Tuesday, September 8, 2009

DOUBLE, DOUBLE TOIL AND TROUBLE


Main entry: pot-stirring
Pronunciation: \'pät\ \'stər-iŋ\
Function: verb

1. a) to combine food through agitation
2. a) to rile up b) to turn one party against another c) to influence a situation and then step back to watch d) to make things just a little more exciting
In my family of six sisters, five husbands and two parents (plus three grandkids and one on the way--not mine; you wish in vain), we take turns starring in the role of pot-stirrer.

The Husband is an ignorant pot-stirrer, saying things he absolutely should not, oblivious to the fact that whatever he said was uncalled for, inappropriate, or sacrosanct. Whitney behaves a pot-stirrer because she loves being the one to divvy out information and is a notorious exaggerator. Haley stirs the pot through concerned tattling. I stir through snippy critique and the mere act of speaking my inflammatory and all-encompassing opinions aloud or online.

Within my familial experience, the results of a pot well-stirred include events such as tears, swearing, slurs, slander, libel, gossip, whispers, yelling, and laughter. It can be awfully entertaining and emotionally charging to watch unfold.

We all have our own way agitating a situation. Our Hen Mom is a righteous pot-stirrer, mixing things up for our own good.

Most recently, my ma noticed what she was told could be discord between a couple of her kids, and to deal with it she got her poem on, went blogtastic, and did a job. She made an effort to get her dueling daughters to direct their ire at her instead of one another, perhaps bond together against a common enemy, and find themselves allies and blissfully wrapped in the love they once knew.

However, so far as I've been informed, the problem mother was told was festering is actually on the mend. (The pot-stirring of another daughter is to blame, I'd say). The two tallest of her daughters still exchange clothes, chat while one colors the other's dreadlocks, share basil leaves, and send text messages. Was there a moment of angst? A second of unhappiness? Perhaps. I know not for certain. But being what they are--made of what their mother made them--these two have overcome.

I, for one, admire and encourage it. Sisters should love one another and bond against their mother.

Just kidding. I think the mother's a bit of a meddling genius.

6 comments:

Hen Pecks said...

Day late
Dollar short
Fell for the gossip
And mythic report.

Glad I was wrong
Sorry I stirred
Didn't know that
A truce occurred.

Should have asked
But made a goof:
Called to repentance
And raised the roof.

But water has passed
The bridge is behind
Sister's are friends
And hearts intertwined.

Lesson to learn?
Story to laude?
Mothers was messed up
But glad she was flawed!

Tail between legs.
Hopes for amends.
Asking the question:
Can we still be friends?

meg said...

It isn't your fault.
We know who's to blame.
But for the sake of her rep,
I'll withhold her name.

Your writing was clever
A great joy to read
And sometimes a push
Is just what we need

And whether or not
That is the case
The poems were great
And not a disgrace

If the girlies are mad,
I am not in the know
But from what I've seen
Anger plateaus

So if you're in trouble
With one or with two
It really won't last
And perhaps they'll thank you.

But whatever is true
Your poems were clever
And I'm awfully grateful
We're all stuck forever.

Jessica said...

your family is cool :)

Greeneyes said...

My experience has taught me thus: one of the fastest ways to unite two {or more} people is to give them a common enemy.

Evidently your momma has discovered that little gem, as well.

rabidrunner said...

Oh Megan. That was awesome. Is there a class in college that you and your Mere took to learn the rhyme? At the BYU? It could be a class called "Mormon Rap."

meg said...

Do you remember that song, Mormon Rap? I loved that when I was oh, like 10,

I'm immensely proud of this: my Mom didn't have to go to college to learn to be a little poet. She comes by it naturally.