Everywhere You Look: An Ode to Full House

 Not since Garth Brooks had I felt a connection so true, so amazing. Never had I ever felt that kind of presence, love, and warmth until I discovered the show Full House.

Full House, for me, was like one of those people you don't fully “get” the first time you meet them, and then, fate strikes and you meet them again only to fall in love and live happily ever after.

I fondly recall watching Full House every week with my brother while my dad chose to leave the room, misunderstanding our love of the show.

As I grew up, the show and I grew apart. I discovered shows here and there such as Sabrina, the Teenage Witch ( I always was a sucker for that damn talking cat) or reliving the days of Boy Meets World, until a couple years ago when the Tanner family walked into my life.

It started casually- “oh hey, look what's on!” I would sit and watch it to kill a bit of time. It soon turned into obsession, where it has stayed. It was on every morning at 9am as I got ready for school. I would get up early and made sure to finish my routine so I could tune in and check in on the Tanner family. I would sit and watch a full hour of the show before I made myself go to school. Besides, the 700 club was on after that.

When I couldn't watch the show, I taped it, and would watch it as soon as I could. Sometimes, my dad would try to kick me out of the living room so he could watch baseball. He just didn't understand. While he was watching sports I would be in my room wondering “Did Uncle Jessie finally figure out which twin was which?” “Did Danny finally pop the question to Vickie?” and of course “what trouble will Michelle get herself into next? Will she ever learn!?” Except I already knew. I had seen every single episode. That is a fact that my friends and family insist on, but I deny. Somewhere, there is still a bit of Full House gold that I have yet to discover. This doesn't, however, take away from my super-fan knowledge of the show.

First of all, I would like to talk about a few inconsistencies. In the beginning of the show, Danny had his mother come in to help take care of him and the girls. His mother returned a few seasons later- AS A WHOLE DIFFERENT ACTRESS!!!! What the hell!? As if we aren't supposed to notice? She just shrunk like 6inches and has an entirely different body structure now and has a new face. I'm not stupid Jeff Franklin!

Uncle Jessie's last name in the first season was Cochran. After that, John Stamos aka “Mr. Diva” wanted the name changed to Katsopolis because he felt his character should be more “Greek.” You can't just change names in the middle of a show because you “feel like it.” That's not how life works buddy.

And what about the stair cases? On the bottom floor there are two stair cases leading up to the second floor- one in the living room and one to the kitchen, yet scenes on the top floor only show one stair case. No matter what stair case they use, they always end up walking up the same stair case when they pan to the top floor. Explain that!

Everyone has their faults, and these faults only make me love it more,

To call me a fan would do a great disservice to my level of dedication to the show. I wasn't just a bystander, mindlessly taking in and admiring the show. I LIVED with that show. It was an EXPERIENCE. When they laughed, I laughed. Forget the laugh track, I didn't need one to tell me when to laugh. I just got it. When they cried, I CRIED.

When Uncle Jessie and Aunt Rebecca came home with Nicky and Alex, I felt like they were MY cousins.

When that boy stood Stephanie up, I was pissed. I felt like I had just been stood up. And might I say how proud I am of Stephanie for not smoking even though she KNEW it would mean not looking cool?

I commend DJ for her strong, courageous 1 episode battle with Anorexia. And when her and Steve broke up? Forget about it! SOB. FEST.

I cheered Joey on when he performed on Star Search and was right there by his side when he lost.

And where would the show be.....where would I be without Danny Tanner. His tough love taught me, Stephanie, DJ, and Michelle a lot of lessons about life...and ourselves. His family may have seen him as a “psycho with a dust mop” at times but he was usually always right. His punishments always seemed unfair, but they made you think.

In closing, I would like to leave you with the truest words ever written.

How to Have an Alter Ego

Everyone sometimes wishes they could be someone different. This is when some people go dye their hair or experiment a little bit with music, clothing, travel and so on. However, some people choose to take this to a different level and create whole different personalities. This is what we know as an “alter ego.” Do an alter ego correctly and you end up with a fun surprise now and again. Do an alter ego wrong? You end up either looking as if you have multiple personalities or you just confuse the hell out of people, leaving them wondering “what the hell was that about?” That being said let's look at the right way and the wrong way to have an alter ego by looking at a few celebrities who have gone this route.

