Before I tell this story, let me just say that my mom is a hoot. She's not trying to be a hoot - on any level. Her norm is a hoot. There's a need for an investigative CAT scan in her future - a picture of that place somewhere deep in her brain, where a normal (ahem) person would process information. Forward that glossy right to the neurosurgeon, please. Inquiring minds want to know what's up with Mom-brain.
My sisters and I can share a wealth of Momisms while contorting our faces into odd shapes that just scream, "Who does that?"
One such Momism occurred as we were returning from a trip to my grandmother's house. Grandma's house was about five hours away and we had left late in the afternoon. Something about the car always puts me to sleep. If I'm not driving, I'm nodding off. I've always been that way. Laying back, with the car seat tilted all the way down, I had drifted off to sleep.
My mom doesn't do quiet well (genetic, I admit). She's not loud; it's not about volume. It's quantity. I have this vision in my mind of that evening. She is smiling to herself and watching me sleep - instead of watching the road. It haunts me (smirk).
We were somewhere near Akron, Ohio, when suddenly, my Mom grabs my shoulder and begins shaking it vigorously, shouting, "Get up! Get up! Hurry!"
What in the world? Was this the start of Carmageddon? The jolt sent my brain from dream mode to alarm in a millisecond and sent a major dose of adrenaline my way. I sat straight up without even raising the seat to see what was wrong. She pointed furiously at something in front of the car. I spun around and looked forward only to be blessed with a view of a station wagon full of boys with their bare bottoms hanging out the back of the open window. It was mid-January in northeast Ohio. It was definitely a blue moon sort of sighting.
"Those boys are mooning you!" she declared. She displayed all manner of mock horror at the insult to my person. Thank you, for that. And she had yelled "hurry!" What was that about? I know the geography of the human bottom - it ain't that great, and it is not even a close second to a good nap.
So - really, Mom? "What made you think they were specifically mooning me, when they couldn't even see me laying back in the seat and sleeping?" I asked.
She was quiet for a second. Looking at me incredulously, she remarked: "Why would someone moon me?"
Why indeed, Mom. On the other hand, my mug was just made for mooning - or so the logic goes.
I'll keep that in mind.