So this parenting thing works two ways. I.. am a parent. And I.. have a parent.
This morning I decided to let my mom, who is 79, take me to the DMV (thats what I call it from years of living in California). For some reason around here you call it Drivers License Facility or something like that. Anyway.. so my mom takes me. I am going with my mom because I am currently without a car, and she want's to pay for my drivers license fee for my birthday present. It's either $30 for that or a big candle.
So of course we have to get there at 7:30.. because they open at 8. And we have to make sure we get the first handicap stall, since there is probably a mad rush of people coming to this place on a friday morning while a WINTER STORM WARNING is in effect. Okay. "I'm cold".. I tell her as she shuts the car off. "I didn't wear socks in my boots". She gives me the look, and says "I'm hot". Well, thats because you have the heat blaring on your face instead of at your feet, DUH! Of course you are going to be hot.
25 minutes and one sided conversation later...( because she refuses to do something about her hearing loss) the doors open. I am the first one in line.
Time to renew my license and change my address since I recently moved 6 months ago. Oh yippee! I get a new picture! Im so glad I wore my power rangers sweatshirt and I am especially thankful for this ginormous pimple God wanted me to have on my forehead today. And I knew I should have invested in some clairol this week.
I need to prove my address. Apparently they don't believe Com Ed. They want a second opinion. I have nothing. So they tell me my mom can sign an afidavit for me. To prove where I live. As I walk her through the paper process of this, I am eyeing the clerk who must be hearing me tell my mom all the answers. "Yes, its Vicki. You named me almost 46 years ago to the day. Don't you remember?". Why would my mom ask me my name as she's filling out an affidavit proving who I am and where I live? I am sure they think I picked up this old lady in line and paid her in McDonalds gift cards to be my "voucher".
My mom is having trouble seeing. The clerk hands her some reading glasses. My mom gushes over the multi colored frames. And decides that when we leave there we have to go to the Dollar Tree so she can get a pair just like it.
Paper work finally done. My mom gives me a look of disapproval when I tell them YES I want to be an organ donor. My mom is old school catholic and thinks I will need my whole body to get into heaven. I tell her don't worry, I have instructed my kids to takethe coffee can.. aka me... to six flags when the day comes and let me fly off a rollercoaster. She's not amused. But I am. I finally get to sit down to have my photo taken.
My mom is brushing her bangs off her face as a signal to me that my hair is too much on my face. Sorta like the lady with the black comb in grade school, that had to comb everyones hair before saying cheese.
I ignore her. Wanting my hair to be even more in my face to spite her. Picture comes out. "That's a pretty good picture considering you haven't showered and you have no makeup on", she says. UM... yes I DID and yes I DO I think. Instead I just agree.
So we head back to my house. Dollar tree doesn't open for another hour and a half..
I give her a kiss and she tells me "happy birthday you dumb bitch". NOW I know where I get my sense of humor. And why I am constantly losing friends. In my house the word bitch is a term of endearment!
Did I mention that when my daughter turned 16 and I took ther to the DMV I played a funny joke on her? She asked me if the tiara she was wearing on her head for her picture was too much. I said no. That it was perfect. Knowing that she couldn't change her picture for four years and she would soon be a 20 year old woman having to show her ID to cash checks etc. with a crown on her head!
Moms. Dads. You gotta love em. You gotta embrace em. Because lets face it.. we are all stuck with em!
All kidding aside, my mom is the best. I am so thankful to still have her. And for her to be coming around bugging the S**T out of me every couple of days. And I KNOW I am doing the same thing to my kids. Handing down a tradition that's been around for generations.
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