I Was Wrong, Mom! I Admit It! (Photo credit: shawncampbell)
I used to think my mom was nuts …
I was convinced beyond all shadow of doubt that she was a few bricks shy of a full load and almost certain to have a straitjacket emblazoned with her name on the back of it in her immediate future, that was my view. I was young then. Dumb too. And of course I was wrong.
I’m not saying that I understand all of her statements. Many of them still defy my understanding and probably always will. Just not as many of them. I did puzzle over some of her stranger Momisms every so often during my younger (and dumber) adult years, and so maybe, a few of those musings were fueled by alcohol, I’m pleading the 5th in that category, but they happened most assuredly before I became Duckling’s Mom, oh yes.
Beware the crazed woman on a rant
The best ones were the ones we never saw coming and couldn’t avoid. She would just pounce on us from out of nowhere, using the advantage that we weren’t expecting a surprise attack from such a clearly insane woman to launch into lengthy discourses that subjected us to such topics as what was considered to be ladylike behavior and of course, the direct opposite.
We thought she had Tourettes, from years of extreme parenting…
She held us captive, sucked in by our very fascination over watching this nutty chick who insisted we call her Mom, pacing back and forth in front of us, enthralled by how it seemed as though each and every hair she had was standing on end, pointing in all different directions and waving at us, as she began to filibuster on the myriad ways that we were acting like a bunch of hooligans.
None of her outbursts were brought on by anything that we had done, or at least anything that we had done recently, so far as we could tell. Our conclusion was that parenthood brought insanity, if going by the wild eyed, hair standing on end, crazed woman pacing in front of us was anything to base our hypothesis on. Between the random outbursts that were often accompanied by some really freaky facial twitches, I was convinced that dear ole Mom had some sort of Tourettes Syndrome, brought about from her dwelling in the Momism trenches, and if that were my example, I was opting out of the parenting gig. As in yesterday.
I might have a better understanding now…
Right. And so we return back to the part where I was obviously wrong. Mom isn’t completely bent, just mostly. Why am I bringing this up? Isn’t it obvious by now, if my wild eyes and hair standing on end hasn’t clued you in? I was busted out some of my own Momisms today. By none other than my own mom.
The Dinner Momisms:
- “Do not bring Nerf guns to the table.”
- “Yes, that includes bringing loaded Nerf guns to the table”
- “Shut your mouth and eat!”
- “I never said that pants were optional to dinner, not even close!”
- “Serenading everyone with your personal playlist that starts with ‘I’m Sexy And I Know It’ is definitely not dinner music.”
- “Neither is your rendition of Gangnam Style, so can it!”
Post Dinner Momism Festivities:
- “Do not jump over your grandmothers plants again. It only makes her yell the weird stuff that won’t make sense til you become a parent and maybe not even then.”
- “Did I say you could do a paratrooper jump over her coreopsis because your cousin said you could?”
- “Let me clarify my former statement. Do not jump off that railing, bench, stool, porch, dock, or anything that is elevated 1 foot or higher off the ground. Including all of the above and not to the exclusion of the prone bodies of your cousins who are asking you to do so.”
- “Do not dare your cousin to punch you in the face and then cry about it to me when he does.”
- “The same statement applies to any daring of your cousins to injure any part of your anatomy and you do not have nads to hurt, you have tenders and now you know why they are called tenders.”
- “Just because you drive the golf cart with your grandfather does not make you qualified to drive it by yourself. Anywhere. Give me the keys. The keys. The KEYS!”
- “None of the adults here share the enjoyment you so obviously do, from your inflicting your gastrointestinal fragrance on your cousins.”
Okay Mom, I was wrong. Can we get back to dinner now? Why are you laughing so hard? It’s not funny, my kid is a terror all by himself and adding his cousins to the mix just makes it-sigh. Fine. “You were right, I was wrong. Happy now?”