HG: Annie Payne Column May 09, 2009

Mother nature An anagram to honor mom, eagle eyes and all

“I know a name, a glorious name, dearer than any other. Listen, I’ll whisper the name to you. It is the name of Mother.”

I love my mom, I love being a mom and as these lyrics from a children’s song book I’ve had on my shelf for many years appropriately state, what more “glorious” a name to honor with an anagram than “Mother”?

“M” is for McNutt or Martin

“ ‘M’ is for the Many things she gave me. ‘O’ is for the Other things she gave me. ‘T’ is for the other Things she gave me. ‘H’ is for How many things she gave me. ‘E’ is for

Everything she gave me. And ‘R’ is for the Rest of what she gave me.”

For years I thought my piano teacher, Mrs. McNutt, wrote that song. But, apparently it wasn’t my piano teacher or the Fresh Prince of Bel Aire.

Originally written in 1910 without all the ambiguity, it was Dean Martin who first spoofed this tender anagram. What mother wants to be bored with the specifics of the how and why her children appreciate her? Mom just wants to be appreciated. Right?

“O” is for an open letter to Obama

Dear Mr. President,

I no longer need you to save my house. I no longer need a stimulus check. I don’t even need free cheese and baby formula from W.I.C. I have a book deal, a reality TV show, and a musical. Thanks anyway.



“T” is for three wishes

If I could have three wishes — not world peace or cure illness-type wishes, just plain old selfish wishes — I would wish for an iPhone and a red front-loading washer with matching dryer.

There you go, Secret Agent Man (aka, my husband).

No guessing what I want for Mother’s Day this year. It’s printed here in black and white for you.

Would you like me to drive you down to Best Buy?

“H” is for lending mom a helping hand

As the well-meaning mom of three, I often feel like nothing happens unless I make it happen. I’m the ringmaster of this circus and if I take the day off, so do the circus clowns.

How joyful I feel when a ball rolls that I didn’t push.

For example, I love it when the dishwasher is emptied without me asking. Or, I get into the car and it’s already full of gas, or a sword fight with curtain rods ends without anyone losing an eye.

Oh, the little luxuries.

One of my favorite Mother’s Day gifts was a coupon book made by my boys at school. I used every last “extra-long hug,” “30-minutes of quiet time” and “foot rub with your favorite lotion.”

“E” is for the eagle eye of motherhood

I thought this was a myth, until I became a mother myself.

When my mom would yell down to me from her upstairs bedroom to stop sneaking pudding pops and close the freezer door, I thought it was just a lucky guess.

But, now I know that along with the weight gain, backaches and ice cream cravings of pregnancy, a woman also becomes endowed with super-human mom powers, the most powerful of which is “The Eagle Eye.”

Now, like my mother and her mother before her, and her mother before her, I also possess the ability to see that my sons have put on day-old socks even with their shoes on.

I know when the dog hasn’t been fed without seeing its bowl, and I can tell if the children haven’t brushed their teeth without having to look into their mouths.

OK, that last one is a trick. If their toothbrush isn’t left on the bathroom counter, I know they didn’t brush, because they never remember to put their toothbrushes away. But, don’t tell them how I know that. Let’s just keep it between us moms.

“R” is for Rifle

One more Mother’s Day ditty for you from my children’s songbook:

“I often go walking through meadows of clover and I gather armfuls of blossoms of blue. I gather the blossoms the whole meadow over. Dear Mother, all flowers remind me of you.”

My mom hates this song. Perhaps it’s because she grew up on the mean streets of Rifle in the 1950s, where ne’er meadow of clover could be found.

Or perhaps, it’s because when her children were little they didn’t walk anywhere. We ran.

And I think the only flowers I picked for her were the dandelions in the front yard.

But, here’s a song I know she’ll like. It’s no Dean Martin, but it’ll have to do:

“Gentle words I hear you say. Your kind hands help me each day. You’re my mother, kind and true. Dearest mother, I love you.”

For more on an unpredictable variety of other topics, visit Annie Payne’s “Anniethology” blog online at Anniethology.blogspot.com.


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