M-m-m Mother's Day!

The Secret Recipe (In honor of Mother’s Day – U.S.A)
Previously posted: May 2013

When God created mothers, it was well into overtime on the sixth day. An angel dropped by and commented, ‘God, you are taking your time over this creature!’

God replied, ‘You should see the special requirements in the specification! She has to be easy to maintain, but not made of plastic or have any artificial components. She has one hundred and sixty movable parts, and nerves of steel, with a lap big enough for ten children to sit on it at once, but she herself has to be able to fit into a kiddies’ chair. She has to have a back that can carry everything that is loaded onto it. She has to be able to mend everything, from a grazed knee to a broken heart. And she’s supposed to have six pairs of hands’

The angel shook her head. ‘Six pairs of hands? No way!’ ‘The hands are easy,’ God said. ‘But I’m still working on the three pairs of eyes that she needs.’ ‘Is this the standard model?’ the angel asked.

God nodded: ‘Oh, yes. One pair to look through closed doors, while she asks, “What are you doing?” even though she already knows the answer. A second pair at the back of her head, to see what she’s not meant to see, but needs to know about. And, of course, the pair at the front that can look at her child, let him know that he is misbehaving and had better change his ways, while at the same time letting him see how much she loves and understands him.’

‘I think you should go to bed now, God, and get some sleep,’ said the angel. ‘I can’t do that,’ said God. ‘I’m almost there. I have nearly created a being who heals herself when she’s ill, who can delight thirty children with one little birthday cake, who can persuade a three-year-old to use his feet to walk and not to kick.’

The angel walked slowly around the prototype Mother. ‘It’s too soft,’ she said. ‘But tough,’ God retorted. ‘You wouldn't believe the wear and tear this Mother will tolerate.’
‘Can she think?’ asked the angel. ‘Not only think, but reach wise judgments and essential compromises,’ said God. ‘And she can do more than that. She can forget!’
Finally, the angel ran her finger across the model’s cheek. ‘There’s a leak,’ she said. ‘I warned you that you were trying to get too much into her.’

‘That’s not a leak,’ said God. ‘That’s a tear.’ ‘What’s that for?’ asked the angel. ‘It flows whenever she feels joy or grief, disappointment or pride, pain or loneliness, or the depths of love.’

‘You’re a genius,’ said the angel. God looked again at this work of art, with pleasure and pride. ‘The tear,’ God said, ‘is her overflow valve.’ (Source Unknown)

‘If I Had My Life to Live Over’ by Erma Bombeck
(Written after she found out she was dying from cancer)
Previously posted: May 2012

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren’t there for the day.
I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.
I would have talked less and listened more.
I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained or the sofa faded.
I would have eaten the popcorn in the ‘good’ living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.
I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.
I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day
because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.
I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.
I would have cried and laughed less while watching television and more while watching life.
I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn’t show soil, or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.
Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I’d have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.
When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, “Later. Now go get washed up for dinner.”
There would have been more “I love you’s.” More “I’m sorry’s.”
But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute, look at it and really see it, live it and never give it back.
Erma Bombeck (1927-1996)