Not Cereal Mom, SERIAL Mom

In the early 1990s the movie Serial Mom was released in theaters.  The movie depicted Kathleen Turner as a suburban housewife and mother who protected her family without fail, going so far as to murder anyone who wronged her children.  I don’t believe my mother has ever broken the law for her kids- though I wouldn’t totally put it past her- but she is about as close to Kathleen Turner’s character as one can get.  Of course, I also think that is an innate maternal trait.

Another thing I find particularly funny about moms is their competitive streak.  And I don’t mean about themselves, I mean that in regard to their kids.  I remember when I told my mom I was moving to Africa.  She was happy about it because I was happy, but in reality her response was kind of a mopey, “I know, I’ll just really miss you.”  My brother and I sort of laughed about it and said, “Are you kidding me? This gives you bragging rights amongst all the other moms for the next year.  When all you moms get together and compare who has the cooler kids you will always win, hands down.  And you know you moms do it, don’t even try and deny it.”

This is how I imagine water cooler talk at my mother’s office:

Mom #1: My daughter just bought her first house, at the age of only 23.
Mom #2: I will see your new home-owning daughter and raise you my son, a Navy Seal who swam across the Mediterranean without equipment and then single-handedly rescued five civilians from almost certain death.
KVP’s Mom: I recommend you all fold now.  My daughter is currently in Africa where she is overseeing the Botswana Defense Force and the police.  On the weekends she is training monkeys how to build power plants in order to supply electricity and water to locals.  In her free time she is either in Zimbabwe teaching President Mugabe how to balance the budget and mint a new stabilized currency or instructing Ethiopian Airlines and South African Airlines how to provide customer service and deliver passengers’ luggage within a reasonable (i.e. less than 24 hour) timeframe. BOOM! That’s right! My* daughter is awesome!

*MY daughter is used to convey pride and claim credit.  This is in juxtaposition with YOUR (i.e. my father’s) daughter when I demonstrate some sort of shortcoming.

Today when I was on the UB campus I realized mothers are the same everywhere.  They may speak different languages, or interact with their children differently, but they protect and promote their kids to the end.  As I entered the corridor where my office is located I saw three female staff members speaking in a very animated manner about their offspring.  By the way, animated is a relative term.  Think of me being animated.  Now imagine me sick, with a couple of broken ribs and strep throat.  THAT is animated in Botswana.  Nevertheless, you could still recognize that there was a distinct sense of pride and one-upsmanship in their conversation.  Made me a little bit homesick for a minute.  All I could think was that my mom would fit right in.  She would also take gold and make sure those other moms KNEW whose kid was #1.

Necessity is the Mother of All Invention: The Neighborhood Kids Find Toys (Part 2)

About a week or so ago I wrote about the kids in my neighborhood with whom I was engaged in a slight power struggle. Since the last episode, the kids have managed to find other ways of entertaining themselves without placing my property (or my sanity) in harm’s way. But after confiscating their former play toy (a metal pole which they ripped off the side of my house) I thought I would be typecast into the role of evil villain and instill fear in their hearts every time I emerged from my secret lair. This reputation seemed to last… about five minutes. I guess that’s the thing about kids, they have short memories and don’t really hold grudges.

Yesterday on my way home from work as I was entering my housing complex a friend was on her way out. She and I stopped and chatted in the middle of the parking lot briefly. As we were talking we could hear the neighborhood kids shouting and running around. Then it became quiet, for a second, then there was a lot of commotion, followed by more shouting and repetitive banging. We turned around to find the kids had pulled the garbage cans out of the storage areas and into the parking lot. Apparently they had found sticks and were using them to play the drums on the sides of the cans. That certainly explains why our garbage cans are in such poor shape.

Brenda and I just shook our heads and continued our conversation. The next thing we knew the kids were beside us, pointing sticks in our faces with fish heads perched on top:

I have no idea what type of fish these were, but as you can see they have some giant teeth. And, the kids are pretty proud of their teeth too:

As the Greek Philosopher Plato said, “necessity is the mother of all invention.” I have always understood that statement, but I’ve never seen it quite so prevalent as it is here. The kids don’t have toys, so they play with the trash. We don’t have tape, so we use gum to hang things on the walls. The grocery store where I shop has four cash registers, but only one credit card machine. Each time a customer wants to use a credit card the cashiers and patrons work together to pass the machine from one check-out stand to the next. Apparently, the grocery store only has one pen as well, so the same ritual is used so that the receipt can be signed. My big house is currently in the midst of a clothesline construction project; he can’t hang his clothes outside to dry as the goats try to eat them. Third World problems, I know. But sometimes it makes me a little sad that a continent with so many natural resources has to exist in such a frugal state, particularly when I see kids playing with trash.

The Never-Ending Turf War

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, my mother is quite the homemaker. In addition to her cleaning skills, she loves to garden. She will often come into the house covered in dirt and tell me to come witness her newest creation. Sadly, my lack of a green thumb means I seldom if ever identify what she’s talking about. I am an expert though on how to smile, nod, and compliment: “Mom, those are beautiful!” In addition to her flower beds, she has the nicest lawn in the neighborhood. Part of the reason for the gorgeous lawn is the diligent seeding, watering and mowing, but part of that is due to the fact she chases the neighborhood kids off as soon as they step foot onto her lawn. My father, brother and I take great pleasure in laughing about the ‘Mom vs. neighborhood kids’ battle. However, I am taking this opportunity to publicly apologize as I know understand her agony.

I am officially AT WAR with the kids in my neighborhood. This has been going on for a few weeks now and I’m not getting any closer to victory. In fact I think they are gaining on me. If nothing else they certainly outnumber me.

I do not have a lawn or a garden, but I have a small yard with a wall around it at the front of my house. Inside the yard is a metal pole with a three cornered clothes line. Until recently there was a second pole with the television antenna also in the front yard.

A few weeks ago I decided to work from home. I kept hearing a lot of banging out front but didn’t think much of it until I realized whatever was going on was hitting the windows at the front of my house. I went to see what it was and found several neighborhood kids climbing along the 12 foot tall walls around the yard, then jumping from the walls to swing on the clothes line pole, they would then propel themselves against the side of the house until they came to rest on the ground. I went out there, told them this was very dangerous, I didn’t want them to get hurt, and they couldn’t play in my yard anymore.

One evening during a blackout I found the kids had detached the television antenna pole from the bindings on the side of the house. They had somehow managed to get the pole up on top of the walls and reaching across the wide open space of the yard. One kid was sitting on each end of the pole, while the other kids were moving across the bar, some like monkeys using their arms and legs, others as if it was a balance beam! I nearly had a heart attack. Once again I opened the door, and like rats on a sinking ship they scattered. I didn’t even have the chance to say anything they got away so quickly.

Last night was the final straw. A few days ago I had caught the kids with the antenna pole again, so I gave it to the garbage men. They told me they couldn’t fit it in their truck, so they left it and said they would return before the end of the week to collect it. We didn’t make it that long. The kids must have caught on to my plan because I could hear them outside with the pole. I looked out to see them throwing it across the parking lot at one another as if it was a spear.

I burst through the front door with such force they didn’t have the chance to escape. There must have been five or six of them, but they were all the same size and looked almost identical, and they kept moving around, so I had a hard time keeping track of them. I opened my mouth ready to attack and EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM says, “It wasn’t me! It was that guy!” and instantaneously pointed at a different little kid.

I feel like the guy from Caddyshack with the gophers. Here’s hoping this story will NOT be continued….