His New Friend Grace!

My two year-old's face was covered in jelly donut, and he had a grin glowing of sprinkles; no doubt we were again buying groceries, and I had bribed him to take a seat.  

I am dying to know, who the genius was in the bakery, obviously not a mother...throwing toddler bait all over a donut with a surprise frick'n jelly center. Fabulous! Mini m'ms and sprinkles weren't enough disaster...and generally were used to decoy away from making mother and toddler look of a jelly massacre. Instead, I had a child gnawing like a dog with fleas, to scrape each and every of the last m'ms and all 3lbs of frosting off. And when he hit jelly would spit red globs, and wipe his finger on the first thing in his reach, like it a booger. 

Yes, it was quite yummy...for the sake of the last remaining clean spots on my shirt, I caught on to this game, and began sticking out my tongue and slurped it off his finger each time.

Then, the cutest old lady approached the cart, where my little jelly hyena was happily scrubbing his donut around the shopping cart top and placing the unwanted pieces in my open wallet.

The common greeting, "Which aisle did you find this little doll?"
Surprised by the thickness of her glasses, and how she possibly couldn't have seen the earlier show...there wasn't an aisle unturned, nor one I hadn't found him destroying, before I dangled a donut in his path. 

Now, biting at my raspberry nails nervously, each time her frail little body got closer in his kick zone, and not to mention within jelly booger range. But, Bostyn was as calm as the rest of the store, now that there was jelly sticking him to a permanent seat in the cart.

She said her name was Gracie, "She was not a stranger, she was a Great-Grandma," and she continued calling him Dawson for the next 8 aisles we paired through the store. He wanted one of the strawberries from her cart, and naturally, she carried them all the way over to the bathroom and washed them off, so she could share.

I told her, "Not to worry about it...he generally ate the sand covering and stems in all!" Apparently, she hadn't she seen the bacteria with its own zip code and pet-sized amoebas crawling on that donut, or watched him lick the jelly off the seat buckle. The boy had an immune system and careless nature of any third child to a home.

She pretended there was a bug on one of the berries, and sang some ridiculous song of a ladybug, and the child sat there in such disbelief his eyebrows were arched over his ears.
She told him, "We have to wash the grasshopper whiskers off before we eat!"  (exactly...and here I thought it was the foreign picker's piss and pesticides...who knew the worst contaminates and most lethal poisons on our foods were the whiskers of a grasshopper...only Grace!)  

He offered a bite of his fistful, let her try on his sunglasses, and it seemed, he had made a real friend here, and so had I... She was the Grace of God! I had my first loaf of bread to ever survive a shopping trip and I hadn't had to entertain a toddler with visiting the lobster tank eleven times, after each aisle. 

This little old gal was plenty of entertainment for one curious boy. She clapped at all of his tricks, and he stared fascinated with the quiver of her bottom lip each time she shared the same exact story. I could tell her great-grandchildren were probably getting close to the its time to take the keys away talk, but Bostyn loved her crazy and belly laughed the wackier she got. She liked him on all fours, pretending to be, "What a cute little cow, you are," which quickly turned to raged snorting, "Me bull-cow!" and I had ended after he headbutted the cart against her old leg.

She attempted wiping the jelly off him, but was using a ratted tissue from inside her sleeve, and it left him looking as if he'd been tared and feathered. He was spitting pieces of tissue at her, but she just laughed...

She then says, "You're so cute, I'll take you home with me..." My eyes bugged, like could it be true! "Now, now Grace, let's not be threatening Mama with a good time, here..." I could have slammed that child over into her cart's seat so fast, tissue pieces would be trailing, her eggs dripping, and the glasses knocked off her head, so she'd never seen which way I went...

Obviously it was not an option, they were as well fit as, well, sticky and a tissue. And she was most likely going home to brush her cat, water rhubarb plants, and place every item she bought today in it's own, dated from the 80's, Tupperware container...

Although, I wish I would have suggested, "If you have liability insurance, your will in order, and you prefer your eggs scrabbled, here you go Gracie! His address and number are written in his coat, hopefully, you don't beat me home, or at least hang in there long enough for me to get my frozen stuff put away! You're in good hands...although only two, he had experience in calling 9-1-1, three times already."

