This mother’s heart has been pierced.
“A soft answer turns away wrath.”
The rebuke sits heavily on my ears.
I have no reply,
Nursing the hungry infant
Weaning from breast and bottle
Teaching the toddler to walk
Here’s a bit of humor for Wednesday morning….
or Why Didn’t I Think of That?
My five-year-old son got a thought in his head
One day as he sat at the foot of my bed.
He wanted to wear my old stockings, said he;
I laughed when he told me and said, “Now hear me:
You don’t really want to put on pantyhose;
They’re scratchy and itchy and hot—goodness knows!”
“That’s right,” said my sister, who came in just then.
“Just listen. I’ll tell you a story ‘bout when
I wore pantyhose to a dinner one night.
They itched me so bad that I looked quite a sight.
My boyfriend caught on, so I pulled myself up
And tried to act ladylike during our sup.
The itching persisted, however, and I
Thought, ‘If I can’t scratch soon, I think I will die!’
I tore off the pantyhose right then and there.
Abashed, my poor boyfriend ran fast down the stair.
That guy doesn’t make my phone ring anymore.”
“Cheer up,” my son said, “‘Cause I’ve felt them before.
The outside of mom’s hose is silky. Don’t pout.
Next time why don’t you turn your hose inside out?”
October 30, 2002
© 2017 Angela Umphers Rueger – All Rights Reserved
Photo courtesy of Pixabay
Laughing, playing, working
Never a dull moment
There was a lovely princess
Who lived short time ago;
She laughed with other children
And played in sand and snow.
One night I dreamt a dream that made me fear:
My children old were grown, and I, near dead.
I yearned to see them once more gather near,
But they refused to come around my bed.
(to the tune of “So Send I You”)
Lord, here am I to labor unrewarded,
To serve unpaid, unloved, unsought, unknown,
Unknown, unloved by all but my dear children,
Lord, here am I to teach my young at home.
Gazing at the portraits on the wall, I see my children, husband, and myself—
Each one matched in clothes and countenance and looking right, as if we all belong.
Still I find it hard to comprehend that to a wife and mother I have grown.
In my eyes I don’t look anything remotely like the mothers I have known.
Help! I don’t know who I am.
Only yesterday I had an identity, a vocation.
My whole world was changed by one small cry following a lot of pain.
Everything is new to me. Where’s the instruction manual?
I know a little lady
Who lives in a very little house.
She sleeps a lot, but when she’s awake,
She moves about, kicking the walls.