My mom told me this story over the phone a few weeks ago and I sat with a HUGE grin on my face while I listened. It’s terrible to poke fun at, but I absolutely can’t help myself…
My mom has been working on a few quilts lately, and she was very excited to have her visiting teaching companion over one afternoon to help her with a particularly tricky one. My mom has so many amazing Mormon talents, like making quilts, being constantly pregnant, eating her feelings and hiding her clinical depression. I have inherited many of these traits from her, minus the quilting and the baby making.
That’s a big lie. I wasn’t nominated for an Oscar. Actually, I was nominated for a Brodie!! In two different categories- Funniest Humor Piece for Plygga Please and Most Amusing Vignette or Personal Anecdote for Shark Week Spirit Tears!!! How awesome is that! I seriously didn’t think anyone was even reading this!
I’m going home for Thanksgiving and I am SO.NOT.HAPPY.ABOUT.IT.
It’s not that I don’t love my family, because I do. But going home means that for the next week I will be adhering to a long list of NO’s and it drives me crazy.
Let me share. Here’s what my Thanksgiving week looks like:
1. NO Drinking of my beloved coffee as I putter around in the morning
2. NO Swearing
3. NO Turning into the Incredible Hulk at the mere mention of Sarah Palin’s name, her TV show or her Presidential future.
4. NO Reading Eliza Snitch or Koda or any of my other exmo fav’s online while I drink coffee
5. NO Vomiting at the plethora of Joseph Smith paintings, framed Proclamation of the Family posters or other “CHURCH” collectibles.
6. NO drinking wine with dinner if the mood strikes
7. NO bedroom fun with my beloved
8. NO Rolling of the eyes, laughing or vomiting during prayers before eating, prayers before sleeping, prayers before traveling or during prayers that whomever just left the room will return safely.
9. NO viewing of any rated R movies that come out at Thanksgiving, or any good ones that have just come out on DVD
10. NO exercising my free agency not to be Mormon anymore.
It is my estimation that I changed more diapers by the time I was twelve years old than most women who have only one child do in their lifetime.
I started my illustrious, and lengthy, babysitting career when I was eight years old. We were living in Provo while my dad went to BYU, and even though we were poor my mom was devout in her faith and followed the gospel by being a turbo charged baby MACHINE. Most of my memories of my mom during my childhood are of her being pregnant. Being pregnant and crying a lot.
Did I mention we were really poor?
Do you guys remember that Seinfeld episode with Bizarro Jerry and the gang? Basically, they come across a group of friends in NYC that are exactly like Jerry, George and Kramer, but in a completely opposite way. I think I found my bizarro Sister Secret!
I was lying on the couch earlier and a thought struck me with such force I had to sit up and take a deep breath. The thought was, I NEED A CHIMICHANGA. OR MAYBE A PIZZA. I’m not ashamed to admit that a blush inducing dirty thought may have also flashed through my mind at the same time, prompting a quick mental calculation. Yes, my monthly gift was fast approaching and therefore, all will power, rational emotion and reasoning would soon be exiting my general existence.
When I was little I sang a song for my mom in the Primary Mothers Day Sacrament Meeting extravaganza. I’m sure you all remember this little ditty:
“I often.. go walking.. in meadows of clooover”
can’t remember the rest of it but the end goes like this
“dear Mother, all flowers, reeemind me of youuuu”
My singing left MUCH to be desired, but I’ve always been a big showoff so I compensated with lots of swagger. My mom still talks about that special sacrament meeting, even now, even with me as an APOSTATE.
I loves me some caffeine. Let’s just get that established right away. Whether I love it because it was forbidden growing up, or because I am addicted is neither here nor there.
So, the other day I read this incredible news article about how some cleric in Iran is claiming that promiscuous women cause earthquakes. I was all, haha, that’s HILARIOUS and then I was all, uh oh… Shit.
I think I need to apologize to Iran for all the earthquakes.
The first Secret Underpants conversation I remember having with my mom…
Me: Mom, why do you wear your bra and underwears over your garments?
Mom: Because my garments are sacred and should be closest to my skin.
Me: Yeah, but it looks stupid. Wait, why are they secret?