He was cute, but he was venomous! And unless she had served in Vietnam, raised 9 boys of her own, or maybe traveled on a broom, her nor her cat would survive his terror!

"Bye Dawson! Be a good boy!" She laughed, and waved. Her hands were just like I remembered my Great-Grannie's...ice cold, tough as leather, but with the prints wore off and tips as smooth as butter. Bostyn slammed her a high-5 good-bye, nearly rocking her to her grave, and with enough force, I was at peace with my decision...she just wasn't a possible sitter. She belonged at quilt meetings and hanging out at the Quest lab waiting for blood work...she just wouldn't survive flying rocks and Nerf gun wars, or a rodeo ride on play dates with my two year-old. 

He was a little heart broken, until spotting the basket of suckers at the end of the checkout...and ran the store again, like the raged beast he was earlier!

Once again, the check-out line was moving as slow as 5:00 traffic...just why it is not a requirement to have two functioning hands to be grocery store cashier is beyond me...

He was streaming a balloon around at a full sprint, and yes, with a sucker in his mouth, and I was trying to keep my eyes on him, while unloading our cart full. He was still yelling "Hey Gace-E?" 
He climbs on the end bench, runs in the women's bathroom, and don't I still dare to ask for a rain check and drag out this lengthy check-out, even more... Not sure to leave my purse and cart, and go to the bathroom and see what grasshopper whiskers he was touching in there, or just keep a stare that he didn't leave... yep, never mind he'll come shimmying out to the end of the check out with his underpants to his knees, pants to his ankles, and another sucker in his mouth, this one I'm sure, covered in much more than grasshopper whiskers, by now.  Everyone snickers, some point and laugh out loud!

He simply explains, "Can't reach, Mama!" and I say, "Where the hell are ya now, Grace?"

So, if anyone knows "Gracie" ...approximately 85-90 years of age, in an embroidered grey shirt, which she's probably home dabbing the jelly stains with hydrogen peroxide, while her rhubarb soaks... Her son's name was Richard in one story, and Robert in another similar story. Maybe twins? Maybe senile?

Her upper teeth, I know are false-- as her taking them out trick was the main attraction and the definite bond-building moment for Bostyn! And by the wearing of her left shoe and the gate in her step, she has a rather large corn on her left big toe. Anybody fitting the description-- meet you at tops,  same time next week?

Grocery store eyes turn the other way!

So, there's always that moment when you pull into the grocery store parking lot with children and instead of worrying about finding the perfect parking spot...you simply bow your head; "Dear God, Oh Lord! Be gracious on mama, give me the strength and my children some control..." and it generally continues on with numerous promises you'll make, if only this trip turns out alright...

Then you spin around to the backseat and it starts with, "I swear to God, if all four of the shopping cart wheels don't stay on the floor..."  The lengthy chew-out, and then, praying again... oh, I mean I wont swear at you Lord, but if you would please, please... I'll feed orphans, rescue turtles, and stop squishing bugs, I wont even curse for the rest of the day... Any mercy available needs to be used on a shopping mother!

I pull into a spot, not the perfect one, but I didn't have to do a 7 point turn and jerk-back and forth to get in it, or get off my ass and move any carts...

A little tight to the giant van right next however, as a large guy slams his door open against mine, and pours himself down his seat, like a wet towel rolling down the hardwood stairs. He was a big boy. A bit less than blue-collar, more of the Rottweiler had chewed off his sleeves type, and I could hear and smell all his flesh rubbing down the side of my car as he shimmied out. And then he opened that back van door, and I knew, this shopping trip was not going to be any funner for him, than it was for me...

Five kids leaped to the pavement screaming, one swung out an infant carrier, and another a pair of shoes. The language started, "Why the (substitute your own string of slandered joy) don't you have your shoes on?"

All, staggered about a year apart; but we were not talking of a calm little cluster of Amish silence and timidness, here...rather, manged and rabid animals... Six of them!

My first thought was, lets start on the opposite side of the store; I'd rather have thawed and soggy frozen foods and warm milk, than fallow the aisle flow of this posse. Quickly reaching for my two year-old's hand, and there's the usual crouch down and yank away, and we're off-- blazing through another busy parking lot trying to fetch a determined toddler, once again!

