Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. Happy Birthday, Princess. Happy Birthday, My Little Son.

Mamacita says:  Father’s Day and my daughter’s birthday and my son’s birthday are within a few days of each other.  Sometimes, they’re on the same day.  That is because calendars are alive and love to mess with us, and because those selfsame calendars, parts of them anyway, dwell in the past with emperors, gods, and goddesses.  We can mess right back by denying our ages.  But I digress.

My daughter is over 21, if anyone wants to ask me any questions.  Please be sure your resume is current, including gainful employment and a love of steampunk cosplay.

She used to be the most beautiful baby girl in the universe, but not any more. She hasn’t been that for a long time.

She is, however, the most beautiful young woman in the universe. She’s strong and brave and smart and hilarious. She’s a lot nicer than I am.  Her sense of direction is almost perfect. Her sense of ethics and behavior are superior. She can sing like an angel. She can walk into an expensive dress shop and walk out with a $300.00 dress that she got for twelve bucks and matching $125.00 shoes that cost eight – the honest way. She’s kind and caring and patient, unless she’s dealing with an idiot in which case she, sadly, takes after me. She’s the best daughter any mother could ever hope to have, even when she takes the occasional pissy fit, and even then a good margarita will fix that mood swing right up. Mommy knows how to take care of her baby girl.

I didn’t teach her to stick her head in a waterfall, but only because the subject never came up.

Sara in the waterfall

Happy Birthday, Princess.

My son is also over 21, if any of you want to ask me any questions. Please be sure your resume is current, including gainful employment and a love of computers, kayaking, camping, and creating awesome internet capabilities with safety pins and belly button lint.

He used to be the most beautiful baby boy in the universe, but not any more.  He hasn’t been that for a long time.

He is, however, the most beautiful young man in the universe.  He’s strong and brave and smart and hilarious.  He can look at an ancient television set in his grandmother’s living room that seven professional repairmen have given up on, tinker with it for five minutes, and turn it into a clear, bright receptor of cable delights.

He’s kind and caring and patient, unless he’s dealing with an idiot in which case he, sadly, takes after me. He’s the best son any mother could ever hope to have, even when he takes the occasional pissy fit, and even then a good margarita will fix that mood swing right up. Mommy knows how to take care of her baby boy.

I didn’t teach him how to make a robot costume when he was three years old, but he did a pretty good job.

Andy in a robot suit

Happy Birthday, my little son.

My dad has been gone for several years now, but we never really ever stop missing the people we love.  We recover, and get on with our lives, but the memories are still there, and aren’t we all glad they are?Dad and Sara Dad and Andy

Dad wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. He and all of his brothers and their father before them were quick-tempered and easy to, as Mom used to say, “set off.” He was also funny and smart; he could sing and he valued education, HIGHLY. He would have been a success at college, but he never went. Instead, he sent four kids through college, and continued to work day after day in a factory, “so we would never have to.”

He taught me hundreds of poems and songs, and he liked to pick me up and stand me on a table and make me sing or recite for people.  (not lately)  “Purple People Eater” and Robert Frost: I still remember.

My sister Teresa and I had a daddy who was playful and laughing. My two younger siblings had a daddy who was cranky and yelling. Dad’s illness began long before anybody realized it, including himself, and the personality changes were just brushed aside as part of the aging process or, possibly, his true colors. Nobody actually said “true colors,” but we all thought it.

By the time dad had had both legs amputated and was bedridden and too weak to feed himself or turn over, we all realized that the diabetes had begun to affect his mind long before it took his body.

He stayed at home and Mom took care of him. I don’t think she went anywhere for three or four years, except her runs to the grocery and drugstores while Dad was at dialysis.  Let me tell you something:  if ever I’m sick like that, I want Mom to take care of me.  I watched her.  She was divinely patient with his dreadful moods, and meticulously careful with his meds and IV’s.

My father is gone, but he still lives in my head, daily. And to that loving and playful and laughing and singing father, I want to say, “Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.”

I knew all along that mean yelling daddy wasn’t really you.  I just wish my two youngest siblings had met that daddy.

So on June 15, I salute my beautiful baby daughter; on June 21, I salute the good daddy I loved, and on June 24, I salute my beautiful baby son.

Dad on Steve's motorcycle

This is my brother’s motorcycle, by the way.  You know, the one I used to ride all over town without my mother’s knowledge.  She still doesn’t know.  She never will, unless YOU tell her.