Alter Ego Failure:

1. Garth Brooks IS Chris Gaines.
   People still like to wonder what the fuck Garth Brooks was thinking when he created Chris Gaines. At some point Garth probably got tired of doing the same old music- even though it was TOTALLY WORKING! The birth of Chris Gaines came along when Garth was set to star in a movie called The Lamb which chronicles a rock star and the emotional conflicts of life that come along with it. Garth decided to method act and BECOME Chris Gaines as a way to amp people up for the movie. The album came out and was named Greatest Hits- get it? Because Chris Gains is one of the biggest rock and roll stars you've never even heard of, and guess what? He's got a soft side. Gaines was debuted as a gentle tortured soul with a hipster gotee and hair cut. Not only was an album of Gaines' experimental music released, but he also appeared on Saturday Night Live- hosted by Garth Brooks. Garth appeared once as himself, and once again as an alter ego and sang his only song to be played on the radio- “Lost in You.”
Audiences were not “lost in Chris Gaines,” and Chris later disappeared completely. The album flopped mere weeks after it debuted and The Lamb went on an indefinite hiatus in 2001. Somewhere there HAS to be at least one scene of pure gold from that movie just waiting to be discovered and I have made it my life's mission to find this scene and bring it to light.
1. A.J. Mclean Creates an Alter Ego That Isn't Exactly an Alter Ego.

As someone who always loved the Backstreet Boys I was aware of ever move they made. They came out with a song? I already knew all the words. They came out with a new music video? I could already describe every minute aspect of it.

Which is why when A.J came out with “Johnny NoName,” I was sure to follow. What happened thereafter confused my 11 year old mind. What the hell was this?

Rather than create an off the wall character or create someone through which he can talk about his “feelings” a la Garth Brooks/ Chris Gains, he created someone with the same background info- single mom and a grandmother that died when he was young. He went all out for his back story to really reiterate the idea that this was an angsty angsty man.Not positive why he needed that background known but hey, whatever floats your boat. A.J also decided to give Johnny No Name a prison record and he would come out in handcuffs and leave in handcuffs. He never stated exactly what he was in prison for. According to A.J, Johnny was to be on “constant probation,” and was only let off to do the show. Again, why the prison record, I couldn't tell you. However, to end up in prison, one must commit a pretty serious crime. After creating the “bad boy” persona, A.J decided to give this bad boy a heart of gold. He wasn't just a criminal, oh no. He was a criminal bad boy with a heart of gold. He set up a foundation in Johnny No Name's honor and the proceeds were to go to saving music in schools. All great things, but again, was it necessary to create an alter ego to do all of this?

The icing on this glorious alter-ego cake? Johnny was British and from Nashville. How the FUCK does that happen? Who, from England, is going to say to themselves “Hey, I want to move to America. I know, I'll go to NASHVILLE!!” Johnny was supposed to be someone that A.J couldn't be on stage with the Backstreet Boys. So, all this time, you are wanting to be a bad boy British prisoner from Nashville? Of all the things you could have chosen to be, THAT was what you chose? Needless to say, Johnny No-Name followed into a kind of obscurity. He never gathered any kind of public interest enough for him to fade BACK into obscurity. That's how you know your alter ego was a major failure, when you can't even come out of obscurity. At least people know and remember Chris Gaines.

Alter Ego Success
David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust
If you want to look at a alter ego success. Look no further than David Bowie when he became Ziggy Stardust. I say “became Ziggy Stardust” because for a period of years, there was literally no distinction between David Bowie and Ziggy Stardust. David can be quoted as saying “Offstage I'm a robot. Onstage I achieve emotion. It's probably why I prefer dressing up as Ziggy to being David."
I hope Garth and Mr. Mclean are reading this and taking notes. This is how you have an alter ego bitches.
David Bowie started with creating a backup band called The Spiders from Mars-it was the 70's so it was acceptable to have a crazy ass name like that. Together they made an album called “The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars.” Shitballs, that's a long name. Nevertheless, David (Ziggy?) put together two kinds of music that he was amazing at- hard rock and folk music and mixed it with a story about a fictional band with its fictional asshole egocentric drug addicted lead singer. Ziggy wore makeup and outfits that would make Lady GaGa jealous. Actually, Ziggy was the original Lady GaGa. His shows were ultra theatrical, featuring frequent costume changes, stage acts that would make Prince blush.
This persona consumed Bowie so much that he questioned his sanity and even performed interviews as Ziggy. Eventually, Bowie ended up retiring while onstage in London.

