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Transcript of a conversation with a 15 year old son: "Why do I have to do the dishes?"
"It's your turn."
"Why do I have to take turns like a preschooler?"
"you have to know how."
"I already know how to do the dishes, and how to take turns!!"
"You don't know how to do it when you don't want to. That's the adult
survival skill you need to conquer."
<whispered aside to another suffering soul also doing the dishes> "I hate when she says things like that."
They don't do these things to drive us mad (though they're quite happy to accept that as a side benefit) but because they're driven by an instinct stronger than all logic and rules combined to test, try, ponder, and test again. Just as when they were learning to walk they were driven to keep trying no matter how many times they fell and hurt themselves, they're driven to find out what makes the world fit together no matter how many times it puts them into conflict with people they'd rather be
at peace with.
--Laurie Campbell, 31 May 2008
The mother, who couldn't think of an answer, told her son to ask the flight attendant. So the boy went down the aisle to ask the stewardess.
The flight attendant, who was very busy at the time, smiled and said "Did your Mom tell you to ask me?"
The boy said, "Yes, she did."
"Well, then, you go and tell your mother that there are no baby airplanes because Southwest always pulls out on time. Have your Mom explain that to you."
My wife and I are both the youngest child. Combine that with our own experience as parents and we often satirically talk about how things change as you have more children:
Feeling the Baby Move
The Trip to the Hospital
The First Step
The First Time the Child Fell and Got a Cut
Day 1: I'm starting a diary about the kids' upcoming experience with chicken pox. It all started this morning when Vicki called to tell me her kids have chicken pox. She knows I am undecided about whether to have my kids inoculated with the new vaccine, and she said if I wanted to just get it over with, we were welcome to come over and get exposed. She said the incubation period was a week or two, and when I looked at the calendar and counted the days, it turns out we'll have chicken pox right in the middle of our school's break.
Since the kids are going to be home anyway, I figured she was right - why not just get it over with? Plus, my husband is already planning to stay home that week to catch up on paperwork, so he'll be available to back me up when needed.
On the way to her house, I explained to the kids that we were having a playdate with sick friends because we want to get their germs. They asked if this meant there'd also been a policy change about chewing bubble gum that's been picked off the sidewalk.
Vicki made sure all the children shared juice cups, and we talked about how the timing of this was so perfect, it was almost like a miracle. Perhaps I will submit diary for publication in parenting magazine.
Day 2: Went to grocery store to stock up on calamine lotion and oatmeal bath called Aveeno. Told checker plan for having all four children get chicken pox during school break when husband is home to help. She said, "That's good planning."
Day 12: Keeping bottle of calamine in pocket since chicken pox expected to appear any minute.
Day 18: School break is over; daughters back in school. Husband back at work. Son home with chicken pox. New spots keep appearing; older ones shedding off. After dinner, I dashed to store for more calamine. Mentioned to checker that miracle plan is a bucket of hog slop. Then remembered Vicki's wise words: "It's a rite of passage" and vowed to remain positive.
Day 21: Daughter erupting with chicken pox, so she's staying home with brother. Children's only relief from boredom is connecting red dots on body with permanent marker and demanding exotic snacks.
Day 26: Husband left for out-of-town business trip. Son finished with chicken pox, now has flu. Daughter feeling fine but must remain in quarantine several more days. Second daughter also home with stomachache. Am feeling kinship with pioneer women who gave birth in cornfield and shot rattlesnake off porch while husband away on cattle drive.
Day 30: All kids home from school - one with chicken pox, two with flu, one faking to get in on the snacks. Time together at home giving us a chance to get intimate understanding of each person's special idiosyncrasies, such as those observed by nurse on the job at lunatic asylum.
Day 32: Husband called early from nice hotel while waiting for morning room service. Very understanding when I was unable to remember his name. Described to him last night's dream about oatmeal in which pantry doors in kitchen swung open by themselves revealing huge container of Quaker Oats cereal. Portrait of friendly Quaker pictured on cereal box transformed into scary-looking image of Vicki, that contaminator of children.
