In the U.S. and Mexico, Austria and Australia, Switzerland and Pakistan, and in many other countries, in small apartments and suburban villas, on farms, houseboats, and huts, today, on May 10th, many countries celebrate mothers who are doing their jobs.
… This little girl and her partner in crime had me in stitches. This is going to be a good day. I got my morning laugh and will be smiling…
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I heard the same warning when I was a child. Watching too much “Bonanza” or “Star Trek” would make my eyes fall out. A warning, given at a time when we only watched TV at night, perhaps for an hour or two.
Oh, the tales we hear when we are children.
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Growing up in a small village in the mountains of Austria, I was raised Roman Catholic. We went to church on Sunday, because everyone else went to church. My grandma carved a cross on the back of every freshly baked bread loaf before she cut into it, and we bent our heads down before we ate, to either quietly say grace or give others the time to do so.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be the one posting this since I am not a mother, but then on the other hand maybe that’s precisely the reason why I should post it because I watched all my friends go through all the different stages. I am a witness, this all is true!
In the fanciest words, the most unusual descriptions, and the deepest expressions of love, people often rave about their own family members and their own mother, “The most radiant role model, the best friend, the greatest inspiration, and the most unconditional support.”
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Maybe I shouldn’t answer today’s prompt because it will make people feel sorry for me, and I dislike that more than I dislike Fennel, and I dislike Fennel a lot.
Today, I will tell you a story of a young woman who liked to travel.
A long time ago in Giza/Cairo/Egypt
I wish I could talk to all of the parents who worry they can’t put enough presents under the Christmas tree. I wish I could tell them about all the Christmases in my life, that are now special gems in my memory jar.
