by Erma Bombeck
Forever, Erma
Best-Loved Writing From America’s Favorite Humorist
Erma Bombeck
Contents
Foreword
Hello, Young Mothers
Paint Tint Caper—September 4, 1965
Birds, Bees and Guppies—January 6, 1966
Good Neighbor Policy—May 16, 1966
Waking Up Momma—July 4, 1966
When Last Child Goes to School—September 5, 1966
Surviving Motherhood—September 1966
Costume for the School Play—May 29, 1968
Outgrowing Naps—August 14, 1968
A Mother’s Eye—August 18, 1968
No More Oatmeal Kisses—January 29, 1969
Confirmed Shouter—March 5, 1969
Youngest Child Tries to Tell a Joke—May 23, 1969
“Are We Rich?”—June 3, 1971
When God Created Mothers—May 12, 1974
Motherhood—Love and Laughter—September 1974
How to Communicate with Toddlers—December 1974
The Twelve Days of School—September 1975
“Things My Mother Taught Me” Assignment—September 28, 1975
A Baby’s Bill of Rights—November 13, 1975
Happiness and Motherhood—April 24, 1980
Disposable Diapers—February 8, 1990
Spit—March 18, 1990
All My Children
Children Cornering the Coin Market—January 5, 1965
My Son, the President—October 30, 1965
“I Don’t Want to Go to Grandma’s”—May 1966
Going Deaf from Rock ’n’ Roll—January 23, 1967
Daughter Learning to Drive—July 18, 1969
Phone Messages—October 22, 1969
Working Mom’s Telephone Crisis—May 28, 1971
I’ve Always Loved You Best—July 20, 1971
Mike and the Grass—May 1973
Live-in Neighbor Child—September 30, 1973
Kids: Life’s Greatest Mysteries—July 29, 1975
I Loved You Enough to...—January 6, 1976
Parents Get Apartment—June 6, 1976
Children Are Like Kites—May 15, 1977
Summertime Blues—August 3, 1978
Local or Toll Call Girlfriend?—February 1, 1979
Marching to a Different Drummer—November 3, 1979
Parenthood Is Worth the Risks—September 2, 1980
Favorite Child—May 10, 1981
The First Day of School—September 3, 1981
Third Child—November 5, 1981
Mother-Son Dialogue—January 13, 1987
Different Mother for Each Child—June 26, 1990
Housewife’s Lament
Soap Operas—June 1, 1965
Lost Identity—September 18, 1965
When the Memory Starts to Go—June 9, 1967
Subversive Window Washer—September 29, 1967
Sewing-Basket Blues—November 21, 1969
Ironing—June 10, 1971
The Mother Who Drives—June 11, 1972
Making Paycheck Stretch—October 1972
A Housewife’s Prayer—October 1974
Mom Last to Get Cold—October 16, 1975
“I Was 37 Years Old at the Time”—August 7, 1976
Dumpy Paper Dress—March 31, 1977
Handbags—October 25, 1977
Bizarre Accidents—November 29, 1981
Turning into Mother—June 1, 1989
Love and Marriage
Get Well for Mom—April 3, 1966
Cleaning Out the Attic—December 28, 1966
Interpreting the Checkbook—April 24, 1967
Men Have a Six-Word Limit—July 23, 1969
Car Hits a Tree—January 24, 1971
Daytime Husband, Nocturnal Wife—March 22, 1971
Keeping Track of Valuable Papers—June 1972
Husband Born Late—October 8, 1972
Husband Dreads Hammering Nails in the Wall—November 23, 1972
My Husband the Prince of Darkness—February 20, 1973
Husband Has Clothes for All Occasions—May 8, 1979
Jim Is Retired—May 19, 1985
My Social Life—November 3, 1985
Clippers—April 26, 1987
Car Heater—December 11, 1988
Husband Reads at Night—March 14, 1989
Husband Preempts His Christmas Gifts—December 10, 1992
Home Sweet Home
Household Hints—September 11, 1965
The Home Handyman—January 18, 1966
The American Clothesline—April 20, 1967
Getting Locked Out—July 8, 1968
No Pencil in the House—February 17, 1969
The Husband Who Prunes—September 15, 1969
Garage Sales—June 6, 1971
Relaxing with “Country Gardens”—October 26, 1975
Working Wife/Maid Communication—September 28, 1982
VCR—January 24, 1985
“What Time Is It?”—November 2, 1986
