Frayed Nerves ~ a guest post by my 17 year old Amy! YIKES!!!

This is a letter that Amy wrote to her brother, Scott, who is away at Army Boot Camp.  When she read it to me, I told her we had to post it.  For years, Scott and Amy have been threatening to write a book about living with me as pay back for being the subject of my writing material. Their working title: “My Mother was a Humor Writer, And We Lived to Tell the Tale.” So I guess this is the start!

Pushing Her Over the Edge

As witnessed by Amy Seither

Bright fluorescent lights. Rows and rows, all looking the same. Unfamiliar faces who smelled of cats. Just another day at Joann’s. As usual, my mom was walking around the fabric section and touching several different materials that she would eventually buy. As usual, I was nodding my head and murmuring my approval at her choices while texting in her wake. As usual, my brother, Jack, was nowhere to be seen. During all of our previous visits, Jack could be found sitting at the table in the middle of the store and flipping through the pattern catalogs. Not for the content, of course, but rather the “Plus Size” models that he found all too entertaining. After all, he is a freshman in high school. Because this quest for apron material was no different than all the others, I assumed he was in his usual state of boredom and was staying out of trouble at the small table. How stupid of me. I did not realize this great misconception until I heard the *CRASH!* accompanied by roaring laughter and a Spartan-like yell. That’s when I saw him. With his 5’11” frame crammed into a miniature shopping cart, Jack proceeded to propel himself through the store by stretching his arms out, grabbing the racks on either side of him, and then pulling with great force in order to create an almost torpedo-like motion. If you are not laughing yet, what happens next ought to crack even the toughest of soldiers.

My mother. In full pursuit of her rogue child. Running down the isles with a bolt of fabric in one hand, and an invisible wooden spoon in the other. The chase only encouraging the laughing 14 year-old boy, whose feet and legs were hanging out of the cart so as to prevent him from crashing. If only his methods worked. Alas, the chase ended all too quickly for the store of amused on-lookers as the boy, followed by what appeared to be his mother, crashed into a metal sale rack. After using her motherly strength to pull the 160 pound Jack out of the cart by his sleeve, my humiliated mom suppressed her giggles and emptily stated the same words that Jack has heard countlessly over the period of his short, but eventful, life.. “I’m never taking you anywhere out in public ever again.” I rolled my eyes. Yup, just another day.