Hats...Beautiful hats...

Well, last week I attempted to write a post about hats on my other blog, but after writing a bit, I've decided it would serve better to post it here. 

Every week I don the matronly Jemima cloth, spin around the family room, dancing with my Rainbow power nozzle, thankful for the new-to-us carpet, a gift from my son's new home he didn't want.  Then... 

I stroll over to the 'schoolroom' and clutch THE helmet--you know, the one with scrapes, dings and mud all over it! 

Reading and Math, two subjects done independently, are now over and it's time to jump onto the dirt path, pave the way and lead these two down uncharted territory. 

Whew...this is definitely keeping me on my toes so I don't trip and get a nosebleed... 

...We just get going when they're stomachs begin screaming, 'FEED ME!'

So I quickly change into my waitress outfit, complete with a chef's cap...

'What's for lunch, mom?' 

 'Let's see what mom can whip up in five minutes flat...'' 

 'Oh, no, I don't want that.  I want p/b and j. on a taco shell...'

 'NO', cries the other one, 'I hate peanut butter and jelly.  I'll make myself something else'.

...out flies the referee napkin to declare that unless they're buying lunch today, the menu is mine to decide~!

After we dine on leftovers or whatever is quick, they run outside to jump on the trampoline while I clean up and gather my scatterbrained thoughts about how the afternoon will shape up...how thankful this colorfully decorated hat wearer is for a trampoline that diffuses the amount of energy twin twelve yr. old boys expend after filling their bellies.

I try to remind myself that these little men need me to stay calm...speak softly, gently prodding them forward, reminding them to pick up after themselves, complete a job fully, check their spelling, punctuation, put away all their books when I finally sign each day's work, and then get to their 'chores' before they ask permission to do the 'fun' stuff...(I hate that I all too often think about that AFTER I've been too firm, harsh or irritated).

This hat sees the most trauma, for sure.  Needs constant cleaning.

Occasionally I doze off and drop my hat on the floor, as I did today, after reading them an article from ICR's magazine on camels.  I finished the article, but my original plan was to read a new book, Watership Down, which we'd just gotten from the library.  That didn't happen. 

I'm sure that as I snoozed, they got up from the couch and quietly mozied over to their desk to finish their other work.  Twenty minutes later, I awoke to the sound of my dad in the kitchen, scurrying around in search of something as always...grab my hat and back to work--oh, which one was I wearing?...oh, I have three on my head at once!

Then there are other days, other hats...

Occasionally I sport a cab driver's cap, escorting my dad somewhere because he doesn't want to drive the highways here.  Each time I take a spin in his car, I think of the inevitable day approaching when he no longer sits next to me.  He'll be gone and I'll own the car...his car...

I became the owner of it last Friday, technically speaking.

 A bittersweet gift. 

 I teased him that afternoon to do a good job washing my new car.  We laughed. 

I like being my father's taxi driver;  I just wish he wouldn't 'help me drive' by reminding me of every pothole, curve, curbs, any and everything that he thinks I might not see or remember~

Every mom, particularly those who educate their children, understands the 'hat' life. 

It's a noble career, vibrant and colorful.

Wear your hats proudly, ladies. 

You're investing in history. 

Each one tells a marvelous story, as individual as your life.

Don't let your hat drag in the mud, at least not for too long. 

If you have been dragging it around, pick it up and wash it.

 It was made just for you to wear.