Third Act With Pattie

Tag: love

  • Sassy Goes to the Cell Phone Store…Almost

    Sassy Goes to the Cell Phone Store…Almost

    Y’all, I do not understand humans.

    The cell phone store convinces them they needed newer phones…

    and then convinces them I wasn’t allowed inside.

    What the wagging tail is that about?

    So here’s what happened.

    A few days ago, we went to the cell phone store. Me, Mama, and my great niece.

    Well.
    They went.

    I was informed — very rudely, I might add — that I was “not allowed inside this location.”

    Interesting.

    Because last time I went to the cell phone store, everyone acted like I was a celebrity.

    There were pets and scratches and at least three people telling me I was “a Very Good Girl,” which, frankly, should have earned me store membership privileges for life.

    But suddenly:
    “No dogs allowed.”

    Excuse me?

    I have been to Home Depot.
    Lowe’s.
    TJ Max – oh I love TJ Max.
    Wally World.
    The bank.
    And once, against my better judgment, Hobby Lobby.

    But apparently the cell phone people have other standards now.

    So I waited in the car.

    Now before anyone gets dramatic:

    Mama leaves the air running.

    Sometimes the windows are cracked too so I can supervise the parking lot and monitor important neighborhood smells.

    And let me tell you something.

    Humans are WEIRD around dogs in cars.

    Every single person walking by looked at me like I was either:

    1. deeply oppressed,
    2. preparing a jailbreak,
      or
    3. about to give an interview about unsafe working conditions.

    Ma’am.

    I am lying on a cooled leather seat covered in soft cozy blankets

     Grooving to smooth jazz

    with climate control and

    unrestricted access to french fry smells,

    Honey, I am fine.

    Meanwhile, inside the store, the Younger Humans were apparently looking at phones.

    Again.

    Apparently the one they already had — the glowing rectangle they’ve been emotionally attached to for eleven straight months — is suddenly unacceptable because this rectangle has “better cameras” and “more storage.”

    Every year humans convince themselves the newest phone will somehow change their lives.

    And every year they still walk into poles while texting.

    I simply do not understand this generation’s emotional attachment to rectangles.

    They stare at them constantly.
    They carry them everywhere.
    They panic if they lose one for eleven seconds.
    And according to Mama, they use them to “leave messages for friends.”

    Which seems unnecessarily complicated.

    Why type paragraphs into glowing rectangles when you could just eave pee mail like civilized creatures?

    And do not even get me started on talking into the thing.

    Every time Daddy calls Mama, he says:
    “Put Sassy on the phone.”

    Dude.

    I do not understand the expectations here.

    I hear him doing the sweet talk:
    “Hiiiiii Sassy girl…”
    “Whatcha doin’?”
    “Are you being good?”

    Meanwhile I am sitting there staring at the phone like:
    …what exactly is my role in this conversation?

    Am I supposed to discuss neighborhood squirrels?
    Give updates on my snack schedule?
    Review the quality of the blankets in the back seat?

    Honestly, the entire system feels very disorganized.

    Finally,  

    and this is the last thing I’m going to say about these phones,

    why is everyone always looking down now?

    Nobody is paying attention anymore.

    A squirrel could launch an entire criminal enterprise in the parking lot, and these people would miss it because they’re busy poking glowing rectangles with their thumbs.

    Meanwhile, from my perfectly climate-controlled observation post, I noticed:
    three spilled drinks,
    a suspicious pigeon,
    a toddler covered in cracker residue,
    two unattended shopping carts,
    and a lady carrying Chick-fil-A.

    I am not saying I was the only responsible adult in that parking lot.

    But honestly, at this point, I feel like I carried the entire surveillance operation by myself.

    🐾 Sassy

    P.S. Today we went to TJ Maxx and Hobby Lobby. They had no concerns about my presence whatsoever.

    Funny how that works. 🐾

  • The Back Rows

    The Back Rows

    There are certain moments in loving a child that sit quietly in your chest for a long time afterward.

    Watching Liddle S’kiddle graduate high school was one of them.

