A Musing Mother 6

Once upon a time there was dirt. A woman saw the dirt and said, "Oh, joy! Dirt! I shall plant a garden." The woman then went to the market and bought a wagonful of steer manure. She wondered what the difference was between refuse from a steer and refuse from a heifer but she applied the manure to the dirt, anyway. Once the manure was spread and turned within the soil, the woman made a plan. She drew out a map for how her garden would bring her so much joy. She went to the market and bartered for seeds wherein she planted the seeds in nice, semi-straight rows. She caged and tied up her tomato plants, watered, weeded, and watched. To her amazement, plants grew. They grew and grew and the woman was happy. She was happy until she realized those plants were weeds. The woman and her children spent many hours pulling the weeds. Later, when nobody could hear, she coaxed her soil to produce vegetables. When this seemed to no avail, she threatened, quickly repented, prayed, sang, a...

I have been invited to a casual college reunion this Sunday where I am going to see old friends from 23 years ago. Next week I have my 25th high school class reunion where I will, again, see old friends from days of yore. Remember when I was 18-22, anybody? I was pretty darn darling. I was all of 100 lbs on a bad day, had hair to heaven, shoulder pads, coordinating fuscia earrings for my bright button down shirt with a tie, and insensible shoes. Really, really cute. The questions I pose are as follows: Do I dig up those leg warmers/shoulder pads, earrings, and too-big-sweater? I know I won't be able to fit into the pin strip pants. How do I rat my hair to stand up like that again? Can I borrow someone's perky chest? I can't find mine. Oh, there it is! It was hiding at my belly button.

You know those blogs that have 45 widgets on the side of their posts listing their cute little sponsors? Those are the bloggers who are rewarded for being incredibly witty, pensive, or introspective. Unfortunately for those poor people, they also have to endorse products they know nothing about OR they get sent stuff so THEN they have to endorse the product even if they don't like them. And so, it is with a heavy heart, I feel the need to endorse my sponsors' merchandise. Ready? Here I go. (Cue chirping crickets) And so we have established that I am a grassroots blogger. I have no sponsors. I can say anything I want without fearing retribution from sponsors. I'm blogging because my little world revolves around me. Cool, huh? So anything I decide to dis or endorse is my own opinion. A little background is in order first. I have wanted a mother's necklace that is my style. I contacted Tiffany at the Silver Cottage and told her the names of my children. The only directi...

Sunday is a day of rest. NOT! I decided to share some really (cough) fun games we play on Sunday. These games start with all six members of my family filing into the chapel for church and sitting down. Every person has enough space. Our hair is combed and shirts are tucked in. We start out smiling. Musical Chairs: Before the opening hymn, we have our places. Somewhere during the meeting, my four year old son hijacks my seat at least twice. There are two moves. The 11 year old girl gets her feelings hurt by the teenager so we switch places. Someone starts fighting. Another move. Every so often someone needs to be taken out and sit to "think about what you have done." I honestly don't remember being in the same seat I started with at church. Ever. Undress Mom: Oh, yes, this is a real game. 4 year old boys are fascinated with buttons. If I am not paying very close attention, my shirt can be open to my belly button in no time at all. All of the children like m...

When I was 10, I worked for and earned my first little pink diary with a lock. It was easily picked. Regardless, I poured in my little heart and soul and hid it every day. My brother found it, read it, and teased me about it. I still have it and hide it to protect that little 10 year old girl. When I was 12, I decided to start up again. I took lined paper and stapled them together. It was puberty which meant a very tumultuous time. I wrote in it religiously and hid it between the mattress and box springs of my bed. I would have died if anybody read what I wrote. I actually don't remember much besides "I love Robert Johnson and he likes me, too," but I would still protect that adolescent if I could find the paper. I graduated to a formal journal when my mother gave me one for Christmas at the age of 14. This was older adolescence but still quite personal. I continued keeping an accurate record (according to my perceptions) for the next 12 years. It is a record of my journe...

I overindulged and I paid for it. The kids really wanted to see Harry Potter and frankly, I did too. I decided to take them to a matinee showing which is slightly less expensive than selling my left kidney. Of course, you aren’t supposed to bring in outside food and drinks so smuggling was out of the question. Okay, it wasn’t out of the question but what kind of mother am I to teach my children that rules only apply if they save us money? And so I quickly gathered an arsenal of Capri Suns, bottled water, a Diet Coke (me), various crackers, and M&Ms in individual baggies and stuffed them into my purse. I herded my herd from the house to the van, from the van to the theater and into seats. My 9 year old son (brilliant boy) had the great idea to go the bathroom before the movie started. The boys and I went. When we came out we passed the concession stand. Actually, they passed the concession stand. I was lured by the smell of buttery popcorn and justified getting the bucket of...

Background: I go to WalMart as infrequently as I possibly can. I don't like WalMart. It's not because of the tempting "Puppies For Sale" sign perpetually held in the far North end of the parking lot. Nor is it the parade of women over the age of 60 in short shorts and belly shirts. I can even tolerate the unattended children riding bikes around the store and running a tire up my leg. The toothless man with the large tattoo covering his entire upper torso in a wife beater shirt who likes to come on to me is at least flattering. He gives me options if my husband ever walks out on me. No, the real problem at my closest WalMart is the checkers who take F.O.R.E.V.E.R. to scan my purchases. On Saturday I got in "Jeff's" lane. He was animately friendly. However, this significantly slowed his job performance. By the time I got to the front of the line, I discovered why he was so slow. You see, he mistook me for someone who wanted to bond and form a close, perso...