(Originally published April 28, 1982)
It doesn't take a lot of skill or know-how to become a biological parent (the most under-developed nations are full of them), BUT it takes lots of love - patience - understanding - and sometimes tears, to become worthy of the beautiful title in the world MOTHER.
Now, MOTHERS come in all sizes (tall, medium, and short), (fat, skinny and just right), and colors (black, brown, white, red, and yellow.) Some have "happy" dispositions. Some, after a hard day with a bunch of kids, have lousy dispositions. Some are strict ("No. you cannot stay out all night after the Prom"). Some are lenient ("Sure. Invite the whole graduating class over for breakfast!"). Some of us are MOTHERS by choice - and some are just victims of circumstance.
What constitutes a good "MOTHER"? I'm sure I don't know. If you would ask 500 children that question - you would get 500 different answers and here are just a few:
A GOOD MOTHER IS . . .
One who makes sure you always have clean sox in the drawer (and they match).
One who will blow on a cut while putting iodine on it.
One who cooks one tiny fish ( minnow size).
One who cries with you when you bury your pet snake.
One who can find a whole shoestring one minute before the bus comes.
One who gives you an Easter Basket, and you just turned 29.
One who is nice to your friends, even the weird ones.
One who will paint your room the school color - purple.
One who thinks you are pretty or handsome, even when you are sure you aren't.
One who swats you on the "B .. "when you are wrong, then hugs you for no reason at all.
One who is there when you need her, and stands back when you don't without getting her feelings hurt.
All mothers aren't great - but let's face it - neither are all children. Some mothers I know must have attained "saint hood" to put up with the things their children did. I'm sure Whistler's Mother never would have never him a paint brush if she had known he was going to paint that lousy picture of her. Henry Ford's mother must be proud to know Hank liked her cooking so well, he named a car after it (Pinto).
Now President Reagan's mother has a right to be upset - never did she think he would call his wife "Mommie". Lillian Carter must have been mortified when she heard Billy still wasn't "potty trained". And if Mrs. Franklin hadn't been a lenient Mom and let little Benjamin play out in the rain with his kite, we still would be eating dinner and watching TV by candlelight. Elizabeth Taylor's Mom, I am sure, didn't mean it when she said, "When at first you don't succeed, try, try, again". The "Mona Lisa's" mom is probably still wondering why "Mona" has such a smile on her face. Mrs. Graham didn't know what she was saying when she yelled, "For Heaven's sake, Billy, will you quit talking" - or maybe she did. Bo Derek's mom just knew she wouldn't make it in business, she could only count to 10.
Just leave you with one thought, "LOVE" the Mother you have. They only come one to a customer and there are no refunds or exchanges.
-GRANNY
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Daylight Savings
(Originally published April 21, 1982)
Well, the government is right on time again. Just when you are licking your wounds and about to recover from the last assault "Income Tax", they "zap" us with good 'ole "Daylight Savings Time". For over 15 years we have gone along with "their little joke" and I am about to rebel.
I am familiar with all kinds of "savings" -"savings accounts" -"savings bonds" -"saving souls", "saving yourself' until you are married" and during, the big one (WWII) I was the champion "saver" of aluminum foil from cigarette packages, but I sure wish some government official would explain to me, how in the heck can you save an hour of sunlight? I have tried by "locking it in a vault," "catching a few rays in a brown paper bag," "pulling the shades when I find a whole room of the glitter," but it always disappears when the sun goes down.
Now, maybe this isn't much to get 'riled' over, but doesn't the government know how much trouble this causes the masses?
I wonder how many people are still trying to re-set their sun dials or program a stomach not to get hungry for another hour. It's no wonder the weary mothers of America are about to march on Washington - just when your get kids in the habit of going to sleep at 8:00 PM, when it is nice and dark, we are given another hour of sunshine.
Another thing that bothers me is what kind of 'dividends' the government plans to pay us on the 'savings'. To be fair, how about 15 minutes a week, compounded semi-annually. Let's see, that comes to approximately ... Oh, never mind, they would goof that up too. They would have to rewrite the calendar and some "big wheels" would probably have Saturday coming on Monday - let's leave well enough alone.
And doesn't the government know I am a busy lady (trying to get enough together to pay income taxes again next year). I really don't have time to dash outside each morning, run from tree to tree like the "town crier" calling "wake up and chirp little birdies - you think it is 4:00 AM, but Capitol Hill says
5:00 AM."
Well cheer up, we only have six more months of this. Americans are known for our strength, we can make it, one day at a time.
-GRANNY
Well, the government is right on time again. Just when you are licking your wounds and about to recover from the last assault "Income Tax", they "zap" us with good 'ole "Daylight Savings Time". For over 15 years we have gone along with "their little joke" and I am about to rebel.