The lesson of this story is that the only way to have an alter ego is to just forget about the old you. What that leaves you with is no alter ego, and just the new whacked out version of you. Instead of wondering why you have multiple personalities, people will just wonder who the fuck you are and why you are talking with a British accent.

Dear Omaha Steaks

 Once upon a time for fathers day I decided to be an awesome daughter and get my father a big package of meat to grill for the family. It was a win-win situation- he likes to grill and I enjoy eating. It's like those Christmas gifts that you get for someone that are really just gifts for yourself.

Luckily, Omaha Steaks was running a special that was too good to pass up. I snatched it up as fast as I could, and to my delight my dad loved it. We enjoyed our Omaha Steaks package for weeks to come.

However, Omaha Steaks got “attached.” From that point on, I received call after call, and every week, my mailbox and email inbox was filled with coupons and “offers.” They just couldn't let it go. Like any fed up lover, I figured my ignoring them would tell them “Hey, I'm not interested anymore, please leave me alone.” However, they persisted. They figured “Maybe she's busy, I'll just call later.” No voicemail, just a few missed calls. Sometimes I would feign interest and pick up a call or two. I would listen to their spiel, but politely decline and tell them that I was either broke or too busy to talk any longer. I had hoped they would realize that they were not going to be getting anything out of me anytime soon and would look elsewhere, but this was not so. They just kept coming back for more. Near the end I got more frustrated and told them that it was just a one time deal and that I didn't really intend on ordering from them anymore. The operator sounded disappointed, but understood and would let me go. Even after I told them I didn't anticipate ordering from them anytime soon and that it wasn't anything personal, the calls still persisted.

After months of painful back and fourth conversations, I decided that this needed to end. I took myself off their email list, and I told the next operator to please not contact me anymore. However, every tumultuous relationship needs to end with a letter to give both people closure- which I think is what I and Omaha Steaks needed- closure. I basically wanted to tell them “hey, I had a great time, but this just isn't working.”

Dear Omaha Steaks,

We need to talk. Lately I feel like your behavior has gotten a bit out of hand.

It all started when you piqued my interest one day, and I decided to get to know you a bit, and I eventually decided to take a chance.

I intended this to just be a one time thing- one day of fun and then we would just part ways. Sadly, I do not think you see it this way.

Since our day of fun, I have received call after call. Sometimes I get missed calls, and sometimes you don't even leave a message. The calls are always the same, usually about how you've changed and how you've got something “special” for me.

Then came the mail. On a regular basis now I receive an abundance of mail, all promising me gifts- some of which sound great. However, to me, the gifts and letters are just sad attempts at getting back something that never really was.

I hope you can understand that we can't talk anymore. I hope you have a great life and you meet someone who really takes advantage of all the great things you have to offer. I just hope you understand, that that person cannot be me.

-Kelly Bigley

It was an immediate relief to send off that email, and I could only hope my pal Omaha Steaks could view it the same way. I wouldn't admit it, but I anxiously awaited their reply. I wondered if I had hurt their feelings and if I had been honest without hurting their ego. All I could do was wait. I got a short reply back that just stated that they would no longer contact me. Although they didn't say it, I knew they were hurt, but I had to do what I had to do- for the BOTH of us.

Its been about 6 months now and I have not heard from Omaha Steaks. Although its better this way, I still sometimes wonder what they are up to. In times like that, I just smile and think back to all the tasty tasty times we had together.

Bike

 I've never quite mastered the whole "wheels" thing. Roller skates didn't work out, and bikes didn't fare me too well either. My relationship with bikes has been much more tumultuous than my experience with skates.

