Surprise!

I turned 25 this week. What did you accomplish?

My mom was in town for the weekend and for the birthday and that was wonderful. Just wonderful. My mom truly is one of my favorite ladies in the whole world. We talk and laugh and argue and disagree and move on. That's what love is. Knowing that I can have a serious conversation with her, or run around dancing and singing for her, or roll my eyes and ignore her angrily while still knowing she is my Momma and my favorite lady. And she really is a lady. She always makes her hair and face pretty before she leaves the house (even though she doesn't need to because her skin is beautiful). She never wears shorts without fully shaved legs. She eats salad in a very dainty way. She knows about news and weather and politics. She watches both versions of NCIS. She's terrible with directions. She makes small talk with people because she really wants to know about them, not because she feels she has to. She cries during movies, always making the trying-to-hold-back-tears face partly because she doesn't want us to know she's crying, but mostly because she doesn't want her sobs to cause her to miss any of the movie. A lot of technology confuses her. She doesn't often use her good dishes, but she still knows the function of each one of them. She's a lady. Whoa-oh-oh-whoa. And I love her so much.

She gets me. I'm her daughter. She knows me better than anyone. But there are a couple things that even though she knows, she doesn't understand them, and wishes them to be different. Not that she's ever tried to change me, but if she had a choice, probably would change these. Things like, not understanding why I burp out loud. My love of hip hop music. Why I sometimes don't shower or wear some clothes both to bed and in public. Why I don't prioritize buying Kleenex. My inability to make any shopping decisions without first thinking through everything, and then thinking through everything again. Why I hate, hate small talk, even with people I know. And lastly, why I don't like surprises. I only mention the last one because it's relevant to her visit.

Being the wonderful and loving Momma that she is, she put her secretive pants on and planned a surprise party for me on Tuesday, for my birthday. Super nice, right? Unfortunately, I hate surprises. She tried to have a surprise party for my 16th birthday. I found out about it. Not because someone slipped and told me, but because I'm a detective and people cannot keep things from me. Which actually translates to: I do not trust anyone. I am suspicious of everything people do. Especially around birthday time. So bless her devious little heart, I found out about this one too. Again. Not because one person spilled the beans, but because I AM A DETECTIVE. You all should know how many crime shows I watch. I figure out secrets. I called her out on it so she knew I knew, but only her and one of my roommates knew I found out. Much to my chagrin, I played along and let everyone else think that I was super surprised and just happened to get all dressed up in my new birthday clothes to stop by for a drink at the bar down the street from my house.

For all of you who so lovingly came, I'm sorry for the first 20 minutes. I am well aware that my attitude was less than "Party Mode". As hard as I tried, I couldn't shake the surprise depression. It's weird, right? All these people show up to surprise me and I'm mad about it. I'm not real excited about my feelings either, but at least I have now figured out the reasoning. Aside from my quest for constant control, surprises like that make me feel like I'm the butt of the joke, like I'm the dumb one. Everyone is laughing at me because they know something I don't know. Super paranoid feelings, right? I never said I was normal. I recognize how ridiculous it is, but the thought of walking into that bar and having everyone yell "Surprise!" left me sick to my stomach. And since we're being honest, I sat on my bed with music blaring and cried before I left the house. Yes. That's why we were late. Little Miss Waterworks had to let some tears flow. I cried. I cried because I didn't want to go. I cried because of how terrified I felt. I cried because of how hard my mom worked to put everything together and I couldn't appreciate it. And I cried because I just wanted to be a normal person excited for a surprise party. Again, that's why we were late. There was a lot of crying.

When I finally did show up, I was overjoyed at everyone that came but still super overwhelmed and upset. It was not a look of surprise on my face. But when I got passed the initial anger, I enjoyed a night with my momma and friends at my favorite bar. It's a night I won't forget. But before you say, "See Erin. You had a good time. Everything was fine and you enjoyed it." Let remind you again about all the crying. We mustn't forget the crying. I write this post as an update, but also as information. A warning. No surprises. Stop, no. Even that one you're thinking about right now that's small and cute and "oh but I think she'd like this one!" No. The only exceptions are Christmas and/or Birthday gifts or if the surprise is small and coming from just one person. Or food. If you ever want to surprise me with food, chances are good that'll I like that surprise.

And now you know a little bit more about this girl. Bit by bit we're chipping away at the Shell of Clax. Bit. By. Bit.