I Stand Corrected

Editor's Note: Today's post features a guest blogger. Apparently someone *cough*Daughter #2*cough* feels she needs to put in her two cents. Here it is:

Dear Mom,

I settled in to read this highly anticipated blog post, ready to have a good chuckle about this silly little scenario (which may or may not have emotionally damaged me, but that’s neither here nor there). After reading through the entire post, I came to one conclusion: clearly you are delusional.

First of all, you stated that you came across the Nike shoes in the exact shoe size of Daughter #2. Being Daughter #2, I can emphasize that unless my feet at age 12 were a Mens size 8, they were definitely not the exact size.

Secondly, even after the jiffy-marker job they were hardly a perfect resemblance. The kind of Nike shoes I wanted looked something like this:



The shoes you found for a mere $2 looked exactly like this:


While I appreciate your effort and enthusiasm, the chic-black-and-white low-tops were much more in fashion than the puffy-foam-stuffed high-tops.

Also, you left out the best part of the story. After the not-so-permanent marker wore off in the snow my peers teased me so badly, I took those silly high-tops off, left them in my locker, and walked around in my socks for the rest of the day. And then waited until everyone left the school before putting them back on to walk home. In the snow.

Despite my teasing, I feel the need to commend you for #1) being a bargain shopper, hello shoes for $2! And #2) for keeping me in mind whilst shopping. Keep up the good work. I now wear a size 7. That’s Ladies.

All kidding aside, this story really does show how great of a mom you are. A mom who would do anything to help her daughter feel loved and popular. All for only the small price of mass humiliation.

Love Always,
Daughter #2

Feeling Guilty

So, after my last few posts about my mom, I'm feeling a little guilty. Did I sound like an ungrateful, spoiled daughter who only cares about my own feelings? I sure hope not, 'cause I love her so much. And the older we both get, the more I appreciate everything she's done for me and everything she represents:

• She's incredibly honest.
• She's reliable.
• She's a very hard worker.
• She's a friend to the underdog.
• She's a woman of faith.
• She loves to have fun.
• She's extremely frugal (as illustrated in several of my stories.)
• She's amazingly creative (as also illustrated in several of my stories.)

The point is, I can't think of anyone else who I would rather have for a mother than her. And just to prove that she's not the only mother who can embarrass her daughter, here's another story:

In 1996 Daughter #2 was in the seventh grade, and black and white Nike high-tops were all the rage. How I would have loved to have been able to afford to get a pair for her and her older sister. But at $100 a piece, and our tight budget, that was never going to happen.

One day, while browsing at a second-hand store, I came across a pair of hardly-worn Nike high-tops in the exact shoe size Daughter #2 wore. Okay, so they weren't black and white -- they were, in fact, entirely white -- but nothing that a black permanent marker couldn't fix! And for only $2, how could I resist?

When I got them home, I whipped out a jiffy marker and quickly transformed them into a perfect resemblance of the real thing. The $100 real thing! When Daughter #2 came home from school, I showed her the new shoes I bought, and she loved them. She could hardly believe that they once used to be completely white.

The next day as she wore them to school, she was feeling pretty good. When the other kids looked at her feet with a smile, she assumed it was because they were impressed with her "coolness". It wasn't until later in the day when she looked down, that she realized her shoes were dripping black ink.

I guess "permanent" markers aren't so permanent when you walk in the snow!

Dixie

More About Mom

In an effort to wrap up this past week of Mother's Day stories...

STORY #6

When I was young my hometown sponsored a fair and rodeo every August. My mom always believed in supporting a good cause, so she thought we should enter a few categories wherever we could. Since none of us were competent bull riders, and our dog, "Daisy", suffered from low self-esteem, and didn't like being subjected to pet competitions, we usually had to enter the baking categories: We never really planned on winning, we were just supporting the fair.

I'll never forget the year Mom entered some category. (For lack of knowledge, let's just say it was baking powder biscuits.) When we arrived the next day to see the judged results, we were thrilled - not to mention surprised -- to see that Mom had won third prize!! She'd finally won a ribbon - sure it wasn't a first or second place ribbon, but at least it was a ribbon. She was SO pleased......that is, until she realized she was the only entrant in that category!!

And because this next one was specifically requested...

STORY #7

About 10 years ago The Mr. and I had taken our kids to go spend a little time with my mom. It was a busy morning, and everyone was getting ready and eating breakfast in shifts. I was upstairs pouring myself a bowl of cereal while The Mr. was shaving in the downstairs bathroom. As I sat down to eat, I could see that my cereal was moving!! Upon closer inspection I discovered it was crawling with weevils.

When I informed my mom of the bad news, she immediately started boiling up water in every pot in the house. Within minutes she was heaving potfuls of boiling hot water into the cupboard in hopes of killing the weevils that might be lurking there. Water was EVERYWHERE! Pretty soon, from the bathroom below, we could hear The Mr. yelling, "Ow! What's going on? Ow! There's scalding hot water pouring out of the ceiling all over me!"

Now I realize that my mom's response was a little over-the-top. Most of us would have handled that situation in a slightly more subdued manner. But, seriously, where's the fun in that?

And yes, I DO check the cereal very carefully before I eat it!

Dixie

Making The Best Of Every Situation

For those who have been following the stories of my mom, let me just say that it's not just me that she embarrasses. She can embarrass anyone -- even herself.

STORY #5

Fast forward about 15 years to the summer of 1993. Daughter #2 was spending two weeks with my mom -- it was her turn for some one-on-one time with Grandma C.

Mom thought it would be fun for the two of them to do some baking, and then take it to her friends at the Hutterite colony. (Now at this point, may I just say that, similar to sewing, baking is not one of my mom's strong points. But I'm sure the ladies at the colony would at least be appreciative of their visit.) Anyway, they decided on baking powder biscuits.

Midway into the recipe, my mom realized she was out of baking powder so she and Daughter #2 went down to the storage room to retrieve some more. My mom found some in a jar labelled "1974". When Daughter #2 questioned whether or not they should still be using it, Mom responded with, "Oh, sure. Baking powder never goes bad." They took the jar upstairs and finished their baking, then rode their bikes to deliver their wares.

When Daughter #2 arrived home, she told us the story of using the outdated baking powder, and hoped it was okay. Then, a couple of weeks later, she got a call from my mom saying, "Do you remember that old jar of baking powder we used for the biscuits? Well, it turns out it wasn't baking powder after all. It was wallpaper paste!!

(No doubt it was last used for a certain snare drum carrying case creation.)

Dixie

Another Story

STORY #4

Growing up in a small community, we didn't have our own daily newspaper. The newspaper we got came from the city 45 minutes away. In the '70's, the newspapers were completely black and white. There was only one colored picture per year -- on the front page -- and it was always a picture of the same event: Whoop-Up Days. So every July the newspaper would feature a colored picture of someone screaming on one of the rides, a child devouring some cotton candy, a cowboy getting thrown from the back of a bull, etc. For me it was always kind of exciting to see who would be featured on this one colorful newspaper each year.

One summer when I was a teenager, my parents and brother were going in to Whoop-Up Days to attend the rodeo. Two of my friends and I also drove in to the city with them. Our plan was to go to the midway. After determining the meeting place and time, my parents gave us strict intructions to NOT BE LATE, as my dad had to get up early the next morning. We set off to have some fun on all the rides. And have fun we did! In fact, we were having so much fun that we lost all track of time. When I finally realized what had happened, I determined we were over an hour late for meeting up with my parents. It would be an understatement to say that I knew my mom would not be pleased!

I told my friends that we needed to hurry, and began walking as fast as I could hoping they would keep up. They didn't seem to sense the urgency as much as I did. Soon enough I saw my mother coming towards us with a determined look in her eye. When she saw me she said, "There you are!", and picking up a twig off the ground, whacked me across the back of the legs. I started jogging. At this point my friends picked up their pace a little to try and keep up, but still keep their distance from us so as not to be associated with us. My mother turned around to them and said, "You better start moving, or I'll use this on you, too!" They broke into a run, and actually passed me.

I remember the 45-minute drive home being an extremely quiet ride -- no one spoke the entire time. The thought that kept going through my mind was, "Please don't let me be the colored picture in the newspaper tomorrow!" When the paper did arrive the next day, you can bet I ran to check it out. Apparently the stars and planets must have been aligned in my favor, because the picture was only of the ferris wheel all lit up. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that I wouldn't have to worry about a permanent reminder of this eventful night for the rest of my life. Kind of. I may not have the paper reminder, but I have two friends who still love to bring it up for a good laugh.

Dixie

I Love My Mom

I really do love my mom. I just needed to clarify that..... in case any of you have gotten the wrong idea from my last couple of posts. Also, my mom is a really good sport, and so it's all good. The fact that she doesn't own a computer might also be in my favour ;)

STORY #3

My first high school dance was pretty exciting. I spent quite a long time getting ready -- I wanted to look just perfect to make a good first impression. It was early September -- a beautiful evening. The weather had been gorgeous all day, and my mom was making the most of it by working in the garden. As I called out to say goodbye to her before leaving, I chuckled to myself as I took note of what she was wearing: a pair of plaid pedal pushers (old-fashioned term for "capris") and a paisley-print shirt. A bright pink chiffon scarf covered the curlers in her hair. "Oh well," I thought, "at least she's just in the backyard -- no one can see how hideous she looks."

