A Wonderful Mother's Day

Yesterday was Mother's Day. I guess that's not news to most, but for me it was just about the best Mother's Day I can remember. Maybe my memory is getting short, but perhaps it was just that the day seemed to roll along so sweetly. I got calls from Jeremy (in Louisiana) and Ben (in The Netherlands), but Tighe was here. It was the first time in years that one of my sons was with me on Mother's Day.

I made one of my favorite breakfast treats, French toast made with cinnamon bread, and scrambled eggs with onions and cheese. I got cards and flowers—not just flowers, but tulips. My daughter-in-law Ruth would appreciate that. She's always loved them best. I've given tulips many times, but never received them before. I'm still smiling.

I used my Koehler cousins' brat recipe for lunch, letting those good Johnsonville brats simmer along with sliced onions for a couple of hours in a dark unnamed brew. Yum. When they were done, their life expectancy was very short. (And no, you can't get drunk on them. The brew just adds to the flavor.)

Dinner was a family affair. We all worked on it. Tighe marinaded sesame chicken and cooked rice. John grilled the chicken on the barbeque. I did a medley of tempura vegetables and a pear and apple cole slaw for side dishes. It all came together beautifully. I need to add that sesame chicken to the things I cook. It was beyond excellent. Then Tighe made one of my favorite little extras, peanut butter cookies for dessert. I was definitely spoiled yesterday. I went to bed kind of early, feeling fat and sassy. 

The only sour note in the whole day was when Tighe turned his ankle. I felt doubly bad. Not only was he in pain, really having trouble walking, but he did it while cutting wood in our yard. He had gone out to our trimmed tree branches with the saw and cut them into fire pit sized pieces. We've had a couple of days of rain, and the ground and wood were fairly soft. He got down near the bottom of the branch pile, and the wood was no longer cutting well, so he decided to give it a couple of days to dry before tackling it again. Then he turned around to jump down a bit and his ankle rolled. It's huge and swollen. 

I'll have to spoil him tonight when he gets back from work. Maybe we should do this again next year... without the ankle pain. I vote yes.

An Old Poem—In Honor of Mother's Day

I've written before of my mother's penchant for reciting old, and often strange, poems to us kids. I've heard from the other three that they think it's weird that I memorized these arcane bits of poetry, but I guess they're parts of my history, and even though few people ever seem to know them besides our family, I believe they're part of the personal lore of growing up.

I present for you here one of the little rhymes Mom swears she got from her own mother. I can't see any reason why she'd make that up, and Grandma didn't have time to write poetry, with fourteen kids, so I'll just mark it Anonymous. (He wrote so many things, anyway.)

Me Mudder

Who, when I was a wee wee tot,

Would take me from me warm warm cot,

And put me on the cold cold pot,

And tell me to go if me could or not?

Me Mudder.

And who, when me prayers were poorly said,

Would take me from me little bed,

And spank me til me bum were red?

Me Mudder.

And who, when the morning light would come,

And in me crib me dribbled some

Would wipe me tiny little bum?

Me Mudder.

And who would me hair so neatly part,

And hug me gently to her heart,

And sometimes squeeze me til me fart?

Me Mudder.

Who looked at me with eyebrows knit,

And nearly had a king-sized fit

When in me Sunday pants me S***?

Me Mudder.

And who when at night her bed did squeak,

And me raised me head to have a peek,

Would yell at me to go to sleep?

Me Fadder!

The Simple Things

It's truly the simple things in life that surprise you with the strongest emotional impact. I realize that Mother's Day is coming up this week, and I expect there will be some surprises and special treatment. On a daily basis, I have very little to complain about anyway. But today was not Mother's Day. Or was it? It also wasn't Father's Day or Grandparent's Day. But it felt like it.

John walked out for the mail and came back inside with a big grin on his face. He stuck out a post card from the Netherlands with little two year old Ashley's careful printing of "I love you" on it. I imagine Ruth sitting there helping her with the letters, thinking of us. 

Today was not a special day on the calendar, but a special day because she made it one. These things happen just often enough to be surprises, to let us know we're thought of, cared about. How do you explain how much that means? Ben brought a good woman into our family. 

