, it had made it all possible for us to make the trip. Hotels are not much of an option if you have more than 5 people in your party. Shelley was such a giving person, not only to us, but to the many other people she had welcomed into her home and life over the years, and the many things she did day to day, like taking care of her mom, Aunt Georgia, working full-time, and helping out those less fortunate. I was amazed at her strength, and her grace.

Aunt Georgia had been so good about sending my kids birthday cards with dollar bills in them for years. As she aged, the cards started to slow in coming, but I knew Aunt Georgia was declining. She was always so nice to me at John's family's reunions. She always made her way to me and asked about each of the children, and about me. And now there she was in front of me, her hair as white as the snow, her body thin and crooked. Clean and crisp and dressed in red, fingernails shiny and everything, she was being well-taken care of.

We talked as she sat in her big blue soft chair. She looked out the window and commented about the snow on the patio table, how it resembled a birthday cake, how it had been slowly sliding in the days past. She smiled and picked up her crossword puzzle book, offering to let me do one. Then she repeated her comments about the snow on the patio. And then she repeated other things she had just said to me. And soon I felt like I was in the "Ground Hog Day" movie where Bill Murray had to re-live the same day over and over again. It was odd, funny, sad, disturbing, endearing, wonderful, and alarming. Soon I was over-come with emotions and had to leave the room. My husband John smiled, and patted my hand in agreement, but I think I saw that his eyes were filling with wetness.

More and more relatives arrived, like Steven from San Francisco, Kevin from New York, David from Houston, Jim and Wilma from Dallas, Jean and Joel from Missouri, and many others. There must have been over 60 people wandering around the house. Aunt Georgia was loved by many people. John got to see cousins he hadn't seen in decades, and talk with them in depth. His family was fascinating. I had so much fun and felt I had a whole new set of friends. I am so blessed to be part of this family. They never once made me feel like an outsider.

Saturday was the day of the party. The cake was beautiful, the decorations perfect, the food absolutely delicious. The ladies all worked like a team in the kitchen, you would have thought that they ran their own catering company as well as they clicked. I enjoyed eating things unusual for me, like pickled green beans, dip of the gods, shrimp dip, and home-made chocolates. It was all fabulous. There was so much food! Even fresh fruit-kabobs.

We stayed in a room that was just as unusual and wonderful. Part of the attic had been turned into a bunk room, complete with nooks and cubby holes made especially for sleeping. A little girl had been staying in the room, so the walls were decorated with stars, and hearts, and butterfly strands of lights. Oh, and a Marines poster. We had plenty of room, and our kids were in childhood heaven. There were heaps of stuffed animals, video games too many to count, a TV and best of all, playmates for the weekend. We didn't see the kids very much at all except when they were hungry or wanted to put on a play for us adults, which was sweet and reminded me of when I was a kid.

The whole weekend was a reminder to me that we must hold onto those things that are precious to us: our families, our memories, our relationships. All too soon these things can be taken from us. But while it is yet day, while we still remember, while we still have hugs to give and receive and can do both, while we can talk to the people who mean the most to us....let's live like we appreciate the chance. Now, don’t you wish you could have been there?

happy new year

Holding It All Together - Happy New Year - by Amy McCollom

We got a new sofa and loveseat. Well, they’re new to us. Actually my parents got brand new ones, and passed their slightly used ones down. We love them! Well, until a rowdy movie night when I was trying to bake Christmas cookies, and Amanda yelled, "Everybody hush!! Who said 'help me!/" We looked around and saw Rudy's legs kicking, and his head buried under one of the pillows. Somehow he had managed to get his head stuck in the corner of the couch. We got him out alright, and though his face was beet red, he was more scared than anything. After the fear wore off, the humor of it settled upon us, and we had a good laugh. Rudy is our little mischievous one. Goes along with being the baby of the family, even though he's only a minute younger than his twin sister Rosa.

Sometimes being a mom is like being in a sitcom. All that’s missing is the background music and the canned laughter. There have been so many times I have thought to myself, if my life was a movie, it would be a good one. Somewhere between the Walton’s, Brady Bunch, and Cheaper By The Dozen.

The other day my tween-age son Marcus came home from school carrying a large brown grocery bag. Oh no, I thought. This can’t be good.

“Hey Mom, we had a class rummage sale, and everybody gave me a discount!”

It was one of those things you never want to hear your kid say. I could see it now; toy cars, blocks, rocks, army guys, marbles, and who knows what else strewn across my coffee table and under chairs. Dread gripped my heart in that old familiar way.

Then there was the time our kindergartner declared,

“I get to bring home the house made of straw from our Three Little Pigs play!”

