Mom Is A Nut

Apparently I referred to Larry the tomato in this post and my daughter was horrified. It seems no such character exists. Bob is the tomato and Larry is the cucumber and I am the erring mother.

Last weekend, as Dave worked on the tree house, he met mom's new neighbor.
This neighbor is the owner of the house. He had been using it as a rental but decided to live in it for two years before selling it to avoid capital gains.
Mom had been at a Shebrews conference last weekend (this, my friends, is a Hebrew conference for women). She returned home on Sunday night and asked what had been going on.
I gave her a brief recount of Rosy's latest mischief and then thought she might like to know about her new neighbor. For those of you who know me well, it will not surprise you to learn that I mixed up a word when repeating the details.
So I casually said, "Yeah, he's just living there for two years to avoid capital punishment."
Silence.
I began to have an inkling that I might have said something wrong right about when mom screamed, "Am I living next door to a murderer!"
I was hard put to reassure her because I was laughing too hard.

Today, a friend asked, "Have you always been this close to your mom?"
And I had to say no.
No.
I remember the incident, long ago, at someone's house in Alaska, when mom accidentally sprayed peppermint breath spray in her eye. The screams and frantic rinsing that followed were rather, well, embarrassing.
I wasn't laughing then.
I remember the rouge that she'd wear. The big red dots she'd put on her cheeks and then frantically rub together until she resembled Larry the tomato. The Sunday morning when she forgot to rub the dots together and went to church looking like an escaped clown. We kids didn't tell her, we just slowly slid down to the other end of the pew. I believe the pastor enlightened her as he made his rounds of greeting.
I wasn't laughing then.
Somehow, as a child, those silly little episodes took my eyes off the important things.
She's still silly.
But now I know how brave and loving and loyal she is too.
I know, somewhat, how self-sacrificing and intelligent and generous she is.
And the sad thing is,
I still wouldn't tell her that her rouge isn't rubbed in.
But I probably wouldn't slide down the pew,
because I've learned to laugh.