We've all heard them. Usually within the midst of one of those infamous lectures your parents probably didn't go to school to perfect, but ended up valedictorian of the class anyway. I remember rolling my eyes-even if just mentally-any time the following would be said to me. And no matter how we strive not to do it...we hear ourselves using them on our own children. Well, ladies, the day has come. You've turned into your mother!

From the mouths of parents...

Someday your face will freeze like that!

Don't cross you eyes like that. They'll stay that way.

What if everyone jumped off a cliff? Would you do it too?

You're going to put your eye out with that thing!

How many times do I have to tell you? Don't throw things in the house!

Close the door behind you. Were you born in a barn?

Don't put that in your mouth. You don't know where it's already been.

Did you flush?

There's enough dirt in those ears to grow potatoes!

If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

I don't care if "everyone's doing it." I'm not "everyone's" mother.

I hope someday you have children just like you.

Don't pick...it'll get infected.

Sit like a lady!

Don't talk with your mouth full.

Always put on clean underwear in the morning in case you're in an accident.

I'm not just talking to hear myself talk.

I'm going to give you until the count of three
...ooooooone!.....twooooooo!.......

I Remember...

I remember wonderful birthday parties. A group of giggly girls crowded around the dining room table-oohing over presents, pigging out on cake and ice cream, getting silly over Pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and musical chairs.

I remember Saturdays...ordering pizza or Captain D's, watching Hee-Haw, playing games down in the rec room at the card table until past bedtime-just the four of us.

I remember Girl Scout meetings and you were the troop leader.

I remember going to a Girl Scout gathering and trading our little troop symbols with others.

I remember Independence days spent down by the Missouri river with friends and the grand fireworks display.

I remember stopping to get donuts on the way home from church on Sundays. And Dana and I scrambling to see who could get the comics from the newspaper first.

I remember Thanksgivings with the good china, an overflow of food and deserts, family and friends; and others spent with the sweetest of simplicity-just us.

I remember Christmas Eves spent listening to Christmas carols on vinyl playing on the old stereo and munching on nuts or a cheese log with crackers.

I remember Christmas Eves when we'd go to midnight mass at the church and one of my parents would mysteriously disappear. :)

I remember coming home from church to find Santa had been there.

I remember Christmas Days spent at Grandma and Grandpa's house.

I remember summer nights spent camping in Guthrie and on Uncle Matt's farm.

I remember the night you and Dad gave Lil' Bit to me.

I remember all the animals you let me keep over the years.

I remember waking up after my surgery and you were there beside Dad and Grandpa.

I remember nights we stayed up til the wee hours of the morn, talking and reminiscing.

I remember you and me strolling through a store just to spend time together.

I remember the first time you held your first grand daughter.

I remember the first time I saw you hold your grandson.

I remember you having a blue cast on your leg at my blue and purple wedding.

I remember you crying in the bathroom on my wedding day.

I remember your face in March of '99 when I came home unexpectedly and Grandpa called for you to come to the door. You walked around the corner from the kitchen and I thought you'd faint.

I remember your face last June when I surprised you by coming home for the video party I'd planned from afar for our friends and family to get together.

I remember your face last June when you got to meet Lily for the first time.

I remember her snuggling up to you that day, at 4 months old and she hasn't stopped since.

I remember all the emails and phone calls from you saying "I sure miss you guys! When are you coming home?"

I remember, Mom. And I won't forget.