In through the exit, and starting in the produce aisle as usual. There he was trying to pick up a watermelon already... My 8 year-old darting after him, but not to any assistance to me, he was merely fueling the chaos.
"If you're not going to be fast enough to catch him don't just chase..."

Barrel rolling the melon, pulling all the banana bunches apart and screaming into them like a phone... yet, I hadn't even crossed a single thing from my list or mauled through the same aisles as the "van clan"...

He wanted grapes. So, there it was; my bribing him into the cart and he could sit and eat all the unwashed Mexican shit and pesticide covering he wanted, just don't get up!

Nearly refocused on my shopping and here it comes... Pipes out in front with one cart, and the tiny little miss with five kids hanging off a second. She was extremely tiny, like-- you could tell all she had for breakfast was a carton of smokes, tiny... Not fair for having six kids. I couldn't believe someone with no lead in their ass could keep a cart of five leaping orangutans on it's wheels, when I simply never could with three...

Hooting kids diving in and out of the cart, similar to a mirror image of mine on days. Their cart was filled of cheezies, a heap of bologna, stacked higher than a fire hydrant, and a pinata sized bag of teeth rotting agent!
Was there wonder why they were unmanageable?

Then, here he came toward me, "one lane highway here Bud", and I'm on a mission; My tot was finally sitting, with eleven more items on my list and only minutes before this bag of grapes is destroyed and so is the child's underpants after eating its entirety...

His cart was lunging forward, with each step he took while laying up on the hand rest. Infant carrier on the top, and five 6pks. of bottled Mt.Dew lined up around the cart's perimeter and hanging over each of the sides. Wide load was not intimidating me...I had taken 9 kids under the age of 10 to the mall, at dinner time, on the Friday night, before Christmas!  B'... you aren't scaring anyone other than the screws and welds holding up your lounging over the cart.

I was prepared to give my cart that quick spin around and lead with my rabid tot's boots and larger end of the cart in front, combine harvester style! I glared!

There would be a collision and casualties, because I wasn't moving over and either was he, it was like a draw in an old western movie. I'd like to think it was the power behind my glare but, somewhere between him spotting the Hostess display and sharing his colorful language with the passing cart full of his kids, he moved out of my path.

For once in my child full life, all eyes in store were on someone else and their banshees, and my scene-maker's mouth was grape-stuffed and silent!

An old lady passed shaking her head, half smiled to me and said, "My word!"
Maybe following behind wasn't such a bad thing after all, I was walking on clouds and my kids were sedated in amazement with the traveling zoo. It was a moment of glory, I just fit into my skinny jeans...they actually zipped...and I could bend in them without blowing out the ass, kind of glory!

Amen! Now, I guess I will be feeding orphans, rescued turtles, with tape over my mouth...as I promised God for his miracle!



Motherly Monday Morning...

Naturally, on weekend mornings those little rodents are up stirring by 5:00 or 6:00am. The T.V. over your bed has cartoons on volume 37, and they're wide awake, already crumbling pop tars all over your bed sheets and simultaneously asking, "What's for breakfast?" All while driving a pair of knees into your back, stripping you of your covers, and telling you how bad your breath is, until you finally wake to meet their every need.

So, why is it on school days, the only thing that gets their, pissed the bed, little pants moving, is the already passing bus, honking and slamming back into gear? I'm quite sure our bus driver knows, there aren't any children from this house, ever on her bus on Monday mornings, but stops and causes scene, for sole purpose of resulting as our alarm clock.

Moments after over-sleeping, who doesn't need a good push of blood through their motherly veins on a slow moving, school morning? Today, that push was the rock flying through my living room window before 8:00am... no, not from the flying of lawn mower debris or most commonly, thrown from the outside...rather, released from the hand of a two year-old, from the inside of the house.

Yep, that's what we do; Our kids bug the piss out of us for an eternity of minutes, and so we follow with, "whatever, whatever, I don't care.." and there you have it, next thing you know; there are rocks inside the house. Covered in mud, rolled around the white carpet, and then hauled in a little tractor bucket to a new location, where you'll surely lose a toe nail after stubbing against it. And not little rocks for tucking into a small boy's pockets, then lost in the couch cushions...we're talking boulders! Better for hurting a sibling and busting right through the frick'n glass!

