My mom is going to hate this post, but it's ok, I think I'll live. She has a tendency to freak me out, then go on as if it's business as usual. I totally hate that, so I tend to get even.
First story: I'm pregnant for my first child. She called me to see how I'm doing, and I told her I'm finally holding down food and not barfing as much, and my premature labor seemed to have slowed down, and my ankles weren't as swollen as they had been the first six months. She brings up someone I went to high school with: "Do you remember such-and-such?" After telling her I didn't, she asks if I know who he married, and I of course didn't. "Well, they just got married last year, and she was pregnant with their first child. She went into premature labor in her seventh month from pre-eclampsia, and they couldn't stop the labor."
"Oh my God, what happened?" I ask. I was in my seventh month... And my ankles had been awfully swollen lately....
"She had a heart attack, and died on the operating table!"
Ack! "Did the baby survive?" I asked her, after I had stopped choking on my drink, that is!
"Yes, but that poor boy is only 21, and now he's a widower raising a small child all by himself..." I hurredly got off the phone and made a will. Just in case, you know?
Next story: When my oldest son was about 8 months old, he was visiting Grandma (three states and 8 hours away!) and I got a frantic phone call: "He's choking on a hot dog, what do I do?!"
"Mom, do the Baby Heimlich," I screeched (and yes, I began running around in circles, on the phone, three states away. I remember wondering if I could make it there by car in time to save his life. It probably wouldn't have been a good time to tell me it wasn't possible.)
"What?" she said.
"Baby Heimlich, Mom! Do you know it?"
"No, and don't start throwing made-up words at me, now is not the time!"
*facepalm. "Mom, turn him upside down and pat his back very, very firmly!"
"He spit it out. Oh, thank God! Ok, I'll call you tomorrow," and she hangs up. Yes. She. Hung. Up. Sonofabitch! Well of course I called her right back, and she was a little snippy with me, like I was disrupting her day. Well, excuse the fuck out of me! I was just worried about my son. I talked to him on the phone so that I would be able to sleep that night. He didn't talk back (those were the days!) because he was only eight months old. But I felt better.
Next story: My oldest is (again) at Grandma and Grandpa's house. By this time, he's about 2, and has a younger brother. I'm at work, and I get a phone call: "His foot is caught in the chair, and I can't get it out! The chair won't break, and he's screaming!" I believe her, the screaming is so loud I can hear it over the phone.
"What kind of chair?" Armchair, dining room chair, electric chair, WTF? No, I don't really know why it mattered, it just did, ok?
"The kitchen chairs! I dragged him and the chair to the phone to call you... Oh, Grandpa's home," and she hangs up on me! Motherfucker!
Yes, I call her back: "Mom, what's going on?"
"Dad has the 'saws-all' out, I've got to go," and she hangs up again.
I pace for a minute, and call back again. My step-dad answers the phone, "Everything's fine, the slats have more room at the top, he slid his foot right out. I didn't even have to cut the chair up!" Fabulous. Now if my heart rate would return to normal, everything will be fine!
Now, don't get me wrong, I've gotten my own back at her. Many, many, many times. When Susan Smith drowned her boys in the lake, it was big news. I was in the military at the time, and I didn't really watch the news, since I might have ended up part of it, and I didn't really want to know that ahead of time. My two boys were about the same age as that crazy lady's kids, and I was having it hard, what with divorcing their dad and all. But there's my mom, the bearer of good news, calling me. Crying. "Just promise me if it ever gets too much for you, you'll call me!" she sobs.
"What? Mom, what are you talking about? If what gets to be too much?"
"I just want you to know, anytime you need a break, just call me! I'll come and get the boys, no questions asked! Just promise me you won't drown the boys!"
WHAT?! "What the fuck are you talking about?" I get the whole story out of her about Susan Smith driving into a lake with her boys strapped to car seats because she was divorcing and her new boyfriend didn't like her kids, and I am horrified! Both by the fact that it happened, and by the fact that my mother thinks for even a fleeting moment that I am capable of this! Ok, then I go from 'horrified' to 'pissed' in about 2 seconds, and I decide to get even. "No, mom, I would never do that. But I've got to go, the boys and I are going driving by a nearby lake."
"That's not funny!"
"Oh, yes it is! I can't believe you would think I would ever consider that! Have you lost your fucking mind?"
"Well, no, I don't think you would ever do that, but I just had to make sure you knew I would take the boys in a heartbeat if you need a break." Ok, there are better ways of asking to keep the boys for a while. Right?
She also called me when Andrea Yates drowned her kids in the bathtub. I had the three boys by that time (my youngest was one year old, my oldest was six) and she started out with a discussion about Post-Partum Depression. "No, I'm fine, Mom, what's up?" and she tells me. Again with this shit! I need to start watching the news so I'm prepared when major news involving children is unearthed. That way, when she calls, I've got my answers prepared. "No, everything here is fine, I was just gettting ready to give the boys a bath," would have had so much impact at that point, rather than asking what was up. Dammit! Another opportunity missed! But I'm sure there'll be another. I wonder what's happening in the news... -A
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