I don’t think my brother knew, either.  I was into the stealth before it was cool.



Things I Still Haven’t Done Yet: Media Version

a round tuit, scheiss weekly Mamacita says: I never realized how many things I hadn’t done yet until I started this semi-regular series. Here are yet more things I haven’t done yet.

1.I haven’t watched a single episode of “Gilmore Girls.”  It just never caught my interest.  Still doesn’t.  All the hoopla about bringing it back, reunion, etc?  Don’t care.

Gilmore Girls

2.  Ditto “Friends.”  Not interested.


3.  Ditto again “Everybody Loves Raymond.”  Wait, I did watch two episodes of this because my sisters loved it,  so I gave it a try.  Two episodes.  I’ve never heard such whining in my life, counting all those years in the church nursery.

Everybody Loves Raymond

4.  I’ve never gotten hooked on any kind of reality show, and by “hooked” what I really mean is “remotely interested.”

5.  I’ve never been able to see the appeal of any show that features stupid people, or glorifies or makes in any way acceptable people being ignorant on purpose.9.

6.  I have never been able to tolerate people like Honey Boo Boo or any of her family.  I include that show with the long-beard-for-profit guys who make duck calls even though most of them are college graduates and belong to country clubs but pretend to be rednecks, again for profit.  Can’t watch it.  Nope.  Don’t even care enough to try.  Horrible people.

Honey Boo Boo family

Duck Dynasty men

7.  Shows with laugh tracks are like that one uncle who always laughs at his own jokes because nobody else is.

8.  Any show, for adults or children, that condescends.  ESPECIALLY a children’s show that condescends.  Absolutely not acceptable.

9.  I have not watched a TV show regularly for probably thirty years, although I do watch a few things online or on DVD seasons.  The last couple of TV shows I liked got cancelled, so I am probably the kiss of death for a TV shows actually on TV weekly.  “Downton Abbey” has only one more season, so you see, THAT’S what happens when I announce in public that I am in love with a show.

Downton Abbey

I am in love with this show; therefore, it’s circling the drain.

10.  I haven’t watched a show actually on TV once a week since MASH went off the air.  There, I’ve outed myself as an old person.  Or didn’t you know. . . .   young people aren’t usually this curmudgeonly.


Best care anywhere. Best show, too.

To be fair, my schedules have seldom allowed me the luxury of tuning in to anything on a regular basis, and I just got out of the habit.  My friends have recommended several shows to me that sound really good, but again, I’m out of the habit.  From the sound of some of these shows, I need to get back into the habit, but so far, I’m still not ready.  My younger days were full of TV watching, so somewhere deep inside, I probably want to, but just can’t yet.

I also kind of like to say things like “Oh, I don’t watch TV” when people are raving about a show, especially if it’s something like the above-mentioned tripe.  (MASH and Downton are not the tripe, by the way.)  Except to someone, they are, just as those other things are beloved to them but are worthless tripe to me.  And since I do watch segments online, well, that’s TV, isn’t it.

Lots of kinds of cereal on the shelves. . . . lots of kinds of shows on the air.  Which is as it should be, but why are the ones I love always the ones that get discontinued or cancelled?  Surely I’m not that quirky.

Shut up.



Things That Are None of My Business

Mamacita says:  There are so many things that are so absolutely none of my business – or yours – and here are just a few:

not my circus, not my monkeys

1.  How you feed your baby.  The world is full of people who are very interested in how you feed your baby, to the point that they will physically assault you in public if they see you doing so in a way that they do not personally approve of.  The fact is, how you feed your baby, as long as you do feed your baby and your baby is thriving, is nobody’s business but yours and your baby’s.  Breast?  Fine.  Bottle?  Just as fine. Wet nurse?  Cool. Everybody butt out.  Seriously.  BUTT OUT.

mind your own business, Anne Landers

2.  How you shop for groceries.  The world is full of people who are very interested in how you shop for groceries, to the point that they will handle the food you have placed in your grocery cart and tell you that you’re doing it wrong.  The fact is, the food you are buying, as long as your family is eating well and reasonably healthy, is nobody’s business but yours and your family’s.  Organic?  Fine.  GMO?  If that’s what you have chosen.  Vegetarian?  Your business, not mine.  Everybody butt out.  BUTT OUT.