I arrived at the high school and was soon on the dance floor with the very boy I hoped would ask me. I had developed a pretty bad crush on him, and was hoping he liked me too. He was a year older, so I really wanted to make a good impression. After only a few more minutes he nervously asked, "Um, isn't that your mom over there?" I looked toward the gymnasium door and was horrified to see my mother standing there -- wearing the exact clothes as when I left her -- calling my name. "Dixie! Dixie!" You didn't clean your room before you left like you promised you would."

I was too embarrassed to try and cut a deal with her, so I just left as fast as I could so that she would have to leave also. I went home and cleaned my room, and to be honest, I can't even remember if I went back to the dance, or not. I suspect it was a case of trauma-induced amnesia. One thing I do remember, though: I never made that mistake again!

Dixie

Happy Mother's Day (again)

Here it is...

STORY #2

When I was in sixth grade, three other students and I were selected to play the snare drum in the school band. How awesome was that? Anybody could be selected to play those other "boring" instruments, but I was about to become one of the "cool kids" -- a percussionist!

The band instructor sent us each home with a brochure to show to our parents. It contained all the information we needed to order our very own snare drum, complete with a convenient carrying case. After taking a quick peak at the brochure, my mom decided we would take a trip into the city and purchase a used drum instead. As it turned out, the used drum we bought was actually pretty good, but it didn't come with a carrying case. Mom assured me she could make a case for it that would look even better than the ones in the brochure.

On Monday morning as I carried my new drum case into the school, I tried to hold my head high and act like nothing was out of the ordinary. Inside I was dying of embarrassment. Mom had covered a cardboard box with some left over '70's wallpaper, and used an old bathrobe tie as a handle. Somehow I didn't feel quite as cool as I had anticipated.

Dixie

Happy Mother's Day!

At the beginning of the week, Daughter #3 and I were in the car with the radio on, when a request came from the deejay asking for people to call in with an embarrassing story about their mother. The person with the best story was to win some wonderful prize. We both looked at each other and burst out laughing. To my best recollection the conversation went something like this:

Daughter #3: Mom, you've GOT to call in about Grandma.

Me: Which story would I tell?

Daughter #3: It doesn't matter -- they're all good.

Me: I know they are, but I don't know if I should.

Daughter #3: Mom, do it.

Well, I thought about it. In fact I've thought about it all week. There are so many good stories about my mom that I figured I would post one story each day for a week to celebrate Mother's Day. So, here goes:

STORY #1

When I was in third grade, our elementary school was putting on a Spring Concert. Our class was assigned to dance to "Turkey in the Straw", and each girl needed a full skirt for our number. When I informed my mom that we would need to buy me a new skirt, she replied that she would just make me one. I was a little concerned as Mom wasn't an accomplished seamstress. As the other girls began showing up to school with their new skirts, I was becoming more and more worried because my mom hadn't even started sewing. When I reminded her about the skirt, she promised she'd have a skirt for me in time for the program. And, sure enough, she did. Mom had constructed a very full, pleated, skirt with a large bow.......out of crepe paper and staples!! With 20 minutes to spare, there was no other option -- I had to wear it. The giggling and mocking that took place when I arrived at the school was pretty hard to take. And that was just from the teachers. As we took our place on the stage and waited for the music to start, I hoped no one in the audience would notice my paper dress. That hope was soon dashed when I realized all the snickering in the audience was directed towards me. Even the other kids in the dance were giggling at me. Who knew crepe paper "shooshed" as it brushed against a person's legs?

Dixie

She's Growing Up (Sniff)

Last night Daughter #3 bought her first cell phone. I suppose that fact in and of itself is not really blog worthy, but there's a bigger issue here. For the past several years, when all of her friends started getting their own phones, she made a conscious decision not to get one. Later when some of them moved on to their second phone (and in one girl's case, her third and fourth), Daughter #3 was even more determined that she wasn't going to get one. She was afraid she might become addicted to the thing, as they had seemingly become. I asked her several times if she minded that she was one of only a handful of teenagers left in North America who hadn't joined the 21st century. She said it didn't phase her a bit.

So imagine my surprise when she woke up yesterday morning and asked me if I'd like to go to the mall with her later that night to pick out a cell phone. As I tagged along, she impressed me with her presence of mind. She went to all the different retail outlets, spoke to the salespersons, got the brochures, and made an informed decision. Even the sales clerk who rang up her purchase complimented her on her maturity of doing it all on her own. I sensed she was pleased with herself.

A few minutes later, as we walked down the mall, I happened to glance over at her. She had that same look on her face that she and both her older sisters had when they first got their ears pierced. I could almost read her thoughts. It was something like: "Okay, act natural, don't look too excited. But, man, I'm SO cool now I can hardly stand it!"

So now that she's joined the 21st century, I guess I probably should, too. Not only should I learn how to text so I can keep in touch with her, I should probably actually remember to take my phone with me. And turn it on.

Dixie