Isn't this the truth!!!

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn , you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.

You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someones Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR! ), yank down your pants, and assume ' The Stance.'
In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold 'The Stance.'
To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!' Your thighs shake more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail .
Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. 'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, 'You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get.'

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.
At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting.
You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this.'
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used, and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?'

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restrooms (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door!

The Right Way

The right way.

The right way is what works for you and your child and your family.

The right way for you is not the exact same right way as the right way for your neighbor, your sister, your best friend.

The right way with your first child is not the right way with your second child or third child or thirteenth child.

The right way is what allows you to be true to yourself and honor your child at the same time, as much as you can, in the middle of situations that should be against the Geneva Convention.

The right way doesn't have anything to do with pacifiers, or putting a baby down asleep or awake, or when your baby is out of diapers, or whether your baby watches TV or not.

The right way is about learning more about yourself and using that knowledge to learn about your child. And then taking that knowledge of your child and using it to learn more about yourself.

The right way is having a long conversation with this amazing little person you've been entrusted with. Sometimes the conversation gets rough and you get tired and angry at each other, but you keep talking. And the conversation just gets more and more interesting as you go along.

For me, the right way is that my mom learned how to text as soon as she figured out that that's easier for me at work than talking.

I don't know if I'm doing it the right way at any given time with my kids, but the conversation seems to be going well, so I'm trusting that I'm doing fine.

Dear Mom

A Mother passing by her son's bedroom was astonished to see that his bed was nicely made and everything was picked up. Then she saw an envelope, propped up prominently on the pillow that was addressed to "Mom" With the worst premonition she opened the envelope with trembling hands and read the letter.

Dear Mom,
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 Dad and you. I have been finding real passion with Stacy and she is so nice. But I knew you would not approve of her because of all her piercings, tattoos, tight motorcycle clothes and the fact that she is much older than I am. But
it's not only the passion...Mom she's pregnant. Stacy said that we will be very happy. She owns a trailer in the woods and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter.We share a dream of having many more children.
Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn't really hurt
anyone. We'll be growing it for ourselves and trading it with the other people
that live nearby for cocaine and ecstasy. In the meantime we will pray that science will find a cure for AIDS so Stacy can get better.
She deserves it.
Don't worry Mom. I'm 15 and I know how to take care of myself. Someday
I'm sure that we will be back to visit so that you can get to know your grandchildren.
Love,
Your Son Jon


P.S. Mom, none of the above is true. I'm over at Tommy's house. I just
wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than the report card that's in my center desk drawer.
; I love you. Call me when it's safe to come home!!

If You Give a Mom a Muffin

If you give a mom a muffin
She'll want a strong cup of coffee to go with it, She'll make herself some.
Her three-year-old will spill the coffee She'll wipe it up.
While wiping the floor she'll find dirty socks.
She'll remember she has to do laundry.
When she puts the laundry in the washer, she'll trip over boots and bump into the box of Goodwill items.
Bumping into the Goodwill items will remind her that she has to get these boxes out of her basement and into the car.
When she puts the boxes in the car, she'll find a bag of groceries and this will remind her she has to cook dinner.
She will get out the chicken defrosting in the fridge.
She'll look for her cookbook, "101 Things To Do With Chicken"
The cookbook will be sitting under a pile of mail.
She will see the Netflix movie she's meant to send back and the phone bill, which is due tomorrow.
The checkbook will be in her purse that is being dumped out by her one-year-old.
As she bends down to rescue her purse, she'll smell something funny. She'll change the baby's diaper.
While she is throwing away the diaper and searching for the hand sanitizer, the phone will ring.
Her three-year-old will answer and hang up.
She'll remember she wants to call a friend - not for coffee, but for a very strong drink.
Thinking of drinking will remind her that she was going to have a cup of coffee in order to stay awake for the rest of the day.
And chances are....

If she finds her cup of coffee (which she has to reheat by now), Her children will have eaten the muffin that goes with it.