ain't nobody's business if I do

3.  What you are wearing on the beach or at the pool.  The world is full of people who are very interested in what you are wearing on the beach or at the pool or anywhere, actually, to the point that they will actually throw a towel over your shoulders or snap a picture to post on social media without your knowledge or permission.  The fact is – and this isn’t really  a fact; it’s just my opinion – that what you wear, wherever you are, is your own business.  I do think people should be respectful, both in the wearing of and in the critiquing off, but ultimately, clothing is nobody’s business except the person wearing the clothing.  I am very sensitive about my thighs and upper arms, and have too much regard for the feng shui of the universe to allow that much cottage cheese-like skin to be seen – I don’t even like to look at it – but that’s just me, and if you aren’t as sensitive as I am, go for it.

Benjamin Franklin's coin,the Continental Currency Dollar

The Continental Currency Dollar

4.   What you are eating or drinking. The world is full of people who are very interested in what you are eating or drinking, to the point that some of them will walk right up to your table in a restaurant and tell you that you’re putting poison into your body or – gasp – into your child’s body.  If you walk up to me and tell me I’m killing myself or my child with my Diet Coke, or my cheeseburger, or my child’s Happy Meal, I will probably smile, toast you with it, and carry on with my lunch.  If you then go further with me on this subject, I’ll call the police and have you taken where you don’t get to choose your own health food and will be grateful for what you do get.  And by the way, what are YOU doing at McDonald’s?  Having a salad?  That sounds like fun.

This is only four things that are none of my business – or yours – but that’s enough for one post.  Let’s give these people a few days to calm down before we give them more fodder for their heart palpitations over things that are none of their business.

In the meantime, I think I’ll have some french fries and yet another big Diet Coke.  At 11:00 p.m.  Care to join me?  No?  More for me, then.

Enjoy your bean sprouts and kale.


Have I ever told you how glad I am we’re not enemies?” Eragon asked. “No, but it’s very sweet of you.”  — Christopher Paolini, Brisingr

12 Strong Female Children’s & YA Literary Characters

Mamacita says:  There are a lot more strong female characters in children’s and YA literature than some people might think.  I’m of the opinion that those who don’t know who they are, just aren’t looking in the right places.

Here are a few – just a few, mind you – of my favorite strong female literary characters, in no particular order, because why in the world do they need to be in any kind of order?

1.  Anne Shirley Blythe.  Our beloved Anne of Green Gables doesn’t stop with that one novel, you know.   Anne of Green Gables, Anne of Avonlea, Anne of the Island, Anne of Windy Poplars, Anne’s House of Dreams, Anne of Ingleside, Rainbow Valley, Rilla of Ingleside, and countless appearances in various short stories. . . red-headed, stubborn, loving, loyal Anne is everywhere, if you know where to look.  Anne, and her husband Gilbert, and her best friends Diana, Stella, Ruby (oh, poor Ruby!) Jane, Priscilla, Phillipa, Leslie. . . all smart, strong women.  College-graduate Anne, who, with Gilbert,had seven equally smart, strong children, losing son Walter to WW! and wee daughter Joyce a few hours after birth. We are privileged to know Anne from age eleven to her mid-sixties.  L.M. Montgomery’s Anne is, even now, one of the most popular heroines in literature.  Mark Twain would agree.

Anne of Green Gables series

2.  Emily Byrd Starr.  Again, one of L.M. Montgomery’s heroines, and the one most closely modeled after herself.  Black-haired, dreamy Emily writes.  She has to.  Emily has a trilogy:  Emily of New Moon, Emily Climbs, and Emily’s Quest., taking her from age eleven to her early thirties.  Emily’s best friend, Ilse, and her two best male friends, Perry and Teddy, and the older man who also loves her, Dean Priest, are some of the most interesting people a reader will ever meet.  Like Anne, Emily is being raised by people other than her parents: people with little understanding of a child who is not prosaic in the least, and whose imagination both fascinates and horrifies her elders.

Emily of New Moon series

3.  Jane Stuart.  Montgomery’s Jane, of Lantern Hill, is my personal favorite of all the author’s heroines.  Jane, who does still have a mother, is, however, being raised by a stern, unloving grandmother who makes no pretense of liking Jane, let alone loving her.  Jane’s finding of the father she had believed dead all her life is the saving of her, and no reader can help but love Jane.

