Day 045: 5 Random Memories About My Mom
Life doesn’t have an over-arching story, despite my childhood desire to have one. It’s merely a collection of random memories that fire off in your head as you try to develop a timeline or narrative. For my Mom’s birthday, I tried to develop an arc for her life in momlyhood, but I only came up with disjointed memories, flying at me out of order. So I guess the best solution would be to get them down on digital paper. Maybe not the best solution, but a solution regardless. Ahem.
5) I was laying in a bed. Or maybe it was a cot. Or maybe I was on a table. I don’t fully remember getting there. I was at scout camp. We had just played water polo. I looked at my watch and it was…black? I guess that was when I had lost consciousness. And now I’m in the nurses office? I guess? Whoever this “nurse” is, they’re watching a Friday The 13th movie in the other room. I tried my best to not make a noise. Just lay there. If I lay there long enough, the week will be over and I can go back home. Home. It sounded so nice. I could just imagine my Moms voice. Calm and comforting. Wait, I wasn’t imagining her voice. I could actually hear it. She was…outside? The door opened and I leapt up from the bed/table/whatever. This lady. She drove two and a half hours to pick me up and whisk me away from the wretched woods. I had never been so happy to see somebody in my entire life. There’s just something about my Mom. All she has to do is be there and I’m ecstatic.
4) It was my Mom’s 37th birthday. I remember that because it was a Wednesday. I remember it was a Wednesday because I had Catechism class that night. I remember that I had Catechism because I definitely did something wrong in that class. And so on, and so on. I think I called my instructor a big fat liar when she said something that was obviously a lie. It didn’t go over well. On the way home, my Dad gave me the lecture from hell. It’s one thing to get in trouble, but to get in trouble on your Mom’s birthday is a deadly sin that you don’t want to commit. When we got home, my Mom was sitting in the living room. She was wearing a brand new purple B.U.M. Equipment sweatshirt that I’m assuming Aunt Dawn gave her. She was radiant. It looked like she was having a great birthday before I went and ruined it. Before I could even say I was sorry, the tears started flowing. Every bit of anger she had dissipated and she gave me a hug that seemingly lasted forever. I can still feel that hug. No matter how many times I screwed up, she’s always been quick to forgive me. She knew that I was a good kid. Or at least, she thought I was.
3) For this memory, she was in the living room again and I was definitely not a good kid. I was way too stoned to be home. We should’ve driven a few more laps around town. I tried to sneak to the basement undetected, but she called me into the living room. Uh oh. She’s…uhh…mad about something.
“You left all the lights on in the house”
I looked around to see that all the lights are on. “The…lights are on?”
“You could’ve burned the house down!”
Again, I scanned the room. I don’t see any fire, but the lights are awfully bright and I probably reek of smoke, so therefore, I couldn’t smell any smoke if there was any. In the most typical stoner fashion, I responded:
“Uhh…the house is on fire?”
I slunked my head down and sauntered to the basement. That was the most uncomfortable conversation I ever had. At that moment, I vowed to never get stoned again. And I never did. Until the next time I did.
2) I definitely underdressed for a quick run to the bodega. I shuffled as quickly as I could, bought some corn starch and a pack of Skittles and shuffled back to the apartment. Mom was already knee-deep in cooking my favorite dish, Chicken Tetrazzini. When I was younger, I always had dreams about my family doing normal things in a place that wasn’t our house. I guess you could say this was a dream come true. Just a normal family dinner, but in a small Brooklyn apartment. Without her normal cooking space or utensils, she still made a damn good dish. The whole family crammed into the living room, ate dinner and watched a Christmas movie. Rachel and I couldn’t come home for the holidays, so my Mom decided to bring home to us. It was so comforting, strange and strangely comforting. In the year that my Mom’s life seemingly fell apart, I finally came home for Christmas. In the year that my life seemingly fell apart, she did the same for me.
1) I remember that it was a Friday in April of 2003. It was sunny and temperatures were in the 50’s. She drove down State Rd on our way to Blockbuster Video. I was having a rough few months. I never had to tell her that, she just knew. She did little things to subtly try to cheer me up. She got me a new bed, painted my room and cooked way more chicken tetrazzini. I think she was going through it, too. Nicole was on her first year of college and the house just felt…empty. I guess we did what we could to cheer each other up, but I probably could’ve done a better job. In that moment, I thought of my other friend’s moms and how they wouldn’t do those things for them. I was so lucky to have a Mom that wasn’t overbearing or neglectful. She just…cared. And that thought alone made all of my worries dissipate, if just for that one moment. I turned to her and smiled. I felt like I hadn’t smiled in ages. She asked me what was up. I said, “I’m just happy”. She smiled back and we careened down the narrow road into Corunna.
Happy birthday to the best Mom that a 33 year old blogger could ask for!