Being a mother is one of the most demanding... and rewarding... jobs in the world. Looking back on our child-rearing days, I'm astounded that I ever had that much energy. But it wasn't necessarily energy... or determination... or even love... that got me through. It was a sense of humor.
True story #1: One of our sons and his best pal asked me to take them to the hobby shop, but I was up to my eyeballs in stuff to do that day, so I said sorry, but no. I said if I had to go out anyway, like if we needed milk or something, then I'd take them. You see where this is going? Yep! Those little turds drank an entire gallon of milk! Then they oh-so-sweetly told me we needed milk... Well, I may have cursed on the inside, but on the outside, I laughed. I mean, they'd beaten me at my own game. They played by my rules, and they won. So, yes, I took them to the hobby shop... and while we were out, we picked up another gallon of milk.
Moms don't yell. Sure, they may occasionally raise their voices a teensy bit, and sometimes, they may even raise it so much their next-door neighbors run to 'wash their hands' or 'brush their teeth.' But, really, what moms do is actually more along the lines of motivational speaking... for verrrry selective listeners.
True story #2: I'd spent the day making a fabulous pot of homemade soup. I mean, I went all out with it... it had wonderful homemade sausage and meatballs in it, and all kinds of fresh veggies, noodles... YUM! Kind of a minestrone kinda stuff, I reckon. Anyhow, I put it into a huge plastic container to cool on the counter a bit before putting it into the fridge, (We never eat soup the first day I make it.) and one of our teens was hanging out in the kitchen with me, just shooting the breeze. Hanging out. Being silly. Dancing around to the music that was playing on the radio. He did the bump with the fridge a few times, and... oh yeah, did I happen to mention that I kept my lidless Mason jar of poker-playing money on top of the fridge? You guessed it. One bump too many, and said jar did a swan dive off of the fridge and directly into that huge container of soup. The jar ker-splashed soup all over the place, and all those dirty coins and filthy bills were now one with the soup. He was stunned; I was stunned. Finally I was able to speak. I said, very slowly and precisely, "If you didn't want to eat the damned soup, all you had to do was say so!" (Yeah. Then we laughed.)
Being a mom... even on Mother's Day... means being in the bathroom with kids banging at the door like a mini SWAT team, because they 'need a drink' or whatever... when dear ol' Dad is already right there in the kitchen... And a Booty Call? HA! Man, that sure changes post-kiddie, too. After having kids, it means one of them is shouting from the bathroom for you to come wipe a butt.
Anyhow, enough of that. This was supposed to be a real easy-peasy post with a bunch of adorable mom-and-baby shots for everyone to enjoy... because, ya know, being a loving mother isn't exclusively about us humans.
Moms are great for giving their little ones a boost... no matter how big they are.
Everything goes better with a hug.
It's easy for kids to be brave when Mom is nearby.
A little Mom spit can clean anything from a kid's face.
Is there anything better than hanging out with your mom?
A kiddie's legs may be wobbly, but Mama's strength will support him.
There's nothing sweeter than baby kisses.
This mama looks unsure of herself. Having a new little critter to take care of can be a little scary for anyone.
Like mama, like baby.
A smart mother takes advantage of her baby's rest time by... resting.
NO! No catnip until after dinner!
Sheesh. All this kid wants to do is horse around...
Lest you think all animal mothers are good mothers, be aware. Some of them may use their cute little offspring as diversions...
Not all human moms are top o' the line, either. They can be a bit insensitive at times...
(Or maybe she just has a weird sense of humor!)
Well, that's it for now. Happy Mother's Day, y'all.
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
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