TROLL HUT

When I was a child, I was taught a song in church that went like this..."Saturday is a special day...it's the day we get ready for Sunday..." and then it goes on to paint a beautiful, heartwarming vision of parent and child, working hand in hand, cheek to cheek, smile to smile, together...as one heart, one mind, one spirit. Inspiring.

But just as a flat abdomen on a 19 year old, too beautiful to endure. And like so many fairy tales, the wicked witch will come cackling across the page~in disguise, of course~but we all know it's Malificent deep down. In this story, (horror) she takes on the form of Saturday Mother. (Never to be confused with Hallmark Mom. Ever.)

Saturday Mother dresses down. She wears an oversized T-shirt, a sloppy pony-tail and angry eyes. Saturday Mother also should be left alone, as nothing good can come from speaking to Saturday Mother. The sooner you learn this, the less hostile the home environment and the more likely your chances of survival.

One character flaw of Saturday Mother is that she tends to assume that her children have the same interpretation of the English language as she does. What she doesn't understand is that the ipods hanging out of their ear canals actually act as "meaning-filters." Therefore, when she gives an assignment, it is immediately lost in translation and it turns into something like this...

"Go dust" = "go check out that song on i-tunes and download it."

"Make sure you scrub out the inside of the toilet bowl" = "go add to the pile of rancid dishes on your bathroom counter."

And "Clear off the kitchen table" = "Make sure to stack a bunch of critical/time sensitive documents and shove them~intermixed with scratch paper~into the far recesses of drawers (sock) that we'll never check when searching for them.

This does NOT help to calm Saturday Mother. In fact, the only thing proven to bring peace into the home is the completion of assigned jobs to her satisfaction (infrequent and nearly unattainable) ...and premium chocolate (readily available in mass quantity at your local grocery store.) One seems easier to provide, so that tends to be what melts the wicked witch.

So I'm sitting here sucking on candy, trying to kill off Saturday Mother right along with the chocolate in my mouth. "I'm melting...I'm melting..."

Of course, truth be told, sometimes Saturday Mother is a little bit reticent to be anxiously engaged, too. She might choose to become distracted with things like, oh, I don't know, blogging? And/or maybe a Sudoku puzzle or two...or eight...whatever. (It's brain exercise, and you know how dedicated she is to her healthy lifestyle.) And she has been known to kind of wander..aimlessly...and unproductively...on occasion.

However~and this is a beautiful discovery~as long as she parks the vacuum in the middle of the family room, it's aaaaallllll good. This conveys intent, folks.

This gives practical application to the inspirational quote, "Hope springs eternal!"

But even more significant, if someone drops by unexpectedly, it's OK if the house is a polluted, mucky troll hut! Because it's obviously on the mend, as the vacuum is in the middle of the room, people...and will undoubtedly be used that very day~it's almost a guarantee that things will get better.

Course, faith without works is dead.

Stupid works.