Today has brought about an event that has developed into a ...hellofuzzy... moment too good to pass up. Someone, somewhere has decided my mother is the "best" at something, but the mystery source won't reveal any details. Mom, of course, is curious yet reserved. She's not sure if she's the victim of a practical joke or if a new reason to smile is coming her way. Regardless, she shared this conspiracy with me while calling to see if I wanted her to bring me more Sunny Delight. Much to her disappointment, I still have half a refrigerator full.
After I ended the call with her this afternoon, I got so tickled. Being the daughter to a mother who spends most of her waking moments with nine year old children is quite the trip. She sees most of the world through the eyes of those children. Every year, a new little patch of students falls head over heels in love with my mother, and I am again reminded that I'm her only child strictly as a matter of biology. She is a mother of sorts to generations.
But, enough of all that jazz meant for Hallmark cards and Lifetime movies. I think it's time to share with you a few of my mom's hidden talents. I'm writing this not only to send her into orbit but to also distract her until she finds out, officially, what is is that someone has decided she is the best at doing, being, playing, and/or teaching. There are things about my momma you may not know, and I feel as though it is my personal responsibility to share with you the secrets of life with Bebe.
First of all, you must know if you go to her house on Halloween, before, or after, you will get a treat. No costume is ever required. Just show up after a hard day at work, ring the doorbell, and she'll come running with a little snack, bottle of hand lotion, or a candle. No one ever leaves without a gift of some sort. She is quite fond of products that come in small containers. She likes water in bottles that are pint size. She swears all Coke products taste better in small cans. She says that Hershey's traditional candy bars are just sweeter in the bite size form. She thinks the little cups of Kraft macaroni and cheese are precious, and she loves tiny little packets of Kleenex. Very few things in her arsenal of gifts are bigger than a bullfrog. She lovingly gives out treats and follows with, "Isn't that cute?"
Next, you should know that no ink pens in her house work. None. I can tell you there is some unknown evil force that lives within proximity to her kitchen food bar, and it dries up the ink in every pen that touches its surface. Cookies, cakes, and dumplins survive, but her ink pens have a shorter lifespan than peanut butter in my cabinet. She will not throw away a dried up pen. Would you like to know why? They're all pretty. They're not the 12 for a dollar Bic pens. Oh, no. All of her pens are flowery, decorative, girlie pens, and they're just too cute to throw away. If you're going to go see her for an autograph, you better take your own pen.
Another interesting little Bebe fact is that she is, perhaps, the most aggressive college football fan I've ever seen in action in my life. Ever. I live in a town filled with devoted UT fans, and I'm telling you, I'm yet to see anyone respond to Neyland Stadium and its boys like my mother. The transformation begins when the SEC media days transpire. She is that fan who will listen to WIVK commentary and turn down the volume on her television. You are a small group, but you know who you are. She allows herself to forget about football from February until August. However, when she starts to clean up her classroom for her little students, something creeps into her blood and turns it orange. She knows every single play. She knows every single official. She will argue about every single penalty. She knows she has big orange issues, and she keeps her enthusiasm at home within the confines of her own little NCAA football kingdom. ESPN only wishes it had game day like Bebe's house on Saturday mornings. Makes me a nervous wreck. I don't know what is more intimidating...the anticipation before the game or her reaction when it's over. She covers up one eye and watches out of the other. She screams. She yells. She would blow a whistle if she had one. Please, don't enable her and make this condition any worse. The reason why she doesn't sing in the church choir has nothing to do with her piano skills. She's too hoarse from screaming at the television the day before to sing on Sunday.
However, if there is one simple thing that makes her happy, it is giving anyone a piece of peppermint. I bet you're smiling right now and agreeing with what I've written. She is the sole reason that Brach candies hasn't gone out of business. She will never give you butterscotch. No, no, no. She is the tri-state area's strongest proponent of the powers of peppermint candy. She keeps it in her purse, in her car, by the piano, and at the entrance to her dining room. She is never out of reach of a candy bowl, and she'll put one in your hand if given half a chance to do so. The peppermint will never be gummy either. You know how that piece of candy tastes after it has nested in the bottom of your grandmother's purse since Sue Ellen was sober on Dallas? Mom's candy will never be out of date. She wants it to be fresh and she wants to have a lot of it on hand to give to you. She thinks she's just giving you a piece of candy, but you know there's a lot of love that comes along with every loud wrapper you twist open.
My favorite, favorite, favorite secret about my mom is her loyalty to local radio in Middlesboro. If any current visual image of her now gives me insight to what she was like as a child, it is her love of all radios that are tiny and portable. Her iPad rests precisely in the middle of her house, and it has technological capabilities to connect her with the entire world; however, right beside the iPad sits her little transistor radio. It's just a simple, black radio that runs on double A batteries. She packs it around with her like I keep a silk pillow with me. That little radio travels back and forth from her bedroom to the kitchen to the den every single day of Mom's life. On laundry days, it goes to the basement. If it's pretty outside, it sets on the deck. She relies on it for news, weather, and especially school closings. She has all the technology of the free world at her fingertips with regard to the Internet, but she loves that little radio more than she will ever love anything invented at Apple or Microsoft.
There are more secrets to come, but I will close this session of ...hellofuzzy... out for the time being. I don't know what kind of "best," my mom is about to be named, but I can't wait to find out. And on those days when you're trying to figure out the secret to staying healthy, happy, and spiritually connected to God, I highly suggest you drink a tiny can of Coke, eat a little bite size Hershey bar, try to write with a pretty pen that has no ink, passionately watch a college football game, and then perk up your ears and listen to a little local radio talk. Seems to be the key to living a happy and fulfilled life.
