It's Been a While

Since I've posted, much less posted pictures of the kiddos. Here's your fix:

Tiller's face after multiple falls - Black eye and road rash.














Tiller wearing Rollie's Batman mask, a dress-up staple in our house.


















Rollie playing with Easter eggs at Grandma's.


















And Tiller with Easter stuff, too.


















Next post? Probably some pics of me and the old ball and chain. We celebrated six years of wedded bliss this past Saturday by dumping the kids at their grandparents and then proceeding to kill ourselves with sun, sand, beer and overindulgence in raw oysters. Good times.

And I Think I Have it Rough Some Days

This is a letter written by my great-grandfather, John Lewis Palmer, to his sister, Lilly Palmer, on Jan 13, 1919. It was about a month after the death of his second wife, Ludie Knowles Palmer. John Lewis and Ludie were Pop's parents. At the time, they lived in Broxton, Ga. His sister Lilly lived in Goldston, NC, where John Lewis was from originally.

[On Palmer-Chambliss Hardware Co. Letterhead]

J. L. Palmer and C. F. Chambliss
Palmer-Chambliss Hardware Co.
Dealers in Hardware
Terms Cash – Interest Charged After 30 Days
Oliver Plows, Mowers, Rakes, Binders and American Wire Fencing
Also Exclusive Agents for Famous Roberson Cutlery

Broxton, Ga., Jan. 13, 1919

Dear Lilly,
We received your letter yesterday and was glad to hear from you. Yes, Ludie died Dec 19th. It was a great shock to us all and it leaves me in a bad fix. Six little children to look after besides Lee and Estelle. The baby has been real sick for a week. We thought Friday it wouldn’t live, but I am glad to say it is so much better this morning, and believe it will soon be well. It has a stomach trouble caused from feeding it. He was nursing and we had to go to feeding him. He vomited everything he ate for 4 days, then his eyes and face began to swell. The Dr. said it was a poison caused from eating.

Ludie died I suppose with acute indigestion caused from the condition the Influenza left her stomach in and then ate something that didn’t agree with her. She was first taken on Tuesday morning while cooking breakfast. We got the Dr. and she got easy in about 2 hours and Wednesday worked all day. Wednesday night she had an other spell but got over that about 10 o’clock that night. Thursday morning she did not get up. She said she was so sore, but not in any pain and about Dinner Thursday she was taken again and was nearly dead before we could get the Dr. She died about 4 o’clock Thursday evening.

Our baby liked 10 days of being a year old. Our two little ones names are Hugh and Walter and the baby is name Carl.

Estelle is with me now, but don’t know how long I can keep her as her husband has a job in Douglas, but I will get on some how. I can cook and attend to them my self. Mrs. Knowles is very feeble, not able to do much so she can’t help me; Lena Mae, J.L. and Margarette are in school. All except the baby are doing nice and are as fat as pigs.

I wish you could come to see us and stay a while. When is Charley coming? We have looked for him ever since Christmas. We gave Ludie a nice burial. A solid steel casket and a cement grave, and I hardly ever saw so many pretty flowers. Some came from other towns as far as 25 miles. Ludie was a good wife and mother and we miss her so much. No one but those who have experienced it can know anything about it. I will close. Love to you and Charley. Write again.

Your Bro,
J.L. Palmer

p.s. We had just about gotten well when Ludie died. We had nine sick at one time. Lee and I had Pneumonia. I am not real well yet, Can’t get to feeling good. Lee seems to be all right. We certainly had a time, 2 Drs. and a trained Nurse.
J.L.P.

Lee and Estelle are John Lewis Palmer’s eldest children (by his first wife, Lena Cole). The sick baby he refers to is his youngest, Carl Jenkins Palmer. Hugh and Walter are Hugh Knowles Palmer, and Walter Woodrow Palmer (my grandfather). Mrs. Knowles is Ludie’s mother, John’s mother-in-law, Mrs. Sarah Patience Hood Knowles. Lena Mae, J.L, and "Margarette" are his children Lena Mae Palmer, John Lewis Palmer, Jr. and Mary Margaret Palmer. Charley is John Lewis’ brother, Charles Christian Palmer.