If I could go back in time , I would convince my young self to just stay in that little plastic red car with the yellow top on it. You know, the one you had to pedal with your feet? Best thing ever, and even better, they still look the same as they always did. I loved it! I would pedal, usually barefoot, with some sort of frightened animal in my backseat just begging me to let it out while I refused to oblige. I was trying to play “house,” and quite frankly, the animals weren't doing a good job at obeying their “mom.” Those were the days......but they're gone now, only to be replaced by horrible nightmares of bigger wheeled things.

I never owned a trike. However, I rode one every chance I got in pre-school. How could a kid not love riding a trike? It felt like riding a motorcycle. There is an unsaid coolness to riding a trike that only those who have ridden one can understand. The cool breeze in your hair, everyone staring in envy, because usually the school only had about 2 trikes in the shed, which meant that when it was time for recess, everyone made a mad dash to the shed to be the first to get the trike and own it for all of recess. I ran as fast as my chubby little legs would let me. Fuck the whole “sharing is caring,” shit. If you weren't trikin' it, you weren't cool. On a trike, YOU are KING.

Training wheels were my security blanket. Often times, They were not correctly adjusted, so I would wobble down the road. They were my reassurance that I was not going to fall down. My bike also would break by me pedaling backwards. I knew that bike inside and out. I had it mastered. Until one day my parents decided it was time to throw ol' Kelly on two wheels. They took the wheels off my 4 wheeler and made me practice. Not too long after, I OWNED it. Mostly because I was much too large to be riding it, but in some ways it was because I was daring. I cut corners, braked hard and left skid marks on the road, and would ride in circles, cutting each turn so tight that I was mere inches from the ground. Well, at one point I got TOO confident and wiped out only to be left with my savage battle wounds.

Some time after this, my parents thought I was ready for a bike that was more appropriate for an abnormally large pre-teen. This frightened the shit out of me, and for my birthday coming up, I avoided the whole “bike” conversation. I awoke on my birthday to a menaching, two wheeled monster in my living room. No warning, no “close your eyes and count to ten!” I just walked out and BOOM it was there. I put on my pretend face and said how much I loved it, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't almost crap my pants. My stomach dropped and I was freaked out. To my parents' credit, it was a nice bike. The sight of it made me throw up in my mouth a little bit. It was a menacing son of a bitch. Look at it....just.....sitting there, mocking me. “ha-ha Kelly, ha. ha. I'm going to ruin your life!” It got to the point that anytime someone used the word “bike,” such as “hey, I have a great idea, lets go for a bike ride!” I would panic and come up with an excuse why such a bike ride was not possible. I would have rather rode my pain in the ass Razor scooter than my bike. I would have rather WALKED or RAN rather than biked.

To practice, I would ride in the church parking lot next door. It was a raised parking lot that led to a lower parking lot via a steep exit hill. I rode around the upper lot until I got my confidence up and then called my parents out to watch me. Well, right around the part of the lot where the exit hill was, I froze, and instead of turning, breaking, or doing ANYTHING conducive to my own safety, I flew down the side of the exit hill, down the grass, where my bike hit a rock that sent me flying through the air. I landed about half a foot from a boulder, my glasses flew off and broke, and I ended up with a bloody nose. The ambulance was called, and my Scottish neighbors brought me a towel to bleed on. The important thing was, I made the paper, and I was left with a harrowing battle tale of how I came so close to death.

Wheels and I, we just don't mix. Although I'm fairly confident that I could get on a bike without making myself bleed, I choose not to. I Just Say No. I do, however, still get nervous and panicky when I am around bikes. So if we ever become friends, please never ever ever invite me on a bike ride.

Brother

 Few people can honestly say their brother or sister is their buddy, but that is something I can honestly say. Growing up, I never referred to my brother as “Kevin,” just “brother.”

My brother and I are about 3 years apart. When I was born, I would lay in a bassinet (as babies usually do), and my brother would lay on a bench, chair, or bed above me, and swing his arm. I was thrilled. I would giggle and babble with joy over his hand- ah simple times. Sadly, this would probably STILL entertain me.

