Of glitter, smart-assery, and Mothers

I was watching my Dad's girlfriend and my sister unpack Christmas ornaments the other day, when I caught sight of something so horrible, I literally reeled back in disgust. GLITTERY CHRISTMAS ORNAMENTS. Now, I love Christmas. I love the colors, the cheesy decorations, the cold days (it helps me remember just how much I love the heat), drinking tea and reading Calvin and Hobbes... I love Christmas, but there are 3 things I don't like.

  1. Cut-down Christmas trees (I probably won't go into this one... Let's just say that feeling a tree die is heart breaking.)
  2. Christmas music (Most of it anyway. The H.P. Lovecraft stuff though? Pure gold.)
Aaaand
  3. Tinsel and, by extension, Glitter.
Yes, you heard me. Glitter.

Anyway, as I edged away from the shiny little plastic flecks of pure chaos and hate, I wondered (as I always do whenever I see them) exactly WHY I dislike them. (Glitter and vampires.... Wait. I think I see a correlation here... O_O) I mean, glitter didn't really do anything to hurt me...
So I thought way back.

This is what I remembered.
Aside from that one time where my Mom's friend's kid dumped a container of glitter on my head (the little twerp was about 6 at the time, so I couldn't whoop his butt), I have only had ONE Glitter Incident. Here it is.

The Great Glitter Incident of 2000.

I was a downright contrary little 4 year old. I was voluntarily literalistic, snobbish, rude, smart-assed, stubborn (extra stress on this), temperamental, and utterly brilliant.
My poor Mother, oh my poor poor Mother. She was THE BEST MOM EVER. (did already I mention this?) She put up with my shit (literally and figuratively), she put up with my Dad's shit (also in both senses. [She wants to add that there was considerably more vomit]), she bathed us, clothed us, put a roof over our heads, and she loved us. (I should also mention that Dad did (and still does) all this too.)
Despite all this, mothers have a breaking point. I found hers on numerous occasions (this being the number one job of a 4 year old), but this was the only time I was actually AFRAID of my Mother.

It was a hot Summer day. I home school, so I did my work through the Summer in our roofed patio. My Mom was having me work off of a home-made worksheet (lovingly hand-written by her [WITH illustrations. I KID YOU NOT.], and one of my greater arch-nemesi), and I was not having it. I hated having to sit, I hated having to focus, and I hated being watched as I worked. I, taking any opportunity to piss off my wonderful, loving Mother, decided that I'd write the answers to the addition problems AS BIG AS I COULD.
Que the patient sigh. "Rahel, you need to make it smaller." My writing got BIGGER.
My Mom heaved a slightly more annoyed sigh. "No, Rahel. SMALLER."
I paused. She wanted smaller? I'd give her smaller.
About this small. *
Thus having destroyed the (hand-designed!) worksheet (and, in the process, my Mother's patience), we moved on to the less-stressful arts and crafts.
Arts and crafts were (and still are) a big part in our family. My Mom is the craft QUEEN and we always had little papery scraps and whatnot littering our house. Today's craft was something seasonal. I don't really remember what I was supposed to make, but I know that it integrated pieces of my other subjects (like writing poetry, diagramming the affects of certain chemicals when mixed together, and little snippets of things like "temporary means it goes away, and permanent means it stays forever.") What I remember most about it, however, was the glitter and feathers. It had lots of glitter and feathers. My Mom pointed out a spot that still needed glittering. I threw her a sideways look. She wanted more glitter? I could do that.... I should mention that I bore NASTY grudges, and I remembered little things with finite detail. (More on that in a later post.) And I was still sore about that math. She wanted glitter? I'd give her more glitter. Heck, she could have the WHOLE BOTTLE. Out it gushed.
At this point, my Mom was incredibly exasperated, and nearly loosing her cool. Her jaw set. After grieving for the late handcrafted lesson in her own way (which involved closing her eyes, breathing deeply, and counting to ten), she spared me a peeved look before bending over the table to blow away the stray flecks. I instantly felt bad. She was just trying to teach me. She thought that it was important. I really had no reason to try and set her off. So I decided to help with the glitter cleanup. I should mention at this point that I was seated across the table from her. *evil cackle* I was really just trying to help. I swear. I didn't know that the hateful little sparkley razors flew so well..... Or were so sharp.
I remember very well the cloud of glitter rising, blown away by my over-exuberant breath. (I should also mention that I had an insane lung capacity. And I'm talking INSANE.) I remember her drawing in a startled breath as the cloud engulfed her. It was almost comical. Until the cloud fell away like a curtain and I saw her face. Horror struck. I doubt that I will ever be able to describe the look on her face. It burned, nay drilled into my brain, letting me know just how livid she was with me at that moment. I was never so afraid of her. The time she popped my red balloon (what she describes as her 'lowest point'?) Not as scary. The time I peed on my bed in pure defiance of being put on a time out? Not even close. But this, THIS, was utterly terrifying. I probably would have pissed my pants if I wasn't frozen in my seat, calculating the probability that I'd live this escapade. Could I run? Nope. She was too close. Could I hide? No, she was right there. Could I apologize? Definitely not. Snapping her out of her angry paralysis would be most unwise.
I don't remember what I did, and neither does my Mom, but I can guess that my Dad (Goddess bless his soul) took over. I vaguely remember him giving me a talking to about doing math, listening to my mother, and being VERY. CAREFUL. WITH. GLITTER. Especially around Mom. I can just picture him walking in on the scene. Me, about to lose my bodily functions, trapped like a rodent in a snake's eyes. Mom, fit to spontaneously combust in a flurry of poison and fire, sending a coating of glitter around the room like festive ninja stars.
Definitely one for the yearbooks.







* Unfortunately, blog spot's fonts are relatively normal-sized. Big was about 2" high, and bigger was 3". Small was minuscule. And by minuscule, I mean about 1 millimeter tall. Seriously. I was INSANE.