We had a tight schedule when our kids were in school. By this, I don’t mean we scurried from one activity to another getting our kids to lessons and sports practices after school and on weekends. Bud and I were juggling just to get them fed, dressed, and to the bus stop in the mornings. We were both taking call at work, so it was a big job making sure one of us was there when they got home, got them started on homework, got dinner, and their baths. Throw in a few loads of laundry, a fever or sick child and it was sure to be exciting. Sometimes I felt overloaded.
“The science fair project is due tomorrow!” could make my blood run cold. A call from the teacher or bus driver, and there was no telling what changes we had to work in. No teacher ever called to say, “I just wanted to let you know your son is a delight to have in my class.” The kids thought it was a great idea to give us a note or let us know, “I need $50 today for the………. It’s the LAST DAY!”
I felt like we were stressed till we met the Ford kids who lived about a quarter of a mile down the street. They showed up at our house one frosty morning in shorts and overcoats. “Can we ride to the bus stop with y’all? We’re freezing!”
My kids were at the table eating pancakes and sausage. The Ford boys stared, open-mouthed.
“Are you boys hungry?”
“Yea!”
“Let me get you a plate. Do you want some milk?”
“Yes ma’am.”
I fixed them up. They licked their plates, literally. The next morning, they opened the front door and climbed right up to the table. We fed those boys for the next two years till we moved. It turns out, they were being raised by a single father who had to get their baby sister to the baby-sitter in time to be at work at seven. He woke the boys as he was going out the door, telling them to get some cereal. Our lives didn’t look quite so demanding.
school
Ralphie Gets Tripped Up
Daddy got another phone call from Ralphie, the kid down the road.
“Mr. Bill?”
“Hey, Ralphie. What’s going on?”
“I wrote a poem at school and won a contest.” (On his last phone call, Ralphie had reported making all D’s and F’s and having the papers to prove it)
“Well, that’s great, Ralphie! I’m glad you’re doing better at school.”
“I won first at my school, then at district. But when they took it to state, the judge said it came out of World Book and they threw it out.”
“Well, why did they do that?
“Because it came out of World Book. Bye”
Happy as a Pig in Slop
Ralphy was a quirky kid who lived just down the road from us. When he was eight or nine, he’d call on the phone, asking to speak to Daddy. We were always interested in hearing what he had to say.
“Mr. Bill?”
“Yeah, what’s on your mind today, Ralphy?”
“My mama just bought some of that new White Cloud Bathroom Tissue. You should come try it! Bye.”
Another call:
“Mr. Bill?”
“Yeah, Ralphy. How are you today?”
“Fine. I just got my report card. I had all D’s and F’s.”
“No, Ralphy! Surely not!”
“Yep, and I’ve got the papers to prove it! Bye!”
Next call:
“Mr. Bill?”
“Hey, Ralphy. What’s going on?”
“I wrote a poem in school today. Want to hear it?”
“Why sure!”
“Rabbits love cribbage and cabbage.
Pigs love slibbage and slobbage.”
“That’s good, Ralphy. What did you make on it?”
“An F. It was supposed to be about the Flag. Bye.”
We all hung on those phone calls like a pig in slobbage.
Ruth Elaine and the Exploding Baby (Part I of II 1930s Memoir)
I was praying for salvation as the class suffered along with Luther Simpson through a page of Jane and Fluff the Kitten. The second-graders pretended to work on their sums across the aisle. in our shared classroom in 1935 in East Texas. Little Ruth Elaine Lawson, a girl I’d had always found dull, dropped her head to her desk and snuffled Continue reading
Outclassed and Outsmarted
Getting our kids off to school used to be a dance with the devil. The devil definitely knew all the steps. I always laid out shoes and clothes, (no substitutions allowed) lunches, backpacks packed, papers signed with everything ready to roll the night before. That created the illusion of sanity and was good for a laugh. I was up at five a.m. to get my shower, dress, and cook breakfast. The kids always wanted hot breakfast, so I was guilt-ridden to make sure they had eggs, grits, and toast. As soon as it was on the table, I woke Bud and turned to circus over to him. He was supposed to railroad them through breakfast, get the dishes to the dishwasher, make sure they brushed their teeth and hair, and got out the door with everything. About fifty percent of the time it worked as planned.
