Moms don't give a fuck.

Excuse me for the brash title, but damn, is it true!

I don't know when it happens. But sometime in between having birthed a child(as mothers do) and you learning how to turn your drooling, garbled speech into something cohesive; moms stop caring about all the little things.  They may have, sometime in the distant past, cared about little things like...I don't know... not looking crazy in malls, public streets, the longs drugs store in Kaneohe. She was dancing her worries away at some disco in town. "DAANNNCCCING QUUUEEEENNN, YOUNG AND SWEEEEET" she would have sung out loud having the speakers drown out her voice. And then you show up. Ruining the late 80s for her. Not that there was much going on, but still. She didn't have to wipe shit off a human being on the daily before you. 

She grew hardened, driven mad by the constant crying and diapers. Not that she doesn't have that soft side of her that sang ABBA at the top of her lungs anymore. It's just buried deep underneath the need to nourish another life. TWO at that (I am a twin, and it was a surprise. BUT! that's for another entry). NOW! fucks were slowly becoming more and more conservative:

 "Does this warrant a fuck? Nahhh, that ain't real enough for me to care about."

So, I was in middle school. It was a cold, windy, rainy day. I had just moved from Oahu to the bay area. In November!? WTF PARENTS. Anyhow. We are walking down the side walk on the main street in my new town. but my mom hadn't brought her umbrella with her. A perfect opportunity for improvisation you would think? You could not be more wrong, friend. So very, very, wrong. My mom (whom, i will preface this with, I love very much) in a stroke of utilitarian brilliance that shone so brightly it blinded her good sense decides to ask a local store owner for a trash bag. My eyes widened with fear as we walk out onto the rain pelted sidewalk. She lets the wind take hold and opens the GIANT BLACK TRASH BAG to hold over her head, shielding her from the rain and also all three young kids' mortified glares. 

Imagine a petite filipina woman and her three kids, their pace quickening with each step. Crossing the street on the main road. A giant trash bag billowing in the wind over mom's head. The rain droplets on the plastic bag creating a nice consistent, tiny percussion to draw your attention towards it. She didn't even have the decency to gather the bag a little to keep the size down. NOPE. A giant kitchen trash bag will protect me from the rain just fine, thank you.  I could not get away fast enough. We desperately tried to tell her to put it down. But, mom's are also scary. So she shut us down pretty fast. We suffered greatly in the minutes walking back to the car. I knew my mom could be dangerous. But, now I had a great embarrassing memory to sear it into my 7th grade mind to verify: Do Not MESS with MOM! She can turn her crazy on, at will, and GIVES NO FUCKS. 

Moms give no fucks.

The end.