(Mama is to be pronounced the French way, maman, why? Because I said so)
In case you didn’t know, I am in love with love. I love romance novels, which many have called soft core porn on pages. Laugh and ridicule all you like but romance novels are filled to the brim with useful information, depending on what genre you are reading you will be pleasantly amused to find carefully researched details of the era, the clothing, the speech, the mannerism and whatever else the delightful authors wish to put in their book. The only difference between a romance novel and say a journal on the Turkish Empire (for example, my dears, don’t get your panties in a twist) are the main characters are more often then not, beautiful, charming, intelligent and highly sexed. Which to me, is not a bad thing at all.
However, my love for romance is not exclusively for novels but it extends to movies, music and art. I am not solely interested in the sexual love of two beings but I am also rabidly interested in platonic love, love for a mother, love for a father, love for a sister and love for a child. I was brought close to tears when I read a wonderful ode of love from a young mother to her infant child. I can only imagine the awkwardness the child will experience when she is old enough to read the post. But, oh! There will be tears and laughter mingled with the awkwardness that most teenage daughters experience when they are old enough to talk back to their mama. When the child finally gets to read what her mama has lovingly typed and posted on the World Wide Web. To be in existence till forever more or until an apocalypse comes to wipe out the human race or something drastic to that effect.
Goosebumps inducing quote that brought a faint sheen of tears to my eyes! Oh! If I had a handkerchief I would have bit it as I read the post. (No people, I am not on drugs, I am just, overwhelmed)
“I did not have to do all of the above; I did them because I wanted to. Because you are perfect in my eyes.”
If you like, here is the link to the post: Pimp My Trike “S in Smother Stands For Singing Mother”