Growing up, there was nothing more uncomfortable than answering the phone with a simple 'hello?' only to have the person on the other end assume it was my mother and launch into a novel of their problems that they were calling her about. Then I'd have to try and interrupt their ramblings like "Um hello? Hello? Hi um....Yeah...Wait...No.....Stop talking.... THIS ISN'T DIANE!!!!!!!!!!!" Yes, I suppose I could have wised up and started answering the phone as "Hello, this is Sydney" but....why? Clearly my brilliant wit and distinctive voice were all that were necessary to distinguish myself on the phone. Maybe Mom should be the one to start clarifying it was she on the phone.
People told me all of the time that 'you sound just like your Mom' or 'you look just like your Mom' or in some way, shape or form, link me back to her. I would smile sweetly, but was inwardly in complete denial. Yes, the woman had raised me...But I was a completely original person and she had no affect on me whatsoever. And don't get me STARTED on how 100% different I was from my father--but that's a post for another day.
But yes, I was totally my own person. And then I left the safety of the nest to start college....
I'm now in my third year and fifth semester of school and somewhere along the way I've humbled myself enough to realize that there MIGHT be a few similarities between my mother and I. Generally it's because I find myself cringing when I respond to someone in a way that is so perfectly Diane-esque that it's unbelievable. But more often than not, it's when I'm relating a story about my dear sweet mother to my roommates and friends. Someone will get a twinkle in their eye and say in a highly amused tone: "You know...the more I hear about your Mom, the more I really understand you, Syd".
So in the name of a) preserving the wealth of knowledge my mother has passed along to me and b) further procrastinating writing more lesson plans, I decided to condense some of the finer points of what I've learned from my mother into a single blogpost. Ambitious, right? :)
Lesson Number 1: How to Lick Cake Batter off of a Beater
As far as formal, 'sit-down-and-let-me-impart-knowledge-to-you-small-child' experiences, this is one of the first one that appears in my memory. Rather than just grabbing a beater in your fist and attacking with your whole face, there is a skill here. Using your thumb and pointer finger, pinch the beater and swipe all of the gooey cake batter to either the top of bottom of the beater and then lick it off of your fingers. Then you can avoid all of that awkward I'm-making-out-with-a-beater weirdness that goes on. Pretty simple lesson, right? But oh how it has changed my life. I'm able to deftly clean a beater now. And if my explanation doesn't make sense... Sorry. I couldn't think of a better way to describe that motion. And as for this picture... I think it sums up my mother's sense of humor regarding all of baking.Besides a love of cake batter, Mom has also instilled in me a love of homemade brownies to the extent that I am still incapable of rationalizing buying any of those store-bought made-from-a-box-brownies. I didn't even know that you could buy brownie mixes until I got to college and saw my roommates buying them. I was stunned!!! I have since tried some of the results of this box-brownies, and I remain convinced that homemade is best. The same can be said of waffles. I never would have thought to put pancake batter in a waffle iron and call it a day. Or throwing an Eggo waffle in a toaster for breakfast. Those things never were around the house. PS: who actually eats waffles for breakfast? I mean technically it's a breakfast food...but only in the 'breakfast for dinner' sense.
Lesson #2: Vick's VapoRub and a Can of Sprite = Remedy for All Illnesses
Last May, appendicitis decided to befriend me. I've blogged all about that lovely experience and if you'd like to read my drugged-up account of the whole thing, then by all means go stalk through my blog to find it. Long story short: lots of pain and puking up nothing-but-water before I finally sucked it up to go to the hospital only to find that an internal organ was about to rupture.In the midst of the pain-and-puke, I called Mama in a desperate "Mother, I think I'm dying" last ditch effort. Back in the day, Mama knew exactly what to do and say to make me feel better and I guess the pain was deluding me into thinking it was still the case ;)
I had to call her about 3 times before she finally answered and, when she finally DID answer, she was none too pleased about being interrupted during church. I'm telling her everything that's happened and all of my symptoms all while trying not to cry because ohmygoodness did it hurt.
"Well, have you had any Sprite today?"
...Mom, I don't think you understand. I have been puking every 10 minutes for the last 4 hours. There is literally NOTHING left in my stomach and I'm still in intense pain. The pain isn't subsiding between these trips to the bathroom: something is seriously wrong here.
Long sigh on the other end of the phone. "Sydney you've had the stomach flu before. It's usually about a 24 hour thing. Drink some Sprite and let your stomach just get used to a little bit at a time. Get some sleep. It's just a bug".
To this day, my mother still swears that if I had just had some Sprite the whole hospital trip and appendectomy wouldn't have ever been necessary. Sprite is the magic cure-all for anything you might ever had. Combine that with the magical properties of Vick's VapoRub, and there is nothing that keep you down for longer than a day.
Lesson #3: Respect St. Patrick's Day
This past March was the first St. Patrick's Day that I ever spent away from my Mom and it just so happened to fall on a Sunday. I remember lying in bed the night before and just being full of stress that not a single one of my Sunday outfits had any green in it to go to church the next day.Ohmygosh... I'm not going to have any green on St Patrick's day.. I'm going to be ATTACKED! Ohmygosh...Everyone is going to laugh and it's going to be so so so so bad... Is there anything I can steal from Stephanie that's green? Nothing that will match my outfit.... Shoot....
