SYRACUSE POST-STANDARD, October 12,1974

My Weird World

By Audrey (Kentuckypine) With Help from Netter


Every now and then, writers ''run dry" and I felt that
happening to myself this week, so I asked No. 1 child to
help me out. It's surprising how helpful they can be when
you don't want them to be. Well, anyway, she agreed to
write this week's column, and here it is, unedited and in
its entirety. I wish you luck... no, I wish me luck.


I WAS SITTING QUIETLY on my bed, listening to the
radio, when my mom came home and yelled up the stairs:
"Annetta, honey." Now, my mother never calls me anything
except "Hey, dummy," unless she wants something.
So, I chugged downstairs (rather warily) and said
"Yeah?"
"Hello, sweetheart," Mom says.
Now, as anyone who knows my mother can testify,
"Hello, sweetheart" means trouble.
Really, all she wanted me to do was to write a "My
Weird World" for her. Ten hours and 4,000 sheets of paper
later.

I don't know where she gets her inspiration. Well,
maybe I do, but as I sit here babysitting while she is at a
friend's house having coffee, and the other four little
beasties are but killing themselves playing football, I wonder
how she does it.

SO, WHAT SHOULD I WRITE ABOUT? Well, Mom,
now you're going to get yours. Now I can tell about the
times you've run around the house in hot pants and sweatshirts.
You haven't lived until you've seen my-mother in a
sloppy old sweatshirt and hot pants, muttering to herself
as she pounds on the typewriter.

And then, there's the times in the kitchen when she so
unselfishly cans tomatoes and corn. But, we pay the price.
The phone will ring, and she'll say to the poor person on
the other end: "I can't talk now because I'm doing that
(expletive deleted) corn."(Then, she'll hand the phone to
me and it takes me a half an hour to explain to the other
person what it was all about.

What I'm really trying to say is: In spite of all the dirty
sweatshirts, the hot pants and the pounding typewriter at
3 a.m., and the smart remarks on the phone, I wouldn't
trade my Mom for all the world.


THAT'S THE LAST TIME I will ever let one of my kids
venture their two cents in this column. She's gonna go
around with all this love and spoil my whole image.
Kids are for the birds. Just when you get to a point
where you feel they are ready to grow up and leave the
nest, they hit you with that business of "she's my mother
forever"
After all, I only signed an 18-year contract. What do
they want from me?