"You can't tell your mom to fuck off on Mother's Day"

Unless you’re a complete hermit, you know that Mother’s Day in the Northwest was so jaw-droppingly gorgeous that it made living in perpetually grey, drizzling weather seem worth it. Anyways, we spent the day outside drinking, listening to The Doors, messing around with paint, shooting arrows…you know. The usual.

Sara: I got you a present!

Mom: It had better be a car.

Sara: Well it’s not. But there’s two parts to the present!

Mom: If it’s not a car, I don’t give a shit.

We started reminiscing about my (Sara’s) little affair with meningitis. When I was five weeks old, some nasty little bacterium got all up in my meninges and started messing things up. Mom took me to the hospital, I almost died…long story short, I’m a fucking miracle.

Mom: So your Dad and I were sitting with the doctor and he was telling us that even though you were all right there may have been some permanent damage to your brain; like you might be deaf or blind or mentally retarded.
Grandma: Oh, so that's what happened.

Later, Mom was encouraging me (Lindsay) to get one of my moles looked at by a doctor. And for the record, it's just one regularly shaped small mole on my ribcage. It's not like I’ve got a bunch of wonky deformities all over my skin. Sara, seeing an opportunity to be a know-it-all, chimed in.

Sara: Did you know that moles are genetic abnormalities?
Lindsay: So is being a dork.

And, of course, the day could not be complete without Dad confronting Sara about being a lesbian.

Dad: Well playing bass is way more butch...so plan on getting even more lesbians wanting to be your girlfriend.
Sara: Dad, the bass is not butch.
Dad: It totally is.
Sara: I know plenty of lesbians and none of them play bass.
Jesse: They play the drums, not the bass.

Lindsay: You know what instrument’s awesome? Saxophone. “Wow, that sax really made that song lame,” said no one ever.