Jane of Lantern Hill

4.  Judy Bolton.  Most young readers might list Nancy Drew as their favorite mystery-solving teen detective, but Judy Bolton far surpasses Nancy in plot, character, and personal growth.  Nancy never ages past 18, but Judy starts out at 15 and gets a little older with each volume.  Nancy seems a bit stunted and stilted as far as personal growth, but Judy gets married.  The mysteries themselves are more complicated and rely more on a reader’s general knowledge than do Nancy’s simplistic storylines.  Margaret Sutton based many of Judy’s mysteries on actual Pennsylvania history.

The Vanishing Shadow, the first Judy Bolton series book


5.  Beany Malone.  Beany and her entire family live the life of a typical motherless family during and after WW2.  There is talk of rationing, and baking cookies for soldiers.  In fact, the domestic side of life is everywhere in every one of the many volumes about Beany.  Cooking, sewing, cleaning, caring for others. . . girls – and boys! – who know how to do these things are presented as smarter and more relevant than those who don’t know how to do these things.  Boyfriends, horses, allowances, stretching money, budgets, war, heartbreak, patience. . . many things modern teens never learned are presented as ordinary life here.  Lenora Mattingly Weber is no longer well known, but as far as I’m concerned, she’s still just as much beloved.

The Beany Malone series

6.  Hermione Granger.  What can I say?  She’s brilliant, practical, loving, loyal. . . all the positive virtues of both sexes all rolled up into one fabulous young woman.  People who disapprove of the magic are missing the point entirely – these books are about friendship and caring and love first.  The magic is secondary.  If you are one of those people who have forbidden your children to read these books, I have no respect for you.  None.  And J.K. Rowling is my idol.

The Harry Potter series

7.  Laura Ingalls Wilder.  The semi-autobiographical novels may have been put together and heavily edited by her daughter Rose, but the personality stays with us forever.  Laura taught us how real families really lived in those decades after the Civil War.

Little House series

8.  Mona and Randy Melendy.  Elizabeth Enright’s novels of family life during and right after WW2 will teach us more about history than any history book every written.  Strong, independent young girls going about daily life, sharing their dreams and listening to their elders and doing work that most of today’s girls would have no idea how to do.  It’s a series, of course: The Saturdays, The Four-Story Mistake, Then There Were Five, and Spiderweb for Two.  Their brothers are pretty cool, too.

The Melendy series

9.  Portia Blake.  Again, an Elizabeth Enright heroine, Portia is not afraid to set out and explore countryside she’d never set eyes on or foot in before.  She’s not afraid to befriend elderly strangers met in these strange surroundings.  She’s strong and self-reliant, and considers herself on an equal footing with the boys in the two-part series: Gone-Away Lake, and Return to Gone-Away.

Gone-Away Lake, Return to Gone-Away

10.  Jane Eyre.  No, Jane is NOT old-fashioned, nor is she outdated.  She overcomes a childhood of severe abuse to become a young woman who is not afraid to take a stand.  She is not easily talked into abandoning her own moral code for convenience or joy’s sake, and I absolutely love the way she talks and thinks.  There are some who don’t think Jane is a YA heroine, but I do.  Maybe it’s just because too many adults can’t manage the book these days.

Jane Eyre

11.  The March girls.  I know, I know – Jo is supposed to be the sister we love most, but I love all the sisters equally.  I did find Jo’s unusual (for the times) romance with Professor Bhaer much more satisfying than Amy’s romance or Meg’s, but that’s just me.  I love that each sister was absolutely distinct; there were no two girls even remotely alike in that house, but the mother, Marmee, understood them all and knew how to manage each daughter.

Little Women

12.  Irene Miller.  Irene was one of my heroines when I was a really small child, because she was a girl scientist who shared in the adventures of Danny Dunn, boy scientist.  Back in the day, it was hard to find a nerdy girl who loved science, but authors Jay Williams and Raymond Abrashkin were, whether they realized it or not, writing for little girls like me. There’s a whole big series about Irene and Danny; they’re a little difficult to find these days, but well worth the search.

Danny Dunn, boy scientist

I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of wonderful children’s and YA literature featuring strong, smart females, but these few more obscure titles plus a few well-known, easily found titles, might be a start for your daughter’s – or your son’s – or YOUR – summer reading.  If your child – or you – learns to love novels placed in the past, there are lessons to be absorbed about how actual people dealt with actual history on the home front, as well as wonderful plots and awesome characters.  History is best learned in the home and with the family, not from a textbook.

