Santa Got Lost In Translation

Ahh family tradition…a few years ago my mother inadvertently began a new sort of Christmas family tradition by gifting my father a little gem of sorts. It was a t-shirt. And, harmless as it may seem, the long-term ramifications of this gift could not possibly been foreseen. As usual, along with Christmas activities came the annual sporting of the t-shirt…and thus, the memories and laughter begin…

My mother did not move to the states until adulthood, and although throughout my lifetime she has adapted to American culture and terminology, she sometimes gets a little lost in translation. Case in point, the Christmas family celebration of 2006.

Mom was effortlessly making her way through the piles of wrapped gifts when she announced the “super sale” she found while shopping a novelty store in New Orleans that season. She was like, “I found the cutest store full of coffee cups, t-shirts, and hand towels and EVERYTHING was on clearance! I bought a TON of them and now I can give them to everyone!” Dad unwrapped his new treasure and as he examined the bright red t-shirt, his eyes lit up and a roar of laughter welled from within. Mom was all, “Isn’t that the cutest little Santa?! I got such a good deal!” It was then that my father turned the shirt for my sisters and I to see. Immediately we were in tears laughing.

Mom: I know! Isn’t the Santa so funny?!
Me: I don’t think it’s the Santa that’s so funny, mom.
Annie: Oh My Gosh! Three Hos are better than One!! Bahahahahahahahaha
Mom: Yeah, like Ho Ho Ho! Because it’s Santa…get it?
Annie: Oh, we GET it! Do YOU get it.
Dad: (in tears now gasping for breath) THAT is a good shirt, Momma, Ima put it on RIGHT now.
Me: Dad, you can’t wear that today! Everyone will be over later for dinner!
Dad: It’s my new Christmas shirt your momma got me and Ima wear it.
Mom: Okay Annie, this one’s for you. Here, open it…
It’s been five Christmases since the revealing of this “dirty Santa”, and every year my dad pulls out the shirt and wears it. Sometimes visitors will mention how great it is and my mom will chime in with, “I have another one in the closet if you want it!” I still am not sure if anyone told her exactly what the shirt implied. Either way, it brings fun to the family Christmas every year.

There's a United Nations Meeting In My Belly

So my thankful week of gut busting is over and I find myself left with two things to show for it, leftover pie for breakfast and this little post to bring insight into the “melting pot” of a feast that my family calls Thanksgiving.  Okay…in all actuality, if it were my mom talking, she would put a slight Filipino accent spin on it and say Thanksgibbing.  My dad would abbreviate it with that southern drawl and call it Thanksgivin’.  Either way, you’ll be full when it’s over.

I was the host this year for the evening meal, so we DID actually have a traditional American meal, but my parents did not want to pass on the opportunity to host a few friends (and myself, of course) for their own “traditional” occasion during the lunch hour.   It was an eclectic mix of friends and food.  

It was a Melting Pot of Goodness...MmmmmMmmmm

So here you are…the menu at my parents Cajun Asian Turkey Day:

-Seafood Gumbo

-Cornbread Dressing
-Potato Salad
-Turkey (purposely not listed first because it is more obligatory than anything else)
-Spring Rolls
-Fruit and Vegtable fusion salad with sesame ginger dressing
-Miscellaneous assortment of store bought pies (whatever ones were on sale that day)
-left over Sinigang (Filipino broth-based soup with pork, radishes, green vegetables, etc.)

Was there gravy?  No.  Dad forgot and mom began her anti-gravy coalition when I was around 5 years old.  Mash potatoes?  No.  But there was a fresh pot of jasmine rice available.  Is that a giant bag of popcorn in the background?  Yes it is.  That’s what is known as the random “WOW factor” food item of the feast.  You never know what you’re gonna get.  And this year…we got popcorn.  You’re welcome.

