My great-grandmother invented the idea of the 'yummy mummy'
in 1890, during her unsuccessful attempt to convert the Borneo cannibals.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 16:01, 4 replies)

Why did the chicken cross the road?


Because your mum was sucking cock on the other side.
(fibonacci_cunt cunt, cunt, cuntcunt, cuntcuntcunt,..., Wed 17 Feb 2010, 15:39, 2 replies)

My mum called me yesterday evening
and said that she and my Dad had been clearing the loft out and would I come claim a box of stuff.

So this morning, I collected the box, got home and had a look. There was one of these:

cgi.ebay.co.uk/Boxed-Grandstand-Astro-Wars-Vintage-Handheld-Tabletop_W0QQitemZ110494580337QQcmdZViewItemQQptZUK_VintageComputing_RL?hash=item19b9fd7e71

after a couple of games, my eldest switched of call of duty and was on it for well over an hour. This gave me the opportunity to go through the 150 copies of the Beano and Dandy from 1985 - early 1987. My conclusion:

Bash Street Kids FTW.

Edit: Dennis the Menace was a right cunt, he'd be in a young offender's institution nowadays
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 15:06, 6 replies)

Stiff Upper Lip
My mum's as middle class as a picnic in John Lewis' barbcue department. This means utter cherriness in the face of adversity (burglary, alcoholic husband, chronically ill children), but getting a parking ticket will make her as psycho as a cat in a bath. One time at Waitrose in Richmond (see?!) she'd stayed 15 mins over the 3 hour parking limit, increasing her stay from about £2.00 to £20.00, she totally wigged out, demanding to see the manager, take her custom away and leaving her paid for trolley of shopping in a lift door. As she left she hollered...

"And you've moved the marmite! 2 years ago!"

Waitrose called her mobile as she went to the car and said that she could come back for the shopping anytime. As she sat in the car I had to go and get it. Parking was free. Somehow I think they were used to this kind of behaviour
(bendyness shows you on the brick where he licked her, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 14:29, 5 replies)

Mums a bit wired.
My dear mother has had to put up with a lot over the years and combining a short temper with two piss-taking children has often been enough to send her over the edge.

Numerous examples being me painting our sitting room(were we had our dinner as kids) in potato got me kicked out of the house aged 5 with bag packed by loving mother. (She even took a pic).

Constantly taking piss out of mums cooking on stephens (boxing) day at age 10 with result of christmas tree being thrown out sitting room window.

Taking piss out of mum having a few cans and using PC despite her age and getting a right hook to face.

Still she's been great all these year and always willing to lend a hand despite the random damage that seemed to follow me as a child so (for the most part) thanks mum.
( dazbrilliantwhites has been meaning to change this..., Wed 17 Feb 2010, 14:16, 3 replies)

My Mum is a Disney nut
She eventually got her wish for the family to go to DisneyWorld in Florida in 1997. We stayed at the Dixie Landings resort and even though I was 18 there's no denying the place is properly magical and basically fucking brilliant. My abiding memory of my Mum from that trip is when she called the reception-type place on our first night. In her ever-so-polite British way she asked if it would be possible to get more hangers. The response - I shit you not - was

"Hey, M'am, this is the land of Mickey - anything's possible!"

And so it proved. A few days later the American diet (yes that was a deliberate oxymoron) caused Mummy dearest to produce a green shite. She made us all look.
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 13:58, 3 replies)

My Mum
My mum's ace. I get on better with my mum than with any other person I've ever met. We share the exact same sense of humour and same propensity for guzzling booze like it's going out of fashion whenever we're together. She's always been there for me, always stuck up for me whenever times got bad and always tried to help me as much as she can, and she's really good at it. Trust me, she's brilliant, and if any of you met her, you'd think the same.

However, she does have one flaw - she is utterly incapable of remebering mine, or my sister's, names when talking about us. I am known as "*click click*....uhmmmmm... you know - eldest one... *hand gesture to 5 foot 1*". My 18 year old sister is "*click click*....uhmmmm... you know - middle one... *hand gesture to 5 foot 7*". My 5 year old sister has the unfortunate soubriquet of "Tatty head".

I don't mind, but I'm worried that the little 'un will get a complex, and she's already strange enough.

Oh, and she can't cook for shit. I didn't even realise until I was about 18 and she tried making something from scratch for the first time, but everything I ate as a child came out of a packet with veg on the side (mainly veggie household so she didn't even cook meat unless it came breadcrumbed in a box). Still, she's a right laugh and my best friend so that's all that matters. (I can't cook either)
(BelladonnaAnodyne Melissa's gonna wet herself, I swear..., Wed 17 Feb 2010, 13:55, Reply)

All Irish mothers have a Mrs Doyle element.
'Would you two like a fry-up before you go out?'

