Happy Mother's Day

Here are just a couple of things that I thought would fit nicely today for Mother's Day.  Enjoy!  The first one is HILARIOUS!!!!  Happy Mother's Day to all the beautiful Mom's I know....especially mine!!!! (I love you Mom)  And thank you to my mother-in-law for raising an amazing guy!  (I love you too Audie!)

MEMORIES

A 3-year-old tells all from his mother's restroom stall. By Shannon Popkin My little guy, Cade, is quite a talker. He loves to communicate and does it quite well. He talks to people constantly, whether we are in the library, the grocery store or at a drive-thru window. People often comment on how clearly he speaks for a just-turned-3-year-old. And you never have to ask him to turn up the volume. It's always fully cranked. There have been several embarrassing times that I've wished the meaning of his words would have been masked by a not-so-audible voice, but never have I wished this more than last week at Costco. Halfway, through our shopping trip, nature called, so I took Cade with me into the restroom. If you'd been one of the ladies in the restroom that evening, this is what you would have heard coming from the second to the last stall: ''Mommy, are you gonna go potty? Oh! Why are you putting toiwet paper on the potty, Mommy? Oh! You gonna sit down on da toiwet paper now?  Mommy, what are you doing? Mommy, are you gonna go stinkies on the potty?'' At this point I started mentally counting how many women had been in the bathroom when I walked in. Several stalls were full ... 4? 5? Maybe we could wait until they all left before I had to make my debut out of this stall and reveal my identity. Cade continued: ''Mommy, you ARE going stinkies aren't you? Oh, dats a good girl, Mommy! Are you gonna get some candy for going stinkies on the potty? Let me see doze stinkies, Mommy! Oh...Mommy! I'm trying to see In dere. Oh! I see dem. Dat is a very good girl, Mommy. You are gonna get some candy!'' I heard a few faint chuckles coming from the stalls on either side of me. Where is a screaming new born when you need her?  Good grief. This was really getting embarrassing. I was definitely waiting a long time before exiting. Trying to divert him, I said, ''Why don't you look in Mommy's purse and see if you can find some candy. We'll both have some!'' ''No, I'm trying to see doze more stinkies...Oh! Mommy!'' He started to gag at this point. ''Uh - oh, Mommy. I fink I'm gonna frow up. Mommy, doze stinkies are making me frow up!! Dat is so gross!!'' As the gags became louder, so did the chuckles outside my stall.. I quickly flushed the toilet in hopes of changing the subject.  I began to reason with myself: OK. There are four other toilets.  If I count four flushes, I can be reasonably assured that those who overheard this embarrassing monologue will be long gone. ''Mommy! Would you get off the potty, now? I want you to be done going stinkies! Get up! Get up!'' He grunted as he tried to pull me off. Now I could hear full-blown laughter. I bent down to count the feet outside my door.  ''Oh, are you wooking under dere, Mommy? You wooking under da door? What were you wooking at? Mommy? You wooking at the wady's feet?'' More laughter. I stood inside the locked door and tried to assess the situation. ''Mommy, it's time to wash our hands, now. We have to go out now, Mommy.'' He started pounding on the door.  ''Mommy, don't you want to wash your hands? I want to go out!!'' I saw that my wait 'em out' plan was unraveling. I sheepishly opened the door, and found standing outside my stall, twenty to thirty ladies crowded around the stall, all smiling and starting to applaud. My first thought was complete embarrassment, then I thought, where's the fine print on the 'motherhood contract' where I signed away every bit of my dignity and privacy? But as my little boy gave me a big, cheeky grin while he rubbed bubbly soap between his chubby little hands, I thought, I'd sign it all away again, just to be known as Mommy to this little fellow. (Shannon Popkin is a freelance writer and mother of three. She lives with her family in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she no longer uses public restrooms).

Just a Mom?

