One more for the day . . .

I had thought that needed to be recorded. It is in response to Omaha Mama's blogging about her house being not as clean as she thinks it should be and not staying absolutely true to her schedule.

Growing up, Mama was big on routines, she cleaned like clock work, snacks and meals were always on schedule, and the laundry was always done.

Then when we were old enought she went back to school to work on herself and the rest of us let the immaculate condition of the house slide into oblivion.

But when I look back at the time after Mom went back to school and I hit hight school, do I think about cluttered counters and laundry piles?

Nope.

The stories I told my coworkers last night as we hung out were about my great parents, whom everyone voluteered to chaparone the dances because they were so cool they would disco with up and they would tease everyone by doing "pencil" tests during slow dances.

And how even the troubled kids (in a previously life they were called Bad Boys) would stop on my mother's porch, apologize, and turn the tshirt they were wearing insideout because it has cuss words or a dirty message written on the front. They knew she didn't like them in her house and they all respected my parents.

I tell the stories about how we didn't get the latest and greatest game stations growing up, but we knew how to play a great game of make believe and our friends enjoyed that more that the latest Nintendo game.

But when I want to make them laugh I tell the Saturday Night story . . .

I sat at home at 9 pm on a Saturday. I just wanted to sit at home and read my new book. But Mom had other ideas. She stopped down at my room a few times to mention that I should go out and meet some friends or go into the coffee shop (my usual hangout). I didn't want to but she finally pushed me enough that I got up and headed for the door. She stopped me in a bit of a panic because I was about to go out wearing one of my brothers old flannel shirts, jeans, sneakers and a ball cap. She said I shoud at least put earrings on . . . and maybe a little makeup and fix my hair. So I told her nevermind, I'd just stay home - this was said in the snotty tone that children perfect the day they turn 13. She pretty much begged so I conceeded to the point that I put on make up and fluffed my hair a bit (I was not putting in earrings!) And when I went to leave, she told me to be home by midnight. Now the problem with that is, it takes about 30 minutes to get to town from our house, and 30 minutes to get home of course. By the time we got to this point, it was 10:30 pm, giving me about 30 minutes to "hang out." I can't actually remember if I went out or not that night . . . but it was the start of a beautiful tradition with my mother.

Typically when I go home, before I leave the house, I turn to my mother and hold out my hand, kind of in a "TA-DA" kind of gesture. At this point she will mention if I need a little more blush, or a belt (I don't usually get that one anymore) or some jewelry. Now to be honest, this habit of ours has fallen a bit to the wayside, but it was around long enough for my husband to comment, because he noticed the big "TA-DA" move one time when we were leaving to go visit some friends in town. I said, "Sometimes its just easier to play along."

Frankly I think Mom and I were just stuck in a rut. After I got married she even confessed that she was just trying to help me look pretty for a boy. Which didn't explain the fact that by that time I was already seriously invovled with Jeff.

I love you, Mom and all the quirks that come with being your daughter.

And p.s. Why didn't Stacey ever get the royal treatment? I must have looked truly hopeless to you. : )