Passionate About Providence
and the Moms Who Live Here

My Mom is a Vampire

Did anyone else sing the title in a Billy Corgan voice? Tell me I’m not alone!

 

My mom is a vampire.
All of the evidence is stacked against her.
After 30 years of investigation, I’m finally ready to present my case:

Exhibit A: She doesn’t appear in any photographs. 
Exhibit B:She keeps celebrating her 35th birthday over and over again. 
Exhibit C: Her cat is the feline (and female) incarnation of Damien.
Exhibit D: Her freezer is stocked with the blood of small mammals. 
Okay, fine, I can’t actually prove that last one…. 

For brevity’s sake, I’ll be focusing on Exhibit A: She does not appear in any photographs. On Mother’s Day while the rest of you flood your time lines with pictures of your ‘best moms ever,’ I  quietly do nothing. Not for lack of love. There are simply no pictures of my mother, and if there were there would be no surer way to unleash her vampiric wrath than posting one of them on social media. The undead, it would seem, are of any earlier generation. They prefer living in legend then being lauded on Facebook. 

As a kid I spent multiple Halloweens with plastic fangs in my mouth and fake blood running down my chin. Looking back, I can only assume I wanted to be just like mom who refuses to chop her own garlic. Much to my dismay, immortality skips a generation. Blood sausage makes me gag, my cats are angels, and I definitely show up in pictures.

Do you remember the episode of Friends, “The One with the Engagement Picture?” Monica wants to print an engagement announcement in the paper, but every time Chandler smiles he bares his teeth and scrunches up his eyes  like a squirrel flying on Red Bull.  That’s me. Normally, I’m more of a Monica, but in this situation  I’m Chandler. Luckily, Joey swoops in to save the day, resulting in a happy Monica, a handsome “Chandler,” and a picture perfect announcement for the paper. Living outside the magic of television, I have no such luck. I write my own script, I do my own stunts, and-most unfortunately– I appear in my own photos. It’s a sheer miracle that there are four pictures of me smiling normally on my wedding day, because I usually look like a chattering skeleton whenever I get anywhere near a camera. (It’s not self-deprecation if it’s true.)

I am not photogenic. But when it comes to pictures of me and my kids, I’m more like the selfie queen than the Queen of the Damned. I’ll even submit to professional family photographs for the greater good. I endure just to hear my three old excitedly pour over the finished product. Pointing and naming each one of us, he finally getting to me, “Look!” he squeals with delight. ” It’s mommy!” Even with my eyes closed and my mouth open in every picture, all he see is mommy. So when I’m tempted to track down Lestat and seek the vampiric embrace, shying away from the camera forever, I think about my little boys and try to smile for the camera. Sure that means forgoing the ability to transform into a bat at will, but my reflection and I are staying together for the kids. Oh, well. At least I can still chop my own garlic!

The prosecution rests.

Happy Halloween everyone!
Love you mom! 👻



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