For
this week's blog entry, we try to inject a bit of humor. I wrote this little ditty when my sons were in high school.
A Mother Like Any Other
Once
upon a time there was a mother. She was like any other mother, though sometimes
more, sometimes less. She had two wonderful sons, who were loving and
thoughtful; wonderful students; had wonderful friends, girlfriends, and dogs;
were great athletes and musicians; and who generally were just about perfect.
She adored them and would do almost anything for them.
There
were just a few things that, in her great wisdom as a parent—which wisdom is
acquired only on the job and is always in doubt—she wished for them to do as
part of their “responsibility training.” Now, this mother knew for a fact that
her two adored sons were nothing if not responsible. She knew this from many observations,
such as their performance in school, their treatment of their friends, their
usually remembering to call her when they knew she might worry as to their
whereabouts, their helping with meals and putting shades down and so many other
things she sometimes had a habit of forgetting.
So,
speaking of forgetting, there were just a couple of things the adoring mother
truly wished her wonderful sons would not need to be reminded of, at least not
too often.
One
of these was to not leave standing water—or wet rugs and towels used to soak up
the standing water—in the corners of the bathroom floor, for she knew floors
were not free, as they had twice learned already.
Another
was to keep their rooms picked up, so that when, for instance, she wanted to do
something like get their cell phones insured, she could get in their rooms
without falling headlong over a barbell, and when she didn’t fall, also find
the paperwork she was looking for. Now here, of course, it was one of those
hated “do as I say, not as I do" situations, her excuse for her own
not-always-neat room being, of course, all the many, many, many
responsibilities she had.
Speaking
of tripping, the mother didn’t much like tripping over dog poop or aluminum
cans, either. Hm. Maybe she should haul all those aluminum cans to the recycling
center herself, to help pay her monthly cell phone bill.
Well,
this story could drag on and begin to get boring. So, this is
THE
END.
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