Day . . . So tired . . . don't know what day it is and don't care anyway. Very concerned about last night's pizza order. Found pimply faced delivery boy's cap in bathtub and suspect he's the strong one I had trouble wrestling into Aveeno bath. Made note to give extra tip with next order.
"Dear son, now that you have reached the magic age of fourteen, the time has come to tell you about the bees and flowers. There is a male and a female bee, although I haven't the slightest idea which is which. As for the flowers - we get ours from the Plaza Florist, Inc.
Well, that takes care of that.
Write soon, Affectionately, Father
The Dad says, "Ah, my son, I guess one day you will need to find out anyway! Well, you see your Mom and I first got together in a chat room on MSN. Then I set up a date via e-mail with your Mom and we met at a cyber-cafe. We sneaked into a secluded room, where your mother agreed to a download from my hard drive. As soon as I was ready to upload, we discovered that neither one of us had used a firewall, and since it was too late to hit the delete button, nine months later a blessed little Popup appeared and said:
You've Got Male!
POSITION: Parent
JOB DESCRIPTION: Long term team players needed for challenging permanent work in an often chaotic environment. Candidates must possess excellent communication and organizational skills and be willing to work variable hours, which will include evenings and weekends and frequent 24 hour shifts on call.
Some overnight travel required, including trips to primitive camping sites on rainy weekends and endless sports tournaments in faraway cities. Travel expenses not reimbursed. Extensive courier duties also required.
RESPONSIBILITIES: For the rest of your life.
Must be willing to be hated at least temporarily, until someone needs $5 to go skating.
Must be willing to bite tongue repeatedly.
Must possess the physical stamina of a pack mule and be able to go from zero to 60 mph in three seconds flat in case, this time, the screams from the backyard are not someone just crying wolf.
Must be willing to face stimulating technical challenges, such as small gadget repair, mysteriously sluggish toilets and stuck zippers.
Must screen phone calls, maintain calendars and coordinate production of multiple homework projects.
Must have ability to plan and organize social gatherings for clients of all ages and mental outlooks.
Must be willing to be indispensable one minute, an embarrassment the next.
Must handle assembly and product safety testing of a half million cheap, plastic toys and battery operated devices.
Must always hope for the best but be prepared for the worst.
Must assume final, complete accountability for the quality of the end product.
Responsibilities also include floor maintenance and janitorial work throughout the facility.
POSSIBILITY FOR ADVANCEMENT AND PROMOTION: Virtually none. Your job is to remain in the same position for years, without complaining, constantly retraining and updating your skills, so that those in your charge can ultimately surpass you.
PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE: None required. On-the-job training offered on a continually exhausting basis.
WAGES AND COMPENSATION: You pay them, offering frequent raises and bonuses. A balloon payment is due when they turn 18 because of the assumption that college will help them become financially independent.
When you die, you give them whatever is left. The oddest thing about this reverse-salary scheme is that you actually enjoy it and wish you could only do more.
BENEFITS: While no health or dental insurance, no pension, no tuition reimbursement, no paid holidays and no stock options are offered, job supplies limitless opportunities for personal growth and free hugs for life if you play your cards right.
Forward this on to all the parents you know, in appreciation for everything they do on a daily basis, and let them know they are appreciated.
The man followed them out to the parking lot and stopped the woman to compliment her. "I couldn't help noticing how patient you were with little Ellen..."
The mother broke in, "My little girl's name is Tammy. I'm Ellen."
* * *
Please consider the following humor, and a little friendly advice from one parent to another on what not to do in a hamster emergency. And believe me, I seriously doubt that I will be the only parent that this happens to, which does indeed give me a reason to laugh.
Thanks.
A red faced and embarrassed father.
I had to take my son's hamster to the vet. Here's what happened.
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was "something wrong" with one of the two hamsters he holds prisoner in his room.
"He's just lying there looking sick," he told me.
