Not Your Mother’s Book…On Being a Mom and Succinctly Yours #154: Young ‘Uns

I would lovelovelove the Not Your Mother’s Book series even if I hadn’t penned a story or two for them. This series puts the “up” in uplifting, because the stories are fun and funny and upbeat in addition to being inspirational. I think the pictures at the end are a nice touch, too.

I have it on good authority that my story, “The End of an Era” (about a frightening entity which defies even games of twenty questions) is the last story in the upcoming book, Not Your Mother’s Book…On Being a Mom. The book was co created by Dianna Graveman and Ken and Dahlynn McKowen of Pubishing Syndicate. Please look for it April 8^th and get your Mother’s Day shopping done early.

And here with a fitting theme is this week’s offering from Grandma’s Goulash’s Succinctly Yours, a meme in which the challenge is to write a story of 140 characters or 140 words. Mine ended up to be an unintentional poem that has 131 characters including spaces, and the bonus word was identical.

While in the tide pool, baby Bri went fishing. She could see her right toes, but the identical left ones had suddenly gone missing!

I suddenly felt ashamed that we only had one [child], as though we were dabbling in family, not really serious. ~Elizabeth Berg, The Pull of the Moon

Ten Things I Learned from My Father

 1.  A real man is big on the inside. He has a booming laugh and tough, warm hands that almost make a muffled sound when they clap, like slapping oven mitts together. If he is tall and strong, it’s so he can lift you onto his shoulders to help you see better. His size and strength only emphasize his tenderness.
2.  Everyone should have a sense of humor and use it often.
3.  Encourage your child to ask questions about life, and then have the patience to answer honestly. If the question is about sex, give an honest, straightforward answer. Then shrug your shoulders and add (with wonder in your voice), “That’s the way God made it, and it works!”
4.  My father was a man’s man, a one-time boxer, a former Nebraska Cornhusker football player, an ex WWII marine. But he was also a talented artist and in many ways so much more intuitive than most of the women I knew that for most of my childhood, I thought the stereotype of creative woman/pragmatic man was a joke. I learned that the best people go against stereotypes.
5.  Lying is okay if it’s done out of genuine love. When I asked my father if he was sorry he didn’t have a son, he grimaced with mock horror and asked, “What would I want with icky boys when I have the three best daughters in the world?!” Of course I knew he was lying. But how I loved him for it.
6.  Sometimes it’s the things you don’t say that speak the loudest. When I asked him about WWII, he got that look and got way too quiet. And then he’d perk up and say, “Here’s a funny story….” He’d tell things like the time he was supposed to swab the deck and got the “bright idea” to clean the mops by tying them to a rope behind the ship, without thinking about the fact that they had metal on the handles that would set off the torpedo warnings. When I got done laughing, I was left contemplating that prologue of silence. It was the things he didn’t say about the war that made me ache.
7.  Small people put others down in order to feel bigger. Big people lift others up because they have the strength to spare. They know how to be humble. They admit they have faults and know how to laugh at themselves.
8.  Absolutely the best gift a man can give his daughter? His respect. Not for the way she looks, but for her mind and her soul. Because of course men who are confident enough to be able to love and respect strong women are the best men there are. And I don’t mean in that slightly cheesy, “I am excessively chivalrous” way that’s really an excuse to posture. I could have an intellectual conversation with my father or just be silly. He worked in local politics toward the end of his life. At his funeral, a female politician approached me and told me all the things she admired about my dad.  But the thing that struck her on the deepest level was what set him apart from all the rest. “Your father was the only man of his era I’ve ever known who genuinely knew how to treat women as his equal.” She was right. I’ve always cherished both that truth and her gift of putting it into words.
9.  The most important thing really is being there.
10.  There is a great deal to be said for having nothing left to say when it’s time to die. Sometimes you have to greet each other by your nicknames, do the “secret handshake,” and know that’s the best goodbye there is.

Miss him? Yep. Happy Father’s Day.

When all is said and done, 90% of being a dad is just showing up. ~Jay from Modern Family

Improper Poll: Ten Things I’ve Learned as a Mother

When I was pregnant with my first child, I naively believed that I would have soap opera children. You know—clean, quiet children who make an occasional appearance and stare in rapt attention while being taught valuable mom things? And then they would go nap.

If you are a seasoned mother, and even if you are not, you are now cringing because you know that God got me back for that big time. Ha ha! That silly God sure has a sense of humor!

