Archive | 18:22

My Children Know Me Well

19 Mar

wes birth 12 b

I know I’m nine days late saying this, but I had a lovely Mother’s Day last week. In fact, I was in a state of being highly pleased, or oblectation, the whole weekend, from the Friday night of Spud’s performance to the Tuesday after, when I visited another blogger (tomorrow’s post).

 

English: A packet of Black Jacks.

English: A packet of Black Jacks. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sunday started with church, followed by my writing group at the art gallery. Later, a walk with the dogs and Hub, a call from my first-born and the Dancing On Ice final was topped only by Spud making Chinese for dinner, under his father’s supervision.  It could have been toast and cereal for all I cared – all that mattered was no cooking for me!

Fruit Salad

Spud gave me Maltesers, Black Jacks, Fruit Salads and Parma Violets.  If you think about it, it’s a weird way of spending Mother’s Day – pretending to be a kid with your favourite sweets.  Ah well, my kids are used to weird.

Ultra Violet

Ultra Violet (Photo credit: tim ellis)

Tory Boy wrote a poem; he then recited it, set to one of my favourite pieces of music.

Sweets and poems – my children know me well.

The Very Hungry Caterpillar Alex001

Before I let you read the poem, I have to say in my defence that, while I adore it, I feel there’s a little of the pleonastic about it.  I’m not sure you need to know all this stuff about me: I’d like to keep my Excels At Being A Mother laurels just a little while longer.

Apologies for the layout, sweetie – WordPress doesn’t like your formatting.

 

A Mother’s Love, by Tory Boy

From my very first of check ups

Where the nurses went ballistic,

To the custard in a bottle

Now my teeth are a statistic

Then came the first of prunes

Where my bottom poo’d a’plenty

To falling out the pram

Luck-i-ly the road was empty

Wear a helmet with my scooter?

Whatever were you thinking?

A skateboard helmet for my bike?

I can feel my brain is shrinking

You walked me to my high-school

When all the other kids could see.

Then we went to war and

you said ‘If they fire please call me’

However did I make it?

I don’t think I will ever know

But if there’s one thing that I’m sure of

Its that my love for mum has grown

As she keeps on trying her best

To give my life the best of starts

Because my mummy loves me

And I love her, with all my heart.

 
I blub every time I read it.  I blub even more when I listen to him reciting it.  He has given me permission to share it so, if you’d like to listen in, go here.   Then come back and tell me what you think.
 
 
 
 

 

Joke 726

19 Mar
English: arial view of the Gardens of la Chato...

English: arial view of the Gardens of la Chatonniere (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

THE LORD: St. Francis, you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there in the western hemisphere? What happened to the dandelions, violets, thistle and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect, no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honeybees and flocks of songbirds.

I expected to see a vast garden of colours by now. But all I see are these green rectangles.

ST. FRANCIS: It’s the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers ‘weeds’ and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.

THE LORD: Grass? But it’s so boring. It’s not colorful. It doesn’t attract butterflies, birds and bees, only grubs and sod worms. It’s temperamental with temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?

ST. FRANCIS: Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.

THE LORD: The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy.

ST. FRANCIS: Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it, sometimes twice a week.

THE LORD: They cut it? Do they then bale it like hay?

ST. FRANCIS: Not exactly, Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.

THE LORD: They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?

ST. FRANCIS: No, sir – just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.

THE LORD: Now, let me get this straight: they fertilize grass so it will grow. And when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?

ST. FRANCIS: Yes, sir.

THE LORD: These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.

ST. FRANCIS: You aren’t going to believe this, Lord. When the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.

THE LORD: What nonsense. At least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stoke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. Plus, as they rot, the leaves form compost to enhance the soil. It’s a natural circle of life.

ST. FRANCIS: You’d better sit down, Lord. The Suburbanites have drawn a new circle. As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.

THE LORD: No. What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter and to keep the soil moist and loose?

ST. FRANCIS: After throwing away the leaves, they go out and buy something which they call mulch. They haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves.

THE LORD: And where do they get this mulch?

ST. FRANCIS: They cut down trees and grind them up to make the mulch.

THE LORD: Enough! I don’t want to think about this anymore. St. Catherine, you’re in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?

ST. CATHERINE: Dumb and Dumber, Lord. It’s a really stupid movie about…

THE LORD: Never mind, I think I just heard the whole story from St. Francis.

From Will & Guy.

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