I love my mother. I really do. She raised Kari and I on her own since I was 13 with very little financial support from my father. She’s a wonderful woman who is loves God, her children, her grandson and her dogs. I adore her. Really. I just feel that she doesn’t understand me. Or I don’t understand her. One of the two. Maybe both.

Her reaction to my tattoos and piercings – “Some day you’re going to be old, sitting in the doctor’s office and really embarrassed about your tattoos!” What I hate about this is that she was right, my doctor thought I had pneumonia and asked another doctor to come in and listen to me breathe. There I sat, flimsy paper robe wide-open, chest bared to the world, tattoos and nipple rings exposed. I never had a problem with my doctor; I had a rapport with her. I didn’t know this guy from Adam.

We don’t like the same movies. When she was visiting when Josh was born, she wanted me to go see Good Boy with her. I wasn’t interested. Of course, now I’m feeling guilty because I dragged her to see the 1st Austin Powers movie and she hated it. Okay, Mom, when you’re here again, you get to pick the movie.

We certainly don’t like the same music. Back in the 80’s, when the 3 of us were getting ready for work/school and fighting over who got to use the one extremely small bathroom next, my mother would listen to religious music while she got ready. Now, I liked the hymns and I adore gospel but this isn’t all she would play. One morning it was this annoying woman singing about the 10 Commandments. I’m serious. It was horrible. And then she would leave for work and my sister would take over with The Suicidal Tendencies “I saw your mommy and your mommy was dead.” (And people wonder why I’m so warped).

This is a woman who told me that the music I listened to was terrible, grabbed the radio and changed to the non-religious station she preferred (W-Lite for those Minnesotans reading this. I was listening to KS-95) and then, when the exact same song was playing, said, “That’s better.” Now granted, I was a teenager and there is a law that says mothers and teenage daughters must fight about everything but it was the same song!

This is a woman who told me a former friend needed to go to therapy. When I replied, “Mom, you say that about all of my friends.” Her answer? “Well, she just needs it more than everyone else.” Granted, she was right and I’m no longer friends with this person but needless to say, she didn’t approve of most of my friends growing up (of course, some of these friends got me involved in drugs and alcohol so maybe she had a point).

So, because of this, I’ve decided to divide my links up into two categories. Links that my mother is allowed to click on and links that she is not allowed to click on. Beth saw that and is wondering if she is too goody-goody and this is my response to her.

Please. You’ve heard the stories about my mother. Remember the three-page email about how I should go to church. Do you really want to imagine my Mom’s reaction if she clicks on Matt’s blog? I can…it goes like this.

Dana’s Mom: “Oh, what’s this link here? Let me click it. AAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!” Thump. Then there would be the phone call to Kari where I have to explain why I killed our mother. I don’t want to deal with that.

Plus, I’m planning on adding a few other blogs and sites that I love but I don’t think Mom would either a) like, b) understand or c) keep me in the will. So, Mom, for your own protection and to keep Kari from coming after me with the chainsaw, please stay away from the non-Mother approved links! If you go there, I cannot be held responsible.

Pretty much that goes for everyone, actually, if you click a link and don’t like it, well, that’s too bad. I have an odd sense of humor and an extremely eclectic love of the written word. And I, like the Bank of DM, pride myself on my diversity.