Ways I scarred my Mother

Here is something you may not know about me...

When I was about 3 my mother cut my hair in a mullet.

There's proof in the form of a photo on my grandmother's wall in Ocean City, New Jersey. I'll steal it next time if you don't believe me.

But my mother, sweet angel that she is, claims that there is no way that she would have done it and the only reason it could possibly be that bad is that I must have cut it myself. And she then, had to fix it.

Great, you're letting your 3 year old run around with scissors????

Other great stories from my youth include the fact that I loooooved to pee under our deck. Love love loved it! (peeing outside is still a great past time of mine) Well apparently one time my mother couldn't find me (again, excellent parenting) and when she walked out on the deck she just knew. So she yelled my name. having little to no depth perception, I stood up and to this day blame the perma-bump on my head on her. Thanks mom, now I can never shave my head like what's her name in Empire Records.

Shock me! Shock me! Shock me! with that devient behavior!

There were a lot of other utterly ridiculous things that I could blame on my mother. But really what I think when I look back is "how did she survive that?"

And little did she know that she'd be stuck with this. A 27 year old daughter who still climbs into bed with her and talks with a baby voice "what are you doing Mommy??!! what are you dooooooing!!!???"

There's an absolutely fantastic photo of, somewhere in the McCrostie family archives, recently dug up by Mrs. Mac, where my charming little face has a semi-automatic rifle in her mouth. It's a water gun. But the little orange marker on the end isn't showing, because, it is, in my mouth.

My grandmother saw this & insisted it be thrown away. I saved it. Because it's AMAAAZING. Brilliant.

And to that I say, I'm sorry mom. You should have known then what trouble I would be...