The Halloweaster Bunny

I’m not a big Halloween person; maybe because my parents barely acknowledged the holiday throughout my childhood. And also there was the fact that we lived in a more rural area so our annual trick-or-treat visitors would total somewhere along the lines of two neighborhood kids…three if Michael Hickman wasn’t in trouble that night. The four acre distance between homes was a pretty good deterrent for parents becoming motivated to walk the kids from house to house; not to mention the idea of children wandering the streets after dark dressed like hooligans and begging for food like paupers only to come home and fight a battle over how much chocolate is too much before bedtime.

Muahahaha!  I vant to suck your Cadbury mini eggs!

I do recall one particular Halloween, however, where my mother made an extra effort to put her own spin on celebrate the occasion. You should know that my mother is a well-educated woman who sometimes falls victim to culture shock. She moved to the United States as an adult, so while she does understand the concepts of all American holidays and the meaning behind them, she sometimes gets “lost in translation” when it comes to the actual traditions. Case in point:

Halloween night, 2003. I was an adult; however, my 6 year old son was excited and filled with anticipation for special Halloween with his maw maw. I was excited for a night out with friends and a free babysitter. I got to my mother’s house and walked inside where she whisked him away and promptly returned with a bright orange foam pumpkin sporting arms and legs and bearing an uncanny resemblance to my son. Her witch hat didn’t quite go with the hospital scrubs she wore to work that day, but mom ALWAYS had a way of making things work in her favor. “Hellooooo Brandon! I am Glenda the good nurse-witch! And we are gonna have soooo much fun hunting for Halloween candy! Peter Cottontail has visited and there are candies and surprises hidden alllll around us!” She grabbed his little hands and started bouncing around with her 70’s disco moves singing "Here comes Peter Cottontail. Hoppin’ down the bunny trail…"

Wait…what? I was lost. Peter Cottontail? Please tell me my dad was not about to jump out of the hall closet wearing cover-alls, bunny ears and his Sunday church shoes. (He didn’t by the way…BIG relief) So I was all, “Mom, Peter Cottontail? That's an Easter thing.  Aren't you going trick-or-treating tonight?” And she was like, “Of course! We are gonna trick-or-treat right here to find all the goodies, right Brandon!?!” And of course Brandon was practically jumping up and down and screaming “Let’s go maw maw!! Bye mom! Let’s go!”

Apparently, after work, my mom bought a few bags of Halloween candy and hid the pieces of candy all around her house for Brandon to find.  And yes, in the end there was a "golden prize egg".  Because a hunt wouldn't be the same without one!  My mom always had a way of making things exciting for little kids. Her enthusiasm is contagious to say the least. To this day I have a theory that my son enjoys going over to their house strictly for the possibility of finding candy in the least expected places.  Kind of like a modern day Hansel and Gretel effect.  Maybe there was something to this whole Halloweaster bunny concept.

Don, A Girl's Best Friend?

Last week my sister Annie, her husband Mitch, my brother Chris, Steele and I met at my parents’ house for dinner. It was just casual home-cooked meal accompanied by conversation about upcoming family events and the latest work drama. When out of the blue my mom looks across the table at Annie’s hand and she’s all, “Annie! That ring is BEAUTIFUL! Where did you get it?” And Annie was like, “I got it at Don’s Pharmasave. Same place I get my medication.”

Her response was met with brief silence broken by my uncontrolled laughter. Now THAT is a ONE-STOP-SHOP!


I'll take that ring, a box of Cracker Jacks, and a refill on my Valium prescription, please!



Lobsters, Shared Toilets and Stairs – Oh My!

So my parents recently returned from a trip to New England, Portsmouth to be exact. I stopped by their house on Monday morning to get a free cup of coffee visit for a while. Up until that day, the only news I had received from their trip was my mom’s random calls from New Hampshire.

Me: Hello?

Mom: Abby! You HAVE to see this BEAUTIFUL car we rented! It’s a Crown Vic. We are riding in style girl! The scenery is so beautiful here! And the Crown Vic has leather, and lots of cup holders, GPS…

Me: So I take it you arrived safely?

