illegitimi non carborundum

7 Sep

It’s my mom’s birthday.

To sum up the woman who gave birth to my brother, sister and me and has subsequently spent forty-one years being systematically bullied by us, I’d like to tell you a little bit about her…

She was born in South Boston. Her father was a one-armed Congressional Medal of Honor recipient. Her mom was Mother Theresa.

Popa MacGillivary. And his forty-pound wooden arm. Oh and Truman.

She married her high school sweetheart and spawned three smart asses.

Camping trip circa 1984. I’m fairly certain we all got full blown pneumonia on this little excursion.

Every Christmas Eve, she unabashedly serves us frozen shrimp cocktail and hairy chicken wings, while we sit surrounded by four hundred caroler figurines in an eight hundred square foot house, wondering why we’re all in intensive therapy. Nothing says Happy Birthday, baby Jesus like these little fuckers.

Multiply this by several hundred, shove five adults and six children in a closet and call it Christmas. Glug glug glug.

She ran for State Representative on an Independent ticket and managed to not set her opponents on fire with her burning bra.

Side eye, Republicans.

She starts stories en medias res and expects us to keep up with her. Her stories are typically about people whom we’ve never met. Like Nate Berkus and Dr. Oz. She quotes Doctor Oz like he’s our uncle.

Happy Birthday, Joan. Let’s spoon.

She’s a scientist.

She can’t remember names. She calls her six grandchildren by numbers, pertaining to their birth order. They love it.

The Boys from Brazil.

She made me jump into the water with all of our clothes on when we were visiting the Blasket Islands when I was twelve. It’s one of my favorite memories.

She was class president in high school and college.

She has suffered more loss than anyone I know.

True love

She also loses her glasses and her keys every fucking day.

Once when I was fifteen, she picked me up from work wearing only a Daisy Duck bathing suit and flip-flops. I managed to not kill myself.

Then, she asked my sister’s prom date if he had his rubbers. It was raining out. That’s not what he thought she meant.

She is fearless. She is selfless. She makes friend wherever she goes.

She likes Celtic Thunder. A lot. Every other sentence begins with Celtic Thunder. If I have to watch those far too jovial, tap dancing freaks run across stage one more time, I’m going to back a car over myself. Please God. Not again.

You can never get enough of Fields of Athenry in acapella. Fact.

She buys random shit at Ocean State Job Lot. Like tons of random shit. Who buys forty-seven fly swatters and a ten gallon drum of chlorine? My mom. That’s who.

She doesn’t have a functioning pool.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

We love you. Madly.

Don’t move. You have a castle on your head.


One Response to “illegitimi non carborundum”

  1. martha! October 24, 2012 at 7:03 am #

    This is priceless & wonderful, made me laugh & made me cry!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: