Today is my 31st birthday. My thoughts are... "this time last year was Momma's visitation."
Hugs,
Melinda
Friday, May 25, 2007
Saturday, May 19, 2007
I love you Momma.
This was posted Mother's Day 2006.
Happy Mother's Day
In honor of Mother's Day, I am posting a poem (story) that I first heard my dad read. It means alot to me. I hope one day, that I can be......
The Meanest Mother In The World
Copyright© 1967 by Bobbie Pingaro
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.
Happy Mother's Day
In honor of Mother's Day, I am posting a poem (story) that I first heard my dad read. It means alot to me. I hope one day, that I can be......
The Meanest Mother In The World
Copyright© 1967 by Bobbie Pingaro
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.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Another Poetry Break
I love poetry. Especially that which speaks to me.
________________________________
The Touch of the Master's Hand
by Myra Brooks Welch
It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
Hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid, good people", he cried,
"Who starts the bidding for me?"
"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes it three?"
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three",
But, No,
From the room far back a grey haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as the angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its' bow.
"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.
The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
"We just don't understand."
"What changed its' worth?"
Swift came the reply.
"The Touch of the Masters Hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
All battered with bourbon and gin,
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin.
A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone.
But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Master's Hand.
___________________________
Footprints in the Sand
One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
other times there were one set of footprints.
This bothered me because I noticed
that during the low periods of my life,
when I was suffering from
anguish, sorrow or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.
So I said to the Lord,
“You promised me Lord,
that if I followed you,
you would walk with me always.
But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life
there have only been one set of footprints in the sand.
Why, when I needed you most, you have not been there for me?”
The Lord replied,
“The times when you have seen only one set of footprints in the sand,
is when I carried you.”
Mary Stevenson
________________________________
The Touch of the Master's Hand
by Myra Brooks Welch
It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
Hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid, good people", he cried,
"Who starts the bidding for me?"
"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes it three?"
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three",
But, No,
From the room far back a grey haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as the angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its' bow.
"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.
The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
"We just don't understand."
"What changed its' worth?"
Swift came the reply.
"The Touch of the Masters Hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
All battered with bourbon and gin,
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin.
A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone.
But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Master's Hand.
___________________________
Footprints in the Sand
One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
other times there were one set of footprints.
This bothered me because I noticed
that during the low periods of my life,
when I was suffering from
anguish, sorrow or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.
So I said to the Lord,
“You promised me Lord,
that if I followed you,
you would walk with me always.
But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life
there have only been one set of footprints in the sand.
Why, when I needed you most, you have not been there for me?”
The Lord replied,
“The times when you have seen only one set of footprints in the sand,
is when I carried you.”
Mary Stevenson
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Elmo and Sesame Street
I'll admit, it's been a few years since I watched Sesame Street on a regular basis. Except now, I have a 2 year old who LOVES to watch Elmo. We even had an Elmo birthday party 2 weeks ago.
But I have to tell you, she's really exceptionally cute when she watches the segment called "Journey to Ernie." It's a game of hide and seek between Big Bird and Ernie. Ernie hides while Big Bird tries to find him. The cuteness comes when Big Bird covers his eyes and counts. Lil Bit ALSO covers her eyes and counts. But.... it goes 2! 5! 2! 5! (Those are the only numbers she knows.)Yep... I'm definately making memories with Sesame Street.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Book time again.
More book reviews at 5 minutes for Mom. I'm thinking I need to make a list of books for myself to read and review as well. Suggestions for books to read?
Sunday, May 13, 2007
I can't think of an appropriate title tonight.
I've been reading my sister's blog. She has a song on there that you have to hear, because it says everything I'm feeling right now.
Click here for her post.
Click here for her post.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
The Table
We're moved into our new apartment. One of the first things we did was set up the beds. The second thing we did was to put the table together and back up. (Dale wanted a place to eat. LOL Imagine that.)
To really understand, you have to know the history of "the table." My uncle Freddie was the one who started it all. Years ago, he refinished this table and the chairs for my grandmother. I remember many dinners around this table, as well as many card games. As a matter of fact, I was sitting at this table when we got the call that Freddie had been shot. Granny then got his dining room set, and my mom got "the table." And so it started again. Dinners, card games (ie, I can whip your tail at UNO, Dale), popcorn for the Bible study, footsie, Thanksgiving turkeys, and many, many prayers that were said.
One of the only things I wanted when my mom passed away, was this table. It's heavy. It's big. But it is part of my past. But it's also hard.
Tonight, eating dinner for the first time in our new apartment, we were sitting down, at our "brand-new" table, and........ And it's really hard to swallow french fries with a lump in your throat.
I will add a picture of "the table" at a later date, but I thought this was important.
Oh, and FYI, my "5 minutes for Books" button disappeared again. *rolling eyes*
To really understand, you have to know the history of "the table." My uncle Freddie was the one who started it all. Years ago, he refinished this table and the chairs for my grandmother. I remember many dinners around this table, as well as many card games. As a matter of fact, I was sitting at this table when we got the call that Freddie had been shot. Granny then got his dining room set, and my mom got "the table." And so it started again. Dinners, card games (ie, I can whip your tail at UNO, Dale), popcorn for the Bible study, footsie, Thanksgiving turkeys, and many, many prayers that were said.