After asking Ashlyn, my most reliant news broadcaster, here's what I know... The lazy 8 year-old told his little brother to get him the remote, and when he refused... The lazy boy shouted, "Coyotes will come in and eat you if you don't get it now!" Then, the small beast started whipping rocks, as well as that said remote, at the window for protection...
...awesome narration by my four year-old!

Needless to say, the morning was like walking on glass for my children, and they were on their best behavior...lasting about five minutes in total... until I had to drag Ashlyn around by the half-finished hair braid, each time interrupted by screaming and fighting boys in the other room, or my sighting of another frick'n rock I had to go immediately whip out the door.

I choose to feed the kids breakfast instead of take time for dealing with my matted hair tangled around some one's tooth brush, or change out of my p.j's and put on a bra. (not the first time, of coarse)

Miraculously, Ashlyn was willing to put on the first pair of shoes thrown to her at the floor, Coldyn tied his own laces without the usual whines, and they were waiting at the door, along with the dog begging to go out.  
"Guys, let the dog out!"

Signing agendas. Packing lunches with attempts of (slightly green) ham sandwiches...sniff, sniff, look at date, ugh! Feed ham to dog. Scrape the mayo off the bread, disguise with fluff, add p.b...  "Let the dog out!" 
Kids fighting, sneaking crap into their book bags, and not hearing a word...

Finally, grab the child by the jaw, leaving behind fluff stickiness, to wipe with my finger until turned red, and naturally, lick when finished. Continue by attempting to scream at him for not listening, but mouth so filled of dry sandwich crust cuttings, nothing comes out other than, what looks of a wad of chewed insulation..

Calmly swallow, then frantically scream, clinching teeth, "Why aren't you listening to me? I told you LET THE DOG OUT!"

Child insists back, "We were ignoring you cuz' the dog doesn't even need to go out, duh... she peed in front of the door like 5 minutes ago and went back to bed!" ...Pissed again, and so is Mama!

Late again, and no time for putting shoes on the toddler, obviously his socks were soaked in dog pee by now anyhow, and already scattered across the floors...put a hat on his head and swoop him under your arm as he is!

Now, launching at least 80mph down the pot hole-stricken driveway, twice...now, this time remembering library books. I wasn't even to the road, and was already hunched over the edge of my seat with neck stretched, chewing out my rear-view mirror.

"Read her the damn book!"
Yes, library leases are always one week in length, but never read until the last frantic moments before returning, motherhood knowings #1,276!

"Can't, I'm playing my DS!"
Swatting at air in the backseat, hoping for contact... Driving through the marbles on the side of the road, then up and out of the ditch, with weeds whipping down the side of my car... ha snatched the DS! 

"NNOOOOOOOOOOOO!"  ...oh yes I did, shut the game off... reason #364 of "Why I hate my mother" Ending a level 9 game in progress, without pausing!

By this time, I'm hanging off the steering wheel like a chin up bar, and so far up on the seat edge, you'd think there was a beach ball wedged between my back. Creeping closer, and closer to the mirror, like I was getting in his face...not nearly as effective as grabbing by the jaw, but slightly safer that turning around while driving 65mph. So intensely continuing, I'm having to wipe the stray crust spitting's and breath steam off the rear-view with my sleeve, "LOOK at me when I'm talking to you!"

The poor child had no clue whether to stare at the back of my seat and head, or to catch glimpse of my eyes in the smoggy  mirror, or simply just keep his eyes bugged straight forward as we were nearly rear-ending the garbage truck.
"Why do I have to read it?" He whined.

"Well...because it has to go back in minutes... I'm not reading it while driving (did that once! Illegal to text and drive, but not to read a 36 page, over-due library book), and third so when I "x" your book log tonight I'm not lying this damn time!

Nearly to school, the book was read, and I'd almost calmed to the sound of my kids reading together...
Then, I remembered of the shattered glass and piss sopped rug waiting at home, well that, and the fact that the morning of starting your period was nearly Mad Cow disease stricken, anyhow...

Now pulling into school; No way am I chasing a toddler with no shoes, and myself without a bra, through 3,ooo freshly bus-released elementary kids, currently jived on a breakfast of marshmallows picked from Lucky Charms! 