Boston Fern—November 13, 1986
Repairmanese—March 3, 1988
Eyeglasses in Every Room—June 27, 1989
Weekends—March 15, 1990
Changing of the Closets—May 1, 1990
Swinging Was Respectable on Front Porch—September 22, 1994
Martha Stewart—September 27, 1995
Dear Old Dad
When God Created Fathers—June 17, 1973
Consolidating Cereal, Ice Cream, Cookies, etc.—December 8, 1974
Stepfather—January 6, 1980
Daddy Doll Under the Bed—June 21, 1981
Speak “Thermostat”—December 19, 1982
New Generation of Fathers—June 21, 1987
Food for Thought
The Instead-of Cookbook—November 4, 1965
Weight Watchers Dilemma—April 27, 1972
Burning Calories—August 18, 1974
Dinner Is Ready—May 24, 1977
Dieting Is a Losing Battle—March 21, 1978
Seven Days to Make Garbage—May 3, 1981
Thawing Hamburger—March 9, 1982
Fruitcake—December 11, 1986
Doggie Bags—August 25, 1987
Spices—July 26, 1988
Older People Only Talk about Food—May 24, 1990
Leftovers That Refuse to Die—December 17, 1991
Leftover Halloween Candy—December 1, 1994
Tooth Traps—June 4, 1995
The Empty Nest
Daughter Returns to College—January 28, 1972
Picking Up the Tennis Ball—July 24, 1975
Empty Nest Overrated—October 1, 1978
Parents Covet Kids’ Closets—August 9, 1979
“Not to Worry”—July 15, 1984
My Son’s Answering Machine—June 22, 1986
Remembering Children’s Names and Ages—June 14, 1987
Kids Show Up for Dinner—July 19, 1990
Parent-Child Bonding—January 13, 1991
When Grown Kids Come to Visit—December 20, 1995
Special People
Grandma and Funerals—November 20, 1968
Love Is a Grandparent—November 3, 1974
The Volunteer—June 24, 1975
Mother Earned Her Wrinkles—February 8, 1976
The Listener—February 26, 1977
Mothers of Disabled Children—May 11, 1980
Heroes—August 2, 1981
Caregivers—November 26, 1991
Mothers Who Have Lost a Child—May 14, 1995
Wish You Were Here (Instead of Me)
Help Thy Neighbor—August 25, 1968
Men Never Ask Directions—August 24, 1969
The Last Family Vacation—June 1972
Parking the
Family Trailer—June 1972
Showing Slides of Vacation—February 26, 1974
Continental Breakfast—August 17, 1975
Elusive Rest Area—July 11, 1976
Seeing America by Headlights—September 16, 1980
Eleven-Piece Vacation Wardrobe—July 21, 1981
Traveling with Tripod—July 27, 1982
Alaska Cruise and Smoked Salmon—April 21, 1987
The Holidays
Children of Christmas—December 25, 1969
Kids Are Sick...It Must Be Christmas—December 18, 1970
Family Christmas Newsletter—December 9, 1971
Christmas Chimes—December 23, 1976
Son Home for the Holidays?—January 2, 1977
Halloween Challenges “No Talent” Mother—October 30, 1979
Grandfather’s Solitude—December 25, 1979
No One Diets on Thanksgiving—November 26, 1981
“Love Is” List for a Gusto Husband—February 14, 1982
Thanksgiving and Families—November 25, 1982
Memory Tree—December 22, 1983
Christmas Newsletter Winner—December 12, 1985
Undecorating the Christmas Tree—January 1, 1987
“Equal” Christmas Gifts—December 22, 1994
The Gang’s All Here
Entertaining—November 18, 1965
Mouse in the Pump Organ—January 13, 1971
My Husband Builds a Fire—December 1971
“Come Casual”—April 1975
Party Hostess Loneliest Person in the World—September 1975
College Reunion—November 3, 1977
Trip to the Rest Room—October 25, 1979
Pepper Mill Experience—December 18, 1983
Grandma’s Grudges—May 1, 1984
Houseguests—August 6, 1985
Restaurant Conversation—October 20, 1985
Hors d’Oeuvres—December 5, 1985
Family Goodbyes—July 28, 1994
Planning Birthday Celebrations—November 8, 1994
Of Missing Socks, Promiscuous Hangers and Other Unexplained Phenomena
Socks Lost in Washer—May 28, 1969
Girdles—May 18, 1970
