“You know, Lorrie, the food is all going to go to the same place.”

“Eyewww, Mom! Not while I’m eating.”

I heard Lex snickering while she wiped Eddie’s face with a washcloth.

“And what’s so funny?”

Lex beamed with pride, “She’s just like I was as a kid.”

“Was?” I pointed to her plate and repeated myself, “Was? When did now get to be was?”

Sure enough, Lex’s plate had the meat to one side, the mashed potatoes on the other, and the steamed vegetables made a perfect triangle of food that absolutely, positively, did not touch each other.

She grinned. “Okay, how about this. I’ll move my veggies right next to the mashed potatoes and they can sit side by side?”

“That’s gross, Momma!”

I stared at both of them while Mel blissfully swirled her broccoli spears through her buttered mashed potatoes before taking a bite. Well, I guess that little talk about table manners bears repeating.

Eddie picked that exact moment to spit up.  No one said a word. They just cleaned him up and sat him back in his highchair.

I had to ask before my brain exploded from the strain of trying to understand my loved ones. “None of you batted an eye when Eddie spilled the contents of his stomach.”

“Why would we?” Lex asked. “All babies spit up. It’s no big deal.”

“But the thought of your meat touching your mashed potatoes disturbs you?”

“That’s just icky, Mom! I mean, we’re not going to eat Eddie’s barf!”

How in the world did Lorrie inherit Lex’s penchant for separating her food on her plate? I was just about to ask that very question when I noticed that poor Mel’s face had gone white the moment her sister had mentioned Eddie’s barf.

“Momma, I don’t feel so….”

Another memorable dinner at the Walters had just come to an end.

I love my sister. I really do. As siblings, we were childhood playmates and tattle tales.  As teenagers, we were each other’s confidants and rivals. We have an unspoken bond that says no matter how stupid the idea, no matter how many times we try the same thing to the same disastrous end, we will defend to our last breath the right of each other to give something ridiculous one more shot.

Thus, Thanksgiving at the Walters is being brought to us by Jeannie, my sister, nature’s enemy of all things culinary. She wanted to try just one more time to host Thanksgiving.

I broached the subject with Lex. “Oh, please, sweetheart. I’ll be there to help.”

Lex paced back and forth in the bedroom. I could tell she was trying her level best not to be negative, but she was also aware that as she got closer to being forty years old, her stomach had its own ideas about what she is allowed to put into it. And none of those ideas included poisoning at the hand of her dear sister-in-law.

“One condition. It’s all I ask.”

“Anything.” The way Lex looked so pitifully at me made me cave in immediately. She could ask anything of me. That’s how effective her pout is with me. Fortunately, she saves it for really important things, like when I’m too tired for, well, you know.

“Ask Jeannie to cook the meal here.  We have a much larger kitchen and there are places to put things. We’ve got that huge fridge and you and Jeannie can do the prep work here on Wednesday so she won’t be overwhelmed.”

“That’s really thoughtful of you, love. No wonder I married you.”  I patted the bed next to me, inviting Lex to join me.

I tugged her down beside me and wrapped myself around her.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Lex grinned and could hardly suppress chuckling before letting me in on the joke. “Rodney told me what you were up to, so I’ve already put a fire extinguisher in each lower cabinet, just in case.  And there’s ipecac in each upper cabinet. And there are 2 buckets of sand in the mud room.  And since Rodney will be here, we’ve got medical care covered.”

Later that day, we told the girls that their Aunt Jeannie would be cooking Thanksgiving dinner at our house. Lorrie looked as if she were going to cry.  “Aw, mom. You know Aunt Jeannie can’t cook. She can barely manage peanut butter sandwiches. If it weren’t for microwave ovens, they’d all starve.”

Being the helpful sort, Lex had to go there. “How’d she set fire to the last one, anyway?” Lex pretended to ponder the circumstances of each disaster.  “I remember when she plugged one into a 220 line. Then there was the one that caught on fire cause she put an aluminum pan in it.”

“Mommy, remember the last one? Aunt Jeannie… mmph!” Lex had her hand clamped securely over Lorrie’s mouth. She’d noticed that I was going from chagrined to pissed off in record time.

