Some are born mad, some achieve madness, and some have madness thrust upon ’em.
~Emilie Autumn
I’d finally done it. I’d confessed all to my father. Unfortunately, he suggested that I spill the beans to my mom. “I’ll tell her if you don’t want to,” he said, “but I think it’s only fair that she knows what’s going on with you.”
I took a deep breath and shuddered. Mom was such a goody-two-shoes that she’d never handle this kind of news with ease. “Where is she?” I asked.
“On the toilet,” Dad said. “Go on in.”
“Great,” I grumbled. Unfortunately, Mom’s bathroom habits had an unusual twist: she always left the door open and allowed family to visit her while she relieved herself.
And while growing up, almost every serious talk I’d ever had with Mom had taken place while she nestled on her white, porcelain throne, royal scepter (book) in hand. Even during my grand moment of starting my first period, my mother had sat like a queen, gathering me a sanitary belt from the medicine cabinet with one hand and a pad from the box on the floor, while keeping her cheeks planted firmly on her seat.
My parents’ tiny half-bathroom had its own sliding door, with the commode almost perfectly centered in the doorway, facing out so that Mom could sit comfortably and hold court. And hold court she did. Our family could come and go and it never bothered her in the least. I’ve always loved my mom, but is that normal?
As a young mother, I thought that maybe she’d kept the door open so that she could keep an eye and ear out for us kids. Actually, I’d done that when my children were little, until two neighborhood girls walked into our house without knocking and entered the bathroom while I was in there. That ended that experiment.
Although Mom kept herself covered, I couldn’t understand how a woman who never let us watch R-rated movies, even in our teens, and who insisted my sister and I dress modestly (no miniskirts), felt comfortable with her potty habits, especially as the years progressed.
My stomach felt queasy as I entered my parents’ bedroom and even though I’d seen this sight a million times, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The queen of the porcelain throne didn’t glance my way, but continued reading her book. The absurdity of it all me made me feel as if I’d jumped headfirst into a Monty Python movie, and I suddenly relaxed as my fears washed away. This was insanity at its finest. Who makes announcements such as mine while her mother is using a toilet?
My husband and I had been separated for a year at that time. While he still used our home as a base of operation, he worked out of state where he had a steady girlfriend, and he was rarely back.
My father already knew the details of my new relationship, but learned of the pregnancy while I was visiting them. While my mother knew that my husband and I had basically separated, she knew nothing about the new man in my life. And now, the unthinkable had accidentally happened.
“Mom,” I said quietly. “I’ve got something to tell you.” I’ll admit I almost started giggling.
“What is it honey?” she asked, eyes fixed on her book.
“I’m pregnant and it’s NOT my husband’s baby.”
“Oh that’s wonderful news!” she said. “I’m so happy. I’ll have to start on a baby blanket.”
I can still picture my mom’s reaction that day. With the coolness of a cucumber, my mother had concentrated on the baby part of my announcement and let the rest slide, and I remembered that while we argued a lot, most of our past toilet talks had ended peacefully. Perhaps there was magic in her throne.
~Vera Frances
