An email from my sister entitled Dr. Mom Strikes Again...
"Sooooo, your brother calls me & it seems he has a sty, he makes the HUGE mistake of telling Mami & what does she suggest??? "Ponte un poquitico de Bibaporru en el palpado para que tu veas que mañana no tienes nada." Can you FUCKING imagine putting Vicks anywhere near your eye? Of course the sty will be gone tomorrow because it will burn the hell out of your eye & next thing you know we'll be having to take him to get fitted for a glass eyeball. She's NUTS!"
"BTW...she went to Salazar's house yesterday & apparently she had a few drinks. Pete says she was SMASHED & casino night went on until 2 a.m. at ole 5800 Jefferson. Love you!"
This is the sort of thing my siblings and I call and email each other about all the time. We have HUNDREDS of these stories. The thing is, my mother means well, she really does. She loves us in her own way, but her methods are sometimes questionable. I'm surprised none of ended up down a well when we were growing up. She probably would have tossed a jar of Vicks down there too.