Howdy all, I would like to wish all of you moms out there a wonderful happy mother’s day. Being a mother is the hardest job there is. And it’s one of those things that lasts for the rest of your life.
No matter how old your kids are they are still your baby. Nothing can change that, even when they go off the wall, get in trouble, make choices you know are going to cause them pain, when they drive you crazy – you still love them.
So to all you moms, big hugs and kisses. Hope you have a fabulous day.
A friend of mine who lives in Warsaw, Poland sent me this in an e-mail today. I thought it was funny and decided to share.
How children perceive their grandparents
- She was in the bathroom, putting on her makeup, under the watchful eyes of her young granddaughter, as she’d done many times before. After she applied her lipstick and started to leave, the little one said, “But Grandma, you forgot to kiss the toilet paper good-bye!” I will probably never put lipstick on again without thinking about kissing the toilet paper good-bye….
- My young grandson called the other day to wish me Happy Birthday.He asked me how old I was, and I told him, 62. My grandson was quiet for a moment, and then he asked, “Did you start at 1?”
- After putting her grandchildren to bed, a grandmother changed into old slacks and a droopy blouse and proceeded to wash her hair. As she heard the children getting more and more rambunctious, her patience grew thin. Finally, she threw a towel around her head and stormed into their room, putting them back to bed with stern warnings. As she left the room, she heard the three-year-old say with a trembling voice, “Who was THAT?”
- A grandmother was telling her little granddaughter what her own childhood was like. “We used to skate outside on a pond. I had a swing made from a tire; it hung from a tree in our front yard. We rode our pony. We picked wild raspberries in the woods.” The little girl was wide-eyed, taking this all in. At last she said, “I sure wish I’d gotten to know you sooner!”
- My grandson was visiting one day when he asked, “Grandma, do you know how you and God are alike?” I mentally polished my halo and I said, “No, how are we alike?” “You’re both old,” he replied.
- A little girl was diligently pounding away on her grandfather’s word processor. She told him she was writing a story. “What’s it about?” he asked. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I can’t read.”
- I didn’t know if my granddaughter had learned her colors yet, so I decided to test her. I would point out something and ask what color it was. She would tell me and was always correct. It was fun for me, so I continued. At last, she headed for the door, saying, “Grandma, I think you should try to figure out some of these colors yourself!”
- When my grandson Billy and I entered our vacation cabin, we kept the lights off until we were inside to keep from attracting pesky insects. Still, a few fireflies followed us in. Noticing them before I did, Billy whispered, “It’s no use Grandpa. Now the mosquitoes are coming after us with flashlights.”
- When my grandson asked me how old I was, I teasingly replied, “I’m not sure.” “Look in your underwear, Grandpa,” he advised “Mine says I’m 4 to 6.”
- A second grader came home from school and said to her grandmother, “Grandma, guess what? We learned how to make babies today.” The grandmother, more than a little surprised, tried to keep her cool. “That’s interesting.” she said. “How do you make babies?” “It’s simple,” replied the girl. “You just change ‘y’ to ‘i’ and add ‘es’.”
- Children’s Logic: “Give me a sentence about a public servant,” said a teacher. The small boy wrote: “The fireman came down the ladder pregnant.” The teacher took the lad aside to correct him. “Don’t you know what pregnant means?” she asked. “Sure,” said the young boy confidently. ‘It means carrying a child.”
- A grandfather was delivering his grandchildren to their home one day when a fire truck zoomed past. Sitting in the front seat of the fire truck was a Dalmatian dog. The children started discussing the dog’s duties. “They use him to keep crowds back,” said one child. “No,” said another. “He’s just for good luck.” A third child brought the argument to a close. “They use the dogs,” she said firmly, “to find the fire hydrants.”
- A 6-year-old was asked where his grandma lived. “Oh,” he said, “she lives at the airport, and when we want her, we just go get her. Then, when we’re done having her visit, we take her back to the airport.”
- Grandpa is the smartest man on earth! He teaches me good things, but I don’t get to see him enough to get as smart as him!
