Winter is LONG Gone and Spring is Almost Ovah!

Well, it appears that my attempts at blogging on a regular basis have failed. Not failed miserably, I actually failed quite well! Finally, something I can brag about! I don't know how to blog regularly. Does this mean I'm blog constipated? What clears up a blog clog? Spouting obscenities about work, family, neighbors, life, politics....you name it? Braggin' on and on about the adorable grandkids we have? Bitching about the economy? What good would THAT do? Not only would I continue to be blog clogged, I'd have a migraine, too.

So, I'm going to talk about Mothers. It's approaching Mother's Day and I've known some real Mutha's in my day. My own was a piece of work--drunk most of the time, but I didn't realize that until I was a teenager. I thought ALL mothers smelled of beer when you came home from school! Beer and cigarettes. Eau de Trailer Park, no offense to those friends that I have that LIVE in mobile home parks. What a shame when my Dad and Mom would get all dressed up on a Saturday night to drive to "The City" for a play or a musical. I remember them bragging about seeing this unbelievable actress and singer named Eartha Kitt. She was in a play in SF and my parents couldn't stop talking about her for months. Of course, my mother's speech was a little more SLURRED than my dad's...

And the fights they would have! I remember one particular fight they had when I was in first grade. We lived in Mountain View in a middle class white neighborhood. Mom, Dad and three kids--the perfect family. But one night, Mom and Dad had been drinking and bickering all evening and then all hell broke loose. I remember hearing the sound of skin against skin when my Mom slapped my Dad across the face. I ran into the kitchen and saw my Dad pin my Mom against the refrigerator. I was horrified and yelled and hit him with my pudgy little hands. He stopped immediately and I never saw him put his hands on my mother in anger ever again.

But my Mom was only going to use that as ammunition. She was a vindictive bitch. She would hold a grudge until she died and believe me, she took a lot of those to her grave when she died nearly 5 years ago. She loved some people a LOT, as long as she could control them. That's it. That was the key. Hand all control of your life over to her you can live in her world.

Being the hardassed bitch I am (the old apple doesn't fall far from the tree crap), I decided to wait her out. And guess what? I won! I showed her! She DIED! HA! So there!

And now I have this legacy called grandkids and what do I do? Do I tell them wonderful stories about their great-grandmother who baked wonderful things in her magic oven? Do I try to explain about the savory meals she would make for us when she wasn't drunk? Holiday dinners when the good china was brought out and the sterling silver dinnerware was polished and used? The trips to Disneyland and Knotts Berry Farm and to a stream up in the Santa Cruz mountains that had been dammed up to make a pool with a slide dumping you into the coldest water you will EVER feel in your life? My Mom playing bike tag with the kids on the street until she got her toe caught in the spokes of the wheel and broke her toe? How do I explain the changes in her when my parents got divorced and her neurosis got worse? The multiple times she "attempted" to commit suicide in front of us--scaring us out of our minds when there was really no danger at all...she just wanted attention from anyone she could reach out to. How she became this bitter old woman who would pretend to love you but didn't know the meaning of love. How my warm, caring sister tells me that it's such a relief that she doesn't have to call Mom on Sunday's any more and lsiten to all of the horrible guilt trips she would put on her.

And what kind of Mother did SHE make ME? I hope my daughter knows that I love her today as I always have--the only way I KNOW how to love her---with all of my heart. I wasn't a terrific mother. I wasn't the mother I wanted to be. But I was young, didn't have a good role model for a mother unless you counted Doris Day. So I did the best I could with what I had. I think I was a good mother. Not great, but a solid C.

And now, a few days before Mother's Day, I wish all of you Mothers out there a happy day. Take a day off from yelling at the kids, slapping upside their heads and threatening to kill them. Instead, take a deep breath, hold them tight and tell them you love them. And MEAN it.