When I was two, my mom took me with her to Iowa. I was gone for a few days. My brother came with my dad to the airport to pick me up. As my mom and dad were walking, they looked down and saw we weren't there. They looked behind them to see my bother walking with me, holding my hand through the airport, thrilled to see me.

I have a HUGE family on my mom's side, and one year we went there for christmas. There is a video of the whole thing. I was about 4 and my brother was 7. One of my uncles was dressed as Santa. My uncle was handing out presents. He called my name and acted like I had no presents. “aww, no presents for Kelly!” Not understanding sarcasm, or my Uncle's sick, sick sense of humor, I walked away defeated. In the background of the video, you hear a little voice saying “here's a present for Kelly! Kelly has a present!” He walks up and gives me my present, and once again, I am thrilled, both that my brother remembered me, AND because I got to open presents- basically the best part of Christmas when you're 4.

This asshole 7 year old boy used to pull my ponytail on the bus. His name was Lonny. He even had the name of a jackass. LONNY. Anywho, he was pulling my ponytail on the bus one day. My brother decided he didn't like that very much and he decided to teach Lonny a lesson. My brother fought him, and then got suspended for fighting. After he had been suspended, I started to get nervous and recant my story.

Technically, I had my first job when I was 11. I was a dog walker for this lady who lived across town. One day, my dad couldn't take me, so my brother walked me there while he rode his bike. On the way there, he ran into a pole, split his chin, and needed stitches. I didn't understand the seriousness of it, so I let him bike back and never told my dad. Yup, I got in trouble for that one.

One night my brother was feeling horrible and he needed to be rushed to the hospital to have his appendix removed. Early in the morning, probably 2am, my dad walks into my room and tells me to get dressed because Kevin needed to go to the hospital. He's gone for like, 5 minutes, and then he can't find me. At that point, I am all dressed and just sitting in the car, waiting to take “Brother” to the hospital. Brother needed me, I was so ready.

When I used to get picked on, my brother taught me how to box in our garage.

There is no one else who I can just sit and recite lines from Tommy Boy, Billy Madison, and obscure Saturday Night Live skits. At any point, I could call him up and blurt out a line from Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, and it would be completely normal.

It is for all these reasons, that my brother, will always be “brother.” I may or may not embellish stories now and again to get him to beat the crap out of someone for me.

The Most Awkward Child Ever

  We all go through awkward phases. Some of those phases last for a few years, or say 4^th grade. For me, it was pretty much my whole childhood. I have compiled a list of a few facts that will give you an idea as to just how awkward I was.

I got started on my coffee addiction really young. My dad used to make me coffee that was mainly milk with a little bit of coffee. I was still addicted. I would approach the counter and eerily say to my dad “mmmmmmmm coffee coffee I like coffee,” with my little beady eyes just gleaming with hope that I could get my fix.

I used to reenact the scene from the Lion King in which Scar kills Mufasa, on a chair in my living room, by myself. I would do all the voices as well.

In the second grade, I hit what you would call, early puberty. I was the tallest of all the kids- much like a 10 year old's body with a 7 year old's head sitting on top of it. I also had to start wearing a training bra in the 2^nd grade. Perhaps one of the most awkward phases of my early puberty was that I smelled- really really bad. My parents decided to get me some deodorant so I wouldn't smell. The problem with this is, as an 8 year old, you really don't know WHY you are supposed to be wearing deodorant, or why it is that you smell bad. Nor can you make the connection that, “hey, if I wear this, I can smell like a normal 8 year old!” My family would all be riding in the car, and my mom would blurt out “Oh My GOD! What is that smell!?” Guess what? Its your 8-year old oblivious daughter sitting in the back seat picking her nose in her Lion King tee-shirt- completely unaware that she smells like a grown man. Then there were the times I would sprout random and really really long armpit hairs, and my mother would insist on cutting them with kitchen scissors.

I had to wear glasses really young- around 4. It was pretty damn adorable. My glasses were much too big for my face and they amplified my eyes. This complimented my bright blonde hair that flipped in all directions. One time, when I needed a new pair of glasses, my grandmother decided to take me to pick them out. The pair I came back with was a giant pair of bifocals- bifocals I DID NOT need, but my grandmother insisted were adorable.