Creeping Underwear—December 1972
Socks Still Lost in Washer—April 1, 1973
Pantskirt in the Rest Room—September 1973
Coat Hangers—September 18, 1984
No Luck with Pantyhose—November 10, 1985
Crockpot Sock—March 20, 1990
The Restless Car—October 1, 1995
The Catchall Drawer
Talent—June 6, 1966
Even Charity Has Its Bounds—January 2, 1967
Time—November 17, 1971
Women Are Financial Giants—February 19, 1980
Junk Drawers—January 17, 1984
Box Savers—December 20, 1984
I’m-Not-Going Syndrome—October 28, 1986
Fashion Trends Pioneer—October 11, 1987
Shoulder Pads—December 1, 1988
Comfortable Shoes—September 14, 1989
Seize the Moment—June 25, 1991
Brain Capacity Is Limited—July 4, 1993
Let’s Face It, Not All Ruts Need Repair—April 17, 1996
Tributes
A Biography of Erma Bombeck
Foreword
ERMA BOMBECK PUBLISHED MORE than four thousand syndicated columns from 1965 until her death on April 22, 1996. From this extraordinary output of wit and compassion, the daunting task of selecting this collection fell to us. (We had both edited Erma’s work.) Every person who knew what we were doing recognized the impossibility of the mission but could not forbear telling us, “Oh, you can’t leave out...” Since virtually any of Erma’s millions of readers, if solicited for an opinion, would also suggest a column that couldn’t be omitted, we hope we’ve included at least a few of everyone’s favorites.
Let us mention that we, at least, benefited from the expert guidance of Erma’s longtime secretary, Norma Born—who was able to provide us with a list of the most-requested columns—and to some extent from the guidance of Erma herself. When Erma took a vacation she always picked a group of her favorite columns to be rerun in her absence. We are happy to say that Erma had a strong vote in our selection.
Sitting in Erma’s living room, reading her columns and laughing out loud, listening to Norma and Erma’s husband, Bill, reminiscing, we would often remark that Erma could have gotten a column (and a few laughs) out of our efforts.
We also discovered long-forgotten gems that gave us some insight into Erma’s motivation for writing her column. Back on April 4, 1969, for instance, Erma published the following column:
A Mrs. “R.N.” of Boston has raised a rather interesting question. “Mrs. Bombeck’s column is devoted merely to the gripes of a suburban housewife. Her infantile self-absorption is annoying. Why doesn’t she direct her writing toward a more constructive topic?”
I’m surely glad you brought up that little thing, Mrs. R.N. You see, on a newspaper, reporters have areas they cover called “beats.” Some men cover politics, business, crime, medicine, government, radio and television, while women cover fashions, food, society.
I cover the utility room beat.
I used to cover obituaries, but it was a pretty thankless job. No one patted you on the back and said “Loved your lead” or sent you a Whitman’s Sampler for spelling his name right. So when the utility room beat came up I grabbed it.
Oh, I had big plans. I was going to do columns on “A Mother Looks at Eric Sevareid,” “Would a Bake Sale Help Russia with Her U.N. Dues?” “Racist Is a Six-Letter Word (unless it’s plural, then it’s seven),” “How Political Science Has Made Me a Woman.” And I had a dandy line on a series that would blow the lid off a ring of primary teachers who were selling show-and-tell tapes as underground movies.
It never worked out, Mrs. R.N. Somewhere between my typewriter and the editor’s office, my “constructive topics” underwent drastic surgery. “I want you to make housewives laugh,” said the editor.
