Do you haiku?

Driving tad too fast
Bored trooper pulls me over
Donut scented luck

Snowflakes stacking high
Dammit, it's the first of May
Cabin fever reigns

Fat jeans much too tight
Chocolate chip cookies beckon
Where's my seam ripper?

Decibels too high
So hears the mother of boys
Peace and Quiet...Not

Organized, calm mom
How does she do it, the twit?
Locks kids in closet

The Meanest Mother in the World

I had the meanest mother in the whole world. While other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different than the other kids' also.

But at least, I wasn't alone in my sufferings. My sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did.

My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and where we were going. She insisted if we said we'd be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less--not one hour and one minute. I am nearly ashamed to admit it, but she actually struck us. Not once, but each time we had a mind of our own and did as we pleased. That poor belt was used more on our seats than it was to hold up Daddy's pants. Can you imagine someone actually hitting a child just because he disobeyed? Now you can begin to see how mean she really was.

We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The other kids always wore their clothes for days. We reached the height of insults because she made our clothes herself, just to save money. Why, oh why, did we have to have a mother who made us feel different from our friends?

The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by nine each night and up at eight the next morning. We couldn't sleep till noon like our friends. So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve to break the child-labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes, make beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us.

She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, even if it killed us- and it nearly did.

By the time we were teen-agers, she was much wiser, and our life became even more unbearable. None of this tooting the horn of a car for us to come running. She embarrassed us to no end by making our dates and friends come to the door to get us. If I spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to see if I were really there. I never had the chance to elope to Mexico. That is if I'd had a boyfriend to elope with. I forgot to mention, while my friends were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old fashioned mother refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that is, if you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a year.

Through the years, things didn't improve a bit. We could not lie in bed, "sick" like our friends did, and miss school. If our friends had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home from school. Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends' report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for failing. My mother being as different as she was, would settle for nothing less than ugly black marks.

As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was put to shame. We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind us, talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of us was allowed the pleasure of being a drop-out.

My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out of four children, a couple of us attained some higher education. None of us have ever been arrested, divorced or beaten his mate. Each of my brothers served his time in the service of this country. And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You're right, our mean mother. Look at the things we missed. We never got to march in a protest parade, nor to take part in a riot, burn draft cards, and a million and one other things that our friends did. She forced us to grow up into God-fearing, educated, honest adults.

Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three children. I stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when my children call me mean. Because, you see, I thank God, He gave me the meanest mother in the whole world.

Written by
Bobbie Pingaro ©1967

*Mean Mommy agrees, give or take a few points. I don't necessarily advocate beating your child with a belt or squelching the formation of political opinion. But all in all, my goal in life is to be this mean to my boys.

I think it's going rather well. I got complaints from Isaiah at the grocery store last week. He wanted Cookie Crunch cereal and I said no. "MOM! How come you NEVER let us have stuff that's bad for us? You ALWAYS make us eat healthy food! It's NOT FAIR!" I shook my head and said sympathetically, "I know, son. It's so sad." An older woman overheard us and laughed as she walked around the corner. I bet she was mean once, too. Just like my own horrible mother.

This week my boys asked for celery with peanut butter and raisins and a cup of V8 for lunch. I obliged. Then they asked for seconds on the V8. Sometimes... it's good to be mean.

100 things you must know about me for your life to be complete:

1. I love being the mom of 3 boys- I'm the queen of the house.
2. There is a fat woman who steals my pants and hides in my mirror to scare me.
3. I type my thoughts in the air when I'm lost in thought, and my fingers actually move.
4. I find myself having imaginary conversations with people in my day dreams and my face actually makes gestures/expressions as if it's real.
5. My husband calls me Sunshine- and I love it.
6. He serenades me with My Girl and She's Got a Way About Her and Love of My Life.
7. He wrote an original song for me once.
8. I always wanted to marry a man who would sing to me.
9. I used to hate my red hair and wish I looked exotic- like Japanese or Indian.
10. I think firemen are hot. I always blush around them. And my husband thinks it's funny.
11. I think (male) flamenco dancers and lumberjacks are hot, too. He thinks it's weird.
12. I used to spell my middle name Alien instead of Aileen.
13. I used to think horses had udders (hey- I was a little kid).
14. I have never used drugs, or smoked, or drank (except for one sip of champagne when I graduated college and one sip of a mai tai on our honeymoon- gag).
15. I hate the phrase "You're not living up to your potential."
16. My least favorite chores: laundry and dishes. They never end.
17. My favorite chores: Vacuuming (those nice little lines), cleaning windows (ahhhh!), organizing closets and drawers, and baking.
18. I hate the smell of molasses- I have to hold my breath and swallow back the puke.
19. I didn't recognize the smell of real butter in high school, because we always had margarine.
20. My favorite ice cream is mint chocolate chip or Baskin Robins peanut butter and chocolate.
21. Carbonated beverages hurt my tummy. So does red meat.
22. I LOVE garlic.
23. I want to have my own gallery showing.
24. I want to be a midwife someday (when I grow up).
25. Car salesmen piss me off. I have never met one I liked.
26. I hate raw onions.
27. When I was younger, I envied my sister's blond hair, athletic ability, and flirtatiousness.
28. I always feel like a wallflower around new people and in crowds.
29. I almost always get agitated around large crowds of people.
30. I love to give speeches. I do not fear public speaking- I think it's fun.
31. I love all colors, but I like yellow because it's sunshiney, and light green because it's soothing.
32. I have a photographic memory.
33. I love the rain forests of the Pacific NW coast- it's one of my ideal happy places on earth.
34. I love Alaska's landscape and feeling like I'm "home," but I wish I could move somewhere warmer and brighter.
35. I'm afraid of the idea of being cremated.
36. I've never had a cavity or broken or sprained anything.
37. I watch too much t.v. and don't spend enough time doing hobbies.
38. I am afraid of turning 37 because of a nightmare I had as a kid.
39. I love driving a minivan and I honestly don't care if people don't think it's cool.
40. I didn't like teaching, because it was lonely.
41. My favorite tea is decaf Market Spice.
42. I love the smell of coffee, but don't drink it.
43. I love the sound of football on t.v., but I don't watch it.
44. I love suspense movies- but not gory or supernatural ones.
45. I know I talk too much.
46. I'm afraid of spiders. I ran screaming out of a pet store once (as an adult) because of a tarantula. It looked at me and hissed my name. I heard it.
47. I want to become a master gardener and be on the tour of gardens.
48. I know I cry a lot, but I can't help it and I don't think it's a flaw.
49. I am stubborn. Sometimes it's a flaw and sometimes it serves me well.
50. I am perfect. My sister tells me so.
51. I love sunflowers and poppies.
52. Every time we go to Costco my oldest son begs to buy me flowers as a "surprise."
53. Hello. My name is Sarah and I am a chocoholic.
54. I have had a recurrent dream, since high school, that the entire world is a giant sphere made up of balance beams and I have to walk on them and jump between them and if I fall I will fall down into the center of the earth in to dark nothingness between the beams. I can interpret that, too.
55. I think I complain too much.
56. I minored in sociology. What's a minor for, anyway?
57. Social studies used to be my favorite subject- but I'm horrible with History.
58. Math used to be my worst subject- but now I'm not so bad.
59. I have always loved art and at one time wanted to be an art teacher.
60. My favorite teacher was Mr. Kirk- and he once ran with the Olympic torch.
61. I read all the time. I check out half a dozen books at once for myself.
62. I know how to play checkers and chess- but not backgammon.
63. I taught my son how to play chess- and he was 5. Maybe he can teach Auntie. ;)
64. Many people have tried to teach me backgammon and I still don't get it.
65. Many people have tried to teach me to knit and I still don't get it.
66. Many people have tried to teach me to crochet and I still don't get it.
67. I get flustered trying to understand directions for sewing patterns.
68. I get overwhelmed by crowded/flashy websites to the point of not being able to read the information I'm looking for. I think I have ADD (without the H).
69. I'm distractable and disorganized.
70. I'm persistent and a perfectionist.
71. I love rain. One of my favorite memories is dancing in it with my sweetie.
72. I hate cleaning up after animals. I am not a pet person.
73. I like to color in coloring books.
74. I sing, loudly, in the car- but not if anyone is with me.
75. I used to be phobic of needles, but I'm okay with them now.
76. I have been to Canada, Mexico, France, Germany (East and West at the time), Holland, Belgium, Poland, and Russia.
77. I have been to Washington, Oregon, California, Nevada, Texas, Hawaii and WA. DC
78. I have a wish to see all of our country's national parks during my life time.
79. I like brussel sprouts, but not okra.
80. I love seafood- but not sushi.
81. I get itchy rashes from the sun- even if I'm only in it for 2 minutes.
82. I'm a child of former hippies.
83. I have a HUGE head- I like to say it's because it needs to hold a large brain.
84. I have never gotten a ticket.
85. Pet peeves: somebody changing my artwork, people whispering/talking to me about others when they are in proximity, rude customer service people, people who try to burst my bubble, ignorance, meanness, not picking up after oneself (especially littering), people who cuss or smoke around kids, tangled computer wires, tangled bed sheets.
86. I have always wanted to go to Greece, Italy, and Ireland.
87. I have never wanted to go to Africa because I once heard there are groups there who think that redheads are witches.
88. Sometimes I feel witchy.
89. I would never get plastic surgery (unless I was disfigured). Just deal with my "flaws."
90. I don't like attention from men I don't know.
91. As a kid I wrote down and memorized the lyrics to Eye of the Tiger. Don't judge me.
92. As a kid I once called a radio station to ask to hear Jesse's Girl, and the d.j.s laughed at me and replayed the call over the air. And then they never played the song.
93. I have lived in 8 different homes and gone to 9 schools (including college).
94. I used to want to be a pilot, a psychologist, a social studies teacher, an archaeologist, an art teacher, and an architect.
95. I'm horrible at video games and they make me dizzy- once I almost fell out of my seat playing a racing game because I became a little too one with the game.
96. Watching movies that are filmed underwater makes me feel like I can't breath- and I find myself holding my breath.
97. One of the most fun things I've ever done is go sea kayaking in Resurrection Bay.
98. I wish I was a morning person. I am becoming one only out of necessity.
99. I don't know how to burp on purpose.
100. My favorite saying: What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Creator calls the butterfly.