As soon as my children were born, and in some ways before, they promptly taught me these things:
1. I am an utter and complete idiot who knows nothing.
2. My children do not belong to me. They taught me they belonged to themselves even clear back when my abdomen woke me up in the middle of the night for the nightly kidney-pummeling.
3. We have more to learn from our children than we have to teach them. If we’re lucky.
4. My children were the only ones I knew who did not nap from age two on. Ever. And they did this not merely just to torture me, but as direct punishment for wanting soap opera children.
5. I would not have a good night’s sleep again for the better part of a decade, and then they would interrupt my sleep again when they hit adolescence. I’m still not sure when I’ll get to sleep again.
6. I need to remember that the most valuable words I can utter as a mother are, “What do you think?” I should probably carry a roll of duct tape for my mouth along with my own private cue card printed with those words, because it’s surprisingly hard for me to remember.
7. When you are a new mother, and some older woman gasps and says (with judgmental horror), “Oh, I see you do it that way? Well, I guess the baby will be okay,” learn to laugh and ignore her. (And Lord help me never to be that woman!)
8. The best advice I ever got on mothering came from a parenting magazine, and I wish I could remember the author. It was to say these words when the child whines: “I’m sorry, but I can’t understand that voice. Could you talk in your real voice, please?"
9. Mothers don’t really teach. At best, we guide. But mostly we just love, and that is the best lesson there is.
10. I may be an utter and complete idiot who knows nothing, but still, by the absolute grace of God and lots of prayer and a few understanding friends, I still managed to get great children.

So today’s Improper Poll question is:
What have you learned either as a mother or from your mother?  Happy Mother's Day!

Sweater, n.: garment worn by child when its mother is feeling chilly. ~Ambrose Bierce

Yook at de Widdum Bee Bee Bun Bun!

My daughter is a composed, serious-minded girl. And yet, when we see one of the bunnies feasting on the (many) weeds surrounding our patio, both of us let out ear-splitting squeals of delight. I wonder what it is about a baby bunny that makes our voices rise in pitch and compels us to talk baby talk? I never spoke baby talk to my children. In any other situation, it sort of makes my skin crawl. And yet, here I am speaking the most disgusting baby talk ever.

But him is so coot!!! Barely bigger than a hamster, he would just fit into the cup of our hands. And odd that we both have the most curious urge to fit him into our hands—to scoop him up and feel his soft fur. I guess it’s some sort of natural adaptation that gives him a chance to grow into a big, mean bunny who can join the bunny gangs in our yard and spend his days tormenting our dog.

This baby bunny is smart, though. He runs when he sees us. If he knew we only wanted to pet him rather than eat him, would he run?

My guess is he’d run faster. From the baby talk.

“Tell me—like you done before….About the rabbits….Please, George.” ~Lennie in Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

Jumping on the Blogwagon

The above picture shows our late dog, Griswold, trying to give his bone to my son when he was a baby. One more reason I had to keep an eye on that dog. He even taught the baby to bark.

I’m including this picture in honor of my first blog contest. Chicken Soup for the Soul’s publisher accidentally sent me even more than their generous ten copies per story of their What I Learned from the Dog book, and both Amy Newmark and D’Ette Corona told me to keep the extras. I’ve given these wonderful books as Christmas presents, birthday presents, and donated some to use as fundraisers for the Humane Society. Still have some left.

So here’s the deal. If you want one, please write as a comment something you learned from either a dog or other pet.  I’ll give out as many as I have and can afford to send. And if you already have the book, feel free to write something, anyway—just let me know you don’t need a book.

Here’s an example. Our dog Griswold was a genius as dogs go, but it was an enormous amount of work keeping him occupied and out of trouble. If it weren’t for the patience I learned from him, I don’t know how I ever would have survived my children’s childhoods, let alone my son’s colic.

A boy can learn a lot from a dog: obedience, loyalty, and the importance of turning around three times before lying down. ~Robert Benchley

Advice from the Bad Old Days

Becky Povich’s blog contest ends tonight. She’s asked for people to suggest titles of lesser-known books that they enjoyed. Linda O'Connell mentioned a very old copy of a Readers Digest that she cherishes. That reminded me that I have a book of my mother’s called Expectant Motherhood by Nicholson J. Eastman, Professor of Obstetrics in Johns Hopkins University, originally printed in 1940 and reprinted a disturbing number of times.

X-rays are mentioned as one of the ways to definitively diagnose pregnancy. Once that pregnancy is diagnosed (around the fifth month), be sure to consult this book before choosing your maternity corset! And for the baby’s layette, one should choose Gertrudes which are made from nainsook. I have no idea, but I still feel sorry for that baby.

It’s also clear that our mothers and grandmothers were impressively wasted when giving birth. Suggested drugs for a pain-free childbirth include morphine, scopolamine (“Its aim is not so much actual pain relief as forgetfulness”), rectal ether, barbiturates, and something called—gulp—paraldehyde, which sounds to me like the baby was born slightly pickled.

Never fear! That baby was sure to have been used to it by the time labor rolled around. On whether or not smoking is acceptable, the good professor says, “If you have been used to smoking considerably…by no means try to give [cigarettes] up in pregnancy. There is no surer way of upsetting the nerves at a period when you should be calm and happy, or of converting a placid, sweet-tempered girl into an intolerable shrew.”

Oh, and the price is listed as $1.25. For a hardcover. In other words, priceless.

From the movie, “Juno”:
Rollo: So what’s the prognosis, Fertile Myrtle? Minus or plus?
Juno: I don’t know. It’s not seasoned yet…. Nope…. There it is. The little pink plus sign is so unholy. [Shakes pregnancy test stick.]
Rollo: That ain’t no Etch-A-Sketch. This is one doodle that can’t be un-did, Homeskillet.