Mother’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day!

If you missed my post from last week, go read it here.  I’ll wait.

Needless to say, I did not get Wolverine or any of my alternates as a Mother’s Day gift.  If I made good on my threats kept my promises, I’d currently have a potted plant, two handmade Mother’s Day cards, a box of Gigi’s cupcakes, a Sephora gift card and a pair of Anastasia tweezers up my twat.  To be fair to myself, I was considering shoving all that up my twat but the tweezers called my bluff.  I’m pretty sure E marched into Sephora and said “My wife has threatened to shove any Mother’s Day gifts that aren’t Hugh Jackman up her twat.  What item in the store would inflict the most pain being shoved up a twat?”.  Well played, E.  Well played.

It’s a good thing Wolverine or Star-Lord didn’t show up, anyway.  A migraine knocked me out of commission all afternoon and our dinner plans were derailed.  We’ll make them up next weekend.  What does matter is that I have two kids I have helped raise to the ages of 17 and 13 who love me, faults and all.

A long time ago, I told E not to buy me any more store bought cards.  They’re a waste of money for me.  You pay around $5 for a cheesy card with someone else’s words and feelings on it.  I told him I’d prefer a handwritten note instead.  It could be as short or as long as he wanted to make it.  I didn’t care, as long as it came from him.  He’s done that ever since and I’ve somehow managed to get the kids to do it also.  Landon made his at school and Gracie worked like the little Martha Stewart she is on hers last week here at home.  As usual, it’s the words, beautiful words, that touch me the most.  Not the gift card or the ridiculously expensive tweezers (which I really did need and has a story which I will post next week) but words.

Here’s what Landon had to say about me:

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

I give him crap every time he asks me how old I am.  I’ll usually give him various answers but never my true age.  So, he said he wrote that I was 100 years old because he didn’t know.  I told him my true age so now he knows I’m 32.

Fine, I told him I’m 45.  Y’all are breaking my heart here.

Landon was correct that I love Harry Potter and eating Mexican food.  If you know me well, you got a laugh out of cooking being my super power.  I do cook.  I don’t enjoy cooking.  I do it to survive and to nourish my family but it’s not my “thing”.  But there are a few dishes that I make that Landon is just crazy about.  He loves my chicken and dumplings, crock pot chicken enchiladas, combo burritos, and homemade dressing.  If that counts as a super power, I’ll take it.  I noticed he wrote “pretty” twice.  I also really liked “brave, smart, silly, and sweet”.  I try to be those things and I’m glad he can see them in me.

I have a feeling that Gracie has my gift for words because inside her card were the most beautiful words a Mom could ever want to read on Mother’s Day.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

“To the best Mom,

Every day, there’s always a problem in our lives and you take care of those problems.  We always come to you for your help and advice.  You make us feel at home even when we are not.  You make rough times the best and the worst days some of the best days.  Your love and words will always be the best medicine for a heartache.  Thanks Mom!

Love, Gracie Girl.”

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

If you’d like to read my blog post from last Mother’s Day you can find it here.  I hope all you Moms out there had a beautiful day.  Happy Mother’s Day, my friend!

Mother’s Day Gifts: You’re Doing It Wrong!

Well, I feel pretty stupid.  While I was in Texas last week for my Dad’s surgery, I took my Mom to lunch for an early Mother’s Day present.  She chose to eat lunch at Olive Garden.  Although the meal was delicious and our waiter was an absolute doll, I really fucked this one up.

Although it’s too late for a happy ending this Mother’s Day for my Mom, it is most certainly not too late for me.  E, you’ve been given notice.  Get on this shit STAT.  If I get a gold locket, I’ll put it up my twăt (sounded out with ă instead of ä, who fucking knew?).  Hell, if I get anything other than Wolverine, I’ll put all of it up my twăt in protest.

I know this may seem an unreasonable demand since we’re only four short days away from Mother’s Day.  I am nothing if not reasonable.  Should Wolverine be fully booked, these replacements will suffice (in this strict order):

  1. Star-Lord.  Tell him to bring the long red leather coat and the mask.  Don’t forget his Awesome Mix, Volume 1 & 2.    
  2. Thor.  WITH his hammer.  No, his other hammer.  Just tell him to bring all his damned hammers.  
  3. Bruce Banner.  Not Hulk because I actually like my twăt intact.  And not the Edward Norton bitch.  I want Mark Ruffalo.
  4. Tony Stark, not Iron Man because that’s just weird.  Fine, he can bring the mask just in case things get crazy.
  5. Bad Bucky from Captain America.  Tell him not to show up without that metal arm and the black mask.

Who said I was high maintenance?  See, I just gave you an easy to follow Mother’s Day buying guide.  You’re welcome.

Tightrope Walkers

As we honor our Mothers today, these are the thoughts that come to my mind when I think of my Mom.

I think of all the beautiful handmade dresses she sewed for me, not only out of necessity but also because what she made felt so much better than store bought to me.  I think of every single Christmas, no matter how little or how much money we had, as being the best Christmases a kid could ever have.  I think of Elvis and his Christmas album because that one was and is Mom’s favorite and Christmas isn’t complete for me to this day without hearing Elvis sing.  I think of the cookies baked for an entire high school marching band after I gave her one night’s notice.  I think of my Granny who kept me and my brother while my Mom worked so hard for our family.  I think of all the nights she prayed for me, that I would follow the right path and either not go down or to get off of the wrong one.

