It smelled like aging wood and creosote, plastic book covers, and old paper. Old paper, which my mom used to say was the smell of time itself.
That wasn't your mom in you—that was your dad.
Well,I hope you like the ring." He held it out to me, he velvet lid still closed. "My mom hates it." "I'm sure I'll love it,then," I said, and he laughed.
One Time, One Day between Davie and Roberta , I asked my mom why she persisted, kept on having baby after baby, She looked at me, at a spot between my eyes, blinking like I had suddenly fallen crazy. She paused before answering as if to confide would legitimize my fears. She drew a deep breath, leaned against the chair. I touched her hand and I thought she might cry. Instead she put baby Davie in my arms Pattyn, she said, it's a woman's role. I decided if it was my role, I'd rather disappear.
You’re joining us for dinner, I hope?” asked his mom. She was small and brunette and vaguely mousy. “I guess?” I said. “I have to be home by ten. Also I don’t, um, eat meat?” “No problem. We’ll vegetarianize some,” she said. “Animals are just too cute?” Gus asked. “I want to minimize the number of deaths I am responsible for,” I said. Gus opened his mouth to respond but then stopped himself.
She wouldn't come back. She hated me. She hated Nan. She hated my mom. She hated her father. She wouldn't come back here... but God, I wanted her to.
And this must be Avery?" "Oh, God, no," Cam said. "This is Candy, Mom." His mother's eyes widened and a bit of color infused her cheeks. "Uh, I'm..." "I'm Avery," I said, shooting Cam a look. "You had it right." She spun around, smacking Cam across the arm. Hard, too. "Cameron! Oh my God. I thought..." She smacked him again and he laughed. "You're terrible.
I cry for everything I abandoned and because I, too, have been left behind -- by Alex, by my mom, by time that has cut through our worlds and separated us.
Mom's eyes blazed. "Are you sleeping with her?" Oh, god. Did we have to do this here? Now? "Well, actually," I smirked, "we don't get a lot of sleep.
A guy who treats his mom well, treats his wife well.
I pictured my mom, alone in our little apartment on the Upper East Side. I tried to remember the smell of her blue waffles in the kitchen. It seemed so far away.
I like Daniel. He takes care of you." I blinked. "Oh my God. Did you really just say that? He takes care of me?" Dad flushed. "I didn't mean it like-" "Takes care of me? Did I go to sleep and wake up in the nineteenth century?" I looked down at my jeans and T-shirt. "Ack! I can't go to school like this. Where's my corset? My bonnet?" Dad sighed as Mom walked in with her empty teacup. "What did I miss?" She said. "Dad's trying to marry me off to Daniel." I looked at him. "You know, if you offer him a new truck for a dowry, he might go for it.
You're much shorter than my mom." "Brat," she said, surprised into a giggle. "That's no way to talk to a vampire." "Bloodsucking brat." "Better" he said.
I’m avampire. I havesecret powers ,” he said with a full-on fake Transylvanian accent, which he dropped to say, “Actually, your mom let me in.
She never said, "No, don't buy that trash," or "Pick a real book." She knew they were all real books. This is how great a librarian she was. And how great a mom.
but my dad said it was no excuse. "But I love him!" I had never seen my sister cry that much. "No, you don't." "I hate you!" "No, you don't." My dad can be very calm sometimes. "He's my whole world." "Don't ever say that about anyone again. Not even me." That was my mom.
Have either of you seen your mother ” “Yeah ” Ethan said and my heart actually skipped a beat. But I should have known Ethan was joking. “Slim lady. Blue eyes and a gray pageboy ” he continued his eyes glistening in appreciation of his own humor. “Answers to the name ‘Mom'.
Once upon a time I would’ve leaped at the rare opportunity of curling up with Mom on the couch. But now it sort of felt like too little too late. I had someone else waiting for me.
Annabeth Thalia and I hadn't seen each other in months but between the blizzard and the thought of what we were about to do we were too nervous to talk much. Except for my mom. She talks more when she's nervous. By the time we finally got to Westover Hall it was getting dark and she'd told Annabeth and Thalia every embarrassing baby story there was to tell about me.
I hoped I wasn't blushing. It was bad enough I had to depend on my mom to drive me to my battles.
If my mom told one more story about how cute I looked in the bathtub when I was three years old I was going to burrow into the snow and freeze myself to death.
But mostly, I remembered what I’ve always believed. What my mom taught me. That while some things are just plain awful, most things in life can be seen either tragic or comic. And it’s your choice. Is life a big, long, tiresome slog from sadness to regret to guilt to resentment to self-pity? Or is life weird, outrageous, bizarre, ironic, and just stupid? Gotta go with stupid. It’s not the easy way out. Self pity is the easiest thing in the world. Finding the humor, the irony, the slight justification for a skewed, skeptical optimism. That’s tough. - Marco, Animorphs #35: The Proposal
My mom says I'm destined to be the sort of man who uses big words but pronounces them incorrectly.
Why, Jon, why?" his mother asked. "Why is it so hard to be like the rest of the flock, Jon? Why can't you leave low flying to the pelicans, the alhatross? Why don't you eat? Son, you're bone and feathers!" "I don't mind being bone and feathers mom. I just want to know what I can do in the air and what I can't, that's all. I just want to know.
But-but…” Timmie’s eyes couldn’t get any wider. “Why did you tell her I’m your boyfriend? Why doesn’t she know about your real one?” That was a good question. I cast around for an answer. Any answer. “He’s English!” I settled on desperately. “And Mom…Mom hates foreigners!
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