We're being followed...

Mom:  I'm glad we lost that truck!
Me:  You're insane.
Mom:  I'm not insane.  I watch CSI.  I'm informed.  And Criminal Minds!
Me:  Mom, it's a winding one lane road with no turn offs.
Mom:  You don't know!  Maybe he was following us back to the cabin so he could hurt us!

My mother should not be allowed to watch crime shows--especially before we are scheduled to go live in a cabin in the Ozarks for the weekend.  She gets crazier than a bedbug.

First, there was the truck behind us.  Never mind that it was Diversity Weekend and it was the busiest Eureka Springs ever gets.  She was determined that any vehicle following us was on a mission to rape, rob and murder us in our sleep.

Then, came the paranoia of feeling that we were being watched from the woods.  I thought she was going to have a heart attack when I told her the cabin would be unlocked with the keys on the counter.  She fretted about the possibilities of someone lying in wait in the cabin for us to walk in, resulting in our subsequent rape and murder.  The first thing she did was check every room in the cabin.  Secondly, she turned on every. single. light.  Then, she closed all the curtains so no one could see into the rooms.  She even went so far as to lock the door each time we went to get a bag from the van.  .____.  She also insisted on locking both locks when we left the cabin, fretting the one time I only locked the bottom lock.

Her wretched driving and paranoia aside, we had a great time.  We both had a much needed vacation.  We need to do something like that more often, since Dad has proven himself capable of being left on his onesies for more than a day.

Road Trip

Mom:  You should take Gizmo out to potty.
Me:  Okay.
Mom:  Are you staying in the car?
Me:  I thought I was taking Gizmo to potty.
Mom:  Oh, yeah.

So...Mom and I are taking our first road trip since my cousin Jerry's funeral.  Road trips with Mom are always exciting.  She insists on programming Hilary (the GPS), but she will insist she knows a better route take.  Because of this, I am forced to listen to Hilary calculate our route every time Mom takes a turn Hilary doesn't like. 

Mom is also under the impression that things like stop signs don't apply to her.  And let's not forget roundabouts!  She is the person who gets confused and stops in the middle, not sure  which exit to take.

Needless to say, this road trip should be interesting.  It will probably provide me with material for months.

Must be Chlamydia

I recently spent several hours in the emergency room, and my mom came up to sit with me while I went through a barrage of tests.  I was a bit concerned because the problem seemed to be in my reproductive system.  I only say that to preface the following anecdote:

I was still laying in the hospital bed, waiting for the tests from my ultrasound in hopes that nothing was terribly wrong, and I would be able to go home.  Before the ultrasound, the doctor decided to do some STD screenings to eliminate that as the cause of my symptoms.  I guess Mom had been pondering this, because she was quiet for a while.  Then, out of nowhere:

Mom:  I bet it's Chlamydia.

Me:  Mom!  I do NOT have Chlamydia!!!  I can't believe you would say that!  

Mom:  No!  No!!!  I mean the tests they did!  One of them was probably Chlamydia.  I wasn't saying I thought you HAD Chlamydia.

Me:  Good lord, mom.

Mom:  I'm sorry.  That's not what I meant.

   

Homecoming

Mom and I were returning from lunch one afternoon while I was home for a visit.  As we passed a gentleman meandering down the middle of the road, I sighed and rolled my eyes.

Me:  See?  This is why I hate coming home.
Mom:  Elizabeth Ann, you shouldn't shouldn't say things like that!  This is where you are from.
Me:  I know, and apparently, it is full of toothless losers who get drunk at noon and walk down the middle of the street.
Mom:  (indignant and quite serious)  Maybe he can't afford dental care!  You don't know!
Me:  (laughing so hard I cried)
Mom:  What are you laughing at?!
Me:  You have to know.
Mom:  What?!
Me:  (shaking my head)  I love you, Mom.

Pompeii'd

Mom: What's that stuff you put in your mustache? Pompeii'd 
Me: Pomade, mom. 
Mom: Oh, pomade. 
Me: But I think you mean mustache wax...


I love my mom.

Pigs from 'Nam

Mom:  Gizmo looks like one of those, oh, what do you call them?
Me:  Mogwai?
Mom:  No.  Those Vietnam pigs.  What are they called?
Me:  Vietnamese pot-bellied pigs?
Mom:  Yes!  She looks like one of those.
Me: (Facepalm)

Jaguar or Thunderbird?

Mom:  Ooo...What is that car in front of us?  Is that a Jaguar?
Me:  No, it's a Thunderbird.
Mom:  Well, it could have been a Jaguar.
Me:  Because a Jaguar emblam looks like a bird...
Mom:  I knew it wasn't a Jaguar!  I just didn't know what it was!
Me:  I don't think you did know it wasn't a Jaguar.
(pause)
Me:  This is going on the blog.
Mom:  Shut up.  You shouldn't make fun of your mother.
Me:  You might make me a lot of money one day.
Mom:  I won't make you any money.  I'll probably end up spending all my money on you before I die.


My mother is hilarious.  She doesn't mean to be, she just says things that are ridiculous on a regular basis.  Don't get me wrong.  I'm not disparaging her.  Okay, so maybe I am, but not in a hateful way.  She says things that make me laugh so hard I cry, and I want to share them.  One day, I will look back and this blog and be able to remember how awesome my mother really was and how much fun we had.  I hope you enjoy reading this blog as much as I will enjoy writing it.