I couldn’t think of a better title for this post (thanks, Kathryn Stockett! :D) But this post has nothing to do with the book per se, except of course for the subject matter.
I’m four and a half months into motherhood and I’ve been thinking about and have gained a new appreciation for the help, i.e. houseboys, housegirls, garden boys, a.k.a. servants.
An Ode to my Dad
I haven’t forgotten, Dad, about our long silent trips to school on the dusty road to Masaiti.
I haven’t forgotten about how the car would break down and you would recruit the locals to help change the tire. I would be embarrassed, but it would also make me giggle because it was typical you.
Entering the world of Mum
It doesn’t take getting pregnant for me to appreciate my mum. I always have, often quietly, thinking about how she put up with me, let alone my two older siblings.
She looks like me.
She’s young and she’s old.
She’s short and she’s tall.
Her skin is soft, sometimes wrinkled, and sometimes not.
Her eyes are dark hazel like the smooth mocha chino that she likes to drink,
And that I steal sips from.
The sound of music
Anyone who knows me well knows that my I savour my childhood. I also have quite an obsession with music. I couldn’t sleep last night and I started to think about my history with music.
One of my favourite memories is watching the Muppet Show, particularly the one that had Elton John as a guest star. I think I might have been five or six and it was my first introduction to music or at least, the ability to pay attention to it. I know every song Elton sang from that episode and at the end of it all I was probably more in love with him than Miss Piggy was. I’ve been a huge fan since. I could probably do a presentation on him. *Nerd Alert*
You’ve got mail!
I always wanted an aol account just so I could hear those three little words! Something about it made computers appear even more intriguing than they were during my first encounter twelve, fifteen years ago.
One way or another, it’s gonna find you, it’s gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha…or is it?
I read an article last month that garnered around 235 comments (I didn’t read all of them by the way), most of them arriving at a general consensus: a verbal annihilation of the writer, who confessed to a “karma fail” after her ex got married. In short, the ex: +1 Writer: -235