“If you are all quite done.” I glared at Lex and Lorrie. Melanie had crawled up onto my lap and hugged me.

“I love you, Mommy. Don’t be mad.  Aunt Jeannie can cook here. Maybe our oven won’t lock her food inside.” Then she planted a big kiss on my cheek and gave me another hug. “I like Aunt Jeannie’s baloney sandwiches.”

That was my undoing. I had reversed course and started laughing uncontrollably. I hugged my daughter and gave Lex the “all clear” nod that let them know they’d live to see another day.

We did have turkey on Thanksgiving.  Martha and Charlie brought it up from their cottage and it was wonderful.  Her dressing rocked, too.  I made the mashed potatoes and green beans.  Lorrie made her first pumpkin pie.  As for Jeannie and Lex, we got them to watch a few cooking shows on television and they decided they could handle the job of expediters. And they got to wear the “Kiss the cook” aprons as they nibbled on everything to make sure it all tasted good.

Rodney was just thrilled that he could watch football with Charlie and not have to use his medical skills for at least one meal. Another disaster averted!

Happy Thanksgiving from the Walters gang.

We pulled up into the school parking lot and noticed that several of the teachers’ cars were gone. This was normal since it was already 90 minutes since school let out. Lights were on in some of the classrooms, so we figured that Mrs. Carlson was waiting for us in her room.  We left all the documents and pictures we’d brought with us in the truck and decided to just let our sparkling personalities do the work.

You’d think we’d discuss even a little strategy, or who was going to be ‘good cop’ vs. ‘bad cop’.  But we didn’t. After a dozen or so years together, it was entirely unnecessary, like how Lex knew to pull me back when I was about to go after that mead tramp with a lance aimed at her posterior. She could feel the tension, the little things that told her I was particularly homicidal, and, especially “and” not to laugh about it later.

We went inside and let the office staff know we were there.  I asked for the principal and showed him the composition and the note that Mrs. Carlson sent home with Lorrie.  He looked at them and handed them back without a word. When he returned to his office the school secretary looked them over and asked, “What do you have in mind, Lex?”

“Nothing requiring hospitalization or the sheriff’s intervention,” Lex assured her.

“Says who?”

The school secretary snickered and patted me on the shoulder.  “I tend to side with your wife, Lex. This new sub thinks the sun rises and sets on her brilliance.” Then she leaned in to whisper, “Big f’n pain in the ass, if you ask me. Big city stuck up.” Waving us on to the door, she said, “Just let me know where to bury the body when you get done.  Good luck!”

I felt better. I could tell that Lex did, too.  We decided that the best way to deal with a pompous ass is to keep them off kilter. Lex unbuttoned her shirt so that the start of her cleavage could be seen. I handed her my brush and she used it to tame her hair and make herself look downright irresistible. “Mr. Walter, indeed!” she said, and grinned at me.

I lost focus for a moment.  See, I have a particularly strong admiration for Lex’s assets. Once, a view of her cleavage nearly caused me to drive off a bridge. The attraction is as strong as ever, even after all these years.

I snapped to. Literally, because Lex was snapping her fingers and waving her hands in front of my face to bring me back from that erotic haze that had swept over me.  “Okay, I can do this.” We talked strategy for a moment and then headed off to Mrs. Carlson’s room. I went in first.

“Hello? I’m Amanda Walters.”  Then I held out my hand for her to shake.  “Lex will be right in.”

“Eleanor Carlson. I’m your daughter’s teacher.” She took a moment to size me up, which was okay, since I was doing the same with her.  “Will your husband be long?”

“I’m not really long, just tall.” Lex said in the sultriest voice that I rarely heard outside of our bedroom.

If that teacher’s head hadn’t been attached to her neck, her head would have flown out of the window from whipping it around to get a look at the owner of that voice.

The teacher started backing up as Lex stalked her. Really. Lex looked like a jungle cat stalking her prey. It’s not so much the intimidation, it’s the attitude. It’s the sultry, sexy way that Lex can use to bring an opponent to their knees begging. Hell, it’s why my very straight sister cannot resist flirting with Lex. This woman, my wife, my love, the very essence of sexy, was making Mrs. Carlson back up into the student desks, chairs, and finally her own desk.