"Oldest trick in the book," I informed him. "You go in to see what's wrong with the sick one and the other one sneaks up behind you and bonks you on the head. Then they change into your clothes and escape."
"I'm serious, Dad. Can you help?"
I put a hamster-healer expression on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little rodents was indeed lying on his back, looking distressed. I immediately knew what to do. "Honey," I called, "come look at the hamster!"
"Oh, my gosh," my wife diagnosed after a minute. "She's having babies."
"What?" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie!"
I was equally outraged. "Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce," I accused my wife.
"Well, what did you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired sarcastically.
"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her.
"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.
"Well, it was a little hard to tell," she informed me.
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. "Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience," I announced. "We're about to witness the miracle of birth."
"Gross!" they shrieked.
"Great; what are we going to do with a litter of tiny little hamster babies?" my wife wanted to know.
"Well, when my parents' dog had puppies, I took them up to the grocery store in a cardboard box and gave them away," I recalled.
"So what are you going to do, go up with a pair of tweezers so people can pick out their hamster?" she asked.
We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.
"We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted.
"A breech birth," my wife whispered, horrified.
"Do something, Dad," my son urged.
"Okay, okay." Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gingerly tug. It disappeared. I tried again, with the same results.
"Should I dial 911?" my daughter wanted to know.
"Maybe they could talk us through it. Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly.
We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap.
"Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.
"I don't think hamsters do Lamaze," I told him.
The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.
"What do you think, Doc, an epidermal?" I suggested scientifically.
"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?" I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.
"Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This hamster is not in labor. In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen....Ernie is a boy."
"What?" I managed to say.
"You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, male hamsters will, ah..." He blushed, glancing at my wife.
"Well, you know what I'm saying, Mr. Cameron."
We were silent, absorbing this. "So Ernie's just...just..."
"Excited?" my wife offered.
"Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood. More silence.
Then my wife started to giggle. "What's so funny?" I demanded. Tears were now running down her face.
"Just...that...I'm picturing you pulling on its...its..." she gasped.
"That's enough," I warned.
We thanked the veterinarian and hurriedly bundled the hamsters and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you've done, Dad," he told me.
"Oh, you have no idea," my wife agreed, collapsing into laughter as I gave her a dirty look.
(Return to main volume)
My three year old son had a lot of problems with potty training; and I was on him constantly. One day we stopped at Taco Bell for a quick lunch in between errands. It was very busy, with a full dining room. While enjoying my taco, I smelled something funny, so of course I checked my seven month old daughter, and she was clean. Then I realized that Matt had not asked to go potty in a while, so I asked, and he said "No." I kept thinking, Oh Lord, that child has had an accident and I don't have any clothes with me.
Then I said, "Matt, are you sure you did not have an accident?"
"No," he replied. I just knew that he must have had, because the smell was getting worse. So, . . . I asked one more time.
"Matt, did you have an accident?"
This time he jumped up, yanked down his pants, bent over and spread his cheeks and yelled, "See, MOM, IT'S JUST FARTS!"
While 100 people nearly choked to death on their tacos, he calmly pulled up his pants and sat down to eat his food as if nothing happened.
I was mortified, . . . but some kind elderly people made me feel a lot better when they came over and thanked me for the best laugh they had ever had.
I just don't understand prying mothers. Our daughters knew what was expected of them, they knew what their father and I considered right and proper behavior. And they knew that we trusted them. We never censored their reading, either. We figured that if they read something "beyond" them (in whatever way that may be interpreted), they'd either learn something or ask questions or decide that it was not their cuppa and move on to something else. It hasn't harmed them. And they knew that they could ask questions -- even THOSE questions <grin> -- and get a straight answer.
