BLAST FROM THE PAST: Barb Taub, Weekly Column, Champaign-Urbana News-Gazette, Nov. 1989
My mother’s hair is getting pretty grey. As she has 10 children, I can’t figure out why it has taken her this long. I myself can identify the source of each of my well-deserved and rapidly multiplying silver threads. Take the events of a typical morning like November 7:
2:37a.m: – The 3-year-old wakes up ready to party. After some discussion, he decides it would be easier to keep our attention if he joins us in our bed.
6:00a.m: – I wake up the 7-year-old who has an early school bus to catch and am joined in the kitchen by the 5-year-old who doesn’t have to be up for another hour and a half. She demands waffles. I tell her we don’t have any waffles. She sadly informs a bowl of oatmeal that a loving parent would stock better cereal, like those chocolate-chip mini-donuts that glow in the dark.
6:10 am (and 6:15, 6:22 and 6:25a.m.): – Even sending in the shock troops (3-year-old and puppy) fails to blast the 7-year-old out of bed. I carry her into the kitchen, tape open her eyelids and put her on a chair in front of some oatmeal, no, we don’t have any waffles, eat it.
6:27a.m. – She completes her minute study of the congealing properties of the untouched bowl of oatmeal and retires to the bathroom.
6:51a.m. – I brush her hair and make the lunch we both know she won’t eat because I keep putting wholesome things in there in case of a spot-check by the Motherhood Wholesomeness Patrol disguised as lunchroom monitors. (What? Didn’t you know they report back to the Teachers’ Lounge things like, “Barb’s kid got some good wholesome stuff to throw into the garbage while little Joey Smith was forced to eat every crumb of his six Chocolate Whammy Wallbangers”?)
7:05a.m. – She can’t find her backpack and her shoes. I find them and zip her into her coat despite her protests that nobody in the second grade zips their coat, and I complete her humiliation by forcing her to wear her hat. She goes out the door, unzips her coat, loses her hat, and somehow catches the bus.
8:20a.m. – I drive the 5-year-old to the kindergarten we are sending her to so she can learn brain surgery in two different languages. (Three, if you count pig-latin.)
10:20a.m. – I call my husband and remind him that we’re due at the kindergarten music recital at eleven and I’ll pick him up on my way if he’s waiting outside because I can’t stand to be late. I’m late, and don’t have time to stop for gas in my ancient station wagon which gets almost 2 ½ mpg.
11:00a.m. – Three and a half of the cutest minutes you’ve ever seen. Their cover of “Chicken Lips and Lizard Hips” will definitely be Grammy material once the video comes out.
11:06a.m. – We get one block from the school and run out of gas. My husband sprints the five blocks to his van and comes back for the 3-year-old, the dog and me. We drop him off and go to the gas station, where I leave every cent I have in ransom for their ancient gas can. I go back to my illegally abandoned car and attempt to put the gas into it. At this point, I discover that the gas can’s nozzle is merely a decorative accent, not attached to the actual can at any point. Necessity being the mother of stupidity, I fasten the nozzle on with strapping tape.
Did you know that strapping tape dissolves in gasoline? I now know that too. By accident, a small amount of gas actually goes into the tank. Smelling exotically of the remaining 1 ½ gallons of eau-de-petrol which I’m now wearing, we head back to return the gas can. While I’m arguing with the attendant about the nozzle-less condition of the gas can, I look up and notice that the van is gone.
Those of you who aren’t shocked to hear this know, of course, that I left the 3-year-old in the car. Testosterone poisoning has taken over, forcing him to escape from the car seat (which takes a college graduate several minutes to unfasten), release the emergency brake, and back the van out across four lanes of traffic, where it sits, broadside.
Both the 3-year-old and the dog are inside, totally fascinated.
“Grace-under-pressure” being my motto, I gracefully drop the gas can and race into traffic, screaming, “OH MY GOD” at the top of my lungs. Enchanted with this performance, the attendant returns all my money, obviously realizing that I will need it during the years of intensive psychiatric treatment ahead.
Oh, chicken lips and lizard hipsAnd alligator eyes
Monkey legs and buzzard eggs
And salamander thighs
Rabbit ears and camel rears
And tasty toenail pies
Stir ’em all together
And it’s mama’s soup surprise–John & Nancy Cassidy
doriwalker said:
Really!!? Thanks for the laugh. I needed it today. 🙂
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barbtaub said:
Dori –A fellow veteran — you lived a lot of it along with me.
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Bastet said:
Oh what a day! I’m surprised you surprised their childhood in a more or less sane…of course you did go to live in a castle an ocean away, now that I think about it 😉 thanks for the spendidly humorous post!
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barbtaub said:
Really? My kids often wonder if an ocean isn’t quite enough distance between us…
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scottishmomus said:
And then there are the really bad days! Great post. Love your humour.x
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barbtaub said:
Thank you so much! And thanks for the follow.
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jennypellett said:
Very very funny. What more can I say?
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barbtaub said:
That’s saying enough to make my day! Thanks.
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Nathan said:
Great column!
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barbtaub said:
Thank you! High praise from someone who’s still in the trenches.
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M E McMahon said:
OMG…I’m holding my sides! Great piece!
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barbtaub said:
Thanks! (Hope your sides survive.)
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angelajardine said:
I laughed like a drain at this, Barb … it brought it all back to me.
Thanks … I’ll probably have nightmares now 😉
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barbtaub said:
I just know I’m not the only one who kept a set of dummy keys on the key-rack and hid the real ones after that time she was on the toilet and she heard the toddler go into the garage followed by the sound of the car starting…
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angelajardine said:
How did you know???!!! :)))
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Amanda said:
How is that treatment working out for you, anyway? Or are you still in care?
Great post, Barb, but your heart must have stopped when you saw that van in the middle of the traffic. Love this line, “Both the 3-year-old and the dog are inside, totally fascinated.” Isn’t that just the way it happens? They have no idea there’s a problem. “What are you screaming for? I’m fine.”
Too funny.
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barbtaub said:
It’s not something they can actually cure. I think motherhood is like any other addiction. They should have a 12-step program where you have to start by apologizing to all the people whose lives you screwed up. Then you acknowledge that there isn’t a cure for your disease so you have to learn to live with it one day at a time. Course you do get one Hallmark-sanctioned Mothers Day a year to totally fall off the wagon, so that’s something. (It’s not like there’s a Crack Heads Day…)
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Jadi Campbell said:
From reading amused to grinning to laughing out loud, what a great way to start my morning! —Jadi
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barbtaub said:
And your wonderful comment was a great way to start my morning! Thanks so much.
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Elizabeth Yalian said:
This is great, Barb. They certainly don’t come from the womb with instructions!
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barbtaub said:
And what’s that about? How come someone hasn’t done “Testosterone Poisoning for Dummies”? I know I could have used it. Heck, I could probably use it now!
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Elizabeth Yalian said:
Me too!
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bearspawprint said:
Three or four big grins ….. 1989 oldest three boys were 16, 14, and 9. I am overwhelmed with nostalgia……Thank you
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barbtaub said:
I’m constantly astonished how much better it all looks in the rear view mirror.
Wow. Three boys? You probably have some tales to tell.
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bearspawprint said:
4 boys …. youngest, now 19, came along when I was 45 . But only 3 in 1989 .
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Barb Taub said:
Hey we do lead similar lives. My youngest (#4) showed up in 1993. She is my coauthor for the new book.
Blogging at https://barbtaub.com/
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bearspawprint said:
Hannah . Mine is Roy. http://bearspawprint.wordpress.com/2013/07/27/bears-child-and-his-daddy/ ← Bear’s Child And His Daddy
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