- My Grandparents are funny, when they bend over, you hear gas leaks and they blame their dog.
I have a kooky family. So what? I miss them anyway. It’s the day before Thanksgiving and I’m moping around the house. Earlier this month, I expressed an extreme disinterest in doing a huge bang up in-law infested turkey day at Hubman’s mother’s house this year.
We leave on a way loooong road trip, with his mother in tow, the following Monday at the ass crack of dawn. That’s too much to cram into the time allotted. It’s not like there is no one else here in North Texas to cook a damn turkey. So what is his response? Move the party to our house! Excellent idea, oh beloved Bimbo of mine. Howz about I burn all your Star Trek collectibles in a big bonfire in the back yard. Wouldn’t that be fun?
I think I now know why iron skillets were invented and it was not for cooking, that’s just the cover story. There were created to knock husbands over the head with when they just…don’t…get it. Part of the problem is that I miss MY family. I love each and every one of them, even though there have been times that I contemplated murder, keel hauling or at the very least 20 lashes.
Some of this annoying ennui is my fault. I need to put my foot down in the marital kind of way before the next big holiday and say “HEY! It’s my turn. WE, not just me, are going to my family’s house for a holiday.” We are not solely responsible for entertaining every one of your relatives on every damn holiday ever invented. And I don’t wanna hear any whining a about how much it’s gonna cost. Or what is your mother is gonna do without us there to cater to her every whim, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.
Hell, bring her with us. We’ll give her a peek at how the darker side celebrates a holiday. The crazy beer drinking, Saints football team loving, dance at every opportunity, laugh at everything, wear a turkey on your head, New Orleans people way of celebrating. There is more than one way to do a holiday. And some of them don’t involve standing on your feet slaving over the stove until your feet swell up to the size of watermelons, and groaning and moaning about it. And on top of all that claiming you enjoy it. Uh, yea, and I like to get root canals too. Nice try, but I’m not buying it.
So I’m trying to work on things to be grateful about. I’m alive, have my health, a loving husband, even though he is rather thick-headed in the female department. A family that loves me, friends, I don’t live on the Gaza strip. I can afford to do pretty much whatever I want to do, within reason. I probably can’t afford to charter a jet and fly to Russia to train and go up in space, but I don’t want to do that anyway. I’m pretty much OK with being Earth bound for the time being.
I own a postage stamp size plot of ground on the moon. I bought if from a coupon on a cereal box when I was kid, but can’t find the paperwork. My dog loves me, and my cat doesn’t bite me…often. I do have a lot of things to be grateful for. Perhaps what I need to do is state my case earlier in the game. No means No. If I don’t wanna, then I don’t wanna. And if I do, then I do. Going along for the ride, moping around and pitching a fit when it’s too late to change anything isn’t working out well. Guess I need to pay more attention. Ignoring my needs and wants just isn’t doing the trick.
Went riding along in Hubman’s truck the day after the election. Mother in law started a rant in the back seat. Young people just don’t want to work. I spit back “well it’s a good thing they don’t, because there are no jobs for them anyway.”
“People just don’t want to work, they’d rather be on welfare.” Oh really? Well a welfare check and a selling a pint of blood will almost pay the rent. Yee haw, throw a party. Then I thought hmmm…. If no one wants to work, then why is there an unemployment rate? And why is going up? I thought the unemployment rate was defined as the percentage of people who were actively looking for work that can’t find a job. But…but…but how can that be if no one wants to work? Riddle me that?
Then she started spouting Rush Limbaughisms, muttered about all the little girls who want free pills. This is referring to the Sandra Fluke hullabaloo that happened a few months back. I bit my tongue but wanted to say “excuse me but it takes 2 to tango, if the little boys kept their pecker in their pants, little girls wouldn’t want or need pills now would they?” But I didn’t say it, instead, being the rational and calm person that I am, I lost my freaking mind and starting screeching. “JUST STOP IT! Stop it! Stop it! I can’t…take this…ANYMoOOoRRRE! And I sure as hell can’t take it for another 4 years.” Then I started sobbing. Dead silence ensued.
