Tag Archives: mom

Lookie What We Got Here: Packages from Momsy, 2009

Posted on October 5, 2009 | 2 Comments

For more fun with packages from Momsy, clicky clicky.

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Of Douchebags & Wedding Rings

Posted on June 1, 2007 | 7 Comments

I have something special planned for my 100th blog, but before I can post that, I have to share the contents of my mother’s latest special delivery. For background on my mom’s packages to me, read here.

I got two packages yesterday, for no particular reason. I opened them tonight while I was on the phone with a friend, so – in real time – I told him what was in the packages. Then I washed, rinsed, repeated with two of my girlfriends and they both laughed so hard I’m pretty sure they stopped breathing for a few minutes. Continue reading →

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It Wouldn’t Be Mother’s Day Without . . .

Posted on May 13, 2007 | Leave a comment

. . . a little contact with Mom.

Mom recently moved and didn’t give me her new address. Which is fine, because I do the same thing to her all the time. If I wait too long to tell her where I am, she sends the police to my “last known address,” which, in her mind, is the home of my ex-boyfriend’s parents. From five years ago. They always enjoy those visits.

When it came time to think of sending a card or getting in touch for mother’s day, not only did I not have her address, but she had also shut off her cell phone and discontinued internet service at home. Continue reading →

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“Birthdays Was the Worst Days . . . “

Posted on October 13, 2006 | Leave a comment

Wednesday was my Mom’s birthday. For many people who live far away from their parents, it’s probably not a big deal to call home, send a card, whatever it is you do to celebrate the birth of the woman who brought you into the world.

For me, it’s not quite like that. I hate to skip over chapters in the story to give you this piece, but it’s timely because it’s October and this month depresses the sh*t out of me for a number of reasons. This is even more weird to write about because, as I type this, my very best friend in the world is going into labor with her first child.

I don’t usually enjoy talking to my Mom. It sucks. I say,”I love my Mom,” like most people say, “I love long weekends,” or “I love Sam Adams beer.” Just doesn’t have that emotional ring to it. If you haven’t read up on previous chapters of my life, I suggest starting with “Slow Piroutte for the Dancing Girl,” and perhaps check out my conversation on Mother’s Day. Continue reading →

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The Baby Powder Incident

Posted on August 31, 2006 | 3 Comments

This entry is a continuation of “Slow Pirouette for the Dancing Girl.”

Me as a kid, and my mom and dad

Me as a kid, and my mom and dad

When the police and DCYF officials came ready to knock down the door of the apartment I shared with my mother in the projects, the real blow was to my mother’s psyche – not the metal frame as it shook on its hinges. She had already lost custody of one child. When they took me away that Easter day, I felt like I was the one disappointing her, not the other way around.

By nightfall, I found myself in a warmly-lit kitchen. My new foster mother was clucking her tongue, looking sideways at me.

“Poor thing.” she said. Continue reading →

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