OK, so as you're aware, everyone is free game here. You included. See, Army guys show their love by making fun of you and pointing out your faults. It's the way we bond. For example, if I tell you that you have a funny-shaped head, you're buck-toothed, pigeon toed and knock-kneed with a case of halitosis that makes sewer rats green with envy, chances are we're best buds. If I remind you constantly about how I love your mom, and believe me I LOVE your mom...well you're right up there too. Savvy?
So, my mom (whom is a SAINT by the way!) is named Rosalinda. Yeah, beautiful rose en espanol. I've seen pictures when she fit that very description too. In fact while I was growing up she was always in some young women's leadership capacity and they were CONSTANTLY going on and on about how great she was. Of course I was a rebellious young lad and I thought she was the devil incarnate. Oh man, she used to devote ALL day on Saturday to cleaning a bedroom, a bathroom, one of the major rooms to inspection ready quality or we couldnt go out and play. We fought pretty much the majority of my life from 11-18 until I finally joined the Navy where I'd never have to clean against my will again. Unless...of course...you count twice a day EVERY day, shining brightwork (brass), knee-knockers (the bottom of a portal), waxing the floor, and a whole slug of other insanely ridiculous areas like the inside of a drain in a shower. Yeah, Navy people are fanatical when it comes to clean. So the irony hasn't escaped me that in my efforts to leave home, strike out on my own and never devote a Saturday to cleaning again, I actually signed myself up for four years of it. Oh, it's important to note that after surviving life on a ship, whenever I'm ticked off at my family or having a bad day, I naturally pick up a broom, a rag, bleach and whatever else I can to scrub away the frustrations. Sometimes I wonder if Stacey doesnt actually try and make me mad so she ends up with a clean kitchen. Anyhow, if I get nervous or there's a lot going on, like a bunch of ladies talking loudly about piano lessons or singing, or other chick stuff I go into survival mode. It's not to show off, it's just because I can't handle the additional imported insanity.
Oh, so back to mom. Anyhow my mom is a really good woman. She's always impressed me with her testimony of the Gospel. She really is a spiritual woman and I hope I got a little of that from her as well. So, the past few years, she's sorta gone off the deep end. Money is of no consequence when it comes to her grandchildren. She'll dump 350.00 in one afternoon on the girls at what I call the Pit of Dispair, "Justice for Girls". I've seen my girls bring home alarm clocks, calculators, pinwheels, stuffed animals, heck even clothes. Oh, and by the way, the level of quality versus price paid is almost comical. I think I could pick up the same crap at the Dollar Store for 1/15th the cost and have it last twice as long. Years ago I asked my mom and dad to stop flushing that money down the drain on sugar and spice, and instead put it in the 529 plan I started for the kids college. Yeah, not happening. My mom says something to the tune of, "Honey...I'm going to die soon, I want to see them enjoy it. I didnt get to do this with you guys and now I can." Except my dad just shakes his head because he retired last year and put her on a budgetary diet which she continually refuses to even acknowledge.
Oh, so my mom also tells the same ten stories, almost verbadem on a constant loop. Our favorite one is, "I love salad. I've always loved salad, dont you remember? Even when you were little I loved salad." Other's include fights she's had in the past 10 months with coworkers over trying to set up her obviously bitchy coworker with some successful dude from the former Eastern Block who's an engineer and loves florescent lighting and Jedi toys. Oh, others include the less often told, "Son, you remind me of that guy, from that show, 'Walks in the Clouds'? He's so noble. You'd do that." So, of course the hackles on my neck stand up because I know she means, "A Walk in the Clouds" and she's talking about that surfer idiot douche Kianu Reeves. Yeah, I spelled his name wrong, so what of it? I love him in that movie...where he plays that guy...Kianno Reeves? You know the one? Where he's like, "Whooaaaa!". That's a good one. Anyhow I just nod my head and look over at the kids, or Stacey and smile because I've heard this not less than ten thousand times.
She really is a sweet woman. But dont let that fool you. She's as manipulative as they come. She intentionally waits until the most insane part of the afternoon, where the T.V. is blaring, the kids are fighting, Stacey is teaching piano lessons and the phone is ringing and the Farmer's Insurance idiot is standing on the porch to ask. She'll ask you things like, "Son...can Lexi go with me to run some errands? I'm only going to go for about an hour?" So of course she says this so Isabelle can hear. So Isabelle starts into a tirade, and my mom says, "No honey, your dad will only let me take one of you at a time because he thinks I can't keep track of you and I'm not a very good driver." So of course I look over in total disbelief. Mostly because she IS a horrible driver, but because she uses the whole, unspoken, "Your father, whom I raised to be a great man, still thinks I can't do the simplest tasks."
Well let me tell you why I think so. The other day, she called Stacey in a panic. Because she'd parked her car..wait for it...in the parking lot of the liquor store on 90th South. Wait, it gets better, she was late for a baby shower, up in Odgen, and was meeting someone to ride up with, whom she had never met. Oh, it gets better. She parked in the 30 minute parking and left her car running. With the lights on signalling to all ne'r do-wells to just come get the car already. So, she actually LEAVES the car unattended, and calls Stacey, because she cant REMEMBER my dad's number! So my wife calls my dad, whom had Josh at the gun show (no really) and they drive over. What they find, is that the car is in fact running, the lights are in fact on, and yes, the PASSENGER door is locked, but if one were to walk say...around to the DRIVER'S side? Yeah, unlocked. I've got a million of these stories.
I love her of course, but I know anytime she wants to go to one of the kids soccer or football game, that I will give up my chair (she wont bring one of her own) she'll show up 28 minutes late, and she'll be lost and try to walk across two fields regardless of games in play in ridiculously tall sandals that just plain suck in grass. Oh, then after she gets there, PROBABLY carrying my brother's idiot squash-faced dog, she'll say, "Honey? Jon, do you have any cash? I need a drink and all I have is my card." Which by the way is in her bra just to unnerve any clerk that she hands it to nonchalantly. I of course look at her, in total disbelief, for the 567th time, that she even ask if I had cash. I've been married for 14 years now. WHY in heaven's name, would you ASSUME I had even a dollar in cash? If I had eleven bucks my wife and kids would smell it the moment we got near a vendor and it would be gone instantly. (Case in point).
But I do love her, she is my mom. She's sweet and about as blonde as a mexican lady can get. She hates being in the sun, because somehow she wants to fool the world into believing she's a very dark-skinned Italian and not a Mexican which she doesnt seem overly proud of.
So here's the good part. She's incredibly giving. To a fault at times. She'll turn the other cheek over and over and over and allow herself to be walked over, and used and be genuinely surprised when it turns out exactly like you warned her it would. She's a good lady, she's genuine, and she's giving to my children. She drives my dad insane, but he seems to love her not just inspite of, but even because of her idiosyncresies. (Spell check that).
Anyhow, I kid around because I love my mom. She is a challenge at times and she loves to turn my house upside down and then leave once the eye of the storm is upon us. She loves drama, and she loves kinetic energy. I think that growing up with 12 brothers and sisters in a 3 bedroom home would do that to you. She's most at home with an entire house full of people talking and noone listening.
Alright kids, I gotta thing in the morning that pays for all these lavish furnishings so I better close.
All the best to you and I hope you have a fantastic night and day. Hug your ma next time you see her or I will. (Your ma, not mine. ;) ) Do what you can the best you can and warmest regards your general direction.
Always,
J
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