Maybe if I Had a Bench

Friday dawned bright and beautiful.  Finally, finally, the clouds blew away and we got to enjoy some sun.  And the temperature even got up to a sweltering 42 degrees! 

I have been singing all day.  I have sung the same song every single sunny day of my life. (Hello obnoxious alliteration.)

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood,

a beautiful day for a neighbor,

Would you be mine?

Could you be mine?

.....

So let's make the most of this beautiful day,

Since we're together we might as well say,

Would you be mine?

Could you be mine?

Won't you be my neighbor?

Because it really was a blindingly beautiful day.  (I can't seem to stop them.)

After picking the big kids up from school, I told them to get themselves into the out of doors, and then sang all the way up to the door.

"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood..."

Once inside, I immediately took off my shoes and donned my favorite warm slippers, which I keep right next to the door.

I took off my coat, hung it up, then grabbed my warm fuzzy robe I leave on the banister by the front door.

As I put my sleeves into the robe, I had a shocking revelation.

I HAVE BECOME MR. ROGERS!!!!

This revelation led to a whole thread of thoughts regarding the late, great Mr. Rogers of Mr. Roger's Neighborhood fame.  Am I really anything like him?

Let's have a little look-see.  (Make it stop.)

1.  He always talked in a quiet, calm voice.   Um, no, I don't do that.  I probably would, though, if, like him, I didn't have to be in the same house with the children to whom I was talking.  If I didn't have someone challenging me with follow-up questions every time a sentence exits my mouth or someone demanding me to, "Wipe my bottom!" or multiple children yelling, "Mom!" I could talk in a quiet, calm voice all the live long day, too.  It's actually my dream to always talk in a quiet, calm voice. 

OK, that's probably not true.  I've never talked in a quiet, calm voice.

2.  His house was spotless.  Once again, my house would be spotless, too, if children didn't actually live with me.

Um, that's probably not true either.  For the first four years of our marriage, we didn't have any kids.  Our apartment was not spotless. 

3.  He had fish that never died.  We had fish once.  They died.  We flushed them.  Now we raise pigs and chickens.  And they all die, too.  They don't get flushed, but some get thrown in the back field.  Others get eaten by us.  

I'd like to see Mr. Roger Calm Pants work a farm.

4.  He had a trolley run through his house.  We have a train run next to our house.  It is a lot louder than the trolley and it doesn't have random, fun things on it.  Usually coal or some such thing.

5.  Mr. Rogers was friends with the mailman, Mr. McFeely.  While our mail lady doesn't come to our door, (I actually don't even know what she looks like.) I am friendly with the lady that works at our small-town post office.  I would never call her McFeely, though.  It seems that moniker should be saved for a character in a show most certainly not appropriate for little kids.

6.  He keeps one hand in the land of make-believe.   (Apparently, we've left alliteration and moved on to rhyming.)  While I do have my own make-believe land, mine most certainly does not include puppets.  It is more of a world where my husband feeds me grapes and gives me massages as I lounge on the beach under a palm tree.  I go there pretty much any time I have to deal with purple poo or bickering children.  Which, by the way, Mr. Rogers never has to do.  I don't quite know why he needs his land of make-believe.

Yeah, we aren't anything alike.  We just happen to share the feelings of always being cold and hating to be barefoot.

Revelation crushed.  We're all good.

Have a lovely day!