Dollywood healed me!

People say music heals the soul, at Dollywood it healed my legs!  Now if you are not from the South, or have never heard of Dolly Parton, just picture Dollywood as a theme park where the main attractions are country singing, square dancing and food.  For the younger group the fun is in watching the old people play bumper cars with their rented electric scooters.

Now before you blame me for making fun of the elderly, or worse yet, people in wheelchairs, let me tell you how Dollywood healed me. My parents invited my son and I to go with them to Dollywood, while we were vacationing in Pigeon Forge, TN.  Since my only other choice was entertaining a 5 year old in a hotel for 8 hours you can guess why I went.

 It was right about this time that I had resigned myself to the fact that any major walking (i.e. Wal-Mart) I would need to use an electric wheelchair.   I was still  self-conscious, but if I wanted to go I had to use the wheelchair.  I kept telling my best friend that people treated you differently when you are in a wheelchair,  and this trip to Dollywood gave me the proof I needed.

Later in the day at Dollywood, after many musical performances, both my son and I were tired of watching shows. That's when my Dad told me that I should take my son to the other side of the park to  the kiddie rides. My son hopped on my lap, hit the high speed button on my wheelchair and we made our way down to the rides.

My son was off my lap and being loaded onto an airplane ride before I even had stopped the wheelchair.  I watched from a distance as my son was spun in a slow circle.  The joy on his face was mesmerizing and his laughter infectious, and it only lasted for a minute.

When the ride ended my son didn't want to get off.  I asked nicely( at least once), and then yelled at my son to get off the plane. He wouldn't budge. I knewI had no choice but to physically pull my son off the ride. It was at this time that the few remaining parents noticed me, and more importantly the wheelchair.

 I turned off my chair.  I  stood up.

Everyone stopped stared, and gasped.

Actually the sound emitted from my audience was larger than a gasp,  more like the sound of a tornado sucking up houses or at least little kids.  They couldn't believe that I could stand.  I took advantage of the situation.

"I'm healed! I'm healed!" I shouted and shook each leg to prove my point.  "Great God Almighty I've been healed!"

Everyone evaporated, or more likely ran somewhere to hide.  The driver of the airplane ride handed me my fussing son.

 Laughing, I got back in the wheelchair with my son in tow, and took off for a different ride.







I

Dance Moms (Abby Lee Miller Dance Studio), Toddlers and Tiaras

You don't have to go far to hear about the show Dance Moms.  Now entering its second season on Lifetime it is the talk of moms everywhere.
If you haven't seen it, it's worth a watch.  Miss Abby is the owner, choreographer and "self-appointed" best dance teacher in the country. She definitely doesn't sugarcoat anything, and only gives attention to the  child that brings her the next first place trophy.  Her voice is a cross between a drag queen, and a chronic smoker.  Her catch phrase is that "everyone is replaceable."

This is a television show, but what is scary is that the shouting and berating of each child and parent is real.  Miss Abby often punishes these dancers (whose age ranges from the 7-13)  based on their parent's action. Professional dancers have a limited time to dance, and these girls' dancing careers might be over as soon as puberty hits.

Needless to say the constant fighting between the Dance Moms is where "the entertainment" begins.  Much like Toddler's and Tiaras, people are both critical and fascinated by how far mothers will go to get their child one step closer to being a celebrity.  I believe that the moms' from both shows  hope that if their daughters don't go on to be professional dancers, or the next Miss America (Toddlers and Tiaras) that maybe their brief television exposure will give them a ticket to Hollywood.

I guess I will have to keep watching to find out.

Excuses, Excuses ..

Well my thoughts of joining the school's parents board didn't last long.  Actually the plan to run for the board was thrown out the window the minute my husband threw out his back.  Yes, I know this is a weak excuse.  I can't deny it.  Three days into my husband's two week back battle, I realized that my low tolerance for clingy, helpless people ( not you sweetheart!) would not end well with the school.  My friends' fears were also that it my end my children's eligibility to go to the school. ( It's a charter school they can do that)

Just so you know, I will admit most of my flaws (actually just some ).  My husband and countless others can easily tell you the rest. That said, in order to make it to my 20th wedding anniversary, this post won't linger.

You can't say I haven't tried!

I  squeezed and surged my way through the dreaded line today.  Not looking at anyone directly, so they don't think I am letting them cut in line.  It's years of driving through this mess and pure intimidation that had gotten me there first, no I won't be nice and let the person in the KIA cut in. I want to swerve to the side grab two kids (preferably my own) and make it to through the next stop light.

The old saying is that "Opportunity Knocks", tonight it rang.  The school is in need of some help with parent relations, and are seeking applicants.  It does mean stepping out of the security of my SUV,  but it could be for the greater good.  The thought of possibly changing this fledging school and its problems, with the bonus of saving the lives of teachers,  how can I  say "no."

This way I can say I have tried every avenue (& street) to meet the administration half way.  Just to be safe I will probably ride in my three hundred pound wheelchair which can break toes quite easily (ask my husband) and quickly reach top speed.

Don't call the insurance company

Life moves on and out of fear of me being arrested for assault; I have gotten out of afternoon carpool duty.  If I had known that all it took was playing "Chicken " with a high school English teacher I would have done this years ago.

With worries that someday my foot might slip, my husband bought my 17 year old son...a used junker so that he can do the evening pick up.   This way it's a toss up as to who will get our family kicked off insurance coverage first.


If the worst should happen I could always try using my "Trump" card.  It's the bright blue placard that dangles from my rear view mirror.  The handicap sticker.  It is amazing how differently people treat you when you are in a wheelchair.  I'm lucky to be blessed with a wheelchair that at full speed can make  jogger run out of breath.

Just so you know, I have no vendetta against  teachers, my best friend is one and so are other members of my family.  Teachers have enough to do without playing traffic cop.

The power of a whistle...or so she thought

 It was her first year directing school traffic.  The petite red head thought she could control traffic because she wore the sacred whistle.   She didn't stand a chance against a mom who drove her kids to school for a living. It is a three hour a day commute, and I've had 5 years practice maneuvering through school gridlock.
Until she took over I had been a pretty low-key player in the school traffic.  I had and still have the mandated SUV with cute little stickers of my feathered family (parrot, lovebird, parakeet) on my back windshield.  Not very threatening, just another person in line.

Two months into the school year she started playing favorites.  Instead of letting cars go in the preordained fashion, she began to look into the cars and if she liked the driver they went first.  Now at this point you need to understand, how desperate parents become after waiting forty minutes in line, only to be stopped because you aren't on her good list.

I started to ignore her.  Simple enough, I thought.   She blew on that whistle until her face turned red. I just turned up my stereo and whipped around her. Next day, same thing except she caught up to me while my son was loading his backpack into the car.  She yelled at me through the window. I didn't even turn my head to look at her. I put my V-8 to use, leaving her standing there in shock.

Threatening letters and phone calls from the principal started coming home. The whistler got braver and started standing just inches away from my car. Blocking me with her pint-sized body worked for a couple days. Then she got lazy and left just enough room for me to get past her again.

  She then resorted to parking her perky backside on the bumper of my car! Finally a simple way to end this fight.   Revving my engine, I honked the horn and honking scaring her to the point that she slid off my car.

 Although she is still alive, I claim victory because she has passed her beloved whistle to someone else.
Now that you know most of the story,  I need to clarify that no kids were in danger and once she was gone traffic flowed freely.

I'll share my tips on getting through the line quicker next time.