Mom: And it has the climate control too! Such a nice car. Crown VIC.

Me: Okay, have fun mom! I gotta go! Love you!

Mom: Oh, Abby, I wanted to ask you something…ummm..what was it I was gonna ask you?

Me: I don't know, mom.

Dad: (barely audible in the background) Joji, get off that phone and tell me where the next turn is on that map there!

Mom: Charles! Just listen to the GPS

Dad: I can’t understand what that thing is talking about! Just look at the map!

disconnected

So anyway...back to the coffee conversation.  I asked my dad how his trip went and he began describing basically the parts that were important to him.

Dad: Your mom must’ve ate lobster for every single meal. She can EAT some lobster. She put them things away like they was crawfish. We was at this one restaurant where they had them 1.5 pound lobsters. An your momma tells the waiter, ‘Ooooooo the lobster is only $12?! I’ll have TWO!’ They looked at her like she had T-total lost her mind, ya know. Cuz normally people only eat one.

Me: Yeah I know. So besides eating lobster, what all did you guys do?

Dad: Well, your momma wanted to stay at one of them bread and breakfasts.

Me: I’m pretty sure it’s called a BED and breakfast, Dad.

Dad: Well, whatever it is, them things ain’t nice at all. First of all, they have these narrow, steep old staircases. An’ you have to haul ALL your luggage to the 3rd floor. But worse than that, they only got ONE BATHROOM for three guest rooms. You have to knock on the door to make sure nobody is in there. An’ lemme tell ya, you can FORGET going to the bathroom in your underwear in the middle of the night. You have to get fully dressed just to take a piss in the middle of the night! Now that’s just ridiculous! I wouldn’t stay in one uh them bread and breakfasts again for all the tea in china. They’re for suckers.

Me: Is that it?

Dad: Yeah, pretty much. We mostly just drove around lookin’ for more lobster.

Yeah, my parents will not be writing for travel book companies any time soon.

Mammas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Do Laundry

Below is a list of the Top TEN THINGS my Mother Never Taught Me  *FAIL*

It's a JOKE mom, calm down...Love You!! lol

10) How in the WORLD do you fold a fitted bed sheet into a nice flat square like when you first bought it?!?! It’s like the bedding manufacturers sit there and TRY to think of ways to make my life difficult on a laundry day. And don’t EVEN get me started on how hard it is to get the fitted sheet on an extra plush pillow-top mattress!

9)  How to speak Tagalog (her native Filipino language). I just know those hens are in the other room just chattin’ up a storm about me. Because let’s face it…what would be a more interesting topic than ME? (Good thing I picked up a few cuss words from my grandmother along the way while she was taking care of us. At least I know when they are using those.)

8)  How to sew. Although, this one may not count since she herself couldn’t sew to save her life. I recall a hole in the crotch of a pair of pants that she attempted to sew and the resulting hem looked more like the Rio Grande

7)  How to properly iron a pair of slacks. I know, right? So simple, but for me…NOT! I had to buy a dryer with a “wrinkle release” setting just to keep my son from looking like a prune for church. Too bad the dryer can’t make those pretty creases.

*yes…I believe there is a pattern of “laundry lessons” existing within this list…curious…this may explain why my mom has enough clothes to wear a different outfit every day for 5 years without doing laundry…she’s allergic to laundry!!! Maybe I am, too! Oh the suffering we mothers endure!

6)  How to take a good power nap. This is one of my mother’s super powers. The woman can nap anytime…anywhere, and be recharged in 20 minutes or less. I, on the other hand, could not even sleep during daylight if I were medicated. Maybe this one isn’t her fault either…maybe it’s a gene that I did not inherit. Or maybe she doesn’t have a super power, and she’s just narcoleptic.

