Are You My Mother?

A hundred years from now it will not matter what kind of house I lived in, how much money I had, nor what my clothes were like. But the world may be a little better because I was important in the life of a child.

~Dr. Forest E. Witcraft

I am not a kitten.

I am not a hen.

I am not a dog.

I am not a cow.

I am not a boat or a plane or a SNORT!

I am not a bird and, contrary to the rest of the story, I am not a mother.

I never got in line when they were handing out maternal genes. I don’t have eyes in the back of my head or the patience of Job; my stomach gets really queasy when it comes to bloody knees, poopy diapers and projectile vomiting (I actually once witnessed the latter; it wasn’t pretty); and I possess little to no tolerance for whining and temper tantrums. I admire parents who can handle all this and much, much more 24/7 with a mere shrug. It’s one job I know I couldn’t do with confidence.

But do I love being an aunt! That role allows me to bypass most kid unpleasantness and dive directly into the groovy … like being a mystery reader for Sarah and Olivia’s class.

Since I had no idea of what I should read (for some reason I didn’t think Lady Chatterly’s Lover would be a good choice), I had their Mom do a bit of investigative work and learned one of their favorite books is P.D. Eastman’s Are You My Mother? Turns out most of their classmates were on the same page (pun intended!). Who knew that all it took to get six- and seven-year-olds to sit still on the edge of their seats the carpet was Dr. Seuss? Too much fun!

(Note to self: Work on better posture!)

A big thanks to Sarah, Olivia and Mrs. Underwood and her first grade class for letting me be a part of their school day and lives!