Mom’s Pet Reindeer

11/27/2009

Filed under: parents — Tags: , , , — Angela @ 9:59 pm Last modified: November 30, 2009 

This morning I have the unfortunate accident of stumbling into a conversation my parents are having about lighted reindeer. Mom is examining the local Pamida Ad (Your Hometown Values) and has spotted lighted reindeer for $14.95 and is attempting, unsuccessfully, to convince dad to buy some to decorate the front lawn.

“We can’t put those in the front lawn by themselves without decorating the outside of the house,” dad reasons taking a giant gulp of coffee and returning to his newspaper.

“What do you think?” mom asks me.

“I think it’s fine,” I agree.

“See!” mom says jabbing at the picture on the front of the ad.
reindeer

“Well, how about we just drape lights on the deer that come in the yard, and then every time they come back we’ll have lighted deer,” dad says without looking up from his paper.

Mom sighs. “He’s really losing it,” she says to me shaking her head.

A few minutes later, mom comes down the hall and I ask her what the consensus is. “Well the consensus is you and I, but who knows about him,” she says peering over her shoulder.

“I suppose you could have more than two and have a whole herd out there… except you couldn’t have two bucks and a doe,” she reasons to herself.

“Why not?” dad hollers from his perch in the living room.

“Well in real-life it doesn’t work, ” mom says sauntering into the bathroom.

“Ménage à trois!” dad shouts proudly.

I start laughing and jot down notes.

“You really shouldn’t put that up there, because then it would be x-rated!” mom says.

An hour later she returns from Pamida. “They were sold out,” she says in discouragement. She pauses… “I should have known…they were half price!”

Dad’s New Ringtone

11/26/2009

Filed under: parents — Angela @ 10:06 pm Last modified: November 26, 2009 

Dad proudly shows off his new ringtone.

Dad talks about the tavern, despite the fact he doesn’t drink, nor does he frequent any kind of drinking establishment.

My Birthday Card

Filed under: parents — Tags: , , — Angela @ 7:17 pm Last modified: March 15, 2010 

Mom makes a big deal out of my birthday, insisting that I don’t open my cards until the day after Thanksgiving, which is three days after my birthday. Finally, she announces I’m to open my birthday cards and scurries into the other room in search of the one from dad and herself.

She hands me the card and then immediately snatches it back… “Wait! I have to check something!” she says opening the flap and peering inside. She nods and thrusts it back into my hands.

I open the card and there isn’t anything inside anyway, so I have no idea what she was so frantic about.

I start to read through the front which has every ‘My’ crossed out and replaced with the pronoun ‘Our.’ I start to laugh, “Couldn’t you find a card that said our?” I ask. “She got it at a rummage sale!” my dad says and starts cackling. “I don’t even read cards,” I say, “unless they’re hand-written.”

Front of CardInside of Card

“Angela! People do that all the time!” she shouts from the kitchen. “No they don’t.” I counter.

“Yes, they personalize it!” she says.

“Not like that.”

“You aren’t a woman of the world yet,” she says shaking her head. Clearly I don’t get out enough.

Mom Hitchhikes to Hinkley

11/15/2009

Filed under: parents, random adventures — Angela @ 2:01 pm Last modified: November 26, 2009 

For over a week I’ve been trying to coordinate a time to meet my parents in Hinkley (half way between Two Harbors & the Cities) to give them my car.  We’ve decided  to refurbish it, since we can get a good price from a guy we know.  Dad’s schedule is all over the place and we never know when he’ll get called in to work.

Finally, we decide to do it Sunday morning and my boyfriend agrees to drive my sister’s car to Hinkley,  so I can drive mine, and my mom can bring it back to Two Harbors.  We plan to leave at 8:30 am since my dad is scheduled to work around 1:00.

Just before we are about to leave, dad calls and says, “I just got called in to work at 10:30.  We’re still half an hour out of Hinkley.  Not sure if we should turn around,” he mutters, more to himself than to me,  “We might make it, but we’d be cutting it close. “  By this point I’m exasperated because the plan has changed a million times and I say, “Well can you figure it out so I know if we should leave or not?”

“I’ll call you back,”  he says and hangs up on me.

Five minutes later dad calls and says, “We just stopped at a rest stop and begged some lady to give mom a ride. “”What!?”  I exclaim incredulously.  “Ya, she’ll probably be there in about half an hour.  It’s back on.”  I die laughing,

“You can’t just pawn mom off on the first stranger you see!” I exclaim in disbelief.

  Just when I was losing all hope of having new material for my blog, they swoop in and save the day.

