Momma's Gonna Knock You Out

I've come across quite a few ass-kicking SF Mommas in my day.  My favourite is Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan, mother of Miles Vorkosigan.  The brainchild of Lois McMaster Bujold, the Vorkosigon Series, is space opera at its finest. Filled with humour, the saga of Miles plays out over a complex militaristic universe that is filled with love, intrigue, despair, and most important of all good old story telling fun.  I have lightly gloried Bujold in my post Ladies First but a little blurb really doesn't in any way highlight my love for these books and these fictional people who I consider part of my extended family. I know, I have issues.  


Now I am sure you were pondering the question why I didn't choose Jessica Atreides as the Ultimate SF Mom?  Being the Mom to the Kwisatz Haderach is pretty cool.  Being a Mom of 2 year old dino loving son myself, I know that we all want to have our children excel in whatever they do.  Giving birth to a super human whose actions lead to a whole new world order is pretty wicked.  My issues with Jessica is her love for her Duke.  Okay, I get it, he loves her and she loves him and it was a great love affair but if it was such a great love affair wouldn't you expect your honey bunny to marry you? Frankly I find her devotion to the Duke rather pathetic.  I don't care how much training I have had as a Sister, I wouldn't take second fiddle as a concubine any day.  My second issue is with her taking the Water of Life knowing she was pregnant.  She had to know that something horrible would happen.  And then look what did, a completely messed up baby with the thoughts, memories, and wisdom of full grown Bene Gesserit.  No wonder Alia went cuckoo.  Sacrificing one child for the benefit of the other for the sole purpose of exacting revenge does not make for a good mommy. 

But of all these SF Mom's there is really only one in my book who really kicks ass and that is my Mom.  The moment my son arrived into this world all cute and yelling I have been consumed with the instinctual desire to want to kick any one's ass who might harm my boy in any way.  When we cross the street I stare down cars (CARS, not the people in the them) like King Kong stared down the T-Rex right before that big ape kicked that dino's ass.   That car gets close to the stroller I am a hundred percent ready to judo chop that piece of metal into the ground.  I have looked closer into this alarming tendency to cause insane violence and realize that it is genetic.  There is a poor salesman from a local radio shop who is to this day carrying around emotional scares from the verbal attack my mother laid down on him in 1983.

Way back in the day there was such a thing as a Walkman.  (In my humble opinion the best irrelevant invention ever.)  Suddenly you could walk around with music in your ears everywhere. No one could judge you for listening to Culture Club a zillion times in one afternoon.  Living in Whitehorse, Yukon at the time, put some havoc on me and my brother's ability to own such a wonder.  But we dreamed and saved and one day not only did we have enough coinage but Walkmans were available at the local radio store.  It was hands down the largest purchase for either of us and a great amount of discussion was made that day regarding what type of Walkman we both would buy.   For one gloriously isolating, music drowning week I listened to my Walkman. Then it died.  

The following Saturday, Mom packed us up and headed down to the radio store.   The salesman who recommended the product refused to take it back.  My only memory of the epic battle "Mom vs. Salesman" was me and my brother creeping out of the store at one point into a cold, bright winter day to sit in the back of our Suburban, trying to disappear as our mother proceeded to raze the building down upon all who unfortunately were out shopping that day.  Many hours later (most likely 20 minutes) my Mom returned not only with a new Walkman but an extended 5 year warranty and the deep- seated respect of her two children.  (Thanks to this same woman, I got to choose all of my teachers in Grade 12 because she did not like the English teacher I was initially assigned to.)  

In honour of my Mom, the "Ultimate Don't Mess With My Kids Mom" on the planet I dedicate this post.