Petty in Pink

Hollywood, may I have a word?

Last night, Daniel and I saw a movie in the theater.  This is an exceedingly rare occurrence, and I was jazzed to see what is being hailed as a razor-sharp chick flick, written by and for women.  Yes!  Finally, a story revolving around smart, successful, modern women!  Apparently, the critics and I must have seen different movies.  In our movie, the protagonist was a broke, homeless, victim of the recession, who was forced to endure the most horrible of all female experiences-- life with no mans.  But fear not!  In the end, she found a boyfriend and they lived happily ever after.  Oh, make no mistake, she still was living with her mother, unable to pay her bills, and both job and car-less.  BUT she found a penis-equipped companion, so cue the music and let those credits roll!

This movie had it all- aesthetically pleasing bitch, horny bored housewife, insipid virginal newlywed.  Oh, and of course, the group wouldn't, couldn't be complete without an overweight woman serving as comedic relief.  She wasn't witty per se, but she was... you know... fat.  Everyone knows a chunky lady doing anything is hilarious, but a fat chick having the audacity to go out to eat, or attend a party, or flirt with a dude?? Comedy gold!

Why why why are these antiquated female stereotypes still being forced down our throats in the name of entertainment?  And an even better question- why are we still buying it?  The only thing this movie was missing was a lingerie-laden pillow fight, but I hear there's a sequel in the works, so here's hoping.

My Mother, Richard Dean Anderson

There's been a lot of mom stuff going around in honor of Mother's Day. I am choosing to honor my mother via blog, because she would waterboard me if I put her picture on Facebook. Simply put, Brenda kicks ass. Even though a lot of women cringe at the thought of turning into their mothers, I welcome it. This is fortuitous, as I have been not-so-slowly morphing into a Brenda clone. We are both loud, assertive, obsessively detail oriented, and competitive. Roland and Daniel are lucky, lucky men, right? We are also funny, dependable, modest, and seriously smokin hot. There is one area, though, where my mother totally and singularly rules- she is motherfrickin Macgyver.

When Mama was six or seven, she decided she wanted a swimming pool. It never occurred to her to ask for one, and she wasn't interested in a public pool. Brenda wanted her own, personal in-ground, and she was going to build it herself. She dug for days until she finally had a decent sized hole. I'm not sure exactly how deep it was, but it was deep enough to, well... keep reading. Her work was done and after a big, Louisiana rain, her pool was open for business. It's worth noting that this grand opening coincided with either her first communion or Easter. I can't remember which, but church and a nice dress were involved. Not wanting to get dirty before mass, but unable to wait until after, she decided to fashion a boat out of a large pot. Now as any culinary dredgeman can attest, pot boating is the most efficient way of simultaneously examining the bottom of a body of water and ruining a Sunday dress. I don't know the severity of her punishment, but I do know that to this day, I have never seen my mother in a swimming pool.

By the time Callie and I came along, Mama's ingenuity and common sense were evenly matched. Once, when I was in second grade, my teacher held a "Backwards Day". Everyone was to creatively showcase backwardness, and a winner would be named. (At this time, my ENTIRE elementary school, grades k-4, was housed in ONE gymnasium. What's more backwards than that?) Anyway, I mentioned the contest to my mother as she was putting me to bed the night before. She was shocked that I'd waited until the last minute, but promised she'd think of something. I woke up next morning to find an eerily accurate replica of my head. I wore my HEAD backwards to Backwards Day. Can you believe I didn't win?? Apparently, Mrs Lewis thought I had help with my costume, so she gave the prize to Stacy Mclain who wore her earrings backwards. Whatever.

Similarly, Callie decided at the last minute she wanted to go trick-or-treating one Halloween. Fifteen minutes later, people opened their doors to a little girl in curlers, a robe, and face full of Pond's with a typing paper cigarette dangling from her lips. Standing beside her was store bought Gremlin, but she didn't get nearly as much candy. I guess people couldn't see my- I mean her winning smile behind that plastic mask.

And the hits keep on coming. A few years ago, a storm came through and took out our electricity for several days. We had a full house including several extended family members. I watched my mother prepare a three-course meal using votive candles and a butter knife. And just a few weeks ago, I had a minor surgery. The doctor didn't give me the appropriate dressing, so Mama made one using an ace bandage, some scotch tape, a Target coupon, and a cotton ball.