Potty Talk

Potty Talk... A 3-year-old tells all from his mother's restroom stall.
By Shannon Popkin

My little guy, Cade, is quite a talker. He loves to communicate and
does it quite well. He talks to people constantly, whether we're in
the library, the grocery store or at a drive-thru window.
People often comment on how clearly he speaks for a just-turned
3-year-old. And you never have to ask him to turn up the volume.
It's always fully cranked.
There've been several embarrassing times that I've wished the
meaning of his words would have been masked by a not-so-audible
voice, but never have I wished this more than last week at Costco.
Halfway, through our shopping trip, nature called, so I took Cade
with me into the restroom. If you'd been one of the ladies in the
restroom that evening, this is what you would have heard coming
from the second to the last stall:
"Mommy, are you gonna go potty? Oh!
Why are you putting toiwet paper on the potty, Mommy? Oh!
You gonna sit down on DA toiwet paper now? Mommy, what are you
doing?
Mommy, are you gonna go stinkies on the potty?"
At this point I started mentally counting how many women had been in the
bathroom when I walked in. Several stalls were full ? 4? 5?
Maybe we could wait until they all left before I had to make my debut out
of this stall and reveal my identity.
Cade continued, "Mommy, you ARE going stinkies aren't you?
Oh, dats a good girl, Mommy!
Are you gonna get some candy for going stinkies on the potty?
Let me see doze stinkies, Mommy! Oh ?
Mommy! I'm trying to see in dere. Oh! I see dem. Dat is a very good girl,
Mommy. You are gonna get some candy!"
I heard a few faint chuckles coming from the stalls on either side of me.
Where is a screaming newborn when you need her? Good grief.
This was really getting embarrassing. I was definitely waiting a long time
before exiting.
Trying to divert him, I said, "Why don't you look in Mommy's purse
and see if you can find some candy. We'll both have some!"

"No, I'm trying to see doze more stinkies. Oh! Mommy!" He started
to gag at this point. "Uh oh, Mommy. I fink I'm gonna frow up. Mommy,
doze stinkies are making me frow up!! Dat is so gross!!" As the gags
became louder, so did the chuckles outside my stall.
I quickly flushed the toilet in hopes of changing the subject.
I began to reason with myself: OK. There are fourother toilets.
If I count four flushes, I can be reasonably assured that those who
overheard this embarrassing monologue will be long gone.
"Mommy! Would you get off the potty, now? I want you to be done
going stinkies! Get up! Get up!" He grunted as he tried to pull me off.
Now I could hear full-blown laughter. I bent down to count the feet
outside my door.
"Oh, are you wooking under dere, Mommy? You wooking under
DA door? What were you wooking at, Mommy? You wooking at
the wady's feet?" More laughter.
I stood inside the locked door and tried to assess the situation.
"Mommy, it's time to wash our hands, now.
We have to go out now, Mommy."He started pounding on the door.
"Mommy, don't you want to wash your hands? I want to go out!!"
I saw that my "wait 'em out" plan was unraveling.
As I sheepishly opened the door, and found an open sink, I thought,
Where's the fine print on the 'motherhood contract' where I signed
away every bit of my privacy?
But as my little herald gave me a big, cheeky grin while he rubbed
bubbly soap between his chubby little hands, I thought,
I'd sign it all away again, just to be known as Mommy to this little
fellow.

Shannon Popkin is a freelance writer and mother of three.
She lives with her family in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she no
longer uses public restrooms.

The Washcloth

Ladies this has to be read, laughed at and passed
on. There is not a woman alive today who won't crack up over this!

I was due for an appointment with the gynecologistlater in the week.
Early one morning, I received a call from the doctor's office to tell
me that I had been rescheduled for that morning at 9:30 am. I had
only just packed everyone off to work and school, and it was already
around 8:45 am.

The trip to his office took about 35 minutes, so I didn't have any
time to spare. As most women do, I like to take a little extra effort
over hygiene when making such visits, but this time I wasn't going to be
able to make the full effort. So, I rushed upstairs, threw off my pajamas,
wet the washcloth that was sitting next to the sink, and gave myself a quick
wash in 'that area' to make sure I was at least presentable. I threw the
washcloth in the clothes basket, donned some clothes, hopped in the car
and raced to my appointment.

I was in the waiting room for only a few minutes when I was called in.
Knowing the procedure, as I'm sure you do, I hopped up on the table,
looked over at the other side of the room and pretended that I was
in Paris or some other place a million miles away.

I was a little surprised when the doctor said, "My, we have made an
extra effort this morning, haven't we ?"

I didn't respond.

After the appointment, I heaved a sigh of relief and went home. The
rest of the day was normal ... some shopping, cleaning, cooking, etc.

