When I first asked my mom if I could film her for a Momversation episode she was like, "of course! But, wait! Do my makeup? Is this shirt okay? What should I say? How about I write it all down, first? Yes, that's what I'll do. I'm write out some notes!"
And I was like, "Mom! You look fine! You don't need notes. Just say what you feel and if it comes out insane the editors will hook you up and make you sound normal!"
And she was still, like, "Ahhhhh!!!! Hold on, I'll write some notes just in case!"
"Fine, you silly thing. Go write notes."
Ten minutes later, my mom sat down, in my old chair, in my old bedroom, one full page of notes in her hand, like a little girl waiting to do her school report.
She's so cute. I want to be just like her.
I pressed record and sat there as my mother spoke into a camera and said a million amazing things, how proud she was... and how much she loves me... thinks I'm a good mom...
She's so supportive. I want to be just like her.
...And I sat there, listening to her cheerlead and tell the Internet that she doesn't care what anyone thinks about me based on my blog or her based on my blog ... and how liberating... And I'm watching her like we're in a slow-motion sequence in a movie and she's like "I LOVE REBECCA! Go, Rebecca!" and I'm like, "Oh my God. How amazing is this woman and she LOVES me?" And then I start thinking about my kids and trying to imagine them loving me in this same way I worship my mom like whoa and all of a sudden (because, my heart isn't made of stone, I mean, REALLY) ...
She's so badass, full of unadulterated love. I want to be just like her.
Tears. Down my cheeks. Behind the camera, but I can't let her see me or else SHE will cry and right now she's on a roll, all sassy-like and rad and never once glancing at her notes and if she sees me all emotional she will burst into tears because that's kind of her deal. That's what she does. And then we'll have to start over. And maybe this time with notes and new makeup and possibly even a new shirt (she cries BUCKETS) so I do the thing I do when I roll my eyes back and forth, tilt my head so the tears roll back under my eyelids and then pretend to yawn...
...But she doesn't notice because by now she's all "Represent! Bloggers in da house! Bec for prez!"
When she's done, my mom gives me a little nod.
I press the stop button and she lunges at me with slender hands. High-five!
"No notes," I say, sniffling.
"Didn't need them!" she says back.
So I take them. I take my mother's notes, and like I have a thousand times before, study them as hard as I can.
(I want to be just like her.)