Mother's Day Madness

This post is dedicated to my mother, whom I first met at my birth. Mom had three daughters in all, but the other two are duds. Regardless, she and Dad provided us with a happy childhood, and she sacrificed for us her whole life. She even learned to cook well after I moved out of the house. You can’t ask for more. Thanks for everything, Mom! We love you. 

This is what my sons would look like if they were dogs.

When I was a teenager, I saw a mom with a baby in her arms and two active youngsters in tow. Though they were little fireballs of energy, she was totally calm and even looked fabulous. “I want to be like that when I get old,” I thought.

Fast forward 30 years, and I realize I’m nothing like that woman. In fact, I hate her. I’d punch her if I saw her today.

What happened to me? I had dreams of being a cool mom. Someone whose presence creates calmness, who little children enjoy, who peers come to for wisdom. Instead, I’m tense, paranoid (only because everyone is out to get me), and people generally avoid me. Even my dumb friends at the Quickie Mart (shout out to Dodie and Lola) keep their distance, as if I have head lice. Which I don’t anymore.

But my husband said I’m a great mom because I love my kids and have done my best to raise them. It’s true. I’ve raised three wonderful sons who still have all their limbs and several shirts, and I call that a win.

How about you mothers? Are you terrific moms like me? What did you do on Mother’s Day?

I just wanted to relax. I asked my family to take me to my favorite restaurant for dinner. Of course, none of my sons bothered to make reservations, so I had to place the call myself, only to learn the restaurant was fully booked for Mother’s Day. As I hung up the phone disappointed, my eyes shot bullets of rage at my sons. They tried to scatter, but I shoved my youngest child to the ground in a fury (the weakest of the boys thanks to a leg brace) and screamed, “Now you owe me!” 

I told the kids they needed to enter me in a Mother’s Day contest at the local pizzeria to win us one free pizza a week for a year. All they had to do is submit a few sentences saying why I am the best mom ever. 

I've heard that even bears can be mothers.

But Hans and Roberto had a hard time describing me without using words like nag, scream, angry, and condescending. And Raphael had trouble describing me with any words at all, on account of his illiteracy. 

I got fed up with their whining. “Listen, I’ve worked my fingers to the bone for you kids, and I've EARNED that free meal every week, so you'd better think hard if you ever want to eat again!” I threatened. I suggested more positive adjectives, “patient, charming, fun-loving,” but one of my sons read the rules, which said the essays can’t be fictional.

My friend Kibbie suggested I tell the boys to write about the kind of mom they would have liked to have had. She said maybe the kids had trouble writing because sometimes I act demanding and unreasonable. I set her car on fire. Who's unreasonable now, Kibbie? 

Anyhow, somehow the boys were motivated to write. The youngest son ostensibly wrote about me, but I have a sneaky suspicion he was just sucking up to the judges: “My mom is the best mom ever because she is cheesy and thick, like your fresh, delicious pizzas. Every time I think of them, it warms my heart and makes me proud I’m Italian, like you fine pizzeria owners. And that's why I love my mom.” 

The oldest son played to the judges’ sympathies. “My brothers and I are so, so hungry. For the love of God, please let us win this contest. Any food you could spare would be much appreciated.” 

The middle son, Raphael, sat on the sofa and perused his picture book, which kept him occupied the rest of the night.

Still, I realized that if two of my sons racked their brains for several days to come up with such beautiful essays about me, I must be a pretty awesome mom. Now this might have already been obvious to you, gentle reader, but sometimes even I need a reminder how great I am.

Anyway, I hope all you awesome moms out there (but not the lesser moms) had a wonderful Mother’s Day.

Your pal,

Jackie

Groundhog Refuses to Make Winter Prediction

In a move unprecedented in the animal kingdom, Groundhog Puxatawney Phil*  refused to come out of his burrow to tell how many weeks of winter are ahead. “What do you want from me? It’s too damned cold out there,” said the groundhog to reporters he invited to his bedroom in a press conference of the 1969 John Lennon, Yoko Ono peace interview.

Accompanying the groundhog was an unnamed female gopher who smiled coyly and waved to the camera. Puffing on a cigarette and affecting a British accent, Phil explained, “There’s been record-breaking snow and ice all over the freakin’ country. I’m not wandering out there buck naked to tell America what everyone already knows. What if I get frostbite?”

When pressed for a prediction about winter, Phil ranted string of expletives before responding, “Yes, there’s gonna be lots of winter ahead, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to snow so hard that it’s gonna to last all the way till next winter. This might even be the start of the zombie apocalypse,” he said taking a gulp from a bottle of Jim Beam.

Asked if this will be the end of an over hundred–year tradition, the groundhog answered with an emphatic, “Hell yes! You can ask some stupid rodent or dumba## squirrels to look for their shadows, but I’m not doing this anymore. They don’t even pay me every year. The last check bounced.”

The groundhog ended the interview saying he is officially retiring. “As for me and my honey, we’re going to chillax in bed, maybe order some pizza and watch the Super Bowl,” he said. “I’ve got money on the Seahawks.”

*Not to be confused with Pennsylvania native Punxsutawney Phil

Santa's Not Angry -- Why Are You?