After school when my 6 year old daughter was playing, she called
out from the bathroom, "Mommy, where's my washcloth?" I told her to
get another one from the cupboard.

She replied, "No, I need the one that was here by the sink, it had
all my glitter and sparkles saved inside it."

Mother

The young mother set her foot on the path of life. "Is
this the long way?" she asked. And the guide said:
"Yes, and the way is hard.
And you will be old before you reach the end of it. But
the end will be better than the beginning."






But the young mother was happy, and she would not
believe that anything could be better than these years. So she
played with her children, and gathered flowers for
them along the way, and bathed them in the clear streams, and
the sun shone on them, and the young Mother cried,
"Nothing will ever be lovelier than this."






Then the night came, and the storm, and the path was
dark, and the children shook with fear and cold, and the mother
drew them close and covered them with her mantle, and the children said,
"Mother, we are not afraid, for you are near, and no harm can come."






And the morning came, and there was a hill ahead, and
the children climbed and grew weary, and the mother was weary.
But at all times she said to the children," A little patience and we are there."
So the children climbed, and when they reached the top
they said, "Mother, we would not have done it without you."






And the mother, when she lay down at night looked up
at the stars and said, "This is a better day than the last, for my
children have learned fortitude in the face of hardness.
Yesterday I gave them courage.
Today, I 've given them strength."



And the next day came strange clouds which darkened
the earth, clouds of war and hate and evil, and the children groped
and stumbled, and the mother said: "Look up. Lift your eyes to the light."
And the children looked and saw above the clouds
an everlasting glory, and it guided them beyond the
darkness. And that night the Mother said,
"This is the best day of all, for
I have shown my children God."

And the days went on, and the weeks and the months and
the years, and the mother grew old and she was little and bent.
But her children were tall and strong, and walked with
courage. And when the way was rough, they lifted her,
for she was as light as a feather. And at last they came to a hill,
and beyond they could see a shining road and golden gates flung wide. And
the mother said, "I have reached the end of my journey. And now I know
the end is better than the beginning, for my children can
walk alone, and their children after them."



And the children said, "You will always walk with us,
Mother, even when you have gone through the gates."
And they stood and watched her as she went on alone, and the gates
closed after her. And they said: "We cannot see her
but she is with us still. A Mother like ours is more than a memory. She
is a living presence......."



Your Mother is always with you.... She's the whisper
of the leaves as you walk down the street; she's the smell of bleach
in your freshly laundered socks; she's the cool hand
on your brow when you're not well. Your Mother lives
inside your laughter. And she's crystallized in every tear drop.
She's the place you came from, your first home; and
she's the map you follow with every step you take. She's your first love
and your first heartbreak, and nothing on earth can
separate you.

Not time, not space... not even death!

PASS THIS ON TO ALL THE MOTHERS & CHILDREN YOU KNOW.
MAY WE NEVER TAKE OUR MOTHERS FOR GRANTED...

Hormones

The Hormone Hostage knows that there are days in the month when all a
man has to do is open his mouth and he takes his very life into his own
hands! This is a handy guide that should be as common as a driver's
license in the wallet of every husband, boyfriend, or significant
other!!

DANGEROUS: What's for dinner?
SAFER: May I help you with dinner?
SAFEST: Where would you like to go for dinner?
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.

DANGEROUS: Are you wearing that?
SAFER: Gee, you look good in brown.
SAFEST: WOW! Look at you!
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.

DANGEROUS: What are you so worked up about?
SAFER: What did I do wrong?
SAFEST: Here's fifty dollars.
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.

DANGEROUS: Should you be eating that?
SAFER: You know, there are a lot of apples left.
SAFEST: May I get you a glass of wine with that?
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.

DANGEROUS: What did you do all day?
SAFER: I hope you didn't overdo it today.
SAFEST: I've always loved you in that robe!
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some more chocolate.

13 Things PMS Stands For:


1. Pass My Shotgun
2. Psychotic Mood Shift
3. Perpetual Munching Spree
4. Puffy Mid-Section
5. People Make me Sick
6. Provide Me with Sweets
7. Pardon My Sobbing
8. Pimples May Surface
9. Pass My Sweatpants
10. Plainly; Men Suck
11. Pack My Stuff........And my favorite one...
12. Potential Murder Suspect

Pass this onto all of your hormonal friends and those who might need a
good laugh! Or men who need a warning! And remember: Money talks...but
chocolate sings!

