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She’s my first-born.

A chip off the ol’ block.

She’s got my sense of humor.

She’s quick to laugh.

She’s quick to anger.

Intensely thoughtful.

She’s been my shadow.

She’s been my purpose.

She’s my legacy.

She’s my daughter.

And I miss her so much I’ve eaten an entire sleeve of crackers, 1/2 a block of cream cheese, and a half a dozen m&m’s just writing this poem.

….wait.  That doesn’t fit the rhythm, does it?

I never was a poet.

My kids are in Mississippi with their Dad for Spring Break.  To say that I miss them is the understatement of the century.  My Captain is doing his best to keep me busy, and keep my mind diverted.

But even when a mother’s mind is diverted, her heart remains constantly turned to her kids.  It doesn’t daunt him, though; he’s determined to keep me distracted until Varmint and Critter return.  He’s a rescuer by nature.  He has to fix things.

So he is keeping me engaged in other things.

We’ve gone furniture shopping.  We’ve gone to a nice restaurant.  We’ve done yardwork together on beautiful spring days.  We’ve shared meals at the firehouse.

Tomorrow he is taking me sailing with our good friend Cupcake.  We’ll be on the Severn River and Chesapeake Bay all day.  It will be lovely, and a heck of a lot of laughter and fun.

A few thoughts spring to my mind:

1) Cupcake is a good friend to take us out sailing.

2) My Captain is a caring, compassionate husband.

3) My Captain looks scrumptious on a sailboat, and I cannot wait to see him pulling lines and heaving and ho-ing whenever we ‘Come About’.

and

4) I miss my kids.

Motherhood:  A kick in the pants.

I catered dinner to My Captain’s firehouse again tonight.  A fantastic Chicken Pot Pie, and an out-of-this-world Pineapple/Apple Cobbler. (I’m nothing, if not humble in my culinary abilities)

As usual, I made twice as much as they could possibly eat.  (Although it’s been insinuated that maybe Lt. Tom might snack around the midnight hour and clean up the leftovers.)

The thing about having leftovers at My Captain’s firehouse…they don’t have any complete sets of Rubbermaid, or Tupperware containers.  I took out everything on all three shelves devoted to food storage, and nothing, NOTHING matched.  No lid would mate with a single box. How in the world do they manage to do that??! I mean, I could see losing one or two lids, but to have a hundred lids that do not fit a single bottom….HOW?  And talk about a mishmash of shapes…I even found a diamond shaped box (with no lid, mind you).  I ain’t ever seen one of those!  No-sirreee Bob!

(I have no idea why I just started writing in a country voice.)

I was astounded that these guys are in such a state. These are the men who’s engineering feats at many rescue sites have won critical acclaim.

These are the men who can shore up the nastiest of collapse situations (They were at 9/11 at the Pentagon, and the Oklahoma City Bombing, and Hurricane Katrina, to name a few).

These are logical, mathematically-minded, structural-engineering-experienced fire and rescue professionals.

And they cannot manage to keep a single plastic food storage bin married to its lid.

My Captain came into the kitchen while I was bemoaning the fact that such capable men are so incapable of such a minor task.

He raised an eyebrow and smirked, reached over me to the next cupboard, opened it, took some Saran Wrap out, deftly wrapped the lid-less Rubbermaid container I had just emptied leftover potpie into, and said matter-of-factly,

“Adapt and overcome.  You can complain about it, or you can do something about it.”

Man I wish we had politicians like him.

I’ve been told by those “in the know” that I need to get a Twitter account to help Mamaboe.com reach all the masses.

First of all, I doubt very seriously that ‘the masses’ are so hard up for entertainment that they want to read my drivel.  As it stands, I’m deeply concerned about you guys….the ones who are reading this now.  You DO realize that these are just the ramblings of a normal, every-day, nothing-to-see-here-people-move-along woman, right?

Secondly, I’m not hip enough to get on Twitter.  I could not possibly ‘Tweet’ enough to keep people entertained.

Thirdly, I just can’t stand the name ‘Twitter’.  It has got the word ‘Twit’ in it, and I just don’t need to align myself with that word any more than my day-to-day stupidity already does.

Fourthly, I don’t have a fancy phone to continuously update. I have an old folding phone, remarkably similar to Captain Kirk’s Communication device.  If I tried to ‘tweet’ on it, it might just explode.

Fifthly (is that a word?), I don’t want to.

So there you have it:  The reason Mamboe.com will never reach national notoriety is that Pam refuses to get a Twitter account.  The mystery is solved.

I’ll never be the next Rodney Dangerfield.

Even though I do look like him just a little bit.