Us Mother's Have To Stick Together... Pass It On

Quizno’s is my usual spot for a quick lunch and since I eat the same thing every day, I don’t even have to order. I walk in; smile and they know what to do. However, I do have to fix my own drink at the self serve counter. So there I was, filling up my new biodegradable cup with their wonderful sweet tea. (Quizno’s just changed cup criteria and I hate it and have, in fact, filed a complaint with corporate. A cup that bio-degrades before I’m finished with my tea is just not acceptable… but that’s a topic for another story).

The big yellow and green container that dispenses the tea is on the end of the self serve counter and a table with stools backs right up to it. Being a daily patron, I‘ve had a chance to notice certain things - specifically how the tea will splatter anything within a two foot radius if you don’t hold your glass just right underneath the spout. Generally, priding myself on being the best Quizno Ambassador I can be, I lean over to whoever is sitting in the ‘hot seat’ and announce, “Careful or you’ll get splattered.” Sometimes the response is thankful; other days I get the deer in the headlight looks, but either way, I’ve done my good deed.

On this particular day I notice a young man, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old sitting in this spot. He wasn’t eating and had one of those small clear plastic cups filled with ice water. You know the kind - they literally scream “I couldn’t or didn’t order a full size drink”. The young man’s shoulders were slumped and he had his head down. He wore an oversized unadorned tee shirt and while his pants were of the popular baggy variety, I didn’t glimpse any hint of plaid boxers that the kids like to sport these days. As other customers went by he would raise his eyes slightly, as if to speak, but never did.

I walked my way through the line, was awarded my ready-to-fill biodegradable cup and made my way to the self serve counter. Before I even had a chance to give him the heads up about the splatter, he turns to me and in barely an audible whisper says, “Do you have any money? I need bus fare.”

All my ALERT senses went into overdrive. He’s in a gang, he wants money for drugs, he’ll see me with cash and rob me when I go to the car- you know the thoughts. I’m also thinking there’s a little Greyhound station just down the street from where we were. Geez, this kid is asking for big bucks.

“No, I’m sorry,” I say and look away. He thanked me and dropped his head, staring at his FREE water. Now this really bothered me. I mean really, REALLY bothered me. I filled my “I’m fortunate enough to be able to pay for mine” regular sized cup, applied the lid, grabbed a straw and went back to the counter to pickup my sandwich.

Spotting the manager at the counter, I lean over and nod toward the young man, asking, “Did he eat lunch here?”

“No” she replied, "Did he ask you for food?"

“No, I said, " but he did ask me for bus fare.” She proceeds to tell me this happens several times during the week and well, let’s face it, she can’t help everyone and she sure can't feed everyone for free. I continued to stand at the counter glancing over at the young man. The whole situation just got me, right in the pit of my stomach “Maybe he’s hungry,” I told her. “Let me buy him lunch.”

“No, she replied with a smile, “How 'bout I comp him a sandwich, …just for you.”

I smiled, thanked her and walked over to the young man. “Hey", I said softly, not wanting to embarrass him, “are you hungry?”

“Yes mam, I am” he responded quickly.

I asked, “Would you like some lunch?”

He nodded.

“Well, that nice lady over there is going to fix you a sandwich. What would you like?” I asked.

He glanced over at the counter where the manager was watching us, looked down and replied softly, “Anything will be ok.” I looked over my shoulder and nodded at the manager. She reciprocated the nod and smiled.

“Where do you need to go?” I asked him.

“Home...west Atlanta,” he replied quickly, “I rode the bus over here. I had a job interview,” he points down the street, “and I lost my ticket.” He puts his hand in his pocket and turns it inside out for me to see there was nothing there.

I’m thinking… ok, so we’re talking MARTA here, not Greyhound bus fare. This makes a huge difference. “Son, just exactly how much do you need to get home?” I asked.

“Two dollars,” he replies softly and looks down again. I open my wallet and spot three one dollar bills. Taking them out, I fold them over and lay the money on the table. “Look at me,son”, I say in my best Ms. Mothercraft voice, “Do you have a mama?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Is she at home waiting on you?” I ask.

Again, he replies with another “Yes”.

"Listen close now, ...if I give you this money you better not be buying drugs.”

“Oh, no mam,” he exclaims, “I don’t do no drugs, I’m a good kid.”

