I turned off the water, grabbed a towel and opened the shower curtain. I was startled by the oldest boy who was quietly sitting on the toilet, and he got a kick out of my surprised squeal. Apparently he had been sitting there a while and I did not realize it. This is just one of the benefits of being Mom; you are never alone. While stepping out of the shower I teased the boy that he scared me and I didn’t know he was there. Why can’t they be this quiet when I want them to be?
I am drying off as I step out of the shower and he hits me with it. “Why do you have a tattoo on your butt Mommy?” In an attempt to stall the answer, I remind Mr. Observant that I have another one…right there. Like many other times I am caught off guard by a question by one of the boys, I simply fly by the seat of my pants. “Why do you ask buddy, do you not like Mommy’s tattoo?”.
This is one of those many times one of the boys teaches me something. They are constantly making me stop and reflect on myself and my beliefs, making me a better person. My little man, wise beyond his years, looks at me and says “Mommy, it doesn’t matter if I like it. It only matters if you like it.”.
All I could do was smile with pride. Where does this kid get it? I know he does not get it from me, and Daddy is less open minded than I am. Little Man then proceeds to tell me about a picture he drew at school that one of his classmates did not like, and evidently was not shy about sharing her opinion. The incident with the picture at school had made an impact on Little Man. He told me he liked the picture and did not care if others felt differently. YOU GO BOY!
I am not sure how long he was sitting there, waiting for me. After my schooling on confidence and what others have to say about me, he got up and walked out like nothing happened. If he only knew.
I was told recently by a family member in my home state of North Carolina that she was going to revoke my “Southern Belle” membership card.It seems, according to a family member that will remain nameless for their own safety, that the North has in a sense, tainted me.
Over the last fifteen or more years, I have moved back and forth between my Southern home and the Northland that somehow sucks me back like a pool vacuum trying to get the smallest piece of soot from the bottom of the pool…it is relentless.Like that last piece of pool gunk; I have finally given in to the pull that I cannot resist; my fate is inevitable.Although my changing ways were vividly apparent to my family; I denied the accusations that I was somehow being “influenced” by “those damn Yankees”.
The irony of the situation is that to my friends in New England, I currently live in Hillbilly Country.I try to remind them that just because we like our “throwed rolls” and our okra fried, it does not mean we are backward in any way.My friends in the first thirteen find it funny that I have to explain the difference between tin and ten to my children; not the actual definitions of the terms mind you but the way the words are pronounced.
Looking back, I suppose it started after attending school in Missouri. I moved back to North Carolina where I announced in mixed company that I did not care for sweet tea.You could have heard a pin drop.That’s right folks; a pin, not a pen.The family blamed it on the six months I spent in Connecticut.I attributed it to the fact that I like my syrup on pancakes, not in a glass.
The hardest thing for my family to swallow is that I refuse to eat anything that I have affectionately named “geriatric food”.You know what I am talking about; meatloaf, gravy, and beans.These foods require absolutely no dental tools that should be used for consuming sustenance.I just have a problem eating food that I could drink through a straw.As you can imagine; the fact that I “suddenly” will not eat brown gravy was like personally going to the cemetery and rolling over every ancestor I have.
Fortunately, I was given a very short probation period. The committee gathered around the kitchen table while playing Pinochle, and after a heated debate on the merits of my home made pie crust decided I had not shamed the family enough to take my card just yet.I was given a strict diet of pecan pie, Sundrop Soda, and NC State.I think it is fair to say the punishment fits the crime.Now where did I put my Wolfpack sweatshirt?
Stop me if you have heard this before. I say that for two reasons: (1) My real world friends and imaginary friends have begun to collide, so I may have told you this before. (2) More importantly, I pray this has happened to at least one other person so it will sound familiar to you.
The boys and I are running around town the other day running errands.Little Man congratulated me from the back between stops and says “Mommy, you have been so good today I think you deserve a coffee”.I smile at the idea that positive reinforcement must be having an effect on the boy and point the car in the direction of my favorite drive through coffee establishment.Little Man then adds “and brother and I get chocolate milk”.I rarely deny either boy anything; partially because I am a sucker and the other because frankly, he was so darn persuasive.
I pull up to the little white noise box and place my order; my coffee and two milks.To my surprise, this is the only time the guy behind the box does not offer me one of his luscious tarts.Although I am slightly disappointed and wonder if he was able to see through the microphone, I proceed to get my fix.My little coffee boy toy pops his head out of the window and provides my total due with a large smile on his face; a smirk almost.He then offers me one of his luscious tarts.As my ego is repairing itself, I decline and hand him the amount due.At this time, the boys are being their normal silly selves; singing along to the radio and dancing.As I pull away from the window, I turn to hand the boys their drinks and notice the cause of the smirk and the offer I was just given.
The Babe.Wearing my underwear. On his head.
All I could do was laugh.I guess some static cling hide the little surprise in his shirt and I did not notice it when I helped him dress.Or, the conspiracy theorist in me thinks my boys are already geniuses and know how to embarrass mommy.This wouldn’t happen if I didn’t wear underwear.
I turned off the water, grabbed a towel and opened the shower curtain. I was startled by the oldest boy who was quietly sitting on the toilet, and he got a kick out of my surprised squeal. Apparently he had been sitting there a while and I did not realize it. This is just one of the benefits of being Mom; you are never alone. While stepping out of the shower I teased the boy that he scared me and I didn’t know he was there. Why can’t they be this quiet when I want them to be?
I was told recently by a family member in my home state of North Carolina that she was going to revoke my “Southern Belle” membership card.
Stop me if you have heard this before. I say that for two reasons: (1) My real world friends and imaginary friends have begun to collide, so I may have told you this before. (2) More importantly, I pray this has happened to at least one other person so it will sound familiar to you.
