Mother Knows Best

Patsy: Eddie...what are you wearing?
Eddie: It's Lacroix Sweetie!
Patsy: FABULOUS!

It’s one of my favorite scenes from one of my favorite shows…A shallow fastionista comes out wearing a too-tight, too bright, mal-fitting, hideous outfit. When her best friend Patsy, concerned about appearances, calls her out, Eddie, unaware of her fashion faux pas in lieu of a label, innocently announces an acceptable brand name to her friend, who then blindly accepts the hot mess presented before her. The very title Absolutely Fabulous alone implies over the top, in your face, I-paid-for-it-now-you’re-going-to- adore-me tackiness. If my bank account was as big and bold as my personality, and if I possessed entirely no common sense what-so-ever, I too, would be Absolutely Fabulous…I think that’s why the show appeals to me so. I mean, I blatantly make fun of people like this (behind their backs, of course) SOOO not me, in real life.

So when my Mother announced that she bought me a present that (and I QUOTE)

“…(you) will HATE it when you see it, but then when you see who made it, you will LOVE it!” I naturally couldn't help but be slightly offended.

If my mom understood text messaging (which she does not) I would have sent her a big, fat WTF?! To be honest, my feelings were pretty hurt. Did my Mother know me at all?! True, I DO own several brand-name pieces...who doesn't? But really, for me it is much more about whether or not I actually LIKE the item, and less about who or what makes it. Take my Kate Spade "Sam" bag, for instance. Black, boxy, ulititarian, well-made. I love it so much, I've even had it dry cleaned to make it last longer.

Besides, part of the reason with left the DC suburbs was because we had little interest in being “The Joneses” and no interest with "being kept up with." We just wanted to be the Brownses…an individual family living our individual lives in our individual world.

It has been 3 years since we left out “Big City” lives behind...did my Mother not understand that those things really aren’t important to us?! Well, whatever. I don’t want to hurt her feelings. She does so much for us…She supports us, watches the kids when she is in town, gives me kind works of wisdom and experience and accepts me for who I am. But who I am is not a shallow label-whore who cares more about the brand name than the actual item.

My birthday arrived, for one day out of the year, I attempted to live “guilt free” with a little ME time. At the end of the day, the kids were anxious to give me my cake and “party” and finally…the presents. I knew the time was near. At some point, I would HAVE to open the “you’re so effing materialistic, hope you like crap” gift. Sigh.

HOWEVER…

When I opened the box that contained the now infamous item, I was speechless. I was greeted by an oversized rattan bag with leopard print lining. The gold lame Versace-esque, pyramid trim was accented by red pom-pom garland. Large pink and red flowers were embroidered into the front of the bag, along with the word “Betseyville.” Upon closer inspection to the jewel-encrusted gold luggage tag, I found the words, “Betseyville by Betsey Johnson,” one of my all-time favorite designers. The bag, really and truly, was OVER THE TOP, ridiculously over-embellished, gawdy to the point that only the most confident, fashion forward DIVA could flaunt…I was at a loss for words with MY LOVE for this bag…

My Mother had hit a home run…right out of the park. She knew that proper label or not, I would love the HIDIOUS UNIQUENESS of the animal-print and natural fiber bag, emblazoned with flowers and obvious brand markings. It was one-of-a-kind…and it was MINE. When I FINALLY found my words, I was unable to properly articulate the scope of how RIGHT ON my darling Mother was. When I was finally able to speak, there was only one word that could appropriately and adequately describe how I was feeling…

“FABULOUS!”

O! Christmas Tree!

My mind was a million miles away as M tried to ask me a simple question. I had already taken Kona the Wonder Dog on a 2 mile walk, enjoying the unseasonably warm December weather and the calm quiet of an early Saturday morning. And it wasn’t even 8 am yet. Admittedly, I have a lot on my mind this holiday season, and as M spoke to me, I heard the words he was saying, but paid little attention to their meaning in regard to what he was asking me. Besides…he wasn’t making any sense!

“Mom-ma!” he asked again, “Did you hang my ornament on the time bomb?”

“Hmm? What M?” I replied, as the realization of what he was asking faded back into conscious. Usually M asks very intelligent, very intellectual-type questions. Or busts out with random math equations…in fact, shortly before asking me about “time bombs” he was showing me how he could count BY SEVENS to 100. Typical M.

To be honest, I was a bit irritated with myself for being annoyed by M’s nonsensical query. When he asked a final time, I was unable to suppress my frustration and I snapped.

