Happy Birthday Paddy!

Patrick Nolan McInerny--21 years old today.
It's today in Minneapolis but it's tomorrow already in Guam.
And that's where Paddy's division, The Fighting Forty -- part of the SeaBees -- are deployed.
Guam, a landmass that's 541 square kilometers. That's smaller than NYC!

My baby! He's all growed up! Check it out.
Here he is, pictured with Meggie, at graduation from Navy Basic Training in Great Lakes in March 2004.













And now, in April, 2006. All growed up with the tattoos to prove it. Nothing like the military to encourage a rise-and-shine mentality, personal responsibility and not to mention--kick-ass uniforms. They took a tall skinny kid and kicked those sagging pants of his right off. Of course, the first time I saw him in the uniform I cried like a 10 year-old girl. Even now, I'm barely holding back the blubbering-where-did-my-babies-go-tears. Paddy can't stand cheap shows of emotion, so I must pull myself together -- it's all about him today.

Knick Knack Paddy Facts:
- He was forced into the world by an induced delivery.
- His first word was creampuff.
- He's the 5th left hander in the family.
- Austin saved his life twice.
- He doesn't have a driver's license.
- His BMX bike is still in the basement.
- His favorite movie is Willie Wonka. The original with Gene Wilder not the lame remake with Johnny Depp. But only after a walk to the creek with Joe Coyle.
- He once broke Nora's tailbone.
- He occasionally prefers the company of Senior Citizens.
- He's very loyal.
- His first nickname was Spudly.
- He is a man of few words and many secrets.
- He hates being the center of attention.
So, from all of us here in MadgeWorld, Happy Birthday, Paddy way out in the middle of the North Pacific Ocean.
May your year be full of many wonderful things.

From Whence I Sprang

I come from a long line of strong women. My great-grandmother, Maria Corrigan Gleason lived to be 96.






Her daughter, my grandmother, Mary E.D. (Gleason) Farley lived to be 98.










If the model persists, my mother could live to be 100 and I might see 102. That’s a lot of years of mothering.

I checked the dictionary definition of bear as in “to bear a child.”
It’s synonymous with: Endure. Stand. Abide. Tolerate. Suffer.
A verb more appropriate to motherhood than “to have.” As in, “I have a child.”
You might as well be talking about an accessory, “I have a purse.”
Motherhood is way more than possession. Mystic Lake be damned, it's biggest crap shoot that anyone could embark upon.

MadgeWorld detests the old trick of using dictionary definitions, but here are a few transitive and intransitive definitions of the verb:
#1. To hold up; support. Ego bolstering included. “Good job!” Or the cool washcloth on a fevered head. Or hustling you to the bathroom in the nick of time when you’ve got the flu so you hurl into the toilet and not on the new sheets.
#2. To carry from one place to another. Transport. Can you say car pool. Swim lessons. Volleyball practice.
#3. To carry in the mind. Harbor. I’m not talking about a grudge. It’s the pleasant little images we visualize. Baby smiles. First steps. Throwing a temper tantrum in Target.
#4. To transmit at large. Relate. Bearing not just glad tidings—broadcasting news of your accomplishments. OK. Bragging. "You won’t believe this but. . . (insert good or bad news here).''
#5 To have as a visible characteristic. Does looking wiped out from lack of sleep count?
#6 To exert pressure, force or influence. I come from the Machiavellian theory of child rearing. Subtly, though, always subtly. Is offering a bribe for grades considered pressure or force?
#7. To endure something with tolerance and patience. At least 272 parent teacher conferences.
#8. To be accountable for. At least eighteen years and then some. . . . ''This is the Golden Valley Police Department. . .''
#9. To advance in a threatening manner. I never smacked anyone on the back of the legs with a broom handle for walking on the newly scrubbed floors. . . but I thought about it.
#10. To apply maximum effort and concentration. As in bear down. Nose blowing and butt-wiping included.

And finally #11. To give birth to. But the actual bearing is only the beginning. Motherhood is the single most exciting, joyful, frustrating, rewarding experience that life serves up.


It wouldn’t be a fake holiday without a real tribute to my own mother. (That's me, the bun in the oven. Before I started giving her fits.)
Mary Jane Farley Nagan. 80+ years old, but who is counting? Gorgeous, joyful, creative. Bore not just one, but ten of us. Buried two. She covers bear and all its synonyms: Stand. Abide. Tolerate. Suffer. But most of all, she endures. With only four of my own, I honestly don't know how she did it--without mood altering drugs and disposable diapers, no less.


Listening to: Have I told you lately that I love you. Van Morrison and the Chieftains
On the agenda: grubbing in the yard.

Let the competition begin.

One of the rare things that I agree with Garrison Keillor on – besides his dislike of George Bush – is his belief that “Mother's Day is a fake holiday perpetuated by the greeting card industry and the florists, but it's here to stay, so make the best of it. The president is a fake, too, but we still pay our taxes.”

If you haven’t read his column on Mother’s Day, I urge you to do so. Originally printed in the Minneapolis Strib, it’s been reprinted everywhere from Salon.com to JewishWorldReview.com. If I had any intelligence or html smarts I’d be able to put a little link right here. But I don’t, so you’ll just have to go find it yourself.

I’m with Garrison on the made-up holidays—I think they’re ridiculous and I hate to cow-tow to the pressures of capitalism and artificial sentimentality. My kids will confirm that I said it first, but Garrison beat me to the publishing punch. Of course, I usually succumb to guilt and either mail my Mom a card several days late or call her around 9:30 pm.

Like birthdays, I think Mother’s Day and Father’s Day are for kids. They are holidays made for classroom arts and crafts involving paper plates, construction paper, plaster and anything that sparkles. Anyone under the age of 21 needs a reminder that Mom and Dad have (mostly) put their kids’ needs ahead of theirs. Like buying a mini-van instead of a sports car. Or celebrating a birthday at Chuck E. Cheese instead of the St. Paul Grill.

Lest you think I’m a heartless old biddy, I have saved every little thing that my kids have offered up over the years. (Evidence pictured from the MadgeWorld archives.) Love. Sacrifice. Sentiment. I’ve got it in spades—including all the notes to the Tooth Fairy and their teeth to prove it.

Yes, young’uns—you should remove yourself from the center of the universe and give Mom a hug and a homemade card, even if it is only once a year. But, here in MadgeWorld we believe that once you’re an adult—you’re off the hook on fake holidays. Don’t be calling on May 14th if you haven’t had the heart to keep in touch the rest of the year. That’s like going to church only on Christmas Day or Easter Sunday.

Garrison’s Mother’s Day challenge is to skip the cheesy cards and obligatory dinners and write her a sonnet. “It costs you nothing except time and effort.” That’s right, a sonnet. Me? I’m not that fussy. I’ll take a sonnet whether Shakespearian, Spenserian or Petrachan. But will open it up to haiku, couplets, free verse, whatever. A-B-A-B rhyme, AA-BB rhyme. Extra points for dactylic rhyme.

Oh, one more thing. The Old Scout suggests the following for a first line: "When I was disgraceful and a complete outcaste." That might screw up your haiku, so let's just use that as your THEME.

The playing field is level, one day only. No extra favors for your own offspring, serving our country, being in graduate school or being able to pay your own rent. Bring it on, kids. Submissions now open. (I may even write one for my mama.) Please include a SASE if you wish to have your manuscript returned.

Currently listening to: Al Jolson, My Mammy.
Enjoying: Coffee and toast.
Today’s plans: Gardening. The battle begins.