While on the subject of my eyes, I had a horrible lazy eye as a child. I had to wear eye patches when I was at home. To make it even worse, I made these weird sounds whenever I was concentrating really hard (such as on coloring) or when I was hungry. So often, I would be coloring with my eyepatch on, with my tongue hanging out, making a weird grunting humming noise.

When my family and I went to mass, I used to bring my bible with me. The priest would enter, and in classic Catholic mass tradition, carry the bible down the aisle above his head. I too, would hold my bible over my head. I was a dedicated Catholic. I even answered all of his rhetorical questions. It got to the point that he would call on me in the middle of mass to ask my opinion, which I always obliged.

My grandmother bought me a little purse with a book in it that had the whole mass in it- the prayers, the order of EVERYTHING, and it outlined everything the Priest should be saying. I loved it. I eventually could mimic the priest as he chanted his way through it.

When I was in second grade, I was in love with a friend of my brother. He was in 8^th grade, and in the same school I was in. To show my love for him, I would draw pictures of Orca whales swimming in the ocean and hand deliver it to his class. I'm not sure what Orca whales have to do with love, but for some reason, I felt that this was appropriate to give to him. Maybe I was just inspired by Free Willy.

We had this family friend named Janet. One year when we were all hanging out at her house, she told me that some rocks are dinosaur eggs, and therefore need hatching. I'm sure my parents LOVED that, because I proceeded to collect rocks, desperately hoping they would hatch. Guess what? THEY NEVER DID JANET- THEY. NEVER. DID.

When I was 10, I had a brief crush on Alex Trebek. He not only had me Hooked on Phonics, he had me hooked on that sweet mustache.

I always tried to be much older than I actually was. When I was 10 I tried to shave my legs, and by shave my legs I mean dry shave, and by shave, I mean cut a huge gash in my leg, scream for my mommy, only to have her come into the bathroom to see my leg covered in blood.

My school's cafeteria when I was in 5^th grade would have various things in the salad bar. One of which was peaches. I would usually fill each and every portion of my tray with peaches. I would also take my burger and put stacks and stacks of pickles on it, followed by a lot of mustard.

One day in 5^th grade we had just learned about petitions. I was inspired to write up a petition about 5^th graders being allowed to have a school dance- because normally they weren't. I actually got several classes of kids to sign it. Nothing ever came of it, except the teachers knew I meant business. I was a force to be reckoned with.

In 8^th grade we had to do a social experiment and do a presentation on it. So I did a presentation on how we are all influenced on society. I got up in front of the class and basically told them all that they were not original and were just all copies of what people wanted them to be. Lets just say I made no friends on that day.

My awkward phase never really ended. The only difference now, is that rather than being made fun of for being weird, people are like “Hey, you're kinda weird, and thats cool now. Lets be friends.”

Shit My Mom Does

My mom is a wonderful woman- smart, funny, beautiful, and a source of entertainment. Throughout my childhood, she was known for some of her sneaky ways of teaching us a lesson-which usually scared the shit out of us, or she had a way of comforting you,all the while insulting your enemies with low blows.

This is my mother:

When my brother was 5, he got super pissed at my mom and decided it was best that he run away- he was going to teach her some kind of lesson. He shouted "I'm gonna run away!" To which my mother replied "okay, Ill help you pack!" She helped him pack and sent him outside with his Ninja Turtles back pack, shut the door behind him, and locked it. He stood there in disbelief, and waited at the door, hoping that Mom would realize how wrong she was and come begging for him to come back, in which case my brother would just say "no mother, its too late for 'I'm sorry now!" THAT would teach her! But, alas, it never came. Giving up on that fantasy, my brother went and hid in a nearby tree- that was his new home. The branch just above him would hold all of his favorite snacks, the branch just to his right would be his bed- he had a plan. But home kept calling, and quite frankly, a tree is no place for a kid to grow up, it makes monsters out of men. So he ran inside begging for my mom's forgiveness. My mom thankfully let him inside. My brother never ran away again.

