I read an article this morning that made me laugh out loud.
In the interview, the subject stated that aliens walk amongst us and that they are responsible for all of our advances in technology.
Well, SOMEONE had to do it. Someone had to be responsible for all those amazing technological advances, inventions and inexplicable break throughs. Though I am mostly humble by nature, I think it is TIME for me to finally take credit for:
cell phone towers
the lunar module
deep fat fryers
corn removal pads
and on and on and on and on...
I should be in the Inventor's Hall of Fame.
Oh, I forgot to mention...
knee high panty hose and press on nails.
Yeah, yeah yeah I see you out there rolling your eyes in disbelief.
What you may not see, but I do, are all the mothers all over the planet nodding their heads and making fist bumps in the air.
Right, ladies, am I right or am I RIGHT?
Take the lunar module, for example. Over the ten to fifteen years my boys entered the yearly Science Fair at their respective schools, I crafted bridges to nowhere made out of popsicle sticks, grew plants in light and in dark, taught graphs and pie charts, and measured the strength of 1 ply v.s. 2 ply toilet paper when subjected to the gravitational pull of a variety of common kitchen gadgets. I wrapped tin foil over cardboard and built electric circuits strong enough to power a flashlight bulb.
Now, multiply my efforts by other mothers across the continent and you can hear the rocket's red Saturn roar. You think that some man taught a poor little monkey to sit strapped and still in his car seat while orbiting the earth? Then you haven't met the mothers I know who have permanent dents in their shoulders from toting a proverbial suitcase of tricks and treats for a simple trip to the local supermarket.
We, the Mothers Of Invention, croon in tune, lullabies in the middle of the night, while holding hands in the doc's office, when walking down the hallway on the first day of school. We tap out tunes on wooden xylophones, make zoom zoom crash kaboom sound effects and tap out encouragement on the top of the dining room table while we line up the hated and detested peas on a fork and land an airplane all with a flourish. Songs. Tunes. The music of life starts on the tip of your Mother's tongue. The desire to play, record, to strum, to hum, to digitize, to harmonize, to make beautiful music begins with the
Mmmmmm....Mmmmmm...Mmmmmm...M as in Momma
Remote controls. Yeah. An extra pair of hands during flu season.
Yup. A maternal idea for sure.
Radar. Sonar. Cell towers. Tracking devices. Tell the truth now. You know it in your heart. You guys have always been jealous of those invisible Mama's eyes in the back of our heads. The first time you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar, or rolling the car down the driveway without turning on the ignition, followed by the sound of a voice catching you in the act or about ten seconds before you even thought the evil thought...well?
Oh and all of you smart aleck architects and designers of skyscrapers, shopping malls, intricate innards of tunnels and rapid transit, with your hooks and pulleys, your cranes and hard hat construction zones . Not. Hand any mother a box of Legos, a set of Construx, Lincoln Logs, and tell Bob the Builder to take a seat. Not only can we build, but we teach by example, wrench in one hand, power tools in the other. Who taught you the phrase...pass me the screwdriver, no, not that one, the Phillips...please?
Your Mom did.
And as for creativity. Artistic expression.? I'll let you in on a well kept secret. Michaelangelo's Mama Mia taught me her trick of finger painting with chocolate pudding and the importance of lining the floor with paper towels when you are painting on the ceiling. Those first words of yours, your first expression of self, appeared on the refrigerator door with a set of primary colored magnets along with the Crayola print of your dog Floppy.
So, the next time you hear someone imply that alien life forms are responisble for all the mathematically impossible inventions and innovations known to man, just remember who taught you how to count to ten on your fingers and toes, because that's what each member of the Mother Hood knows...
Mothers plant the seed,
then cross our hands over our hearts and let you take the credit.
The Mothers of Invention...Invented You....
All we ask is that you play nicely in the sandbox, clean up your toys when finished, and respect your elders.