Mother said, "No."

Growing up, my mother was politically liberal, opposing my father's conservative bent, but raised us in a home with routine, structure and emphasized the importance of being considerate and kind to others. In hindsight, my borderline-hippie mother was very old fashioned in her parenting style. I'm thankful.

I'm a day late with my tribute-to-Mom post. There are many fabulous "Mother" stories to share, but I thought the following captures her well...

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I was home from college for a visit when I was 19 or 20. Even though I had no curfew while I was at school, Mother imposed one when I was home. She said she worried and that I would understand some day. Sometimes my curfew was midnight, sometimes it was 1:00 AM, but there was always a time I was to be home. I also had to give her an itinerary. She never checked, and we both knew I often fabricated where I would be, because going out with friends was just that...going out. We didn't always know where the soiree would be happening, until we got there.

One night I drank too much at a party. I spent the last two hours prior to curfew hugging a toilet in someone's apartment while strange guys peed in the bathtub behind me. A good friend held my hair and assured me, no one "noticed" I was so sick. The same good friend called my mother at midnight and politely told her I wasn't feeling well and we'd better spend the night at the apartment. Mother said, "No." She told my friend, I need to speak to Chrisy. Now.

"Moh-hom, I'm sick. I can't get in a car. I'll die."

"You won't die. Either [your friend] brings you home, or I'm coming to get you."

My friend drove me home because she was afraid of Mom. Mother was waiting in the driveway in her bathrobe. She gave my friend a dirty look, like it was her fault somehow that I was an idiot, and helped me into the house.

It was a long night. I threw-up in my bathroom and in the bowl Mom left by my bed. I moaned and groaned and made promises to God I swore I'd never break...but did. Early the next morning, Mother came in my room.

"Does Dad know?" I asked.

"No. But I don't know how we can hide this. Was it worth it? Was. it. worth. it. CHRISTINA?!"

I cried and said no, and told her how terrible I felt. She toggled between trying to help me feel better by being a good nurse, and scolding me. One moment she was placing her hand on my forehead, offering me water and ice chips, asking if I was ready for a little toast and aspirin, all in a soft, compassionate voice. Then, she'd furrow her brow and speak sternly, What were you thinking? Does this feel gooood? Does it? Do you realize what could happen to you? Anybody could take advantage of you. Anybody. Jesus.

Back and forth—compassionate, nursey Mom—then angry, disappointed, what the hell were you girls thinking? Mom.

She was like Shirley MacLaine as she stomped around my room in her bathrobe, shaking her head at me, giving me the business, opening my window because, "We need to get some fresh air in here...honestly, Chrisy." Then on a dime, "Honey, I'm sorry you feel so sick...can I get you ANYthing?" On. Off. Black. White. Anger. Softness. It was classic. It was Mother.

She may have understood my situation more than I realized at the time. I found these pictures of her when she was 19 and in her college dorm room. I'm thinking Grease, a little more Rizzo than Sandy...

 

Mother met Dad one summer while on college break. They married and three years later Mom gave birth to her first child. Me. Marriage and motherhood summoned Mom's inner Sandy...but Rizzo's still there.

 

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

That's Gonna Cost You A Hundred Bucks!

Although I've been blogging for nearly a year, I remain technicologically arrested.  I had visions of posting video and creative photos, changing my blog design and layout, but I haven't taken the time to read the books I've purchased or use online tutorials.  I have a Mac that Chris tells me can create feature films, and I use it like a $500 PC.  Middle Boy's been working in Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop, so I'm hoping this summer he'll teach me how to transfer the ideas in my head to the computer.

This morning I figured out how to get a video clip to Vimeo.  I'm sure there's a faster, simpler way, than the path I took, but I did it!  It's not the most entertaining, interesting or funny video, it's just the clip I was working with and I'm too tired to scan our hours of film for a different one.  But trust me... I will!

The video was taken early last summer on a windy day.  The boys were using a sled as a sail to catch wind and move their wagon up the sidewalk.  They've done this many times before and love it. 

We have path lights that are not kid friendly and snap easily if a running child isn't paying attention and hits one.  They cost between $100 and $200.  We've replaced... several.  We've told the kids many times to please not play near them, and we feel they're old enough now and have heard their father cuss under his breath each time it happens, to understand and manage.  They have plenty of space to play.