“Well, here’s the deal- if you weren’t a good kid before, you will be now. Got it? I don’t loan money to druggies or thugs.” For the first time that afternoon I saw a hint of a smile.

“Yes mam, I understand,” he replied.

“Now, here’s what I want you to do, " I continued, "When you get home, the first thing I want you to do is give your mama a big ole hug. Can you do that for me?” He nods his head. “And you tell her that the hug is from me, a mama just like she is. You tell her I’m passing it on. From now on she better be looking out for a kid in need because us mom’s have to stick together and take care of our kids. One day when she’s least expecting it, some young man will need her help, and I’m depending on her to follow through. Can you remember to tell her?”

He smiles and says, “Oh, yes' m, I can… and thank you.” I pat him on the shoulder and turn to leave but not before seeing him bite into the fattest Quizno sandwich I’ve ever seen.

Sometimes you just have to let your Ms. MOTHERCRAFT instinct override your DANGER Will Robinson instinct.

It’s not hard to understand-
Put yourself in another’s place,
They may be going through burdens
That you have yet to face.

You may have been blessed with wisdom
Or more courage to endure.
You may be blessed with strength and wealth
While they are weak and poor.

So never turn your ear away
Or refuse to lend a hand,
Put yourself in another’s place
And you will understand.
~ Delores D’Amien

Hey Neighbor!

Bored to the point of frustration and absolutely refusing to do housework on such a beautiful afternoon, Hubby and I found ourselves sitting on the front steps. Basking in the warm Sunday afternoon sunshine, we watched cottoncandy clouds roll by and commented on the hole in the pinestraw and what sort of critter we might be up against. We discussed the hairline crack in the sidewalk and whether or not the bush, third from the left, would make it through another winter. We watched our neighbors come and go, throwing up our hand in a little wave and making that connection that neighbors do so well. Totally agenda-less, we just sat there and it was nice. I don't think folks 'sit a spell' much anymore. They're just too busy, I guess.

It wasn't so long ago, on a similar Sunday afternoon in October, that I found myself sitting on the front steps at a house down the street. I had spent alot of time going up and down these steps at the Family's house during the past weeks. My life changing adventure with the Family had just begun and in between all those items on my personal must do list, I was just trying to help out.


So there I was, sitting on the steps with this little 8month old baby boy, waiting for the dryer buzzer to signal to me that I could cross one more task off the list. Baby Boy liked outside but the October air was chilly. I would wrap him up from head to toe in his green blankey so that all you could see were his little eyes. We'd cuddle and sing Twinkle Twinkle and point to the twighlight sky. Sometimes he'd laugh and other times he'd just grab my finger and hold it. Either way, it didn't matter to me. It was our time, just he and I.


Sometimes, during the late afternoon, we'd sit on the steps at my house. Hubby and I live on the corner, just beyond the gated entrance and a real front row seat for the coming and going of my neighbors. Baby Boy and I would sit on the top step so he could see the gate as it opened. With one hand on his little shoulder and the other pointing toward the gate, I'd say, "Get ready! Here comes a neighbor!" Taking his que like a pro, Baby Boy would wave and yell "Hey Ney!" assuring each work weary resident received a parade-like welcome. Once he got the hang of it, Baby Boy took charge. "Get ready, Kaka, here comes a neighbor!" We've waved at the lawn care guys and the school bus. We've waved at the lady walking her dog down the sidewalk and a kid on a golfcart. If you're breathing and inside the gates- you must be a neighbor and that warrants a wave.

"Hey Neighbor" began almost four years ago and just shy of a few minor changes it's still a popular favorite at our house. While "Ney" has evolved into "Neighbor" and sitting on the top step is no longer required to see the gate open, we still find time to 'sit a spell' and wave with Baby Boy. Nothing beats a crisp, sunny afternoon enjoying The Gift God has given us.

Thingamajigs and Ready-Set-Go

I wish I had been as brilliant when Nanni-K was little as I seemed to of become when my adventure with the Family began. Either that, or God knew I was going to need alot of help rekindling that 'stay one step ahead of the kids' thing.

All kids do it. Nanni-K did it and if truth be told, I probably did it too. You know what I'm taking about, you just never gave it a name- that weird way kids sit in the chair at the dinner table. One leg and half their body is on the chair and the other half is hanging off the side of the chair, the leg bent like a sprinter at the starting line. Their body language literally screams "3 bites and I'm outta here!" I call this lapse in posture as sitting all "Ready-Set-Go" and frankly, it's just not acceptable. Thankfully, Baby Boy hadn't reached this stage of development yet. At 8 months old we could still imprison him in the highchair where his little legs went only one way. If he had, it wouldn't of mattered.

