Mothers


Tomorrow is Mother’s Day.

Women of all ages will receive flowers, candy, chocolate-covered strawberries, gift certificates for a spa day, a family dinner in their honor, a special gift unique to her, or if the husband/ dad is buying the gift – the latest small appliance (just kidding guys).

Mother’s Day can be a day filled with family fun, pride, joy, drama, or sadness – all at the same time. A day in the life of motherhood.

For all the hype leading up to this holiday and others, most fail to really reflect on the role and responsibilities we mothers have. But, when I think about motherhood, what I learned from my mother, witnessed in others, and hopefully passed on to my children — a number of words come to mind.

Loving – of course, tops the list. Other than God’s there is no greater love.

Resourceful – mothers can make a costume out of a brown paper a sack, a meal from scraps of leftovers, or a magical dress from her imagination.

Persistent – mothers do not give up, give in, or waiver when it comes to the best interest of her child.

Strong – mothers are the strongest people I know. In the midst of tough times, adversity, tragedy, illness, or any of life’s curveballs. She shoulders the burden, picks up the slack, gets creative, and does what she must.

Teacher– from the time that tiny infant is placed into her arms. She has the wondrous opportunity of introducing them to the world and all things new. From teaching the basics — utensils, dressing, and manners, to throwing a ball, swimming, driving, and dating. She teaches right from wrong, life lessons, independence, self-reliance, and accountability. She does her best to prepare them for life outside the safety of “mom’s protection and help her children become the best adults they can be.

Enforcer– often it’s up to her to teach the hard lessons of accountability and consequences and no one does that better than mom.

Protector – it’s true what they say. Mess with a woman’s child and her claws come out. Like a lioness protecting her cubs, we guard our children with our lives.

Doctor, nurse & medic – all in one. She bandages scraped knees, sits with the croupy child in a steam bath all night, stops the bleeding, splints the broken arm, and stays up all night when the fever is high. And, when more serious – she is the advocate that “doesn’t play.”

Mothers are this and so much more.

I write this today in honor of all mothers and in particular, my daughter Jessica and sister, Deborah.

For the last 3 going on 4 weeks, Jessica has been at the hospital bedside of her ten-year/old daughter. I’ve never been prouder of the woman and mother she has become. She has handled this scary, trying, exhausting time with grace, strength, resilience, and all of it with a smile on her face. Mallory and Harper are lucky and blessed to call her mom.

And to my sister, Deborah. You showed us strength, love, and dignity through the most difficult task a mother hopes she never has to face – saying goodbye to a child. Lori was blessed to have you as her advocate and mother.

This tribute in no way is meant to diminish the role of the father. I believe both mothers and fathers are the foundation of raising strong, happy and independent children. Today, however, is her day. It’s her time to let the spotlight shine on her.

So, if you’re lucky enough to have your mother still around – beyond the gifts and flowers- tell her you love her. The woman who gave you life, tickled your tummy, made you feel safe, and taught you about life won’t be around forever. So, call her – just to say ”hi.” Hearing your voice never gets old and brings joy to her heart.

Strength and dignity are her clothing,

and she laughs at the time to come.

She opens her mouth with wisdom,

and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.

She looks well to the ways of her household

and does not eat the bread of idleness.

Her children rise up and call her blessed;

    her husband also, and he praises her:

“Many women have done excellently,

    but you surpass them all.”

Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain,

    but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

Proverbs 31:25-30 English Standard Version (ESV)

Gratitude a Too Often Missing Ingredient

We all look forward to celebrating Thanksgiving. It’s a favorite holiday for most everyone I know. I mean, what’s not to like? Turkey, dressing, gravy, sweet potato casserole,  green beans, pecan pie, and the lists of mouth-watering foods go on and on.

We gorge ourselves on great food and conversation, but by the time our meal is over we’re on to the next thing – specifically, Black Friday and grabbing up all those wonderful deals for Christmas! We have lists made and our plans laid out in detail from what time to start out to the stores to hit first.

