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Not that anyone noticed, probably, but I had a poem about my mom in here and took it off. I have conflicting emotions about her, and I keep feeling that it belongs here, so I'm going to put it back in.

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Sinora
08:37 Apr 29 2009

Having conflicting emotions about your parents is as common as parents having such feelings about their offspring. *smiles*.

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Here's another story about my mom.

When my mom came out to visit me- in November of 1995- She had on a blonde wig. Settling down for the night, she took off her wig, and underneath, her hair was many different lengths. It ranged from about a quarter of an inch to an inch and a half, and was orange. I asked her what happened to her hair, and she said that she made a mistake dying it and got mad and hacked it off. She had on a short-sleeved nightgown that showed her upper arms, so I told her she looked like some kind of Marine. I don't remember her response.

Recently, when I related this to my aunt S. on a three-way call with my cousin, my aunt said,

"yeah, she was always turning her hair orange. When we were at the store, she'd ask me, 'What do you think of this color?' and I'd say, 'That'll make a lovely shade of orange.'"

My mom died September 9th, 2007. I recently got back in touch with my cousin, pinkBEAT, and we've been talking about her and other things. I thought I'd write about some of the things I remember, and some of the things my mom told me about my childhood.

One morning, while my mom was sleeping off a night of heavy drinking, I decided to get myself something to eat since she wasn't getting up and my stepfather just sat on the sofa and didn't bother to get me anything. I was about six or seven years old, so I had to climb up on the counter to get to the plates so that I could make a sandwich. These were Corelle plates, the kind that have a tendency to bounce and roll around if you drop them, instead of breaking- except for today. While I was standing on the counter, the plate slipped out of my hand and fell to the floor, where it shattered. My stepfather came barreling into the kitchen yelling things I can't remember, grabbed me from the counter, took off his belt, and started thrashing me with it. I had never been beaten with an object before, and I kept telling him it was an accident, but he wouldn't listen- he just kept hitting me. After what seemed to me to be an eternity, my mom finally woke up and came running into the dining room, where he had dragged me, and yelled at my stepfather.

She said something like "Get your hands off my daughter", and, "Don't you ever hit my daughter again". She kept yelling at him for awhile, but I don't remember everything she said. I couldn't stop looking at her. She was standing there, in her nightgown, yelling, and her hair, which was normally an almost-black brown, was orange. The thought "My mom has orange hair. My mom has orange hair." kept repeating in my head, and I felt as if I had stepped outside myself and was watching this from someone else's eyes. I don't remember the next moments, but my mom told me I was black and blue for two weeks. My stepfather never hit me again.

My head hurts because of the fumes. But I love the color!