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Thursday, June 17, 2010


Thursday, June 17, 2010 By

I had the chance to meet a couple of Facebook friends in REAL LIFE recently. "Real life?" What's that? At my last job, I worked so much that I forgot what people looked like face-to-face! So it was quite a shock to run into Sarah Harper Scott and Mary Anne Symms-Schweser for the first time recently (okay, Sarah, I met you back in March, but whatever) and discover that 1) People are pretty nice when you aren't trying to sell them something; and 2) I really like people!

Both of these ladies are whip-smart, funny, opinionated, warm, and full of self-effacing motherhood anecdotes that they're willing to share. Neither of them looks at me like an octopus landed on my head when my "nonsequiterious" stories hop off the tracks and onto the Tangent Express. Heh. Nonsequiterious. I just made a new word. Or a dinosaur.

Q: How many surrealist painters does it take to change a light bulb?
A: Fish.

Yeah. That's how I am. But they don't even blink.

One story really hit home for me. Mary Anne, currently on bed-rest at MCG for the remainder of her second pregnancy, is mom to almost-three-year-old Brooks.

Like any little almost-three-year-old boy, Brooks' favorite thing right now is fire trucks. And one day, during a round of "I love you THIS much," he found a particularly masculine way of expressing his affection for his mom.

"Mama," he declared. "I lub you fire truck."

He loves her as much as he loves fire trucks. I mean, stop and think about that for a second. The excitement and adoration that kids show for fire trucks - and police cars, ambulances, puppies, Santa Claus - is the kind accompanied by squealing, running in circles, and hysterical laughter. We just don't see that kind of behavior (about us, that is) because they're acclimated to having us around. If they ran around screaming and laughing all the time, we'd accidentally-on-purpose shoot them with a tranquilizer gun.

But moms should remember - and I thank Mary Ann for this reminder - that this is how our children see us. Every night, when Mary Ann's husband gathers Brooks to take him home to sleep, while his mom stays at MCG, he whispers, "'member, mama: fire truck." And every morning, he wakes up loving her just as much.

Here's to all the proud fire truck mamas out there. I appreciate so much your strong personalities, your intelligence, and your fierce commitment to your children. When you share your stories, I learn from you. (And blog them. Heh heh.)

Thanks so much! And send Mary Ann some books or something, y'all. She's taking yet another one for the mom team!


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