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Ode to Mother’s Day

May 13, 2013

I think it would be fair to say that I grew up in a non-traditional family. Maybe I under-estimate the dysfunction of other people’s families but I like to think I survived the chaotic mess that was my childhood where others may have not. I picture myself as this wannabe-pretty tomboy, ratty hand-me-downs and worn out high tops (with triple velcro!) but my hair was always done beautifully and my face was always clean. In this vision, I am buried deep under a pile of messy parenting and bad parental life choices. But I climb my way up (not with any grace or finesse) and reach the top where I receive all 10’s from the judges

who are looking on with their heads shaking in disbelief and wonder. My mother of course would disagree with a bit of that image but I get the feeling she sees herself in the exact same way. So in honors of Mother’s Day…..

I was 14, my mother had just divorced her 3rd husband and was pregnant with my first sibling (on her side anyways) from a boyfriend no longer in the picture. Mom was doing her weekend cleaning routine that always looked more like a “normal family’s” spring cleaning routine. My mother put a lot of energy into making sure our home was picture perfect looking. Constantly cleaning things that didn’t appear to need cleaning, always rearranging/redecorating/editing our home decor. There was never a junk drawer in our house! My mom’s father, just returning from a 10 year estrangement, was in our garage working on our dryer. I don’t think anything was wrong or broken with the dryer but he liked to work on things and the dryer seemed to be his new favorite appliance. It feels like he had been tinkering with it for the last 3 weekends and I was growing bored with this reoccurring weekend.

I was in the garage with my back to my grandfather, air rifle in hand, target shooting random items I could find in the abandoned lot next to our house. I ran out of pellets but continued to pump the rifle and “air” shoot imaginary things from the garage. After what seemed like 30 “air” shots, I decided to pump the rifle as much as I possibly could. I used all the arm strength I could and when that had reached its limit I placed the rifle between my thighs (I have always had what I affectionately call ‘freakishly strong man legs’) and continued to pump the rifle Susan Summers style until I could not physically pump any more. Grandpa began grumbling about our lack of respect for the dryer. Our ‘half-ass’ up-keep schedule that resulted in him finding 8 cents, a rogue sock and something that may have once been a scrunchie was just the hint of imperfection that he needed to remind my mom how much she was failing at life. I turned and aimed for the back of Grandpa’s perfectly round bald head as he knelt down in front of the dryer, digging out ammunition to use against us later.

From the end of the open garage, I stood, perfecting my aim. Carefully squaring up Grandpa’s angry, hateful head in my sight, my mother – 8 months pregnant – walked by me with a load of things that use to decorate our home  and made her way toward the garbage bin.

“Momma, my sight is off. Can I get a real rifle this week? I really want one.”

“Quit hunting your Grandpa and go clean a goddamn room in this house! I swear to God, if you don’t knock this shit off I am going to……”

It was about this time that she had begun what now feels like a slow motion walk back through the garage to return to the inside of the house. She was about 5 feet in front of me. I slowly took aim off of Grandpa’s less annoying head and placed it on her more annoying, bitchy, pregnant butt.

I pulled the trigger

Apparently there was a shell still left in the gun. It was empty on the inside but the outside casing was somehow perfectly lodged in place. All it needed to come loose was someone to pump more air than normal into the rifle. Actually it seems it needed 2 things. Someone to pump a ridiculous amount of air into it, and for that same someone to irresponsibly and inappropriately aim for their very very pregnant mothers butt.

I shot her….in the butt….while she was pregnant….directly AFTER asking for a real gun…

Surprisingly, I did not get beat. Less surprising, I also did not get a real gun.

Happy Mother’s Day 😉


From → 2 Cents

  1. OMG Seriously?! You never get to talk about how annoying your mom is ever again! You SHOT her in the ASS!!!???? That earns her a lifetime of bitchy! Lmao!

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