How many times as kids and do we hear our own kids saying, “Do I have to?” or “Why, do I have to …?” I don’t say it out loud but the same feeling still goes through my head as an adult. Although I don’t feel like a senior, I am and therefore, many of these things have gone through my head for (gulp) decades.

I don’t mind mowing but absolutely don’t like weeding. I have my own little ten minute tantrum swirling within myself. Often times when I’m done, I think to myself, “well that didn’t take too long”.

Sewing, ugh. My mother was a “dressmaker”. I say that with emphasis because when I say she was a seamstress, she gets a bit upset and says, “I was a dressmaker”. I don’t really understand the difference but then again … sewing with a machine stresses me a bit.

When we were young she would make some of our clothes and could whip them up pretty quick. When I was in the seventh grade we had HomeEc. In my sewing class we had to based a hem. Is that right? That’s what I remember, hand stitching a hem to make a hemmed flour sack towel. I didn’t do so well. There were several projects I didn’t do well at. Our final grade was going to be on making an apron. UGH! An apron, really?

I told my mom that if I didn’t do well on the apron that I wouldn’t pass the class. She was horrified. My parents were hard on us if we didn’t get decent grades as it was but to flunk a sewing class. My mom made a cute little apron complete with a pretty little decorative pocket. She told me to turn it in as my final project. My parents did not allow cutting corners or cheating … except for this one exception.

I handed the teacher my apron with a very prideful grin. She said, “You didn’t make this.” I didn’t say I did but I shrugged my shoulders and say, “Call me mom and ask her”.

Not long ago my favorite (work outside) jeans got holes in the knees. I put iron-on patches over the knees. The next time I wore them, kneeling on the ground weeding, the patches starting coming off. Ugh. I sewed them on (by hand). Over the next couple of wearings, the jeans ripped across the leg above and below the patch. Ugh again.

How many times as kids and do we hear our own kids saying, “Do I have to?” or “Why, do I have to …?” I don’t say it out loud but the same feeling still goes through my head as an adult. Although I don’t feel like a senior, I am and therefore, many of these things have gone through my head for (gulp) decades.

I don’t mind mowing but absolutely don’t like weeding. I have my own little ten minute tantrum swirling within myself. Often times when I’m done, I think to myself, “well that didn’t take too long”.

Sewing, ugh. My mother was a “dressmaker”. I say that with emphasis because when I say she was a seamstress, she gets a bit upset and says, “I was a dressmaker”. I don’t really understand the difference but then again … sewing with a machine stresses me a bit.

When we were young she would make some of our clothes and could whip them up pretty quick. When I was in the seventh grade we had HomeEc. In my sewing class we had to based a hem. Is that right? That’s what I remember, hand stitching a hem to make a hemmed flour sack towel. I didn’t do so well. There were several projects I didn’t do well at. Our final grade was going to be on making an apron. UGH! An apron, really?

I told my mom that if I didn’t do well on the apron that I wouldn’t pass the class. She was horrified. My parents were hard on us if we didn’t get decent grades as it was but to flunk a sewing class. My mom made a cute little apron complete with a pretty little decorative pocket. She told me to turn it in as my final project. My parents did not allow cutting corners or cheating … except for this one exception.

I handed the teacher my apron with a very prideful grin. She said, “You didn’t make this.” I didn’t say I did but I shrugged my shoulders and say, “Call me mom and ask her”.

Not long ago my favorite (work outside) jeans got holes in the knees. I put iron-on patches over the knees. The next time I wore them, kneeling on the ground weeding, the patches starting coming off. Ugh. I sewed them on (by hand). Over the next couple of wearings, the jeans ripped across the leg above and below the patch. Ugh again.

Weeding and sewing are the two things that I no longer say, “Do I have to?” I know I do sometimes but I don’t have to like it. … shaking my head and shrugging my shoulders.

When my oldest boy was in the third or fourth grade I was increasingly becoming concerned about his hearing. It seemed that he often said, “What” or just didn’t hear me at all.

I asked the school nurse to schedule him for a hearing test. At the end of the day she had him tested, she asked me to come in and sit down to discuss the results. She told me that his hearing tested good and that he was simply ignoring me. What a relief, I think.

I was a paranoid mom, worrying that something would happen to my boys. To my defense, they were young at the time that John Walsh’s son was taken. We were all a bit scared.

I would tell my son over and over to wear a helmet when he was on the skateboard or bicycle; to watch for car; etc. Years later I was on the phone with him and he started yelling at his young step-brother to put a helmet on. Ha Ha Ha … he listened, heard me, he just chose what to let me know what he had heard.