Sept 5, 2013

I'll be in the car. On the phone with my sister. Watching tv. It happened today at work. I had to call my dad and ask him "What kind of conversion van did you get to take us to Lake Geneva in when I was 9?" Huh, what? That was an odd conversation because although I've told my dad I want to write a book about my mom, he doesn't know I've started, and he hasn't seen this website yet.

I find myself being rocked by a memory, forcing me to pull out my phone and jot it down before I forget. Wait until I get to the section "Milk Stain on the Ceiling" and "Suitcase o' Pills". Those are sure to be a hoot. For me to write and hopefully you to read.

My sister and I will spend the entire forty-five minutes it takes me to get home from work, laughing on the phone about something we experienced growing up under Patty's thumb. Michelle was under her thumb, she practically used both hands with me. Being the first, I assume parents are always more careful, less sure of themselves. The second one comes along and it's like "oh yeah, a kid, no biggie." My mom kept me on a short leash for a long time.

I find myself getting so excited to write about her, and yet a lot of my memories are not as great as everyone might think. And that's the hard part. Admitting to the people that thought she was awesome, that she was also controlling, manipulative, and sometimes did things that made us all crazy. Sure, every parent drives their kids nuts, and maybe this story will be no different. And I certainly don't want to paint her in a bad light. Maybe just a diffused light. Hopefully it will allow me (and my sister) to realize why we are "the way we are" and let people see a side of her they didn't know about. And of course, have a pretty good laugh in the process. Because that's all my sister and I do. We look back, shake our heads, and laugh.