Do Not Scare A Motha

I was discussing my New Year’s Resolution of “Cereal Tolerance” with my mom the other day.  She excitedly told me she was giving up “her very last addiction!” “Sex?” I asked.  “Eew gross, I gave that up years ago.  I am giving up Nicorette Gum!”  I asked her if I could have the remainder of the box.  She just laughed.  I feel like no one ever takes me seriously.  I am 32 years old and have never smoked a cigarette.  So I do not feel that in my highly vulnerable state it would be asking too much for her to bequeath me the rest of her nicotine gum to try and prevent me from smoking now.

I have since climbed back down from the ledge.  At the time of this conversation, my children had been on leave from day prison for 2 weeks.  I had roller skated, jumped on trampolines, painted pottery, watched the Chipmunk movie, watch the Chipmunk movie again, hosted dinners, celebrated Christmas, cleaned up Christmas, played Barbies, cleaned up puke, negotiated squabbles etc. etc.  I plastered on my game face simply because I am determined to stay in the running for “Mother of the Year 2012” until at least until Feb.  Unfortunately last year, I was disqualified on Jan. 2nd when I went in my closet and screamed the f-word.   

My mom then informed me that my stepdad “scared the living shit” out of her the other night when she was getting home from work.  Apparently she did not see him when she pulled into their dark driveway and he opened her car door to be nice.  She went totally ballistic, called him names that would humble Satan and reignited her fury flame when he stomped off.  I started laughing. 

I reminded her of the time we were sitting on the couch watching a movie when I was about ten and her friend dropped in unexpectedly.  The house was kind of dark and my mom saw a figure walking toward us and like TOTALLY freaked.  Wearing a little, tiny, acid washed jean skirt, she ran up to her friend, screamed, karate chopped her neck and kicked her in the side.  My siblings and I were just sat there motionless, with puzzled expressions on our faces thinking “What the fuck???"  Her friend started crying and said “Well you drop in at my house all the time,” as though my mom just instinctively and indiscriminately attacked anyone that came into the door.

My mom then told me “I have to go Honey. I hope your day gets better but it probably won’t for another 18 years.”  I sat there for a moment pondering my chromosomal fait wondering if these episodes of spontaneous insanity were indicative of my future and I realized OMG, I HAD ACCIDENTALLY ATTACKED MIKE ONCE!!! I.Was.My.Mother! (sans the acid washed jean skirt).  I said things like “Well too bad, people in hell want ice water!” and “You are walking on thin ice young lady!” or “Money doesn’t grow on Mike!”

The day Mike nearly met death, I was giving the girls a bath; the water was running and I was kneeled down over the tub.  Mike came home and I didn’t hear him.  I glanced up and he was standing in the doorway watching us adoringly when I started screaming hysterically and charged him with the ferocity of Martha Stewart discovering a set dirty sheets.  It was weird, I cognitively recognized him as being harmless but my sympathetic nervous system had already sounded an alarm and the adrenaline floodgates opened.  It was on like donkey kong and the bitch was going down.

Mike is considerably larger than me but I still managed to claw his face and get a few swings in before he grabbed a dart gun and tranquilized me.  I felt sort of bad but I realized this primal reaction proved that I had indeed been inducted into the elite sorority of Kappa Gamma Theta Motha.  Vengeance was going to course through my veins for the duration of my existence to ensure that my spawn survived.  And while my children admittedly drive me to the brink of insanity at times, I will unleash a fury that only a mother can understand in order to protect them.  Ask Mike how that worked out for him; skinny white girls should not be underestimated yo.  And if you still don’t believe me, scare my mom.  R.I.P.  XO