Good Morning Darlings,
Just about two years ago, I moved to Portland in an attempt to create a life for myself and le hubs outside of MY hometown. And of course, darlings, you know how I feel about my hometown. I’m just wild about it.
But of course, I have a wonderful life up here in Portland, complete with an amazing job that I thank the universe for everyday, so the chances of me moving back to the 215 any time soon are slim, which is fine. Except for one thing.
I miss my mom.
Really, the worst part about living in Portland is not being able to see the people that I love on a regular basis. Having to make the decision between driving 8-10 hours (with the distinct possibility of sitting in front of the George Washington Bridge in traffic with 25 different Spanish music stations on the radio, but not much else – for 2 hours – which feels so much longer, because you forgot to pee before you got to this standstill) or spending 600 bucks on a flight (a 50 minute flight) is an atrocious decision to make. Most of the time, I just wish someone would offer me their personal jet or hot air balloon, or mule or something. But that never happens, so I am quite often stuck in this predicament. This usually resolves itself by something coming up at work or at play that would make it near impossible to go home on a regular basis anyway, which is fine, but I can’t take being so far away from my mama for such long stretches.
Sure, we talk on the phone every other day. And she tells me her joke about having waited in line at the app store for 3 hours. And depending on the kind of day I’m having either laugh or get angry and tell her to get another joke. And we discuss all the goings on at SterlingDraperCooperPrice and she tells me how proud she is of me and that she misses me, but I shouldn’t come home because I have it made up here.
And that’s kind of how all of our conversations go, because once I am on the phone with my mama, I just want to be face to face with her. Drinking coffee at the kitchen table on Van Pelt Street. Getting pedicures, going to Ikea just for lunch and rummaging through the home section of Marshalls.
Look, PF is not your typical mother. And she didn’t necessarily instill in me things that I could write about in Chicken Soup for your Daughters Soul. I mean, it’s not like I grew up in a drug den, but the values and ideals that mama provided me with were much more than that of learning how to apply makeup, set a table, or bake a cake (I had Seventeen, Emily Post, and 2 grandmas for those things, respectively). She taught me how to manage the world around me with balanced chakras, musical numbers, puffy paint and homemade halloween costumes.
So let’s start from the beginning. Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman named Patty Weiner:
and she started working at an agency in Philadelphia and met this guy with great glasses named Scott Fox. They got married (partially I think PF just wanted to bank on Scott’s last name so she could make up for all the name calling her last name provided her as a child). And PF was the most beautiful bride you have ever seen.
But wasn’t she the most beautiful bride like ever? Her dress was this baby pink color. She wasn’t trying to fool anyone (Sorry mom, But I know you sowed your wild oats before you married dad – it’s a GOOD THING).
Anyway, as these things happen, not so long after – PF was blessed with 70 pounds of a future lcf. Her and SF apparently decided that after they got married, they should get matching glasses with a sepia tint (we never really did agree on anything fashion related)
Here’s why my mom and I are so close really. PF had to have an emergency c-section where (just ask her) she almost died so I could be born. And when I was born, she was so hopped up on pharma products that she thought that I was a frog. And a boy. And so she wanted to name me Peter, Peter the frog. Once she sobered up, she realized that she was actually blessed with a little human princess baby so she came to her senses and gave me an androgynous name spelled in a way that no standardized test or name keychain would ever spell correctly. But at least she didn’t call me Peter.
So anyway, she almost died having me. And then she had to put up with a little bratty princess child who from a young age probably provided way too much sass.
She has taught me so many valuable lessons over the years (mainly not about fashion or singing in public).
Never pay retail
Always befriend your local 7-11 workers
Never underestimate the power of arts and crafts
Always sing along to “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” & “Rosalita” as if your life depends on it
There is a difference between hoarding and curating
You can never have too many coffee table books
Black is the new black
Expensive perfume is always worth it even if it means you have to eat ramen for a month
You’ll never be the prettiest girl in the room, but you can always be the one people want to be around
Having multiple chinese menus in the takeout drawer allows for more options (in life)
Never underestimate the healing power of coffee and cigarettes
There is nothing that Bill (clinton) can’t do.
Always appreciate the arts. On the stage and on the walls.
The Universe Provides.
I mean, darlings, this is a woman who is just entirely fantastic in so many ways. She has always been my biggest supporter, head cheerleader of the lcf fan club. She never let social norms get in the way of her daughters dreaming. She let us do us. She let us stay home from school when we needed a break from life. She kind of just gets life in a way most people don’t.
Like – what kind of Mom has a Pageant themed Halloween Party when both of her kids are grown up and out of the house?
Have I mentioned her philanthropic efforts? She’s amazing and sits on boards all over town trying to better and beautify the community that surrounds her. I don’t know how she does it all.
So mom, mama, PF – Thanks for everything. You’re an artist, a philanthropist, a lover and a dreamer. You’re one in a million and I couldn’t have done any of it without you. I wish I could be with you today on Mother’s Day, but you know what? To me, everyday is Mothers Day.
Darlings. I hope you get to spend the day with your mothers or mother figures. Or your single dads that act as a mom or your coworker who invites you to sunday dinner or really anyone that you love like a mother. Tell them how much you love them.