Tuesday morning conversations

Mom remains full of criticism, but she's demonstrated a shift in tone. She reinvoked one of her favorite anecdotes of my childhood--how while all the other kids in the playground propelled themselves on the swing, I just sat there and waited for mom to push me--but she used to bring this up to argue that I've been lazy from the day I was born; now, she says I've changed since I was a child, when I used to be lazy, and then breaks into the swing story.

Similarly, this morning, she came out with this:

Mom: I don't know whether you've necessarily gained weight, but you've definitely grown quite a butt.

***
Mom: Well?
A.: Well, what?
Mom: Am I going to stand here and wait for you?
A.: I'm ready when you are.
Mom: Where's your jacket?
A.: Right there.
Mom: Fine, I'll get mine.

Mom: Okay, are you ready?
A.: Yes. Are you?
Mom: Yes.

I get up, put my jacket on.

Mom: Wait, where are my gloves?

I sit back down, reopen my magazine.

Mom: Okay, I'm ready.

I get back up.

A.: Are the shopping bags in the car?
Mom: Oh, not in this car. I'll get some.

I sit back down. Mom comes in with the shopping bags. I get back up.

Mom: Now where did I put my keys?

I sit back down.

Mom: Well, where are my keys??
A.: I have no idea where your keys might be.
Mom: Well, get off your butt and help me find them!
A.: Mom--I don't know where to begin to look for your keys. If I were good at finding stuff amid your clutter, I'd have my hand cream by now.
Mom: It'll turn up eventually.
A.: I put it down for two seconds and it was gone.
Mom: Ah, here are my keys.

***
In the car

Mom: Dad always has to defend you. He thinks you're always right.
A.: He does not. He just forwarded me an e-mail this morning about how renewable energy is a passing fad.
Mom: Really?

That's the interesting thing: my mother actually cares about the environment and acts on it in her own selective way (making sure to always bring her own grocery bags; yelling at dad to use minimal water when he does the dishes). My dad is less convinced.

***
Mom: This is why I love living here: you can go shopping and then go for a walk by the river without moving your car. You don't have that.
A.: I can go shopping and go for a walk by the river without getting in my car.
Mom: You can?
A.: Yup.
Mom: Where's the river?
A.: A few blocks east of my house.
Mom: What, the Potomac?
A.: Yes.
Mom: Oh. Well, there's no forest there.
A.: Sure there is.
Mom: Oh, okay.

***
In the store

Mom: Should I get some persimmons?
A.: [Shrug] I don't need any.
Mom: What, are they grown the wrong way?
A.: Huh?
Mom: Are they "unsustainable"?
A.: I doubt it. I just don't need any given the variety of fruit we're already getting.

We shopped. Mom stopped by some apple pies past the checkout line.

Mom: Ooh, pie.
A.: You bought three pies the other day.
Mom: So?
A.: So, let's go.

We get in the car.

Mom: You're so... efficient. You exhude efficiency. No warmth whatsoever!
A.: So?
Mom: So it's not right!

It's true: crowded markets don't bring out the warm fuzzies in me; they do bring out the let's-get-what-we-need-and-get-the-f*-out instinct. It's not an instinct I'd want to do without.

This wasn't the first time mom's called me cold (well, she used to call me harsh). But 'I'm cold' was her reaction to the RM situation. So be it. Coldness, too, can be a survival instinct.