Your Mom Won't Stop Calling Me

I get the the inkling to blog a lot lately. I just can’t find much time. I technically have no excuse since many people have actual jobs they go to. I do not. I have only one tot. I am here. I am still alive, although, I’m threatening to take drastic measures if I don’t get my Christmas shopping done this weekend as well as find a super-duper lotion to help my hands. Cracked and bleeding is so not a good look for me.

Christmas is creeping up; I swear it was Thanksgiving just yesterday. We haven’t really got into the spirit too much over here as we’ve been very busy painting and cleaning our basement. I don’t think normal people decide to do this two weeks prior to the holidays…Ha! We aren’t normal! This is not a revelation. It’s a fact, people. My stress level is high. I don’t like messes. I hate disorganization and I definitely do not like clutter. But, the end is near and Bread will be off from work for nearly two weeks! Vacation, all I ever wanted…

Obviously, this holiday season is sad for us because it will be the first without the Greatest Man Ever. We’re trying to carry on. He wouldn’t want us all mopey and depressed. So, we shall have a beer or two or three in honor of him. It won’t, however, be a Busch Light. Sorry, Grampy, your choice of beer makes me retch. That’s okay because I never found it offensive that you didn’t like guacamole or lasagna.

Things make me laugh on a daily basis. My child is probably on the top of that list for obvious reasons. She’s so smart, a genius perhaps. I know I am supposed to say this because she is my offspring but I’m a firm believer in telling the truth, even if it hurts. The kid is definitely the next Albert Einstein, for shizzle. Do people still say that? I am doubtful. My level of “cool” has seriously gone downhill. In fact, my friend called for fashion advice this afternoon. I laughed and then divulged I was wearing cropped Yoga pants, a miss-matched tank and t-shirt (teal and green) and a pink hoodie complete with a stain from lunch. Yes, I am a regular Kate Moss- trendsetting, beotch.

Oh! I’m a bit off topic. Was there a topic? Is there a point to this nonsense, you ask? Of course, er, I suppose…No! No! I remember! Bird is funny. Yes! That’s it. So, why is she funny? Well, somewhere, once upon a drunken evening or two (not only am I fashionable, I’m also an alcoholic-stellar role model), the friends and I started in with mom jokes. It started as your mom called. It has progressed for months now with random phone calls, texts and jokes back and forth about mom calling. Sometimes she just calls. Other times she calls for a reason-to say it’s cold and to wear a sweater, to tell someone congrats on a getting a high-paid job, to mention the need for more beer. Mom is a smart lady, amongst friends she’s “calling” a lot. The joke has yet to get old. One night, for whatever reason, one adult amongst us did not understand this joke. Joe, a friend of a friend’s husband, couldn’t fathom why his mom was calling me. Sometimes people just don’t get it.

Bird has picked up on the whole mom-calling shenanigan. One day last week, she picked up my cell, handed it to me and said, “Mumma, your mom called.” That was it. I was alone with her and, of course, burst out laughing. A couple days later over dinner, she looked Bread in the eyes, smiled and said, “Daddy, your mom called and she wants some roast beast,” (as in roast beast from The Grinch Stole Christmas if you are not familiar). Again, mass laughter ensued. Later that week, while riding in the car, I looked in my rear view mirror and informed her that her mom had, indeed, rung. She replied with, “No she didn’t. She just hung up.”

I was telling my friend, Claire, this story and she politely, and rather brilliantly, informed me that my tot, was indeed a genius because, “she got it and Joe, twenty-something didn’t.” Yes! Yes! You’re right! She gets it. Merry Christmas! My three-year-old is smarter than your husband, asshole. I’m having a bumper sticker printed.