Wednesday, October 31, 2012

This Wasn't Supposed to Be My Waterford

....I’m just kidding. I wouldn't otherwise know what Waterford was, except my Mom’s friend Judy gave her a stack of these “Weekend Waterford” Styrofoam cups when I was a kid and they laughed themselves silly about it for at least six hours. I figured it must be one of those Mom Jokes that wasn't actually very funny, but because Moms are so absorbed in the lives of their families and sometimes seem to lose their sense of humor, they consequently find very obscure things to be hilarious. Lest you think that I plan on avoiding the development of a Mom sense of humor: I have GREAT plans to call my friend Lucy Ross one day so we can bust a gut about how much easier it is to do a load of dirty laundry with a Tide Stain Brick! (Actually, I was about 15 when the Stain Brick came out, so technically Lou was past the days of washing grass-stained, grime-infested clothes, but if it’d hit six years earlier, the Stain Brick TOTALLY woulda merited a Mom-humor phone call/grocery store conversation – you KNOW the kind of conversation I’m talking about. Where, especially if you're in a patient, non-kicking-and-screaming-to-get-home mood, Mom will talk to her friend Donna at Harris Teeter for forty five minutes. It’s probably really something like five minutes, but it certainly feels like forty five.)

        No wait but really: Ma. I luh you, gurl. You my fave. You laugh at weird jokes and sometimes I think you don’t have a sense of humor, but it’s because you lost all your sleep/gave all your time and energy to your family. (And don’t worry: I have grown my hair out since this photo was taken) Waterford - I was talking about Waterford. So it’s this really nice crystal, that you probably get mostly as a wedding present, or you inherit it – wait, who am I kidding? I don’t know how you come by it– all the Douglas china was inherited from Big Daddy’s plantation owning ancestors. (I’m kidding. Kind of.) Will I ever have any Waterford? That’s debatable. If there’s not a chapter in my memoir titled, “This Wasn't Supposed to be My Marriage,” it means that all my wildest dreams will have come true and I’ll have married a man with the last name Vanderbilt / Carnegie / Rockefeller, and upon their regrettable inability to attend our wedding, William and Kate will send a set of Waterford sherry glasses. (13th cousins, once removed – Remember?)
        Do I have any Waterford now? I do not. In fact, as I drink my orange juice and write
this, I am drinking out of… a Tupperware container. Seriously. Remember how I said Carolyn and I don’t give a rip about what’s in the sink? It's full of glasses right now. Either that, or they’re in the dishwasher. That has yet to be run. And lemme tell you who wouldn't stand for this: my mother. Not in a neurotic, always-breathing-down-my-neck-to-do-chores kind of way, but in a selfless, on-her-A-game kind of way. The dishes and laundry were always done in my house, as a kid (or if they weren't, they weren't crawling out of the sink and we certainly weren't drinking out of plastic containers) I fear for my children, that they may come crawl in bed with me one morning and say “Mommy, we don’t have any more sippy cups in the drawer.” And instead of sleepily clutching them to my chest, kissing their forehead and getting out of bed to go get a fresh cup out of the dishwasher that I remembered to turn on at 1 AM, I’ll say, “First of all, you have pop tart crumbs on your face. Which means that you broke into Mommy’s Brown Sugar and Cinnamon Unfrosted Pop Tarts, and that you’re getting crumbs in Mommy’s bed, which she doesn't like. And unless you started the dishwasher last night, there won’t be any clean sippy cups for another three hours.”
        So raise your Waterford, your Tupperware, and your debatably-clean sippy cups, and let’s hear it for Mom: keeping the earth on its axis, one clean glass at a time.

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