Another thing to giggle about... My husband, not happy with my mood
swings, bought me a mood ring the other day so he would be able to
monitor my moods. When I'm in a good mood, it turns green. When I'm in
bad mood, it leaves a big red mark on his forehead. Maybe next time
he'll buy me diamonds. Here, have some chocolate.

Hope you all have a terrific day!!!

Mothers

This is a BEAUTIFUL piece -- please
read at a slow pace, digesting every word in
leisure...do not hurry....this is a treasure...

For those lucky to still be blessed with your Mom,
this is beautiful. For those of us who aren't, this is
even more beautiful. For those who are moms, you'll love this.





The young mother set her foot on the path of life. "Is
this the long way?" she asked. And the guide said:
"Yes, and the way is hard.
And you will be old before you reach the end of it. But
the end will be better than the beginning."






But the young mother was happy, and she would not
believe that anything could be better than these years. So she
played with her children, and gathered flowers for
them along the way, and bathed them in the clear streams, and
the sun shone on them, and the young Mother cried,
"Nothing will ever be lovelier than this."






Then the night came, and the storm, and the path was
dark, and the children shook with fear and cold, and the mother
drew them close and covered them with her mantle, and the children said,
"Mother, we are not afraid, for you are near, and no harm can come."






And the morning came, and there was a hill ahead, and
the children climbed and grew weary, and the mother was weary.
But at all times she said to the children," A little patience and we are there."
So the children climbed, and when they reached the top
they said, "Mother, we would not have done it without you."






And the mother, when she lay down at night looked up
at the stars and said, "This is a better day than the last, for my
children have learned fortitude in the face of hardness.
Yesterday I gave them courage.
Today, I 've given them strength."



And the next day came strange clouds which darkened
the earth, clouds of war and hate and evil, and the children groped
and stumbled, and the mother said: "Look up. Lift your eyes to the light."
And the children looked and saw above the clouds
an everlasting glory, and it guided them beyond the
darkness. And that night the Mother said,
"This is the best day of all, for
I have shown my children God."

And the days went on, and the weeks and the months and
the years, and the mother grew old and she was little and bent.
But her children were tall and strong, and walked with
courage. And when the way was rough, they lifted her,
for she was as light as a feather. And at last they came to a hill,
and beyond they could see a shining road and golden gates flung wide. And
the mother said, "I have reached the end of my journey. And now I know
the end is better than the beginning, for my children can
walk alone, and their children after them."



And the children said, "You will always walk with us,
Mother, even when you have gone through the gates."
And they stood and watched her as she went on alone, and the gates
closed after her. And they said: "We cannot see her
but she is with us still. A Mother like ours is more than a memory. She
is a living presence......."



Your Mother is always with you.... She's the whisper
of the leaves as you walk down the street; she's the smell of bleach
in your freshly laundered socks; she's the cool hand
on your brow when you're not well. Your Mother lives
inside your laughter. And she's crystallized in every tear drop.
She's the place you came from, your first home; and
she's the map you follow with every step you take. She's your first love
and your first heartbreak, and nothing on earth can
separate you.

Not time, not space... not even death!

PASS THIS ON TO ALL THE MOTHERS & CHILDREN YOU KNOW.
MAY WE NEVER TAKE OUR MOTHERS FOR GRANTED...

Birth Order of Children

Your Clothes:
1st baby: You begin wearing maternity clothes as soon as your OB/GYN
confirms your pregnancy.
2nd Baby: You wear your regular clothes for as long as possible.
3rd baby: Your maternity clothes ARE your regular clothes.

Preparing for the Birth:
1st baby: You practice your breathing religiously.
2nd baby: You don't bother because you remember that last time, breathing
didn't do a thing.
3rd baby: You ask for an epidermal in your eighth month.

The Layette:
1st baby: You pre-wash newborn's clothes, color-coordinate them, and fold
them neatly in the baby's little bureau.
2nd baby: You check to make sure that the clothes are clean and discard
only
the ones with the darkest stains.
3rd baby: Boys can wear pink, can't they?

Worries:
1st baby: At the first sign of distress--a whimper, a frown--you pick up
the
baby
2nd baby: You pick the baby up when her wails threaten to wake your
firstborn.
3rd baby: You teach your three-year-old how to rewind the mechanical
swing.