I cried all the way to where we were going. A Lock and Key Store to buy a safe to lock their valuables in because the riots are going to start any day now. Obama got re-elected you see, and the gates of hell are now officially wide open. And yada yada, and blah blah blah. I stayed in the car and cried the whole time they were in there buying the safe and continued to cry the whole way home. Mother-in-law hopped out of the car like a scalded cat and ran for the door the second we pulled in her driveway.
My eyed leaked on and off for the remainder of the day. After using up a box of tissue I gave up and just let the tears fall. This morning my eyes were so swollen that I look like someone beat me with a sock full of quarters in my sleep. I feel like I had ripped a band aid the size of a placemat off my heart and everything came bleeding out.
Struggles as a child, walking the streets at night looking for coke bottles to cash in to buy a bag of pinto beans to feed the family. Struggles as a young single mother, looking for a job and lying about my age to be old to enough to get a job. Having to lie and say I had no child to get a job, and hoping I didn’t slip up and mention the child at work if I did get the job. Single mothers are a bad risk because they might want to do irresponsible things like stay home to care for a sick child. Not good for productivity. Not good for the bottom line. Stockholders don’t like that.
I thought of all the times I’ve laughed at off-color jokes in an office thinking “you stinking scumbag.” Now, now, don’t want to get into all that sexual harassment nonsense. Grown women should know how to take care of themselves. Ha! Whatever happened to the notion of things you don’t say in the presence of a lady? Did we give up the right to be female, the right to have any semblance dignity when we went to work, because we HAD to go to work? Or starve.
I never had that choice, staying home was not an option. Sure, it was an option if I went back to live with my child’s father who would beat me senseless if I happened to blink the wrong way. I seemed to blink the wrong way a lot, it turned out. He didn’t want me to work, of course. If I went to work someone might see the bruises, or I might meet another man. As if another one of those creatures was what I was looking for. The last time he back-handed me and split my lip I left, baby on hip and walked 6 miles to my grandmother’s house. She took me in, but told me that I should go back because he was such a nice man with short hair and my baby needed a father. Guess she didn’t notice my clown lips or the blood on my shirt or the fingers marks on my neck. She was an expert and not noticing things.
I thought back to the day a patronizing boss sat me down to talk some sense into me when I asked for a raise in pay. He decided to walk me though my expenses to show me how I was just squandering away my paycheck and didn’t know how to manage money. I’ll never forget the look of shock on his face when he realized that it was true. I did not make enough to cover the most basic of expenses. There really was nothing left over for luxuries like gas in my car or heat in the winter. His solution to the problem? He offered to have an affair with me and “help out” with my expenses. I declined and left the job soon after that.
That’s when I turned to night work. A young woman can make a lot more money from tips slinging drinks in a bar than working at an “honest” day job. Enough to almost live on… sort of. The problem is that you pick up your child from the sitter in the morning when they are wide awake and ready to rock. You’ve been up all night working and are bone dead tired, but no sleep for you. No rest for the wicked.
Try holding a sick screaming child in your arms, convulsing with fever and get turned away because you have no money to pay a doctor. Shame, shame, wasting all that money on food and rent. Think that doesn’t happen? I know it happens, it happened to me, it happens all the time. Mr. Husband told me, “but that’s against the law, they can’t turn you away in an emergency room.” Well, Bubba, guess what? Things that are against the law happen all the damned time. If it didn’t, the news media would go bankrupt. If there is no law breaking, no dirty laundry to snicker about, then there is nothing to talk about. No news.
Yes, there have been times in my life when it has been hard, gut grinding, stone cold, bitter, hard as nails. Hard to make it through the day. Hard to make it through the night. I’ve cried myself to sleep with a dollar bill in my hand because that was every penny I had in the world and rent was due the next day. Somehow I made it through.
