We all love to blame our moms for
everything. Thanks a lot, mom- You are genetically responsible for the cellulite
that makes my ass look like a bag full of golf balls. And thanks for the anxiety and medical issues
that you passed down to me as well. I’m
pretty sure everything that’s wrong with me and all of my negative qualities
somehow trace back to you. We take our
moms for granted, exploit their weaknesses, and mock them as they age, or at
least I do. When she is in town, I constantly rename my Wi-Fi network just to
make my technology-challenged mother think she's going crazy. And I pretend
like I’ve said something three times just so she thinks her hearing is going.
I've threatened to put her in a home, buy her Depends, and endlessly taunt her
about growing older. It’s all in fun, of course. I love my mom. But sitting around a table the other day with
my girlfriends and reminiscing about younger days, I realized just how much my
mom has had to put up with for me.
Growing up, I was not exactly what
you would call an "easy child". I was sneaky, manipulative, and had
an "easier to ask for forgiveness than permission kind of mentality."
My friends’ parents called me trouble. Mom called me "quirky" and would
tell my dad I was simply trying to find myself.
My sweet mom, forever the optimist. I'm pretty sure she kept a breathalyzer,
a pregnancy test, and a spare set of handcuff keys in the top drawer along with
her Prozac and Xanax. I threw parties with underage drinking, smoked pot, and
even met up with a guy I'd never met in a mall parking lot for a date (It
didn’t work out.) I'm not entirely sure
how I'm still alive. Or how my parents are for that matter.
My partying lasted well after high
school. My mom even picked me up from a blind date where I drank too much, ditched
my date, and hit on the bartender. Upon finding that my original date had left,
the bartender lost my interest, and I had consumed my fifth Long Island iced
tea, I called my savior to pick me up. And she did. And she patiently pulled
over while I puked down the side of her car. "Sorry, mommy." She
just laughed and drove me home. My
brilliant ideas lasted well into my college days. My parents were out of town and I invited a
few (dozen) friends over to their place to “house sit.” Upon finding a container of gasoline in the
garage and watching a couple of action movies, a lightbulb went off in our
heads… “Hey! Do you think we can set the
pool on fire?” Turns out you can…
Luckily, cops were never called, nobody died, and mom and dad didn’t find out
about that incident until much, much later…
As an adult, I have not changed much,
but she can no longer ground me. My
partying has slowed but I still love to shock and disgust my mom and drag her
into any shenanigans I get into. And she gracefully follows with a sense of
humor, a lot of skepticism, and a willingness to step out of her comfort zone
just to make some memories with her not so little girl. I even dragged her into
this blog post. I have not pre-cleared this with her. Sorry, mom.
As I grew and dragged my mom into my
world of mischief, it was my turn to laugh. Turns out my mom has a wild streak
too. Hers just came out later in life. She proved this at an 80's party we
threw. I couldn't find her anywhere. Imagine my surprise when I walked out of
my back door to see my mom, on her knees, with my girlfriend spraying a can of
whipped cream vodka into her mouth from between her legs. I'll never un-see
that. The night ended with an Afro wig on her head, her trying to hold a wine
glass between her toes, and my dad rolling his eyes, saying "I think I'm
going to put mom to bed now." Yes, I have pictures of all of this.
They will accompany her throughout the remainder of her life. And I might even
put them in her coffin just to have the final word.
I feel like I’ve become even more
relentless with time. In fairness, I had
to. She just doesn’t shock as easily as
she once did. I don’t just try to push
her outside of her comfort zone anymore, I shove her there, against her
will. For example, we invited her on a
trip to Texas with us for her 60th birthday. Instead of a nice dinner with a birthday
cake, we made her ride a bull and took her to a bikini bar where we made her
put on a bikini top and take a blowjob shot.
She did it, like a pro, and as the ultimate birthday gift, I filmed it
and put it on Facebook for all to see…
I recently took her tailgating with
me where we serve jello shots out of syringes and call them “flu shots.” On questioning how good I might be at a blow
job, a friend approached me and said, “I dare you to suck the jello out of this
syringe without pushing the plunger.” Not feeling the need to flaunt my
flawless fellatio skills at that particular moment, I said, "I can't...
But I'll bet my mom can..." Not willing to be called out, she did just
that, resulting in laughter and respect from my friends, and a little bit of pride
from me.
Forever the entertainer, I feel my
friends should benefit from my mom’s discomfort as well. So, in an effort to really try and shock her
one day, we took her to a local adult toy store. My mom laughed right along with the rest of
us at the multiflavored lube and cleverly named battery operated devices. And she even smirked when the lady behind the
counter explained how the theater rooms worked.
