My mom is a lovely woman (despite her blatant lies throughout my childhood.) But she definitely has her own language. I’ve created this list to use as a reference guide should you ever meet her in person.
My mom says: Jazzed
In a sentence: We were really jazzed about that. You sound ja
My mom and I talk several times a day.
Since Even Steven hates talking on the phone, he just can’t imagine what on earth we talk about more than once a day. Our conversations are short – usually 5 – 7 minutes long. But they’re packed with information – or weather…
Call #1 – Early
Simon and I took a trip to Florida a few months ago to visit my brother and his family. We had a wonderful time.
My trashy sister-in-law treated me like royalty – and it was so sweet to spend time with my adorable nephews! (Aren’t they so cute?)
What wasn’t sweet, was flying with Simon. Fi
When I was 5 years old, I changed my name to Tina.
It was the most beautiful name I had ever heard.
My family called me Tina at home.
And my mom – always wanting to support and encourage me – talked to my teacher so that I could be Tina at school too.
I signed all of my kinderga
I come from a family of butter eaters. Not in a tub or in a spray bottle – just good old-fashioned butter.
We left it on the counter. NEVER in the fridge.
I assumed this was happening in every household across the nation until Even Steven visited my parents for the first time.
You know she’s a brilliant liar.
You know that I drive her nuts, and she LOVES Crisco.
But you should also know…
She’s Greek. And she’s a counselor.
Have you ever spent time with a Greek person? Or have you seen My Big Fat Greek Wedding? Meet my mother.
Now, add in her counselo
Dear Younger Anna,
*Your hair is just awful, terrible and more terrible. Don’t listen to your mother when she tells you it’s wonderful. She’s a liar. You need to grow your hair out now (and stop putting french fries up your nose.)
*Seriously – your mom is a liar. You don’t have a special voice
I’ll never forget being 9 years old and thinking I was going to die.
One summer morning, my mom and I drove to Meijer and went straight to the pharmacy. My mom handed the pharmacist something in a ziploc baggie.
I had no idea what it was, but they were both looking at me and whispering.
We had a lot of fun growing up, but there was one thing my mom never had a sense of humor about.
My baby dolls.
Every time a new doll was brought into the house, I was required to take an oath. I would stand in front of my mom with my right hand raised, and repeat after her – word for word.