5)  How to make ANYTHING look delicious! OMG, have you ever had a snack at this woman’s house? She can serve you sauerkraut and anchovies on a Ritz cracker and make you drool while she is preparing it. She gets out these little hors d’ oeuvres plates, advertises each ingredient as she places it on the snack and then serves it with garnish and a sprinkle of Pecorino cheese (because, as mom would say “Pecorino makes everything taste wonderful”)

4)  How to look FABULOUS for only $9.99! This woman can REALLY sniff out a deal when it comes to clothing. I can’t even tell you all of her tricks-of-the-trade. All I can say is, she’s still bragging about the fact that her dress for my sister’s wedding was only $30 on sale at JCP online with free shipping, and the rest of us spent at least $250 for ours.

3)  How to pick things up with her toes. She may kill me for mentioning this one, but my mom has the most FREAKISH AMAZING ability to pick things up with her feet. Dirty clothes, writing utensils, skittles…nothing is a match for her super cleaning abilities

2)  How to work out in 3 inch heels. Yeah…you read that correctly. She works out in her heels…she’s ALWAYS wearing heels (except when she's picking things up with her toes). She likes the heels because they make her feel taller (she’s 5 feet tall on a good day). And she doesn’t just do yoga or Pilates…I’m talking treadmill, elliptical, jazzercise action. Dr. Scholl’s would be disappointed to say the least.

1)  How to keep the kids from sneak peeks under the Christmas tree. So my mom every year (and still to this day) wraps gifts and puts them under the tree…without gift tags. So no one ever knows who each wrapped gift is for on Christmas day…including my mother…she forgets. So we all sit around the tree and hold up a gift and we’re like, “Hey mom, who’s is THIS?” And she’s all, “Ummm, I can’t remember, open it and let’s find out.” Then I open the gift and I’m all, “Gold Bond foot cream?” And she’s all, “Oh wait! That’s for your dad…here Daddy! Okay maybe this one is for you.” Christmas mystery gift ROCKS!

Momma said KNOCK you OUT

I’m a half-blood of sorts, part Cajun-part Asian…Filipino to be exact, so there are distinct traits, preferences, and tolerances that I have acquired over the years surviving growing up in that sort of “mixed” culture environment.

One thing that I’ve learned about my mom and her Filipino friends is that they have a passion of sorts for gardening, or live plants in general. They treat their plants like trophies on display, giving tours of the “fruits of their labor” to house guests. They take pride in their ability to grow and multiply different plants, both decorative, and consumable. They even babysit each other’s plants in their absence.

I just want to state for the record…I did not inherit the “Zen gardener” part of my Asian heritage. I find no peace, solitude, relaxation nor joy in the act of raising flora. As a matter of fact, I have quite a list of homicides under my belt in my futile attempts to “bring life” to my home by adding indoor plants or by planting a garden. I have successfully killed at least 30 different varieties of flowers and ferns, not to mention the not-so-lucky bamboo and one very unfortunate cactus named Bernie (R.I.P. Bernie Boo). Yes…I killed a cactus. Don’t judge.

So my mom, who regularly nags me about having a desolate and bare lawn encourages me to beautify my property, decided to surprise me by planting not one, but SIX “Knock Out” rose bushes right in front of my home. I love my mom. So willing to work to make things more beautiful, so inspired by the natural beauty of a HOT PINK rose bush that she wanted to plant them all over my yard, so willing to remind me of how EASY it is to maintain said roses, so obsessed with saying “knock out roses” that she litters her conversations with the phrase time and time again. Did I mention the knock outs are hot pink? I thought so. Did I mention that my home has outdated reddish-maroon wood siding on the front of it? Yep, it sure does. And so my mom was all, “Look Abby! Its pink flowers are sooo bright and beautiful! And they match perfectly with your house because pink matches with red!” No it doesn’t.

Anyway, I am really appreciative for what my mom did, even though now my knock outs are a constant source of stress. “Soooo easy.” Uh-huh. “Just water them once a week, and clip off the dead blooms.” Yeah. So riddle me this mom...why do my knock outs look like KNOCKED OUTS?


HELP! Save Us!!

For the record, this is what everyone else’s knock outs look like.

I'm too sexy for your garden.

Another one bites the dust...