I reread my favorite children’s and YA books every summer.  It’s a kind of tradition for me.  Try it.

On a related note, none of the above heroines watches television.  They’re too busy doing things, having adventures, meeting people, solving mysteries, and living.


Wasps? Hide Me. Things I Still Haven’t Done Yet

Round Tuit, Ten things i haven't done yet, Jane Goodwin Mamacita says: Wasps?  Hide me.

Here are some more things I haven’t done yet. This doesn’t mean I never will – just that I haven’t done them yet.

1.  I haven’t learned not to be afraid of wasps.  I AM afraid of wasps. Desperately, humiliatingly afraid.  The buzzing turns me into a whimpering gelatinous mass.

wasp, killer wasp, buzzing wasp

2.  I haven’t matured enough to be tolerant or logical about reality shows.  To sit and be entertained by the likes of Honey Boo Boo, hoarders, and bridezillas is beyond my comprehension.


3.  I haven’t learned how to iron clothing properly.  I can’t say that I never iron, but in the past twenty years, I’ve heated up that device maybe four times.  Sometimes I’ll have a guest (I love having guests!) who ask to use my iron, so I do own one, but I’ll have to say that my guests use my iron more than I do.  On those few occasions when I get out the iron, I’m actually sort of afraid of it.  What if I leave it on and go to school?  There are irons that turn themselves off automatically, but I don’t use one frequently enough to justify the expense.  To sum up:  I don’t iron.


4.  I haven’t learned to appreciate expensive jewelry and designer shoes.  This one doesn’t bother me at all, really – I’m a steampunk jewelry and Skechers kind of gal.  However, when I’m visiting with my sisters, I really feel my lack of upscale taste.  I don’t care, but I do feel it.

5.  I haven’t learned to like country music as a genre.  Individually, I have heard a few songs that I liked, but they didn’t really sound “country.”  I dislike the boots, the hats, the shirts, the twangs, and the sexist assumptions.  I know that not all country music artists fit into this stereotype, nor do all of their fans.  But whenever I hear a twang pretending to be music, I cringe.

hillbillyI know there are tons of other things I haven’t done yet, but these are the few that come to my mind today.

You are allowed to disagree with me.



Mama. Mommy. Mom. Mother. Mamaw.

Mom at 17Mamacita says: I was reading an article somewhere, by somebody*, that stated that no matter how old we get, there are still times when we want our mother. Our fifty-year-old mother.

When our mothers are young, we don’t consider them ‘friends.’ We don’t consider them young, either, because when we’re very young, all adults are old. Heck, our 12-year-old cousins seem like adults.  Our 22-year-old teacher and Grandma: one and the same, age-wise. No, to a child, most adults are old; they’re not sweet young things. They never were; it’s not possible.

Our mother was always a mother.  She had no life before us.  She’s just Mommy, when we’re young, and when she’s young. We don’t even know she was young till we look at old pictures. And then we’re blown away because, “Oh my gosh, look how YOUNG she was there!”

But as we get older, our mothers seem to stay the same, and somehow the years between us don’t matter as much as they used to.

They stay the same, that is, until we take a good long look at them and it hits us that they look old. Not just mom-old, but OLD. Wrinkly. And you know there’s white underneath the Miss Clairol. And they aren’t as sure-footed as they used to be.

This is shocking, but it’s okay, as long as the MOM is still there inside the stranger-every-day body. You know, MOM. The lady who can make magic with a word or a touch? Her? That’s the one.

Good thing WE’LL never get old like that, huh.   Wait – is that mom in the mirror there?  WHAT?  Impossible.

Mother and child

This Sunday will be, appropriately enough, a day filled with mothers.  Mine, my sisters, my niece, grandmothers, aunts, daughters, cousins, me. . . . all mothers, and several of them more than one KIND of mother.  (no, not THAT kind of mother.  Perhaps you were thinking of YOUR family?)  Many mothers.

Mother and child

Once upon a time, we were just sisters and wives and daughters when we got together, sharing a mom and having first names.  Now, we’re all Mom, Mommy, Grandma, Mamaw, Aunt, Great-aunt, mother-in-law . . . . I can remember days when I couldn’t remember the last time someone called me by my actual name.

