I was going to write something up on Sunday about how amazing my mom is and how much she means to me. That will still happen because my Ma is kind of awesome and deserves to be glorified and all that crap. But, I’m seeing this weekend as a golden opportunity to write three different posts about my mother. It’ll be fun. You’ll learn things about her that you might not know. And I never, EVER, pass up the chance to tease my mother. She deserves it. Growing up she was AWFUL to me. I mean, really awful. I don’t know how I survived all these years.
Have you ever seen my mother and I together? We look alike. Not just a little either. People can look at me and know that I’m Leanne’s daughter. I’ve heard “Oh you’re Leanne’s daughter!” more times than I can count. And while we are very similar, we’re also very different. For example? I’m not crazy like she is. My mom is INSANE. And now I’ll explain to all of you just how nuts she really is.
Socks on the floor turn my mother into a raging lunatic.
It’s true. The only thing that upsets my mother more than socks on the floor are towels in a closet. If you ever want to see my mother turn beat red and start screaming a string of obscenities that would make a sailor blush, leave your socks on the floor for a few days. She screams and shouts and hollers and makes you fear for your very life. Honestly, I thought I was going to die a time or two. She’s scary.
She likes my friends more than me.
How messed up is that?! My mother has a history of preferring my friends over me. Recently she’s been siding with a certain friend named Justin. Clearly this is proof that my mother is insane because everyone knows I’m infinitely cooler than Justin and much prettier too. Past preferences included my friends Lorne, Beth and Liz. I maintain I’m cooler than all of them.
She wanted to name me Dagmar.
Isn’t that reason enough for the State to take me away? It should’ve been. Let’s all take a moment to thank my grandfather for stepping in and stopping her. Instead she named me Katrina which would prove to be just as annoying later in life. My mother shouldn’t be allowed to name things. Ever. And what the hell kind of person wants to name their daughter Dagmar? That’s the postal worker on Sims! She’s evil and insane, that mother of mine.
She painted our house purple.
It’s true. Until recently we had a purple house. Totally my mother’s idea. She’ll tell you that it wasn’t purple it was ‘Autumn Dusk’. Sorry, Ma. Purple is purple. And it really clashed with the three foot tall orange Dala horse she hand painted on the garage door. No, she’s not color blind. She’s just INSANE.
Her wardrobe. Period.
Last year we cleaned out on of her closets. It wasn’t pretty. I had to fight with her over several garments. Also? She still rocks shoulder pads. To be fair, the wardrobe is improving, but sometimes she still wears things that make me cringe.
She can go from happy to CRAZY!INSANE!RAGEY! in a matter of 10 seconds.
It’s true. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve also caused it on several occasions, but that’s not the point. The woman is a ticking time bomb of rage. It’s best to stay ten feet back from her at all times.
In all honesty, I love my mother. I love that she puts up with my shit. I love that she doesn’t bitch (too much) when I tease her and I love that at 59 years old, she’s trying to develop a sense of humor. She doesn’t have one, but she’s working really hard at it.
So, Ma? I love you. Thanks for having me. And keeping me. And not killing me when I was a brat. And giving me rides sometimes. Oh and most of all? Thanks for not calling to yell at me after I post this for all of the internet to see. You’re the best.
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