Sunday, July 10, 2011

I am one lucky gal...

Who knew I was so dang lucky. In my home growing up, being a kid was easy and staying out of trouble was not that hard when your mom made it her mission to keep you there. Oh, I got in plenty of trouble, but it took a lot of energy, time and planning. At the time, I wished for nothing more than space, I mean there was really nothing more annoying than a mom in your business when you are busy trying to navigate through middle school clicks and high school trouble. I had a serious dose of middle child syndrome. 
I didn't mean to be the trouble child, but trouble did seem to just kinda show up, and so did the Mothership with my Dad in tow. At the time, I was flabbergasted at her intrusion into my world. What really saved me from myself was there was no Myspace or Facebook, otherwise there would probably be a naked photo of me somewhere in cyber space, circa 1983, posted by me. (I kid...my mom would have had my password and she'd have been the webmaster controlling all content) Also, growing up in the Spooner house, phone calls were only as private as the kitchen phone cord was long and that helped in my moms quest to know all things. That strategic phone placement alone made it very difficult to plan any type  of covert and/or unacceptable activities.  My mom was a mom and she took her job very seriously. Her job was to raise good, upstanding kids that would not be the talk of the neighborhood, and I was a time or two much to her dismay. She was always fearless, relentless and nothing would stand between her and her goal: raise Barb without any police involvement. I can't thank my mom enough for not growing weary and not giving up on her quest. I will gladly pass it down to the next generation.
They're so lucky....

5 comments:

Jackie said...

They truly are lucky :) And, it sounds like you are blessed even still. I'm one of the greatest fans of Barbie. Not the plastic one, but the one who seems to find trouble.

BETH said...

I think mom had what I call the "Dog on a leash" theory. If you always keep a dog tied up and simply block it from running out the front door when someone opens it they will keep trying to get away. Once the door is left open or the leash breaks they run like the devil and get hit by a car. My daughters have friends that now don't know what to do with themselves with all the freedom. Mom gave us just enough room to roam without getting into too much trouble.

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Anonymous said...

Wow. It's hard to believe my wild cousin Carol grew up to be so careful of her kids. I was seven years younger and adored Carol. I remember she went to a prom in a strapless yellow tulle dress when she was in the 8th grade. She modeled the dress for my younger sisters and I. On our way home I crowed that in seven years I'd be as old as Carol. Dad said, yes, but that none of us would be dating until we were sixteen.
When Carol turned sixteen and dropped out of school to save up for getting married, Dad said that we didn't have to worry about that. We would all have arranged marriages when we were 25. Before Carol left for Richmond we threw a shower. I'm not sure why..she had been working on her hope chest since grade school. For the centerpiece my Ginny doll wore a bridal dress and sat on a globe--"On top of the World." My parents always looked to Carol to see what was coming next for them. For some reason Dad equated eye shadow with the fall of western civilization. When I showed him the profs for my HS grad pix, he said I looked rabbity and could wear mascara. Carol and Dale came home for XMas one year. On our way home from Grandma and Grandpa McCloskey's I said I was SOOOO jealous of Carol. My Dad stopped the car and asked why. I said that Bimbo was the cutest dog I had ever seen, and I couldn't wait to grow up and get one of my own. Sorry, Dale, I was still not seeing the point of having a man around. I now have a cocker spaniel (and hav fostered another 14 of them). And a husband--he's not as cute as the dog, but the conversation is more scintilating. I am sorry to hear your mother died. She was a trip. Mary mcampscomp@aol