wbd1213
Mother’s Lessons
A friend shared this with me:
1. My mother taught me TO APPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE .
"If you're going to kill each other, do it outside. I just finished cleaning."
2. My mother taught me RELIGION .
"You better pray that will come out of the carpet."
3. My mother taught me about TIME TRAVEL .
"If you don't straighten up, I'm going to knock you into the middle of next week!"
4. My mother taught me LOGIC .
"Because I said so, that's why."
5. My mother taught me MORE LOGIC .
"If you fall out of that swing and break your neck, you're not going to the store with me."
6. My mother taught me FORESIGHT .
"Make sure you wear clean underwear, in case you're in an accident."
7. My mother taught me IRONY .
"Keep crying, and I'll give you something to cry about."
8. My mother taught me about the science of OSMOSIS .
"Shut your mouth and eat your supper."
9. My mother taught me about CONTORTION-ISM .
"Will you look at that dirt on the back of your neck!"
10. My mother taught me about STAMINA …
"You'll sit there until all that spinach is gone."
11. My mother taught me about WEATHER .
"This room of yours looks as if a tornado went through it."
12. My mother taught me about HYPOCRISY .
"If I told you once, I've told you a million times. Don't exaggerate!"
13. My mother taught me the CIRCLE OF LIFE .
"I brought you into this world, and I can take you out.."
14. My mother taught me about BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION .
"Stop acting like your father!"
15. My mother taught me about ENVY .
"There are millions of less fortunate children in this world who don't have wonderful parents like you do."
16. My mother taught me about ANTICIPATION .
"Just wait until we get home."
17. My mother taught me about RECEIVING ..
"You are going to get it when you get home!"
18. My mother taught me MEDICAL SCIENCE .
"If you don't stop crossing your eyes, they are going to get stuck that way."
19. My mother taught me ESP .
"Put your sweater on; don't you think I know when you are cold?"
20. My mother taught me HUMOR .
"When that lawn mower cuts off your toes, don't come running to me."
21. My mother taught me HOW TO BECOME AN ADULT .
"If you don't eat your vegetables, you'll never grow up."
22. My mother taught me GENETICS .
"You're just like your father."
23. My mother taught me about my ROOTS
"Shut that door behind you. Do you think you were born in a barn?"
24. My mother taught me WISDOM .
"When you get to be my age, you'll understand."
And my favorite:
25. My mother taught me about JUSTICE .
"One day you'll have kids, and I hope they turn out just like you!"
Only you folks my age understand these profound statements!!!
But, there is one missing from this list . . . . My personal all time favorite!!
My mother taught me about CHOICE .
"Do you want me to stop this car?"
Apple Cider
Per our tradition after Thanksgiving dinner, our family and guests retire to the living room to talk and enjoy hot spiced apple cider. My son, about 4-5 years old at the time, joined me on my recliner and sat sprawled half on my lap and half on the chair. It was a little tight for both of us to be on the chair at the same time, but as any father would, I valued his company.
As my family and friends drank our cider and dialogued with each other, my son began to uncomfortably fidget more and more.
"Daddy," he said softly. I ignored him since I was engaged in conversation with others. I picked up my cider from the coffee table beside the chair, took another sip.
"Daddy!" he said a little bit louder.
I don't know about you, but my parents taught me as a child that you don't interupt an adult while they are speaking to another adult. I intended to carry on that instruction with my own children.
"DADDY!!!" he cried out loudly.
Finishing the remaining cider in the cup and being completely annoyed at the interuption, I firmly placed the empty cup with a thud onto the coffee table, turned to my son, looked him straight into the eyes and asked with all the irritation I could muster, "WHAT?!!!"
Everyone in the room stopped talking and their entire focus was on this situation.
"My sock," he gently replied.
"Your sock?" I asked, confused.
"My sock, Daddy."
"What about your sock?"
"It's wet!" he replied.
Now more confused than ever, I asked, "What do you mean your sock is wet??!"
The bottom third of his sock starting at the toes was completely soaked.
"How on earth did your sock get wet while you were sitting on my lap?" I asked with incredulity.
He pointed to my now-empty apple cider cup.
As I realized what just transpired, I nearly gagged! Everyone in the room laughed uncontrollably.
My wife chimes in, "Need a refill on that cup, honey?"
Native American Dialect
Early in the 70's, I traveled with a small Christian band. At times we, along with other bands, would sing at huge youth rallys of 5000+ kids. Usually there was a meet and greet after the concert with fans.
At one such concert, a couple of young teenage girls from the midwest came up to meet us. We told them we were from the Pacific Northwest, in particular, Seattle.
Now you need to understand that in the early 70's, Seattle was not as well known as it is today for their coffee, technology industries, and music scene. People from the mid-west and east coast perceived Seattle and all of the Pacific Northwest as some remote outpost in the great white north. As far as they were concerned, the land was still filled with fighting cowboys and indians.
We asked them what they were taking in school. Listing their classes, they both mentioned they were taking a foreign language, one French and the other Spanish. Aware of their naivety in regard to the Northwest, we decided to mentally toy with them.