A few different things struck me about this letter: First, it is hard to imagine someone dying and me not finding that out until almost a month later, and by mail. It must have been difficult to receive a letter with such sad news and then not be able to pick up a phone and call someone to see how they are or have any questions you have about the death answered. Next, I find it interesting that he is so quick to point out that she died and left him in a bind. People seem so reserved in old letters that you don't even sense how devastated they must have been; he seems more concerned about how he is going to keep the household running. I found the descriptions of their sicknesses kind of funny: "A poison caused from eating?" "Acute Indigestion?" I also love that he says the other kids are "as fat as pigs." It is hard to imagine living a life so hand to mouth that you brag about your kids being fat.

Sadly, John Lewis Palmer died later in the same year the letter was written, in August of 1919. At that point, the children were orphaned and split up between family members in GA and NC. My grandfather (Walter), Hugh, and Carl all went to Ludie's sister, Bettie Knowles Bird, and her family. They lived on a farm about eight miles from Hazelhurst, GA, I think, which is itself absolutely nowhere.

Blood Will Out

[Rollie swings silver plastic strand of beads around his head like he is going to lasso Tiller, or maybe whip her with the beads.]

Rollie, stop that this minute! You're gonna put an eye out!

Not only is this one of those things that I promised myself I would never say, but when I said it, I sounded for all the world just like my Grandma Palmer from South Georgia.

Blood will out, I suppose.

Growing Chocolate (and Wonder and Hope)

So, one of the really cool things about young kids is their total suspension of disbelief. They don't even know what disbelief is! They just walk around, looking at the world with the belief that anything is possible. It is fucking awesome. I look at my kids and wonder where I lost that ability, but know that in me? It is long, long gone. I am one cynical, disbelieving bitch. Not so cynical that I don't let them believe, though.

Which is why I answered Rollie the way I did today when we were out gardening. I had finished what I was doing, and decided to get some of the flowering things and bring them inside to enjoy. I was cutting some jasmine when Rollie said, "Mama?" "This plant is going to grow up and up and grow chocolate."

I looked at the Hydrangea, my absolute favorite flower (Not really a flower, I know!) at which he was pointing, and I thought, well, it is my favorite flower, but it would be pretty fucking cool if it was chocolate, plus, if my hydrangeas bloomed chocolate, I think we would be able to retire to my imagined farm in the middle of nowhere.

"Yeah, Rollie. It might just do that," I nodded, hopeful for a moment, and with a slight smile on my face. "It just might."

Wow. Warner. Makes Me a Little Wacky.

First of all, Mom seems to be doing pretty well. Visited her in the hospital (hospy, to family in the know) and she seems better than before. Still hoping they will keep her a while longer, as she is precious cargo, and I would be afraid that Dad and I would screw things up here at the house.

2nd of all, if my father ever says he got "really good movies" at the video store, you should be scared. That usually means that you are going to be watching Iron Eagle II. Mom and Dad have a tendency to bring home the same movie over and over, not remembering that a)it wasn't that good the first time around, and b)they already saw it. Ask them how many times they have rented the movie where Michelle Pfeiffer is dead and comes back to life (or something? have not seen it.) Anyway, the answer is "tons."

That being said, I almost keeled over when the movies Dad picked turned out to be Last King of Scotland and Borat. Unfortunately for Dad, he wasn't too jazzed about LKOS until people started bleeding a lot, and unfortunately for me, that meant he talked a lot during the first half. Dad doesn't do dialogue. He does however like to namecheck the movie Manhattan, referring to it as a "social commentary," even though I don't think he knows what that means, or if he has even ever watched the whole movie. I also think that if he knew it was directed by that Commie Woody Allen, he wouldn't talk about it so much.

All of the above two paragraphs are so not the point of this post. The point is: OMG. Forrest Whitaker is really good, and really scary as Idi Amin. I am also a little surprised that the lead kid wasn't nominated. I thought he was actually really good, and you never heard that much about his performance.

Also feeling some Darfur guilt after watching it. Like, yeah, this happened in the not-so-distant past in Uganda, but here I am sitting and watching a movie while similar shit is still happening.

Must go drink another glass of wine. Do not be jealous, as it is Cecil Wine. That means that he opened a bottle like six months ago, stuck the stopper back in, and tells visitors that it is "perfectly good." Note to Palmer guests: It is wise to bring a "hostess' gift" of whatever it is you like to drink.

p.s. Love and kisses and hugs to all of you that have called and emailed and checked in on us. We love our Mama. Glad you do too.

The Freedom to Make One's Own Mistakes

When I left the Dogwood Festival for the ER last week, I failed to get this up on Dogwood Girl first. It is too good to pass by, though.

