The Median Sib

When I was a child, my mother and father gave me the nickname Cabbie. I wrote about it awhile back. It always made me feel special when they called me that. Although my mother chose the nickname, I remember my father using it more often, and it’s tied into my memories of him.

A few years ago when my first granddaughter, Sweet Stuff, was born, I gave her a stuffed animal - a soft little brown dog. My daughter decided to call the dog “Cabbie” in my honor. Cabbie quickly became Sweet Stuff’s favorite toy - the one she HAD to have in order to go to sleep or for comfort when she was upset. When I realized how much she loved Cabbie, I checked eBay and bought 5 or 6 identical stuffed animals - just in case anything ever happened to Cabbie. However, having extra Cabbies didn’t help. Sweet Stuff knows the REAL Cabbie, and whenever she’d leave Cabbie at school or home, she wouldn’t accept one of the substitutes. Cabbie is now worn and dirty and the fur is worn off in places. The thread from some of the stitches is loose. The photo above is (obviously) one of the substitute Cabbies.

This past week Sweet Stuff’s class studied pets - especially dogs. On Friday the children brought in their favorite stuffed dogs for a class dog show. There was no doubt what Sweet Stuff would bring. Cabbie went to school for the dog show.

When the awards were announced, Sweet Stuff was THRILLED (to put it mildly) when Cabbie won a blue ribbon for “Oldest and Most Loved.” I got a call as soon as she got home from school telling me about it. I’m ridiculously pleased that Sweet Stuff loves Cabbie so much, and I’m ridiculously pleased that she’s so happy about the blue ribbon. BOTH the real Cabbies won that award.

I just read an insightful post from Baldilocks comparing two prominent women newsmakers from the past week. Go - Read. She expresses eloquently what I’ve felt all along. It comes down to dignity, respect and honor.

Nature woke me around 5:45 this morning. After a trip to the bathroom, I decided to come upstairs and check email before going back to bed. It’s Saturday after all, and the opportunity to sleep late is a treat that is usually reserved for only Saturdays. One of my emails was from my mother (of Ruthlace fame), and I wrote a quick reply to it. A few minutes later, I got the following email from my mother - in VERY large print:

Get back to bed! It’s too early to be up.

Yes, M’am! You don’t ever stop mothering your kids.

I’m finding that having morning bus duty can be enlightening. I greet the children as they first walk into the school from the buses. Then another teacher and I watch over the children in the gym and try to maintain some semblance of order and routine for 10 minutes before the bell rings for the children to go to their classes.

This morning, a kindergartener came in crying. Her older sister had her arms around her. I asked, “What’s wrong?”

Older sister: “Her back’s hurting bad.”

I bent down to talk to the kindergartener. “How did you hurt your back.”

Older sister again: “She wouldn’t get out of bed and Mama whupped her.”

“No,” the kindergartener corrected her, “Mama set me down hard and hurt my back.”

I sent her immediately to the clinic and talked with the guidance counselor. You just never know what kids are dealing with when they come to school.