“I mean no disrespect, sir, but that’s like making me photo editor of Reader’s Digest.”
“That’s where the challenge comes in.” He smiled. “Why, in a few years you’ll rank right up there with those other famous humorists from Ohio, Robert A. Taft and the Wright Brothers.”
I’ve been at the helm of “Mission Impossible” for four years now. It’s a challenge. If I am consumed with my self-absorption, it is for a reason.
Long ago it became apparent there were only two people in the world I could take a crack at in print without being sued or severely criticized: Adolf Hitler and me!
Furthermore, I wouldn’t trade my beat for anything else on the newspaper. Sometimes as I sift through the grim, the ugly, the shocking, I recoil here between the hot water heater and the detergent and I get my perspective.
Screaming kids, unpaid bills, green leftovers, husbands behind newspapers, basketballs in the bathroom. They’re real...they’re warm...they’re the only bit of normalcy left in this cockeyed world, and I’m going to cling to it like life itself.
On the occasion of her twenty-fifth anniversary of writing the column, in April 1990, Erma interviewed herself. To the question, “What do you hope your column has accomplished?” she responded:
I like to imagine that after a person has read our waters are polluted, the world is in flames, streets are crime-ridden, drugs are rampant and her horoscope predicts her sign just collided with something that will reduce her to poverty, she’ll read how the dryer returns only one sock to me from every two I put in and I tell my kids, “The other one went to live with Jesus,” and maybe smile.
The most gratifying comment on her career, however, came at the end of a column written on March 10, 1987:
I always had a dream that when I am asked to give an accounting of my life to a higher court, it will go like this: “So, empty your pockets. What have you got left of y
our life? Any dreams that were unfulfilled? Any unused talent that we gave you when you were born that you still have left? Any unsaid compliments or bits of love that you haven’t spread around?”
And I will answer, “I’ve nothing to return. I spent everything you gave me. I’m as naked as the day I was born.”
Who could have spent it better?
Donna Martin Alan McDermott
My deeds will be measured not by my youthful appearance, but by the concern lines on my forehead, the laugh lines around my mouth, and the chins from seeing what can be done for those smaller than me or who have fallen.
April 17, 1996
(from Erma Bombeck’s last column)
Hello, Young Mothers
Paint Tint Caper—September 4, 1965
ONCE...JUST ONCE...I’D like to be dressed for an emergency.
I don’t mean like my grandmother used to warn: “That is not underwear to be hit by a car in.” I mean just to be glued together, so you’re not standing in a hospital hallway in a sweatshirt (PROPERTY OF NOTRE DAME ATHLETIC DEPT.) and a pair of bedroom slippers.
In a way, it’s almost as if fate were waging a cruel war and you’re in the middle of it. Not only are you (a) bleeding to death, (b) grimacing in pain, and (c) worried half out of your skull, you are also plagued with the fear that the nurses in East Wing C are passing the hat to adopt you and your family for Thanksgiving.
Take our Paint Tint Caper, for example. Our small son climbed into bed with us early one morning and smiled broadly. I’m intuitive. I’m a mother. I sensed something was wrong. His teeth were blue. He had bitten into a tube of paint tint. Now if you’re visualizing some sweet, tousled-hair boy in his fire-engine pajamas, forget it. This kid looked like he was being raised by werewolves!
In addition to his blue teeth, he was wearing a pair of training pants and his father’s old T-shirt, which caught him loosely around the ankles. This was obviously no time to be proud or to explain that I was a few years behind in the laundry. We rode like the wind to the emergency ward of the hospital, where the doctor checked over his blue teeth so calmly I thought there was something wrong with mine because they were white.
“What kind of paint tint?” he asked clinically.
“Sky blue,” we said shakily, pointing to the color on his T-shirt.
“I can see that,” he said irritably. “I mean, what did it contain chemically?”
My husband and I stared at each other. Normally, you understand, we don’t let a can of paint into the house until we’ve committed the chemical contents and their percentages to memory. This one had escaped us somehow.