Not becoming my mother (apologies to Ruth Reichl)

By now--if only by way of Saturday's post--you know I don't want or expect sympathy for working late. When I tell you that I got to work at 7:30 AM three days this week, and left around 8pm two days, it's only so you understand how not in the mood I was this evening, as I was walking home from the metro around 8:30, for mom's being herself. In this case, "being herself" entails continuing to complain about something after I've offered her a most reasonable solution. I know--I am not a guy--I know that sometimes people like to, need to talk just to talk, without getting advice, but mom was actually seeking advice. In her typical, "okay, but not that... what else have you got?" way. And I was in no mood. And the fact that mom couldn't gauge my mood once I told her that, at 8:30pm, I was just getting home from work, only annoyed me more.

Mom: Where are you?
A.: I'm just getting home from work. I'm walking from the metro. If I get cut off, it's because the battery's low.
Mom: Listen, I've been getting these obscene phone calls in the afternoon. They started a few weeks ago and then stopped, and today they returned.
A.: Is there a number?
Mom: No.
A.: Okay... don't answer the phone.
Mom: I didn't, but they kept calling.
A.: That doesn't mean you have to answer the phone.,
Mom: But I want them to stop.
A.: Then stop answering the phone!
Mom: But... but... [sigh] I guess we can talk about this more when you get home.
A.: No, we can't. When I get home, I'm eating and then crashing. Was there anything else?
Mom: I guess not.
A.: Okay, let's talk this weekend. For now, don't answer the phone.

I let dad know afterward that he could probably set up the phone to block unlisted numbers. Speaking of dad, yesterday, he had me shaking my head. See, I'd sent him that article about how Russians don't respect Russian cuisine, because I thought he'd find it interesting. I sent him very basic, specific instructions for logging into the article with my account. Username: my e-mail address; password: [password10!]. Without the brackets. Without any extra punctuation, actually, because I thought that would confuse him.

Then, when we talked, he told me it took him forever to figure out how to get into the article. It just didn't cross his mind that the string of letters, numerals, and punctuation following the term "password" in my e-mail, was actually the password. E

And so, even though I figured dad would have trouble with this, the whole thing still irked me. Almost as much as it irked me that once he got in, he read a sentence or two and dismissed the entire article as an essay on the various types of solyanka. But I digress.

My dad's not stupid. He's an electrical engineer, a good one. For someone so smart, he is remarkably slow on the uptake and remarkably bad at following instructions. It's infuriated me many times. And this low-stakes event probably irked me more than it normally would have because I recently went through the same kind of thing with F., over the higher-stakes matter of travel planning. I had sent F. very detailed instructions about calling the airline from which he bought his return flight (ask why your reservation still hasn't been ticketed, be prepared to provide certain information). Actually, I sent several, detailed messages with instructions (in an attempt to impart a sense of urgency); after about three of these, he finally called. The wrong airline.

As I relate to F.--as our relationship progresses and we encounter a greater need for logistics, and thus, higher stakes and greater potential for frustration--I make a conscious effort to not become my mother. Mom nags dad all the time, and some of that time, she's right about the core matter at hand. It may be tempting to dismiss her as a relentless nag, but when I have to deal with dad, I often understand where she's coming from... not that logistics are always smooth sailing with her. But dad is the way he is; mom's nagging has never made him more attentive to detail or less frustrating. I'm not suggesting that she should let it all go, but what she does, doesn't work. So, my challenge is to relate to F. in a way that works. Like my dad, he's a great guy. These frustrations are not deal-breakers... but they can really grate on a relationship if left unaddressed, especially as the stakes get higher and things get crazier. I now know that the first step is communicating my expectations and needs in a non-sarcastic tone, even when I feel that sarcasm is more than warranted. I make a point to release any trace of sanctimony. Example of a sarcastic, sanctimonious statement: "Is it too much to ask, for the one thing I ask you to do for planning for this trip, to actually read the instructions I sent you?" An example of the opposite are hard to come by; they're not intuitive to me, they're not what were modeled to me when I was growing up. It's just what I know, even though I know it doesn't work. She can go on and on and on about how she's the only one who ever does anything around the house, and dad and I just roll our eyes at her (largely because it's not true and never has been). It's like she needs that role. I don't need, or want, that role.