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the first is the worst
Apr. 1st, 2013 03:03 pmIt's early to be relieved, but so far so good, April Fools Day-wise. Not only is it not a school day (no being told my shoelace/zipper is undone a thousand times) but the Queen of April Fools is out of town! My mother is a master prankster and can be diabolic when she wants to. She's done the oreos filled with toothpaste one. She's written messages in WD-40 in the shower so they don't appear until you've been in there awhile. She has filled rooms with balloons, blocked doorways with pop machines, and hidden sound chips from singing greeting cards EVERYwhere. She has also hacked other peoples' email accounts to send incriminating emails to supervisors.
Then there was the time when I was 14, she got me to rearrange my whole room to make space for the little boy from the Philippines we were going to foster for awhile. She sat me down and told me how he had been removed from an ugly situation and he was going to live with us until the trial was over and since my sisters were already sharing a room, he would have to stay with me. Which is all exactly the sort of thing my mother would do, so I accepted it and started pushing all my furniture over to one side of the room.
And I'm asking questions about how old he is and does he speak any English and she's just standing there with tears in her eyes, biting her lip, telling me "Just 6." and "Only a little bit." And then I'm struggling to pull my footlocker full of Elfquest books across the room and she can't stand it anymore and bursts out laughing. She hugged me and told me how good I was, even though I had ruined her joke. There was no little boy who needed a foster home. She had thought I would pitch a surly teenage fit over having my privacy invaded without any notice so she could hold me and whisper 'April Fools!' at the height of my outrage, and there I was wondering if he would need a dresser and half the closet or just the dresser.
Every year she gets me, one way or the other, but this year she is on the road, so there's a chance I might make it through. I'll just have to be careful to take all text messages with a grain of salt.
Then there was the time when I was 14, she got me to rearrange my whole room to make space for the little boy from the Philippines we were going to foster for awhile. She sat me down and told me how he had been removed from an ugly situation and he was going to live with us until the trial was over and since my sisters were already sharing a room, he would have to stay with me. Which is all exactly the sort of thing my mother would do, so I accepted it and started pushing all my furniture over to one side of the room.
And I'm asking questions about how old he is and does he speak any English and she's just standing there with tears in her eyes, biting her lip, telling me "Just 6." and "Only a little bit." And then I'm struggling to pull my footlocker full of Elfquest books across the room and she can't stand it anymore and bursts out laughing. She hugged me and told me how good I was, even though I had ruined her joke. There was no little boy who needed a foster home. She had thought I would pitch a surly teenage fit over having my privacy invaded without any notice so she could hold me and whisper 'April Fools!' at the height of my outrage, and there I was wondering if he would need a dresser and half the closet or just the dresser.
Every year she gets me, one way or the other, but this year she is on the road, so there's a chance I might make it through. I'll just have to be careful to take all text messages with a grain of salt.
