I have, what you'd call, "A Cute Mom." Just by her way of speaking butchered English with sheer dedication to do so, I can understand why she'd be considered as one. She's shorter than me and definitely more humble, she has the ability to be very prompt and anal [definition: precise, ready, organized etc.] and doesn't really back down from a challenge...
But she's still nuts.
Cuckoo.
Crazy.
One screw loose in the head.
I love her, I really do. I love her life story, I love her dedication to get things done and her sweet and sometimes VERY annoying tendency to want to tell me everything about herself.
But I can't help but notice that my mom is a little...strange.
I blame it on her lack of childhood.
She had none.
At eight she started working in a chocolate factory, mixing the ingredients, helping her mother by selling flowers in the stands at the market, and selling plants and herbs shouting out things like "You want love? You want magic? You want a quick cure for ugly? Get this plant! It will help you with all you desire! Only fifty cents!"
Haha, I always laugh when she tells me how she would make up complete bullshit to try and sell simple weeds...and it also makes me sad. I picture my mother in her childhood: small, very young looking [at least younger than her actual age], dark, skinny, always trying to earn a living even though she was just a kid.
Let me help you out with the picture of how my mom grew up: you know those commercials where a spokesperson walks with a child in hand, the setting behind them being a neighborhood made out of dirt? You know the one. Where the spokesperson tells you about how hard the child has to work and what the living conditions are, how they will take anything they can get and how we should please, please, please call and donate at least a dollar which will help feed a family of four? Yeah, picture that as my mom's whole life. Only, instead of just one sibling, my mother grew up with seven.
I think she has a reason to be a little nuts.
She has tendencies to act like a child sometimes, especially when she's happy. I'll be sitting in the living room and she comes out skipping merrily like a little girl.
"Mom?" I will ask, a little confused but not at all surprised. "What are you doing?"
"Skipping," she will answer, flatly.
"Oh." And I return my attention back to what I am doing.
Other times, the house will be quiet, and I mean completely quiet, and the only sounds are coming from the fan over the stove as she cooks when suddenly my mom starts singing a song. It's terribly out of tune and at the top of her lungs, but I know she does this on purpose. She laughs at my near heart attack and continues to sing. Yes, she truly has her moments.
I'm pretty sure that's where I get my random burst of craziness. I'm sure that's why I'm a little insane as well. I'm sure that's why I love being how I am and why I love my mother so much.
The apple really doesn't fall too far from the tree.
Yup.
Anyway. Twas just a thought.
But she's still nuts.
Cuckoo.
Crazy.
One screw loose in the head.
I love her, I really do. I love her life story, I love her dedication to get things done and her sweet and sometimes VERY annoying tendency to want to tell me everything about herself.
But I can't help but notice that my mom is a little...strange.
I blame it on her lack of childhood.
She had none.
At eight she started working in a chocolate factory, mixing the ingredients, helping her mother by selling flowers in the stands at the market, and selling plants and herbs shouting out things like "You want love? You want magic? You want a quick cure for ugly? Get this plant! It will help you with all you desire! Only fifty cents!"
Haha, I always laugh when she tells me how she would make up complete bullshit to try and sell simple weeds...and it also makes me sad. I picture my mother in her childhood: small, very young looking [at least younger than her actual age], dark, skinny, always trying to earn a living even though she was just a kid.
Let me help you out with the picture of how my mom grew up: you know those commercials where a spokesperson walks with a child in hand, the setting behind them being a neighborhood made out of dirt? You know the one. Where the spokesperson tells you about how hard the child has to work and what the living conditions are, how they will take anything they can get and how we should please, please, please call and donate at least a dollar which will help feed a family of four? Yeah, picture that as my mom's whole life. Only, instead of just one sibling, my mother grew up with seven.
I think she has a reason to be a little nuts.
She has tendencies to act like a child sometimes, especially when she's happy. I'll be sitting in the living room and she comes out skipping merrily like a little girl.
"Mom?" I will ask, a little confused but not at all surprised. "What are you doing?"
"Skipping," she will answer, flatly.
"Oh." And I return my attention back to what I am doing.
Other times, the house will be quiet, and I mean completely quiet, and the only sounds are coming from the fan over the stove as she cooks when suddenly my mom starts singing a song. It's terribly out of tune and at the top of her lungs, but I know she does this on purpose. She laughs at my near heart attack and continues to sing. Yes, she truly has her moments.
I'm pretty sure that's where I get my random burst of craziness. I'm sure that's why I'm a little insane as well. I'm sure that's why I love being how I am and why I love my mother so much.
The apple really doesn't fall too far from the tree.
Yup.
Anyway. Twas just a thought.
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