Thanksgiving is less than a week away, but I need to talk about something more important. Christmas. The radio stations began playing Christmas music on Nov. 1, and some people have their Christmas lights up already. Bravo, I say. Many people are pooh-poohing these early celebrations. To them I say, what’s your problem? Don’t you like Jesus?

Every year since I started working at the quickie mart, Christmas has been a mad dash and a blur. I didn’t have time to appreciate or have fun because I was running around, checking things off my list. Who wants to run around buying Christmas crap for their kids? You get frustrated and angry with all the dumb people around you in the stores as you wait in long lines, and it’s not unusual to amass a few assault charges here and there. I know my friends Dodie and Muffy have, but that’s not what we should be like. Santa is kind and jolly, not irate, haggard and potentially psychotic – at least not the real Santa who bought me a drink at a bar last week.

Well, on Nov. 1 when I turned on the car radio and heard a snappy Christmas song, the kind you can march to, suddenly - just like the Grinch - my heart grew ten times larger. Well, it wasn’t my heart, it was really my brain. It suddenly dawned on me that I want to enjoy Christmas like I did in the pre-quickie mart days. I want to watch Frosty the Snowman and It’s a Wonderful Life. I want to attend Christmassy things, like concerts, Hanukkah and tree trimmings.

My family agreed with me. We started by decorating the outside of the house early. Our motto is, “Give me liberty or give me death.” So we followed accordingly with inflatables, lights galore and moving reindeer. People stop and stare in admiration. The lights are so bright that it looks like daylight even at midnight. You might think our electric bills skyrocketed, but my sons came up with a great solution – they used extension cords and plugged into our neighbor Ann’s outside outlets. If she's going to enjoy our decorations, she's going to have to chip in and pay for them. So quit whining, Ann!

Done with the outside of our house, I set about decorating the inside and finished by Nov. 10. Now if you walk into my home, you’ll swear you’re at the North Pole or at Wal-mart’s Christmas section. We have Santas, nativities, ornaments, candy canes and lights everywhere. It's downright magical. You can’t even use the restroom without making eye contact with a hundred elves and reindeer.

Other people will soon rush around in a frenzy starting Black Friday, but since my halls are decked, I’m lounging around now enjoying some Christmas cheer, compliments of Croskey’s 24-hour liquor store (open 24 hours a week, that is). I bought most of my Christmas gifts there too – Toys for Tots will be amazed when they see my generous donations.

Anyway, the point is this: you have two choices -- run around like a nut at Christmastime, making it about chores and a to-do list OR you can have fun, help others in need, and spend time with your family and friends. I say choose to enjoy the holidays and make them more meaningful. And please keep the “Christ” and “ristm” in Christmas. But don’t call me. I’m busy.

~ Jackie

Click here to see a Christmas posting from a previous year, Has Christmas Gone to the Wolves?

Back to School Blues

Well everyone, it’s time for school to begin again here in the Midwest. Back east, youngsters start school after Labor Day, but here in the middle of nowhere, they start early so we can do farmy things to the fields and do other things to the cows. I’m not sure what we’re actually supposed to do, and I’m not even sure why I own cows, but I do know that having them makes me fit in.

Some parents are excited about sending their kids back to school. I am not. It sucks for everyone involved. Kids don't like learning and homework. Teachers don't like kids. (I can attest to this. I know a couple teachers personally and they told me they don't like my sons. -- Is it ok that I published that, Connie?) And parents hate the added responsibility. We have to fill out forms, sign papers, look at grades, and attend orientation nights -- all kinds of stuff that cuts into my Seinfeld time. What a burden. Plus with the fall lineup of the new 24, the Mentalist, and the Walking Dead, I have little time to do much else. I might have to quit my job.

I actually have only one son in high school now, Roberto. He has never been a big fan of education, but now that he's beginning his second senior year, he's pretty excited. He's determined to pass his classes this time. He worked hard all summer to save up bribe money for teachers in case his grades dip towards failing. That kid always has a backup plan.

The older two sons just returned to college, which is like a dagger in my heart. I already miss them terribly. They're so much fun. Now, some of you who have met my older sons might be thinking, "What is she drinking? Those boys are no fun at all!" Well, the truth is, I have been drinking.

Then there's the financial aspect of kids moving out that really stinks. Every time you turn around, the boys need money for tuition or the meal plan or weed. I don’t understand. Why does the college charge my kids for weeding the campus? The financial responsibility has become so worrisome that we tried to put the older two up for adoption, but the state says you have to get rid of your kids before they're 18 or you're stuck with them. You people with younger kids, if you were dozing off during this blog, you'd better wake up and reread that last sentence. It could change your life.

Anyway, I am very sad that my little buddies are going back to their own lives. It's not fair! I miss them and the carefree days of summer, but what can you do? Life is all about people leaving you. At least I have Joe. He may not listen to me, talk to me or even like me, but at least he's a warm body in the house. Of course, he's not home at this very moment, but I'm sure he'll venture back. Enjoy the school year everyone.

~ Jackie

P.S. Since Hans is my editor and he has moved out, my blogs will no longer be mildly amusing or grammatically correct. I can’t write good or funny without him. The only one left at home now is Roberto, and he can hardly think. (No offense to cute little Roberto.) So if you want to read something funny from here on out, you'd better just Google it. Have a great weekend!