Crazy Train

All Aboard!

Insanity is a genetic defect. I got mine from my mom. (I know as she read those words, she began yelling at her computer screen, "I' am not insane!" There's all the proof I need.)

A few years ago, Mom and I started working on our relationship. We had grown apart because I was a rebellious, snotty bitch, and she was... well, a bitch. (right now she is yelling at her screen again. "Oh no she didn't!" neck roll "I am not a bitch! Can you believe she called me a bitch?" Sorry no one is there with you to answer that question right now, Mom.)

One day, we decided to be less bitchy to each other and really try to build upon the love we had hidden. Since then, she has become my best friend. We talk on the phone every day, sometimes two or three times a day. We see each other about once a week. We laugh a lot. We shop. We cook. Some of we cause kitchen fires. Mostly, we enjoy each other in all of our insanity.

It's so nice to have a relationship with my mom again. I forgot how much I missed having her really involved in my life. When my dad was diagnosed with cancer, our relationship only became more intensified. Without ever uttering the words, we knew time in life was too short. We knew we couldn't get the time we had wasted back. We bonded again. (This right here is the part where my other family members reading call me a suck up and a brown noser.)

We are good therapy for each other. When we talk there is this level of understanding without judgement. Like two real live friends.

Speaking of therapy, one day, early on in the phase of working on our relationship, I convinced my mother that I was seeing a therapist. This news really surprised her. She also wanted to know why I felt I needed one.

I told her, "I had such a terrible childhood and needed to learn how to be normal."

My mother was appropriately mortified and fell for my lie, hook line and sinker. I rattled off a laundry list of things she would never want a stranger to know about her and her childrearing. Of course I exaggerated every single word.

I let her in on the joke right after I told her my therapist says she owes me an apology for the time she left a welted heart on my ass.

That actually happened. You see, Mom wore these slippers. The brand name was Love Mates and their logo was on the bottom of each slipper. Did you ever see Eddie Murphy Delirious, where he talks about his mom being like Clint Eastwood with a shoe? Well, that's how my mom was with her slippers, only rather than a 48, hers was more like an oozie. One time, and I'm sure I deserved it, she gave me one good whack with her slipper. The heart-shaped logo left a welt on my butt cheek.

When I finished crying in my room, I came out to show her what she did. I lifted my Strawberry Shortcake nightgown revealing the welted heart. I said something smart assed like, "I hope you are happy with yourself."

Why she didn't give me a matching welt on the other side of my ass is beyond me. I guess it was just more of that insanity we share.

I'm proud to say, I love that woman like crazy!