My mother is not so much a person as a force of nature -- something elemental that can blow through your life and shake things all around, leaving you all confused and with things misplaced.
My mother is one of those people that *everyone* knows. Either they actually KNOW her, or they've heard enough stories about her exploits that they feel like they know her. She's larger than life. She's always been a character, and I suspect she'll be that way when she's ninety-five. She gets it honest. She tells tales of her own mother that lead me to believe that she's only following the path that her mother forged before her.
When I was in trouble in my younger years, my mother was inventive, to say the least. Mom would sentence me to my bedroom, which did not seem like such a punishment because it was where I wanted to be in the first place. But -- she would remove my stereo, and all my books. I was left with nothing to do but stare at the walls. Or, the few times that she punished me by sending me outside to play? Sheer torture. I was always one of those unathletic, bookish children who cringed when natural light fell across their pasty skin.
On the rare occasions that I was to be spanked for my infractions, I was made to go out to the Queen Anne's Lace bush, and pick my own switch. Woe befall me if I picked a switch too small! -- I got switched with that switch *and* another, more appropriate one. Mom would strip all but the last two or three leaves off of the end, and whip that little sucker across my bare bottom with all the fervor of a fanatic.
And then there were her "subtle" punishments. There was the time when I complained about something that she'd cooked for dinner, and everyone got a full plate, but I got an apple. Or the time that she conspired with my best friend and took out a full-page ad in my senior yearbook, complete with naked baby pictures. Truly *embarrassing* naked baby pictures. I don't even know what the hell I'd done to deserve that one.
I recently had the misfortune to punish Offspring for something she'd done. I have discovered that either I just don't have the kind of practice that my own mother did, or I am just hopeless at this punishment business. Here is where my creativity fails me, apparently. My punishment chops are sadly lacking. This is where I bow to the masters that came before me, and exit stage right.
The Greatest Face Ever
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