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   A few months ago, when I was picking up the children at school, another mother I knew well rushed up to me.  Emily was fuming with indignation. "Do you know what you and I are?" she demanded. Before I could answer, and I didn't really have one handy, she blurted out the reason for her question. It seemed she had just returned from renewing her driver's license at The County Clerk's office. Asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation, Emily had 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 Emily. "I'm a mother!"
   "We don't list 'mother' 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."
   "And what is your occupation?" she probed. I don't know what made me say it. 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 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 pompous 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 (the whole darned family) and already have four credits (all daughters). "Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities (any mom 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 in 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 then 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 (6 months) in the child development program, testing out a new vocal pattern. I felt triumphant!  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 mother."
   Motherhood... what a glorious career. Especially when there's a title on the door. 

The Images of Mother:
 Age 4 ~ My Mommy can do anything!
 Age 8 ~ My Mom knows a lot! A whole lot!
 Age 12 ~ My Mother doesn't really know quite everything.
 Age 14 ~ Naturally, Mother doesn't know that, either.
 Age 16 ~ Mother? She's hopelessly old-fashioned.
 Age 18 ~ That old woman? She's way out of date!
 Age 25 ~ Well, she might know a little bit about it.
 Age 35 ~ Before we decide, let's get Mom's opinion.
 Age 45 ~ Wonder what Mom would have thought about it?
 Age 65 ~ Wish I could talk it over with Mom.

   A man came home from work late, tired and irritated, to find his 5 year 
old son waiting for him at the door. 
   "Daddy, may I ask you a question?" 
   "Yeah, sure, what is it?" replied the man. 
   "Daddy, how much money do you make an hour?"
   "That's none of your business! What makes you ask such a thing?" the man said angrily. 
   "I just want to know. Please tell me, how much do you make an hour?" pleaded the little boy. 
   "If you must know, I make $20.00 an hour."
   "Oh, " the little boy replied, head bowed. Looking up, he said, "Daddy, 
may I borrow $10.00 please?" 
   The father was furious. "If the only reason you want to know how much 
money I make is just so you can borrow some to buy a silly toy or some 
other nonsense, then you march yourself straight to your room and go to 
bed. Think about why you're being so selfish. I work long, hard hours  everyday and don't have time for such childish games."
   The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door. The man sat down and started to get even madder about the little boy's questioning. 
   How dare he ask such questions only to get some money. After an hour or so, the man had calmed down, and started to think he may have been a little hard on his son. May be there was something he really needed to buy with that $10.00 and he really didn't ask for money very often. The man went to the door of the little boy's room and opened the door. "Are you asleep son?" he asked.
   "No daddy, I'm awake," replied the boy. 
   "I've been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier," said the man. "It's been a long day and I took my aggravation out on you. Here's that $10.00 you asked for." 
   The little boy sat straight up, beaming. "Oh, thank you daddy!" he yelled. Then, reaching under his pillow, he pulled out some more crumpled up bills. The man, seeing that the boy already had money, started to get angry again. The little boy slowly counted out his money, then looked up at the man. 
   "Why did you want more money if you already had some?" the father grumbled. 
   "Because I didn't have enough, but now I do," the little boy replied.  "Daddy, I have $20.00 now... Can I buy an hour of your time?"

   Little Johnny sees his Daddy's car passing the playground and go into the woods. Curious, he follows the car and sees Daddy and Aunt Jane in a "Passionate Embrace."
   Little Johnny finds this so exciting and can barely contain himself as he runs home and starts to tell his mother. Mommy "I was at the playground and I saw Daddy's car go into the woods with Aunt Jane. I went back to look and he was giving Aunt Jane a big kiss, then he helped her take off her shirt, then Aunt Jane helped Daddy take his pants off, then Aunt Jane laid down on the seat, then Daddy..............
   At this point, Mommy cut him off and said, "Johnny, this is such an interesting story, suppose you save the rest of it for supper time. I want to see the look on Daddy's face when you tell it tonight." At the dinner table, Mommy asks Little Johnny to tell his story.
   Johnny starts his story, describing the car into the woods, the undressing, laying down on the seat, and Johnny said, "then Daddy and Aunt Jane started doing that same thing Mommy and Uncle Bill used to do when Daddy was in the Navy."
   Some times you need to listen to the whole story before you interrupt!!

A Parent's Prayer

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray my sanity to keep.
For if some peace I do not find,
I'm pretty sure I'll lose my mind.
I pray I find a little quiet,
Far from the daily family riot.
May I lie back and not have to think
About what they're stuffing down the sink,
Or who they're with, or where they're at
And what they're doing to the cat.
I pray for time all to myself
(Did something just fall off a shelf?)
To cuddle in my nice, soft bed
(Oh no, another goldfish...dead!)
Some silent moments for goodness sake
(Did I just hear a window break?)
And that I need not cook or clean
(Well heck, I've got the right to dream)
Yes now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray my wits about me keep,
But as I look around I know,
I must have lost them long ago!


My son came home from school one day,
A smirk was on his face.
He'd decided he was smart enough,
To put me in my place.

Guess what I learned in Civics Two,
That's taught by Mr. Wright?
It's all about the laws today.

I don't have to clean my room,
Don't have to cut my hair.
No one can tell me what to think,
How to speak, or what to wear.

I have freedom FROM religion,
And regardless what you say,
I don't have to bow my head,

I can wear my earrings if I want,
And pierce my tongue & nose.
I can read & watch just what I like,
Be tattooed from head to toes.

AND if you ever spank me,
I'll charge you with the crime,
I'll back up all my charges
With the marks on my behind.

Don't you ever touch me,
This body's for MY use,
Not for your hugs and kisses,
That's just more child abuse.

Don't preach about your morals,
Like your Mama did to you.
That's nothing but your mind control,
And it's illegal too!

Mom, I have these children's rights,
So you can't influence me.
Or I'll call Children's Services,
Better known as C.S.D.

Well, of course, my natural instinct
Was to toss him out the door.
But the chance to teach a lesson
Made me think a little more.

I mulled it over carefully,
I couldn't let this go.
A little smile crept to my face
He was messing with a pro.

Next day I took him shopping,
At the local Good Will store.
I told him, pick out all you want!
There are shirts and pants galore.

I've called and checked with C.S.D.
They said they didn't care
If I bought you K-Mart shoes
Instead of Niki Airs.

OH, And...
I've canceled that appointment
To take your driver's test.
The C.S.D. is unconcerned,
So I'll decide what's best.

No time to stop and eat,
Or pick up stuff to munch,
And tomorrow you can start to learn
To make your own sack lunch.

Just save that raging appetite,
And wait 'til dinner time.
We're having liver and onions.
It's a favorite dish of mine.

Can we stop to rent a movie,
So I can watch the VCR?
Sorry, I said, I sold your TV,
For new tires on my car.

I also rented out your room,
You can take the couch instead.
The C.S.D. requires just a roof above your head.

Your clothing won't be trendy now,
I'll choose the food we eat.
That allowance that you used to get
Will buy me something neat.

I'm selling your jet ski,
Dirt bike & roller blades.
It's in effect today!

Hey Hot Shot, are you crying?
Why are you on your knees?
Are you asking God to help?

To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven.
Ecclesiastes 3:1

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Last updated May 19, 2008 by Becquet's Custom Programming