Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck
Dedicated to my gentle, encouraging friend, J.C. Hewitt
Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck always, always mucked things up.
It was really unfortunate but she just could not help it. Mucking things up was a part of her—as much a part of her as her nose or ears or stinky, winky, wittle belly button. It had always been there. It seemed that no matter what she did or how hard she tried, she just could not get rid of it. Yes, no matter what,
Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck always, always mucked things up.
There was no denying it. No escaping it. It was something that went with her, like an excited new puppy with silky smooth fur and bright, dancing eyes—and sharp, scratching claws and a wet, sticky tongue. Like that puppy, it followed her everywhere and no amount of petting, hugging, stamping, or scowling would throw it off. No, no matter what,
Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck always, always mucked things up.
She tried not to do it. Really and truly, she did. She would watch and listen. She would think and think. Then, when she was ready, she would try. She’d try and she’d try and she’d try. But it was always the same. No, no matter what,
Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck always, always mucked things up.
The one good thing was that her mother—also named Muriel—didn’t seem to mind. She loved her sweet, bumbling daughter just the way she was and would always soothe and comfort her.
From early on, she had been her best friend and had always known what to say and do. Each time—there were many!—that something went disastrously wrong and big crocodile tears welled up in the corners of those sea-green eyes, she would
Smile and laugh,
Put her hands on her hips
And shaking her head say
With a gentle tsk-tsk,
"Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck. . .
why must you always
muck things up?"
And then,
With the grinniest grin
And a long, windy sigh,
Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck
Gave her smirky reply
“I’m not really sure, mom.
I’m just like you.
You are Muriel One
And I am Muriel Two.
You said you were like this—
A mucky young girl—
But that never stopped you
You just gave it a whirl!
You knew it was part of you—
It made you who you are—
And you never stopped believing
In your lucky-lucky star!
And then the two Muriels, one big and one small, would laugh and giggle as they grabbed stinky, winky, wittle belly buttons, knocked noses, and tickled small, heaving ribs
So there you have it. Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck shared her mom’s life, she shared her name, and she shared her mucky ways. To others it may have seemed odd but to them it was natural. It had always been that way.
In fact, as soon as she was old enough to roll over and hold her own bottle, it became known that no matter what she did or how hard she tried,
Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck would always, always muck things up.
But still, the two could not have been happier. That would have been the end of it, too. Mother and daughter, Muriel One and Muriel Two, might have lived happily and muckily ever after . . . had it not been for an unfortunate accident in which Muriel One’s life came to a tragic and mucky end.
Sadly, Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck was sent far-far away to live with her two fastidious aunts.
Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck did not know much about these aunts but she did know that they were her mother’s sisters. She also knew that she got her first name, Margaret, from Aunt Margaret, and her second name, Mavis, from Aunt Mavis. It wasn’t really much of a connection but this sweet, bumbling orphan hoped it might be a start.
Besides, she had no choice. Little Muriel Two was alone in the world, feeling terribly alone and afraid, and her aunts had sent for her. They were family and they were offering her a home.
What the poor child did not know was that Aunt Margaret and Aunt Mavis were two rather fastidious ladies. (‘Fuss-diddy-us,’ in case you don’t know is just a big, adult word for ‘fussy.’)
Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck did not know this word but it didn’t take long to learn what it meant. In fact, she learned right away that her two aunts were so ‘fuss-diddy-us’ that they,
Fuss-diddied, fuss-diddied,
All day long!
Nothing was right!
Everything was wrong!
Oh, fuss-diddy this!
And fuss-diddy that!
All must be perfect!
Just pitter-pat-pat!
Although her aunts were extremely fastidious, Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck was not going to let that bother her. Muriel One had taught her that everyone was different and she, like her mom, was a gentle, forgiving soul. Although she had no idea how hard it would become, she was determined to make the best of it.
But if Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck had no idea how tough it would be, neither did her two fastidious aunts.
It seemed that Aunt Margaret and Aunt Mavis had no idea how much little Muriel Two took after her mucky mother. They did not suspect that taking her in would take them back to a time when Margaret, Mavis and Muriel had all been young girls growing up—a time that they ALL were happy to forget!
