The un-mothered

When I was eight, nine years old ( probably other years, too, but this is the period I remember this from), my mother would send me to the store to pick up a case of beer. She never found out a case was 10 cents less than the change I brought back. I would drag a case of 12 bottles of beer to the counter and add a Crispy Crunch. About halfway home, I would set the case of beer down on the sidewalk, sit on it and eat my chocolate bar.
Here’s To the un-mothered who create pockets of joy in the midst of dark chaos.We are the ones I honour on Mother’s Day. Heroes all!

8 thoughts on “The un-mothered

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  1. As my sister Christine Ramsey said on you FB page, we didn’t realise how kucky we were growing up in a loving home. Congratulations to you on how far you have come. I wonder if your mother was happy. I guess not.


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