Mom's House

This post is dedicated to my sister Lacy, who has been judging my mother since birth.

I love my mom. She's the best. She's pretty, which was oddly very important to me as a 1st grader. She's funny, which I realized as a teenager. i.e. Yesterday my sister and I spied the following quote from a conversation between my mom and her best friend via facebook (I'm dealing with the fact that she's on facebook), "No, I didn't fall off the map . . . just down the stairs" Ha. That's funny because she really did fall down the stairs during Christmas. So, the point is, I have a good mom. The following does not pertain to her abilities in that area.

My mother is a widow. Unlike the widows on my street (there are lots), she does not have any pets, and she certainly doesn't participate in neighborhood gossip, but in all honesty her house is weird. I guess the question for me is, when did it get so weird? Was I a child when this started happening or has her solitude brought on this idiosynchratic lifestyle? I think it's a little of both.

She keeps things.

I know all mothers are collectors in their own right. I am not bothered by the pictures of me as a child framed at every corner. . .I was adorable. Rather, there are artifacts left around from childhood that are now no longer usuable. The garage is full of Cabbage Patch dolls stuffed in garbage sacks. Most of them however, did not belong to her seven children, instead they were purchased by my aunt at garage sales and thrift stores in my teens. These ownerless dolls are now taking on the smell that only an abandoned naked toy can.

The other day, I picked up a magazine in her bathroom. A magazine in which I have the contents memorized. Not because I am thoroughly interested in "Country Living," but because it's been there forever. How long you say? February 1995.

She doesn't hang everything.

The house is cluttered with pictures. That's fine, that's her life. Of course, it is a little bothersome walking up the stairs, only to see a picture framed at the height of your ankle. Or, while turning on a light switch, inevitably knocking down another picture. But, at least it's hung. At the same time, every room is still full of pictures, in frames propped against walls or lying on a bench in the kitchen. This is such a problem that a few years ago at Christmas time, a plea was made among her children that no one give her anything that needs wall space. Like an intervention for a heroin addict, we can no longer be enablers.

She buys discount.

Now this is not a new behavior. Every year, we went back-to-school shopping at the Goodwill or other thrift stores. In recent years, my mom has turned to other kinds of discount shopping. Currently, her mecca is the local Big Lots. What a great store? Unfortunately it causes her to buy things that really should never be purchased. Quickly expiring cereal written in Japanese. DVDs that never reached theatres or Blockbuster. Popular candy, with an unpopular flavoring. i.e. bags of only Coffee-flavored Jelly Bellys. A real treat for the grandkids.

At the moment, she is obsessed with Pottery Barn items engraved with names of other people's children. The Down East Outfitters located near her house is the culprit. Recently they have been selling items that were created for someone else, but somehow were never picked up. The prayer stool by her bed reads, "Landon." The robe in her closet belongs to "Claudia." "Mariah" and "Madison" are certainly missing their Christmas stockings. None of the aforementioned names belongs to anyone in our family.

Truly, the list goes on. For now, I will leave it at that. The question is, do all mom's have quirky homes? Is my mom the only one draping sheepskins on the back of her couch? Will I one day inherit these peculiar aspects in my life? Am I already becoming this person?