Yo' Mama's So Clever She Could Start A Blog.

I know how to do a back hand spring. I speak Spanish. I am an excellent yard mower. I can lick my nose, and (if push came to tongue sprain) my eye. I have all kinds of hidden talents. Turns out, when forced to unveil these gems to the begging crowds (read: without provocation, spew my freak show onto an unassuming public) people mostly regret having ever met me.

Anybody wanna see some cool party tricks?

My mother, though? Oh, the girl is a star, and she is just so shy about it. She is privately excellent in the field of Creative Cussing. She can simultaneously spank a child while whipping up a rack of lamb for supper, and she writes such bright words your eyes will squint. If the last bit caught you off guard then you must have missed her recent guest post. In which case, what’s wrong with you? Go read it with a swiftness.

That right there is like staring down the sun, no?

Over the years, I’d heard it said that my mother could write, that my knack for words is most certainly a watered down strand of her DNA. It was just chatter among aunts and grannies, though, and I learned to be content with the strikingly weird words she would say aloud. It wasn’t until a last-minute vacation that I caught a glimpse of all that wordy glory. Several hours on the road, a few hundred panic attacks at the realization that I’d all but abandoned my blog for a week, and one beggy phone call to my mother later, The Mimi put her brave pants on and prepared to show a few hundred readers the literary goods.

Of course, you read her post. I hope her words punched you in the gut, shook you awake, and flooded you with fresh air as they did me. My mother is a writer. My mother is a really good writer. But as mysterious as her talent seemed to me as a child, her immediate self-doubt after sharing such a winning piece baffled my grown brain more. A steady stream of texts and e-mails trickled in, each one evidence of a woman unsure.

Does it suck? How bad is it? What if they hate it?

I laughed in her ear. I giggled at the notion that anyone could manage to not love her.

Are you making fun of me? Oh, gawd dahmit. 

As celebratory comments greeted the mama’s post, I pointed to each and every response as proverbial Proof of Awesome. Energized, she teased of starting her own blog. Skeptical, she quickly dismissed the idea. And so it goes, up and down, ready and unwilling, my mother’s decision to write it out loud.

Naturally, I won’t accept no for an answer. I have put together an iron-clad, pro-blog argument with outlandish tactics for that ensuring that Operation Yo Mama Blogs is a success.

Argument: You write real nice, pretty girl!

Dude! You just Pageant-Mommed your mom! : Aggressive bullying is normally frowned upon, but it just seems like the right thing to do in this situation. Any good Stage Parent knows what’s important in getting a child to perform. 1) Disregard your child’s desires and basic needs and 2) Remember that “diva don’t come easy”. In an effort to force ambition upon my innocent mom, I will hound her with texts and voice mails threatening to renege my love should she opt out of the competition. I will promise candy, toys, and a maybe a hug should she smoke the other girls in the Blogging Beauties category. Just picture a three-year-old version of my mother being dangled by the wrist and shot with and icy cold gallon of golden tan. This is love, people.

This is your DREAM, Daisy. Stop cryin'.

Hey. Hey Mom. Hey mom. Hey. Hey mom. Mom. Mom.: Annoyance works wonders in producing results. Unfortunately for The Mimi, she practically handed me the Golden Ticket of Obnoxious by sharing a mostly dumb YouTube link. I plan to send this auto-timed e-mail seven times per hour until she gives up the ghost and gets to typing.

This video. Your inbox. Forever & Ever. Until you blog. 

Unfortunately for me, the chick thinks these Annoying Orange videos are downright hilarious.

Ransom, without Mel Gibson. Ew, or maybe with Mel Gibson?: My mother loves her kids. Problem is she loves her grandkids more. To save us both from that awkward call she’d surely place to Children’s Protective Services, I decided against the Duct taped baby scheme. Instead, I opted to faux endanger the life of some lifeless toys in hopes she’d blog for the sake of saving things. No, I’m not hollering for bags of cash.

 BLOG POSTS… OR BABY RED BIRD GETS IT. 

Oh Shat. Halp!

Alas, I’m not exactly the best at the art of persuasion. A few, mild-mannered words of encouragement are the best I’ve got. Red Bird’s free, that stupid orange is pretty funny, and the WOW! Wear will have to wait. I’ll simply say this:

                                            Mother, Mama, Mom, Mummy, Maja, Mimi, Mofo , I think the world would smile if you’d write a little.

What’s the best trick up your sleeve? How would you convince The Mimi to start her own blog? 

Most creative answer gets a guest post on my mom’s blog. You know, if she starts one.

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