"Mom--this is R...

"...R--this is my mom, er, Eleanor..."

that was it--not a big deal. A quick intro before mom went up to bed to give the two "lovebirds" some private time. Snort.

Somehow, out of those brief five minutes, mom has gleaned important info that she's tabulating carefully and storing away for this morning when she can pounce on me.

K--it began like this. My mother was in Hawaii when R and I hooked up. However, I did e-mail her and tell her all the gushy, spit swapping details. Not a lot, mind you, just enough to let her know we were serious about one another and he'd be around from time-to-time.

Mom is ECSTATIC. Like just overflowing with motherly joy for her baby girl. Mom kinda always thought Dakota needed a man. Dakota was very happy on her own. I've explained oft to my mom that finding happiness within and being okay with being alone is a GOOD thing. It's like healthy, ya know? Mom would poo-poo that and say, "That's wonderful, princess, but a good man can't hurt you after THAT mess. I want you happy and taken care of."

There it is, the reference to the man she thought I was way too young to marry and in her mind, had given like five years at best with me, before she'd put me in her station wagon and drive me to divorce court with her Sunday best on. LOLLOL. I did outlast her betting pool at work :) and I can take care of my own damn self, thank you.

Anyway, mom, needless to say, was very happy that Dakota had found a man. Even if he was the one I'd told her would never be anything else but my friend. Yep, she said, "How lovely, sweetheart. Hmmmm, isn't he the one that was always going to be your friend?" Dakota nods dutifully and snickers. Mom was very supportive while I did the dating thing. She would shoo me off and waggle a finger at me and say, "Go get 'em, beautiful." Yep, she thinks I'm beautiful too. Only a mother.

OY

So, like I said, I e-mailed her and told her about R. She did the dance of all mother's throughout the land who's daughters snare a man. After she asked a million questions, that is. One being, "Young lady? Are you sharing a physical relationship with this man?"

Ahem.

To which I respond, Dear mom, mind yer p's an q's. I AM 38. I can boink if I wanna and you can't tell me otherwise. So neener, neener, neener. "No, no, honey, I only want to know so you can give me the wink if you need some "private time" with your steady. I'll scoot right off to bed." Wink, wink.

Sigh. So I tell mom thanks, don't you worry about stuff like that. I got it all under control. "Like birth control?" she asks pointedly. I can no longer go on. I nip this freight train from hell by telling her that I promise not to make her a grandmother again. Then, she takes me quite by surprise and says, almost in passing, "Can I e-mail the ex and tell him you have a MAN? Boy, wouldn't that just make him squirm to know there really are men out there who aren't pukes like him. I'd bet it'll make him squeal like the pig he is."

Have I mentioned that I adore my mother, but there are times when really, I just want to slap duct tape on her mouth? I e-mail back, "NO."

Succinct, yes?

She e-mails back, "Please?" ROFLMAO

No, no and a triple NO.

Sigh. Mom met R last night for the first time (she even put lipstick on at like 9 at night) and you'd think he was a fricken' Adonis or something. She grabs me this morning and says, "Oh, darling! He's as cute as a button and such a nice, well mannered boy. He's the one, precious. I can feel it." Smiles at me like I just found the Holy Grail.

I choose to ignore her assessment of R.
Whatever.

"Ma, R is 41, hardly a boy." I think I even snorted, HARD too.
"Well, he is a BOY when you're 70 like me, miss. I thought he was just wonderful and sooo cute." Bats eyelashes and coos.
"Mom, you talked to him for like 5 minutes at best. How'd ya wring wonderful out of that"
"Doesn't matter, princess. I know a good boy when I meet one and, did you see how he looks at you?" fans herself..."Like he could just eat you up. (see me blush) I just know he's head over heels for you. Oh, the day when you're father looked at me like that. It's a special, wonderful thing, sweetheart. Treat it with care."
"Yes, mother." Wait a second. ME treat it with care? Hello in there--who was married for 19 years with nary a black mark in her big book of housewifery (is that a word?)?
"Don't mess this up. I mean that, young lady. You mind yourself and all will be well."
I nod absently, cuz I'm thinkin' helllooooooooooo--I didn't mess up the last time. I stuck it out for 19 years. Sheesh. Like I was some bad wife or something. I do believe it wasn't me who was the problem, thank you. She looks at me knowingly, "I mean your smart mouth, honey. You can be very fresh and you know that about yourself."

I roll my eyes. Yes, yes I can be snarky and sarcastic. Mom doesn't always get that. Have I mentioned I'm adopted and as much as my people love me, they don't always "get" me. It's the blank, WTF look they give me that was my first real clue. I oughta let her read R's responses to my posts. If this gets screwed up, R will be to blame too--he's as snarky as I am. God, the pressure.

And then, as she goes back upstairs she says, "Oh, and just tell that nice young man that I'm polishing my shotgun if he makes you cry? I'll shoot him between the eyes and I don't care how cute he is, or if he looks at you like you're the best thing since sliced bread with honey. He'll be staring at the ceiling of a morgue."

Gotta love mom :)

Dakota :)