I also remember, clear as a bell, the first time my child said my new name.  Mama.  That moment is etched on my heart, in beautiful calligraphy, and decorated with fresh flowers.  I still love to hear my children say “Mom.”  These women whose children refer to them by their first names, instead of some variation of mother?  I pity both woman and child.  Somethin’ WRONG wit dat.  Somebody gots her priorities all messed up.  That woman ain’t right in the head.

Naturally, this doesn’t keep me from snickering at women who choose a synonym for “grandmother” that sounds like poo or a body part.

Contrary to popular belief, mothers are not omniscient;  we don’t have eyes in the backs of our heads, and we can’t read your mind.  The only exception to that would be MY mother.

My beautiful mom.  Senior year.  She wasn't my mom yet.

My beautiful mom. Senior year. She wasn’t my mom yet.

And speaking of my mother. . . Mom, I have tried to emulate you in many ways, all of my life.  You read to us.  You sat down on the floor and played with us.  You used the power of Parenthood and created Special Days, all throughout the year.  Christmas is a holiday, sure, but it was YOU who created OUR Christmas.  I have tried to “do” holidays just as you did, all my married life.

There are so many kinds of mothers.  Most are awesome.  They don’t have to look like this to BE awesome, but I think we all believe we have moments like this.  I hope that’s correct.

Mother and child

I’m looking forward to Sunday, dear sisters and nieces and daughters and all of the other wonderful descriptions that come with all of you.  I might be the weirdo of the bunch – oh, it’s not like I don’t KNOW that!!!! -but I might also be the most sentimental of the bunch.

I’ve read that when we are in our twenties, the fifty-year-old mother is somehow at her peak of Mom-ness and Friend-ness. Our fifty-year-old mother is an expert in so many things.

What we don’t realize is that our fifty-year-old mother is still missing HER fifty-year-old mother.

And what very few of you know yet, is that your fifty-year-old mother is still as insecure and wondering as she was when she was in her twenties. Your fifty-year-old mother is still beating herself to death over mistakes she made when you were three.  So is our eighty-year-old mother.  And the thirty-year-old mother.  All of us need to give ourselves a break.

How do I know this? I’d rather not say.

The eighty-year-old mother is starting to get a little bent.  She falls down sometimes.  Her memory, while still razor-sharp, is beginning to falter a bit.  If it’s MY mother, she still has a social life that beats the social life of anybody I know, not even considering age.  Her hair and makeup are lovely.  Her clothes are stylish and colorful.  She looks better than I do.

The seventy-year-old mother is still cool. Still Mom. It’s just that the fragility is starting to show, and the mortality thing comes to mind more than we’d like.

The fifty-year-old Mom is the epitome of Momitude. She KNOWS things. We should listen more to our fifty-year-old Mom.

Unless she’s a meddling idiot with outdated stupid ideas and a lot of unwanted advice, of course. You don’t have to listen then.

Chances are, however, that if your fifty-year-old Mom is mean and judgmental and delights in hurting people’s feelings, she was exactly the same when she was in her twenties. Bodies change a lot*. Personalities seldom do.

The following** has been making the internet rounds for a long time now, and most of you have no doubt seen it before. However, I’m posting it anyway, because for some reason, it means more to me with each passing year.


The Images of Mother

4 YEARS OF AGE ~ My Mommy can do anything!

8 YEARS OF AGE ~ My Mom knows a lot! A whole lot!

12 YEARS OF AGE ~ My Mother doesn’t really know quite everything.

14 YEARS OF AGE ~ Naturally, Mother doesn’t know that, either.

16 YEARS OF AGE ~ Mother? She’s hopelessly old-fashioned.

18 YEARS OF AGE ~ That old woman? She’s way out of date!

25 YEARS OF AGE ~ Well, she might know a little bit about it.

35 YEARS OF AGE ~ Before we decide, let’s get Mom’s opinion.

45 YEARS OF AGE ~ Wonder what Mom would have thought about it?

65 YEARS OF AGE ~ Wish I could talk it over with Mom.


Let’s talk things over with Mom while we have the chance.

If your own mommy doesn’t appreciate you, come right on over here. I’m not saying exactly how old this Mommy is, but she’s in her peak and prime of Momitude.  I do, however, screw it up sometimes, even now.  I do my best.  That’s all we can do, in any and every phase.

I have a lot of advice, but I’ll wait till you ask me for it***.

*Unless you’re Jamie Lee Curtis.

**If I knew the author and the name of the article, I’d have mentioned it up above, silly.

***Most of the time.