Wheat Thin
If my mother had told me I was pretty I wouldn't have put slutty pictures of myself online.
If my mother had told me I was pretty I wouldn't have put slutty pictures of myself online.
I still have the two huge dictionaries that my mother beat me with as a child.
Slightly mortified, I assured my mother incest wasn't really my thing after she warned me against getting into "trouble" with my cousin.
Clearing out your mother's house while she is still alive is emotionally draining and feels wrong.
My mother forgot to wash the pans between courses, resulting in cherry pie that tasted vaguely of fish, but it was still the best birthday ever.
I looked my mother straight in the eyes and told her I would never treat my kids the way she treated me, then I turned from the mirror and walked away.
Her first attempt at CPR shouldn't have to have been on her own mother.
Without taking her eyes off the magazine my mother casually told me, "Ya know, your first grade teacher was sure you were retarded or something."
I never had as long or decent a conversation with my mother as the one after I'd hit the deer and totaled the car.
The 1/32nd dose of the experimental drug cut her cancer in half, and I can't help but wonder if she would be alive today if they would have just given her a full therapeutic dose.
It's sad that my mother's cancer-filled dog seemed more frisky and alert on the day before he was put to sleep than he had been in years.
Tomorrow we will drive our son to college, get him set up in his dorm room, marvel at what a great school he will be attending, help him settle in, hug and kiss him goodbye and then cry the entire way home, the backseat entirely too empty.
Later, I would realize that I cried harder when my dog died than I did at Mom's funeral.
Having bent all of our spoons my mother finally bought an ice cream scoop.
As the belt loop on my pants broke at the rehearsal for my brother's wedding, my mother told me I was fat when I only weigh 110 pounds.
Mother marched me right back into the store where I had just shoplifted a small toy.
I didn't tell my mom when I got my period, even though I promised that I would.
My mother, being enraged, screamed "You son of a bitch", to which I replied, "Yes, I am."
After searching for a Gothic Lolita dress for two days and narrowing it down to six choices, my mother decided on another one I liked that I wasn't considering because it was out of the agreed upon price range.
The car was packed and loaded, and with tears in my eyes I hugged my son and said goodbye.
My mother took great delight in pointing out my shyness to strangers who were kinder to me than she ever was.
I wondered why I was having trouble grieving the death of my mother when the counselor figured out I had not grieved the death of HER mother only 12 years earlier.
I knew it was bad that day when my mother showed me her wrists, "I cut myself again."