Who wants a house of straw in their home, except for maybe a kindergartner? Not to mention the mud volcano the class made, or the 5lb. bucket of homemade play-goop. And then Amanda came home with a bowl full of goldfish, volunteering to care for them until the Science Fair. Um, we have a cat. Not just any cat, but Reggie the Bengal cat. A mixture of domestic cat and Asian Leopard cat, wild blood coursing through his veins. A hunter and fierce mouser, a spider lasts only minutes after entering our home. Disappointed, but understanding, she sat quietly in the front seat of the van as we drove her liquid cargo to a friends house for the weekend.

Near Christmas time once, I was driving home from church with my son Calvin, then 3 years old. It was night time and dark, and we had just heard a message of the return of Jesus. I’m sure you can understand the rush of adrenaline that hit me when Calvin pointed to the sky and said,

“Look, there’s Jesus in the sky!”

What he really was pointing at was a cross made out of Christmas lights, but still it made me nearly drive off the road.

The more kids that joined our family, the more new ways they found of giving me gray hair. Trouble is, if I dye my hair, the gray ones just pop out in my eyebrows.

“Cats really do land on their feet!”

“You can fit two people in the dryer.”

“I know how to drive now.”

“Soap doesn’t taste disgusting.”

“What takes permanent marker off of your eyelids?”

"Mom, where does dad keep the chain saw?"

"Mom, Rudy has a bongo drum stuck on his head."

"Help, someone tied me to the bed with a slinky!"

“We met a hobo today.”

“I have decided to change my name to Chrysanthemum.”

“I can scream louder than anyone else in my class!”

“Guess what, my teacher doesn’t wear underwear to bed either, Mom.”

“I caught two crickets at recess. But they’re ok, I can feel them wiggling in my pocket.”

“I’m growing my own mosquito larvae in a jar under the bathroom sink.”

“Hold out your hand, I need to Google how to care for an African Stag Beetle.”

I was standing in the kitchen doing dishes this fall when Marcus came running in.

Now, what came out of his mouth next would by far make number 1 on my top ten list of things you never want to hear your kid say:

“I was down at the creek and I found some dynamite! Can you help me get it out of my pants pocket, my hands are all muddy.”

Turns out it was only a spent firecracker. "Mom, why is your face so white?" I swear I could hear my mother laughing.

Have a happy new year. Be thankful for your family, your friends, your job, and that I’m the one with the seven kids trying to hold it all together.

pancake

Holding It All Together - Pancake - by Amy McCollom

It seemed like a good idea, as most of mine do to me. My cat was lonely. Reggie, the Bengal, moped around the house and cried loudly for attention all the do-da-day. It was driving us all nuts. Yes, it could have been that he was just a spoiled noisy cat, but Bengals aren't usually that talkative. And believe me, I know a lot about cats.

It was when I saw the ad pinned to the bulletin board at the grocery store that my wild idea became a reality. Free kittens! Of course, why didn't I think of it sooner. We could get a cat, for our cat!

We went out to the farm where the kittens were being kept. The cute little things ran playfully about the garage, and each of the kids grabbed their favorite one. I liked the pretty gray one, but we ended up taking home the ordinary black and white one that let the kids hold him upside down. One of my teenagers came home about that time and said, "Gee, that cat looks just like my friends cat Waffles." Of course it did. It looked like every other ordinary black and white cat I had ever seen. Since the name Waffles was taken, the kids chose to call our new addition Pancake.

Pancake was cute and very tolerant. Reggie took up with him right away, grooming him and generally taking care of his new friend. Pancake seemed to enjoy being dressed in doll clothes, and being put into toy baby carriers. I enjoyed Reggie not wailing for my attention constantly.

But then a strange thing happened. Pancake grew up. Quickly and with a fury, the kitten turned into a huge cat in a few short months. No longer did he cuddle up next to Reggie, but would pummel him, and knock him off his cat tree. He soon took up hissing his way to the food dish, and Reggie resigned to hiding under the bed, and quietly meowing his displeasure from there. It became evident that Pancake was bullying my kitty.

Not only that, Pancake wasn't about to become satisfied as a housecat. He would sneak out anytime someone left the door slightly ajar, which was all the time. I was constantly running here and there looking for Pancake...even going as far as dragging him out of the neighbors tree on two occasions. And then there were the fleas. Reggie never went outside, except twice by accident. For the eight years we had Reggie, he had never gotten fleas. Now our house was being overrun with the pests, thanks to Pancake.

After thinking long and hard about it, I decided that Pancake had to go. Reggie was my cat. He was almost like my child. I couldn't stand seeing him live in fear one more day. So one day when the kids were at school, I took Pancake to the humane society. It was a good thing to do, he would surely be adopted. He was friendly, and good looking. And I'm sure he reminded someone of a cat they once knew.