When we get to Hinkley, we meet mom at the Grand Casino buffet and she says, “The lady who gave me a ride was a nun!  Of course I didn’t know at first because she wasn’t…dressed.”  “What!”  I say.  “Ya!  Your father and I had just been talking about this friend of mine whose relative picked up a couple about ten years back and they murdered him! Not even  fifteen minutes later your father gets this call and tells me we’ll have to find someone to pick me up!”

She looks at me mouth agape and continues, “He just wanted to leave me with someone and I told him there was no way I was going to ask someone to bring me to Hinkley.  Well, we pull into the rest stop and there are these shady looking cars in the parking lot.  We see one decent-looking vehicle and I head straight to the bathroom looking for the owner. I  spot the only woman in the place, race up to her as she exits the restroom, and ask her if she’s going to the cities. Naturally she looks terrified.”

“Well, ya,” I say, “You cornered her in the bathroom!”

“Ya,” mom agrees, pausing to rip off the skin off her fried chicken and shove a piece in her mouth, “If I were her, I’m not sure I’d give me a ride.”

“Apparently she didn’t see your sweatshirt,”  I say laughing. “I’m sure that would have put her at ease.”  Mom looks down at her navy blue sweatshirt  and laughs.  It has three dogs sewn on the front with jingle bells around their necks, glittery halos above their heads and has the words, To err is human, to forgive is canine stitched across the front.  She hardly looks like an ax murderer, but one can never be too careful.

The perfect car.

11/03/2009

Filed under: random adventures — Angela @ 10:40 pm Last modified: November 3, 2009 

Today I am informed my car is totaled and I get a measly sum of money to purchase a new car with. A few minutes into my search on craigslist I discover the perfect listing.

In fact, I can’t believe my good fortune.  I email my mother the link with the subject, ‘Looks like a Winner.’

HI IM SELLIN MY CIVIC DX I HAVE HAD IT FOR 3 YEARS SO THERE IS NO RUST AT ALL
HAS A LOT OF THINGS DONE TO IT AND JUST DONT HAVE THE MONEY TO FIX IT ANT MORE
BUT YA IF U HAVE ANY QUESTION CALL ME AT 651332-3693
O ONE MORE THING CAR DOSE NOT START

She texts me, “It’s always good to have a car that doesn’t start.”  I roar with laughter.

Besmirch.

Filed under: parents — Angela @ 8:11 pm Last modified: November 3, 2009 

Somehow mom and I get in a conversation about something my sister said.  Mom tries to explain the behavior by saying, “I think she wants to besmirch you.”   I start laughing, “Besmirch? What’s that?”  I ask.  Mom pauses thoughtfully, “Well….I think it’s a word.  Actually, I’m not really sure, I might have just made it up,” she says laughing.

“You just try to casually insert large words into your vocabulary and they don’t even exist,”  I say in amusement.

“Well, i think it exists,” she says defensively, “it means defame.”  In order to settle the confusion we decide to look it up. It turns out mom used it correctly.  I read the definition, “to tarnish, to dishonor a good name.”

“See!” mom shouts in triumph, “Now go tell your father so he doesn’t think I made it up.”

My mother discovers alcohol.

11/02/2009

Filed under: random adventures — Tags: , , , , , , , — Angela @ 12:23 pm Last modified: November 2, 2009 

This summer when I’m home for a few days, I go into the bedroom and tell mom that the relatives are having pizza and drinks up at Grandpa’s house.  She comes into the kitchen shortly after and says, “Here I’ll give you some money.  Why don’t you go pick me up a bottle of Captain?”  I start laughing at the way she tries to say it nonchalantly, as though this is a common errand I run for her.

“Okay,” I say, “What are you going to mix it with? Coke?”  “No.  Cranberry juice,” she says.  “What! That will be disgusting!”  I say.  She looks a little puzzled, “Well what do you normally mix it with when you make them?”  “Malibu-Malibu cran,”  I say.  “Oh,”  she says nodding knowingly, “Well get that then.”

I had picked up box wine on my way through Duluth, which we proceed to drink over the next couple of days with the family.  By this point mom is convinced I’m a raging alcoholic (only because this is the first time she’s drank all year) and constantly asks me what glass I’m on.  “A little too much wine Angela?!” she questions in a high-pitched sing song voice.

When I tell her I’m going out with Chelsey she says, “Oh-I hope you aren’t driving!  You’ve had a lot of wine!” The next night she again asks me what glass I’m on, even though she’s finishing them just as fast as I am.  By the end of my short visit home I’m convinced if I lived at home she’d be a raging alcoholic.