“Sure, I like cheeseburgers,” the random hostess replied to my mother, smiling, as my mom exited the breakfast bar. .
This might have seemed the perfect, polite response to an inquiry if my mother had actually asked about her menu-choice preferences, but that wasn’t the case
If my affinity for the male “species” didn’t start at birth, it began soon thereafter. My mother loves to tell childhood stories about it.
While my sisters cried like banshees whenever my mom left the house, I pitched a fit until my father took me along with him to construction sites, my building blocks in tow.
Photo credit: Fabienne from morguefile.com
While my sisters joined my mother and other visiting wives in the kitchen during football season, I plunked myself down in the middle of the living room with the men, watched the games, and “sneaked” sips of my dad’s Budweiser. Continue reading
In my college years I met a wonderful man. We’ll call him James.
He struggled with drinking, as most college boys do, but he exemplified the smartest and sexiest man I’d ever known. My 20-something self wanted to marry him in spite of his drawbacks.
My mother and grandmother supported the coupling but for different reasons. For my mother, I feel it was a bit of a check mark – yes, I’ll finally get my youngest daughter married. For my grandmother it reflected a more romantic and basic idea. Continue reading
“What are you looking at you, green-eyed heifer, you?”
That’s what my father asked me. He’d said similar things to my sisters but swapped green-eyed for blue-eyed, brown-eyed or the all-encompassing big-eyed heifer.
He conveyed those words with such loving affection that my sisters and I didn’t realize, until way too late in life, that he was actually calling us cows. Continue reading
My mother is one of the kindest, funniest and best all-around-wonderful people I know. She drops hilarious pearls of wisdom like an oyster caught in a sandstorm. So in honor of Mother’s Day, I’m resurrecting one of my favorite mom-inspired Facebook posts, circa 2012. Continue reading
My mother once said: “Kim, you can’t do everything yourself.”
I’m pretty sure she declared that when I was atop a ladder, cursing, as I attempted to replace some outdoor lighting at her own house.
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Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Drug addict.
Drug addict, who?
The proverbial “they” say imitation is the best form of flattery. In that vein, I’m marrying two posts I stumbled across and loved last week.
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My cell phone rang. Jennifer’s name popped up. A best friend since age two, she was among the small guest list for my birthday dinner.
I was late. She was always prompt.
I hesitated to answer but relented on the third ring.
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“What were you wearing?”
In hindsight, those words my mother uttered both infuriate and amuse me. But let’s rewind 24 hours to put them into context.
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Awkward Laughter 