Perceived needs

I often think about what exactly angers me about my mom's "requests," and it's only partly that they're more like demands. Yes, my mother does a lot for me, although when I ask her for a favor, I-- key word-- ask. But here's the thing-- I don't ask her to do things I'm too lazy to do (how do you think I got to be salad woman? my mom hates making salad, but she won't do without one, so I have to make it). I ask her for things I can't do myself, and those things actually need to be done or at least have a tangible benefit to them. I don't ask for her time and effort lightly. She, however, is under the impression that I have a lot of time on my hands. Consider the difference between a typical A.-requested favor vs. Mom-"requested" favor:

A.: When you get a chance, if it's not too much of a hassle, could you hem these pants for me?

Mom: I have a letter for you to write/I have something for you to take to Sascha (who lives 20 miles away), etc.

It's a subtle distinction, or two, but it matters.

***

Now that I think about it, this isn't the first time my mother's had issues with the post office. There have been little things that she's refused to send to me (although she must have really wanted to get rid of an ugly tablecloth, because she mailed it to me). That idea that the post office is a pain to get to doesn't transfer-- she once asked me, during finals no less, to send her a video I had so she could loan it to a friend. When I suggested that she get it from the library (which I knew to have it and which I knew to be a 10 minute drive from her house), she balked, as that would be a hassle for her. I didn't send it-- it would have been absurd.

She's refused to re-send letters that friends of mine sent to her address (in my more transient days when even I had trouble keeping track of where I was and would be). She would say, "oh, you got a letter from so-and-so, what do you want me to do with it??" If I asked her to send it to me, she would say, "oh I'm sure you can wait until your next visit to get it." I actually remember one time when she said, "you got a letter from Katie. Can I just throw it out?" I said no. She asked why not.

In one case her aversion to the post office collaborated with her selective memory to deprive me of mail at a time when it really mattered. When I was in Wales, I was often lonely and confused, and every letter from a friend lifted my spirits and reminded me of who I was. I was originally going to stay there for three months, but my contract was extended for another three at the last minute. A good friend sent a long letter to my parents' house and let me know about it by e-mail. I asked my parents about it-- my mother confirmed its arrival; I asked her to send it my way and she said she would. A few weeks later I asked about it, and my mother said, "I thought we agreed that you would just read it when you got here." I was livid, and my mother continued to insist that there was no reason to send the letter to me in Wales. My father did send the letter to me in Wales, and for that I'm thankful-- it was a good letter and it brought me a lot of joy to get it when I did.