First. Mommy. My mother always insisted that we call her Mommy. It was fun during my junior high and high school years. Mostly during junior high - by high school pretty much everyone was used to us. But when I was 12 and 13 I would call home and ask for "Mother" or "Mom" and whoever would answer would ask, "Who?" and continue asking and not getting our mom until we used her correct name, "Mommy." I think you can all imagine what fun that was for a 13 year old. Now it's funny - really funny - back then, not so much.
My mom has a great sense of humor. Mostly she knows how to laugh at herself and at us naughty children. When I was about 14 I had surgery on my jaw and was out of school for a month and eventually taken out to be home schooled. I remember one morning laying on my parents' floor watching a morning show with them and saying, "Bite me." Instead of getting grounded or my mouth washed out with soap, my mom told me if I said it anymore she was going to put me out with the garbage and that the garbage man was going to come and pick me up and did I know what he was going to say?! To which I replied, "Yes, he's going to say, 'Hey Charmaine! What are you doing out here?' To which I would reply, 'My parents think I have a garbage mouth, but what the hell do they know?'" Luckily, my mom laughed. Hard.
She also had a pretty sick sense of humor. This one might embarrass her too much, but it's too good a story not to tell. It's another that involved my crude teenager language. We were walking around Wal-Mart (I cannot tell you how many hilarious or embarrassing stories start with that line), and I kept saying, "When monkeys fly outta my butt!" In that super pleasant and not sarcastic at all way that teenagers talk. My mom kept telling me to stop or it might actually happen. I think you all know where this is going. The next time I said it, she stopped and got real quiet and said, "Charmaine, do hear that? Do you hear that? It's the monkeys." And then farted. Loud. And blamed it on me. Touche, Mommy.
My mom is very pretty - and she has been aging way better than me. That picture up at the top, it was taken less than a year ago when Elijah was born. She could be his mother! Anyhow, I always looked mature for my age (decolletage will do that) and she always looked young. I can't tell you how many times I heard, "Are you sisters?" "You can't be her mother!" And any variation. But my favorite is, "Your mom is so pretty. You don't look a thing like her." I'm not kidding either. It's true though. I look more like my Aunt Patsy (who is also very pretty I might add and I don't mind looking like her at all), and her daughter Dawn, looks more like my mom. Ironically, Dawn and I are only a few a months apart. Yeah, Mommy has fewer gray hairs than me also. I got my dad's genes on that one - and ironically, my Aunt Patsy's too.
My mom has always encouraged my creativity - for this I will be eternally grateful. When I was 6 years old she helped me paint my first oil painting. She even helped me enter it in the State Fair. I got a blue ribbon. It was awesome.
My Mommy is the most talented, cleanest most organized, most supportive mom there is.
Happy Birthday Mommy!