Heeheehee. Our common love of "Star Trek," in fact, helped in one of these instances. Marti was about 11, Elizabeth about 10. Keys was away on active duty, and I took the girls to a movie one evening in Orange Park. Marti said, "Bridget O'Rourke told me a joke today, and I don't understand it." I knew instantly that it was a bawdy joke, but I always said, "If they're old enough to ask the question, they're old enough to get the answer." (Hoist on my own petard, I was. <grin>) So I said, "Well, tell me the joke, and I'll try to explain it as best I can." I don't remember the joke, but it had to do with three teenage boys and a visit to a brothel. Well. Hmmm. I thought about how I was going to approach this, and was kinda hemming and hawing, and I could see that I was losing Marti. Oh, no, that's not going to happen, I told myself. So, casting about for a way to first explain how I felt (a tad embarrassed, and a little sorry for the passage of innocent childhood, in a way), I said to her using a context she could readily relate to, "Marti, right about now, I feel like Captain Kirk felt when he had to explain to Charlie X why he shouldn't slap Janice Rand on the rump!"
She laughed, and it put us both at ease, and did explain to her how I felt. I then proceeded to explain the joke -- using proper medical and anatomical terminology. She looked at me with a smile, and said, "Thanks, Mom. I knew I could trust you."
And that's how it's done, ladies and gentlemen. Not by prying and snooping.
--Karen Rhodes, 04 June 2005
. . . somebody doesn't know that once you're a mother, "Normal" is history.
Somebody said you learn how to be a mother by instinct . . .
. . . somebody never took a three-year-old shopping.
Somebody said being a mother is boring . . .
. . . somebody never rode in a car driven by a teenager with a driver's permit.
Somebody said if you're a "good" mother, your child will "turn out good" . . .
. . . somebody thinks a child comes with directions and a guarantee.
Somebody said "good" mothers never raise their voices . . .
. . . somebody never came out the back door just in time to see her child hit a golf ball through the neighbor's kitchen window.
Somebody said you don't need an education to be a mother . . .
. . . somebody never helped a fourth grader with her math.
Somebody said you can't love the fifth child as much as you love the first . . .
. . . somebody doesn't have five children.
Somebody said a mother can find all the answers to her child-rearing questions in the books . . .
. . . somebody never had a child stuff beans up his nose or in his ears.
Somebody said the hardest part of being a mother is labor and delivery . . .
. . . somebody never watched her "baby" get on the bus for the first day of kindergarten . . .
. . . or on a plane headed for military "boot camp."
Somebody said a mother can do her job with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back . . .
. . . somebody never organized four giggling Brownies to sell cookies.
Somebody said a mother can stop worrying after her child gets married . . .
. . . somebody doesn't know that marriage adds a new son or daughter-in-law to a mother's heartstrings.
Somebody said a mother's job is done when her last child leaves home . . .
. . . somebody never had grandchildren.
Somebody said your mother knows you love her, so you don't need to tell her . . .
. . . somebody isn't a mother.
Pass this along to all the "mothers" in your life.
A father passing by his son's bedroom was astonished to see the bed was nicely made and everything was picked up. Then he saw an envelope propped up prominently on the center of the bed. It was addressed "Dad".
He opened the envelope with the worst premonition and read the letter with trembling hands:
Dear Dad,
It is with great regret and sorrow that I'm writing you. I had to elope with my new girlfriend because I wanted to avoid a scene with mom and you. I've been finding real passion with Joan and she is so nice - even with all her piercing, tattoos, and her tight Motorcycle clothes. But it's not only the passion dad, she's pregnant and Joan said that we will be very happy. Even though you don't care for her as she is so much older than I, she already owns a trailer in the woods and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter. She wants to have many more children with me and that's now one of my dreams too.
Joan taught me that marijuana doesn't really hurt anyone and we'll be growing it for us and trading it with her friends for all the cocaine and ecstasy we want. In the meantime, we'll pray that science will find a cure for AIDS so Joan can get better; she sure deserves it!!
Don't worry Dad, I'm 15 years old now and I know how to take care of myself. Someday I'm sure we'll be back to visit so you can get to know your grandchildren.
Your son, John
PS: Dad, none of the above is true. I'm over at the neighbor's house.
I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than my report card that's in my desk center drawer. I love you! Call when it is safe for me to come home.
