So I run into my pianist friend Yumiko at Cub. There she is rounding the corner to Pharmacy. I love running into her. She’s like, how are you? I’m like, how are you?!?!
Yumiko says she’s in between recitals. She dislikes the down times. Me too. She says it seems odd to have a teenager. Me too. She says she’d like to do some new art. Me too.
She says her daughter just got her permit. My son, too.
While we’re talking, my phone rings about five times and I also get about five texts. I don’t know it at the time. Jake has customized his ring so when he calls me, it’s his voice saying “Mom, pick up the phone pick up the phone pick up the phone.” It’s loud in Cub. I’m talking and Yumiko is talking. I don’t hear my phone asking to be picked up, so I don’t, and forty-five minutes after debate team practice ends, Jake calls the coach who comes all the way back to the school and drives my child home.
Yumiko says, what should be our topic?
Bad Mother Music. A song cycle by Yumiko Oshima-Ryan & Ann Rosenquist Fee. Sneak preview Saturday, Feb. 18, 2012, 7:00 p.m. in Music Area Room 103 in the Schaefer Fine Arts Center at Gustavus Adolphus College. Bad mothers wishing to be on the guest list should get in touch: annrosenquistfee {at} hotmail.com. You know who you are.
I had to tweet about this. It’s great. I love what you’re doing.
I love you more than delicious fried things—and that’s a lot of freaking love Ann.
More Bad Mother Lyrics
It’s the end of the day, and all seems so peaceful
But inside, my conscience is totally beast-full;
I’ve prayed and I’ve asked God for total release-full
For I’ve given birth to a grown up mystique-full.
Who is beating herself for forgetting her son,
For ignoring his call when debate team was done.
But I know her best and her heart is pure gold!
Her brain is amass with talent untold.
She is gracious, and loving; a true, loyal friend;
Someone you can count on right through to the end.
She ignores her own need to give time to another
And you’d never know that she had a Bad Mother!
.
I’m there. Though I’m not a mother. Just the bad hired help for a cat that peed on the floor because I didn’t get up and feed him when he wanted. Which got me thinking:
(to the tune of Canon in D, not the canon part, the upper part):
Bad Cat Lady
I
hate
you,
you
need-
y
fur-
ball.
How
you
me-
ow
as
first
light
fall.
Like
a-
no-
ther
cou-
ple
min-
utes
Will
starve
you
be-
yond
your
lim-
its.
And then how you
claw at the door
as if that will
get you some more
cat chow that comes
o’er from Europe
and causes you
bad cat-breath burps.
So I put the
pillow over
my head and pray
to Jehovah
as my witness
I’ll deep six you
if you don’t let
me sleep…shit you
are too
qui-
et oh no…
that can mean on-
ly one thing and..
Now I’m up and I’m running to the litter box
and seeing it’s full and there’s litter spilling o’er the top and
you are standing there be-e-side the kitchen door
and squatted in that stance I hate to see and what’s more
You’re letting go and you’re peeing on the kitchen rug
and looking at me like I’m some disgusting little bug and
then you finish and you swish your fluffy tail and
step in the pee and you track it o’er the floor and bail and
this
is
why
I’m
not
a
mo-
ther
cats
you
can
give
to
a-
no-
ther
You
can’t
pick
up
your
first-
born
and
lock
him
in
the
laun-
dry
room
and…
I
hate
you,
you
need-
y
fur-
ball…
(Come over sometime. I’ll sing it for you.)
Utter genius – this one is my favorite yet. I always wondered if those hideous recurring nightmares of forgetting to pick up your kid after Whatever Practice ever went away. Apparently they only get replaced (sometimes prematurely) by fears of them getting into accidents when driving themselves home. Oh the pains of Bad Parenthood
Bad is sexier!!