Hi, Blogpals,
Most of you know me as keen observer of what goes on around me. Okay, just say it, I'm nosy. Well, wasn't I surprised when my lame family and friends managed to put one over on me and surprise me with a 60th birthday party? Molly came from out of town. When my sister asked where she parked, she said, "In front of the restaurant. Mom will never notice." And she was right...My sister called and told me she was walking into the Country Club in Paris when,in fact, she was walking into Boone Tavern. Teresa took me for a glass of wine after work, and I didn't worry too much about why two other friends were no-shows. And I should've suspected something when Nancy rejected her favorite restaurant and suggested that we go to Boone Tavern instead for my birthday dinner...I must admit that I didn't have a clue. Instead of a quiet dinner with Nancy and Bob, I was treated to an evening with 20+ of my friends and family. My "friend" Jody, suggested that everyone bring me socks. And they all gladly complied. I suspect I'll still be wearing some of these socks when I'm sitting in my rocking chair.
Tim wrote me a poem, and I'd like to share it with you...
A Poem for Mom
By: Tim
Today you’re turning sixty, Mom,
Your years are getting higher.
But the Mistress of Knowledge does not age,
She only becomes wiser.
Over the years, you’ve acquired many names,
Like Ms. Liz, Tiz and Tizzie.
But the girls and I have used only two:
Either Mom or Mommy.
While we grew up, you washed our clothes,
Bathed, read-to, and fed us.
And Thursdays were the special days
You made us cinnamon toast for breakfast.
You have the gift of gab for sure,
Your loquacity is well-known.
It must be due to all those times
You kissed the Blarney Stone!
This wordiness has served you well
In your career as a blogger,
And it certainly helped you compose to me
“The Lament of the Mom of Soccer.”
Your exercise regimen consists
Of walking, talking and smiles,
But the girls and I are most fond of
Your famous “Mom Run Miles.”
Many a forced march have you completed
During your sixty years,
But you’ve usually marched forth in laughter
And not too many tears.
You’re a soccer mom, a poet,
An avid reader and a muse.
And everyone here calls you a friend,
That they would hate to lose.
At sixty years you’ve reached the time
When you are twice my age.
But you should be proud that throughout this time
You’ve made the world your stage!
This poem is done; there is no more.
But there’s one thing left to say:
From Molly, Nancy, Dad, and me,
We love you, and Happy Birthday!
Okay, I cried one more time when I reread it. I am a lucky lady.
I love and appreciate all of you!
With toasty toes,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Mom/Liz/Elizabeth
