Here’s the thing you should know about my mom and me. We have a weird relationship. I mean, she is my best friend and has been since…well, literally forever. However, as much as I want to write a long-winded diatribe about how I will never measure up to the size 7 shoes she fills, I am not. Well, that’s not true, I would never fit in a size 7 because, like many things genetic, I inherited none of her dainty, beautiful traits. I got all the big-boned German from around the world and look nothing like her.
My mom knows how much she means to me. She and I talk at least once a day every day. If I know my mom, the one wish she has had for every Mother’s Day since she had a tween, it was that I would one day have children exactly like myself. She sat smugly through every one of my pubescent tantrums, sipping her tea and awaiting her turn to say, “I told you so.” However, my kids have been bittersweet for my mother. While she loves them to the ends of time and would seriously set up a kill room if anyone so much as accidentally tripped one of them, she must be somewhat disappointed at how well behaved they all are (So far! For the love of God! So far! Don’t jinx me).
That’s why I’m convinced my mom recently adopted two dogs. You see, my mom has had the same decrepit Boston Terrier for 14 years. Suddenly, last year, my mom decided to adopt a Bernese Mountain Dog and a chocolate lab. Well, the lab was a few months ago.
Anyway, today, my mom dropped off her wolf pack for me to watch casually while she ran some errands. I was leery as she left and her Bernese, named Rookie, took running leaps against my patio door causing the house to shake. She assured me, once she was gone, all would be super swell.
All was not super swell.
First, the baby gate I had in place to keep the dogs outside was blasted into a million small shards.
Then, as I was attempting to piece together the mayhem, I went to find the lab, Spice, who was halfway under the back fence like Chance in Homeward Bound.
As I sweatily hauled boulders to cover the holes (did I mention I am also watching four children and my own dog on top of this?), Spice squeaked through the fence and pranced around the yard. I had dirt smeared across my brow as I lunged at her and got her scared enough of the bedlam in my eyes to scoot into the house.
When I got her inside, I could hear my son screaming, “Mom! This is an EMERGENCY!” And I tripped over five dogs to get to the back door where he was covered, and I mean covered in hot, fresh dog diarrhea. Under his nail. Bottoms of his feet. Smeared all over his clothes.
I stripped him down to nothing in the backyard while he screamed, “Mom!!!! Are the POLICE GOING TO ARREST ME FOR BEING NAKED?!!!!” Over and over until the hushed whispers of my neighbor’s Mother’s Day party on the other side of the fence assured me everyone was aware of the situation.
When I got back in the living room, Spice had escaped the leash I tied her up on and pranced around with the glee of a thousand pigs in shit.
So, here I sit, awaiting my mother’s return. One glass of wine in. Four sleeping dog at my feet and thanking the shit out of my mom for putting up with 10 times this on a daily basis from my brother and me. You are an angel and I would do it again. Maybe, like 10 years from now? 20? Either way, love your guts and would do anything. You bring the wine next time.