Apache Adoption Agency

Sweet and pious Willy sat by me reading his scriptures during the sacrament meeting a few weeks ago.  Leaning toward me he whispered, "Mom, what does this say?"
"Concubine."
"What is that?"
"Let's talk about it later."
More reading.  "Mom, what does this say?"
"Harlot."
"What's that?"
"Later."
More reading.  "Mom, what does this say?"
"Abomination.  Later."
"Mom, what is this one?"
"Whoredom.  Will, let's stop reading for now."



Grandma was correct when she said it is a great tragedy that William should grow up.  By the way, if this cucumber slice was found at the scene of a crime, whose dental records do you think it would match?

     Brer Momma said to Brer Audrey, "You must finish your peas."
     "Well, well, what have we here?" Brer Audrey thought, grinning an evil grin.
     Brer Momma gulped. She knew Brer Audrey didn't want to finish. She did some fast thinking while Brer Audrey rolled about on the bench, fussin' herself sick over them peas.
     "I've got you this time, Brer Momma," said Brer Audrey, jumping up and shaking off the food. "You've sassed me for the very last time. Now I wonder what I should do with you?"
     Brer Momma's eyes got very large. "Oh please Brer Audrey, whatever you do, please don't lie down and don't be quiet!"
     "Maybe I should kick and scream," mused Brer Audrey. "No, that's too much trouble. Maybe I'll throw something instead."
     "Kick!  Scream yo'self silly!  Do whatever you please," said Brer Momma. "Only please, Brer Audrey, please don't lie down and be silent like you's dead."
     "If I'm going to throw something, I'll get a swat," said Brer Audrey. "And I don't want a swat. But cryin' is handy, so maybe I'll do that instead."
     "Throw somethin'! Cry! Do whatever you please," said Brer Momma. "Only please, Brer Audrey, please don't act like you is dead."
     "Silent like I's dead, eh?" said Brer Audrey. "What a wonderful idea! Your heart'll be torn into little pieces!"
     So Brer Audrey swung herself around and around and then flung herself (gently) down onto the floor. Brer Momma let out such a scream as she fell that all of Brer Audrey's fur stood straight up.  Brer Audrey fell onto that floor with a crash and a little thump. Then there was silence.
 

Brer Momma cocked one ear toward the floor, listening. But she heard nothing. Brer Audrey cocked her ear toward the table, listening for Brer Momma's whimpers of pain. She heard nothing.  Then Brer Audrey heard someone calling her name. She turned around slowly and looked up with one little eye. Brer Momma was sitting on a bench enjoying her dinner and looking smug.


She laid there for a good 15 minutes as if dead, utterly unresponsive to anything.  Once she didn't want to get up for the morning, but we had to be somewhere.  I picked her up, changed her clothes and diaper, propped her up and fixed her hair, shoes on, snacks in a bag hooked onto her chubby little arm, and buckled in her car seat before she would open her eyes.  At that point I whispered the word yogurt into her ear and she suddenly came to life, "Oh yes!  That sounds nice, Mommy!"  This girl has some grit!  Frankly, I'm enjoying this tantrum phase.  My only question:  How can I make it last?... 

Henredon Sofa dies at age 45-ish

Today an era in the Mikkelsen family ended:  The old sofa, which was the obvious focal point of every decorating scheme, was taken to its final resting place at the local dump having lived a long and fulfilling life.

It began its life stylishly in a prominent law office in Portland, Oregon where it dwelled happily for several years.  By '83, though still in its prime, it was thought to be outdated and out-lived.  A humble junior attorney recognized its value and rescued it from certain death, bringing it home to his own family room.  And it lived there as the veritable heart--or maybe a ventricle--of their home (and it matched nicely with the cinnamon carpet!).  It was on this sofa that many of their children learned to read, where gripping Little House on the Prairie episodes were absorbed, where guinea pigs romped with their tenders.

From house to house this sofa moved until the first of their 10 children was married.  The daughter and her new husband were bequeathed the sofa as a gift to furnish their first little home.  It became an integral fixture once again.  It served as a couch a time or two for the husband when the bed just wasn't big enough for the both of them, and there the young mother often nestled with her nursing babes in the twilight hours. Grandchildren learned to read there, and the little sofa, having gone full circle was showing signs of wear.  But what is a little wear when it is the wear of dear friends bouncing up and down when they've guessed the right answer in a rousing game of charades, or a faint stain from "Grandma, put your feet up and I'll bring you something warm to drink"?

But as with all living things, time catches up and nature inevitably takes its course.  Exposed upholstery nails began scratching innocent arms, and stray springs started poking.  Ever widening tears swallowed errant treasures causing angst and tears as little blind hands explored the gastric workings of the sofa in attempted reclamation.  Finally, the decision was made that practicality must at some point override sentiment.  It was time to bury our dead.  The sofa has left no genetic legacy that we know of, only that legacy of service and comfort which lives in our grateful hearts.

An effective and necessary notice was posted on the bathroom door this morning, lest we forget the dangers of neglecting our manners.