big mouth

The Dead Pony, the Warped Kid, and the World’s Most Horrible Mother

horse_puns_aglore____by_alexandrabirchmoreThe phone rang one day.  Without introduction, I heard the familiar, deep voice of one of my son’s friends.  “Miss Linda, is that story about the pony true?”

“Yep!”  The last thing I heard was gales of laughter as I hung up.

If you are the sensitive type, skip this story.

Many years ago when my son was young, we were hauling a load of tree trimmings to the landfill.  As my husband backed the truck up to unload, I spotted a dead pony, bloated with all four legs stuck up in the air.  Without thinking, I said, “Hey, John.  Do you want a pony?”

Of course he said, “Yes!”

“Well, there’s one right over there!”

“Wahhh!!!!!”

I swear it was not intentional.  Sometimes I think there is a disconnect between my brain and my mouth!

This is for you, Lee Perkins

“My Mama Said!”

One of the most terrifying phrases to come out of the mouth of a a child is. “My mama/daddy said.”

A mom told her kindergartner, “I didn’t put a lunch in your backpack. You are going to be picked up before lunch.”

When the little guy got to school, he told his teacher,”I don’t have a lunch. I can’t eat at school.”

Four-year-old Hayley listened in on Mom and Grandma. Grandma realized she was in the middle of a story she didn’t want getting out. “Hayley, I don’t want you to repeat anything you hear us say.”

Reassuring Grandma she understood discretion, Hayley replied. “Don’t worry Grandma . Mama talks about you all the time and I don’t tell you!”

From a three-year old boy learning to potty from his dad. “Cool penis dad!”


The same boy exiting the bathroom:  “There’s a lot of turds in there!”


My three-year-old son advising his father:  Don’t let Baby Sister in the bathroom with you.  She’ll pull your penis.  Ain’t she rude!”


The same boy to an older deaf neighbor:  “YOU CAN’T HEAR THUNDER!”  Of course he’d heard this from his father.


From my daughter standing behind a portly lady in line at the grocery story.  I gave her a look and shushed her when she tried to comment.  The lady turned to walk away and my little one chimed out,  “I sure was nice not to call her a big, old, fat lady, wasn’t I, Mommy?


My niece:  “Boogers taste like pickles.”  I told my daughter and my little grandson spoke to himself, “I like that girl.”


I told my first grade teacher, “My mama said she wouldn’t take a sick dog to Dr. Jones.  She bristled, “I’ll have you know my father is a very good doctor!”  I couldn’t wait to get home to tell Mother.
 

Scary Words

Scary things I’ve heard coming out of my kids’ mouths:

To a messy neighbor:  “My daddy said you need to clean that mess up!”

To my dad: “Climb a weed, Papa!”

Comment as portly lady turns to leave checkout line:  “I was good not to call her a great big old fat lady, wasn’t I Mommy?”

To the dentist who encouraged her to floss:  My mommy won’t buy me any floss.”

Loud protest when I tried to shush my daughter in a restaurant: “He is so a fat man!”

In a grocery store:  “My mommy took my money to buy groceries.”

To the neighbor man:  “My mama’s ta tas are bigger than yours.”  Go figure.

To a kid who had been hitting him:  “My mama said I have to hit you.”  Whack!   There was a little story behind this.

To a visiting relative:  “My mama is tired of you sleeping here.”

To an elderly relative: “You smell like pee.”

To a relative:  “My mama hates your mean little dog.”

My young son to his grandma:  “Not by the hair on YOUR chinny-chin-chin!”

Worst of all:  “My mama said…….”

Puke

As I walked in my first grade classroom in December 1956,  I  wondered what all the excitement in the back of the room was about. The kids were buzzing around a mushy, malodorous pile of paper towels on the floor.  “What happened?

“Belinda puked!”  Jody giggled and pointed.

“What’s puke?”  I was glad someone else asked because I didn’t know either. It sounded like a bad word and Mother had so far prevented me from hearing as many bad words as I would have liked..  Jamey Alston picked up the corner of the towel and revealing a puddle of puke, educating me and several others.  Nancy Pearson walked in just in time to puke when she saw it.

Everyone but Belinda and Nancy thought it was hilarious.  The teacher shooed us out so the janitor could clean it up before someone else wanted to know what puke was.  What a great day!  I learned a very useful word and the class got an extra recess.  I also learned I didn’t want to be a janitor, my first taste of career conseling.

Most days at school were all right.  I loved recess and lunch, but they didn’t last long enough.  Sometimes the classes got boring and I daydreamed.  Miss Angie said I was a scatterbrain, meaning that I didn’t pay attention, drew pictures in class, lost my homework, and chattered to my friends. She even said I could make straight A’s if I only tried. I was so pleased since it was certainly all true! I thought scatterbrained was good till she sent a note home.  Daddy and Mother didn’t agree that scatterbrained sounded good and explained it in a way I couldn’t confuse!

Trouble always seemed to be looking for me.  How was I supposed to know what I wasn’t supposed to say in class?  My teacher, Miss Angie’s face got red when I told her, “My mother said she wouldn’t take her dog to see Dr. Lewis!”

Putting her hand on her hip and snapped at me, “I’ll have you know my daddy is a very good doctor!”  Then she made me stand at the blackboard with my nose in a chalk ring.  I got in trouble again when I got home and told Mother how mean Miss Angie was to me.  After that, Mother called one of the other mothers and told her she wouldn’t be able to help with the class Christmas party the next day because the baby was sick.  The baby didn’t look sick to me, but it seemed like a good time to practice to keep my mouth shut.

