Materfamilias

Mother's Day is on Sunday here, which has just reminded me that I need to buy a card in preparation for American Mother's Day, whenever that may be. I lack preparedness in every possible way, so quite often I find the US date approaching rapidly and realise I have no card to give my Mom. Now at least I have a small person with access to crayons and paper, so I could just put her to work on crafting one I suppose. Don't worry, her labour would not go unrecognised. I would pay her in at least six stones and ten rubber bands. It may not sound like much, but this kid's utopia would be formed of stones, rubber bands, shells and tampons still in their packaging (green ones preferred).

Anyway, I'm not here to wax lyrical on my role as a mother, nor am I going to craft a loving ode to my own mother. Ok, I am going to talk about my Mom, because lately her eccentricities have given me cause to acknowledge her idiosyncratic brilliance, but it won't be cheesy. I can't write emotional stuff for anything.

I've blogged about my Mom's...uniqueness in the past, though I'm currently too lazy to link to it. Regular readers will know of what I speak. I talk to her regularly and often make mental notes to tell others of her oddness, because sometimes it really must be shared with the world. For example:

-Last weekend she got in a tiff with a woman at an antiques auction. The woman's pre-teen son sat in my Mom's friend's chair when she got up to use the restroom. My Mom explained to the kid that her friend was sitting there, and he would need to move upon her return. He didn't, she asked him to move again, and he declined. My Mom loudly proclaimed to her friend, "It's a shame people don't raise their children to have any manners these days!" This raised the ire of the child's mother, who got indignant with my Mom and ended up storming off in a huff after a wee shouting match. I warned my Mom that as we are from Central PA that she'll piss off the wrong gun-toter one day with that big gob of hers, but she has no concerns in this regard.

-What is the best way to recover from a day in which you get confrontational when surrounded by Victoriana? Obviously you, a nearly 60 year old woman accompanied by your 60+ friend, hitchhike. It seems they couldn't get to the auction location of their choice, so my Mom jotted down the name of the destination town on a bit of paper and stood by the side of the road. I was worried that she was so fueled by adrenalin and filled with passion for antiquities that she hopped into a big rig with a mustachioed trucker, but thankfully she did not. Her ride was a couple of nice middle-aged ladies, one of whom was Amish, because - why not? Again, Central PA, of course the Amish were involved at some point.

-My Mom is a dog lover. She has three, one of whom is a Great Pyrenees. This thing is her baby, and he is like a volunteer of the year. Senior citizens, children, midgets, all benefit from his philanthropy. Tomorrow, I shit you not, he is marching in a local St Patrick's Day Parade. She even said the word "marching" in all seriousness, and made sure to tell P about this upcoming event. Not only is he marching in a parade, he's wearing this, a gen-u-wine Irish flat cap:



Yes, srsly. As I was reliably informed tonight, it will be affixed to his head with bobby pins. It was a lucky escape dog - you were very close to being dyed green, but the fear was that the fading green would appear too "dingy" on your brilliantly white coat. When you're as busy campaigning for Canine of the Year you mustn't be any less than your best!

Happy Mother's Day Mom, you crazy old bitch. The world would be a much more boring place without you.


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In very non-Momish vibe, I have a guest blogger for this week's Music Monday, and her theme will be songs about the secks. I'll give you a hint - she's a sassy, sexy redhead librarian down in the Bayou. I bet you have no idea who it could be...