“Let’s see if we can clear the air, okay?”

Mrs. Carlson nodded.

“As you can see, I am not a man.”

Mrs. Carlson nodded.

“So referring to me as Lorrie’s father is out of the question.”

Mrs. Carlson nodded.

“Lorrie is spelled “L-o-r-r-i-e”, got it?”

Mrs. Carlson nodded.

“Our last name is Walters—with an ‘s’.”

Mrs. Carlson nodded.

“Amanda is my wife and the mother of our two daughters, Lorrie and Mel, and our son, Eddie.”

Mrs. Carlson nodded.

“Lorrie will probably inherit our ranch when she is grown, if that is her wish.”

Mrs. Carlson nodded.

“It seems to me that the only one having gender identification problems is you. I think that Lorrie has correctly identified her sister, Mel, as the one who likes to dress up like a princess, and her brother, who isn’t toilet trained yet, as the one with the poopy drawers.”

I’m sorry, but I have to say, that the way she looked at the cowering teacher even made words like “poopy drawers” sound wonderful.

Lex handed the composition to me. My turn at bat.

“So, Mrs. Carlson.”

She looked at me while trying to compose herself.

“Exactly what grammatical mistakes were there in this composition?”

She just stared at me without answering.

“Um hum.  Aside from your presumptuous belief that you know better about our household than our own daughter does, does this composition meet the requirements for the assignment?”

She weakly nodded her head again. “I…uh…I’ll just change that grade, okay?” She sat down at her desk and changed the grade on the paper and in her grade book to ‘A’.

“If you have any questions about our life, just ask.”

Mrs. Carlson stood and looked like she was trying to make up her mind as to whether she should hold her hand out for a handshake or not.

I took her hand and briefly shook it. As I was about to turn to leave, Lex leaned in and said in her deepest, darkest, usually saved for when we’re playing our version of dress-up, voice, “If you ever berate our child, or grade her according to your own misconceptions instead of her academic merit, I’ll be back.”

Then Lex turned and swayed herself right out of the room. As we started down the corridor, we overheard, “Listen, Paul.  We need to talk about this. I don’t care what your family thinks. I’m going home. ”

We winked at the school secretary as we passed her office  and set about driving back home.  Lorrie was fairly beside herself waiting for us to tell her the outcome.  We called her to the mudroom instead of making her wait.

“Did you kick her ass?”

“Now, sweetie, is that something you should ask?” I decided to have a little fun with my child. “I mean, really?  It’s not like she’s a cattle rustler or something.”

“No, but she’s a jerk!” Lorrie insisted.

Lex pulled Lorrie into a hug.  “Amanda, Lorrie does have a point.”  Then Lex handed Lorrie her composition so she could see the corrected grade.

“Thanks!” She hugged us both and ran back to the kitchen to tell Martha.

“I bet there’s a letter of resignation on the principal’s desk in the morning.” Lex took my arm and we headed to the den to relax for a bit.

“I didn’t really want her to—“ Lex gave me that knowing grin. I confessed. “Okay, so yes I did.” I kissed Lex on the cheek.  “So, you sexy rancher, how about using that sultry voice with me for a little while? We can even play dress up.”

Lorrie came into the den and handed me the composition she’d received back from her substitute teacher today.  Lorrie’s regular teacher was out on maternity leave, and Mrs. Carlson was finishing out the school year for her.

There was a note attached to the composition, addressed to “the parents of Lorie Walter.”  The paper, itself, bore a “C-“ in red ink at the top of the first page. Lorrie was angry.

If there is one thing my daughter is good at, it’s compositions.  She typically receives the highest grades for her efforts. She has also won state writing contests for the past two years on a row. So you can imagine how disappointed with her grade she was.

I gave Lorrie a hug and promised that Lex and I would look it over and discuss it with her teacher.  She hugged me back and whispered, “Kick her ass, mom,” before she went outside to take care of her chores.

“Lorrie!” It was hard to scold my daughter when her mother was thinking the same thing. Once Lorrie was out the door, I made myself a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table and began to read.

