TODAY MY MOM WOULD HAVE BEEN 89 YEARS OLD. MISS HER!

Dear Mom,

Though eight long years have come and gone,

your memory lives on and on.

Because you are so very dear,

we feel your gentle spirit near.

Dear mother, in your patient way

you’re guiding us from day to day.

And when we join you by and by

(back in our happy home on high),

we know that through our Savior’s grace

you’ll greet us with a sweet embrace.

Love,
Sharon

My beautiful mom

KIDS RAISE THE ANTE ON WHAT THEY'LL TAKE AS BRIBES

"But that's just plain gum," my six-year-old son said with as much disdain as he could pack into five short words.

I had offered Michael a whole pack of Trident, as an incentive to clean his room, and there he was telling me it wasn't worth the time it would take to pick up three shirts,  a pair of socks, and the Hungry, Hungry Hippo game that littered the floor.

Four years before, when my oldest child was six, no self-respecting kid that age would ever turn down a proffered piece of gum, unless it had already been chewed.  But nowadays it isn't enough to hand out gum that just tastes good and maybe freshens your breath in the bargain:

"What do you mean it's just plain gum?"  I said pointing to the famous brand name on the label.

"Does it have jewel-like gems of jelly on the inside?"  Mikey piped up in a TV announcer's voice.

"Well, no."

"Does it have a candy sucker coating on the outside?"

"Not exactly."

"Does it make magic mini-explosions in your mouth?  Is it shaped like a ring, rocket, or radar gun?  Does it come in a thousand little confetti bits, shreds, shavings, or shards?  Can you thread it on a string for an edible pendant?  Does it come with a special stamp for reuse as magic sealing wax?"

By that time I was pretty impressed with the little guy's sales-hype vocabulary but had to admit my pitiful pack of gum didn't do any of those things.

"Then I won't clean my room," my son clamped his lips together.  "Who wants a piece of gum, if all it does is chew?"

Then I won't clean my room!

35TH NOT JUST ANOTHER BIRTHDAY

"Which do you think sounds younger," I asked my husband the day I turned 35, "three and a half decades, or a quarter of a century plus ten candles?"

"Why don't you just say 35?" that helpful man came back.

"Because," the words rushed through my teeth," once our kids begin to suspect I'm over 30, they won't trust me anymore."

"Actually, marking the mid-point of your third decade shouldn't bother you at all," I tried telling the bathroom mirror long after my spouse tried to console me with the following suggestions:

 "Why don't we just rent a billboard with a neon disclaimer to your age?

"Better yet, just take a cue from your friends.  Not one of them admits to being a day past 29. Three years from now, you can all sit around at your twentieth high school reunion reminiscing about how great it was to graduate at the tender age of 9.

"And what about your relatives?  Even Grandma, whose mind is as sharp as nippy cheese, becomes a tad forgetful when it comes to counting birthdays.  Why you've been older than your own granny for the past 6 years!

"So what if the kids chip in to buy you a gold-handled walking stick, and the delivery boy begins putting the paper on your porch to save you steps?

"Why should you give a darn if your daughter borrows your designer jeans saying, 'at your age, Mom, polyester is more appropriate.'

"And who cares if the supermarket bag boy asks you what it was like in the days before canned goods?

"And aren't you lucky when all the Cub Scouts in town keep fighting over who's going to help you cross the street?

"After all you're only as old as you feel, which at last count was exactly 12,483 days!"

Today this baby turned 35.  What was I thinking when I thought 35 was over the hill?

ALL MOMS SHARE COMMON EXPERIENCES

“Do your children really do all the things you write about?"

Whenever a mom asks me that, I know her children are no longer little, and she's forgotten they ever were.

No one who is currently up to her neck in Pampers, peanut butter, and Legos could read questions like the following, without wondering who's been eavesdropping on her daily routine:

1.  How is it that whenever I'm elbow-deep in bread dough, my four-year-old suddenly has to go and can't get his jeans unzipped?

2.  Why is it that my three-year- old always manages to dump out a whole box of Rice Krispies when company is due in five minutes and the vacuum belt is broken?

3.  How is it that my kindergartener only remembers it's library day when there's just time enough to call me from school and say her books are still at home and overdue?

4.  Why is it that the sheets on my sons' beds could rival the Sahara when it comes to shifting sand?

5.  How is it that my oldest daughter only has homework when I need help with the housework?

6.  Why is it that cups filled with water are so much more stable at the dinner table than those containing fruit punch?

7.  How is it that the shoes on sale are always one size too small for any child of mine who needs a new pair?

8.  Why is it that a kid who can hear a candy wrapper rustle from any place in the house cannot hear a single thing when I'm giving him a face-to-face job description?

9.  How is it that my precocious baby only sings the National Anthem when visitors have left the room?

10.  Why is it that out of fifteen white socks in the laundry, only the two with holey heels are mates?

11.  How is it that a child who would eat burnt toast if it had peanut butter on it, will not even taste bread crusts spread with Jiff, or Peter Pan?

12.  How is it that when my toddler paints the kitchen walls with Smuckers and then gives me a kiss that tastes like strawberry jam, motherhood is suddenly a breeze!

Why is the garbage can always the most intriguing place in the house?

CHILD KNOWS HER FASHION

Around our house, the phrase quick change artist doesn’t have anything to do with drawing or money.

Say those words to any member of our family and you instantly conjure up visions of two-year-old Julie engaging in her favorite pastime--dressing and undressing. That child changes her clothes faster than you can say unbutton.

But, switching outfits, for Julie, is more than just a matter of taking one thing off and putting something else on.  She’s really into multifunctional design.

“What’s that silky, pink affair your daughter’s wearing on her head?” My next-door neighbor asks.

 “It’s probably her sister’s underwear!” I blush.

“Love Julie’s shoes,” the same friend laughs, as I turn to see my budding fashionista wiggling her toes into a pair of woolen gloves.

 I figure that little girl updates her wardrobe at least twenty times a day.

And when she gets tired of rummaging through her own things, she gets into mine.  She’s the only two-year-old I know who wears a bra!

Julie can change her clothes faster than you can say unbutton!