"You
are aware," I began to say, "that every school student in the Northwest is required to take 'two years' of a native american dialect?"
"Really?!!" both said in astonishment.
"Absolutely!" I replied, realizing they were actually believing my claims.
"Can you speak to us in your Indian dialect?" they queried, both obviously very impressed.
I began to fidget. I had not thought this far ahead in order to be prepared to respond. My mind quickly ran through the options. It suddenly occurred to me that a lot of towns along the coast of Washington have Native American names.
Not missing a beat, I began to recite some of the names:
"Skykomish Nisqually Chimakum Walla Walla Makah."
"Wow!" they said in unison. "What does it mean?"
I realized I hadn't thought out the answer to that question either. So, I said it means:
"Man who runs behind car gets exhausted!"
We all laughed. They left not really knowing whether or not we actually could speak a native american dialect.
We would never tell.
Baby, It’s Cold Inside.
[This whimsical banter occured during summer time]
Let's face it, all women are COLD!!! They are like addicts, never willing to admit they are one with the problem. It's always someone else with the problem.
"Close the window! It's freezing in here!" she commands.
"Honey," I respond, "it's 78 degrees in here."
"LIAR!!!" she accuses. "That thermostat obviously is broken."
Reluctantly, I turn up the temperature, mindful of the huge power bill I will receive in the near future.
My son walks into the room, totally unaware of our conversation. She turns her attention to him.
"I'm not the one with the problem! I'm normal!" she screams, as if to convince herself and those around her.
My son looks at me with a quizzical look. We both shrug our shoulders. He continues on, out of the room without saying a word.
Once one woman starts complaining, every other female within 50-100 feet joins in a cacophony of WHINE.
Could be why the band Foreigner released the song, "You're as cold as ice!" Some songs really have a double meaning.
A quick observation reveals she is not wearing any socks, and that she is wearing a thin top and pants. I don't claim to be a genius, but I suggest to her that she might want to put on some socks and a sweater.
"That's not going to help any!" she barks back. "You don't love me. You want me to freeze in this igloo!"
"Men!" she mutters, as she stomps off down the hall. "They are so insensitive to our needs."
I'm left speechless…and sweating.
Spiders
My wife has been using the blue car to go to work. I used it to go get firewood from her father’s farm. The car is still stuffed to the brim with wood.
I told her last night that the car was now probably infested with spiders. She said she dreamed about scary spiders last night. She threatened me that if I didn't get the car cleaned out today, she would 'WALK' to work.
I suggested she might want to try a different type of "threat" that holds some consequence or motivation for me. I responded, "Dress warmly!"
A Manly Color
The furthering adventures of 'Life with my Wife!"
My wife and I are downstairs early this morning preparing and hanging decorations around as we wait for our son (his birthday is today) to wake up and come downstairs.
"Here," she commands, as she tosses me a package, "blow these up!"
It's a bag of balloons. Not just any balloons, but black balloons. Perceiving that not a lot planning or money was spent on decorations, I said, "These balloons are black! Aren't these left over from your 50th birthday party a few years ago?"
Rather than admit she didn't go out and buy any special color balloons, she began to justify her color choice.
"Black is a 'manly' color. It's just the color it should be!" she instructed me.
After both of us blowing up several of them, I walked over and started to dig through a few bags that she had pulled from the gift paper and decoration cabinet.
"Hey!" I countered, "Here's a bunch of purple balloons," as I pulled them from the bag.
Her back was to me as she was buttering some toast. Not wanting to admit she didn't put the money or time to get any other color, she repeated, "Black is a 'MANLY' color!" "Purple is NOT a 'MANLY' color!"
As she turned to me with a stern demeanor, she finalized her argument by declaring with authority, "No MAN would choose "PURPLE!!!"
She stopped short, with mouth gaping open. I just so happen to be wearing a purple T-Shirt (Washington Huskies color).
Stuttering, she responded, "Purp….Purple…is…uh..a…purple is a MANLY color as well. It would be great to have you add some purple balloons to the black ones."
I love my wife! Strong in conviction, unbending in resolve!
Shortly, thereafter, my son walks in. His face rubs against a number of long straw-colored yarn pieces that my wife had hung in the doorway that leads into the kitchen (her idea of birthday decorations).
"Oh!" he exclaimed with a puzzled look on his face. He slowly said, "That's in-ter-est-ing…hanging yarn?!!"
Without missing a beat, my wife chimes in, "Yeah! Yarn is MANLY!"
I roll my eyes and remained silent.
Honey-Do List
Every married man has a "honey-do" list from his wife (I'm sure their mothers included this as part of their womanly training). I tried giving my wife a 'honey-do' list once. Note the word "once."
Her head spun around like a possessed doll and she snarled, "What is this that you're giving me." I quickly grabbed it back and replied, "Nothing, love muffin."
If you're like most men (and I am), not a lot of the honey-do list ever gets done.
You know what I mean, guys. You come home after a long day at the office, there's little time (or incentive) after dinner. You just want to kick back, grab a cool drink and relax a little. Weekends aren't much better. Time is consumed by really important stuff, e.g. watching the game, working on the car or one your projects, shooting at the gun range, etc.
