Good mothers plant gardens with and for their children.
Good mothers fill their widdle children's bellies with fresh food from that garden.
Good mothers don't produce children that use every stinkin' tomato for pitching practice against the old sycamore tree.
My husband might point out that an early morning
may have prompted the tomato bandits.
I heard the kind of hysterical laughing that all mother's recognize and dread. It's the "How much longer until we get busted?" laugh. The "I can't believe what he's doing!" laugh. The laugh that my second born lives for.
When the neighborhood children saw me coming- with the crazy mom walk- they did the skeedaddle!
There was my second born, 3 years old, proud as a peacock, wondering where his adoring fans had gone?
Not one tomato survived. My child barely survived.
I do have to admit that the green splatters on the Sycamore tree were all well within the strike zone.
|This year's tomato plant is under heavy protection laws.|
These days, I plant one lone tomato plant in a far off corner of the yard. I gingerly tend to it and I shoot
As usual, I have adapted my parenting motto.
Good mothers don't beat their children when they destroy a beautiful tomato crop.
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