Natalie Whatley

With New Year’s Eve approaching, we’re almost through another holiday season. It’s always downhill for me after school lets out for Christmas.  That’s great given I’m in a near-comatose state by then from all the rich foods consumed at holiday gatherings. That state also affords an incredible excuse to eat with wild abandon on Christmas Day. Honestly, I was unaware of what I was doing. My bathroom scale, however, will remind me exactly what I’ve been up to.

Since being in a heavy carbohydrate haze is probably not an adequate excuse to miss my deadline, I’ll try my level best to put together enough words to fill my spot. (Note to self: If I run short on words, I can always submit a new photo. That will absolutely fill more space. Hmmm . . . public humiliation may be what’s required to get me to push away from the table and exercise something other than my jaw.) Despite my mental fog, I still remember that today marks a very special event in my life.

On December 28, 1998, I got out of the bakery business forever. (This is where everyone who knows me pauses and scratches their head.) For six and a half years I baked on and off, with roughly 27 of those months spent working around the clock.

It was a family business, and Jeff and I learned we could withstand the heat in the kitchen about as well as any others who dared travel the same territory. But boy, oh boy, did we get an education on ovens. Ours worked just fine save for one minor detail: It baked little buns to perfection but the oven door simply would not open when the timer went off.

We didn’t discover that little problem until the first bun was baked. Countless people yanked, pulled and otherwise tried to force it open: no luck. A man with lots of tools and special skills removed the door and retrieved the bun looking every bit like it had been nearly pulled through the vents. It’s a good thing buns are malleable.

The oven mechanic decided it was probably a one-time fluke and that the door probably wouldn’t stick again. Well, he was almost right. The timer went off on the second bun, the door opened a tiny bit, but not nearly enough to get the bun out without squishing it. The door had to be removed again.  And, much to our surprise, the bun we thought we were baking turned out to be a totally different variety –with raisins instead of without.

We gave not another thought to the oven door, decided two buns with raisins was plenty and put up the “closed” sign.

A year and a half later, and much to everyone’s surprise, there was another bun in the oven.  Thankfully, the oven mechanic suggested setting the timer and removing the door prior to the “done” alarm sounding. That was the way to go! My last little muffin (without raisins) came out perfectly cooked with not so much as a single mark and not squished in the slightest. Of course she was the prettiest we’d ever seen.

Over the years, she begged for us to re-open the bakery. I explained that the plumbing had been altered and no longer met code.

I’m quite all right with being out of the business. I don’t miss the constant clean-up, long sleepless hours, or the mind-numbing worry over whether all the ingredients mixed up just right.  Plus, there’s all that stuff about the third time being a charm, and not messing with perfection –especially when it falls straight from heaven. Happy Birthday Muffin!

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

The paragraphs below are what I hashed out after three weeks of running at a crazed pace. In some ways I can hardly wait for life to slow down, but I’m very aware of the price. Like many of you, I’m in the trenches of parenthood 24/7. Some days the trench fills with water, and I struggle to keep my head above the surface. Others…why, I have the most beautiful trench there ever was. I hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

‘Twas the week of Christmas, and all through my mind, not a coherent thought was stirring, not even a rhyme. The lights were hung ‘round the house without harm, no body parts broken, or too much cause for alarm. Christmas parties were had, social obligations fulfilled, and all I wanted was some quiet and still. The children wrote lists as long as North Main, while dollar signs floated ‘round their father’s brain.

And Papa with his headache, and I with my new cat, were hoping one day it’d be possible to just take a nap. When from the upstairs there came a horrid smell. I looked up at the ceiling and started to yell. Away to grab Lysol, I ran a mad dash, began spraying the air wondering which kid to splash.

The light on the carpet outside the bathroom lit the offending parties — they’ll be needing a broom. When what to my frustrated eyes should appear three young people frolicking in good cheer. With an old dog in on the fun, I knew right that moment they’d better run! Faster than lightning the children they split, as they had no idea which gluteal target I’d get.