If it was not so sad, it would have been funny. Just think about it—those two fastidious aunts looking at their sweet little niece on that first day, having no idea that no matter what she did and how hard she tried,
Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck always, always mucked things up!
It did not take long—just a few minutes—before it became all too clear. It happened when. . .
She tried to carry her own suitcase [calamity picture!]. She tried to feed the cat [bigger calamity picture!]. And she tried to help set the dinner table [biggest calamity picture yet!].
Each time she tried, her two angry, fastidious aunts put their hands on their hips and they would scream and shout and spit,
“Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck, why must you always muck things up?”
But she was a good sport. Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck would not give up. She only wanted to help. She wanted to help so much that she tried to weed the flower garden [calamity picture!]. She tried to make soft, lilting music on the xylophone [bigger calamity picture!]. And she even tried to make her aunts breakfast in bed [biggest calamity picture yet!].
Each time she tried, her two angry, fastidious aunts put their hands on their hips and they would hoot, holler and hiss,
“Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck, why must you always muck things up?”
But she would not give up. Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck wanted to fit in. She wanted to belong so badly that she would do anything to make her aunts happy. She wanted to be loved so badly that she tried to make her aunts laugh by playing funny jokes [calamity picture!]. She tried to make herself smart by reading big, big books [bigger calamity picture!]. And she even tried to make herself beautiful using her aunts’ make-up [biggest calamity picture yet!]
Each time she tried, her two angry, fastidious aunts put their hands on their hips and clink, clank, and cluck,
“Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck, why must you always muck things up?”
And then, finally, one day a very sad Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck said with mucky tears in her eyes:
My dear aunts, I love you!
You know that I do!
You’re my mother’s sisters
And she loved you too!
You keep yelling my name!
You’ll soon wear it out!
You’re hurting my feelings
When you get angry and shout!
You may think I’m cheeky
But this I must say,
I’m just like my mom
And mucking’s my way!
Mom was Muriel One
And I am Muriel Two
I’m a chip off the block!
I’m sorry, it’s true!
I know I’m not perfect
Like you want me to be
But I can only be myself!
I can only be me!
I could feel like a failure
But that’s not the case.
I’m just doing my best
And life’s not a race!
You want me to be perfect—
Way beyond my reach—
With nothing to learn
And even less to teach.
You know I’ll keep trying
Though the two of you sigh.
I may never quite get there. . .
But I’ll always, always try.
So, dear aunts, I love you
And I do like to please
But I won’t beg for your love
On bended knee.
I don't think you mean it
You’re just being you.
But no one is perfect—
Nope! Not even you.
I know you feel angry,
I make you perturbed
But laugh with me, please
When things get absurd.
You can call out my name.
Even heave a big sigh.
But remember I’m learning
And one day. . .
I .. . will ... fly!
So call me a silly goose,
Even a dim-witted duck :-)
But love me and teach me,
Said dear sweet . . .
Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck”
***
Then Aunts Margaret and Mavis
With faces once stern
Gave soft, teary smiles
And said in return:
“We're so sorry dear child.
Please know that we are.
We want the best for you.
That’s just how we are.
We did not really mean it.
We are sorry it hurt.
We were thoughtless and cruel.
Our words--too curt!
Keep trying dear child
And we will try, too!
We made many mistakes—
Far more than you!
We were cackling old hens
Oh my, how we’d cluck!?
It’s your silly old aunts
Who mucked things up!
You know that we love you!
We loved your dear mother
But we didn’t always show it—
Too fussy to bother!?
Please dear, forgive us.
Please show us that smile!
We can all do some mucking
And do it with style!
We can laugh and giggle.
And make fun of ourselves.
We can feel free to be human.
Our perfectly imperfect selves.
* * *
“Uh-huh, I think so,”
Was young Muriel’s reply.
“I don’t know about you. . .
But I’ve NEVER had to try!
I guess I’m just like this.
A mucky young girl!
Now you two can join me.
Let’s give it a whirl!”
And that’s the happy story
Of Margaret Mavis Muriel Muck
How she and her aunts
MUCKED THINGS UP!
© 1993 Kalen Marquis