Yet, during all of this Thanksgiving preparation and activity, we tend to leave out the most essential ingredient – genuine gratitude. 

In all the hustle and bustle, we forget that the reason we are able to sit around a beautifully decorated table with food from end to end is that we are blessed.

We are blessed with the freedom to pray as we wish, to love those we choose, and a rich and prosperous nation.

We are blessed with a roof over our heads in which to present such a bountiful spread; blessed to have family and friends to in which we share this bounty. We are blessed with health, happiness, and a warm fire to sit by as the evening draws nigh.

So, this Thanksgiving let us truly be thankful when we gather together around the table. Share laughter, fond memories, and the love of gratitude we hold in our hearts for each other.

Happy Thanksgiving and may you and your family be blessed in abundance now and in the coming year.

I’d love to hear your comments. Talk to me. Tell me your story. I’m all ears and look for me on Facebook at SheilaMGood,  PinterestBloglovinTwitter@sheilamgood, Contently, and Instagram. You can follow my reviews on Amazon and Goodreads.

Not the Headline I Had in Mind

Of all the places I thought I might meet my demise, locked inside a chicken coop, in 90-degree weather, was NOT on my list of ways to meet my maker.

I haven’t seen the inside of a chicken coop since I was a child. It was a regular occurrence for Grandma Mattie to run me out of theirs. Of course, I was a wee child full of mischief. Was and child being the operative words.

My two daughters couldn’t be more different if I’d found them thumbing through a sperm bank catalog, blindfolded. They do have one thing in common – the love animals. My youngest has a cat, Bailey, whom she adores and would sacrifice her mother to save him. My oldest has a small farm and there in lies the beginning of my almost demise.

She and her family are on a much-needed and long overdue vacation to the beach. A few weeks back we had the following conversation:

Her: “Mom, will you run by and check on my animals while we’re gone?”
Me: “All of them?”
Her: “Yeah, it’s easy, and I’ll leave you detailed instructions.”
Me: “How many do you have now?”
Her: Dogs –Bobby George, Pig, Jack, and Carlos;  2  Birds-Renee and Donice;  guinea pig – Penny Gig; Cats –Ester, Ash, Little Bear, Squirrel, Fuzzy, Russell, Loud Mouth, and Nimbus; 2 Chickens – Fluff Butt and Clarabelle, and Baby Chicks – Willy Jean and Duck.”
Me:  Gulp! “Sure, I’ll be happy to. Y’all deserve a vacation; have fun.” What in the hell? I’ve lost my damn mind.
Her: “There’s a pair of galoshes by the back door to use in the chicken coop.”
Me: “Oh, good.” I NEED galoshes? What the hell kinda chickens do they have?

Dear God, I’ll never remember their names. Hell, I have a difficult time telling my granddaughter, Harper, and my dog, Piper apart. Try saying those two names three times and see for yourself.  I spent the whole time yesterday calling, Bobby George – Bobby Joe and Pig – Piglet. The others got, “Hey you” (close enough).

I’m always eager to help out my kids and who can’t feed and water pets? I mean, seriously; I was a single mother for eight years, worked and went to school full-time – just call me Superwoman. I did, however, have a few, itty-bitty concerns – like, forgetting one of the animals, losing one of the animals, or letting the chickens fly the coop – so to speak. Nah, Nana’s got this!

I reviewed the instructions my daughter left and got down to business, starting with the easiest – the guinea pig and the birds. Renee and Donice’s water looked as if they taken a crap in it – no biggy; I refilled their cup with fresh, cool water and moved on to Penny Gig who seemed fat and comfy in her cage, without a care in the world. The herd of cats – were A-Okay – can cats be in a herd?  So far, so good; nothing to it. I moved outside, slipped my feet into the waiting galoshes and opened the door to the backyard.