Scary Words

Scary things I’ve heard coming out of my kids’ mouths:

To a messy neighbor:  “My daddy said you need to clean that mess up!”

To my dad: “Climb a weed, Papa!”

Comment as portly lady turns to leave checkout line:  “I was good not to call her a great big old fat lady, wasn’t I Mommy?”

To the dentist who encouraged her to floss:  My mommy won’t buy me any floss.”

Loud protest when I tried to shush my daughter in a restaurant: “He is so a fat man!”

In a grocery store:  “My mommy took my money to buy groceries.”

To the neighbor man:  “My mama’s ta tas are bigger than yours.”  Go figure.

To a kid who had been hitting him:  “My mama said I have to hit you.”  Whack!   There was a little story behind this.

To a visiting relative:  “My mama is tired of you sleeping here.”

To an elderly relative: “You smell like pee.”

To a relative:  “My mama hates your mean little dog.”

My young son to his grandma:  “Not by the hair on YOUR chinny-chin-chin!”

Worst of all:  “My mama said…….”

You Used to Be Beautiful!

Kathleen Holdaway in flowered dress0002One warm afternoon in late May, 1960, Billy and I were lying on the living room floor as Mother reclined a few minutes with her feet up wearing the heavy surgical weight stockings the doctor had ordered. She was six months into a difficult pregnancy with her last child,and was supposed to be off her feet. She had spent a good portion of the morning tying to keep an eye on her fourteen-month-old, Connie, while trying to coax twelve-year old Phyllis and me at ten to do a little housework, help with Connie, and even get a little work out of seven year old Billy, while keeping him out of trouble. Phyllis was watching Connie. We were all terminally lazy, slacking off at the first excuse. None of us had any intention of doing anything we could avoid.

As we dawdled at her feet on the floor in the draft of the attic fan, one of us pulled out an old photo album. I quickly found a picture of her made her senior year of high school, the peak of her youth and beauty. “I graduated thirteen years ago today,” she remarked smilingly.

In my infinite wisdom, I proclaimed, “Oh Mother, you used to be beautiful!”

I turned for her smile, only to see a snarling, slobbering, swollen beast ready to pounce on me in rage! “”Used to be beautiful! Let’s see what you look like when you have five kids in twelve years! Put this stuff up, right now. Linda, you take your smart mouth and get those dishes washed. Phyllis, you put a pot of beans on for supper. Billy, you…”

By the way, this is not the picture in question. That one mysteriously disappeared

Big Mouth

I tried very hard to teach my kids to be sensitive, but it was a challenge.  When my little one was about three, I was stopped in a store by a friend for a few words.  The lovely lady was quite portly.  I knew my little one was dying to remark upon the unfortunate lady’s girth, so I shushed her and hurried to get away before her mouth went off.  As soon as we turned to walk away, she announced, “I sure was nice not to call her a big, old fat lady, wasn’t I?”

The Dead Pony, the Warped Kid, and the World’s Most Horrible Mother

horse_puns_aglore____by_alexandrabirchmoreThe phone rang one day.  Without introduction, I heard the familiar, deep voice of one of my son’s friends.  “Miss Linda, is that story about the pony true?”

“Yep!”  The last thing I heard was gales of laughter as I hung up.

If you are the sensitive type, skip this story.

Many years ago when my son was young, we were hauling a load of tree trimmings to the landfill.  As my husband backed the truck up to unload, I spotted a dead pony, bloated with all four legs stuck up in the air.  Without thinking, I said, “Hey, John.  Do you want a pony?”

Of course he said, “Yes!”

“Well, there’s one right over there!”

“Wahhh!!!!!”

I swear it was not intentional.  Sometimes I think there is a disconnect between my brain and my mouth!

 

This is for you, Lee Perkins

You Used to Be Beautiful!

Kathleen Holdaway in flowered dress0002One warm afternoon in late May, 1960, Billy and I were lying on the living room floor as Mother reclined a few minutes with her feet up wearing the heavy surgical weight stockings the doctor had ordered.  She was  six months into a difficult pregnancy with her last child,and was supposed to be off her feet.  She had spent a good portion of the morning tying to keep an eye on her fourteen-month-old, Connie, while trying to coax twelve-year old Phyllis and me at ten to do a little housework, help with Connie, and even get a little work out of seven year old Billy, while keeping him out of trouble.  Phyllis was watching Connie.  We were all terminally lazy, slacking off at the first excuse.  None of us had any intention of doing anything we could avoid.

As we dawdled at her feet on the floor in the draft of the attic fan, one of us pulled out an old photo album.  I quickly found a picture of her made her senior year of high school, the peak of her youth and beauty.  “I graduated thirteen years ago today,” she remarked smilingly.

In my infinite wisdom, I proclaimed, “Oh Mother, you used to be beautiful!”

I turned for her smile, only to see a snarling, slobbering, swollen beast ready to pounce on me in rage! “”Used to be beautiful!  Let’s see what you look like when you have five kids in twelve years!  Put this stuff up, right now.  Linda, you take your smart mouth and get those dishes washed.  Phyllis, you put a pot of beans on for supper.   Billy, you…”

By the way, this is not the picture in question.  That one mysteriously disappeared