The next time someone tells me that people are poor because they are lazy I’m going to sit them down and duct tape them to a chair if I have to. I’m going tell them about my life and dare them to look me in the eye and tell me it was my fault. Look me in the eye and tell me I was too lazy to work. Look me in the eye and tell me that I didn’t try hard enough. Look me in the eye damn you. Just shut the hell up and look me in the eye. I dare you. See how far you get. I’m not keeping my mouth shut anymore.
Two days ago Mr. Husband probably had one of the worse days of his life. He spent most of his day with his Mom who is FREAKING OUT about a diagnosis of a stage one pre-cancerous lump in her breast. According to all medical professionals involved it is not even close to death sentence. She should be fine and live a normal life (whatever that means) and still go to a wedding in December in Key West, Florida.
We’re driving to North Texas to Key West because Mom-in-Law won’t fly. So we get to experience 4 days in a mobile insane asylum that is Hubman, mother-in-law, and me cowering in the back floorboard with my iPod cranked up loud enough to damage my hearing.
At this point I don’t care. If I go deaf it may be a blessing in disguise. I suggesting renting an RV to make things easier, but she nixed that idea immediately by announcing that she did not intend to go to the bathroom whilst flying down the road. I snapped “well who asked you to anyway?” That took her aback so there was temporary silence for a small bit. Jeebus, you would think I was expecting her to squat over a tomato juice can in the back seat like the rum runners used to do on their runs between Chicago and Kansas City.
Mother in Law has been in doom and gloom mode for 3 weeks now. In her mind she’s already gone down to Sparkman’s and picked out her coffin and tombstone. We’re hoping that this is a passing stage and she will come to terms with the fact that this is probably not her swan song after all. She’s also angry with her husband who left her in death 3 years ago. Now she feels she’s facing this alone. I hear that it is common for the remaining spouse to be angry with the spouse who left them behind alone to cope with whatever comes along. But, we love her and she’s not alone. I hope she can find comfort in that eventually.
She had to get an MRI on Thursday. She declared herself claustrophobic and had already decided that she would lose her mind and die right there in the MRI machine. She didn’t of course. They doped her up so good that she had to use a cane when she got home that evening because she was too woozy to walk straight. Hey, I would have been yelling “Yee haw, I have a fantastic and totally legal major buzz on.” If one can not at least enjoy some part of unpleasant medical goings on – that’s just sad.
Anyway, Hubman got home from dealing with his Mom all day and walks in to me chopping broccoli with unusual animosity, even for broccoli. I seasoned them with lemon juice, olive oil and tears. I turned on him and began the story of how, since this is my third marriage, that this is my 5th rodeo with sick parents and the death of parents. I then told him that I was firmly in the camp that believes that elderly people have the right to make their own decisions and even die with dignity if that is their choice. Usually the worst enemy of the elderly parents in this scenario is their children, because they can’t let go. Also they have switched roles and think that they are the parent and the actual parent is now an uncooperative child.
I started screaming about how I think that the medical profession is ghoulish for keeping people alive when they don’t want to be and are supported by the children of the patient. I then went on to express my view that a medical power of attorney only comes into effect if or when the patient is not able to make decisions and that state of mind kicks in at a much later time than most family members chose to think so.
I finished my speech at the top of my lungs and in tears. It occurred to me later that I was waving a formidable 15 inch kitchen knife around like some mad conductor in the orchestra from hell. It happened to be in my hand when I started the tirade.
Mr. Husband managed to remain calm in this explosion of emotional catharsis. And I have to give him credit for that. I went to him later and apologized for waving a knife around like a mad woman and we cried on each other’s shoulder. We are both each other’s best friend and when we do not agree it’s a very lonely place to be.
So life goes on. Mom-in-law seems to have calmed down a bit. Or maybe it’s the Xanax, but we’re happy about it no matter what the reason. Hubman got her to talk to her friends who have had breast cancer and are now living happy lives and been in remission for decades. That seemed to help her a lot.
Life goes on. It’s all a learning process. Who knows how I would handle the situation if I were her. Maybe I’d be at the top of a tall building drinking from a whiskey bottle and throwing tomatoes at passersby.