13 May 2007

~*~ Happy Mother's Day ~*~

Ahh, yes. Another "holiday." Another day to spend with family. Wait, my oldest girl is working today, my youngest girl is chatting and playing games with her friends, and my baby boy is in Kentucky with his father and probably won't remember to call his poor, old, decrepit mother who spewed him forth, gave him life, nursed him through all the hurts (if it ain't bleedin', broke, or hangin' funny I don't want to hear about it,) and watches out for him to make sure he knows that none of those evil little wenches he calls "girlfriends" are good enough for him. *sigh* heh. Motherhood is soooo much fun. Where else can you apply guilt with a smile and receive love?

My kids are fun. I didn't used to think this. 3 kids 3 1/2 years apart to a young, single mom is not "fun." 3 kids 3 1/2 years apart who are teens and almost old enough to be on their own, now THEY'RE fun.

My oldest (girl) loves to banter with me. She thinks she's cool. She's pretty, street-smart, and motivated. So of course, she's 30 and knows it all. And for the most part, I let her believe it. She'll find out soon enough, and I'll be there. She's Miss Independent, who still calls me "momma." And calls me when she leaks gas onto the sensor in her tank and the car's anti theft system won't let her start it. (um, yea, she is also blonde.) She will ask my advice, not follow it, then laugh as she tries to be pissed when she tells me she hates that I'm ALWAYS right. *giggle* I don't even argue with her anymore.

My youngest girl (middle child) is every bit the smartass I was at her age. And has the brains to back it up. She, by far, is the one who shares my wicked, warped sense of humor. Little Miss 4.0 is fun. Case in point: We were on our way home one Friday night, decided we were in the mood for a burger (not McYuk's or Bleh King) so we stop at this local restaurant in town that has good burgers. Lots of them, in a BAG. Oh, the travesty of having to sit beside your mother in the Jeep while she's barely coherent ordering a bag of burgers. Seriously, you say it. "I'd like a bag of burgers please." (I'm barely able to type this as I'm remembering it.) Who the hell sells a BAG of BURGERS? So after I start laughing hysterically, she leans over and finishes the order while I try to contain myself. Rather unsuccessfully. I cannot believe I'm the only one in town who can't order a "bag of burgers" without crackin' up. And THEN, we are at the local video store picking out a couple movies for the weekend. I haven't had dish or cable for almost six months, can only watch so many taped episodes of Law & Order (although they are the best) and I figure I'll figure out how to pay the electric next week. So we're at the counter to pay, and of course, they have all the theater munchies around. I ask her if she wants something, and she's looking around, trying to decide. Then I spy it; the jar on the counter with hermetically sealed pickles. Oh this is too good. Her nickname is Pickle. She once ate an entire jar of pickles (at 3) by herself. So I nudged her, and said, "Hey, there ya go," wiggled my eyebrows at her, and waited. She looks at the jar, back at me, and in the perfect comedic timing that is our curse and blessing, she gives me a sardonic look and says, "Yuuuck. A pickle in a package?" To which we're both reminded of the "bag of burgers" incident a couple weeks ago, and she just shakes her head and turns away, because she knows she's about to see mom lose it in front of the cashier again. I, however, maintain some composure as I see they are accepting applications for part-time work and I don't want to completely blow my chances by unleashing the sense of humor too soon. Yes, you may have had to have been there, but really, SAY it.
I'd like a bag of burgers. And a pickle in a package. See? It's killer.

And there's my son; my only boy; the one who is getting his "big boy" voice, and developing the normal, unhealthy interest in "girls." *sigh* (Please God, just get him through school without a drug habit or knocking up some stupid hillbilly slut.) Ok, I KNOW, I have hillbilly roots, but I'm not stupid and I'm not a slut. I KNOW what those little kentucky hill girls will do... and we're not going there because Mother's Day is supposed to be HAPPY. *sniff*

Anyhow, today I'll talk to my sister-in-law, discuss my precious niece and nephews, and hear how my brother has managed to piss her off in his unintentional, good-natured way. :) Then I'll talk to my mom, probably for several hours as we recall the past, and all the cool things that we went through when we were younger. She'll remind me to start taking lots of calcium now, and get myself back into shape because it helps with the arthritis that plagues our family. Then she'll tell me she loves me (as will I) and she'll say good night, because we don't say goodbye. Love ya ma. Yea, I'm 29 *cough* and I still call her ma. So?

So happy Mother's Day to all ya'll mothers; may it be a day filled with happy memories.

Maybe I'll get a card; maybe a surprise; maybe not. I know my kids love me. And in the end, isn't that better than anything else?

Well, except maybe for a bag of burgers and a pickle in a package... ;)

Miss B

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