Monday, October 8, 2007

My MamaJo

-Has protested that I never say anything flattering about her on my blog. Thus, I present to you:

A Tribute to My Mamelah

She is an old goat who missed the boat. No wait, that's what my grandfather says. Let me start over-

She complains about getting fat because, nearing sixty, she is tipping the scales at 108. That's right folks, one hundred eight pounds. Feel free to roll your eyes. I, however, have inherited those genes, so I will refrain from rolling mine. She has super sexy legs but she doesn't think so, so she doesn't wear short skirts. Everyone who sees the picture I have of her holding [tiny] me 32 & 9/10 years ago says I look just like her.

When my sisters and I were little she would sew or otherwise create wonderful things from scratch to entertain us. A few examples: hobby horses with broomstick bodies, a puppet theater that hung on a tension rod in a doorway, the greatest dress-up trunk ever- with tons of gaudy old gowns, sequined shoes, and feather boas that she'd hunted down at thrift shops.

She used to be a super crunchy health nut mom. She makes the best whole wheat bread ever. At five I did not appreciate this. I would have happily traded my right arm (or my little sister) for a slice of Wonder Bread or a piece of candy. I have come to appreciate her bread. I do also eat candy frequently though.

She is a great hugger even though she does not believe in hugging trees. Trees get lonely too, Mom.

She hates to cook but she has made dinner most nights for the last 38 years and for many of those years it was dinner for nine.

She is a good wife to my dad, a good mother to her kids, and a good friend to her friends.

She puts up with me even though I do things like this to her all the time:

Setting: Peeyerpants mountain Rd (so christened by Libby), 2007 Doscher reunion.

Scene: (since the video refuses to load) After roughly 7 hours on the road, Dad is attempting to keep up with my speeding uncle while driving a 12 passenger van around hairpin curves on a 2-way road wide enough for one car. My mom and sister are hyperventilating in the back. I am tormenting them trying to reassure them by injecting the moment with humor.

Jess: It's the road of... despaiiiirr!! Aiiihh, we're all going to die!

Mom: *nervously* Jess, we don't need any.. extra sound effects

J: Mom, we wanna record this for posterity. It'll be like the little black box on the airplanes

*the slightly hysterical laughter that occurs in a sudden release of tension, from other occupants of van*

J: They can dig it out of the wreckage

M: *somewhere between laughing and shrieking in fear* Those sounds that you [are making] are already.. going on in my head!!!

J: Mwah hah hah!


Libby said...

True dat, i love you mama,!!!!

Anonymous said...

this comment is from yo mamajo regarding your relentlessly hilarious descriptions of life in our humble home and also in response to this last one:
Poor Jess, she's been such a mess,
Emotionally scared from the start,
The Practice Child", the 1st one is called,
They take everything so much to heart.

The oldest of 7, such a burden to bear,
Always the object of whispers and stares,
"Are they over-sexed Protestants or just one of those Catholic pairs?"

Well, we did what we did, for better or worse,
And counted each new baby a blessing , just like the first.
And Jess still loves her Mama, of that I am glad,
And even appreciates her dear old Dad.

I loved your last blogging,
Brought a smile to my face,
But I need to correct one thing,
If I can have the space,
The weight at this date is not one hundred and eight,
I've added 10 to that,
SEE, I an getting fat!!!

But thank you for the kind words,
I love you sweetie-pie,
And if I had the time and the money to California I would fly,
And give you a hug and a great big, fat kiss.
But till that time comes jusr remember this:

You are the cleaverest girl that ever there was,
Adn it's a book that you shoud be writing.
Maybe they'll make it a T. V. show,
"Waltons Gone Wild and Exciting"!!

And when you write that first book about your crazy family,
And the money starts comming, in the form of royalties,
Just remember, my dear, that you "owe" it all to Dad and me!!

jess said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
jess said...

Love your poem, Mama. But did you just call me a cleaver??

Gypsy Guru said...

I love the poem your mom wrote - whew! Seven kids. Please give her a huge hug from a complete stranger. I find that having one child here and one on the way is stressful enough. (Oh, and I was the oldest child too and quite fond of tormenting everyone else as often as possible.)