I am not a fan of The Grateful Dead. All that noodly jam stuff drives me cuckoo. So, it was funny that my best friends from college were Grateful Dead fans. We still joke around about it. I think that they will find this humorous.

I go to the Dogwood Festival with the family. Tiller and I sit and watch the dog frisbee competition, while Todd takes Rollie to get his face painted. Five bucks and the kid gets to pick the theme. Hundreds of choices.

He chooses the stupid Grateful Dead Steal Your Face thingie. Then I have to walk around the Dogwood festival with this hippie three-year-old, people possibly thinking that I chose it for him. It is a testament to my love for him that I would even hold his hand in public.

I guess you have to let kids make their own choices, and the irony of parenthood is that even when they make the choices you don't want them to make, you still stand by them.

I'm Back (And a Little Rant)

Well, Saturday we were at the Dogwood Festival when I received a call that my Mom had been taken to the ER. When I talked to her on Friday, she was fine, and thought that she might be coming down with a cold. She mentioned having a sore throat. During Friday night, she had a 104 temperature, and Saturday morning, she got up and couldn't swallow anything. By 10 a.m., she had called 911. Her throat was closing up and she couldn't breathe. Dad had gone to the Lake on Friday - he received a call from one of the neighbors saying only that an ambulance had been at the house, and no other information. He raced to the hospital and found her in the ER.

Seems she had a severe case of Epiglottitis, which means that her epiglottis was infected. This is evidently extremely rare in adults (the diagnosing doctor called other doctors from around the hospital to come look at the case) and is fatal if not treated quickly; thank God she had the presence of mind to call 911 before it was too late. The epiglottis was swelling up and obstructing her airway. (Interestingly, George Washington reportedly died of Epiglottitis.)Once they realized this was an infection, they took cultures to figure out what was causing the infection.


While getting her breathing under control with epinephrine breathing treatments that made her act annoyingly like a speed freak for an hour or so after every one of them, and keeping her on oxygen, they moved her to ICU. By this time, Lisa and I had rushed the hour and a half drive from Atlanta to get to the hospital. We found her scared, out of it, and struggling to breathe. Right after putting her in the room, they also brought in a trach tray, which is the big package they keep around in case they need to do a tracheotomy. Based on a few years of watching ER, I know that if someone's airway is obstructed, they will intubate them (stick a tube down their throat), but evidently if your epiglottis is swollen up, it is more likely they won't be able to get a tube down, and so they will have to cut a hole in your throat to your trachea.

Suffice to say that all of this tracheotomy stuff and doctor's talking about "life-threatening" and "potentially fatal" stuff pretty much freaked our shit. She was not supposed to swallow, cough, or talk, for fear of her airway closing up.

Luckily, Lisa is a nurse, so we had just enough knowledge to scare the shit out of ourselves. At first, we were going to take shifts staying at the hospital, but when they pulled out the trach tray, Lisa, who was on first shift, thought she would feel better if i stayed too. We spent Saturday night sleeping upright in ICU waiting room chairs. Lisa had trouble sleeping. I was exhausted and managed to crash out, contorted and drooling, for over four hours straight.

Lisa and I took shifts sitting bedside in the ICU, watching the fucking vitals monitor: four numbers and the "normal" values for those numbers are seared upon my brain forevermore. When visiting hours were over (inevitably this was the time at which the doctors bothered to check in on their patients, thus making it difficult to get information out of the doctors) Lisa and I would take turns going home to sleep or shower.

It was Monday before I felt comfortable that she was going to be okay. Monday during the day, they brought in an infectious diseases doctor to see Mom. He identified her infection as being caused by a gram negative bacteria. You can read all about it through that link, but the long and short of it is that those are the "big baddies" of the bacteria world. Things like E. Coli and salmonella. The culture had not grown enough to know what exactly the bacteria was, though, so they were pulling out the big guns and giving her like five antibiotics. (All of this was through IV; Mom couldn't swallow even a sip of water until Monday.) The doctors seemed really interested in her, and very serious, and maybe even a little grave when they spoke to us. We were really frightened for her, and felt like the doctors weren't telling us something. Most of the time, we tried not to let on to Mom how scared we were for her. The rest of the time, we spend trying to figure out how to get her to shut up; Anyone who has ever met my Mom knows she will try to make friends with a lamp post. It was nearly impossible to keep her from talking to every nurse and tech who came into her room, even though the doctor told us multiple times that speaking was endangering her breathing.

