Ode to Moms

My mom is the cutest mom around. You might think this about your mother, but you would be incorrect and misguided. Serious. My mom must have a certificate somewhere. Aside from normal, everyday fallibility, Peggy Murphy is the coolest.

Let's start at the beginning. This lady has led a wild life. If anyone ever wonders "Gosh, that Grae sure can be crazy sometimes. Where did she get that from?" the answer would be the O.G. (Original Grae), which is my mom. This woman wreaked havoc on Longmont, Colorado in her earlier years as the youngest of ten kids.

She loved movies, dancing, beer, boys, and her radio show. She liked to stick it to the man, and was the only one in the whole town that would stand up for the Harlem Globetrotters when they came to town and were refused service at a local diner (she has lots of Meadowlark Lemon stuff in her memory trunk as a result).

Anyway, Peggy grew up to marry a man who hobknobbed with all the big stars that came to town. My mom was often seen cruising around Denver with Liberace and stuff. "There goes Peggy Murphy," I imagine an onlooker would say. "Cruising around like she doesn't have a care in the world." "She doesn't!" Onlooker's husband would respond. "Have you seen those gams?"

There was some sadness in her life, but she eventually ended up marrying my PapaBear. And then my family as I know it is complete. Six of me. The HellCat you know is a carbon-copy of the rest of the Drake family.

Moms is a trip. There's never a dull moment, never a time she's not making me laugh. Okay, that was slightly overly-sentimental, but just go with it. And the latest cute thing my Mom does (aside from sending me frozen beef and chocolate cake for my birthday) is send email forwards.

We taught Moms how to use the computer email system, and our inboxes were never the same. This woman forwards those chain letters, sappy stories, and funny jpegs to my inbox as though her life depended on it. I opened my email up this morning, tea in hand, ready for some good reads, and what did I see?

22 emails from my mommy. I put a lot of effort into counting them, my darlings, and I would never lie to you. There were that many. She is SO lucky I have 1GB of space...

My first inclination when seeing this kind of e-onslaught was to exhale sharply and roll my eyes. Then it occurred to me. Someday she won't send me any more emails, period. I will never get the joy of corresponding with her as she types in ALL CAPS or says things like "I don't know how to paste this link into my address bar thingy, honey. What does that mean?"

So I sift through her pictures of fawns asleep with Yorkie puppies, jokes about old people having sex (emoticons really drive the point home on that one), recipes for Fruitcake, and Christian sentiments. The best one today was Jesus Christ's resume. I really got a kick out of that one.

Moms has helped me see pics of eagles superimposed over the Twin Towers, .wmvs of old ladies dancing, and naked skydivers. She sends me prayers, quizzes, and images of Moses parting the red sea made entirely out of 1s and 0s.

My mom was cute in person. Now, when we all live so far away, she has become cyber-cute. For the record, she hates being called Peggy. It's Margaret to you, pal, and don't you forget it (because when Moms gets mad, she oftentimes calls people a "sorry sonofabitch").

lets' hear it for the mom. g