A woman, renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk 's office, 
was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation.
She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.   
'What I mean is, ' explained the recorder,   
'do you have a job or are you just a .?' 
'Of course I have a job,' snapped the woman. 
'I'm a Mom.' 
'We don't list 'Mom' as an occupation,

'housewife' covers it,' 
Said the recorder emphatically.  
I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall.   
The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, 
efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, 
'Official Interrogator' or 'Town Registrar. 
'What is your occupation?' she probed 
What made me say it?  I do not know.   
The words simply popped out.   
'I'm a Research Associate in the field of 
Child Development and Human Relations.' 
The clerk paused, ball -point pen frozen in m midair and 
looked up as though she had not heard right.   
I repeated the title slowly emphasizing the most significant words. 
Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written, 
in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire. 
'Might I ask,' said the clerk with new interest,
'just what you do in your field?' 
Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, 
I heard myself reply, 
'I have a continuing program of research, 
(what mother doesn't) 
In the laboratory and in the field, 
(normally I would have said indoors and out.)   
I'm working for my Masters, (first the Lord and then the whole family) 
and already have four credits (all daughters).  
Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, 
(any mother care to disagree?) 
and I often work 14 hours a day, (24 is more like it).   
But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers

and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money.' 
There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she 
completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door 
As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, 
I was greeted by my lab assistants -- ages 13, 7, and 3.  
Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, 
(a 6 month old baby) in the child development program, 
testing out a new vocal pattern.   
I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy!  
And I had gone on the official records as someone more

distinguished and indispensable to mankind than 'just another Mom.'  

   Motherhood!   
What a glorious career!   
Especially when there's a title on the door. 

The Cost of Raising Kids

The government recently calculated the cost of raising a child from birth to 18 and came up $160,140! That doesn’t even touch college tuition.

For those with kids, that figure leads to wild fantasies about all the money we could have banked if not for (insert your child or children’s name(s) here). For others, that number might confirm the decision to remain childless.But $160,140 isn’t so bad if you break it down. It translates into $8,896.66 a year, $741.38 a month, or $171.08 a week.That’s a mere $24.44 a day! Just over a dollar an hour. 

Still, you might think the best financial advice says don’t have children if you want to be “rich”. But, it is just the opposite.

What do your get for your $160,140?

• Naming rights. First, middle, and last!
• Glimpses of God every day.
• Giggles under the covers every night.
• More love than your heart can hold.
• Butterfly kisses and Velcro hugs.
• Endless wonder over rocks, ants, clouds, and warm cookies.
• A hand to hold, usually covered with jam.
• A partner for blowing bubbles, flying kites, building sandcastles, and skipping down the sidewalk in the pouring rain.
• Someone to laugh yourself silly with no matter what the boss said or how your stocks performed that day.
      
For $160,140:
• You never have to grow up.
• You get to finger-paint, carve pumpkins, play hide-and-seek, catch lightning bugs, and never stop believing in Santa Claus.
• You have an excuse to keep: reading the Adventures of Piglet and Pooh, watching Saturday morning cartoons, going to Disney movies, and wishing on stars.
• You get to frame rainbows, hearts, and flowers under refrigerator magnets and collect spray painted noodle wreaths for Christmas, hand prints set in clay for Mother’s Day, and cards with backward letters for Father’s Day.For $160,140, there is no greater bang for your buck.
• You get to be a hero just for retrieving a Frisbee off the garage roof, taking the training wheels off the bike, removing a splinter, filling the wading pool, coaxing a wad of gum out of bangs, and coaching a baseball team that never wins but always gets treated to ice cream regardless.
• You get a front row seat to history to witness the first step, first word, first bra, first date, and first time behind the wheel.
• You get to be immortal.
• You get another branch added to your family tree, and if you’re lucky, a long list of limbs in your obituary called grandchildren.
• You get an education in psychology, nursing, criminal justice, communications, and human sexuality that no college can match.In the eyes of a child, you rank right up there with God. You have all the power to heal a boo-boo, scare away the monsters under the bed, patch a broken heart, police a slumber party, ground them forever, and love them without limits, so one day they will, like you, love without counting the cost.