Sometimes one of them would let the dog escape, fall in a puddle on the way to the truck and have to change or remember they’d hidden the note saying the Science Fair Project was due today and start bawling. Occasionally one would throw up or discover a rash at breakfast or the bus stop. Once Bud left them at the bus stop with some other kids and they all stayed there till after nine before walking home to call and let us know the bus never ran. (so they said) Once my daughter sneaked back in and changed pants. Bud had to pick her up as soon as she got to school because she had a “stomach ache.” As soon as she got home she changed pants and was miraculously cured. He took her right back to school.
I do miss those little daily struggles. If only my fertility could be restored and I could started all over! Ha!
The Trouble With Syrup
I didn’t like having syrup for breakfast on school mornings when I was a little kid since I was was lazy about washing up afterwards. In class, my papers stuck to me all morning till I went out at recess. Then I usually romped around and came back in with dirt sticking to the syrupy patches. Either way, I lost.
The Things We Do For Our Kids! Guest Post By Cordelia’s Mom
I am so proud to that Cordelia’s Mom did this Guest Post for Mother’s Day. Please check out her lovely blog. You will love it as well.
It was the mid-1950’s. I was in first grade.
Mother’s Day was approaching, and my teacher decided to have us all make noodle necklaces for our moms. She brought in a variety of dry noodles, along with string and water paints – and wrapping paper. I was so proud of my creation! Mom was going to love it!
On Mother’s Day, I watched my mother open her precious gift. She oohed and aahed, and put the necklace around her neck. I was so happy to see her wear it that day – I thought it was the most beautiful jewelry she ever had.
My mother didn’t work (back then, few did). Her only recreation was going bowling once a week in a league with other mothers.
Her annual bowling banquet was the week after Mother’s Day. I watched my mother dress in her most beautiful (to me) outfit, high heels and all. As she started to reach toward her jewelry chest, I told her she should wear the necklace I made because it was better than anything she had in that jewelry chest. And she put that necklace on and left the house for her banquet. I was so proud!
Fast forward approximately 25 years. I was now a young mother whose girls often brought me hand made gifts. One Sunday, I was visiting Mom, and we got to discussing little girls and how to raise them. The subject of the noodle necklace came up. I chuckled and told Mom that I was sorry I made her wear that necklace to her banquet, and that I now understood that she probably took it off as soon as she was out of eyesight.
There was a silence as my mother thought fondly back to that day. Then, she told me:
“No, I didn’t. I wore it all evening and told all the other mothers that my little girl made it for me.”
And that’s how I learned to be a mother. Mom was tough when it was called for, but she loved her kids and made sure that we all knew that.
Mom once read about a father who told his child, “You are my favorite, but don’t tell your brothers and sisters because it would hurt their feelings.” After the old man died, the kids were comparing notes and discovered that he had made that statement to each and every one of them. Mom thought that was a wonderful way to make a child feel special – and while neither she nor I ever tried it with our own kids, we both understood the philosophy behind it, and tried to love each child in the way that child needed to be loved. I know she succeeded; I hope I did, too.
Happy Mother’s Day! If you have children, give them hugs from me. If your mother is still alive, give her a kiss on her aging cheek. And if you are a mother, may you be showered hugs, kisses and homemade gifts from your own children.
Thanks, Linda, for allowing me to guest post for you today. I will hold you to your promise to reciprocate on my blog!
I love to hear from my readers. You may comment on this post, comment on my Facebook or Twitter pages, or email me at cordeliasmom2012@yahoo.com.
Image by Cordelia’s Mom
A Rose by any Other Name
When the little girl started first grade, the teacher asked her name.
“Happy Butt.”
“Happy Butt. That’s not a name. Let me check my records.” She checked her records and came back. “You’re name is Gladys, not Happy Butt!”
“Glad Ass, Happy Butt. Same thing!”
It’s My Head
My mother could be so unreasonable about what I did with my own head when I was a kid. I was sitting on the floor at the end of the kitchen table playing one evening after dinner, when Phyllis tipped over a bowl of canned peaches. The syrup ran off the end of the table, onto my head. It felt cool and good. I didn’t complain. The next morning Continue reading
Nutsrok 