I've lately been reminiscing about an episode from my childhood that cracks me up. There are several, actually, but I'll send along the rest when the time is right. In honor of what will hopefully be the last snowstorm of the year, on these first two days of spring, I'll tell you this one now.
My mother was a fun one. Well, she still IS a fun one, but I'm talking now about the late 60s/early 70s, when she was still mothering the hell out of us.
A bit of an enigma; both a hardworking woman with her own daycare business bringing in money hand over fist, and yet an extremely shy, sweet, and daffy woman, willing to do anything, go anywhere, and...experiment with new ideas.
When I was about 10 years old, and my sister 8, there was a terrible ice storm in the forecast. Winters were worse then, they really were! While we battoned down the hatches, Mom grumbled at the prospect of chipping an inch of ice off our crappy blue station wagon the next morning.
But! A light bulb turned on in Mother's sweet little head! She would just toss a bedspread over the car... Yeeeees! And in the morning, she would just grab that bedspread, give it a little *flip*, shake it out like a rug, and the car would be clean! Voila!
Bedspread over car, and the ice-storm cameth. Next morning what did we wake up to, but our crappy blue station wagon with an ugly pink chenille bedspread shrink-wrapped around the car with an inch of ice on top.
This was NOT as mother had planned, and we ended up having to wait for the weather to break in order to get the bedspread off the car.
To add insult to injury, my sister and I ran out and snapped all the fringe off the bedspread. Cool! "It just breaks off!" Snap! Click! Crick! with Mom squawking, "You kids stop that! Stop breaking my bedspread!"
It was fringe-less before the thaw.
Isn't it funny how oblivious you are as a kid, but when you look back, you think, "Holy Mother of God, what must the neighbors have thunk?!"
I laugh now, at my daffy Mom. Laugh and laugh and laugh.
This morning I awoke, to find a missed call from my son. He's been gone for a week, and his call came in at 4:30 a.m. I FREAKED out, and called him! There I was, standing in my kitchen in my pajamas, interrogating my groggy kid when he answered his phone: ARE YOU OK? Why did you call me?
He zombied-ly answered that he was fine. He'd just called to see if the door was unlocked; he'd forgotten his key. And Mom, "I'm sleeping."
HaRUMPH! Fine. I get off the phone, and storm 3 feet to the hallway...
Where I get a glimpse of him hanging up his cell phone in his bedroom.
I'd called him in a panic, all the while standing about 10 feet away from him.
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.