Baby Girl, creative genius extraordinaire, kept the highchair in such a festive state 24/7 that I'm sorry to say any unusual leg motion by Baby Boy would have probably gone unnoticed.

Sister Dears long legs were usually folded neatly under the table with only an occasional escape.A nod or pretending to trip over the escapee usually got the point across. "Oops", she'd reply with a grin.

At dinner time,Baby Girl, age 4, who was always in the middle of a creative breakthrough with tape and a paper towel roll, suffered severely from "You shouldn't bother me, I've got stuff to do, so make this quick" attitude that resulted in the ill-fated posture, but I stood firm. After all, creative genius's need to be reminded of good table manners too.

Tucking both her little legs under the table, placing her napkin in her lap and sliding in the chair, I asked,"You don't want to be a Thingamajig, now do you?" Judging by the blank stares I knew Baby Girl and Sister Dear didn't have a clue what I was talking about. Nanni-K on the other hand was all grins. "I'll be right back!" she said jumping up from the table and heading out the front door.

The Thingamajig Book of Manners by Irene Keller was a favorite book of Nanni-K's when she was Baby Girl's age. It's about little troll-like characters that didn't brush their hair, ate with their fingers and picked their teeth and were generally just not the sort of folks you wanted to hang out with.

I held court with all my girls that night and we read the Thingamajig book. Since then it's been read and reread and referred back to when the need arose. When Cutie Pie, age 3, became a part of the Family, she too fell prey to the dreaded "Ready-Set-Go' affliction. Baby Girl, taking the lead as older sister, told Cutey-Pie, in her best tattletale voice, "Ms. Mothercraft doesn't like Thingamajigs" and out came the book. Since then we've had lots of giggles and fun with the whole Thingamajig thing and I think it helped them to remember about manners.

Baby Boy, on the other hand was given a reprieve from the sacred first reading. By the time he was 3, he had all the Thingamajig stuff practically committed to memory. Of course it hasn't kept him from suffering occasionally from the "Ready-Set-Go" affliction, but I know he knows. All it takes is a little nod from his Kaka and he plants himself firmly on the chair and the dangley leg finds its place next to the other one, right under the table.

Thanks, Irene.

Roadkill for Mama

Plain flour check!

Cutting board check!

Cookie cutters check!

Pre-heat the oven check!

Baby Boy with freshly washed hands and the ceremonial apron check!

Ok! Looks like we're good to go. It's another one of those 'coming of age' things at Ms. Mothercraft's house. Baby Boy, who is now 4, is on the brink of being introduced to the fine art of creating salt dough Christmas ornaments. I mix the flour and salt, he adds the water. I explain all about the proper consistency as we get our hands into the mixture.

After a few minutes, he pulls his hands back and gives me that 'Ooooooooow, this is kinda gross' look. I laugh and sprinkle a little extra flour on his hands, "You're suppose to get all gooey like that. We're makin' stuff!", I say. Reluctantly, his little hands venture back in the bowl and he glances up at me as he clumsily attempts to fold the dough. I add a little flour to his hands to keep the dough from sticking. We start off simple, making little round balls and circles. We use a pencil to punch a hole in the forms for stringing a ribbon through later.

So far, so good. Time to move on to the cookie cutters. I show him how to flatten the dough and push the cutters into the dough and lift, leaving a shape just like the cutter. He giggles and says, "I can do it, Kaka" . He gets to pick which ever cookie cutter he wants to use- it's a hard decision. Beat up and bent from years of use, there is a holly leaf and a round circle, a candy cane, a heart and one shaped like a Christmas tree. After alot of thought he picks the holly leaf. Oh great, he would have to pick the hardest one, I think to myself with a chuckle. Baby Boy gently presses the cutter into the dough and attempts to lift but it's stuck. As usual, too much dough around the edges, I guess. I reach for a case knife to pry the dough from the cutter and think how great it is that he's following instructions so well, so I'm startled when I hear big banging sounds. Baby Boy has desserted the disasterous holly leaf and has taken the rest of the dough from the bowl and is beating it with commando chops and going at it pretty hard.