While we are on the subject of my brother, he and his friends thought it was a brilliant idea to shoot pinecones at cars with their slingshots .One car stopped at a halt, and my brother shot inside the house and hid out in his room. That car drove right up to my house and spoke to my mom, after which she carefully formulated her plan. "Just wait until your father gets home," she told him. That's the last thing any kid wants to hear. My mom waited a bit, and tip toed outside and rung the doorbell. She walked to my brother's room and told him 'the cops are here, they want to talk to you." It was like pulling a dog by its leash to the bath tub. My mom pulled my brother by the arm towards the door, my brother reluctantly walking behind her. she opened the door slightly so that only she could see outside and she pretended to talk to the officer. She pulled the door open to reveal no one standing there. My brother looked around and then back at my mother. "See that? That's what can happen! Now get your ass back to your room and wait for you father!!"

As any kid does, I threw crying tantrums when I did not get my way. My mom decided to tell me "go to your room and don't come out until you can smile." I would stomp off into my room and sit in front of my play armoire. I would sit and watch myself cry in disbelief wondering "How can she discipline THAT face? This face is DEVASTATING! This is the face of true torment, sadness and distress!" Seeing myself cry would just make me more pissed, so I cried more. That was until I found a loophole. I walked out to my mom, still sobbing, BUT I made sure I was smiling. How could she not buy that? I WAS smiling, just as she asked. She wasn't buying it, and sent me off to my room to watch myself cry some more. 

Every kid thinks they are sly, and can get one past mom- not my mom. This woman has eyes of a hawk and reflexes of a fucking panther. She knew we hated homework, she knew we never did it or would try to not do it and say that we did. She was also friends with other PTA members, so she knew when shit went down. She would ask us, "I'm going to ask you this once, and I want you to think really, really hard about your answer. If I catch you lying, its going to be twice as bad." She would throw that one out whether she knew anything or not. so you never knew if she knew anything. The best thing to do was to assume that she knew all, because, usually, she did. This would end in us confessing everything, doing ourselves in by giving away too much just in case she knew that too, and getting grounded. This even applies to when I am sick. Whenever I was sick and wanted to stay home, she would look at me and say "are you THAT sick?" "do you REALLY want to stay home?" I would psych myself out and pretend that I was fine. This has translated into my adult life. I will be pale as a sheet and look on the edge of death and I will tell myself "no no, Im fine. Im just fine." I get to work and people tell me I look like I am about to die, but i assure them that I am fine. I'll consider going home when I nearly pass out or sneeze so hard my brain hurts, but then my mother's voice echos to me "Are you REALLY sick?" I go through that fun cycle until someone forces me to go home and to not come back until I have at least some color in my face.

My mom was the kind of mom who watched Oprah. She knew of all the dangers out there, whether they were actually real, or just dramatic exaggerations, just because its Oprah and she can do whatever the hell she wants. Oprah probably led her to his gem:

I had just moved to a new area and I was in the 2nd grade. I had FINALLY made new friends, and these friends had some candy for me- button candy to be exact. They gave me a strip and I sat out and ate it as I waited for my mom. I proudly showed my mom the gift these new friends had bestowed upon me, to which she takes it, and tells me not to eat it because it "probably has drugs in it."

No one can comfort you quite like mom can.

I had an argument with a teacher of mine, and she told me 'its okay honey, someday you'll be making more money than him."

My mom has also has some of the best blond moments of her life.

There used to be this video of a waterskiing squirrel (really just a man in a suit). My mom blurted out " OMG How did they teach that squirrel to water ski!?" My dad informed her "thats a man in a suit....." She said 'no its not, its a squirrel," "no, thats a man in a suit."

My mom really wanted to see the movie “African Cats.” She was watching tv when the preview came on, and at the end, like every movie preview, it said “Only in theaters April 22^nd” Defeated, she says 'Aww I really wanted to see that movie but its only in theaters April 22^nd.”

In conclusion- or until my mom does something else, I will end by thanking my mom for being a good sport, being an awesome mother,  and for giving me all the material I'll ever need.