Here's a Mother's Day dilemma for you. During the week of February vacation, my husband and I spent a week in Paris while our teenagers - son, eighteen and daughter, fourteen - took care of the house, the animals, and themselves. When we go home, the house was in pretty good shape - only one piece of furniture and a cheap mirror were broken. We gave them each a cash bonus which they accepted graciously.
Two weeks ago, at the close of April vacation week, I found out not only that my daughter had a gathering in violation of the rules, but that my son accomplished a mission that took my breath away.
Three weeks before we left the US, he and three enterprising pals went into secret party planning mode. Once we were out of the way, they took Polaroid pictures of every wall and nicknack shelf arrangement in the house. They moved each stick of furniture to the basement and covered surfaces with garbage bags and table cloths. Blankets over the windows helped to soundproof and keep outside detection to a minimum. Party attendees parked far from our house. Forty or so kids gathered for what has now become the "legend" of all-nighters. Not a police officer called. And everything was returned before we did thanks to the Polaroid guide shots, which were subsequently burned.
Now, I ask you: Should we be worried about our kid getting into college?
Thanks and Best Wishes,
A Vermont Mom
1. Neither teenagers nor cats turn their heads when you call them by name.
2. No matter what you do for them, it is not enough. Indeed, all humane efforts are barely adequate to compensate for the privilege of waiting on them hand and foot.
3. You rarely see a cat walking outside of the house with an adult human being, and it can be safely said that no teenager in his or her right mind wants to be seen in public with his or her parents.
4. Even if you tell jokes as well as Jay Leno, neither your cat nor your teen will ever crack a smile.
5. No cat or teenager shares your taste in music.
6. Cats and teenagers can lie on the living-room sofa for hours on end without moving, barely breathing.
7. Cats have nine lives. Teenagers carry on as if they did.
8. Cats and teenagers yawn in exactly the same manner, communicating that ultimate human ecstasy -- a sense of complete and utter boredom.
9. Cats and teenagers do not improve anyone's furniture.
10. Cats that are free to roam outside sometimes have been known to return in the middle of the night to deposit a dead animal in your bedroom. Teenagers are not above that sort of behavior.
Thus, if you must raise teenagers, the best sources of advice are not other parents, but veterinarians. It is also a good idea to keep a guidebook on cats at hand at all times.
And remember, above all else, put out the food and do not make any sudden moves in their direction. When they make up their minds, they will finally come to you for some affection and comfort, and it will be a triumphant moment for all concerned.
Things I've learned from my Children (honest & no kidding):
1. A king size waterbed holds enough water to fill a 2000 sq. ft. house 4 inches deep.
2. If you spray hair spray on dust bunnies and run over them with roller blades, they can ignite.
3. A 3-year old's voice is louder than 200 adults in a crowded restaurant.
4. If you hook a dog leash over a ceiling fan, the motor is not strong enough to rotate a 42 pound boy wearing Batman underwear and a Superman cape. It is strong enough, however, if tied to a paint can, to spread paint on all four walls of a 20x20 ft. room.
5. You should not throw baseballs up when the ceiling fan is on. When using a ceiling fan as a bat, you have to throw the ball up a few times before you get a hit. A ceiling fan can hit a baseball a long way.
6. The glass in windows (even double-pane) doesn't stop a baseball hit by a ceiling fan.
7. When you hear the toilet flush and the words "uh oh," it's already too late.
8. Brake fluid mixed with Clorox makes smoke, and lots of it.
9. A six-year old can start a fire with a flint rock even though a 36-year old man says they can only do it in the movies.
