Country Bumpkin

After a quick Google search for the definition of "country bumpkin," it seems there is no universal agreement. Just know that for my purposes, I don't mean it as "awkward, simple rustic person" (courtesy of Free Dictionary online), but in the most polite, bless your heart way. The kind of way that makes me think of honest country living, complete with banjo songs about the three-legged dog Skip, first kisses behind the football bleachers and summer evenings sitting on the patio, drinking sweet tea.

Having said that, I think my mom is a country bumpkin. I told Pete awhile back that I think she should start a show like "Prairie Home Companion," but set in Tennessee. She always has a story to tell about something silly that happened at home or work, and the funny part is that she doesn't even mean them to be silly.

For example, we were talking probably a month ago about mosquito bites and she started telling me about how she got "eaten up" one night when she was playing outside as a kid. Her eye and lip swelled from the bites and Mamaw was so worried that she prayed over Mom and anointed her with olive oil. I laughed so hard I nearly fell over. (I remember having a similar laughing attack shortly after I met Pete and he thought I was having a nervous breakdown. That made me laugh harder.)

Then a few weeks ago, she was telling me that she had to sell tickets for a beer tasting and felt bad inside. I don't remember what it was for (maybe work, but she works for Second Harvest Foodbank, so I'm not sure where alcohol would have come in), but it reminded me of when she worked at the grocery store and said she felt the same way when she rang up alcohol. She took a sip of alcohol once when she was younger and cried about it all weekend.

Shortly after the alcohol story, I called one night and a tornado was going through their town. Mom was outside with Dad and I think Seth, watching the dark clouds move over the house. I told them they're like that one family you see on natural disaster shows who watches the storm instead of seeking shelter. Meanwhile, Emily was upstairs in the bathtub, yelling downstairs for someone to bring her toys in so they wouldn't get blown away. "Shouldn't you get her out of the bathtub?" I asked. "Yeah, I should get offa here," Mom said before proceeding to tell me how Emily is getting cranky because her permanent teeth are coming in. "I think that's partly her problem," she said. Somewhere in the conversation, she added that Seth is doing lawn care for a nearby school and mowing for a lady named Pansy.

She also started a bunco night with some friends back in the fall. I don't know if she's played recently, but she was all excited the first time because she won $7 (even though I think she lost). One of the ladies she was playing with was nervous that the cops would bust them for gambling, and Mom thought that was funny.

It would be even funnier if you could hear her accent when telling these things. (Think "iiiiice" and "britches.") Ladies and gentlemen, my comic relief, my mother. Bless her heart.

P.S. Mom - I mean all of the above in the most loving way possible. Thanks for making me laugh and for always reading my blog.