Friday night dinner

I can't complain so far. I mean, on one hand, Mom has just now stopped complaining about the lamp that I convinced her not to bring. And she's only stopped because she's gone to bed. But I've not heard anything about the size of my butt, or my detrimental-to-the-soul decor. I have fielded many questions and comments about the size of my cat, but that's to be expected. Mom even asked me why I fed her so little if she's going to be fat anyway. She's a cat, she said; may as well let her enjoy her life.

But the lamp talk started the second she walked in the door.

Mom: That's the lamp you have in here?! That lamp? The lamp we have is so much better.
A.: [Shrug]
Dad: You're tired. Just sit for a minute without feeling like you need to say anything.

Every few minutes, as I was getting dinner together, I heard something like this:

Mom: I don't understand. Now how am I going to get you that lamp.

And just before she went to bed, she went on about how the lamp would work in that guestroom, too.

And every time I brought something out in the kitchen--including flatware--she said, "you didn't buy that, did you? you know we have plenty of that."

And--I'd forgotten to tell you guys about the shoe discussion over the phone, in which she threatened to bring me sandals and I begged her not to. Well, she brought them anyway, and they're butt-ugly. Mom often has good taste in shoes, but--and this is saying a lot--I have enough shoes in my life.

A.: I'm not taking these, mom.
Mom: Why not?
A.: Because I don't need any more shoes.
Mom: You never know.
A.: Fine. Also because they're hideous.
Mom: They're great.
A.: No.

For five minutes, while dad and I were unloading the car, she would alternate lamp talk with, "look at where that plant is! plants need light." I pointed out that the plant was right in front of the glass door, and that normally the curtain was drawn. She let it go.

Mom calmed down once she sat down, had a snack or too (dad has a point: it's not surprising she was in a mood). Dinner went well; I threw some stuff on the stove and in the oven, made a salad and fruit salad, put out some appetizers they'd brought from the Russian store in Boston. I'll take them to the one here tomorrow just for fun; I've warned them it's pretty lame. They also brought a nice wine; it was good to have a glass. I don't usually open bottles, since I don't go through them before they go off, so it was a rare treat.

Oh, there was drama over the shrimp. Dad asked if he could help, so I told him he could make salad or peel the shrimp I'd just boiled. He opted for the latter, said it came out well. I told him it was just a drop of vinegar and Old Bay. Mom saw it.

Mom: Do you have cocktail sauce?
A.: No, but even if I did, I'd recommend against it. It's pretty good plain.
Mom: Hah!
Dad: Really, it is.

Coming from him, that means a lot.

Mom: I'm old and set in my ways. You can't tell me what to do!
A.: Well, you don't have to have any.
Mom: I'm hungry, so I'll have some. But you can't tell me what to do. I've gone this far having cocktail sauce. You can't stop me.
A.: I just don't have any. I didn't, like, spill it all out before you got here just to spite you.
Mom: But you're telling me not to have any in my house.
A.: I am?
Mom: Aren't you?
Dad: I didn't hear anything about that.
Mom: Well, I don't want to hear any lectures about what's healthy.
A.: [Shrug]

Later

Mom: These are really good tomatoes.
A.: They're the heirloom tomatoes from Trader Joe's; they're the best non-organic tomatoes around. I served them at AV day and people loved them.
Mom: Organics are a bunch of hippie crap!
A.: [Sigh].

And so it went. But it was very peaceful, as dinners with my family go. Very low on criticism, too.

I'll keep you guys posted.