10. Certain Lego's will pass through the digestive tract of a 4-year old.
11. Play dough and microwave should not be used in the same sentence.
12. Super glue is forever.
13. No matter how much Jell-O you put in a swimming pool you still can't walk on water.
14. Pool filters do not like Jell-O.
15. VCR's do not eject PB&J sandwiches even though TV commercials show they do.
16. Garbage bags do not make good parachutes.
17. Marbles in gas tanks make lots of noise when driving.
18. You probably do not want to know what that odor is.
19. Always look in the oven before you turn it on. Plastic toys do not like ovens.
20. The fire department in Austin, TX has a 5-minute response time.
21. The spin cycle on the washing machine does not make earthworms dizzy.
22. It will, however, make cats dizzy.
23. Cats throw up twice their body weight when dizzy.
24. The mind of a 6-year old is wonderful. First grade...true story:
One day the first grade teacher was reading the story of the Three Little Pigs to her class. She came to the part of the story where the first pig was trying to accumulate the building materials for his home. She read, "...And so the pig went up to the man with the wheelbarrow full of straw and said, 'Pardon me sir, but may I have some of that straw to build my house?'" The teacher paused then asked the class, "And what do you think that man said?"One little boy raised his hand and said, "I think he said...'Holy sh_t! A talking pig!'"
The teacher was unable to teach for the next 10 minutes.
25. 60% of men who read this will try mixing the Clorox and brake fluid.
My mother taught me TO APPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE: "If you're going to kill each other, do it outside -- I just finished cleaning!"
My mother taught me RELIGION: "You better pray that will come out of the carpet."
My mother taught me about TIME TRAVEL: "If you don't straighten up, I'm going to knock you into the middle of next week!"
My mother taught me LOGIC: "Because I said so, that's why."
My mother taught me FORESIGHT: "Make sure you wear clean underwear,in case you're in an accident."
My mother taught me IRONY: "Keep laughing and I'll give you something to cry about."
My mother taught me about the science of OSMOSIS: "Shut your mouth and eat your supper!"
My mother taught me about CONTORTIONISM: "Will you look at the dirt on the back of your neck!"
My mother taught me about STAMINA: "You'll sit there 'til all that spinach is finished."
My mother taught me about WEATHER: "It looks like a tornado swept through your room."
My mother taught me how to solve PHYSICS PROBLEMS: "If I yelled because I saw a meteor coming toward you; would you listen then?"
My mother taught me about HYPOCRISY: "If I've told you once, I've told you a million times -- Don't exaggerate!!!"
My mother taught me THE CIRCLE OF LIFE: "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out."
My mother taught me about BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION: "Stop acting like your father!"
My mother taught me about ENVY: "There are millions of less fortunate children in this world who don't have wonderful parents like you do!"
THANKS, MOM!
"We're taking a survey," she says half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"
"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral.
"I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations."
But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die. I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.
I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for child-care, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.
I want my daughter to know that every day decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that rest-room. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.
Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish hers.
I want her to know that a Cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.
I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future. I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.
My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say. Then I reached across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings . . . that of being a Mother.
[Also printed Appendix 30: WOMANHOOD]
And the Lord said: "Have you read the specs on this order? She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 movable parts, all replaceable, run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. Have a kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And have six pairs of hands."
With a shake of the head, the angel said it couldn't be done. "Six pairs of hands? Not possible."
"It's not the hands that are causing me problems," said the Lord. "It's the three pairs of eyes mothers need."
"That's on the standard model?" asked the angel.
The Lord nodded. "One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, 'What are you doing in there?' when she already knows. Another in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn't, but what she has to know. And of course, the ones in front that can look at a child when he goofs and reflect, 'I understand and I love you' without uttering a word."
"Lord," said the angel, touching his sleeve gently, "Come to bed."
"No, I can't," said the Lord. "I'm so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick; can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger; and can get a 10-year-old to stand under a shower."
The angel circled the model of the mother very slowly. "It's too soft."
"You cannot imagine what this mother can endure," said the Lord.
"Can it think?" asked the angel.
"Not only think, but it can reason and compromise," said the creator.
Finally, the angel bent over and ran fingers across the cheek of the mother. "There's a leak," the angel pronounced. "I told you -- you were trying to put too much in this model. You can't ignore the stress factor."
The Lord moved in for a closer look and gently lifted the drop of moisture to his finger, where it glistened and sparkled in the light. "It's not a leak," he said. "It's a tear."