I could easily make this entry one in a series of love letters to my mother. We speak several times daily, and there is still no one I'd rather war plan with. We love every single moment we spend together. I sincerely pray to have that kind of relationship with my girls one day, although I'll never be able to replicate Mama's resourcefulness.  But who knows, maybe I've got a burgeoning Macgyver Brenda of my own.  Happy Mother's Day!

Gone With the Kin

Daniel had a busy week with crazy hours last week, so I packed up the girls and headed to my parents' house in Stonewall.  My sister, Callie, is pregnant with triplets and riding out her quasi-bedrest there, so I like to visit and help out when I can.  All was going well until until a cold front and low pressure system blew into town.

It was a dark and stormy night.  Suddenly, Entertainment Tonight was interrupted by the local ABC affiliate.  I was irritated!  If I can't find out what Lindsey wore to her latest court appearance,  how will I know what to wear next time I violate probation?  Anyway, the weather guy tells me that tornadoes are imminent, and to take cover.  My first feeling was of relief; I was grateful to be with my family.  This was immediately followed by sheer panic.  I was about to be confined, in a tiny cupboard, WITH MY FAMILY!  I gathered K and Evie, and headed to the little pantry under the stairs with Callie, her husband, Arnold, and my mother, Brenda. Thankfully, my father was in Shreveport during this time.  Not that I wouldn't have enjoyed his company, but we were quickly running out of real estate.

The issue with being cooped up with anyone, is that quickly all of your individual eccentricities bubble to the surface.  For example, my sister is a total germaphobe, and my mother is only slightly less of one.  I used to be uptight about germs, especially as it pertained to Karolina, but nowadays, unless I can actually see tetanus or feces on an object, it's fair game.  Had a sneeze occurred in that closet, Callie would have repeatedly gagged, my mother would have held her breath for a far-too-extended period of time, and I would have been grateful for the breeze.  We are a cast of characters not soon forgotten. 

I'll begin with Brenda.  My mother is absolutely obsessed with any/everything made in China.  You cannot convince her that it isn't full of lead.  And unless you can show her documentation proving that an object and all it's parts are manufactured elsewhere, be prepared for the lead lecture.  I swear I had to keep Evangeline suspended in my arms, because the floor of that closet? Lead.  The paint on the walls? Lead (She doesn't trust the lead-free label to be truthful).  The carbon dioxide emitted from our collective exhalations?  Full of lead. 

Next, meet Callie and Arnold.  My sister is a nurse, and her husband is a physician.  They speak in strictest medical terms, causing an ignorant bystander (me) to feel as though she's had stroke, rendering her incapable of understanding English. I'm not exactly sure what or where Callie's inferior vena cava is, but apparently, those babies like sitting on it.  And while I'm on the subject of Dr and Mrs Barz, have I mentioned that they are in love?  They hunkered down in that closet, holding hands and telling each other how thankful they were to be together.  I was starting to get a little green (jealousy? nausea?), when my phone rang.  Yes!  It was Daniel!  I was about to show Callie that she wasn't the only one with a schmoopie-oopkins.  Triumphantly smirking, I turned my phone's volume up loud so that everyone could hear the depth of emotion in Daniel's voice.   

"Hello?"

"Duuuude!!!  The radar looks gross in Stonewall, glad I'm not there."

"Don't worry about us, Sweetie.  But just in case the rescue teams need to know where to dig to find my lifeless body, I'm in the closet under the stairs."

"Okay.  Have you seen my swim goggles?"

I know.  I'm getting a little misty-eyed just thinking about it. 

To be perfectly fair, I'm sure it wasn't a picnic being cooped up with me, either.  I'm loud.  I make inappropriate jokes.  I have a potty mouth.  I play diaper chicken with my mother (I pretend not to smell the truly noxious fumes emanating from my kid's diaper, in the hopes that my mother will change it first).  I prefer Hillary Clinton to Sarah Palin.  Throw that little lib grenade in my house-- you can actually hear the blood pressure rising.

In the end, though, we weathered the storm.  In fact, it was kind of fun. We didn't have water, food, matches, candles, flashlights, or batteries in that closet, (I could write an entire separate blog about what we did have in there), but there was a whole lot of love.  I'd duck and cover with those jokers any day.