*Make My Day
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For my son after his birthday
Real Mothers don't eat quiche; they don't have time to make it.
I'm in a melancholy kind of mood. I pasted the above poem, because I thought it was so sweet, and fitting with how I feel, most of the time (in between boughts of wanting to check out E-Bay's rules regaarding the auctioning off of one's offspring).
Real Mothers know that their kitchen utensils are probably in the sandbox.
Real Mothers often have sticky floors, filthy ovens and happy kids.
Real Mothers know that dried playdough doesn't come out of shag carpet.
Real Mothers sometimes ask "why me?" and get their answer when a little voice says, "because I love you best."
Real Mothers know that a child's growth is not measured by height or years or grade. . .
It is marked by the progression of Mama to Mommy to Mother.
- Author Unknown.
(Roberta I. Teague)
I scrub the wall of fingerprints,
Pick up the mounds of clothes.
I sweep the dirt that shoes track in-
Wish I could use a hose!
Meals are served from dawn to dark,
Dirty dishes crowd the sink.
Just when they're washed and put away-
Everyone wants a drink!
The washer pulls the dirty grime
From pants worn thin and patched.
They look so very neat and clean-
Yuck, look what the pockets hatched!
Broken bones and bloody knees,
I should have been a nurse.
I take it all in shaky stride-
Just grateful it's not worse!
Screams and shouts and arguments
Test the keeping of my cool.
They left the neighbor's faucet on-
See their new front yard pool!
A soothing bath is ecstasy,
A reward at the end of my rope.
Raising boys isn't really bad-
But first I must wash the soap!
A rose can say I Love You,
Orchids can enthrall;
But a weed bouquet in a chubby fist,
Oh my, that says it all!
Somebody obviously had a Warren. And no you can't have him, he's all mine.
Little boys come in all shapes and sizes,
Shy and adventurous, full of surprises,
With misshapen halos and mischievous grins,
Small dirty faces, and sweet, sticky chins.
They'll keep you so busy, and yet all the while
Nothing can brighten the world like their smile.
And no greater treasure has brought homes more joy
Than a curious, active, and lovable boy!
My Little Boy
I remember when you were my little boy,
An extension of my very being.
My every waking moment belonged to you.
One evening when I called you to supper,
You came to the table all grown up.
Where did all the in between go?
Too soon I was to let you go.
Now, I shall always call you "my son"
But in my heart, you'll always be my little boy.
I know your birthday was yesterday, but I love you my not so little boy. You are growing up way to fast for your mom, so don't take it personally if I still refer to you as my little boy or my baby. In all likelyhood, when you are a 40 year old man with 3 kids, a wife and a career I will still think of you as my baby boy. Now go mow that lawn, and those dishes aren't getting any younger. Move it mister!!
Prequels ~ Sequels
Daily Dumbass: stupid people at work. Steal my computer (nothing wrong with it), from my cube while I'm on break
Thankful For: Another day off to recuperate
Music of the mind: : Cosby Theme damn you Nick@Nite
~*~Have you read these~*~
~ Ode to a child who is no more ~
~ She's baaack ~
~ testing ~
~ Facebook me ~
~ Bleech ~
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In every neighborhood there is at least one house that all the neighbors gossip about. This is a diary from the woman who lives in that house. I am a single mother in her mid thirties. I live in North Dakota with my son, Warren.
I tend to be a bit of a slob, and am the opposite of a girly-girl. I am geek girl, who loves Star Wars, Star Trek, Harry Potter, Buffy, Angel, action movies, science fiction, action adventure, Dr. Who, and so on and so on.
I love to write and while I don't post much fiction online anymore I would love to be a writer someday. I am also overweight, bipolar and suffer from allergy induced asthma.