Loving my mother is an easy thing to do. She is just there for me, no matter what. Whenever I’ve needed her. There are always questions about choices I’ve made or not made, but she’s just … there. Always. And of course, even when I’m stupid beyond belief. For example …
Friends, I’m 36 years old. If you read my blog you know I’m no stranger to alcohol. I can out drink many people and still be sober. It’s quite odd. I digress. So, let me put it this way …
I’m 36 years old and still call my mom for a ride home because I’m too drunk to drive.
I can tell you endless stories of ShaNaNa and I calling my mom at 2 something in the morning, barely able to speak let alone figure out where I am for her to come get us. Okay maybe not endless stories, but many. One in particular that’s my absolute favorite …
ShaNaNa and I were out one night, probably almost 10 or 12 years ago now. We did shots of Goldschlager like it was our job that night. Back then I could handle doing shots up the ying yang. Not so much anymore. *Sigh* So anyway, knowing it was going to be incredibly stupid and dangerous to drive us home, I called my mom at 2.30am in the morning. This was before I had a cell phone of my own (yes it was a long time ago) so I had to use a pay phone. We had no money left, having spent every last dime on shots and beer. We were sweaty from dancing our asses off. In our last trip to pee, we realized we looked more like homeless hookers than the goddesses we were just four hours ago. Our hugs for people were beginning to resemble take down wrestling moves and we were, simply drunk beyond comprehension. Instead of asking someone for a quarter, I called collect. I called collect at 2.30am in the morning and was too drunk to realize that my mom had already accepted the charges so I kept yelling into the phone (thinking I was talking to the operator) “My name is QT! Quuuuuuuuu – Teeeeeeeeee!!” All the while she was calmly waiting for me to stop yelling and when I finally did, she said, “QT. It’s mom, are you at *insert name of our favorite hang out*? Yes? Alright, stay right there, do not go near your car! We’ll see you soon.”
So, ShaNaNa and I sat outside on the curb waiting for mom to get there. She and my step-dad finally pull up in their white mini-van with the third row seating. We jump up motioning wildly even though they were directly in front of us, because you know, clearly she can’t see us. Stepdad gets out, takes my keys and heads over to my car to drive it home. ShaNaNa and I jump in the mini-van and fall our way back to the third row seating to sit there. Mom is staring at us and finally says,
“Shannon, where are your shoes?”
ShaNaNa and I look at each other, and both of heads immediately point down to look at her feet. I looked back at her in surprise. She was barefoot, no shoes. I then busted out laughing to the point I was tearing. We both laughed ourselves silly, no answer for my mom, who simply sighed and drove us home. To this day we have no idea exactly what happened to her shoes.
On our way home that night, my mom got pulled over by a police officer. Why? Because she was tailgating my father, who was of course, driving my car. She was apparently following him a bit too closely for the officer’s liking. So the lights go off behind us, she swears and pulls over. Ut oh, now she’s pissed, I remember thinking. ShaNaNa and I are giggling while the officer walks up to the car.
“License and registration, please,” he says to mom.
Mom hands them over. But I could tell, she was silently fuming. She had that look. Oh God, I know that look.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asks.
“No”, my mom said, quite loudly. “I don’t. What I do know, is that it’s 3am in the morning and I’m picking up my drunk ass daughter and her friend so they didn’t kill someone driving themselves home. I don’t know where I am, that was my husband in the car in front of me so now I don’t know how to get us home and apparently, I am the one doing something wrong since I got pulled over!”
At this point, the officer leans his head in the window, and looks around for ShaNaNa and I. We, drunk and sitting all the way back in the third row, wave wildly at the officer for a minute before ShaNaNa holds up her bare (dirty) foot and announces (read: yells), “LOOK! I lost my SHOE!” I immediately starting laughing that somehow turned into hiccuping and yelled for mom to give me a smokey treat.
Mom glares at the young officer before he hands her back her license and registration with a laugh.
I love my mom. I really do.
Just so you know, she did not get a ticket that night, and we did manage to find our way home.