How does one describe their mother? I've been thinking about it for the majority of my day and I'm still having a hard time coming up with the answer. Can any explanation really give your mother justice? Does the statement 'pick three describing words' tell anyone about the time she almost beat up a foreigner in a Subway over some napkins and a skinned knee?
Perhaps an ode or poem can capture the way she fell in love with a Celine Dion CD when I was sixteen and played it incessantly until I realized that perhaps going away to college the next year didn't sound like such a terrible idea after all?
No, no. Instead I said the first thing that came to my mind. "My mother is a Hit the Bricks kind of lady" to which my coworker asked, "like...she's on the run from something?" Befuddled I took a second and came back with, "I'm sorry, I thought that phrase meant Get out of my way before I hit you with this Brick. That's a more appropriate representation of my mother."
ERRRR let's try this again. This is my mother:
I won't even go into how much more she loves that dog than anyone else in my family. Really, it's a whole new level of bitter I'm coming to terms with.
I guess the best way to describe the aforementioned woman is, maybe, failure is not an option? Is that a description of a person? Because I mean it in many different ways, this being one of them:
My mom has this friend at work with terrible kids. Two teenage daughters that are relentless in their terrible habits and shenanigans and the eldest so outrageously slutty that she got her cell phone taken away for sending pictures of her bits and pieces (yes THOSE bits and pieces) to boys via text and THEN when she couldn't get her correspondence done any longer with her newly confiscated piece of technology she took HER MOTHER'S phone in an act of retaliation...took a picture of her ass in a thong and sent it to everybody with a penis that she knew. THAT kind of horrible. Perhaps you have a kid and they never clean their room or have a bad nose picking habit or what not and you might say to yourself regularly, "lordy my child is plum awful" but that would be nothing...that would PALE in comparison to this woman's whore hounds.
And so my mother turns to me after telling me this story and simply says (cocktail in hand, mind you):
"At that point I would realize I had failed as a mother. And I hate failing. It would be so upsetting to me that I would drag you all into one room with no windows and explain to you that I'm really sorry that this didn't work out, that I didn't do better or whatever and gas all of us. Me for failing and you all so that you never reproduce and create others stupider than yourselves."
That is what I mean by the idea If My Mother Were A Phrase she would be "Failure is not an Option". Because if she did fail she would clear out the evidence or rid herself entirely so she'd never have to hear about it.
If she were a drink she'd be Vodka and Club Soda with a twist of lemon. If she were a song she'd be something that began with The Platters, ended with Lil Wayne and met in the middle with our friends Celine and Shania. If she were a book she'd be 101 Bathroom Jokes for Friends and if she were a movie she'd be the kind that you cried really hard during but ended with a terrible joke that made the entire emotional ordeal well worth it.
She's really obscene. Really loud at inappropriate moments. Really drunk occasionally and really hates hugging but will hold your hair if you're puking even though she'll tell you the entire time she really hates that as well and might remind you about that time she did what she really hated because she loves you JUST THAT MUCH over and over again once you're feeling better. She's really a survivor. Above all, she's real.
And if she were a color? Something like rust; like a combination of dirt from working and longevity and being worn down but relentlessly holding on. She teaches me daily Failure is Not an Option. It will get better. Do not give up and when it gets really hard, please meet me in the kitchen so I can tell you the words again out loud with a much needed glass of wine.
Perhaps this was an Ode to My Mom. In hopes that one day, she never has to gas me.
I love you mom.
