Oh, and I may need to be finding another one of their friends very soon….
I’m dialated to a THREE!
LG is finally ready to admit that we have been in counseling. And so now, you all get to hear about it. Aren’t you lucky? Marriage counseling has been a great experience and we’ve learned a lot about ourselves and each other. We highly recommend it, and wish we would have gone 12 years ago. I don’t know when or if we will ever “graduate”, but hope that it will be really soon.
One day our awesome therapist mentioned the love we have for each other. I said, “Yeah, that is the reason we are here, we’ve got to figure this out, we love each other too much to leave.” It’s ironic that LG is a divorce attorney, and he himself would never get a divorce. LG and our therapist are always teasing each other about giving each other referrals. It’s funny to see a marriage counselor and a divorce attorney strike up a good friendship.
After our last Purple People Eater party.
I proudly proclaimed that I was out of the party business.
(Yes, I wanted to see how many p’s I could fit in a sentence)
This party planner is pooped!!!
Abigail has been driving us crazy with her psychological warfare.
She has decided to plan and plan and overplan her own party.
I think she thinks that if she writes enough ideas down
and keeps on keeping on that we will cave.
She may be right.
We told her she could only invite 3-4 friends to the movie.
She wants a Harry Potter movie birthday.
For a whole month, we have heard every idea known to JK Rowling.
And she is driving me crazy!!!! And as you will see, she is driving LG crazy too.
So, the funny part.
Yesterday, LG decided to join in the fun.
I hope you will make sure and tell Scott, Conan and Matt to RSVP.
This will be a party they don’t want to miss.
The word can be whispered or belted. Shrieked or endeared. It has a version in every language known to mankind and is often the first word mastered by a developing infant. I am pretty sure that there are even distinct animal noises used for its meaning. I swear sometimes I can hear our family cat meow it out when she wants to get in or out of the house.
This one word can be enunciated with many different dialects even by the same child. It has endless amounts of pronunciations….the one syllable miraculously changes in tone, depending on the circumstance.
You hear it at the grocery store from a wandering child. The tone a little frightened but loud and strong, “Mom?!” Sometimes you go searching for a lost one, even though you know that none of yours are there. Some of yours may be lost, so, you just can’t help but make sure that the one calling out is not.
What about the eulogy so powerful it brought the room to tears….”most of all, she is my mom, and always will be, and to me nothing else is more important about her.”
The teenager tends to irreverence the name the most, “Just ignore her; pretend she’s not my mom.”
I even heard a police officer once tell a classroom full of children: “If you are ever in trouble, get safe as fast as possible. If someone is hurting you, tell a teacher, or a police officer, or find a mom with kids as fast as you can.”
Perhaps the sweetest utterances of the one all powerful word are the ones from little children. They seem to use the word more than anyone. The word seems to work in all circumstances for all of their needs. Let me give you a few examples from my own experience.
“Mom, I didn’t get elected for student council. Mom….” followed by incoherent sobs.
“MOM!!!! Her hair, it’s tangled up in the rope swing…..Hurry mom.”
“Guess what, mom?”
“Mom, I think there is chocolate in the carpet, or maybe it’s poop?”
“Mom, it hurts so bad.”
“Mom, are you coming on my field trip?”
“Mom, don’t forget your camera.”
“Mom, I need a band-aid.”
“Mom, she’s bugging me again.”
“Mom, will you read me a story?”
“Mom, will you please stop taking pictures!?”
“Mom, I don’t want to go to the hospital.”
“Mom, I drew you a picture….look, the big one is you, and the little one is me.”
“Mom, I had a bad dream.”
“Make her stop, mom.”
“Mom, I don’t want to set the table.”
“Mom, I’m hungry.”
“Mom, I’m bored.”
“Mom, I can’t find my shoes.”
“Mom, can we go to the movies?”
“Mom, where is my library book?”
“Mom, when is dad coming home?”
“Mom’s what for dinner?”
“Mom, can you check my homework?”
“Mom, can you help me clean my room?”
“Mom, I am sick of spelling.”
“No, mom, I am not tired.”…followed by sobbing, slight nodding, and the sweet sound of heavy breathing.
Every utterance of the word seems to carry a different emotion and a different intonation. The whole spectrum is in there. It’s as if, just by simply adding “mom”, magic will be inevitable. Mom can make everything o.k. Mom can motivate. Mom can comfort. Mom can fix. Mom knows all. Mom is almost omnipotent. Mom is totally versatile, even when she doesn’t budge. Mom can tell you what you need to hear, even when she is a push over.