I should mention that Mom has Rheumatoid Arthritis, which basically sucks ass, because it means that her immune system is compromised and she is susceptible to all sorts of nasty virus and bacteria.

On Monday night, the results finally came back, though, and she has Haemophilius Influenzae. This sounds like a flu virus, but it is actually a bacteria. The kind of funny thing is that they initially were worried that she had Diphtheria, which there has evidently been a bit of a resurgence of in the United States. Kids are vaccinated for both HIB and Diphteria (the famous "DPT" of Raising Arizona fame). Or at least kids should be, and that is where my rant comes in.

FUCK ALL OF YOU WHO ARE SO SELFISH THAT YOU DON'T VACCINATE YOUR PRECIOUS LITTLE CHILDREN.

Mom could have gotten the HIB anywhere. It is all over us. Diphtheria, though? It might be coming back. just like any number of other infectious diseases that could be prevented through vaccination.

Next time you decline a vaccination for your child, think for a second what that means to newborns, to those with compromised immune systems, and to the elderly.
Better yet, check out what a nice case of Diphtheria can do for your little precious here.

Mother fuckers.

Oh, Mom, when you get out of the hospital and read this? I love you. Glad you called 911. Sorry I cuss so much, but it is pure love cussin'.

A Couple of Firsts

Rollie had his first field trip today. I had my first experience chaperoning a group of three and four year olds. Me being in charge of a group of kids is kind of funny, as I think I still need a guide when I am out in public. I had total flashbacks of my middle school getting kicked out of the Atlanta Symphony Hall one year for bad behavior.

It was also pretty scary to put other people's children in my car and drive them around, even if I do drive like a Grandma. I had two other kids in my van, in addition to Rollie and Tiller, who seemed thrilled to be hanging with the big kids.

Note to parents: If you want someone else to take your kid in their car, do that person a big favor and know how to install your own car seat.

Note to self: Next time you volunteer to chaperone a group to a puppet show, or to anything else for that matter, don't stay out till one a.m. drinking wine with the girls the night before.

I thought sleep-deprivation and a slight hangover were bad with two kids. If I had three-year-old triplets, i would never touch a drop of alcohol ever again for fear of experiencing what I experienced on the 15 minute ride to the puppetry theater. Every time I write "puppet," i keep thinking Metallica's Master of Puppets, which my friend Owen blasted for a good year in the car on the way to high school, which was actually quieter than what I experienced this morning. Those three wouldn't shut up for a minute. There was one point where I was trying to merge onto 85 South and all four kids were screeching and screaming at top volume, and I thought momentarily about driving the van off an overpass just to shut them up.

Also, while one kid was a joy, the other one kept saying things like, "Rollie, why does your Mom drive so slow?" and "My Mom's car is faster than yours" and I know it is not a sign of maturity that I wanted to tell the kid to shut the fuck up before I kicked his mom's ass. Instead, I made myself feel better by telling him in a sweet voice, that "Yes, I think your mom is fast."

Do the Right Thing

Tiller's new favorite video on YouTube. Warning: Lots and lots of profanity, in case you're not into that kinda thing.




Good stuff. Thanks, Todd.

Our Vacay

Went to the lake for a week for Rollie's spring break. I unplugged for a week - no internet for over seven days. That was kind of strange, but much-needed.

We had a nice week, although we only had one warm day for the kids to play in the water before it turned freezing. So, to keep from getting bored and cabin feverish, we tried to stay busy. We did some "fishing" - Fishing with kids rarely means you catch anything. It just consists of sitting around talking and trying to keep the kids from throwing the rods in the water, or falling in themselves. We went to the Uncle Remus Museum in Eatonton, the birthplace of Joel Chandler Harris. We walked around fabulous downtown Eatonton. "Sleepy" describes the area to a T. Tiller and Lisa and I checked out the flea market in downtown Milledgeville. We also ate cake and had coffee at Blackbird Coffee, which is a surprisingly nice coffee shop for middle Georgia. They even have free wi-fi; I did not partake of that.

On Saturday, we bundled up the kids and went to Andalusia, the farm that was the home of Flannery O'Connor and where she lived while writing all of her novels. I have been meaning to go there for years, but the weather never cooperated. (Read: It was always too nice, and I chose to float on an inner tube drinking cheap beer out of the can, rather than following my literary desires.) The farm is on over 500 acres, and has, in addition to the antebellum farmhouse, numerous outbuildings, a pond, and they are creating some nature trails. Did I mention they have a resident donkey pony? Flossie. She is cute.

