June 12, 2010
“Melissa, go down that aisle and get some [peanut butter].”
I was home visiting my family in Pennsylvania and I went with my mom to Giant Eagle to pick up a few groceries. We must’ve had an event to attend because I can mentally see the red dress I was wearing.
I contested and said she already had [peanut butter] at her house, but she insisted I do it. The aisle was occupied by several people, so I figured she just didn’t want to dodge the traffic. Why else wouldn’t she just walk with me? I braved the crowd to run the errand and then plopped the [peanut butter] into my mom’s cart.
“OK, you can put it back. We do have [peanut butter].”
“Why did you have me do that?”
“I just wanted to watch everyone stare at you.”
The members of my family are a little prideful about our children. We joke about it all the time because we can tolerate a lot, but, hurt one of our kids and, as my dad always says, “You’d rather French kiss an alligator.” <– Yes, he really does say that. I couldn’t make that up if I tried.
Proud, I tell you. When my sister and I discuss parenting woes or wonders and memories of our childhood come up, she always says, “Meliss: We would fart and Mom and Dad would think it was the greatest thing.”
They are just that supportive. And proud.
Another time I was in town, I was applying makeup in her bathroom, getting ready to visit Jean-Marc and Daffi at a Dafmark performance. I looked to the left and there Mom was, leaning on the threshold, just staring at me. She said, “I’m so happy you’re so beautiful.”
Now, these little things may seem insignificant; but years later, I’m writing about them.