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
3 comments:
haha, how come I don't remember this story? (I found a blog I thought you might like to check out thebackorderedlife.blogspot.com)
Hahaha I totally remember this story! I think it was an amazing effort on your part :)
Lol I love it!!! My Dad always says that he was just trying to make sure we had lots to tell the therapist when we were older :) He didn't want us wasting good money trying to figure out why we turned out the way we did without having a few good embarassing stories to tell!
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