And we're back

Just now

Mom: A., don't furrow your brow.

A.: Please leave me alone.
Mom: Don't. Furrow. Your. Brow.
A.: Leave. Me. Alone.
Mom: Don't you dear talk to me like that!
A.: Goodbye.
***
Last night Once Jay left and I was getting ready for bed, mom could no longer offer food every few minutes. So she took to offering a fan for the room, every few minutes. I believe I've told you that one of the chronic mom behaviors that frustrates me most is not taking no for an answer, in various ways, especially when it has a basis in what I see--rightly or wrongly--as a disrespect for the other person knowing his or her needs better. Jay knew he wasn't hungry, and mom might have believed him after the third time she asked. I knew there was no way I could come to Boston around my birthday, and mom might have taken my word for it. And this is where I might have read too much in to it, but I detected a tinge of, "you don't think I have a real job. You don't understand that if I don't show up to work, things--important things--don't get done." I'm not saying I'm that important: if there were an emergency, I could conceivably shift (what at that point would have been a ton of) work onto my colleagues, but in a non-emergency, that would have been just wrong. Again, I may be adding too much meaning, but whenever mom pushes back on my refusals to visit, it's in terms of how much vacation time I have, never what I might have to do at work. Similarly, when she calls and I say it's a bad time, wouldn't it be the respectful thing to do to take my word for it? Not say, "oh, well this just take a second" and go on and on and on. You may ask why I answer the phone, and often I don't, but sometimes I do just to check in (especially if I won't get a chance to call back before late, and in those cases I want to preempt a series of paranoid phone calls). But don't you think it's rude to keep talking when someone says, "this is not a good time?" It's blatant boundary-flouting, right? This "now is not a good time" thing doesn't disappear in person. Mom will catch me when I'm on the way out the door, on the phone, on my way to floss my way out of something painful stuck in my teeth, or, in the case of last night, with face cream in my hands--I was on the way to the bathroom, where I could get close enough to a mirror to put it on.

Mom: What about this one?
A.: Just a second, mom. I'll be right back.
Mom: Just answer the question.
A.: I don't know, it doesn't matter. Let me get this stuff off my hands and come back.
Mom: I think this one...
A.: Mom!

She'd have gotten her answer sooner if she'd just let me leave and come back. Anyway, the guest room was sorted. I was about to go to bed. In the process of the sorting, she commented that it was hot/stuffy and asked whether she should bring a fan--I $hit you not--at least four times. Four "no, thank you"s weren't enough. Just before leaving the room, she had to ask again.

Mom: I think it's stuffy in here. Do you want a fan?
A.: No, thank you.
Mom: I think it's hot.
A.: Okay. Goodnight.

She came back in a minute or so later to get something.

Mom: It's stuffy in here. Do you want a fan?
A.: No, thank you.
Mom: I think it's stuffy.
A.: I know. Goodnight.

Mom has always struggled with the concept that people differ in body temperature. In the few months that I lived with my parents before finding an apartment in Boston many years ago, mom would follow me out of the house and argue that I didn't need the sweater I was bringing. Quite often, we'd leave the house and she'd tell me I wouldn't need the extra layer I was bringing. Each time, I'd explain that I'd rather be safe than sorry, and usually I was right, but the bigger point was that I didn't need to have that conversation every time. Quasi-related but humorous story: Then years ago, we were in Russia, about to get a ferry to Kizhi. I asked dad whether he'd mind sticking my book in his backpack; mom made some comment like, 'don't have dad carry your book, why do you need a book, look at the water.' I shrugged and stupidly agreed with her. The ferry had a mechanical issue so we ended up stuck in the same place for an extra half-hour or so. Mom took out her book. I didn't have mine. That was the same trip where, just before we left Moscow to return to St. Petersburg, I set out my toothbrush and earplugs to have them handy. Mom, never trusting me to have my act together, saw them and stuffed them "somewhere" into her back. I couldn't brush my teeth before we left (I think I borrowed our host's toothpaste and used my finger), and I couldn't find my earplugs, so I had to spend the trip listening to my dad snore. I had been prepared. My mom, with her micromanagement, undid my preparedness. If mom knew I remembered these things, she'd think I were bitter. I don't hold on to all this out of bitterness; I don't really hold on at all: I just have a very good memory, and I figure out how to deal with someone, or at least try to, based on his or her past behavior. If I've figured out how to deal with mom, it's by managing expectations. I didn't flip out after the sixth question about the fan, just said "no, thank you." I guess that's progress.