Good luck or not

It is Monday morning and I’ve just opened the back door of my car to help my toddler climb out. Aaaah! I jump back in fright and then look down to see what had just landed on my hand. Thankfully I moved, because the dove sitting on the wire above continues to unload a whole lot more onto the pavement. My first thoughts are yuck, this is gross, get it off me. Then my mind is jogged to the age old superstition. What good luck is in store for me? Will I win the lottery? Wait, it was my right hand. Maybe I’ll get somewhere with my writing. Maybe my good luck was in that it missed my freshly washed, still wet hair.

My research brings up varied opinions on birds pooping on you. There are those that say it’s good luck when it lands on your head. So what about the rest of the body?  Then there is the popular opinion that it is just disgusting and there could not be any possible good luck in such a thing happening. Further to that good luck is offered just to make the person feel better. A little more complicated is the theory where the type of bird will determine the type of luck. Unfortunately dove wasn’t one of the birds mentioned.  And there are the true stories of luck that followed such an incident. But for these true stories there could be hundreds more that did not result in anything.

On the other hand we have those who don’t believe in luck. You were where you were supposed to be at that time. Living in the Present it was just something that needed to be wiped off my hand to continue with my original goal of getting my toddler out of the car to deliver her to her nursery school teacher.

My conclusion is that I’ll be the optimist in this scenario and wait for good fortune to find me.

Mother Banshee

What is this in the mirror that I see?
A mother of two that I did not want to be.
I wanted to be a mother for sure,
But now this task I can not endure.

I scream and shout all the day long.
A screaming banshee gone wrong.
How is it that I have become
That terrible, horrible mum,
Whom I disapprovingly wish to stop

Scolding their child in the shop?

To myself I want to say,

That I’ll never talk to my child that way,
But that vow lays long since broken,
Harsh words to my children I have spoken.
Now when I glance upon a mother banshee,
My only thought is, that is me.

What damage do I inflict,
When my ugly shouts I do evict,
Straight into the ears of my little brats,
During our eternal spats?

All that remains when this is done,
Is guilt, self loathing and the urge to run.
Perhaps I should never have procreated,
For as a mother, I am poorly rated.