In a moment of spontaneity, I decided, “Hey, will you give us a tour of
the back rooms?” My friends all looked
immediately grossed out and I turned to my mom anxious to see the look of utter
disgust I was sure would be on her face.
But instead there was a smile followed by, “I’d like to see too.” I exchanged surprised glances with my
friends. “Well I guess we’re
going!” So we toured the back room and I
was actually impressed with how clean it was.
My shoes didn’t stick to the floor and I don’t think I contracted any
STD’s. I turned to mom and said, “Well
that wasn’t so bad…” As though on cue, a
man stumbled into the hall, private parts in hand, enjoying himself immensely
as we all walked out. Mom and I looked
at each other and died laughing. Another
proud mother/daughter moment.
My mom and I are alike in many ways
but we are also very different. Mom is
content staying at home, reading books, scrapbooking, and playing games. I want to get out and experience the world, do
weird and unique things, and I like to drag her with me. In particular, I like to do things that scare
me. Mom and I are alike in the respect
that everything scares us. We are
different in that I actually like being scared. I take this into consideration (or lack of consideration
depending on how you look at it), when planning our excursions. I like to take her to do things like spend the
night in haunted asylums or spend an hour in an escape room. Mom is scared of enclosed spaces. And the Dark. And her shadow. Yet somehow
locked in an escape room modeled after a jail cell in Alcatraz seemed like the
perfect mother/daughter night out. I’m shocked she hasn’t started making
me pay for her Xanax yet. Exploiting that fear further, I made her sit in a
closet in my basement for an hour on a bright and sunny Thursday by convincing
her there was a tornado when they were simply testing the sirens.
I’m not a total jerk. I do things that she enjoys too. In fact, we have a girls’ trip every year
where we travel down to Florida with a group of our favorite girls for a Food
and Wine Festival at Disney World. However,
we still have to make it at least a little uncomfortable for her. After several alcohol-induced brainstorming
sessions, we’ve started to theme our visits and dress the part. I use that opportunity to once again mock and
embarrass my poor mother. This last
year’s theme was Alice in Wino-Land.
When we were planning, I smiled at her (not unlike the Cheshire Cat) and
said, “I’ll be the Queen of Hearts. You
can be Tweedledum…” She laughed and went
online and bought the appropriate hat without a single argument. When we got there, we set her up to have an
odd gentleman dressed in sequins show her some affection in the middle of
Downtown Disney. Those pictures have
come back to haunt her at random intervals.
We took another exciting trip to New York City and got her so hammered
that she couldn’t even remember that the Broadway Theater was actually on a
street called “Broadway.” Then I made
her sit through The Lion King.
It has become a cliché, but my mom
really has become my best friend over the years. We experience things together, take trips
together, and share memories that are serious, sad, frustrating, joyful, and
hilarious. She’ll travel 12 hours in a
car with me wherever I want to go, shoot tequila with me, watch Harry Potter
for the thousandth time, and hang out with my friends. I can borrow her clothes without asking and
use her lipstick without fear of getting herpes (I think…) She’s become my best
friend because, for my whole life, she’s been my biggest advocate. When everyone else had given up on me, she
didn’t. She loved my free spirit and
carried me through the difficult stages and fought for me to hold onto that
fun-loving attitude. It was extremely
important to her. This became evident to
me at a friend’s house one night when I was doing cartwheels while wearing a
dress after several shots of Fireball.
I’d love to tell you I was 19. I
was 32… My husband shook his head and
apologized on my behalf. Mom just laughed
and said "that's my girl." You see, she’s kept her optimism and
hopeful outlook for her high-spirited daughter, even after all these years of
torment. As she watched me cartwheel in
all my glory without a care in the world, she didn’t care that everyone could
see my bright white rear and my fancy underwear. Again, forever the optimist, she was just grateful
that I bothered to wear underwear at all.
She smiled that with everything I had been through in life, I was still
the girl in the mismatched clothes and tutu twirling around the living room,
lost in her own imagination. Life has a way of stealing your innocence.
Mom fought for me to keep my individuality, imagination, and sense of humor
regardless of what life threw at me.
Girls grow up and go through a stage
where they dread realizing they have become their mother. I haven't had
that moment. I am not my mother. My mother is more patient, kind, and tolerant
than any other person I know. I'm not that selfless. In fact, I think we've established by now
that I'm kind of an asshole. And yet she still hangs around.
I’ve tormented her and mocked her
relentlessly and she follows with unlimited patience and humor. We even convinced an entire country club that
she used to be a Playboy bunny. She just
laughed and signed some autographs. It
doesn't matter what I put her through or how hard I’ve pushed her outside of
her comfort zone. She somehow has still remained my biggest fan. So, no, I won't be lucky enough to become my
mother. But she wouldn't want me to be.
You see, I'm as unique as she is. And that's all she's ever wanted for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment