One of my minions decided that today she needed to scream or be in my arms or both. I'm tired but I'm trying to write something everyday so this will be quick.
Mosquitoes love me, I picked up that little genetic tic from my mother. They would pester my mother so much that one time she killed one and put it on a post-it note. Of course the note had a message on it: Let this be a lesson to the rest of you.
She would get greeting cards and cut them up into boxes. Picture a box a little bit smaller than a greeting card, the top was the lid the back was the bottom. She was getting really good at this and then her mother sent her a birthday card. My mother cut it, folded it, and then sent it back to her mother. Evidently, my grandmother thought that wasn't a very nice thing to do.
My mother was angry when I got my first job in a topless bar (waiting tables at LaBare), she eventually stopped giving me grief about working there.
I'm an atheist but I was raised Roman Catholic because of my Roman Catholic Italian mother. She took so much joy in telling me that her grandchildren were little angels come down from heaven, especially when said angel was being a little devil. I know more about the bible than your typical person so I mentioned that Satan was an angel also. She put on her MOM face and let me know in no uncertain terms that I was not to speak of her grandchildren in that way.
I remember getting home from work some night in the wee hours and my mother is awake and their is blood on her face. All I could think of was: Great, mom killed dad. She actually had a bloody nose caused by her asthma. Dad actually said that if he ever hit her he probably just wouldn't wake up the next morning. I don't think my father was afraid of her but he didn't want to anger her needlessly.
My mother was a big believer in creative punishments, when I was about 14 I did something wrong and was caught. I figured it didn't mean much, the punishment would probably be a grounding and I had to stay in my room during it. Nope. She actually told me that it was useless to ground me because I had books to read. Her punishment was $20. I had to give it to her. I was 14, I had a job, in the summer I had two jobs; I was 14 and $20 was a lot of money. I resolved to not get caught again because the punishment was so high.
For the longest time I thought that the BR abbreviation on the oven was for burn. That's how my mother cooked, get home at 5:30, throw something in the oven and put it on burn. Years later I found out it meant broil.
When I first started working at the hotel we had meatloaf on the lunch buffet. I called her and told her there is something on the buffet that we call meatloaf but it can't be; it's juicy, not burned or overcooked, you can taste the beef, and I don't think they put anything in to stretch the meat. She laughed and offered to come up and teach our chef how to make meatloaf.
My parents used to do auctions. At one auction I was driving my mother crazy. She gave me some busywork to do; take this cash, sit under the table, and write down on this paper how much money there is. I was about nine or ten, I counted over $10,000, I just remember a sheet of legal paper with numbers all over it. That would have been an Indian jewelry auction. My father would do charity auctions in his later years and my mother would always keep track of how much he sold, just so he could brag about how much he helped the charity or nonprofit make.
Some people try to be a velvet glove on a fist of iron. Not my mother, she was the not too fancy cotton glove over the fist of don't make me get angry with you.
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