I am familiar with all kinds of "savings" -"savings accounts" -"savings bonds" -"saving souls", "saving yourself' until you are married" and during, the big one (WWII) I was the champion "saver" of aluminum foil from cigarette packages, but I sure wish some government official would explain to me, how in the heck can you save an hour of sunlight? I have tried by "locking it in a vault," "catching a few rays in a brown paper bag," "pulling the shades when I find a whole room of the glitter," but it always disappears when the sun goes down.
Now, maybe this isn't much to get 'riled' over, but doesn't the government know how much trouble this causes the masses?
I wonder how many people are still trying to re-set their sun dials or program a stomach not to get hungry for another hour. It's no wonder the weary mothers of America are about to march on Washington - just when your get kids in the habit of going to sleep at 8:00 PM, when it is nice and dark, we are given another hour of sunshine.
Another thing that bothers me is what kind of 'dividends' the government plans to pay us on the 'savings'. To be fair, how about 15 minutes a week, compounded semi-annually. Let's see, that comes to approximately ... Oh, never mind, they would goof that up too. They would have to rewrite the calendar and some "big wheels" would probably have Saturday coming on Monday - let's leave well enough alone.
And doesn't the government know I am a busy lady (trying to get enough together to pay income taxes again next year). I really don't have time to dash outside each morning, run from tree to tree like the "town crier" calling "wake up and chirp little birdies - you think it is 4:00 AM, but Capitol Hill says
5:00 AM."
Well cheer up, we only have six more months of this. Americans are known for our strength, we can make it, one day at a time.
-GRANNY
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Pet Peeves
(Originally published April 14, 1982)
I am so glad Miss Spring has finally evicted that Old Man Winter and can't say that I am sorry to see him go as he was a lousy tenant. Never did see such a grumpy, gripey old man. Think some of his personality rubbed off on me as I sure have acquired a bunch of "PET PEEVES" this winter.
Gee, do I feel better getting all this garbage out of my system. The sun is out and the flowers are beginning to bloom. It's going to be a GREAT DAY.
-GRANNY
I am so glad Miss Spring has finally evicted that Old Man Winter and can't say that I am sorry to see him go as he was a lousy tenant. Never did see such a grumpy, gripey old man. Think some of his personality rubbed off on me as I sure have acquired a bunch of "PET PEEVES" this winter.
- CHAIN LETTERS - My mailbox must have "Granny Gullible" written all over it or a magnet that attracts this unusual mail, as I have received letters promising everything from FAME and FORTUNE, to threats of "PASSING ON TO THE GREAT CHAIN LETTER IN THE SKY", if the chain broken. Well, to date, FAME has eluded me and I am still waiting for my FORTUNE, but to keep from "PASSING ON," I've sent out prayers, poems, books and even a lock of my hair (it must work, I'm still here).
- TELEPHONE SOLICITORS -Now don't get me wrong, I know jobs are important and I am all for full employment, but PHONE SOLICITORS need a new title such as MEDIUM or MIND READER. How else do they know the minute I step into the tub or shower - get on the top rung of a ladder with a drippy paint roller or relax in the recliner, to ring the phone? Beats me.
- COMPUTER LETTERS -Now this one is a "loo-loo". You cannot argue with a machine (I've found that out with my typewriter - I write TOMATO - it writes TOE-MAH-TOE). About the fourth letter I receive from MR. COMPUTER, telling me that my payment is late while I am holding a cancelled check that was cashed two days before the payment was due, just about causes me to "Blow my Computer Top." Let's face it, they are just "cold hearted and unfeeling" - DOWN WITH COMPUTER LETTERS.
- STANDING IN LINE AT THE BANK - No matter which line I get in - the next line moves faster. Inevitably I get behind someone depositing their LIFE SAVINGS (all in pennies) or someone trying to prove "their checkbook is right" but HALLELUJAH! - this one I have solved by going to the drive-in bank, (sure wish that car ahead would move on). How can anyone miss the slide-out drawer and drop all their pennies?
- For the last half hour I have been trying to wrap a gift, if I can ever find the end of the SCOTCH TAPE. Houdini wouldn't do a better job of disappearing than the end of the roll. I have just sent my Senator a request to put a bill before Congress requiring all tape manufacturers to include a "TAPE END FINDER" with all merchandise, under penalty of imprisonment.
Gee, do I feel better getting all this garbage out of my system. The sun is out and the flowers are beginning to bloom. It's going to be a GREAT DAY.