“My Best Day, by Lorrie Walters.” I was surprised to see all the red marks and comments. For example, where Lorrie had referred to her sister, “Mel”, her teacher had crossed out sister and written, “brother.”  Lorrie mentioned how her sister loved to play dress-up, and on her best day, Mel had dressed up like a princess.  Then Lorrie mentioned her baby brother and how the only thing she didn’t like about him was when he messed his diaper.

Red marks were everywhere.  “If Mel is old enough to dress himself, why would you say he soils his diapers? And why does your brother wear a dress?”

“Huh?” I reread what Lorrie wrote and then what her teacher had written.

“You keep referring to your father, Lexington, as ‘mom’. What? Is your father one of those men who like to dress up like women? Are you confused about which parent is your mother and which is your father?”

I heard the back door bang as Lex stomped into the mud room.  She called for me and no sooner had she taken her boots off than she stomped into the kitchen, fit to be tied.  Apparently, Lorrie had caught her up on the events of the day.

“Sit.” I got her seated at the table and poured a large glass of iced tea for her.  I showed her the composition, and then she read the teacher’s note.

“Mr. and Mrs. Walter?” Lex shook her head in disbelief and read the remainder of the note.  “Needs counseling regarding gender identification.”  She continued to read. “Imagines she has a horse but won’t give its name. Keeps saying ‘Mine’.” Lex read further. “Needs encouragement to pursue a normal life because she wants to run a ranch when she is grown.”

“Martha is on her way, honey.” I grabbed my purse and Lex went back to the mud room to put her boots back on. Then I handed her the package I’d assembled for her.  “Deeds to our properties. Family pictures. Cattle counts.”

I didn’t know who to feel sorrier for. Although Lorrie was disappointed with her grade, her teacher was going to feel a lot worse once we got done with her. I opened my cell phone and punched in the number that the teacher had written on the note.  “Mrs. Carlson? This is Lorrie’s mom, Amanda.  Lex and I are on our way into town and should be at the school in twenty minutes. Good. Well we’ll see you then. Thanks.”

Lex took one more look at the composition as we climbed into her truck and sighed.  “She corrected Lorrie’s name? Good grief!”

Lex and I were lounging around in our bedroom and started talking about how our lives were in the early days of our relationship.  How we were inextricably drawn to each other. How we became necessary to each other, and how each of our senses of well being became completely tied up with the other’s.

I still look at Lex and see the much younger woman who overcame obstacle after obstacle in order to run her ranch and make a success out of it. Meanwhile, she dealt with alienation and isolation, and had been abandoned so often in her life that it’s a wonder that she trusted me so easily.

But there it is. Sometimes you just know. Sometimes you see the person, hear their voice, and you know that this is the person you’re meant to be with for the rest of your life.

Lex is that person for me.  She saved me. Not just from the creek, but from a life with no future. I know my grandparents love me. I’ve always known that. But the one-on-one commitment to another person who you want to share everything with is hard to find.  And more precious than anything.

I asked Lex if she remembered our wedding vows.  I was embarrassed to say that I don’t remember the words I said, but I do remember every emotion I felt.  Lex confessed afterwards that she couldn’t remember the words either. But then she pulled me close and kissed me.  Then she said, “I’ll never forget this.” And she kissed me again.

Some friends of ours are being married at the end of October.  Lex joins me in hoping that the day is a wonderfully blessed day for them both.  May their lives be filled with love, laughter, and the devotion that comes only with the deepest love.

Dedicated to Cindy and Cathy.

Amanda.

I’ve just come down to the den from getting cleaned up while Lex put the kids to bed.  I figured, as long as I embarrassed myself in public, I might as well do it here, too.

You all know what a Renaissance Fair is, right? In case you don’t, it’s like a county fair with a few exceptions.  The entertainers are dressed up as wandering minstrels and try to sing like minstrels did in the middle ages.  Men, women, and children dress up in period costumes, wear all manner of wigs and make up, and party like it’s 1499. There is jousting, food cooked in kettles, home made ale and honey mead.