I had reminded the boys to be careful and avoid the lights, maybe start their surfing past the lights.  They hit one.  First I laugh, then I go all Joan Crawford on them when I realized it had happened... again.  Just wanted to explain why I was so sharp and demanded "...a hundred bucks!" from my son who was ten-years-old at the time.  For the record... I never collected.

Boys Windsurfing on Sidewalk from Chris Ross on Vimeo.

Like a Training Bra

I was in the orthodontist's waiting room, thinking... Eighteen months?  Do I really want these on for eighteen months?  The Today show was on the television and I half listened to President Obama talk about the swine flu.  yeah, yeah, yeah... the CDC and the WHO don't know what the hell is going on yet...

The women behind the front desk were coiffed and smelled good.  Their voices dripped with the sweetness of saccharin as they spoke to one another.  Look. At. You!  I don't think I've EVER seen you in pink before... Gosh, you look pretty today!  When one woman would turn her focus back to a computer screen or files on a desk, the others would take in every detail of her appearance.  They all took turns participating in the covert operation of sizing each other up.  I stared at their teeth.

I got braces on my teeth last week.  Not Invisalign, but the old fashioned, silver, train track braces.  They're only on my top teeth with plans to add them to my bottom teeth in a month or two.  I've never had braces, nor have my kids, so this is a new experience for me.

I told Mother I had made the decision to get braces a few weeks ago...

Mom:  What's wrong with your teeth?!

I explained.

Mom:  Well... so much for saving money.  I thought you kids were trying to save money.

Me:  We have extra money this year in our tax-free medical spending account, Mom.  If we don't use it, we lose it, so I've figured out a moderate and responsible plan to contribute to the braces without draining the account in case we have an emergency.

Mom:  I still don't see what's wrong with your teeth...

Several of my friends have had braces and a few are wearing permanent retainers.  I've had plenty of people to call upon for encouragement, support and to answer my questions.  I'm comfortable with my decision and after nearly one week, I have no regrets.  Only 77 more weeks to go!

A friend asked me how my mouth was feeling.  The braces had only been on a couple of days.  I told her it was like my first training bra...

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When I was in the fifth grade I wanted a bra so badly.  I didn't need a bra.  At all.  Many of the popular girls were wearing them, so I believed I needed one too.  Mom took me shopping and we bought a training bra.  I loved how when I bent over to reach for something, the back straps were very visible.  I felt like a 35-year-old.  It was awesome!

I didn't wear the bra all the time, just when I wanted to look 35, like when I went to the skating rink on Saturday afternoons to skate.  Boys were there.  Lip gloss?  Check.  Pom-poms for skates?  Check.  Training bra?  Check.  Tight, satiny shirt so bra strap would be visible when I flexed my back?  Check.

Mom and I were going shopping one afternoon.  It was a big deal for the two of us to have a shopping day.  We had to drive from our small town, Winchester, to Muncie [Indiana] so we could shop at a real mall.  We usually dressed up and ate lunch in a restaurant.  I decided to wear the training bra.

Mom:  Chrisy, if you're going to wear the training bra, you need to wear it... all day.

Me:  I will, Mom.

As much as I liked having visible bra straps under my shirt, the training bra irritated me after about an hour.  If I was with Mother, she found a bathroom so I could remove the bra and she would carry it in her purse.

After an hour of shopping on this particular day, I couldn't take it anymore.

Me:  Mom, will you carry my training bra?  It's hurting me.

Mom:  Chrisy!  C'mon, you're fine.

Me:  I can't, Mom.  It's tight and rubs my skin funny.

Mom:  Take it off, but carry it in your own purse.

Me:  My purse is too small...

Mom:  Maybe from now on you shouldn't wear it when we leave the house. [Crushing, because that was the whole point, for THE WORLD to see that I was old enough for and possibly needed a bra.]

She took the bra and I don't think I wore it again for at least a year, maybe two.

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The braces?  Not uncomfortable at all for the first day.  Now?  My mouth is irritated, my teeth hurt, and I'd like my mother to carry them in her purse... for just a few hours.

Image of Darla from "Finding Nemo" courtesy of Google Images.