"A tear?" said the angel. "What's it for?"
"It's for joy, sadness, disappointment, compassion, pain, loneliness and pride." said the Lord.
"You are a genius," said the angel.
The Lord looked somber. "I didn't put it there...."
The following are different answers given by school-age children to the given questions:
Why did God make mothers?
1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2. Think about it. It was the best way to get more people.
3. Mostly to clean the house.
4. To help us out of there when we were getting born.
How did God make mothers?
1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
3. He made my Mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.
Why did God give you your mother and not some other Mom?
1. We're related.
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me.
What ingredients are mothers made of?
1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world, and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string. I think.
What kind of little girl was your Mom?
1. My Mom has always been my Mom and none of that other stuff.
2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.
How did your Mom meet your dad?
1. Mom was working in a store and dad was shoplifting.
What did Mom need to know about dad before she married him?
1. His last name
2. She had to know his background Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer? Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?
Why did your Mom marry your dad?
1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my Mom eats a lot.
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that Mom didn't have her thinking cap on.
What makes a real woman?
1. It means you have to be really bossy without looking bossy.
Who's the boss at your house?
1. Mom doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because Dad's such a goofball.
2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than Dad.
What's the difference between moms and dads?
1. Moms work at work and work at home, and dads just got to work at work.
2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
3. Dads are taller and stronger, but moms have all the real power cause that's who you gotta ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's.
What does your Mom do in her spare time?
1. Mothers don't do spare time.
2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.
What's the difference between moms and grandmas?
1 About 30 years.
2. You can always count on grandmothers for candy. Sometimes moms don't even have bread on them!
Describe the world's greatest Mom?
1. She would make broccoli taste like ice cream!
2. The greatest Mom in the world wouldn't make me kiss my fat aunts!
3. She'd always be smiling and keep her opinions to herself.
Is anything about your Mom perfect?
1. Her teeth are perfect, but she bought them from the dentist.
2. Her casserole recipes. But we hate them.
3. Just her children
What would it take to make your Mom perfect?
1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2. Diet. You know, her hair. I'd dye-it, maybe blue.
If you could change one thing about your Mom, what would it be?
1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that.
2. I'd make my Mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.
When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital Corridor waiting for doctors to put a few Stitches in my daughter's head. I asked, "When do You stop worrying?" The nurse said, "When they get out of the accident stage." My Dad just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little Chair in a classroom and heard how one of my Children talked incessantly, disrupted the class, And was headed for a career making License plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher Said, "Don't worry, they all go through This stage and then you can sit back, relax and Enjoy them." My dad just smiled Faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime Waiting for the phone to ring, the cars to come Home, the front door to open. A friend said, "They're trying to find themselves. Don't worry, In a few years, y ou can stop worrying. They'll be Adults." My dad just smiled faintly And said nothing.
By the time I was 50, I was sick & tired of being Vulnerable. I was still worrying over my Children, but there was a new wrinkle. There Was nothing I could do about it. My Dad just smiled faintly and said nothing. I Continued to anguish over their failures, be Tormented by their frustrations and absorbed in Their disappointments.
My friends said that when my kids got married I Could stop worrying and lead my own Life. I wanted to believe that, but I was Haunted by my dad's warm smile and his Occasional, "You look pale. Are you all right? Call me the minute you get home. Are You depressed about something?"
Can it be that parents are sentenced to a Lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another Handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of Human frailties and the fears of the Unknown? Is concern a curse or is it a virtue That elevates us to the highest form of life?
One of my children became quite irritable Recently, saying to me, "Where were you? I've been Calling for 3 days, and no one answered I was worried." I smiled a warm smile. The torch had been passed.
PASS IT ON TO OTHER WONDERFUL PARENTS
(And also to your children. That's the fun part)
"Yes," I replied, "that's a good analogy."
"I don't know how to make egg rolls," another mother said anxiously. "Can I wrap my baby like a burrito?"
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