I think of her spending many nights with me and E in hospital rooms with our children.  I think of her being there when our son Landon was born and the many hospital stays that followed leading up to and after his colostomy.  I think of her getting Landon to me without a moment to spare so I could say goodbye to him because things went very wrong and they had to fly me to Dallas to give birth to our daughter Gracie.  I think of her kissing me goodbye, holding Landon and trying to be brave for me.  I think of her being there when the Doctor told me and E that Gracie probably wouldn’t make it through the weekend.  I think of her having to make the drive back to East Texas from Dallas right after that Doctor’s conference, back to my Dad who was watching Landon, crying the entire drive by herself.  I think of her doting on her grandchildren and making them feel so special every time we visit, which is harder now that we’re further away.  I think of all the things she still makes by hand for me and my family and the fact that those things are still so much better than anything store bought.  I think of how she insists that even when I was almost 100 pounds heavier, I was still beautiful.

On the lighter side, I think of how alarming it is that she relies on me as her computer expert.  I think of her continued refusal to type in nothing but all caps on Facebook, even though I’ve pointed out her faux pas, and her insistence that she can’t see “small letters” anymore.  I think of laughing with her just yesterday over how she and I used to pretend we were asleep when we were in the hospital with Landon because the med students just asked the same questions over and over every single morning.  I think of her recent acceptance of my magenta hair and the acknowledgement that I could do far worse to disgrace the family.

I think of love, strength, fierce protection, faith and hope.

Landon’s favorite book as a child was “Corduroy“.  Gracie’s favorite book was “The Runaway Bunny“.  I practically have both of these books memorized, I read them to my children so many times.  Both of these books are about home and belonging.  Corduroy finally finds a home and everything he’d been longing for, even with the flaw of missing a button on his overalls.  The Runaway Bunny threatens to become multiple things to run away from his Mom and his Mother counters each one.  Near the end of the story, he threatens to “join a circus and fly away on a flying trapeze”.  His Mother replies “I will become a tightrope walker and I will walk across the air to you”.

I’ve learned after these many years of having a Mother and being a Mother, that is exactly what we are.  Tightrope walkers.

Here are a few pictures of me being both a daughter and a Mom:

And finally, I had to include this picture of my friend Don’s Mom.  Don and I went to school together in the same small Texas town.  I knew his Mother and she was a wonderful lady.  This is a picture of her, attempting to console an obviously very distraught Don, all while desperately clinging to her “happy place”.   This picture makes me smile every time he posts it and I wonder what she was listening to.  She was apparently an advanced tightrope walker.

don

Happy Mother’s Day!  I hope all of you Tightrope Walkers out there have a beautiful day.

WTF Wednesday: You, Sirs, Are Monsters

Apparently, I’m on Groupon’s shit list.  I still haven’t seen my Solar Bullet.  Groupon sent me this email:

How many ways can they say they didn't mail my shit?

How many ways can they say they didn’t mail my shit?

I have some issues with this email but y’all probably knew that, right?  We’ll do this hardcore, take no prisoners bullet style.

• First of all, yeah, it’s been a while, Groupon.  It’s been almost a month since I placed the order.  What the hell?  What if this was some sort of solar powered vibrator emergency?  I mean, I don’t recall the shipping options you offered me at checkout but I’m pretty sure “Oh fuck it, I’ll just use my hand” wasn’t one of them.

• Do you even know how many batteries I’ve consumed in the last month waiting for Solar Bullet to arrive at my doorstep?  That grisly alkaline trail is on your hands, Groupon!

• “We don’t want you to feel left in the dark”.  Now they’re just fucking with me.  Do they target their email language specifically to the item you ordered and then laugh and laugh and laugh at the irony?  If so, well done, Groupon.  I AM in the dark.  Naked and alone, waiting for you to ship my damned solar powered vibrator   Well played.

• “We understand that this news may change your plans”.  Well, yeah, Groupon.  Now I have to physically go into the local solar powered vibrator store.  This entails going through a secret door at Starbucks (which will only open after I order a free range vegan green tea frappucino), which leads to a side door of a Democratic party office, which leads to the backdoor of an Apple store and then finally ends in the basement of an organic beard oil boutique.  I was hoping to avoid this sort of seedy hipster shit.

• “If we don’t hear from you, we’ll assume you don’t want the item”.  Oh, bring it, Groupon, but you’d better bring your A game.  You don’t even know who you’re messing with.  I can easily wait on this for the rest of the year.  This will be the longest and most intense game of retail chicken you’ve ever played in your life.  Except I’m naked and very sexually frustrated.

• And finally, what if this had been a Mother’s Day present?  You heartless corporate bastards.

I will be getting my Rob Zombie concert review up tomorrow, hopefully.  E has been out of town this week and I’m operating on very little sleep.  It just took me around 8 attempts to spell “tomorrow” correctly.  I’m not joking.  Also, wine may be involved.

Y’all have a great week!  Thanks for stopping by.