'No mum, Sarah is a vegetarian.'

'So just a bacon sandwich then?'
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 13:31, 10 replies)

this QOTW reminds me of
this
:-(

(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 13:16, 5 replies)

On either my 5th or 6th birthday (I forget)
My mum made me a birthday cake. But this was no ordinary birthday cake, oh no, it was a fucking huge space rocket, complete with the classic spike at the top.. the works. I can still picture it to this day.

The problem was, she'd used one of my lego spacemen to decorate it.

And how did I respond to this amazing birthday cake that she'd clearly slaved over for hours, spoilt little fucker that I was?

I burst into tears, grabbed my spaceman back and got angry at her.

Sorry mum :(
( Finite "Aardvark sorted out my shit!" on, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 12:57, 3 replies)

Insensitivity! Rudeness! Alzheimer's! Anger!
My nan was never the brightest spark. She was a lovely woman, but my super-bright grandfather married her more for her comely charms than her wit. She was a lovely woman, but always a bit of a bumbler, and as she got older this bumbling increased, as it so often does.

When my nan hit about 65, my mother, in a rare display of slightly tiddly honesty, after a frustrating day of my nan being particularly bumbly and inapropriate said "You know, you diluted my brain cells! I'd have been a genius if it wasn't for you!"

My nan was quite upset by this, and stunned us by announcing that she was suffering the early symptoms of Alzheimer's (which eventually indirectly caused her death).

My mum, still squiffy, responded in a stage whisper to my dad "Nonsense. She's just daft!"

Well done Mum. She still claims to this day though, that she was right.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Wed 17 Feb 2010, 12:56, Reply)

What's brown and sticky?



Your mum's cunt after I shat in it.
(fibonacci_cunt cunt, cunt, cuntcunt, cuntcuntcunt,..., Wed 17 Feb 2010, 12:36, 10 replies)

Should've joined the circus.
When I was a cocky young Porky of about 16 I took to baiting my Mum. Frequently. And for any reason. Just because I could. This is the incident which caused me to be a mite circumspect.

When we were young Mum’s cooking wasn’t very inspiring; well prepared, filling and nourishing yes, but not what you would call exciting in any way (I later found out this was due to Pater’s rather bland palate and his inability to conscience any “Forrin Muck” ie meals had to be prepared just as his mother had made it for his father). One afternoon I had arrived back from school and was standing at the other end of the kitchen taking the piss while she stirred some odourless grey mess (mince I think). I obviously went a little too far as the next thing I knew a large serving fork was quivering gently in my right bicep.

I learned three things from this.
1) Watch out for warning signs
2) Check what implements mother has to hand.
3) Scars last ages.

She did teach me how to throw knives though, just as her older brother had taught her.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Wed 17 Feb 2010, 11:57, Reply)

Nursery rhyme time.
Friend of mine was driving me somewhere. We'd been in the car half an hour before she realised she didn't have her children with her and switched the nursery rhyme cd off.
(jvz, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 11:45, 4 replies)

We have a pretty close extended family
But it still doesn't excuse my Mum going through the names of all my male siblings, my uncle and 2 of my cousins before she gets the name of her firstborn right.
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 11:15, 6 replies)

My mum
works as a prostitute.

It's awful.

She won't give me a family & friends discount.
(Pastabator earned his brown wings with your girlfriend on, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 11:12, 4 replies)

My mum
My mum was something else. I've read loads of stories of mums doing heroic deeds and suchlike. I certainly wouldn't put my mum in that category, but she was a wonderful woman nonetheless.

She was married to my dad for 41 years. If you knew my dad you'd appreciate what a feat that was. He was grumpy, opinionated, lazy, stubborn - all the characteristics of the stereotypical working northern man.

She loved him though - for all his faults - and just got on with it. My dad worked, my mum looked after the house and raised me and my sister almost single-handedly. That was the deal. She changed every nappy, wiped every tear, packed me off to school every day with a clean shirt and a packed lunch, and hid the truth from my dad if I'd been naughty - because she knew what the consequences would have been.

She was a quiet woman, not terribly sociable - not because she was unfriendly, but just shy, with little self-confidence due to my father's constant put-downs.

My dad died of cancer in late 1999, after a long, drawn out illness. His retirement and subsequent illness had changed him though - for the good - as the lack of work-related stress made him a calmer, nicer person to know. More of a dad and a husband in fact.

His death left my mum alone, 100 miles from either myself or my sister. We were both keen to move her closer to either one of us - myself in Edinburgh, or my sister in Glasgow. 100 miles away from us, in a big house, and with few friends wouldn't be much of a life for her. She stubbornly resisted though, refusing to budge, not wanting to be a burden to us, and still visiting my dad's grave on a weekly basis.

