It’s Vacation Time Again!

(Website Admin apologizes for the delay in posting this blog by Ms. Linda. We hope that the holiday season has been a relaxing and blessed time.)

I, too, as a parent remember the days of long summer, spring, winter and fall breaks.  Almost always waiting for school to start again so I could have my own time and clean house. But now my kids are grown and we will have our first Christmas without them.  But I am thankful for the memories… for the times we forced our kids to take our annual Christmas photo (definitely worth it), messed up the kitchen making Christmas cookies, cooked and cleaned for their parties.  So when they wake you up early even though it’s a holiday, when you always have to feed them… remember this poem.

The Green, Green Grass of Home

by Erma Bombeck, written November 1971

When Mike was 2, he wanted a sandbox, and his father said:

“There goes the yard We’ll have kids over here day and

night, and they’ll throw sand into the flower beds, and cats

will make a mess in it, and it’ll kill the grass for sure.”

And Mike’s mother said, “It’ll come back.”

When Mike was 5, he wanted a jungle gym set with swings that

would take his breath away and bars to take him to the summit,

and his father said: “Good grief, I’ve seen those things in

back yards, and do you know what they look like? Mud holes in

a pasture. Kids digging their gym shoes in the ground. It’ll kill the

grass.”

And Mike’s mother said, “It’ll come back.”

Between breaths, when Daddy was blowing up the plastic swimming

pool, he warned: “You know what they’re going to do to this

place? They’re going to condemn it and use it for a missile site.

I hope you know what you’re doing. They’ll track water everywhere

and have a million water fights, and you won’t be able to take

out the garbage without stepping in mud up to your neck. When we

take this down, we’ll have the only brown lawn on the block.”

“It’ll come back,” Mike’s mother said.

When Mike was 12, he volunteered his yard for a campout. As they

hoisted the tents and drove in the spikes, his father stood at the

window and observed, “Why don’t I just put the grass seed out in

cereal bowls for the birds and save myself the trouble of spreading

it around? You know for a fact that those tents and all those big

feet are going to trample down every single blade of grass, don’t

you. Don’t bother to answer. I know what you’re going to say.

“‘It’ll come back.'”

The basketball hoop on the side of the garage attracted more crowds

than the Olympics. And a small patch of lawn that started out with

a barren spot the size of a garbage can lid soon drew to encompass

the entire side yard.

Just when it looked as if the new seed might take root, the winter

came and the sled runners beat it into ridges. Mike’s father shook

his head and said, “I never asked for much in this life – only a

patch of grass.”

And his wife smiled and said, “It’ll come back.”

The lawn this fall was beautiful. It was green and alive and

rolled out like a sponge carpet along the drive where gym shoes had

trod … along the garage where bicycles used to fall … and

around the flower beds where little boys used to dig with

iced-tea spoons.

But Mike’s father never saw it. He anxiously looked beyond the yard

and asked with a catch in his voice, “he will come back, won’t he?”

Treasure this winter break, make memories with your family.

Merry Christmas!