Once in awhile you see  Star Trek aficionados who blame their costumes on some kind of worm hole they claim to have gone through. The food is okay, the costumes are eye-openers, and hand over eye closers when your child points to a codpiece and starts giggling.

The trouble started when I said I was thirsty and Lex pointed to a not too far off beverage vendor.  They were selling mead. Just as we got there, the person who’d been selling the mead left and a very buxom woman took his place. She watched us walk up to their table; rather, she watched LEX walk up to the table and barely noticed the rest of us.

Okay, so I think that my wife is gorgeous and I agree with anyone who thinks she’s an eyeful.  A “cleavage full” is a different story.  How she could mistake Lex asking for a small cup of mead for “Can I stick my nose down your boobs,” is beyond me.

Did I mention that I’ m banned from ever attending this particular Renaissance Fair again?  It was only a jousting lance.  Could I help it if she was determined to wear it up her butt?

Amanda.

It constantly amazes me how someone as intelligent, accomplished, and business savvy as my wife can be such a menace in the kitchen. Today,  I have the stomach flu and was too sick this morning to take care of things at home. Martha also had been under the weather and sent Charlie over to tell us that we were on our own.

Rather than call in the reinforcements, a.k.a. my Grandma and Grandpa Cauble, Lex took the day off and said, “It’s just feeding you guys. How hard can it be?”

I was too sick to try to talk her out of it. The kids were happily setting their mom up for failure, too.

“How about oatmeal, Momma?”

“And raisin toast.”

Baby Eddie didn’t say anything. He just sat there in his highchair making spit bubbles and laughing.

Before she had even begun to boil water, the girls were covering their ears and admonishing their mom about the words coming out of her mouth.

I suppose, for some individuals, cooking acts like a trigger for Tourettes-like behavior.

From the den, where I was lying down on the sofa, I could hear her say something about a pan, then getting the right pan, then why don’t we have the right pan for oatmeal, then a loud metal crash, loud cursing, something about why the right pan had to be all the way back in the cabinet, and a “Dammit Freckles!”

I heard the sound of the back door being slammed. More cursing. Sweeping sounds, children saying, “Oh Oh, Momma,” more cursing. And the smell of burnt toast and what I think was an oven mitt.

My Grandma and Grandpa hurried over to help  take care of Baby Eddie and me. Lex loaded the other two kids in the car and headed to town for breakfast. If she’s smart, she’ll bring back lunch and dinner, too.

Amanda.

Let me say this so that you’ll understand where I’m coming from. It’s about where I came from as opposed to where I am now.

I live in Texas. You all know that. Do you remember that I came from a particularly spoiled rich kid life in Southern California? When we want snow, we pay ridiculously high resort costs and go to the snow. It does NOT come to us. No how, no way.

Flash forward to my life now in Texas. The part of the state that our ranch is on is exempt from snow. DO YOU HEAR ME, WEATHER?

If we wanted snow, we’d go somewhere where people are equipped to drive, walk, and exist in it for more than a day. Not here on the ranch.

Yeah, yeah. Let’s talk about that movie I saw on TV the other night. Maueen O’Hara and Juliet Mills brought their “Champion” Heresford bull to Texas to start a new line of cattle by breeding them with the Texas Longhorns. Yeah, it snowed in the movie and many of the calves froze to death. Where exactly was that supposed to be? Squaw Valley have a sister resort in Texas or something?

Well, apparently, it’s here. The ranch is socked in with ice and snow. Lex and the ranch hands have gone off to deliver bales of hay to the livestock that are out in the pastures and making sure their stabled horses are all warm and cozy.

When she gets back, it’s a hot bath and hot chocolate for her. I saw that in another movie once, and I suppose its how you make cold people warmer.

There is another way I’ve heard about. How to warm Lex up when she gets home, after that hot bath and cocoa. I’m sure we can create enough heat together. Makes me smile to think about it. Yeah. Maybe snow isn’t so bad after all.

The kids are having a blast trying out their snowman making skills. Martha is keeping the girls at her place so that she can stuff them full of chocolate chip cookies and other hot tasty treats. Eddie is still young enough to require many naps, so…

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

Amanda.