As far as my honey's "honey-do" list, I've often thought, "Your arms and legs aren't broken." Honey-do should mean, 'Honey (i.e., wife), why don't you do it." "I mean, after all this push for women's lib and you come to me with this stuff!" Can I hear an 'AMEN' men?!!!
If only this type of thinking would work in the real world. The reality is that mothers also taught their daughters (part of their womanly training) the gift of how to inflict guilt upon the man and how to play the role of a martyr. (Can I hear an 'AMEN' men?!!)
You'll hear, "Well Debbie's husband does…." You interrupt her quickly putting your hands over your ears. You say, "STOP….I know Debbie's husband…he doesn't."
Then she resorts to phrases like, "You don't love me…" or "You never…." or "You ain't gettin' dinner or _______ (you fill in the blank) until you…."
The last phrase is usually the deal-breaker.
One can only deal with this kind of nagging for so long. To quote the great American, Clint Eastwood, "A man's got to know his limits."
So effective this day forward, I shall take off each Monday from work and devote it to finishing up much of my honey's honey-do list. If there's one thing I've learned:
"Happy Wife, Happy Life!"
Shampoo
Check your shampoo bottle label. I don't know WHY I didn't figure this out sooner!!!!
It's the shampoo I use in the shower! When I wash my hair, the shampoo runs down my whole body and (duh!) printed very clearly on the shampoo label is this warning: FOR EXTRA VOLUME AND BODY!
No wonder I have been gaining weight!!! Well, I have now gotten rid of that shampoo and I am going to start using Dawn dish soap instead. Their label reads: DISSOLVES FAT THAT IS OTHERWISE DIFFICULT TO REMOVE.
Problem Solved!!! If I don't answer the phone I'll be in the shower!!!
Toilet Paper Rolls
My wife used to constantly complain that she was the only one who ever changed the roll. No matter how I would try to defend myself, she would always say, "Yeah…right…prove it." Of course that was hard to do.
So I set my mind to provide demonstrative evidence to support my claims. To prove her wrong, over a long period of time I saved up and hid over 20 cardboard tubes from the rolls every time I changed it. My intention was that the next time I heard, "I'm the only one that ever changes the rolls around here," was to grab my stash, throw it down before her, and smugly declare, "NO! you're wrong! Take a look at this!" Surely, that would "silence" her.
I waited with anticipation, and waited, and waited, and waited and waited. Several months pass and still no accusatory statements from my beloved. My hidden stash grew larger and larger and became harder to hide. To my dismay, she failed to repeat her charge.
I came to the conclusion that the reason she wasn't complaining is because I had made a point to actually "change" the toilet rolls in order to gather them up to prove my point.
This exercise in futility proved her point, i.e. she didn't have to complain if someone else other than her WAS changing the rolls. I quietly and in private disposed of the evidence rolls.
Women use such devious methods to manipulate their husbands to do things for them. While thinking I was in control, it was actually her in control. Arrrgggggggggg!!!!
The Pen
In church, I sit on the aisle seat. Across the aisle, one row forward, sat a father (approx 6'6" in height) also in the aisle seat, with his two very young daughters seated next to him. Somewhere during the announcements, the children are instructed to get out of their seats and head to their respective Sunday School classes.
Dressed in their frilly pink dresses, and cuter than a button, both attract a lot of attention as they, with great effort, noisily climb (what must seem to them like Mt. Everest) over the long lanky legs of their father. The first girl reaches the aisle and runs towards the back as her younger sister (best described as a "knee-nibbler") struggles to negotiate the knee terrain.
After much effort, she proudly reaches the aisle and pauses to survey the number of people who are now looking at her, no doubt enjoying and celebrating her accomplishment and moment. Clasped in her right hand is a rather expensive silver pen.
The father extends his palm out and says, "Give it to me."
Somewhat confused by his request, she turns in a 360 degree motion as though in slow motion, both hands raised in the air, pen tightly held, looking for a clue from any onlooker as to discern what her father wants.
The father extends his palm a bit further, and once again (but more firmly, yet still gentle) says, "Give it to me."
Somewhere during the 2nd iteration of her turn, her face lights up, a big smile crosses her face, and in a moment of epiphany, she understands with clarity what her father is asking of her.
With her left-hand she grabs the pen from her right hand. And then without hesitation, winds up her right-hand, and in a full downward motion plants a loud, echoing, and no doubt painful 'high-5" hand slap onto the extended palm of her father.
With pen in hand, she rushes down the aisle to follow after her older sister. The father, hand still extended and throbbing, with a sheepish grin lifts his eyes to survey the number of witnesses who are now laughing uncontrollably. With head tilted down, and with determination, his imposing frame rises from the chair and he too heads down the aisle.
Moments later, like a proud hunter with his prey, he returns with the silver pen grasped tightly in his grip. Acknowledging the admiring spectators with a smile and gentle nod of his head to each, he sits down to enjoy the rest of the service.
We all smile.