To a clean bathroom before the herd bathes, I pay homage to my silly rage. So down to the rooms I fly lickety-split, with a few thoughts in mind and envisioning a sit. In that moment, I felt in my heart, the tugging of strings from children so smart.

As I drew in a breath and dared turn around, up in years they went, almost without making a sound. Dressed in much bigger clothes, they’ll all be taller than me. I barely saw it happen. Could it truly be? Larger amounts of knowledge they now carry in their heads. Looks like they’re growing up; it’s full speed ahead.

Their eyes how they wonder, their smiles, how toothy. Their faces are changing, and at times they act goofy. Their mouths sometimes speak in ways that amaze.  And the kind things they do leave me in a proud haze.

With a tiny bit of childhood left, maybe they can handle my not always being deft. The years they’ve gone by faster than I ever imagined, like the blink of an eye, faster than I ever fathomed. It’s had its ups and downs — I’ve always had doubts. And sometimes I cried after filling their day with shouts.

On the brink of tears, and with a new vision in sight, I’ve learned that giving my best would make things mostly right.  They love me anyway, in spite of mistakes. And I’ll see them through no matter what it takes.  Bowing my head, I pray they’ll be safe, while asking forgiveness for decisions made in haste.

Onward and upward, I hope we’ll proceed; it’s not easy being the one in the lead. But a quiet voice tells me as I turn in for the night, it will all be OK, for your path I will light.

© 2008 Natalie Whatley

I breathed a huge sigh of relief on Friday, just before sheer panic set in. Summer is here, and the kids are out of school.  The shackles made up of tight schedules and homework have been removed, but there’s a dark side to this freedom. I’ll have no more than a total of three minutes daytime peace until late August. Do the math. It works out to mere seconds per day. Calgon’s not strong enough to take me away.  I may need pharmaceutical help to get through.

                Although I spend much of May dreaming of days not filled with endless to-do lists, I’m reminded each summer that in my world, inactivity breeds much discontent. That’s where the Whatley Entertainment Committee comes in. There are three sitting members:  Chairman, me; vice-chairman, myself; and secretary, I. Honestly, the meetings are a waste of time, and I frequently get the feeling I’m talking to myself. The committee is considering dissolution since pleasing  a 9, 11, and 15 year-old, even part of the time, has become a monumental task.  The members have grown weary from trying, but I’ll share some of what has worked in the past.   

Phase one: If you’re a stay-at-home mom, the absolute first thing you must do each day, is get out of bed before the kids. You need a few quiet moments to plot and plan… sanity is not maintained while flying by the seat of one’s pants. Choose some goals for the day, and prioritize. Have some breakfast, and even take a shower before donning the referee shirt and whistle. Years of in-the-lab scientific study have shown this improves outlook and bickering stamina by a whopping 98.6%. This strategy alone has kept me from being a resident of the psych ward.  

Phase two: Allow the kids to sleep until at least ten. (Sometimes later, depending on mood, and state of mental health on the given day) This approach works well, and removes some of the time potentially spent entertaining. Have them eat a hearty breakfast when they arise as this will aid in executing phase three.

                Phase three: Set up some summertime fun in the backyard with a bucket full of water balloons, water guns, paint, chalk, or whatever your little ones enjoy. If you have a wooden fence, provide buckets of water and paintbrushes so they can “paint” the fence. Slather on the sunscreen, and get them all set- up outside.  Don’t forget a cooler with drinks and snacks.  Create a “dry” zone for towels and a change of clothes. Hang around for a few minutes and appear to involve yourself in the frivolities. Then, quietly slip back inside for a “potty break”, absent-mindedly lock the doors (out of habit, of course), and find some earphones. Be sure the volume is louder than the sound of knocks on the door.  

 Get going immediately. Paint your toe-nails, finish that book or one of my personal favorites, just sit and stare at a wall. Be strong, and stay focused on the task at hand. Resist the urge to look outside.

All kidding aside, summer is great for spending quality time with children.  I have three I’ll loan out if anyone needs proof.

© 2008 Natalie Whatley