by Erma Bombeck
When the good Lord was creating mothers He was into His sixth day
of"overtime" when the angel appeared and said, "You're doing a lot of
fiddling around this one."
And the Lord said, "Have you read the specs on this order? She has to
be completely washable, but not plastic; Have 180 moveable parts...
all replaceable; Run on black coffee and leftovers; Have a lap that
disappears when she stands up; A kiss that can cure anything from a
broken leg to a disappointed love affair; And six pairs of hands."
The angel shook her head slowly and said, "Six pairs of hands... no way."
"It's not the hands that are causing me problems," said the Lord.
"It's the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have."
"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 kids doing in there?" when she already knows.
Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn't but
what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front that can
look at a child when he goofsup and say, "I understand and I Love You"
without so much as uttering a
word."
"Lord", said the angel, toughing His sleeve gently, "Come to bed.
Tomorrow..."
"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
nine-year-old tostand under a shower."
The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. "It's too soft,"
she sighed.
"But tough!" said the Lord excitedly. "You cannot imagine what this
mother can do or endure."
"Can it think?"
"Not only think, but it can reason and compromise," said the Creator.
Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek.
"There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told You. You were trying to put
too much into this model."
"It's not a leak," said the Lord, "it's a tear."
"What's it for?"
"It's for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness and pride."
"You are a genius," said the angel.
The Lord looked somber. "I didn't put it there."
(Happy Mother's Day)
Quotes from Erma Bombeck
*
Spend at least one Mother's Day with your respective mothers before
you decide on marriage. If a man gives his mother a gift certificate
for a flu shot, dump him.
My kids always perceived the bathroom as a place where you wait it out
until all the groceries are unloaded from the car.
Making coffee has become the great compromise of the decade. It's the
only thing "real" men do that doesn't seem to threaten their
masculinity. To women, it's on the same domestic entry level as
putting the spring back into the toilet-tissue holder or taking a
chicken out of the freezer to thaw.
I don't know why no one ever thought to paste a label on the
toilet-tissue spindle giving 1-2-3 directions for replacing the tissue
on it. Then everyone in the house would know what Mama knows.
Giving birth is little more than a set of muscular contractions
granting passage of a child. Then the mother is born.
Housework is a treadmill from futility to oblivion with stop offs at
tedium and counter productivity.
There's a territorial ritual to an aerobics class. I entered a class
for the first time a few years ago and ended up where no one wanted to
be...in the front row next to the mirror. It was three years before I
could work my way to the back row.
How come anything you buy will go on sale next week?
Most women put off entertaining until the kids are grown.
I have never gone to the bathroom in my life that a small voice on the
other side of the door hasn't whined, "Are you saving the bananas for
anything?"
Some say our national pastime is baseball. Not me. It's gossip.
Graduation day is tough for adults. They go to the ceremony as
parents. They come home as contemporaries. After twenty-two years of
child-rearing, they are unemployed.
Marriage has no guarantees. If that's what you're looking for, go live
with a car battery.
There is nothing more miserable in the world than to arrive in
paradise and look like your passport photo.
Youngsters of the age of two and three are endowed with extraordinary
strength. They can lift a dog twice their own weight and dump him into
the bathtub.
Getting out of the hospital is a lot like resigning from a book club.
You're not out of it until the computer SAYS you're out of it.
Why is it when you want a nice souvenir, you find a great shell in a
gift shop, but some yo-yo has affixed a ten-cent thermometer to it?
Kids have little computer bodies with disks that store information.
They remember who had to do the dishes the last time you had
spaghetti, who lost the knob off the Tv set six years ago, who got
punished for teasing the dog when he wasn't teasing the dog and who
had to wear girls boots the last time it snowed.
Who, in their infinite wisdom, decreed that Little League uniforms be
white? Certainly not a mother.
People shop for a bathing suit with more care than they do a husband
or wife. The rules are the same. Look for something you'll feel
comfortable wearing. Allow for room to grow.
No self-respecting mother would run out of intimidations on the eve of
a major holiday.
On vacations: We hit the sunny beaches where we occupy ourselves
keeping the sun off our skin, the saltwater off our bodies and the
sand out of our belongings.
Mother's words of wisdom: "Answer me! Don't talk with food in your mouth!"
All of us have moments in our lives that test our courage. Taking
children into a house with white carpet is one of them.
Most children's first words are "Mama" or "Daddy." Mine were, "Do I
have to use my own money?"
Sometimes I can't figure designers out. It's as if they flunked human
anatomy.
I remember buying a set of black plastic dishes once, after I saw an
ad on television where they actually put a blowtorch to them and they
emerged unscathed. Exactly one week after I bought them, one of the
kids brought a dinner plate to me with a large crack in it. When I
asked what happened to it, he said it hit a tree. I don't want to talk
about it.
My theory on housework is, if the item doesn't multiply, smell, catch
on fire or block the refrigerator door, let it be. No one cares. Why
should you?
Before you try to keep up with the Joneses, be sure they're not trying
to keep up with you.
Have you any idea how many children it takes to turn off one light in
the kitchen? Three. It takes one to say, "What light?" and two more to
say, "I didn't turn it on."
Onion rings in the car cushions do not improve with time.
Everyone is guilty at one time or another of throwing out questions
that beg to be ignored, but mothers seem to have a market on the
supply. "Do you want a spanking or do you want to go to bed?" Don't
you want to save some of the pizza for your brother?" Wasn't there any
change?"
I never leaf through a copy of National Geographic without realizing
how lucky we are to live in a society where it is traditional to wear
clothes.
The age of your children is a key factor in how quickly you a re
served in a restaurant. We once had a waiter in Canada who said,
"Could I get you your check?" and we answered, "How about the menu
first?"
Mothers have to remember what food each child likes or dislikes, which
one is allergic to penicillin and hamster fur, who gets carsick and
who isn't kidding when he stands outside the bathroom door and tells
you what's going to happen if he doesn't get in right away. It's
tough. If they all have the same hair color they tend to run together.
When your mother asks, "Do you want a piece of advice?" it's a mere
formality. It doesn't matter if you answer yes or no. You're going to
get it anyway.
No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed. I have known mothers
who remake the bed after their children do it because there's a
wrinkle in the spread or the blanket is on crooked. This is sick.
When mothers talk about the depression of the empty nest, they're not
mourning the passing of all those wet towels on the floor, or the
music that numbs your teeth, or even the bottle of capless shampoo
dribbling down the shower drain. They're upset because they've gone
from supervisor of a child's life to a spectator. It's like being the
vice president of the United States.
*
Christmas Shopping: Wouldn't it be wonderful to find one gift that you
didn't have to dust, that had to be used right away, that was
practical, fit everyone, was personal and would be remembered for a
long time? I penciled in "Gift certificate for a flu shot."
Blogged with Flock
No comments:
Post a Comment