The kids just loved running around willy-nilly on the property, and seeing Flossie. Tiller and I spoke with the old woman who feeds Flossie every day, rain or shine. She drove up in a Honda CRV-type vehicle, and when she got out, I almost laughed out loud. She was wearing a long dress coat, the kind your Grandma would wear to church on Sunday, complete with a black dress hat with big red flowers on it. She and her dog, Champ, a spastic lab mix came out and fed Flossie, and Tiller and I watched the picture of this woman, her young dog, and the donkey. The woman, with her dress clothes on, tossed out a bale of hay for Flossie, the dog frolicking around the barn, and Flossie nuzzling the woman's pockets for treats. It was perfect, just like a character out of O'Connor's novels.

It was pretty cool to see the bedroom where Flannery wrote. (She lived in a downstairs room, since she couldn't walk upstairs.) They still have the room as she kept it, with her desk and typewriter placed facing away from the front windows, so that she wouldn't be distracted by the view of the pond (the equivalent to the Internet distraction of writers today?) I tried to imagine her sitting there, typing out Wise Blood on the typewriter, but it was easier imagining her stories when you walk the grounds and see how her environment played such a huge part in the settings of her writings. Andalusia is at once beautiful, especially in early spring, with everything blooming and coming alive, and still eerie as hell, as if you can hear the echoes of her characters voices emanating from the dilapidated outbuildings. I was inspired.

Sunday was Easter. We woke up and ate a buttload of candy. Tiller accidentally ate peanut butter. I am a shitty parent. Then we dressed them in their Easter outfits (note that Tiller's included leggings, rather than tights, which is so, like, something I would wear in 1990, except that hers didn't have holes in them.) My Mom and Dad were coming up that morning. Mom made a ham and homemade potato salad, which were really good, but kind of weird because I don't think of them as a meal you eat when it is 30 degrees out. Then Dad and I bundled up and hid the Easter eggs.

We froze our asses off while the kids ran around the yard finding eggs. Then we attempted to get a few good shots of the kids all dressed up. Basically, it was one big windburned, snot-nosed mess. Then we went inside, stuffed our faces, and headed home.

Poop Jokes are Funny

They really are.

Yesterday afternoon, I was changing Tiller. When one of the kids has a really large poopy diaper, I exclaim "Poop-O-Rama!" Everyone gets excited. Tiller was excited about her Poop-O-Rama, and as she is starting to mimic everything we say, she let out a gleeful, "Poop-O-Mama!!!"

Today, I had Rollie try to go on the potty. I try to remind him hourly and after eating or drinking. Today has been a banner day - so far, no poop in the diaper. Only on the potty. To my joy, Rollie said, "I have to go poop." I told him to go, go, go. He rushed to the bathroom, took off his pants and diaper, sat up on the toilet, and closed the bathroom door. He sat for a second, and I was on the couch waiting to hear something from him, when he opened up the door and darted out towards his toy box.

Me: "Did you poop?"

Rollie: "No, I just need to get a magazine."

Such a little man.

Phew! I'm Back.

You might be wondering what happened to me. Spring Break happened to me. Rollie had a week off from school, so we took the kids and went to the Lake for a week. It was nice, at least for a day or two, then it was freezing. Anyway, we got back yesterday and I am just getting back into the swing of things, but thought I'd let anybody who cares know that I didn't die or anything. I just spent a week with the family.

Oh, and I didn't get on a computer for seven whole days. Kind of refreshing to remember what it is like to live unwired for a week. I read, I cleaned house. I took a few walks. I sat in the yard and watched the moon rise. I drank not as much as one might think I would.

Of course, it was so cold that I also watched a shit load of television and somehow got addicted to a show about working on Alaskan crab boats.

But no email. No cel phone. And I mostly listened to the radio, which might sound terrible, but the local station out of Eatonton, Georgia is about the funniest thing ever. The commercials star people's grandchildren, like Lydia and Hannah (of "I'm Hannah, come see my Nana!" fame) and a commercial they play over and over for a butcher shop, I guess, with a theme song containing a chorus of "It's the meats, It's the meats, It's because of the wonderful meats!!!!"

Good stuff. Anyway, I'm back and I'm overwhelmed. Laundry, email, getting Rollie to school, worrying about frozen plants. Mold on the bread when I've already promised the pbj. Crises of that sort.

Kinda missed this place.