Top Ten Reasons My Mom is the Bomb

Mother’s Day is this weekend so I thought it would only be right to pay homage to my own Mamasita. As you know from past posts, I’m pretty darn lucky when it comes to the parent department. My mom in particular always has my back and as I grow older I’ve decided that the term “mom” should have to be earned. Just because you give birth doesn’t make you a “mother” it should make you a “birther” or something.

Why do I say this? It seems unfair that a mom like mine who puts her children first is put in the same title category of a mom who could less about her offspring. But that’s neither here nor there; time to move on give my mom the credit she deserves in what I like to call, “The Top Ten Reasons My Mom is the Bomb.”

1. She’s real.

My mom is honest and sticks to her guns. She believes what she believes and never waivers. And yes, the truth hurts sometimes, but with my mom you know what you’re getting and she doesn’t play games… how refreshing.

2. She is a master negotiator.

This woman gets what she wants by being informed and fair. She does her research, knows the best deal and gets it by remaining calm. I took her with me to buy my first car and she left the greasy finance guy in pure shock. Once I agreed to buy the car all I heard for the next three hours was “waa waa waa waaaa.” As the finance guy saw an opportunity to take advantage of young girl and who he thought was a naïve mother, I’ll never forget when my mom leaned across the table, smiled politely and said, “I know how all this works, I’ve done this before… now stop offering my daughter crap she doesn’t need and get to the point.” Right then and there I just sat back and let her save me money while the finance guy sat dumbfounded [insert standing ovation].

3. Her parenting mantra has always been, “You don’t need another friend, you need a mom.”

Hospitals should put that statement on a bumper sticker and give it to new moms as part of a “don’t screw this up” welcome basket. Even though when I was growing up and wishing my mom could be “cool” like some of the hip moms that let their kids walk over them, I’m so glad she wasn’t. Yes, my mom is a friend in the sense that I like to hang out with her, but at the same time she was never looking for my approval and could care less if I pouted when she wouldn’t extend my curfew. I knew moms who would not only let their kids break curfew, but were with them when they did and buying them alcohol. Do you know where those kids are now?

Jail.

4. She easily could be a contestant on Top Chef.

Her cooking savvy amazes me. She can take a bottle of mustard and a handful of spices that no one has ever heard of and make a full meal that rivals fine dining cuisine. And the best part is that she garnishes everything with fresh herbs. If she makes rosemary chicken, you better believe she has a sprig of rosemary on the plate. There is no shortage of class at our nightly dinner table.

5. Birthdays are special to her.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned that people start to resent their birthdays, but my mom has always embraced them as a day to celebrate YOU. Forget how old you are, you were born on this day and that makes it special. When it’s your birthday in my family, my mom does everything short of dressing up like a clown and riding a unicycle. I think those who can celebrate aging are those people who understand that life is more about numbers and more about memories.

6. “Smart” is her middle name.

I think all my mom’s good qualities circle back to her being smart. Yes, she’s educated, but I’m talking about the kind of smart that is a result of constant exploration. She reads and absorbs everything, while never fearing the unknown. She’ll try new things and over the years she’s shared her wealth of knowledge with her children, making us smart by association… shhh… don’t tell anyone that I actually have NO idea what I’m talking about…

7. She’s a solution seeker.

There are always options and alternatives with my mom. Just because something seems impossible doesn’t mean you should give up. She has taught me what compromise is and because her attitude has always been, “If something doesn’t work, lets figure out how to make it work,” I’ve gone into life with confidence knowing that “no” isn’t the end of the world because you’ll eventually come up with a way to hear “yes.” She’s the opposite of a “Debbie Downer,” she’s like an “Ursula Upper.”

8. She’s a great partner in crime.

My mom just goes with the flow and if she has time, she’ll join you on whatever adventure you’re embarking on. So many people burn out or selfishly don’t want to invest time in things that don’t directly involve them, but my mom is the best support system and will find ways to make every outing, every errand, every trip… fun. To this day she’ll come with me to not-so-fun doctor’s appointments and then arrange for us to have a great lunch at a local restaurant. She makes a memory out of every experience and I’ll hold onto those memories for the rest of my life.