A couple of years back she became unwell. One chest infection after another, and courses of antibiotics that seemed to have little effect, finally persuaded her that perhaps a move would be the best thing for everyone.

My sister and I did everything we could to limit the stress of the move. She was in her 70s and not used to a big project such as a house move. We dealt with the solicitors, the surveyors, and the removal company. She bought a house near my sister, and we managed to finally sell hers after some effort. Her health improved as well. Things were looking up.

I took a couple of days off to help her move. I went down there, supervised the removal team, cleared up the last few things, cleaned the house from top to bottom, ferried crap to the tip, and packed my mum's final few things and drove them and her to her new home.

A team of us did the graft at the other end. We sat mum down and we got on with it. Me and my 2 kids, my sister, her husband, and their 3 kids - a huge squad of us - cleaning, unpacking boxes, hoovering, dusting, painting, laying carpets, and fixing tiles. We made sure that my mum didn't have to lift a finger. She just told us where she wanted everything to go.

She moved in on the Friday. The following Wednesday night she had a massive heart attack and died.

My father's death was a terrible, protracted, drawn out affair - truly horrible. To see a big man wither and die over the space of 5 years was traumatising for all of us. But to lose our mum so suddenly, without being able to say goodbye, was equally horrific.

She was buried the following Friday. The following day would have been my mum and dad's Golden wedding anniversary.

I didn't get the chance to tell her how much I loved her. Love you mum x.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Wed 17 Feb 2010, 10:59, 5 replies)

A good shouting at!!
Picture the scene.

You've done something wrong. You know as soon as your name is called that you are going to get at least a good Shouting at!

Shouting, Threats and the dreaded wait till your father gets home. So you start to sniffle a bit and your eyes might be watering a little.

Then you get 'STOP CRYING OR I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY FOR'

Your mother has used all her authority and power, to bring you to the point of crying, then unbelievably wants you to stop.
(Pill Popper Thank you Sasha Shulgin, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 10:35, Reply)

The big black cape!
When I was about 9, my mum who I thnk kind of fancied herself as a bit of a boho... took to wearing an ankle length black cape. She wasn't... but could nowadays be construed as being a bit "Goth" maybe?

I thought she looked like a witch in my young mind!" Which made for One very funny incident.
One day out walking with my mum, a couple of young lads (12/13-ish) wandered past and one called out.... "Oi witchy!" Without blinking she stopped, fixed them with a truly evil glare, slowly raised an arm and pointed a bony white finger at them, and babbled a load of utter bollocks that sounded like a curse in old english! The grins departed their faces and they were frozen to the spot. As soon as my mum turned to walk away(menacingly!) they ran for it like they had broomsticks shoved up their arses!

She also had a penchant for throwing wine(usually red) over men at parties? If she did it once she did it 5 or 6 times when I was a kid!
(verynaughtyboy, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 10:34, Reply)

the dreaded wooden spoon
the most feared weapon in any mother's arsenal
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 10:15, 17 replies)

A full name telling off
I'm sure other mums do this too. When your mum callls your name it will be the shortened version, Unless you have done something wrong.
Then it will be the full version with any middle names you have.

Just to make sure you know how upset she is with you.
(Pill Popper Thank you Sasha Shulgin, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 9:57, 2 replies)

My Mum.
A couple of stories stand out about my mum.

There was a time when my younger sister came back from playing in the street crying, she told my mum that the girl next door had pulled her hair. My mum was always a firm believer in the tat for tat school of sorting stuff like that out, so told my sister to go and pull the other girls hair back.

Few minutes later and there's a knock at the door, it's the girls mum from next door.
Lots of screaming and shouting go on, and the other woman made the mistake of pushing my mum.
My mum, grabbed her by the lapels, swung her round and rolled backwards flipping the other woman over her as only Ryu and Ken can.
She then proceeded to carry on rolling until she'd mounted her and punched her in the face for good measure.

All this in front of myself and another 4 or 5 kids who were all watching, and in my case, cheering.

There was a time after I'd had yet another fight at school(I was 7) that my mum decided she'd tried all other forms of punishment(not letting me buy any stickers, gounding me to my bedroom FOR 2 MONTHS and generally just whacking me) that she went in to last resort mode.

She came in to my bedroom where I'd been told to stay, she brought a suitcase for me, and she stood and watched as I packed all of my clothes in to it on her orders, as she calmly explained to me that she'd had enough and she was getting rid of me, putting me in to care.

I was distraught obviously, I cried, I screamed, but nothing was changing her mind, she made me drag the suitcase down the stairs, and loaded it in to the car.