“Momma…Did you hang my ornament on the time bomb?” He asked, in earnest.

“M! WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? NO! I DID NOT HANG YOUR “ORNAMENT” ON A TIME BOMB!!! AND FURTHERMORE, I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY “BOMB” AGAIN!!! I gasped for air.

“Momma, “Time Bomb” means “Christmas Tree” in GERMAN."


…

(And just so you know, the answer was YES, I already had placed his ornament on the Tannenbaum)

Eulogy to Rama

He was named for a Hindu God of reincarnation; AND he could eat your face, if he was so inclined. That very fact came into question during my very first dealings with Rama, as part of my duties were to “put him up” in a pen during milking. Rama had a perchance to roam. Far. And rather than spend several hours covering several miles of Rama’s “turf,” the decision was made to put him on lockdown, which he happily agreed to, it meant he got treats! I was understandably nervous, seeing as I was a “Suburban Mom” turned “Rural Bo Peep” and on top of that, I had “Cat Brain” from years of dealing with nothing but felines, which basically meant I was afraid of the big, bad country dog, and didn’t know (if, like a cat) he was going to, (without any kind of logic of forethought), maim me for simply existing.

“No, he won’t eat your face!” Chuckled my boss, although I could tell by the twinkle in her eye that she was quite certain he would and could, if I happened to be a bob cat or coyote or bad guy, or any other number of threats to the herd. One thing was certain…faces would be eaten! But not mine. Thank Goodness I wasn’t Caroline, the Pot Bellied Pig…her face was tasted on a regular basis… “Practicing” on Caroline made for great fun for the Anatolian Shepherd/Great Pyrenees cross.

One day, I was working in the “hospital pen” area of the barn. Amidst the many chickens and barn cats hanging around the pens, I was oblivious to anything other than my job…refilling water, feed and hay and making sure the hospitalized goats had fresh straw to lie on. I suppose I was probably performing any of the above duties when I was jump startled out of my *farm trance* and jerked/leapt about 4 feet into the air by a most frightening noise. It was the sound of a dog barking…in my general direction. After I landed back on planet earth, I whipped around to see who/what was barking at me…It was the scariest looking, but also most beautiful dog I had ever laid eyes on. His toasted-marshmellow colored coat hung in pleats around his huge…but at the same time, sleek, muscular frame. His chocolate brown muzzle camouflaged his easy-to-read mahogany eyes, and if I looked close enough I could see his “this is a warning, the next time I bark I will eat you, no offense.” expression.

But he wasn’t looking at me, he was looking past me. When I whipped back around to where I was originally facing, I came eye to eye with RC…the donkey equivalent to, well…Donkey, from Shrek. If there was mischief to be made, it was made by RC. The two farm donkeys had been put, intentionally, into a pen they weren't normally in and I'm sure it surprised/startled Rama to see a DONKEY rather than a GOAT in the back of the barn and not in his usual place out in the pasture. According to the dog, I was mere seconds away from being donkey kicked (quite literally!)...but Rama intervened. Rama.

A feeling of relief filled me and I took a deep breath. Wow. I probably wasn’t in any real danger, but Rama (who was thankfully separated from RC by a gate…I did NOT want to be in the middle of a donkey/Anatolian shepherd throw-down!) saw a potential “threat” and let his opinion be known. Rama did NOT like the way the donkey was eying me, and picked up on the fact that RC was not in his usual location. Something felt “off” to Rama, he was on it like lighting, sounding off like thunder. I knew from that day on that I was well protected on the farm. Rama and the other Guardian Dogs were always working, always watching. Always.

Before he left for the National Guard, I worked with an 18 year old boy named Jeremy. He was quiet, shy and 6 feet tall, but probably weighted ninety-five pounds soaking wet. He was thoughtful, intelligent…a hard worker who was polite and eager to please. I respected him, as he was much more “country” than I was (and ever will be) and that gave him “street cred.” One day, as we were dutifully cleaning the parlor (the area where the goats get milked) we were discussing our families. I would often chide him that if I had him when I was 14, I’d be old enough now to be his mother. I would tell him about my kids, and he’d, well, he didn’t say much. He’d just listen. This particular day, we were discussing our pets and I mentioned my 4 cats.

“You mean, you don’t have a dog?” He questioned.

“No,” I replied, and then went through my usual laundry list of why I didn’t have a dog just yet.

“You really don’t have a dog for those kids?” He asked again.

“No!” I answered, laughing at his obvious and dead-serious offense to my lack of canine companionship.