I was tagged by my sister to create this list- now you have fun with it.

Cabin Fever...

I'm restless. I'm bored. I'm anxious. I want to save the world. I want to sit on my butt and watch t.v. I want to get out and enjoy the sunshine. I want to finally conquer the dishes and laundry. I want to take time out for me. I want to rearrange the furniture. I want to do something creative. I want to spend quality time with my family. I want to veg out and eat cookies. I want to add meaning to my life. I want to simplify and chill out. I want to go socialize. I want to be alone. I want to learn something new. I want to be Supermom. I want to go back to the way things were. I want to sleep. I want to spend money I don't have. I want to be frugal. I want to clean my window blinds. I want to repaint the baseboards. I want to scrapbook. I want to lie down and read a magazine. I want to take up running. I want chocolate. I want to do it all at once.

I have issues.

Ten Silly Things I Enjoy About my Grandparents

1. snicklefritz (as in anyone cute)
2. davenport (not couch)
3. supper (not dinner)
4. military time (supper is at 1700)
5. 2 teaspoons of leftover peas in the fridge
6. ice box (not fridge)
7. shower caps, "setting lotion," and cream rinse
8. washed and reused tinfoil scraps
9. on computers: "It's black magic. Just black magic."
10. on marriage: "Six from one, half a dozen from the other."

Super Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies

Well, since every mother needs a good chocolate chip cookie recipe up the sleeves of her bathrobe... Here's my hands-down absolute without question favorite cookie recipe. Yes, I know some of the directions are kooky (that's kooky, not cookie), but follow it exactly or else.

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

Mix dry ingredients together and set aside:

• 2 1/4 c. all purpose flour
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 1/2 tsp. baking soda

Mix together in a large mixing bowl:

• 1 1/2 sticks melted and cooled butter or margarine (I use cheapo Blue Bonnet)
• 1 c. packed brown sugar
• 1/2 c. white sugar
• 1 egg + 1 yolk
• 1 Tb. vanilla (I like Watkins double strength)

Have ready:

• 1 1/2 c. chocolate chips (I like to mix semi-sweet with milk chocolate- it's up to you)

Add dry ingredients to wet ingredients and mix until just combined. Add chocolate chips and stir. It will look wetter than traditional cookie dough. Snitch several bites when your children aren't looking and pray that you don't get sick from the raw eggs. Yell at your children and husband when they sneak bites. Act indignant when they accuse you of eating it first. Place dough by the heaping tablespoon-full onto parchment lined (or Silpat lined) cookie sheets. Do not grease and do not use clay bakeware! Bake for 15-18 minutes, until just golden but centers are no longer "raw." Allow the cookies to cool directly on the sheet and they will retain their chewiness longer. Warning: do not make these cookies if you do not have milk in the refrigerator or your husband will pout. But he'll still eat the cookies.

