Some funny Milly family banter this week began with a mom text that brought back memories of my country roots. Just wanted to make sure my kid was okay out there in world. It doesn’t matter that he’s legally an adult.
Moms have done this down through the ages:
“Hey Cave Boy! Watch out the saber tooth it’s gonna pounce!”
“I know Ma! I’m ready for him! Go back to rendering fat! I got this! You’ll get a necklace of his pearly whites if ya just hold on…”
Cave Mom heads back to the fat rendering muttering. “Necklace! Phooey! Raise ‘em and they don’t got enough sense to listen to ya. If he expects me to stitch his hide when that dang cat takes a chunk outta him. I don’t think so.” She wags her finger at the little ones around the fire stacking the first building blocks, rocks. Who of course ignore her bluster.
Here’s my text banter with the youngest prince:
Milly: “Are u okay?”
Prince: “Sometimes I consider leaving a vague and partial message to freak you out”
Milly: “Do not do that. I’ll saddle up the posse and come looking fo [sic] you! Are you going to be home soon? Moms worry…”
Prince: “Yes I’m almost home”
A few minutes later, He walks in the door all cocky (in a fun good-natured kind of way), “Mom ‘posse?’ Really? That’s like western or gangster not redneck…”
Oh no he didn’t, did he just challenge my rural Florida backwoods country redneck roots?
I interrupt, “Hey me and my girls had a posse back in the day. It’s redneck and country to have a posse. What would you call it? Hmm?”
He grabs water from the fridge as he avoids my challenge. “Uh, a herd?”
I wag a finger at him. “Do not call a group of women a herd!”
“Why not? It’s a bunch of women right?”
I am too busy rolling my eyes to catch the glint of humor. “That’s not the point. Women in general do not want to be referred to as a cow.”
“What about a bull.”
“We are not cattle!”
I was getting a bit worked up (just a little bit). I take a good look at him, is he really clueless? No…I now notice the glint in his eye and quirky smile. Ah a bull. I get it. Bull-(another word for crap) Oh the teasing is on!
“Let me tell you, we girls back in the day were way more gangsta than cattle!”
My dear husband who was sitting on the couch listening then spoke up. “Oh then you mean a bunch of crows.”
Not making the transition as fast as my guys, I threw up my hands “What! Are you talking about? No woman wants to be called a crow!”
In his calm way he says “But a group crows is called a ‘murder.’”
Oh I’m thinking murder right now. No…No…not actual murder. Just redneck talking smack kind of ‘murder.’
We are all laughing when the youngest prince pipes up. “Yeah mom you remember, right? A group of crows is called a murder.”
(More laughter) I say “Yes, a murder it is! I still want to know when you are okay. And I would still pull together a posse to look for you if I thought something was wrong.”
Well my posse now is my family and a few close friends. And yes they are the one’s I would depend on to go looking for a lost boy or for an adventure. All I can say is, “Saddle up guys and gals! Tonight we ride!”
Smiles and Hugs Ya’ll,