Let Them Eat Cake!

Boxed cakes… Easy enough to make, right? Add the egg, oil, cake mix, bake, and BOOM! Cake. Wait for said cake to cool, stack it, and then frost. It’s not rocket science. Or is it?

Exhibit A: Yo Mama’s cake. The struggle is real.

Reynold’s Wrap?!

Hi friends!  Long time, no see...  I've got a new Yo Mama story for ya.  For almost all of my life, my mom has been HIGHLY against drinking.  She was against me drinking, my sister drinking, and herself drinking.  Well, my friends...  How the tides have changed.  Now my mama is a wine connoisseur.  I wish I could tell you what brought about this sudden change, but I know just as much about the situation as you do.  One day drinking was bad.  The next day, she needed a glass of wine to end a stressful night.  I'm going to blame it on a mid-life crisis.

Now...  Just because my lovely mother has taken up drinking, does not mean that she is up on all of the drinking etiquette.  I'm guessing she has never heard of a wine stopper before, because this is how she's been storing her open bottles:

Yes.  That is a piece of tin foil.  I have nothing further to say.....

Remember the Knife in My Trunk?

Hi friends! No, that title is not from some cheesy horror film. That’s an actual text that I received from Yo Mama. It’s well known in the family that Yo Mama requires a capable caregiver at ALL times. Otherwise, she gets herself into all types of trouble. Hence, where most of the stories from this blog come from. Well today, Yo Mama was with a not-so-experienced caregiver. And trouble ensued. About a month ago, I saw that my mother had a VERY large knife in the back of her trunk. Upon questioning her, she told me that she had confiscated it from someone at work and needed to “properly dispose of it”. Now is the time where I tell you that by “large knife” I mean machete-type knife. Yup. Big, long, ridiculously sharp knife just sitting loosely in her trunk. Loosely!!!! Not stored in a box. Or even safely secured in a corner. Just thrown in the trunk. We’ll just skip over the part where I tell her that it is unsafe to have that knife in her trunk (for SO many reasons). Now let’s just skip forward to today, shall we? About mid-afternoon, I receive this text from her:

Is anyone shocked here?!?! Because I’m not! Oh, and come to find out, it was actually 17 stitches. Se-ven-teen. Also, don’t judge me on my lack of concern! You all know how Yo Mama is! This type of behavior is expected!!! Now… let’s just focus on one text in particular.

How shady does that text sound when taken out of context?!?!?!?! I will keep this forever. Can you say blackmail? That is all. Goodnight.

Need a Little Help There???

I often wonder how my sister and I made it through our childhood years unharmed by my mother's roughness.  Roughness?  Spacey-ness?  (<-- Yes, that's a word!)  Everything this lady does is so rough and NON-delicate.  She's like a bull in a china shop, people!

My mama dyes her hair on her own most days.  Occasionally, I assist her.  The majority of the time, she dyes her hair some shade of brown.  However, if for some reason she ever dyed her hair red, you would think her bathroom was a crime scene!  It boggles my mind how she makes such a mess.  She gets dye on the wall, down the cabinets, all over the floor, and—most importantly—all over herself!  Now I'm not talking about the random drop of dye that sneaks its way down your forehead.  No.  I'm talking about it looks like she became confused mid-dye, and tried to dye her face—not her hair.  Think I'm exaggerating???  Fine.  I'll prove it.

I would just like to point out the dye that has somehow made its way underneath her chin.  Oh!  And also, to that "pool" of dye behind her ear.  And lastly, let me just say that this was not a one-time thing.  No, my friends.  This is every time.  This is her life.  I'll just give you a moment to soak that in…

GRRRRR!!!

Bonus post!!!!  This site refuses to allow me use the same font for each post.  Sorry for the inconsistency!  See?!?!?!?!?!

*Sigh*

Hi there!  I know...  I know...  It's been a while.  So sorry to leave you hanging like that, but Yo Mama (my mama) hasn't been giving me much to work with lately.  Now, I know what you're thinking: "But My Mother's Child, you said that you have years’ worth of stories about Yo Mama.  Why not just use one of those?!"  Well, my dear friends...  Those stories are far too great to just use them all up at once.  They need to be strategically spaced out.  But fret not!  I have new material!  Here's a teaser: one involves a temper tantrum thrown by my lovely mother.  But we'll get into that story at a different time.

Recently, my mama got a brand new, shiny iPhone 5.  Too much phone for her?  I think so.  This iPhone has given me quite a few stories for this here blog, and she hasn't even had it a month!

On to the first story.  My mom is quite the texter.  <--Is that a word??  It is now!  Like I said, that woman loooovvveeesss to text.  And with that shiny, new iPhone, she can hardly contain herself!  Well, it was quite apparent that she discovered a new feature the other day.  No need to explain.  You'll see what I mean.

 

Since then, 99.5% of her texts contain some kind of emoji icon.  *sigh*  This is my life, people.

Shirt(?)

Where my mother and I live, the summer days can easily reach 110 degrees.  So one would assume that the normal person would try to wear as little clothes as possible in such hot weather, right?  Right.  And one would also assume that the same would apply for my mother, right?  Right.  (I would just like to say that it's great that you and I have so much in common, and can agree on all of these things.  It makes writing this post so much easier.)

Well, sadly, we (Yes, we.  You are now a part of the team.) were wrong to assume such a thing about the lady that I call “Mom”.  About two summers ago, my mother came home from work in a shirt(?).  ß That question mark is there, because I'm not sure that what she had on could be described as a shirt.  This thing looked like the asymmetrical, polyester love child of Star Trek and Prince.  This shirt(?) (there goes that pesky question mark again) was so bad that I forced her to let me take a picture.  And then I proceeded to text that picture to everyone that I knew.  (Don't judge me!  This blog is about my mother.  Please try to stay on topic, people.)  Well.... instead of me trying to explain this shirt(?) to you any further, let me just show you:

 

WHAT?!  IT WAS THE MIDDLE OF SUMMER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!