Sugar and Spice... That's what Mommy thought she was made of.

All my life I imagined having a sweet and sensitive daughter. I pictured a vintage 1930s cottage style bedroom, nouveau hippy chick braids, Pippi Longstocking tights, girl scout outings, and prom dress shopping. Growing up, I was a girly girl myself. I squirmed and gagged over bugs and blood and even the food trapped in the drain after doing dishes. When we went fishing, my dad always baited the hook so I wouldn't have to touch the fish eggs. I spent countless hours coloring, playing with Barbies, writing sappy poetry and collecting pictures out of magazines for my some day wedding to my some day groom and the some day house we'd live in.

Fast forward to some day. The only reason my oldest child gave a real smile for a family portrait was because he farted in his dad's lap. I trip over tiny dinosaurs and Star Wars figurines. I know the difference between rough housing and playing too rough and the eyes in the back of my head can see who started it. I get called into the bathroom to look at a "really cool poop." I know that silence is a bad thing. I know what kind of screams mean there is blood involved. I know that it is possible for a pee-pee to get caught in a pogo stick spring. In the last year I have fixed 5 broken drawer fronts, 4 cracked outlet covers, 2 broken light fixtures, 2 broken doors, and a broken toilet seat. Vintage cottage style has been forgotten for a Yoda poster, Tonka trucks, randomly flung dirty underwear, and whatever sheets are clean enough. Not clean- just clean enough. Ice skating lessons (for hockey, of course), soccer, little league, tarantula costumes for Halloween, "dirt fights" in the back yard, "pee fights" at the toilet (don't ask)... No- I definitely don't have girls. My life is all about being a mother of three rambunctious BOYS.

That's how I know there is a God. You see, if the universe simply hinged on evolution and survival of the fittest, I figure I would have had girls. Girls who would have been agreeable and calm and Mommy's Little Helpers. Girls who would have reflected a little bit of me as a kid. Girls I could have identified with. Discovery Channel could have featured our family of a dozen little mini-me's helping each other fold the laundry, starting up the crock pots, pushing multiple carts through warehouse grocery stores with well-organized lists in hand. We'd sit and paint and learn to sew while we homeschooled.

Instead, in his ultimate wisdom, God have me my boys. Boys who would take me out of my element and cause me to stretch and to grow. Cause me to take a stand, be heard, get tough, get over it. Boys who would melt my heart with their baby neck nuzzles and their silky hair and dimples. Boys who would bat their eyelashes adoringly at me and beg me to be their favorite audience and watch their antics over and over. These crazy boys of mine are always loud, always curious, always putting on a show. They've taught me to handle blood and bugars and puke. They've taught me to be a referee, judge, jury, jailer, night-time watchman, nurse, teacher, and pastor. The emergency room is as much a familiar place as play group and the library.

There is one thing I think God wanted me to learn the most from my boys. How to accept his life plan for me and how to have strength that is given from him and not of myself. I have a calling to grow into the person it takes to raise up 3 young men of strong character. I sure don't have it down perfectly, but I'm getting better every day at filling my job description and it's a job I never want to quit. These three might not sit still in the grocery cart, but they'll hold the door for the next 23 minutes when we leave the store because they like to be called "gentlemen." They might not have braids in their hair, but they'll brush my hair while I read a story. They don't need the latest doll or designer clothes or Tinkerbell lip gloss. Give them a stick and an empty cardboard box and they'll be happy all day.

One of these days the boys will be old enough for Daddy to take them on a boys weekend away. I'll hog the hot water in a long bubble bath, read chick lit, do my nails and eat chocolate and maybe do some shopping. But then the house will be too quiet and I'll miss them wrestling in the living room or sneaking bites of food off my plate. I'll take the snips and snails and puppy dog tails any day if it means getting hugs with grubby little arms and peanut butter kisses. Besides that I don't think the mini-me's would have been good for my mental state. I hear girls get PMS at age two.