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Mother knows best--and we'd be in shambles without her
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Lessons learned from Mom
Date published: 5/9/2008
Y OU CAN MOCK her for her neurotic
behavior, her meddling, her excessive worrying, her unsolicited advice.
But in the end, it comes down to this: There's a reason you're not playing with matches, running with scissors and jumping off of bridges with your no-good friends.
There's a reason you're not carrying on long conversations with lollipop-bearing strangers.
And there's a reason you're not ruining your dinner by consuming large quantities of cotton candy and cookies and then going for a swim.
And her name is Mom.
In honor of Mother's Day, I share with you some of the wisdom my own mother has passed on to me over the last 36 years.
And for God's sake, put on a jacket.
If you yell at the TV loudly enough during a college football game, on occasion, the coach will hear you and take your suggestions seriously.
If you curse at other drivers in Yiddish, it's not really cursing.
Similarly, if you curse at ice hockey refs in French Canadian, it is also not really cursing.
Never leave a brownie unattended if your father is within a 10-mile radius (technically, my father taught me this, but my mother shamed him into taking me to Dairy Queen as penance for illegally seizing and consuming the aforementioned brownie).
When you make a Mexican Chocolate Cake, the 1 teaspoon of baking soda called for in the recipe--though a tiny portion of the overall ingredient base--is very important.
If you get your fingers slammed in the front door, ice helps a little bit, but a bowl of ice cream with some Double Stuf Oreos dunked in it helps a lot, especially if consumed while sitting in your mother's lap.
If you're 3 and your 4-year-old friend, Brian, offers to show you the "jungle" in his backyard and your mom says, "Wait 'til I'm done feeding your baby brother and I'll drive the both of you to Brian's house," wait for the ride.
Don't under any circumstances follow Brian out the front door because in reality, he has no idea where he's going, and he'll lead you to a busy Texas highway, where one of your neighbors--having been contacted by your panicked mother--will spot you and bring you home, where you will get hugged, spanked and sent to your room.
And you will not see the wild tigers that Brian promised to show you.
It's not the two slices of cheese pizza you eat for dinner that makes you throw up all over yourself in a Texas hotel room when you're 6.
It's playing for hours on the merry-go-round after dinner--against the explicit advice of your mother--that makes you so ill you can't even look at a pie 'til your teen years.
Read more stories about Fredericksburg
Date published: 5/9/2008
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