Well it seems it’s that time again…one of my FAVORITE holidays in all the world is soon to be upon us all…Mother’s Day.

(Note sarcasm in the word “favorite”)

What could a Nocturnal guy like me possibly have against a day or night specially set aside to honor your Mom?

Nothing actually.

Quite the opposite. There is nothing I’d like to do more than honor my Mom. But I can’t and it always leaves me feeling quite down, and there’s no getting around it.

Oh no, my Dear Old Mom is actually alive and well…still the sharp super confident housewife/adventurer/contradiction between baking sweets that could put love handles on a starving Ethopian child in hours and being a health food nut.

The original little ball of fire.

(A CHET off her old block I am…err…maybe that didn’t come out the way I planned lol ;) )

Audrey Sutton McNabb is a woman who never quits on anything (well except maybe smoking.) Especially her hair, it started to go grey decades ago, yet she still refuses let her burnt orange brown locks fade into history.

“People judge you an’ dismiss you too quick when you have a few gray hairs.”

Speaking of history…

A woman whose family is as old in Texas as Texas (or at least they think they are!)

Momma is and was always tall for her generation…5’8 and then add to that her favorite pair of dress heels…which she loved but hardly wore anywhere except to Sunday service and the occasional Officer’s Club party that my Daddy had somehow NOT managed to get himself disinvited to with the help of his bunkmates Urine and Jim Beam.

Even today my dearest Mother has the brightest, boldest pair of sky blue eyes. (One of her many gifts to me, got me out of many a jam and into many a Co-Ed’s bedroom in college!)

She has, even now, as Remmy might put it, a “Maureen O’Hara” kinda beauty…defiant, yet soft. Very girly and mothery-ish to us all growing up, yet quite the rough’n’tumble tomboy Mom.

I mean you’d have to be, if you’re married to my Dad.

Or if you had to raise 3 awnry Scotish American boys and one lonely twerpy girl, all mostly on your own.

 On her own? Oh no, not because of the USUAL modern 21^st Century American reasons. The Old Man wasn’t screwing around with some uber body pierced and tated up personal trainer/massage therapist/stripper named Amber Ariel (or maybe even SVEN) on the weekends or anything like that…but Daddy was a BIT of a bigomist, symbolically if not LITERALLY.

Daddy was married first to the Corps. An Officer and NOT a gentleman for 30 years.

So yeah, the family McNabb traveled around a lot in my original growing up Normie days…moving every three to four years or so…and when we weren’t, HE WAS…skipping around every whichaway all over the place on this little blue globe, gone way too often. Put it this way, when you’re a Jarhead Officer’s brat, you get to learn how to say “Quantico” REAL fast!

I tell you this part so y’all’ll understand just what a total fixture Momma was in my life.

When most little boys were out playing catch with their Dads on yet another “Pleasant Valley Sunday” the brood McNabb were outside in the front yard practicing for Karate class, having a catch, shooting driveway hoops or playing tackle football with our MOM!

You have NO IDEA what a mindphack it is to have to blitz a “quarterback” wearing pink sneakers and Capri pants!

Mom had to learn how to cook steaks too…and cut grass like a man. If you were to RUDELY say that I “throw like a GIIRRRL” that’s probably because the first person I learned to throw a baseball from WAS a girl!

Thank GAWWD Momma used to play softball (briefly) for the Horned Frogs.

In short Blogsters…Momma was pretty much everything to us. And now I can hardly say thank you. Not since my…uhh….”transformation.” Yeaaap, Daddy seems to think that JUST BECAUSE I’ve got razor sharp fangs, drink blood, run around at night all pale, faster than the eye can see, and because of that whole aging uber,UBER SLOWLY thing, that I’m the son of Satan now.

The classic “I have no Son!!” Abbot and Costello routine. Hilarious. NOOOT!

(Cue up Who Wants To Live Forever by Queen with me running around aimlessly like an idiot on Scottish hills with the occasional deeply emotional diarrhea-faced closeup shot.)

Yeaap, I’m forboaten from visiting my family on holidays or pretty much EVER…as an unmovable edict of law from the infalible Pater Familares.

Though Momma knows Fangs or no Fangs who her baby boy Chester is.

So, I try, again and again, to sneak something through to her…a card that she has to lie and say came from the local…uhh…grocery…slash…uhh…auto parts store and…bait shop…or a Carvel ice cream cake that was accidentally delivered to the Casa El McNabb that was originally meant for a guy who unexpectedly died five minutes ago by…ummm…getting shot…with…with a BB gun…through…umm…the anus….of…umm….some other guy and landed in the dead guy’s uhh….Pee-hole? Yeah, he died from the pain. (The “Magic BB Theory” lol )