Found this gem in my mom's bookcase yesterday. I'm not yet done reading it (once upon a time, I could pick up a book and read it straight through, ignoring anything that attempted to interrupt - now, I'm a mother), but the portion I've read had me laughing and crying at intervals (I've never cried so hard at humor). I've always enjoyed reading Erma Bombeck, but I don't think I've been able to relate this much to a book in a long time...
This is a portion that struck me as really funny since it reeks of my mom and myself (I suppose my mom could teach this motherhood course):
(Under "Threats and Promises": ... sessions on how to use chilling threats and promises to intimidate your children for the rest of their lives... One mother who told her daughter she would wet her bed if she played with matches said the kid was thirty-five before she would turn on a stove...)
Not at all proud that I'm the personification of a hyperbole, I tell you that up until I had to do cooking, which was when I was 27 and finally married, I couldn't handle a knife. I didn't start cutting my nails until, well, ridiculously late and I couldn't strike a match (this is dumb since I remember snuffing candles out with my thumb and forefinger when I was about 8 years old) until well after I had completed my Girl Scout training (I really don't know how I got to be patrol leader without wielding a pen knife or lighting a campfire)... I always had this idea that touching "dangerous" things would result in my heart being cut out of my chest.
Anyway, that's what I'm doing while tending to a mildly sick yet wildly cranky little girl.