    We are unbelievably proud of her.
    Proud of the hard work.
    Proud of the discipline.
    Proud of the long nights and early mornings and all the ordinary days that somehow added up to this extraordinary milestone.

    She graduated with honors, and she earned every bit of it.

    As the ceremony began, the honor graduates and graduates with distinction were seated in the front rows, decorated in stoles and regalia that reflected years of academic achievement. They were recognized and applauded, rightly so, for what they had accomplished.

    And their families cheered with the kind of joy that only comes from watching someone you love achieve something they worked hard for.

    We clapped proudly right along with them.

    But somewhere in the middle of the ceremony, my eyes kept drifting to the back rows.

    The students whose victories were less decorated, but no less hard-won.
    The ones the ceremony said less about…
    but whose stories may have required just as much strength.

    And I found myself wondering about them.

    How many had worked late shifts after school?
    How many had gone home carrying burdens nobody else could see?
    How many had walked through heartbreak, anxiety, loss, instability, exhaustion, or responsibilities far beyond their years?
    How many had simply fought like hell just to cross that stage?

    Several had earned scholarships.
    Many are headed to college.
    Others are entering trades, jobs, military service, or lives that will require just as much courage and determination as any university classroom.

    And when their names were called, I noticed something else.

    Their families often cheered the loudest.

    Not because they loved their children more.
    But maybe because they understood, in a deeply personal way,

    just how hard-won that diploma really was.

    Because sometimes graduating with honors is the miracle.

    And sometimes graduating at all is.

    Both deserve applause.

    And so, we celebrate all of them.
    The scholars.
    The overcomers.
    The exhausted kids who kept going anyway.
    The students who succeeded publicly and the ones who succeeded quietly.

    The ones in the front rows.
    The ones in the back.

    The graduates whose accomplishments were announced to the room…
    and the graduates whose strength may have only been fully understood by the people cheering hardest for them.

    Because every student who crossed that stage carried a story.
    And every single one deserved their moment when their name was called.

    Maybe that is what I will remember most about graduation night.

    Not just the honors and distinctions.
    But the reminder that perseverance does not always wear decorative cords.

    Sometimes it simply wears a cap and gown
    and keeps going anyway.

    -Pattie

  • For The Ones Missing From The Table

    For The Ones Missing From The Table

    Memorial Day often arrives wrapped in sunshine, cookouts, lake days, and the unofficial beginning of summer.

    But beneath all of that is something sacred.

    Today, we remember the men and women who never made it home.
    The ones who gave up ordinary tomorrows so the rest of us could keep living ours.

    And we remember the families who kept going without them.
    The spouses, children, parents, and loved ones who carried on while holding a loss most of us cannot fully imagine.

    May we honor them not just with flags and ceremonies…
    but by loving all people well, appreciating the freedoms we rush past, protecting the promise of “We the People” for everyone, and remembering that somebody paid dearly for them.

    And maybe today…
    we widen our circles a little, reach for each other a little more gently, and hold our people a little closer.

    -Pattie

  • Domestic Squatting: A Personal Tail

    Domestic Squatting: A Personal Tail

    For the past FIVE days, my best frienemy Hennie has been staying at my house.

    Hennie belongs to Mama’s granddaughter, my niece.
    Which, according to Mama’s completely unverified family math, makes ME Hennie’s great aunt.

    Honestly, that feels correct.
    I do have strong opinions and chronic disappointment in other people’s decisions.

    Also, I am older. 

    Now Hennie is a white chiweenie (half chihuahua and half weenie dog?) and only weighs seven pounds, but she has the confidence of a much larger problem.

    And listen…
    I love her.

    But also?

    She is exhausting.

    From the minute she arrives, the entire household becomes chaos.
    We run.
    We wrestle.
    We bark at things that are absolutely our business.
    We conduct perimeter security like two emotionally unstable park rangers.

    At first, it’s fun.

    Then eventually Hennie remembers who she is.

    A tiny loud girl with absolutely no boundaries.

    For example:
    Hennie insists we all go outside every fourteen minutes.

    Urgently.

    Like there has been a national emergency involving squirrels.

    So out we go.