Pacifiers:
1st baby: If the pacifier falls on the floor, you put it away until you
can
go home and wash and boil it.
2nd baby: When the pacifier falls on the floor, you squirt it off with
some
juice from the baby's bottle.
3rd baby: You wipe it off on your shirt and pop it back in.

Diapering:
1st baby: You change your baby's diaper every hour, whether they need it
or
not.
2nd baby: You change their diaper every two to three hours, if needed.
3rd baby: You try to change their diaper before others start to complain
about the smell or you see it sagging to their knees.

Activities:
1st baby: You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics, Baby Swing, and Baby
Story Hour.
2nd Baby: You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics.
3rd baby: You take your infant to the supermarket and the dry cleaner.

Going Out:
1st baby: The first time you leave your baby with a sitter, you call home
five times.
2nd baby: Just before you walk out the door, you remember to leave a
number
where you can be reached.
3rd baby: You leave instructions for the sitter to call only if she sees
blood.

At Home:
1st baby: You spend a good bit of every day just gazing at the baby.
2nd baby: You spend a bit of everyday watching to be sure your older child
isn't squeezing, poking, or hitting the baby
3rd baby: You spend a little bit of every day hiding from the children.

Swallowing Coins:
1st child: When first child swallows a coin, you rush the child to the
hospital and demand X-rays.
2nd child: When second child swallows a coin, you carefully watch for the
coin to pass.
3rd child: When third child swallows a coin you deduct it from his
allowance!

What Do You Really Do All Day Helen?

A man came home from work and found his three children outside, still
in their pajamas, playing in the mud, with empty food boxes and
wrappers strewn all around the front yard.

The door of his wife's car was open, as was the front door to the
house and there was no sign of the dog. Proceeding into the entry, he
found an even bigger mess. A lamp had been knocked over, and the
throw rug was wadded against one wall

In the front room the TV was loudly blaring a cartoon channel, and
the family room was strewn with toys
and various items of clothing.

In the kitchen, dishes filled the sink, breakfast food was spilled on
the counter, the fridge door was open wide, dog food was spilled on
the floor, a broken glass lay under the table, and a small pile of
sand was spread by the back door.

He quickly headed up the stairs, stepping over toys and more piles of
clothes, looking for his wife. He was worried she might be ill, or
that something serious had happened.

He was met with a small trickle of water as it made its way out the
bathroom door. As he peered inside he found wet towels, scummy soap
and more toys strewn over the floor. Miles of toilet paper lay in a
heap and toothpaste had been smeared over the mirror and walls.

As he rushed to the bedroom, he found his wife still curled up in the
bed in her pajamas, reading a novel. She looked up at him, smiled,
and asked how his day went. He looked at her bewildered and asked,
What happened here today?"

She again smiled and answered, "You know every day when you co me
home from work and you ask me what in the world I do all day?"

Yes," was his incredulous reply.

She answered, "Well, today I didn't do it."

A letter from Mom.....

Dear Santa,


I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground.

I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my daughter's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.

Here are my Christmas wishes:

I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze; but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the grocery store.

I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.

If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.

On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, "Yes, Mommy" to boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.

I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting "Don't eat in the living room" and "Take your hands off your brother," because my voice seems to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.

If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container.

If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely.

It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.

Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my daughter saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think she wants her crayon back. Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come in and dry off so you don't catch cold.

Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.

Yours Always, MOM...!

P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in Santa.

Raising Boys

RAISING BOYS
a) For those with no children - this is totally hysterical!
b) For those who already have children past this age, this is hilarious.
c) For those who have children this age, this is not funny.
d) For those who have children nearing this age, this is a warning.
e) For those who have not yet had children, this is birth control.

The following came from an anonymous Mother in Austin, Texas...

Things I've learned from my Boys (honest and not 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 Boy'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 Boy 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 Boy.
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.) 80% of Men who read this will try mixing the Clorox and brake fluid.
25.) Women will pass this on to almost all of their friends, with or without kids.

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother’s Day to all the Mom’s and soon to be Mom’s



This is for the mothers who have sat up all night
with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf
laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid
saying, "It's okay honey, Mommy's here."

Who have sat in rocking chairs for hours on end
soothing crying babies who can't be comforted.