Political Irony in Tax Speech

Was I the only one choking back laughter yesterday when the Secretary of the Treasury introduced the President with a pompous speech about tax evaders? You'd think they could find someone who wasn't guilty of tax evasion to give that particular speech. Politics has become one of those professions where mothers tend to say, "I'm sure grateful my son didn't go into..." 

I figure with the 800 new IRS agents Geitner boasted the President plans to have the IRS hire to catch the scoundrels cheating on their taxes, maybe we should set up some guidelines. I have a few suggestions. Start with congress. Make sure to do a complete audit of all cabinet members. Check their staff members and aides. Begin at the Federal level, and then go State by State. If your tax return lists your occupation as "politician," you should be audited.

Money recovered from just those discrepancies should more than cover the cost of those 800 new agents. It should also insure that I'm not laughing by myself.

Parachute

I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open, but we had a great day. I think I ate too much. Betty's sister Bobby and her husband Apple came from Alabama (without the proverbial banjo on their knees, unfortunately). They stopped along the way at a friend's place along the Texas/Oklahoma border somewhere and went fishing, bringing a mountain of cleaned filet of fish with them in their motor home's freezer. 

We all met up for a Southern fish fry at a third sister's home in Grand Junction. JoAnn and her husband Don, also known as Johnny for some strange reason, hosted the boisterous group. Between the laughter and food, the dog racing through, and tours of the Ambassador-sized motor home, it was a day to remember. 

Tomorrow we'll be staying here, having a quiet day. Since our son Tighe joined us in Grand Junction at the end of the evening and followed us back to Pat and Betty's, we'll have a full house tonight in Parachute. Tomorrow Tighe will head back to our house after a round of golf with his Uncle Pat. John and I will follow the next morning. Meanwhile, I do believe I'll be sleeping quite well tonight.

Too Far Away to Help

Our dear little granddaughter Ashley, just two years and four months old, had her first emergency room experience today. She got her fingertip caught in the door and nearly severed, and it was necessary to have it sewn back on.  If you want all the drama and details, her mom Ruth shared the experience and the anguish on their family blog today.

John and I had stopped for breakfast on our drive to my brother's home, and had just ordered when the cell phone rang, with Ben bringing us the news of her injury. I've never appreciated people who sit in a restaurant and chat on the phone, so I headed outside to talk to him. They usually call us on Sunday, so I expected a nice Amsterdam to Colorado conversation, catching up on the last few days since we've talked or emailed. Suddenly I was sagging against the outside of the building with my stomach upside down.

Ben sounded so upset that he'd gotten light headed enough to have to leave the surgery. I admitted to him that the first time they sewed up Tighe, my oldest, he was only two. I passed out cold on the floor before the first stitch was taken. It's so hard to be far away, but especially in very good or very bad times. I very much want to be there to share the burdens and the hugs.

Travel Plans

We'll be leaving Sunday for a quick trip to see my brother Pat and his good wife Betty in Parachute, Colorado. We haven't seen them in far too long, and it's only about four hours away, so we'll take a few days for a visit there. As the saying goes, eat, drink and be merry. Tomorrow we may diet. 

As we get ready to leave, I realize that we're packing light for the trip, but will only be home a couple of weeks before the next trip to California for John to work at the missile base again. Unfortunately, the contract still calls for us to pay our own transportation, and our own hotel and food once we get there. The government sure knows how to spend money, but they're not spending it on us. By the time we pay expenses, we'll be gone three weeks and come out ahead by about $250 to $300, depending on how much we eat, and whether or not we bring food with us in the cooler. Food is cheaper by far here in California than it is in California.

We should be in Ventura County by Memorial Week—that is, of course, unless they change the date again. They originally wanted us there the first week of June. They just changed it. Too bad we won't be there in time for Mother's Day. I guess I still need to mail my Mom's gift out there. I hate to ask her to celebrate late. It makes me feel like I'm too cheap to drive to the post office with her gift and card. 

I'm full of complaints today, aren't I? I think I'll just concentrate on going to see Pat and Betty. That's the eat, drink and be merry part. Betty sure knows how to cook.