9. She can’t argue with reason.

Although my mom has strong opinions, she is probably the most rational person I know. If you present a valid argument, she won’t deny it and this helped me hone my own negotiation and presentation skills. When I was growing up and if I wanted the new “it” item, I wouldn’t go whining to my mom like so many kids do. I would sit down and formulate my argument. Sometimes I’d win, sometimes I wouldn’t (to this day she never bought the “a gerbil would make a great pet” argument), but I’d learn something every time.

10. No one ever puts her babies in the corner.

Everyone’s mom is their biggest cheerleader, but I like to think of my mom as my own cheering crowd complete with foam fingers. She doesn’t pretend her kids are something their not, but she never stops supporting them… and based on past experience, I’m pretty sure she’d deck someone for me if they did me wrong.

So that’s why my mom is the bomb. She not only gave birth to her kids, she then followed up and became a great mom. Per list item #10, I’m sure you’re the only person reading this post so, so Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

A Cyst on My Face, A Feather for my Cap

GIRL GETS STRUCK WITH YET ANOTHER MEDICAL MYSTERY.

That’s what my life’s headline read Friday morning. I have been sidetracked by yet another health issue – “issue” in this case means gross flesh eating disease on a bride’s most prized possession… her FACE.

Early last week I noticed a rather odd looking bump pop up on my cheek. I didn’t think it was a blemish… and trust me, this chocolate eating, combination skinned, stressed gal knows a zit when she sees one. This was different.

If you know me, I’m a “doer.” I don’t sit around and wait for something to happen… I get up and MAKE it happen. So naturally I decided to investigate this painful mystery bump, which was unobtrusively flesh toned at this point. A minor poke and prod resulted in a MAJOR problem…

The once camouflaged bump turned black and stood out like a hunter in an orange vest. What’s worse is that a stark white rim started to surround the site and it looked like I went to the carnival and had a bulls eye painted on my cheek by a drunk PTA volunteer.

Absolute panic sunk in. Start crying ……. NOW.

Yes, I cried. If you have read my past medical entries, you know I’m one tough cookie. Lose a finger? Argh. Break a toe? Boo. Maul my face? WAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!! There is just something about my face that you don’t want to mess with… it has been the only part of my body that hasn’t jumped on the “freaky disease” bandwagon with the rest of my body parts.

So here I am. Eyes puffy, mascara running and flesh eating disease flaring. With my strong reaction you would have thought I was walking down the aisle that next day, but even knowing that my big day is 5 months down the road, I couldn’t stop picturing myself in my gorgeous wedding gown accessorized with this massive tumor-like sore on my face. In my dreams, the sore comes with its own neon sign to emphasize its hideousness.

I naturally have all my doctors on speed dial and immediately scored an emergency appointment that following day.

The verdict? A ruptured cyst. But not just any ruptured cyst, an infected, ruptured cyst. [Insert vomiting noises now.]

How does one develop a cyst? Who knows? Who cares? I heard the doctor mumble something about cysts being potentially stressed induced, but I was too worried thinking about the future of my face that I didn’t really hear what she said.

Even though my face looked just as hideous walking out of the doctor’s office as it did on the way in, I felt a sense of relief once I was prescribed medication that will treat me from the inside out. And after a few weeks of major healing, my cyst will fade away and take its neon sign with it.

Moral of the story? There really isn’t one, but let me have a go at it.... when something doesn't seem right, don't try to fix it right away, investigate it first... gently. I often times jump the gun with my "go get 'em" attitude and if I had only thought before I popped, I wouldn't have a gross scab on my face. [Again, insert vomiting noises.]

But alternatively, this little experience has equipped me with yet more knowledge, so I'll just consider this another feather for my medical mystery cap... which looks like a Indian headdress at this point...