I Can Always Depend on My Momma.
Jul 14, 2009 Family
I wrote about my dad a couple of weeks ago. Funny story, I didn’t think to mention it to him. Not because I was hiding it or whatever … but because I just didn’t think that it really mattered to him that much. This could put our relationship in a nutshell. We both spend a great deal of our relationship fighting the fact that we adore one another. I don’t know why. We just do.
I also didn’t post a pic of him in my last blog. I bet he would shit a big fat brick if he knew I was about to post one right now. Heh.
Nah. I won’t piss him off like that. 10 years ago… maybe.
Anyway, with a dad blog comes a mom one too. I have thought a lot about what I might write about my mom. As I have gotten older, I find more similarities with her than my dad. I remember always hearing “you are just like your dad” when I was growing up. I am, but there are a great deal of things that are my mom.
1) The look. When we were growing up and we were fucking up, all my mom had to do was look at us and we knew we better shut the fuck up or it was on.
2) Road rage. Not so much anymore (for her) but I remember several times when my mom would practically fly through the window at someone.
Like this one time when we were on our way to school and this dumb bitch in a mini-van cut my mom off. There my mom was, screaming at this broad, tailgating her until we both stopped in front of “The Crash” (the smoking spot at my school) and proceeded to rush the drivers side, open the door and all you could see was my mom from the shoulders down. Her head and neck were inside the car, telling her alllllllllllllllllll about herself. Then she got in the car, smiled and asked me not to tell my father about the incident.
If I wasn’t sooooooooo stoned… I would have been mortified. Instead I was laughing my ass off.
Pretty sure I told him.
3) Sappy-ness. My mom is a crier. I am a crier. And it is worse now that I am older.
4) Lack of a filter. I think this comes from both of my parents… but specifically my mom. She will tell a bitch to fuck herself with a smile on her face.
My mom and I are friends. But she is my mom. It isn’t the mom-daughter friendship where the line of respect fades with time. I know my role. Dont get me wrong, I push buttons. I always have and I always will. But, I respect my mom for the fact that she brought me into this world. (she may say she can ‘take me out’ but she is a damn lie) I love that she always tells me the truth. I respect that when she has advice, it not only comes from the heart… it comes from experience. I love that I can trust my mom, and that I have built this trust with her that she trusts me back. It wasn’t always that way, and I would say that the worst feeling in the world was to have my mom tell me that she didn’t believe me.
I reach to her when I need to cry.
She knows that I am a good mom, and offers advice when she thinks that I need it. NOT to simply hear herself speak.
My mom respects my choices as a parent.
I know that she would defend me if she truly believed that I was innocent, and she would still love me if she knew that I wasn’t.
My mom eats her steak well done. Like, beef jerky well done. And she smothers that shit in ketchup.
She used to eat her food on a lazy susan. none of it could mix or touch.
My mom used to model.
She falls asleep when she watches movies. 98% of the time.
She has a weird infatuation with Rod Stewart.
She L O V E S her grandkids. Like groovy kind of love styles. And her son in law.
She always calls me Charlie Brown. <-- no clue why.
My favorite memory with my mom was when she met me in San Diego and rode the carrier back up to Seattle. She roughed it (with a lot of anti-nausea medicine) just like we did, flirted with the Chiefs in the galley… and wooed them with her famous potato salad. For the next year after she rode the ship, my Chiefs bugged me about my mom, trying to get her secret recipe to either have me make the potato salad or so they could have their wives do it . (They also dug her tits I am sure). I couldn’t believe that she came and spent that time with me. Not because she was a non-engaged mom or anything, but because 1) she hates flying 2) she gets motion sickness and 3) her and my dad rarely spend more than 24 hours apart.
That is the other thing about my mom … my parents … they are the most devoted people to each other. I haven’t met another couple who truly love the way they do. They compliment each other. There weren’t always rainbows and butterflies either. They have fought to have the deep connection that they do today. That depth that people fall asleep and dream about. The same depth that I fight for on a daily basis with D.
My dad had what my parents are. My mom did not. She grew up in a broken home with several step fathers. Her example of what a healthy relationship should look like was like night and day to what my father had with my Nana and Papa. My dad really committed to what he knew was what marriage was, and held my mom accountable for it, every step of the way. She is such a strong woman, and I think that she owes a lot of that strength to my dad. Not because he controlled her or whatever… but because he didn’t give her the opportunity to walk away.
I respect their marriage a great deal because of that fact.
My mom is one of my hero’s. She is a wonderful, feisty, honest woman and if I can be half as wonderful as she is… I would be content with it. I don’t know what I would do without her.
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Oh. And. Heh. Yeah. I still love to irk his ASS at every opportunity.
Anything about my mom you would like to know more about?
Do you have a special mommy memory? (doesn’t have to be about your real mom… sudo moms are perfectly acceptable)
What flavor of ice cream would you be?