So instead, I give it to Coldyn, "Now you take your sister to her room! Don't ditch her at the entrance, or push her away, or leave her by the door... Tell her teacher good-morning, and then no stopping along the way...no, not even for a drink, and you quickly get your ass to your locker, mister!" All in one flowing breath, from chew-out, down to calm mommy loving softness, "Ok? I love you! Have a good day kids, bye buddy. Sissy you look so cute! Love you!"

Well, she ought to look cute... You're in yesterday's shirt and pj. bottoms yet, spent 35 minutes picking her an outfit. And another 20min. perfectly assembling every hair on her head, as your's looks of housing a weasel...and thus the reason, for having scrapped the shit off your teeth with a foil gum wrapper from the floor of the car, because of no time to brush.

Deep breath! Speed away... now just you and the rock-slinger, until noon...when you peel to the end of the driveway, for the already waiting, Pre-school bus!
"Bite me bus driver!"

"Hi...how was your day, Sissy?" (soft mommy love)

My gifts just kept coming...



My Moters Day card from Ashlyn



Gorgeous art work from a 4 year-old,

pretty much all a mother needs... and also, has 38 of on her fridge, stuck up with alphabet magnets, and jelly, oh and that one permanently glued (upside down) that makes 39...

So, this is me apparently... after Bostyn must have given me another hair cut, or shaved me, and it could be a dangling banana peel...

my feet bound in duct tape, or maybe bandages from walking like an Indian on glass, to sneak out of a finally sleeping toddler's room (or I guess it could have been from another Lego laceration, as well ?)

and the green shit in my teeth (you know the stuff no one ever tells you about, and just still may be there tomorrow, too)  

and it also appears a giant slice of watermelon being dropped on me... Love it!

Now, I could have been completely satisfied with my drawing above,  

 BUT, there's more my day just kept giving...

Ashlyn asked for a roll of wrapping paper to wrap my gift...

Certainly, first noticing it was the very same kind Santa used this year, ... AAAA? Ouch,

Yes, could have been tragic, but I caused a diversion by sneezing so intensely, I farted, and suddenly she had further questions;  like what I had for breakfast?  and if I had pooped?



So here's my gifts, the watermelon card, and two complete rolls of Scotch tape:



And then I opened it... Oh, wow!

Yeah, I can tell you're as surprised as I was...

My husband went all out this year getting his kids a gift for mom.

So, I asked her to narrate as I opened...curious as to just what she had selected here...

My hair brush... Nice, and with my hair still in it!

 She said,  "I just know you were looking for it.."  Of course, because it couldn't seem to find my head since the day she was born.

And a movie: Where she explained, she was the Princess and I the beast...

Kay... got it, need to brush hair and also shave...

...and a short pencil, appearing to be stole from a bowling ally or putt-putt golf,

"but, you probably shouldn't use it because it doesn't have an eraser and it's not very sharp!" she says.

So she took it behind her back and said, "never mind, this one."

"Coldyn, here's your stupid pencil!"

..and then there was some other crap, but my favorite was the three legged pig...

She claims, "I gave it to you because, I thought if it was your's, you would finally sew its leg back on.

But, after you fix it I want it back! OK? ...So, can you go fix it now?"

(Wow, she will one day be president!)

But, I told her "I think this one is supposed to be for grandma, so go wrap it again." 

I LOVE them all! Especially her reasoning for each selected item... priceless at four years, and priceless for mommy; as it kept her busy, quietly, for hours to waste three rolls of wrapping paper and drag out all kinds of crap to re-wrap 11 times...

My 8 year-old a bit more like... "I have a card for you in my book bag... well, I started a card, but it's not done and I'm busy right now, so can I give it to you next week or something?"

(Then ironically, he wanted to finish when he found out it was bedtime...)

I love you too, buddy!

Add a Little Happy to your Mother's Day

Today is your day, Happy Mother's Day!...now get your ass out of bed...

Go make everyone breakfast, with all of your children's assistance in making ridiculous shaped pancakes, wasting three batches of practices on the bursting dog, then float them in $16 of real syrup. Serve along with eggs covered in garlic and 2lbs of Cinnamon, including the shells... but you'll happily eat in its entirety, because you're mom and well, have ate worse... Yet, call it Brunch because frankly, its more elegant, but realistically because there wont be time for lunch...

Then, bake yourself a cake. Continue screaming at your children, which started as your head lifted the pillow...only now to quit slamming the oven door and jumping around, or they just may ruin the cake including parsley, the Barbie shoe, and three extra cups of water, and splashed into the un-greased, but sneezed in pan. Clean up all the graffiti of wasted Pam, spray-painted through your kitchen like a city over-pass...but, without getting mad because, damn it, Ashlyn finally got her "s" facing in the right direction. Hugs and kisses instead of beat-downs and broken blood vessels! Yea, no more Azhlyn!

End the fighting over, who gets to sit closest on the counter... by yanking them all down, and throwing the chair. Wipe off your six favorite little helping hands-- but not until after they have drug them down the wallpaper through the dinning room, and smeared chocolate onto the windows and t.v., which dad's been watching all morning. ...Well because he said it best, "I thought this was your day to have with them...?" (Yep, you got it, so at midnight I'll be turning into a pumpkin, and not returning until the second Sunday of next May) 

Clean up the marker and dripping glue off the couch, carpet, and walls-- because you love that most beautiful damn card ever constructed from your bank statement, popsicle sticks, and three bottles of glue. Scrub the plant dirt off your white comforter, as your daughter possibly couldn't wait for you to wake before giving you her sprouted seeds in the sticker'ed pot, she created in Pre-school.

Explain to the Mall Security how it is in every one's best interest for use of an appliance cart wrapped in barbed wire rather than a stroller, while shopping with all the kids, to buy yourself something you really wanted... But naturally, ended up being six bags from the Baby Gap, three happy meals, and another useless fringed light-up ball... simply to cover in lint and dog hair, and that will quit working by the end of the car ride.

Now give your husband back his wallet so he can buy you flowers; which will get knocked from the vase three times this afternoon, but live on the counter until they've crumbled into the toaster and the water smells of housing tadpoles. By fourth of July you should finally have your money's worth and may dispose...

...and let's pull the sucker stick out and do something with that hair of yours, washing it is a start ...after all, this is a special day...

Now, put on a smile and pretend this is your damn day, because someone long ago came up with one day of celebration, instead of 364 other days of appreciation! ...and because it's simply not everyday you get to be the kick-ass mother... it's every moment, but acknowledged today!

Investigation Motherhood:

May Mother never Rest in Peace!

Near an empty box of dryer sheets, now a lifeless body lays,

Smothered by a toddler and smells of being there for days.

He hadn’t said a word, didn’t even leave his favorite toy,

But, cause of death still known only by the silent boy.

He was cutting at her curls with Popsicle covered scissors,

Tickled up her leg, and then covered her in lizards.

Sitting on his knees, filled her pockets full of rocks,

Then was pulling fruit snacks from the bottoms of her socks.

The door left widely open, and the house in disarray,

But, the children kept on playing like it was just another day.

Her body found bra-less, and covered in Crayola,

Hair showed sign of struggle and her face was splattered in canola.

Under her arm was the tucking of a broom,

And her purse was found empty and scattered through the room.

Someone must have found it and she had just been robbed.

Thoughts of handling that household, and her husband simply sobbed.

What were the answers? She’d already survived so much.

They actually caught the bus, completed breakfast, and she packed their every lunch.

She yanked them out of bed and through the grocery store.

Scooped their mac ‘n cheese when asked, “a little more?”

Took her for a lesson, and washed his soccer shirt.

Spanked their asses often and kissed them when they hurt.

She piggy-backed toddlers, and choked with every lope,

Possibly couldn’t die from a neck wrapped in rope.

She peeled apples daily and broke up many fights,

Hadn’t slit her wrists and couldn’t die from fitting into tights.

The house had no sign of drugs,

But, bruising on her arms could have been from many hugs.

There hadn’t been a bomb, simply spaghetti O’s she was nuking.

No sign of poison, rather just a baby had been puking.

It resembled a tornado, but the weather had been mild.

Debris scattered was simply damage caused by spinning of a child. 

There were messes in the kitchen from something she was making,

Could she really just have died from something wrapped in bacon?

An autopsy reveals, her heart was very large, and her hands extremely worn.

Excessive levels of a substance, confirmed as only ketchup with presence of a thorn.

Her stomach containtents were mostly chocolate, dirt, and gulps of swallowed pride,

And her mouth was filled of milk and on her face was some dried.

There was plastic in her teeth, and bruising on her chin,

Signs of him attempting to force a Sippy-cup in.

The neighbors all were questioned, but there wasn’t much they knew,

She’d been screaming “Help, help!” for at least a year or two!

The cops always said, “There’s just nothing we can do,”

But, even volunteer firemen didn’t come to rescue.

They spoke of crazy sightings, when peeking through the fence,

And confirmed loud bangs, but common to the residence.

The news paper stated briefly, that she had died,

But the police couldn’t solve it, and their hands were tied.

Her job listed, “no employment” and her income held at zero.

But, her children had rebuttal, “She was simply our hero!”

She didn’t sleep for nights, and the days never gave a break,

But now, she jumps once again, knowing there is dinner she should make.

Floating dandelions on the sill, empty dressing upside down,

Just the ends of the bread, but there wasn’t time for town.

So, she better get creative with only what they had,

And through it all together before any sight of dad.

Maybe a miracle, when the woman finally stood,

There is no need for funerals, it’s simply motherhood! 

May we never rest in peace! Happy Motherhood! Its 365, not just today!

Here a Chick, There a Chick, Everywhere a Toddler...

Our entire family decided to make a stop at a local farm store, well... my husband decided and I simply moaned! For he had no clue what it was like to shop with three kids... not to mention with "our" three kids, and at this particular agriculture store with toy tractors, bulk feeds, live animals... and cat-nip in the air!  

Smashing through the doors, one child immediately ripped every toy off the first shelf and another was running across the stacked bags of water softener salts and sands. My husband's eyes instantly bugged and he yelled, "Whoa guys..." and then I didn't see him again, until he wanted me to pay for his arms full.

The shopping cart hadn't slammed me to the ground for almost an entire aisle, and I was no longer tripping on yanked things from the shelves, and their packaging.  But, faster than I could ask my oldest, "Where's your brother...?" A red vested employee was approaching with a half grin and that look in his eye... "Ma'am?" ...as I'm now hiding, tucked into a man's coat. ..."Ma'am?"  

Oh, shit I thought, only when they're about to tell you someone has died or your children are in the principle's office again, do they call you Ma'am... I wait for it, as he continues, "Does the small child that has climbed over the livestock gates, on top of the bales of shavings, and into the baby chick display belong with you?"       "Naw! Haven't seen that one before..."

Well there's no denying when you look over and he's as proud as a clown in the carnival parade, smiling and waving, "Hey Mom! MOMMY, see chickens!" Instead, I beg the guy to just let me hurry up and finish my shopping while he was contained and my sanity had returned. "Please don't release him,"  as I tried to bribe the man with two kid's tower tokens from the Dentist and a half cookie from the bottom of my purse.

The heating lamps were swinging back and forth, feathers flying, and with a baby duckling clutched around the neck, he was "Bawk, bawk, bawkkkking" right along with them.

It was time to go when he attempted some relocating...as the child just can't understand why chicks are living crammed into water troths, when such beautiful chicken coop barns sit on display at the end of the aisle. "Put 'em in barn," he kept insisting, and the man also kept insisting "You need to get him out of there!" So, now hanging through the gates, my bust (or possibly muffin-top) not fitting through, and my face is smashed against, and I'm swatting at the air, begging to make contact with the laughing little bird. My other two children laugh hysterically, as I look like a short  lady trying to reach the last peach yogurt from the back of a top shelf in the super market. 

My two-year old, unlike the store employee, was interested in the lint covered, purse cookie bribe, which followed up with a "I think Papa's here!" lie ... worked every time!

He then, tries to climb over the wall with one hand pulling him up the gate, and the other dangling a frail, or maybe dead by now, chick. He drops the feather-less little chick when I ask, and says "bye, birdy!"  

Perhaps, next year's chick season the fragile little birds should be behind glass display case, armed guard, or the electric fencers could be incorporated into the hatch zone exhibit... or more naturally just let them live in the cute little over-priced barn coops as Bostyn's wishes!