-GRANNY
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Easter
(Originally published April 7, 1982)
Easter always brings fond memories of years gone by. With five tots growing up in our house (3 girls, 2 boys), EASTER was always joyous, but hectic. The festivities usually started bright and early on Saturday morning with a loud "thump, thump, squish" coming from the kitchen signalling the fact that one of the LEAGUE had managed to "drop" the eggs earmarked for DYEING. This was always followed by a flood of tears that spread like the DOMINO FACTOR and in seconds the whole LEAGUE had formed a "Glee Club" of Woeful Wailing. With tears dried and more fresh eggs (I felt so lucky to have gotten the last dozen in the store), the DYEING of the Egg Ritual would begin.
Now, EGG DYEING is an art dating back to the middle ages. The results can be as diversified as the "DYE-EE" wants. My LEAGUE was diversified - some liking the soft pastels, some the bold bright colors and some who like each end of the egg a different color, BUT... there is always one who can't stand it until he dips his eggs into all the colors and every year, we all knew to whom the "Black eggs" belonged.
The other members of the LEAGUE were always helpful in instructing the younger ones in the RITUAL, but it is amazing how a slight slap on the hand, by an elder LEAGUE member (cause "you're not doin' it right") can force an egg off the dipper, splashing into the red dye, upsetting the dye dish and ultimately turning all white dishtowels into flags for the Cherry Blossom Festival. Hours later, after the last bit of dye has been scrubbed off innocent faces and blond heads reappear, dispelling fears of green hair sticking out under pink bonnets, the LEAGUE is tucked into bed. Now is the time for "Mama Rabbit" to get to work. Retrieving the gaily colored baskets from their hiding place and putting in the grass . . . THE GRASS . . . where is it?? Out comes the car and the hunt is on, with a small prayer that at least one bag of grass can be found at this time of night... (did you know that green crepe paper works just as well, only you have to work hard at shredding it or you will miss the Sunrise Services.) Mission finally accomplished - eggs hid (I thought we dyed 12 eggs, but could only find 11 to hide), baskets in place, and off to bed when a wee voice insists she will choke without a glass of water. Hurrying down the hall with five drinks in hand, the 12th egg is found -- all four ounces of it -- squeezing up between my toes.
I could ramble on for hours, but you know it is all worth it, especially seeing the little faces beaming on Easter morning. I know, sometimes we get a little carried away by the commercialism of the holiday, but remembering the words of the MASTER - "Suffer the little children to come unto me," I just know he doesn't mind a little egg dye and gooey chocolate, as long as they do come. Til next week!
-GRANNY
Easter always brings fond memories of years gone by. With five tots growing up in our house (3 girls, 2 boys), EASTER was always joyous, but hectic. The festivities usually started bright and early on Saturday morning with a loud "thump, thump, squish" coming from the kitchen signalling the fact that one of the LEAGUE had managed to "drop" the eggs earmarked for DYEING. This was always followed by a flood of tears that spread like the DOMINO FACTOR and in seconds the whole LEAGUE had formed a "Glee Club" of Woeful Wailing. With tears dried and more fresh eggs (I felt so lucky to have gotten the last dozen in the store), the DYEING of the Egg Ritual would begin.
Now, EGG DYEING is an art dating back to the middle ages. The results can be as diversified as the "DYE-EE" wants. My LEAGUE was diversified - some liking the soft pastels, some the bold bright colors and some who like each end of the egg a different color, BUT... there is always one who can't stand it until he dips his eggs into all the colors and every year, we all knew to whom the "Black eggs" belonged.
The other members of the LEAGUE were always helpful in instructing the younger ones in the RITUAL, but it is amazing how a slight slap on the hand, by an elder LEAGUE member (cause "you're not doin' it right") can force an egg off the dipper, splashing into the red dye, upsetting the dye dish and ultimately turning all white dishtowels into flags for the Cherry Blossom Festival. Hours later, after the last bit of dye has been scrubbed off innocent faces and blond heads reappear, dispelling fears of green hair sticking out under pink bonnets, the LEAGUE is tucked into bed. Now is the time for "Mama Rabbit" to get to work. Retrieving the gaily colored baskets from their hiding place and putting in the grass . . . THE GRASS . . . where is it?? Out comes the car and the hunt is on, with a small prayer that at least one bag of grass can be found at this time of night... (did you know that green crepe paper works just as well, only you have to work hard at shredding it or you will miss the Sunrise Services.) Mission finally accomplished - eggs hid (I thought we dyed 12 eggs, but could only find 11 to hide), baskets in place, and off to bed when a wee voice insists she will choke without a glass of water. Hurrying down the hall with five drinks in hand, the 12th egg is found -- all four ounces of it -- squeezing up between my toes.
I could ramble on for hours, but you know it is all worth it, especially seeing the little faces beaming on Easter morning. I know, sometimes we get a little carried away by the commercialism of the holiday, but remembering the words of the MASTER - "Suffer the little children to come unto me," I just know he doesn't mind a little egg dye and gooey chocolate, as long as they do come. Til next week!
-GRANNY
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