    Then the second Mama opens the door to let us back in, Hennie suddenly becomes “a sunbathing girl.”

    She refuses to move.

    Just lays there in the blazing heat with her tiny legs stretched out.  Honestly, Hennie is less dog outside and more tiny desert lizard with anxiety.

    Meanwhile it is eighty-something degrees.

    I am hot.

    Hennie is laying in direct sunlight like she’s trying to recharge herself.

    And another thing…

    When we do go back inside she steals MY section of the sectional.

    MY section.

    My special, reserved section that no human even tries to steal.

    But little Hennie has her own rules.

    She also tries to steal my food.

    Now let me explain something.

    Hennie has her OWN bowl.
    Her OWN food.
    Her OWN tiny portions.

    She weighs seven pounds.
    She needs approximately ten pieces of kibble and a positive attitude to survive.

    But every single time Mama feeds us, Hennie immediately abandons her own bowl and comes trotting over to mine like she’s conducting a quality control inspection.

    Then she eats my food while I stand there in complete disbelief.

    I swear.
    One day I am going to put her in her place.

    Probably.

    Maybe.

    Unless she barks first.

    And the attitude.

    The audacity.

    At one point she looked directly at me like:
    “Oh. Were you eating this?”

    Mama laughed.
    Daddy laughed.
    I did not laugh. 

    I was one inconvenience away from legal representation.

    By this morning, I had stopped fighting back.
    I would just stand there staring at Hennie.

    There is apparently a proverb about guests and fish becoming a problem after three days.

    By Day Five, I would like to formally support that research.

    But then…

    Today…

    We took Hennie home, back to her own house.

    Honestly?
    The ride home was heavenly.

    No barking.
    No sectional theft.
    No tiny backyard hostage situations.
    No food-related betrayals.

    Peace.

    When we got home…

    I walked directly to my section …
    turned around three times for emotional reasons…
    collapsed dramatically into my rightful place…
    and slept like a woman who had finally reclaimed her nation.

    But that was hours ago.

    And now I miss her.

    A little.

    Apparently I’d gotten used to the chaos.

    💗🐾
    Sassy


    Great Aunt
    Section Owner
    Victim of Domestic Squatting

    If you’ve ever had your favorite seat stolen by a guest, I expect your full support in the comments.

    And subscribe, obviously. Somebody around here needs to be on my side. 💗🐾

  • Happy Mother’s Day

    Happy Mother’s Day

    Yesterday my cousin and I were talking about our mothers.

    Which is something we’ve done, in one form or another, our entire lives.

    Our dads were brothers.
    Our moms were the daughters-in-law who became great friends.

    Her mother was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She pierced my ears the old-fashioned way — behind my father’s back — which honestly only added to her glamour. I wanted to be just like her.

    My mother was five feet tall, fearless, and completely uninterested in suffering fools politely. She did not believe in saying the “proper” thing if the truthful thing was available. My cousin wanted to be like her.

    Then life did what life sometimes does.

    My aunt died when we were teenagers, and for a while my mother tried to help fill that impossible space. But grief is heavy. Life is messy. And nobody really knows how to carry all of it perfectly.

    My cousin eventually went to live with our aunt — our dads’ sister. The aunt who ruled the brothers, cooked enough food for an army, and somehow made everybody feel welcome exactly as they were. Her house was the original “come as you are” zone… with a side of unsolicited honesty.

    We both wanted to be like her too.

    Yesterday’s conversation covered all of it: admiration, conflict, exasperation, laughter, misunderstandings, and finally the thing you usually only learn when you’re older yourself…

    None of them were perfect.
    But every one of them loved us the best way they knew how.

    And honestly? That turns out to matter more than getting everything right.

    So today, on Mother’s Day, I’m thinking about all the women who step into the gaps life creates — mothers, aunts, grandmothers, sisters, cousins, friends, and all the women who somehow become family even when they didn’t start that way.

    We are who we are because you showed up.

    Even when you were tired.
    Even when you were winging it.
    Even when we didn’t appreciate it until years later.

    Happy Mother’s Day to the women who loved us through it anyway.