This is for all the mothers who show up at work with
spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their
blouses and diapers in their purse.

For all the mothers who run carpools and make
cookies and sew Halloween costumes. And all the
mothers who DON'T.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies
they'll never see. And the mothers who took those
babies and gave them homes.

This is for the mothers whose priceless art
collections are hanging on their refrigerator doors.

And for all the mothers who froze their buns on
metal bleachers at football or soccer games instead
of watching from the warmth of their cars, so that
when their kids asked, "Did you see me, Mom?" they
could say, "Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for
the world," and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids
in the grocery store and swat them in despair when
they stomp their feet and scream for ice cream
before dinner. And for all the mothers who count to
ten instead, but realize how child abuse happens.

This is for all the mothers who sat down with their
children and explained all about making babies. And
for all the (grand)mothers who wanted to, but just
couldn't find the words.

This is for all the mothers who go hungry, so their
children can eat. For all the mothers who read
"Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for a year. And then
read it again. "Just one more time .."

This is for all the mothers who taught their
children to tie their shoelaces before they started
school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro
instead.

This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to
cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for every mother whose head turns
automatically when a little voice calls "Mom?" in a
crowd, even though they know their own offspring are
at home -- or even away at college.

This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to
school with stomach aches assuring them they'd be
just FINE once they got there, only to get calls
from the school nurse an hour later asking them to
please pick them up. Right away.

This is for mothers whose children have gone astray,
who can't find the words to reach them.

This is for all the step-mothers who raised another
woman's child or children, and gave their time,
attention, and love... sometimes to tally unappreciated!

For all the mothers who bite their lips until they
bleed when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.

For all the mothers of the victims of recent school
shootings, and the mothers of those who did the
shooting.

For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers
who sat in front of their TVs in horror, hugging
their child who just came home from school, safely.

This is for all the mothers who taught their
children to be peaceful, and now pray they come home
safely from a war.
What makes a good Mother anyway?
Is it patience?

Compassion?

Broad hips?

The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a
button on a shirt, all at the same time?

Or is it in her heart?

Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or
daughter disappear down the street, walking to
school alone for the very first time?

The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from
bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put your hand on the back
of a sleeping baby?

The panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M.
when you just want to hear their key in the door and
know they are safe again in your home?

Or the need to flee from wherever you are and hug
your child when you hear news of a fire, a car
accident, a child dying?

The emotions of motherhood are universal and so our
thoughts are for young mothers stumbling through
diaper changes and sleep deprivation...

And mature mothers learning to let go.

For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.

Single mothers and married mothers.

Mothers with money, mothers without. This is for
you all. For all of us. Hang in there. In the end we
can only do the best we can. Tell them every day
that we love them. And pray.

Please pass along to all the Moms in your life.

"Home is what catches you when you fall - and we all fall."

Somebody Said...

Somebody said it takes about six weeks to get back to normal after you've had a baby ....

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 neighbour'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 labour 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.

A Mom's Job Description

This is a fun description of our full time jobs! :)

A woman, renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself. "What I mean is," explained the recorder, "do you have a job or are you just a...?"

Of course I have a job," snapped the woman. "I'm a Mom."

"We don't list 'Mom' as an occupation, "housewife covers it," said the recorder emphatically.

I forgot all about her story until, one day, I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient and possessed of a high sounding title like, "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar" "What is your occupation?" she probed. What made me say it? I do not know. The words simply popped out. "I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations."*

The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly emphasizing the most significant words. Then, I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written in bold black ink on the official questionnaire.
"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research (what mother doesn't) in the laboratory and in the field, (normally I would have said indoors and out). I'm working for my Masters (the whole darned family) and already have 4 credits (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities (any mother care to disagree?), and I often work 14 hours a day (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money."

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up and personally ushered me to the door.

As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants -- ages 13, 7, 3. Upstairs, I could hear our new experimental model (a 6-month-old baby) in the child development program, testing out a new vocal pattern. I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another Mom."

Motherhood! What a glorious career! Especially when there's a title on the door.

Does this make grandmothers "Senior Research associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations" and great grandmothers "Executive Senior Research Associates"? I think so!!! I also think it makes aunts "Associate Research Assistants".

Please send this to another Mom, Grandmother, Aunt, and other friends you know.
May your troubles be less, your blessings be more and nothing but happiness come through your door!