Bedtime Stories With Ms. Sarcasm

When Bossy Girl was little, she loved having books read to her.  Which was awesome because I'm a book lover, and having a home full of books and reading is important to me.  (Wee One, btw, hates books.  She insists on using them as punching bags or a kicking board.) 

Anyway, one of my favorite books to read to her was Love You Forever, by Robert Munsch.  I loved reading that book not because she necessarily loved it, but I did, therefore I forced it on her.

It's quite a well-known story about a mother's unending love for her son.  

In the beginning, the mom rocks her infant son to sleep, back and forth, back and forth, while singing about how she'll love him forever and he'll always be her baby.

Jump ahead 2 years and she's tiptoeing into his room to rock him and sing to him the familiar tune.

Fast forward 7 years, and she's sneaking into his room to rock him and sing to him the same song.

Suddenly he's a teenager and supermom is still going into his room in the middle of the night, scooping him up, rocking him, and singing about how he'll always be her baby.

So on and so forth.

Eventually, son's an adult, moves out, mom gets super old and sick, and in a sweet, totally predictable role reversal, son goes and picks up dying mom and rocks her, singing that she'll always be his mommy.

Then he goes home, rocks his own baby girl to sleep and.... cue the waterfall.  I'm sobbing hard.  Like I just watched Terms of Endearment or The Notebook hard.  That's some serious weeping.

Last night, I read Love You Forever to Wee One for the first time.

I didn't cry.

I got creeped the hell out.

This isn't a sweet story about a soccer mom.  It's about a STALKER mom!

It's one thing to rock your baby/2 year old/and I'll even allow the 9 year old now and then.  Sweet memories, reminiscing kinds of stuff.  But when you're a grown woman and you feel the need to crawl into your 17 year old son's room to rock him in his sleep, something's up. And dude, what's up with your hand tightly clasping your teddy bear?  MAN UP. Is your pacifier on your night stand too?

And Mom?  Don't you know anything about teenage boys?  I totally wouldn't be interrupting his sleep cuz you never know what you're gonna find under the covers.

So at this point I'm a little unnerved, but two pages later is when I lose it.

Stalker mom drives across town, with a ladder strapped to the roof of her car, to do a little B&E (breaking and entering for you noncriminals) and does it again.  And he's what?  35 now? 40? Come on woman.  Cut the cord. 

And how freakishly strong is she?  I'm gong to see if my grandma can strap a ladder to her car.  Or not.  A heart can be a fragile organ in your 80s. Hips are pretty frail too.  So I hear. 

Oh, but it's not even remotely close to what you see in his bedroom.  Dude is sleeping in a twin bed, with a mouse. He literally has a rodent in his bed.  There's probably chili cheese flavored corn chips and Ding Dongs under his bed.  He never learned to clean.  Mommy did it all for him.  

And I'm guessing he has a twin bed because he can't get a girlfriend/date/paid escort/wife because old mommy keeps rocking him to sleep at night, and likely still breastfeeds too. (picture it for a moment.  EWWWW!)




I think a lot can be explained when you see the son's coffee mug in his kitchen.

Oh, and look kids!  A  R.O.T.A.R.Y phone.  From back in the day. It plugged into the wall.  WEIRD.

 I hope this story is pure fiction and not based on the author's actual, sissy life experiences.

 And by that I mean it's a sweet, sweet story for all families to enjoy.