"Hello, My Name Is Stella"

Due the great response to “Stella” we are sharing some of the early articles with you.

As a mother of five and a woman living in the nineties, I feel that I have never quite made the transition. Maybe it’s my age, old enough to remember when the Beatles came to America, yet still too young for hot flashes.

My mind is still telling me I should be Betty Crocker in the kitchen, Olivia Walton with the children, and Playmate of the Day for my husband! Oh, and not to mention Elsie Efficient at work. The reality of it is, I’ve told my children that my shelves of cookbooks are really ancient artifacts, not to be handled, lest we ruin their value, and that scratch ingredients are no longer available on the common market.

However, I did go back to buying oatmeal when the “Financing Available” sign went up in the cereal isle. Every cereal box screamed, “buy me, buy me.” When my children saw them, they did too. I find this objectionable, when a two foot square box contains enough cereal for one and a half servings and you can’t get out of the store with just one box.

neighbor’s husband became so addicted to Chocolate Coated Sugar Lumps they were forced to take out a second mortgage on their home to support his two box a day habit!

My children could tell you that Joan Crawford was a kindly old lady next to me. I have been known to slip fruit into their lunch boxes and then reduce them to tears by kissing them good-bye in front of their friends at the bus stop. Just how low can a mother stoop?

Our biggest war is over clothing. I bet that Adam and Eve’s kids argued over what type of skins they wanted to wear. I foolishly fancy my daughter in frilly dresses and patent leather shoes. Not in this life! She is practicing for a career as a bag lady, not to be outdone by my son who prides himself on making a pair of socks last and last and last, only changing them when the foot disintegrates.

I knew I’d failed as a nineties wife when I picked up a magazine and the woman on the cover was in a workout suit and her husband was smiling lustily at her. My husband’s last comment was, “Isn’t it about time you threw that away?’ We didn’t speak for two days!

I was wearing my lucky night clothes: a pair of baggy, flowered, elastic waist pants, and oversized tee shirt with a heart on the front and a hole in one shoulder with my blue terry slippers with a pronounced stain on one. He asked who they were lucky for, as it certainly wasn’t him.

I guess I’ll go to the office now, at least they appreciate me. They actually told me the office will never be the same now that I’m there!

Copyright 1997 Judy L. Jones