BoomerGirl Diary

In my first memory of my mother, I lean down to pick something up off the floor and look up at her. She is wearing a tomato red sweater and has bosoms, and I think, "Moms have bosoms."

In my second memory of my mother, my baby brother's stroller got stuck in the mud when the three of us went for a stroll and it started pouring,
so she took him out of the stroller, and left it there stuck in the mud, as we hurried home in the rain.

In my third memory of my mother, we walked down the stairs into the basement where there was lots of white suds all over the floor, because the washing machine hose came loose. Then, when we went back upstairs, she said, "Oh my God, where's the baby?" Then we laughed because my baby brother, who was in his playpen, had scooted it, inch by inch, from the dining room into the living room.

In my forth memory of my mother, when she was pregnant with my sister, I remember her stomach was huge and that she asked me to pick something up off the floor and hand it to her, because it hurt too much when she leaned over.

In my fifth memory of my mother, she is singing to me at bedtime, a lullaby that I loved called, "Me and my Shadow," that I remember the words to and that I sing myself to sleep to, whenever I'm feeling blue.