Bad in the Goodest Way

This morning on the way to work, I heard Carl Carlton’s “She’s a Bad Mamma Jamma.” Go ahead, click the link. Crank up the sound. Delight in the disco wonder that is this song. Enjoy the gold hotpants. I’m not sure youtube videos get any better than that. Needless to say, it was the perfect song to start off my Friday.

I also thing it might be the perfect song to dedicate to my mom for Mother’s Day.

Why is my mom a bad mamma jamma? I’ll tell you.

First of all, she says things no one else would think to say. There was a time when she thought she might have a bone spur in her neck and she actually shouted at us kids when we were being obnoxious, “Stop it! You’re making the sperm in my neck hurt!” Another time, we were camping and when she noticed a swan out on the lake, she pointed and exclaimed, “Look! A delicate!” I’m guessing she was trying for something between duck and pelican.

She’s a master at the sewing machine. She made several of my dance dresses in high school—and even performed emergency surgery when she burned the inner lining of my prom dress while ironing it the day before the dance.

She has the largest collection of “vintage” Good Housekeeping and Sunset magazines known to man.

She is the only person I know with such effortless physical precision that she is capable of falling into a swimming pool filter hole on the grounds of an Indian casino. Seriously, it takes impeccable aim to get one foot into a hole that small.

She can knit baby sweaters and hats with her eyes closed, and has earned the nickname “The Curtinator” because she has sewn drapes and valences for almost everyone in the family.

She makes a mean potatoes au gratin and is the inventor of the black olive and mayonnaise sandwich.

But most importantly, she has a PhD in motherhood. The woman could teach classes. And if she could wrap the world in a blanket, feed it a bottle and rock it to sleep, she totally would.

Happy Mother’s Day! Love you Mom! You bad mamma jamma....