One of the only things I wanted when my mom passed away, was this table. It's heavy. It's big. But it is part of my past. But it's also hard.
Tonight, eating dinner for the first time in our new apartment, we were sitting down, at our "brand-new" table, and........ And it's really hard to swallow french fries with a lump in your throat.
I will add a picture of "the table" at a later date, but I thought this was important.
Oh, and FYI, my "5 minutes for Books" button disappeared again. *rolling eyes*
New Apartment
I promise that I will have pictures of our apartment up sometime in the future. Not today, though. :D
Hugs,
Melinda
Hugs,
Melinda
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
OOOOoooo...... books.
My passion is books. I simply love to read. I've actually been toying with the idea of writing a novel, which is both thrilling and terrifying. So this column/contest is absolutely PERFECT for me.
Check out the button!
if you don't see the button, please leave me a comment.
Check out the button!
if you don't see the button, please leave me a comment.
Moving Day
Today is moving day. I really REALLY should go to bed now. ***YAWN*** Also, I have to comment on the Jewelry contest at 5 minutes for Mom. Check out the new button.
Hugs,
Melinda
Hugs,
Melinda
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Well.... (Sunday night ramblings)
the good news is that I only have to sleep here two more nights. The bad news is that "Mawsha" has a basement that is flooding due to the very heavy rain today.
I don't really have very much to say tonight. I've been packing boxes. I have a lot done. Still need to pack up the clothes, but thought that could/should wait until tomorrow. I'm also going to go back through the boxes Becca packed and add to them. Not that she didn't do a good job; however, she could have put quite a bit more in her boxes. LOL
Also, hopefully later this week I will have *MY* computer back up and running, so I will be able to post more pictures again. And also, be able to post those fun smilies again. :) Of course, I also have to figure out what Dale did to it to make the pictures that I post invisible to me, but not to others.
I'm glad to be moving. I'm really hoping that my allergies will also clear up. Well, I think that's enough ramblings for now. Ya'll have a good night!
I don't really have very much to say tonight. I've been packing boxes. I have a lot done. Still need to pack up the clothes, but thought that could/should wait until tomorrow. I'm also going to go back through the boxes Becca packed and add to them. Not that she didn't do a good job; however, she could have put quite a bit more in her boxes. LOL
Also, hopefully later this week I will have *MY* computer back up and running, so I will be able to post more pictures again. And also, be able to post those fun smilies again. :) Of course, I also have to figure out what Dale did to it to make the pictures that I post invisible to me, but not to others.
I'm glad to be moving. I'm really hoping that my allergies will also clear up. Well, I think that's enough ramblings for now. Ya'll have a good night!
Time for a Poetry Break
I want to post one of my favorite poems ever. Hopefully I'll get a different one up later this week. -- maybe. *Side note first -- we got an apartment Friday and will be moving out of this house on Tuesday. Hip Hip Hooray!*
____________________________________________
Robert Frost (1874–1963)
The Road Not Taken
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
____________________________________________
I found the second one. I didn't know the author until now.
The Bend in the Road
Author: Helen Steiner Rice
Sometimes we come to life's crossroads
And we view what we think is the end.
But God has a much wider vision
And he knows that it's only a bend-
The road will go on and get smoother
And after we've stopped for a rest,
The path that lies hidden beyond us
Is often the path that is best.
So rest and relax and grow stronger,
Let go and let God share your load
And have faith in a brighter tomorrow-
You've just come to a bend in the road.
____________________________________________
Robert Frost (1874–1963)
The Road Not Taken
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
____________________________________________
I found the second one. I didn't know the author until now.
The Bend in the Road
Author: Helen Steiner Rice
Sometimes we come to life's crossroads
And we view what we think is the end.
But God has a much wider vision
And he knows that it's only a bend-
The road will go on and get smoother
And after we've stopped for a rest,
The path that lies hidden beyond us
Is often the path that is best.
So rest and relax and grow stronger,
Let go and let God share your load
And have faith in a brighter tomorrow-
You've just come to a bend in the road.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Oooo... a contest!
For all of us who have chosen the wonderful profession of stay at home mother, there is a blog just for us. It's called 5 minutes for mom. And they are having a contest! You can win a Nano ipod!
Here's the button.
Here's the button.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Happy Birthday Lil Bit!
It's 5:30 and I can't sleep.
Happy Birthday Lil Bit! You are two years old today. I can honestly say it has been a joy to watch you growing up. May you always keep your smile and your laughter. May you grow up caring and loving and kind. May God bless you richly. I love you. Mommy
Happy Birthday Lil Bit! You are two years old today. I can honestly say it has been a joy to watch you growing up. May you always keep your smile and your laughter. May you grow up caring and loving and kind. May God bless you richly. I love you. Mommy
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