“Well, that’s just UN-AMERICAN.” He spat back to me, in totally legitimate disgust.

Oh My Gosh! I thought to myself. Was I really un-American, as he suggested? He was just getting ready to leave for active duty. I needed to listen to him. So several well thought out months later, we welcomed Kona into our lives. We named him “Kona” as an homage to “Rama.” Not exactly the same name, but the similarity was no mistake. There were many reasons to name him after Rama, the mighty Anatolian Pyrenees, the mighty canine warrior.

It was with a heavy spirit and lump in my throat that I said “Goodbye” to Rama last Sunday. For I knew with certaintly, it would probably be the last time I saw him. Rama had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer and it hit him square in his belly (and the rest of the farm in the heart…) I asked my Boss if she wanted him in or out, thinking maybe she’d want him accessible or close by. But she unselfishly replied that he could be wherever he wanted to be, and for him, that was with the Milkers, with his girls, out in the pasture. Working. He indicated such by begging to get let out to them, as soon as he had visited with us and was sure milking was over, the same routine as any other night. The last night I worked with Rama, knowing full well his fate had been decided upon, I cleaned the parlor as I always did. It was a dark night, so when I heard the familiar barking, I stopped spraying water, and looked outside to make sure everything was okay. And there was Rama…barking with his “Brother At Arms” dog Joe, keeping watch over the pasture, tail wagging, doing his job, because it’s what he wanted to do.

If there are coyotes in Dog Heaven, pot-bellied pigs, bob cats and bears, people to love and pet; then Rama is there, too, (chasing them and!) guarding them, loving them...working…and happy.

This Christmas...(look Trish! Two Blogs in TWO Days! Whoo hoo!)

I am asking for five things...

1. the new Stephen King book, Just After Sunset (which I hear, on good authority, has already been ba-oughten!)

2. The Complete Twilight Movie Companion (I have a totally cute husband whose coworkers have nicknamed "Superman," I have two awesome kids, 3 cuddly (if not persnickity) cats, the most perfect dog in existence...I am a stay-at-home-mom who "gave up" a life of creativity and impulsivity to provide a nice life for the afore mentioned creatures under my proxy...so throw me an effing bone if I want to obsess over a teenaged vampire/werewolf love story. I have NEVER said that I WASN'T a nerd, at heart...)

3. An expensive dog bed for my newly adopted shelter dog with his name snobbishly monogrammed on the side...

4. a doggie DNA test (yes, they DO exist, and I snobbishly want to know his pedigree...his history...as mixed as it may be...I'm just so curious...He IS the World's Most Perfect Dog, after all! Besides, I really would like to know what part of "Boxer Mix" actually means "Purebred American Pit Bull,"

even though it really doesn't matter, he had me at "hello."



and finally...

5. a Bosu ball

(because despite what I am about to write, I LOVE using it at the gym, and would LOVE to try using it in the privacy of my own home...)

However, since I don't like to be like everyone else (seems like everyone has a Bosu ball, and since I am often wont to buck gimmicky excer-scams and because the visual alone makes for good blogging...), why not try this nifty little device, as seen in the Brookstone catalog that arrived in my mailbox just in time for Holiday Shopping.


What better way to "exercise" my "core" than by dry humping a simulated horse torso, devoid of useless, pesky head or limbs! I know, here's an idea! While V is busy scooting around on her Little Tikes Pony, (yes, in a moment of weakness, I decided it would be a great idea to spend money during a recession...)
I can gyrate like a hooker at Cafe Risque (formerly of Lavonia, Georgia...good thing they were run outta town a la "Footloose...") on Mommy's new "exercise" machine! "Regulators, Mount up!"

Seriously, is the "uGallup" contraption for real? I somehow can't imagine this $599 (yes, friends FIVE HUNDRED AND NINETY NINE DOLLARS!) piece of "workout equipment" fitting in next to my 10 year old treadmill and elliptical machine. In my playroom. "Pay no attention to Mommy's little riding machine! TEE HEE HEE [hystryonic laughter optional...]!" I'm sure it's "fun" and "easy" as the literature poses, but so is Britney Spears, and I'm sure she's not good for me, either. Just reading the ad for the uGallop makes me want to check for crabs.

Hopefully Santa will be good to me (even in this economy.) I'd still love the dog stuff (because, as usual, it's all about NOT me...), and the Bosu ball. As for the other item...well, I can always sit on the clothes dryer like a normal person.

Scout Willis. One Word. WOW.

Photo from perezhilton.com