Then she told me to say goodbye to my two sisters and my dad, and get in the car. My sisters were crying, my dad didn't seem to care, it was pretty harsh.

Then I got in the car and we proceeded to drive. We drove for about 40 mins, with me in the back seat, promising I'd never do it again, telling her I didn't want to go and live with another family(to which she replied "Don't worry about that, no one will want you, you'll probably just stay in a home until you're 16.") and begging and crying and screaming for her to let me stay.

The car stopped and she said "Get your bag, we're there."
I opened the car door, and there I was in our own driveway.

I was grounded to my room for 3 months.

I make my mum seem like the most awful kind of scum with those two stories, but she wasn't really, well, she's not now anyway!
(headwood, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 9:45, 4 replies)

I am sure your mum does this/will behave like this
but I thought I'd remind/inform you:

I'm 35, and 6' tall. My mum is 63, and 5'2".

When we were crossing the road the other day, at the zebra she automatically reached for and pulled on my hand to stop me walking into the road.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 9:01, 4 replies)

Lack of hummus.
I must admit, I'm sitting here crying a (teeny tiny) bit reading how much you all love your mums, it really is touching.

I just hope one day, i'll forgive my mum for bringing me into a family with a mentally ill, alcoholic, abusive, general 'bad-man' father and I'll be able to love her like you all love yours. Right now, I feel like she's not really related to me.
( Wiggle nom, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 4:43, 6 replies)

Ghostbusters
My mum is a saint, and always has been. Here's why.

Back in the late 1980s, when I was just a lad, I was nuts over the Ghostbusters action figures and accessories. I want to brag about having the Proton Pack costume, Ecto One and Two, dozens of action figures, the Play-Doh factory, even the enormous firehouse playset, but the truth is my mum was the one who would comb the shops looking for these toys. This was before the Internet and we never had anything shipped, so on her lunch hours she would search store by store to find that one that I had pointed out in the catalogue. From her point of view they were almost certainly cheap plastic junk, but I loved them and she indulged me.

Fast forward to the mid 90s, when personal computers and K'nex have come along, and the children's toys have gone into the closet. Mum decides she needs to clear some room, and sells the ENTIRE COLLECTION for $15 at a rummage sale. The whole thing! Took years to collect and the memories of countless hours... I was devastated, and harbored resentment towards my dear sweet mum. I knew I would never see them again, and I couldn't understand why she would sell them for such a pittance.

Fast forward another ten years, to 2007. A large, mysterious box about the size of a microwave oven awaits under the Christmas tree. My mother had spent the past four months on eBay finding and purchasing Ghostbusters toys, at something like twenty times their original retail price, as many as she could find, to make up for her selling the treasured toys of my childhood.

I've never had anyone perform a gesture as loving and as deeply meaningful as that one, and I'll never forget it. I love you, Mom.
(Galemp makes FreeSpace better, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 3:48, 3 replies)

Become a Mum ...
Many b3tans have posted their various tales of 'I love/hate [delete as applicable] my Mum and [insert details here]'. I found myself wondering how many of you know what it is like to become a Mum.

Well, I personally found it to be the most degrading experience of my life.

One year I was riding the Y2K wave into the Euro changeover earning bucketloads and living the life, and the next, I was standing in line with chain smoking, toddler thwacking, arse scratching, burberry clad mouth breathers.

Becoming a Mum is the greatest possible social demotion, short of declaring yourself bankrupt. I was now, on the surface at least, not readily distinguishable from the professional breeding pond scum that infect every Place of Commerce or Point of Public Transport.

We moved somewhere nicer, things got better, Sprog No. 1 got bigger and I started to think about returning to work. Very quickly, I realised that the difference between a Stay-at-Home Mum and a Stuck-at-Home Mum was access to available, affordable childcare. Well I struck out there. Moot point anyway, I was preggers with Sprog No. 2.

And so the past 6 years have past in a fog of menial jobs that I wish I could hire an illegal for. Not to say that the fog isn't rose tinted sometimes. My sprogs are pretty cool little people.

Whilst Motherhood is worthwhile, not many realise the extraordinary sacrifices required. I changed from an equal partner to a dependant almost overnight. I exist on my husband's largess. Luckily, he's good for it. So many other ladies are not so lucky.

Now, about that job. Hmmm ... my CV is six years old and as stale as Wensleydale and there's a Recession on.
(Que?, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 3:18, 16 replies)

mom, part III
My mom has a habbit of calling my by my siblings name. That would be fine, expect I have a sister and not a brother, and our names are Deborah and Michael.

But apparently, its not just her, maybe its a mother thing.
(Subway Riding the rails underground, Wed 17 Feb 2010, 1:52, 3 replies)