Looking over his shoulder I ask,"Whatcha doin'?" "Makin' something," he replies. I watch closer as he concentrates, his chubby hands molding the dough into a long roll. "I need more of that white stuff", he tells me. "You mean the flour?" I ask. He points,"Yea, that stuff ". I follow instructions pretty well, so I added some of that white stuff to his dough and watched. Flour dust flying, he kept rolling the dough until it was a long thing piece about a foot long and then began winding one end around in a little circle. "Whatcha making", I inquired. "A snake" he replied, very matter-of-fact. "For Christmas?" I ask. Replying in a newly aquired tone that I think implies well,... duh, "Yes, Kaka, a Christmas snake. It's for my Mama." Well now, aren't I the silly one?! Here I thought we were making regular run of the mill ole Christmas ornaments but if there's one thing I've learned with this second generation of kidlets in my life- it's pick your battles, so quickly changing my agenda and totally going with the whole snake thing, all I can think about is- how will I ever explain this one?

Giggling to myself and adapting the Scarlett O'Hara "I'll think about it tomorrow" outlook, I concentrate on Baby Boy's creative genius. We transfer the snake to the cookie sheet but not before Baby Boy gives the snake one more good swift swat with his fist. He turns and looks up at me with the most angelic smile and says, "It got runned over". Priceless! I laughed until tears ran down my face. Creativity is a good thing,...right?

The snake went into the oven and thankfully, gave me time to regain my composure. The table was covered with paper and we busied ourselves gathering paints and brushes. Baby Boy drug his stool to the table, sits down, pushes up his sleeves and announces, "I'm ready!" While the snake cooled we discussed color. "Now just what color is this snake going to be?" I asked. "Green", he replies. I added a tad of yellow and black and red to the pallet and showed him how to dip the brush in the paint. "I can do it, Kaka", he exclaims, so I sit back and watch. Such concentration and technique! I busy myself wiping flour dust from the cabinets as he paints his snake and his fingers. I hear "and this is the blood", so I know he's decided to use the extra colors I left on the pallet.


"Mama is gonna love my snake", he remarks all proud of himself, she can put if on the table next to the Christmas tree.". I'm pretty amazed as I watch this 4 year old add an eye and a smiling mouth on his creation. "He's happy", Baby Boy says,"because it's Christmas". When the snake is dry we add the clear coat for preservation and cut out felt and glue to the bottom so it won't scatch Mama's table. "I need a box, Kaka. Mama's snake needs to be in a box". Hmmm... up to the sewing room we go. Remembering my old purse making days I spot an old cigar box and more felt for the lining.

"I think this will work just fine", I tell Baby Boy. He cuts the felt to fit the inside of the box and gently lays the snake in it's new home. We view our handywork a few minutes. "Doesn't look very Christmasy, does it?" I remark, "how about a bow around it's neck?" "Yea!" Baby Boy, replies all giggley," I want Mama's snake to have a bow!" Moments later Baby Boy's finished creation lay in it's new home, all shiny and decked out for Christmas. "My Mama is gonna love it!" he assures me. "I know she will", I tell him with a smile. After all, how many Mama's do you know that get Roadkill for Christmas?

Merry Christmas, Mama. The Gift's just keep on coming...

Book Workshop

I know, I know….. it’s been way too long between postings!

My sister, the real author in the family must be biting her tongue to keep from sending out a cyber scolding to me. It’s just that it's been way too much fun actually going places and talking about The Gift .

Book Workshop at Cornerstone Christian Academy

Meghan planned and orchestrated the entire event with kindergarten to fifth grade participating. She showed the students the similarity of writing their book reports for school and actually creating a book. Meghan brought some of our very first collaborative efforts and it was amazing even for me, to see how far we had come and evolved into the final printed version. Amatuer author that I am, all I could tell them is 'revisions, revisions, revisions' until you get it just the way you want it! I read the first half of The Gift but made sure to leave my audience in suspense...

It IS possible to be ‘on the edge of your seat’ …even if you’re sitting on the floor!

It doesn’t get any better for me- a captive audience where I can talk and talk and talk about my little project and my kids! Thanks so much to Meghan and the folks at Cornerstone for a wonderful day. On a closing note, to the faculty and students I left in suspense....when you return to school in the fall you can find a hardcover copy of The Gift in the Cornerstone Christian Academy library.