The dogs came running around the corner to me and Piper (my little Bichon, a white fluffy thing) as if a circus had come to town.  I thought a little exposure to other animals would be a positive experience for Piper (not entirely). Bobby George, Jack, Pig, and Carlos surrounded her, barking, sniffing, doing the usual meet and greet (sort of) which paralyzed Piper in place for 10 minutes or so. I could see it on her face –What the hell mom? It’s 90 degrees and who are these mutts?

No offense intended the mutts are all precious rescue animals. I’m not responsible for Piper’s opinions. She thinks she’s human and tiptoes along the brick edging of the patio because she doesn’t like to get her feet wet from the morning dew, need I say more?

Now, back to my near demise. I checked the dog’s food and water and made the necessary adjustments. Carlos looked a little overheated, so I shoved him through the doggie door to cool off and headed to the chicken coop.

I slid the latch and eased inside, careful not to let Piper or the other dogs sneak in behind me. The chickens ignored me, and the baby chicks were fine and dandy. All was going as planned. There was, of course, a bit of tension in the back yard but nothing more than the occasional scolding couldn’t handle.

“Okay you guys, stop it, no fighting. Bobby George, behave yourself. Piper, I’ll be done in a minute. Piper?”Oh, shit! Where’d she go?

Finally, mission accomplished. Proud and sweating, I turned to leave. The door wouldn’t open; the latch had slipped into place! Are you kidding me? I reached for my phone – oh yeah, left it on the counter, IN THE HOUSE!

Where’s Grandma Mattie when you need her? Or, anybody else for that matter. I scanned the neighborhood, the best I could from my vantage point. Not a car or person in sight. Would anyone hear me if I started screaming? “HELP! HELP! I’m in the chicken coop and can’t get out!” Now, that’s a commercial! I felt like the tree in the forest. If no one’s around when it falls …

I jiggled the door, stuck my arthritic fingers through the wire, and tried to reach the thingamajig, but NO-O-O. I picked up a small rake-looking thing and tried it – NOPE, too stiff.

Sweat was pouring off me like I was in the middle of a hot yoga class and I was running out of options. Piper who’s not used to 90-degree weather was on her way to a heat stroke, whining, panting and pawing at the door – Come on MOM! I wasn’t sure who would croak first her or me.

The coop had cover; so, I could get out of the sun. The thought crossed my mind until  I remembered why I was wearing galoshes – ah, no, scratch that idea.Then, there was Piper.

I couldn’t bust out; 1– chicken wire is stronger than it looks, and 2– Bobby George might think Nana had brought in a gourmet dinner. The idea of me chasing chickens all over the yard with four dogs in hot pursuit (no pun intended) was a non-starter.

I had one more shot before I started screaming – a 6-inch long twig with enough bend that it might just work. Of course, this is a woman who can’t manage to hold a juice glass. It was a long shot, and if I dropped the damn thing, Piper and I would be toast – literally.

It worked! I grabbed Piper and hightailed it inside to thank God, the comfort of air-conditioning. Bless that baby; she’s still recuperating. I don’t know what would’ve been worse, me screaming HELP at the top of my lungs, having to call 911 (had that been possible) or, finding me curled up in a pile of shavings and chicken shit! I shudder to imagine.

Tomorrow is another day and another visit. I’m leaving Piper at home, attaching my phone to my hip, taking Velcro, string, and anything else I think will get me in and out of the damn chicken coop and home safely.

The last thing my daughter wrote on her note was, “Thanks, I love you and don’t let my animals die!” I guess it didn’t dawn on her; the animals were not the ones she needed to worry about.

I’m trying to prepare for the day I make that final trip, but I’m not too fond of these headlines:

Grandmother Found Dead Inside Her Daughter’s Chicken Coop.

Not exactly the headline I wanted ushering me out of this world into the next.

 

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Join the conversation. Talk to me or tell me your story. I’m all ears.

The Reason Behind the Season | COW PASTURE CHRONICLES

Christmas Day is less than a week away. It’s a time for family, swapping gifts, enjoying a banquet of food, and reflecting. In the midst of this joyful time, our country is in tumult and many…

Source: The Reason Behind the Season | COW PASTURE CHRONICLES