When Grimma gets quiet you know she will take you to the corner and dig her nails into you

"The softer her voice gets, the more angry you know she's getting. Once you can’t hear her anymore, you know that she is going to take you into a corner and dig her nails into your forearm"

Excerpt of Aunt Brie's blog from May 9, 2010:

Happy Mother's Day!

May 9, 2010

"For those of you who were worried that modern pharmaceuticals have ruined the unpredictable dynamic of my family, you can rest assured. Not even mood stabilizers could have prevented the emotional meltdown that occurred when the internet stopped working earlier this afternoon at Tara Knoll (that's the name of our house, for reals). The day started out well. My father's mother came over for lunch. My mother's mother did not come over, because she is angry at us, as my father explained, "for apparently no f--king reason.'"

'"Stuprendan will fix it," my dad said.

"No, I can fix it, just show me where the modem is."

My dad turned red in the face. "JUST LET HIM FIX IT OF HE IS GOING TO HAVE A MELT DOWN!" he barked at me. I guess he wasn't the only one on the verge of a meltdown.

My brother appeared.

"Stuprendan where's the modem?" I asked."

'"You're an idiot!" my brother screamed.

"Show me where the goddamn modem is!" I screamed back.

My mother started chopping a carrot with a gigantic Japanese knife. "Let's let Brendan try to fix it for 5 minutes, and then we'll call David (the handyman)."

"All we have to do is unplug the modem and the router." I said, lowering my voice. It was mother's day after all, so I wanted to behave. And I knew that if I continued to fight with my little brother my mother would 'fail' to serve me dinner.

This caused my brother to fly off the handle, a tiny bit. He started pacing back and forth between the entrance hallway and the kitchen. He clenched his fists to his chest. His face turned red. I briefly thought of beating the shit out of him (in a sibling way) but then remember that he is now my height and take boxing lessons every day. "Go back to your disgusting apartment in Brooklyn!" He screamed.

"Stuprendan," my mother said softly. The softer her voice gets, the more angry you know she’s getting. Once you can’t hear her anymore, you know that she is going to take you into a corner and dig her nails into your forearm. “You have five minutes.”'

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