AmazonMidwife

I'm sitting here crying happy tears because I just found the opening words for the Girl's long-planned-in-my-mind menarche ceremony.

Now to hope that when the time comes, the Girl will still want one. Right now, the not totally fleshed out event is going to be a weekend-long sleep-over for those that want to, and drop-in for those that don't, with henna, and lots of talking, and communal meals, and lots of laughing, and chocolate, and lots of dancing. She'll invite the women (& girls) whose wisdom she wants to hear, but I am allowed to make suggestions. So far, as long as I come through with the chocolate fountain, she's interested. But, if she decides that she doesn't want this kind of event, at least I can give her this book.

I could wax rhapsodic about this, but we're getting ready to go to the zoo & the Girl is waiting as patiently as she can.

So, we're having a low-key holiday...now that we're home from the early church service where the girl sang for which we arose early to have the ceremonial egg hunt. And now, I'm lying on the couch trying to stay awake long enough to get dinner cooked. (The 'Savant does turkeys; I do hams.) I decided to look for my favorite TV episode ever...that I can remember right now through sleep-deprivation and excess sugar consumption. Here it is, in all it's glory...if you have 24 minutes. If you don't, I recommend part 2 of 3.

And MamaDee, since we don't have a divorced husband from whom we can scam a credit card to max...we need to start saving our pennies. You can be Cybill; I'll be MaryAnn 'cause I'm never gonna jump out of a plane. Whaddya think?

With all the weekend furor, the time change and the 'Savant's cold, we were still in bed at 8:30 yesterday. We could have slept later, but the kids' came piling in on us, the Boy babbling, seemingly, at a million words per hour. "(Girl), you are the last of the wood nymphs. I am the last of the fire nymphs. Dad, you are the last of the...physics nymphs...."

The Girl interrupted him at this point to express her displeasure over his highhandedness in passing out titles and I interrupted her in an attempt to forestall bickering, "What kind of nymph am I?"

From the other side of the bed comes the growly, cold-inflamed voice of the just awoken 'Savant. "Not the right kind."

When I was 11 years & 8 months, the 6th grade classes put on a play about Rip Van Winkle from our reader. I was cast as Mrs. Van Winkle and my three strongest memories from the performance were:

1. Scooter was in it. (We went to the same grade school, with 2 classes for each grade, but were only in class together for one year, 3rd grade. Guess the faculty could see that combined, we might not always use our powers for good. They probably should have warned our junior high & high school teachers.)

2. I was encouraged to be mean and loud and bossy, the latter two talents I had (have) aplenty which were discouraged elsewhere. And I even got to hit Russ Bailey in the butt with a broom! (of course that was the most vivid memory)

3. My mom sewed a cool costume for me to wear. This was a less vivid memory, 'cause my mom sewed a lot of my clothes when I was that age, so I took it for granted. Home Ec was one of her majors and she was an excellent seamstress, a quality I learned to appreciate most after she was gone & I had to sew all the kids' costumes & pjs with my meager junior high time in the home ec sewing room.

Time passed and lots more things happened that were more memorable than the play. (see #1 italics for a good example) I forgot all about the costume until I was cleaning out the house after my mom died. I found it in a drawer with some baby clothes and socks. (My mom saved lots of things, including many photo albums & scrapbooks with newspaper clippings, old report cards, etc. including photos of the play & a picture from our smalltown newspaper.)