Sometimes when the word mom is added to a sentence it completely brightens one’s existence.
“Mom, you are the best mom in the whole wide world.”
“Mom, you are beautiful.”
“Mom, I love you.”
Or one of the best ever:
“When I grow up, I want to be a mom, just like you.”
There are many moments in many days when a mother cannot think of anything better to be called than simply mom. You can give her awards or accolades or certificates or trophies, but nothing outdoes this simple statement of pure admiration, “I want to be a mom”, followed with, “just like you.” No nickname, no term of endearment, not even a kiss from the man you love can make you feel as good as that kid that wants to be just like you. There is no higher compliment.
Of course there are times when we use the word in reference to someone other than our own. I recently heard this from a friend.
“I always wished my mom was more like yours.”
It’s funny because I always wanted my mom to be more like Melanie’s. Man! Toast and hot chocolate never tasted so good. My mom was not a morning person, and Melanie’s mom fed me breakfast almost every morning of junior high school. Why? Because she was a mom. And I had the privilege of watching her answer to every one of Melanie’s “moms” while simultaneously filling my empty stomach as I waited for Melanie, my walking partner.
Now I find my kids using the psychological tactic on me, “Mom, why can’t you be more like so and so’s mom?” I return with the oldy but goodie: “Because her mom doesn’t love her as much as I love you, that’s why. No mom should let their child roam the neighborhood like that.”
As a mom, there is one thing you realize more than anything: moms aren’t perfect. Even if our name carries a need for perfection, all moms screw up. This mom is no different. It’ll be o.k. if my daughters grow up wishing that I was different. Heck, I wish I was different too. They can admire those other moms, and they can even want to be like them when they grow up. It doesn’t diminish the joy that I have in being their mom.
Some days I try to be like Melanie’s mom. I especially have to remember that best tasting toast and hot chocolate every morning when I drag this non-morning mother out of bed. But, most days, I shock myself, because I find myself being a mom that frighteningly resembles my own. I am sure that I say things from time to time that my kids don’t want to hear, striking them with fear. I know my mom isn’t going to tell me what I want to hear most of the time, but who is it that I call when I really need advice?
“Mom, what do you think about….”
“Thanks mom, I feel so much better now.”
When my children hear mom, I am sure they mostly think of me. Sometimes I am sure they will say the one word with terror.
“Mom, I spilled the whole gallon of milk again.”
I know that they will also say the word with admiration. Hopefully more often than with terror.
“Mom, you are so good at cleaning.”
I just pray that when they grow up, no matter whose mom they take after, they will realize that this mom is the one that loved them the most. Hopefully that one word, mom, will mostly bring them comfort. And nothing makes me feel better, except for maybe a compliment from my mom. Especially when it’s:
“Oh Alice, you are such a great mom.”
My last post was about Duane working at the same place for 40 years.
Now I just read a news story about a time frame of 2 years. It was extremely disturbing. I was going to post this tomorrow, but it is so disturbing, I thought it would make for a good April’s Fools Day….EXCEPT it’s NOT a joke!
Two mothers in Russia, were forced by the courts to re-swap their 2 year old sons. They had been sent home with the wrong mothers at birth.
“Both sons are having a hard time adjusting to their new homes”, are the words at the end of the report.
Yeah, duh?
This story reminds me of the mothers in the Bible who came to King Solomon with one dead child. You know the “real mother”. The one who said to let the other “selfish lady” keep the child because she couldn’t bare for Solomon to cut it in half.
I like to think I would be the mom who would give the other lady her son back, and tell her to keep mine too. It would break my heart to take a child away from the only mother he has ever known. And then I would pray like heck that some sane judge out there would be as wise as Solomon and let me keep the child that I thought was mine.
Can you imagine giving a child up after two years? I don’t care what the DNA tests say. Giving mine up (the one that looked like me or not) would be seriously life altering….like permanent residence in a mental institution altering.
At the top….that’s Bella at not quite two. Man she was so cute!!!!
Thank goodness no one mixed her up at the hospital. If she didn’t look so much like me, I would almost worry now.
Two minutes is all it takes to change a mother’s perspective….well, I guess not all mothers’ perspectives.
Is it just me or is the mom that pursued her mixed up child crazy????
What are the odds that a girl could find a four leaf clover on St. Patrick’s Day?
She was lucky.
This is our plain guy.
With a stick something. 
It’s definitely a Tennessee thing.
No nose.
Snow muchacho. 
alice w. gold 