I always wanted to be just like the mini-skirt wearing mama that socked it to the Harper Valley P.T.A.

June Faubell, Chicago Tribune, 1958

June Faubell, Chicago Tribune, 1958

Don't all mothers?

Once we have children, we become fierce, protective warriors. We may let things go that negatively affect ourselves, but never our children or the way we choose to raise those children.

Do or say whatever you'd like, I don't care, but when it's my child, beware.

Usually not one for conflict or confrontation, I tend to withdraw and keep my mouth shut. However, my inner lunatic erupts once a line is crossed that takes a toll on one of my children or mothering skills.

You don't want to be around when this Mount Vesuvius becomes active. Think of those poor souls in Pompeii.

Jeannie C. Riley's mega country hit in 1968, Harper Valley P.T.A., pretty much sums up my fantasy, plus having big hair kept in place with a can of Aquanet is an added bonus.

So Jeannie, because of your encouragement, and the lyrics of the great Tom T. Hall, I've had some of my own "Sock it to them," moments when raising our two children.

My friend Debbie and I attended Weight Watchers meetings to lose some baby weight after our firstborns arrived. At the third meeting, I was forced to bring my baby since I couldn't land a sitter at the last moment. Sitting in the back with him sleeping soundly in a stroller, all was good until he became a bit fussy. Tending to his needs with satisfaction, once again I could focus on counting Points and measuring portions to attain my "Goal."

The next week (sans baby), we stayed after class to gather more information on this weight loss program. Once the after-party began, the conversation was NOT about cravings and fearing the number on the scale. It was about the horrible disruption from my baby and me the week before. Even the leader got into it, describing the incorrigible baby, incompetent mother and total disgrace of it all during a sacred Weight Watchers meeting. They made it sound like out-of-control chaos spread out into the parking lot and down Dubois Street.

The group sat there, gossiping about me, while I sat right behind them paging through my new pamphlet on "Dining Out." Being new to the group, they didn't recognize me since we always sat in the back row. No longer able to contain myself, Jeannie C. Riley's song tapped me on the shoulder and gave me the boost to rise and say with confidence, "I'm sorry I destroyed your F#%&@#* meeting!"

And I walked out.

Never to return.

Yes, folks. I dropped an F-Bomb in the community meeting room at the First Baptist Church in Lawrenceville, Georgia, to the horror of the faithful. I believe a "Wanted" poster is still hanging in the church vestibule and prayers are being said for my salvation.

I know. I am going straight to hell, no detours.

Debbie and I went on to lose our baby weight without counting Points in the company of self-righteous Southern Baptists from the bible-belt.

And I had the exhilaration of socking it to 'em, just like Mrs. Johnson did to the Harper Valley P.T.A.

Do I hear an Amen?


The second installment on this topic will follow in my next post. This will discuss the Catholic Church (which we did attend, after all, we do like to drink alcohol) and CCD classes. No F-bombs were spoken. It was the Christmas Season so I behaved myself.


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Filed under: Humor, Lifestyle, Observations

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