For three days no one noticed he was gone. Then Rosa began calling him. I didn't say a word. All the kids looked around the house, under beds, out in the yard, and came up with the idea that he must have ran away. I just let them think that. It was easier than explaining he went to the pound, then hearing them cry and blame me for their sorrow. They made up stories about where he was....with Garfield, on a trip to Mexico, visiting their aunt in Texas, and on a cruise. Soon they didn't mention him at all, so I thought I was off the hook.

Until last week. I was cooking breakfast when Rosa yelled, "Pancake!!! I saw him run by the window!!!" And suddenly all the kids were scrambling to put on their shoes, and their coats, and somebody found a leash, and someone else was digging under the lizard's aquarium for the cricket net. They were bound and determined to go after their lost cat.

Did Pancake escape from the pound? Did he find his way home? Oh, this sounded pretty ridiculous. Unless you've lived through something similar like I did when I was a kid. When I was 9, my family adopted a gray poodle from the Champaign County Humane Society. We named him Benji. He got really big, well, because he was a standard poodle, not a miniature one like we thought. Soon he was able to jump our chain-link fence, and became the problem pet everyone dreads. It didn't help that my folks didn't exactly know how to train a dog. So after about two years of living with an unruly curly monster, we took him back to the humane society.

One rainy night five years later, we got a phone call. The man on the other end said he had found our dog. It was Benji! He was lying in the road, and this man ran out in front of a bus to rescue him. Wow. We were amazed that Benji was still wearing the collar and tags that he had when we surrendered him years earlier. We knew fate had knocked on our door, and so we went to pick him up the next day. Benji ran to greet us with sloppy kisses and seemed to remember us. Benji was a good dog, even with his faults. Kind of like a lot of us.

So when the kids yelled that Pancake was back, fear and joy grabbed me by the throat. It was then I realized that the truth might have been easier than letting them make it up themselves. I hadn't told them anything, but I let them believe a lie. Absence of truth, that's the gray area. I should have taken a clue from Pancake, and just kept everything black and white. (Or at least gotten a cat that didn't look like a million other cats in the world.)

If I am going to raise my kids with total disclosure, then Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy are to be exposed as well. I really wish they came with an instruction manual. Raising kids looked so easy in the movies.

birthdays

Holding It All Together - Birthdays - by Amy McCollom

I just had my birthday last week, and so did my husband. Our birthdays just happen to be on the same day, different years though. John is two years older than me, just to clear that up.

Having the same birthday was kind of cool, at first. It was unique. How many couples do you know that share a birthday? We used to go to Mr. Steak for our free birthday dinner every year when we were first married. Everybody in the place thought we were twins, until John leaned over the table and kissed me on the lips. Then the looks on their faces went from smiles, to scowls, to confusion. It was almost a game to us. Let's see when they realize we aren't brother and sister.

Then after a few years of sharing a birthday, it got to be less unique, and more of an inconvenience. No longer did I have my own special day. I had to share it with someone. And not just anyone, but a person that lived in my house. A person I loved. I felt sorry for twins. They must have felt the same way.

I'd hope that my husband would get up and fix me breakfast in bed, but he was hoping the same thing from me. So we both would lie there, and eventually get up and fix our own breakfasts. And no matter how big of a deal I made of my husband's birthday, the cake and gifts and balloons...it was all kind of a mute point since it was kind of for me too.

All my life while I was growing up, I had to share a room, clothes, shoes, hair accessories, make-up, and friends. And my birthday just happened to fall two weeks after Christmas. And one week after New Years, which was my brother's birthday. So by the time my birthday rolled around, we were all so sick of celebrating that we could barely stand the sight of cake, much less decorations. So most of my birthdays were met with very little fanfare, used birthday candles, and at least on one occasion a half-eaten blackberry cobbler labeled sadly as my birthday cake.

The first year after John and I were married, my own family forgot my birthday. They really did. All of them! I felt like that girl from the Sixteen Candles movie. Eventually I pouted enough that they realized their mistake, but by then it was seared into my memory. I did enjoy the plenteous gifts that year, though. My birthday just falls at an awkward time for everyone. But I was born three months early, I should have been a March baby. I'm still impatient. It's a flaw.

Then we got children. Actually our first child, Calvin, had a birthday on January 16th. Exactly one week after my and John's birthday. We tried to explain to him that Mommy and Daddy was having a birthday together, and he kept repeating, "and me too!" He would get all upset when we would tell him, no, his was next week. He was two years old, and found it very confusing. But most people do.

So you might say that I'm not a big fan of birthdays. Mine have never been all that great. So I've decided that I'm changing it. You can change your name, hair color, eye color, career, and possibly gender...why not a birthday. I haven't picked a date yet, but it's going to be a warm day when I can go outside and enjoy the sunshine. And it will coincide with John's vacation so he will have no excuse not to make me breakfast in bed. And there will be gifts, and balloons, and a cake with new candles and no pieces missing from last week. I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner. Like last year, when I turned 32 again.