I was legitimately having a full-blown anxiety attack because all I had to wear was a black shirt, black plaid skirt, and black boots. It was about 2 am and my stress levels were probably worse than they were during finals week.
I grit my teeth and go to church the next day, fully expecting to be surrounded by a sea of differing shades of green. I walk in and not a single person has green on.
I don't think I even paid attention to the speakers because my mind was so blown. This was St Patrick's Day! You wear green or you get PINCHED! There were a few green ties here and there.... but I didn't see a soul get pinched. It was like nobody even noticed or cared what the date was.
To give you some backstory as to why this day scared me so badly: I lived in a househould where it was common knowledge that you'd better have green nailpolish on or remember to lock the bathroom door because Mom WILL attack and pinch you in the shower because of your lack-of-green. Growing up this was a day of terror and fear where you could never be 100% sure of where Mom was at any one time. I remember there was one day in elementary school where I had to strip down to my underwear to prove that I had some green on before I got pinched. Laugh if you must, but you did not simply 'opt out' of St. Patrick's Day at my house.
So sitting in my student ward in little ol' Idaho, my mind was blown. Everything I knew about the world was turning on its head... Didn't everyone live in fear on St. Patrick's day? Was there really another way to celebrate this weird-and-pretty-useless holiday?
I was trying to make sense of my universe again and was just barely trying to see straight again. I was sitting in Relief Society (the third hour of church and the meeting for the women in the ward) and suddenly, out of the freakin' blue, my dear roommate Stephanie reaches over and pinches me HARD. Like it really stinkin' hurt! And we're in the middle of church so I couldn't say anything and smack her back, but I could give her the stink-eye and stare at her in shock and horror since she just was so terribly distracting during such a spiritual meeting :P And that's when the shoe dropped.
She leaned over and showed me a text message from MY mother. My mother had gotten the number of my roommate's cellular device and had texted her, asking her to 'pretty please pinch Sydney if she forgets to wear green tomorrow'.
My feelings of betrayal at Stephanie selling me out were fleeting compared to the awe of just how psychotic my mother was about this ridiculous holiday. To orchestrate getting her daughter pinched from 1,000 miles away....that's pretty stinking impressive and terrifying all at once.
Lesson #4: Don't Hold Your Cards There If You Don't Want Me To Look At Them
My dad, aunts, and uncles would all give my mom such a hard time about being so dang competitive whenever we played card or board games. And each and every time, Mom came back with the same response: "If you don't want me to look at your cards, don't hold them where I can see them".If you're being taught the rules of a game with a person with this kind of mentality, you learn pretty quickly how to shield your cards from sight. But when it came to college, holy cow not everyone had learned that lesson! It's really hard not to check out the cards of the person next to you when you're playing Skip-Bo, Apples to Apples, Uno, BS, or whatever else you're playing when the person next to you is just flashing them for the world to see. They're just asking for it, aren't they?
I think it was these experiences that really showed me how just hopelessly Diane Junior I really am...
"Are you LOOKING at my cards, Sydney?!"
"If you don't want me to look at your cards, don't hold them where I can see them, Hannah!"
Sigh. Cue the cringe. Holy cow. I really do sound like my Mom.
This summer my Mom and I went to my cousin's wedding. I had met the lovely addition to our family while we were up at school having family dinners, but Mom had never met the bride before. Mom came out of the temple and had a funny look on her face.
"I've never had someone say 'Oh you're Sydney's Mom' and tell me that I look like you..."
I laughed. I'm glad that it goes both ways and--more importantly--I'm glad that we have the kind of relationship where it's not insulting to either one of us to say that we're similar. I think my first choice on the 'Women To Be Like' would have to be Sandra Bullock (umm 'While You Were Sleeping'--need I say more?!), but I guess that my Mom is a suitable second-choice :)
Now just to clarify: yes, she's taught me the really important things too. My relationship with Christ, my plans for the future, my sense of humor...all of these things are because of her influence in my life. But I feel like that's the Mom that everyone knows.
I wanted to express my love for the 'quiet' Mama. Or really for the Mama that isn't quiet at all! People think that I get my snarkiness and wit from my Dad (sidenote: I've also learned in college that 'snarky' isn't a real word regardless of how much my Mother says it... I choose to ignore that grammar rule and use it anyways!) because Dad definitely has a pretty good wit about him. But my mother is NOT the quiet woman that I think some people think that she is.
Mama, I know that you're reading. And I hope that you're laughing. I tried to remain tactful, yet honest in this account of what I have learned from you. Because, as we both know:
If you have this much honesty (hold up 5 fingers) but only this much tact (hold up 1 finger), you're not going to make very many friends.
To my crazy Mother who is possibly the most competitive woman I know, but who can also spontaneously plan a last-minute Thanksgiving trip to Disneyland simply because she doesn't want to cook a Thanksgiving dinner, and who will start a 15-hour roadtrip at 10 pm at night... thanks for all of it :) You're pretty cool.
