Mom calls, tells me about her weekend, tossing in some hidden insults:
"we went to this book reading, and I'd say you would have liked it but since you know nothing about Russian history, I doubt it... [more on how interesting the evening was...]... have you heard of Stalin?" to which I say, "nope, never heard of him until now," but she doesn't miss a beat and continues to discuss the book reading.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Herbal remedies
As some of you may have noticed, my mom is really into herbal remedies, so when she heard about the second installment of the arm saga—in which I got a hive-like reaction around the wound that looked infected—she offered one up. Actually, she was not thrilled that I was on antibiotics again—and while I acknowledge that it wasn't ideal, it was a necessary precaution.
[Comment: There was another saga-- apparently I didn't have a doctor, as I'd fired the one I'd had but then the one on my insurance card, recommended by a friend, had awful office staff, which is apparently very, very common. When I called to make an appointment, her office staff asked me about my insurance and then told me they weren't taking new patients. I found out too late that her office staff is just rude and she'd done that to someone else, too (who walked into the office and sat there until she was seen).
I eventually did get to a doctor, who wasn't convinced that my arm was infected (she said it was just as likely to be irritation from being wrapped up all the time, and/or allergic reaction to the topical antibiotic) but gave me antibiotics just in case.
Anyway, my mom returns from Israel and leaves me some bitchy phone message about how I could have called her (in Israel?!?) I didn't actually pick up the phone because I was driving, but it was one of those messages I've learned to dread (this becomes important—she has TRAINED me to pick up the phone, even when I don't want to, because otherwise I have to listen to the "I just don't understand why you can't pick up the phone!" message. In its extremes, it takes the form of "It's 9pm on a Saturday night—where could you possibly be that you're not picking up your phone?").
Here's why I picked up the phone on Wednesday night, even though I was just about to go to bed, was REALLY looking forward to going to bed. The worst-case scenario is this: she leaves me a message after I've gone to bed. I get it in the morning but opt not to call her, because a) it's really early in the morning and b) I'm in a hurry to get out of the house/get to work. I don't call her during the day because I'm pretty busy (I can't have my cell phone inside the building, I don't have time to walk out to my car, and I certainly don't want to engage in a protracted conversation—and with my mother, it's always protracted, because "this is a bad time" means nothing to her. In her language, "this is a bad time" sounds like "well, just go ahead and tell me what you were going to tell me." So, by the time I have a chance to return her past-my-bedtime call, it's the afternoon of the following day, and my mother lacks the ability to use logic to calm herself down, to think, hmmm, I left the first message after she'd gone to bed; she either didn't see it in the morning or didn't get a chance to call me back; she'll call this afternoon," and I get this snide message about how I'm so irresponsible about returning her calls.
Actually, once soon after I moved to DC, she called me pretty late at night; a friend was visiting, we were watching a movie. I didn't answer the phone. By the time I'd remembered that the phone had rung, and got the message, it was 3AM. I chose not to return the call then. So what happens? I get a frantic uninvited wake-up call at 7AM the next morning, with both parents screeching at me about how I hadn't returned their call. It's like they just can't do the math. Why is it so hard to think, "she probably has not been awake between now and the time we left the message"??
That and my mother's idea of urgent ranges from, "there's a show on the Travel Channel you have to see" (I've told her several times that I don't GET the Travel Channel), to "there's this guy I want to set you up with; I've never met him, but I know you'll be perfect for each other because he's a vegan and he rides his bike to work." Remember that one? It was preceded by a message on my then-work voicemail that said "call me as soon as you get this!" in a very urgent tone.
So, back to Wednesday night, just around my bedtime. I answer the phone, although I'm exhausted and just want to crawl into bed, thinking (against my better judgment) that I could say, "I'm going to bed" and do so. But mom, disturbed that I was on antibiotics, told me to call a friend of hers (ours) that lives around here to pick up this herbal remedy from her.
I said, "I'm fine, it's getting much better. Besides, I'm already ON antibiotics, I have to keep taking them."
"I just called Natalie, she has [said herbal remedy] for you. Call her right now and arrange to meet with her to pick it up."
"I'm going to bed, I'll call her tomorrow"
"Well I just talked to her and she's expecting your call right now!"
"Why did you tell her I would call? You know I get up early and try to get to bed early. Why do YOU even call me at 10pm? I AM NOT CALLING HER RIGHT NOW."
"Yes you are!"
"You can call her and tell her I've already gone to bed"
But she wore me down and I ended up calling, but it made me really angry that she would volunteer me to call, but also volunteer me to pick up this stuff. Natalie lives in McLean, which is half an hour each way on a good day (and DC area traffic is never a good day), and I have NO time. I mean, I do but I don't. Luckily Natalie offered to send it to me (and to my mom).
You have no idea how much I would have resented my mother if, on Saturday morning, which was beautiful, I'd have had to drive over there instead of going on a bike ride-- my first since the accident.
Mom kept saying, "it'll be five minutes," then "two minutes," then "one minute," and I kept saying, "no it won't, I'll have to make small talk, ask her about her grandson, etc." so afterward I called my mom back and said it was 12 minutes and thank you very much, it'll be another night I'll be getting less than 7 hours of sleep.
I mean, yes it was only 12 minutes but I think it speaks to the greater issue of her being oblivious to and very generous of MY time. She doesn't even think twice about it, as if I have nothing going on. It reminds me of the time, when I was in grad school, and it was finals, and she asked me to mail her a video (of a movie) and I said, "I'm really busy, I can't get to the post office, why don't you go to a video store??" and she said she didn't have time to go to a video store. She's retired. I had finals. And yet she argued with me about this. I could say, "yeah… you're really busy, you buy stuff, assemble it, and write complaint letters about it," but that would be unfair. I could also say, "of course, I'll let you go crash what's left of my IRA." Except that's not fair—she really does have some things to do. And while fairness doesn't factor into her repertoire, I won't stoop to her level.
It's not that I don't ask her for favors, but I never say, "drop everything and do this NOW." I say, "could you, at your convenience, do this for me?" When I was younger, my mother would go through the mail, or newspapers, and throw them into a messy pile on the floor, and then have me stop what I was doing to pick them up and put them in the recycle bin. It's the mentality. If I were typing this up at her house right now, she'd think nothing of calling me into another room because it occurs to her to say something to me, and she'd have to say it that minute. She wouldn't walk over to where I was—she'd interrupt what I was doing and call me in, because she has no respect for the fact that I have something else going on.
Except this is worse than if I were just sitting e-mailing in another room in her house, because things are very frantic now. Yes, I do fun things too, but I need those fun things and I'm not going to drive for an hour when I could be, say, reading, for something she thinks I need.
[Comment: There was another saga-- apparently I didn't have a doctor, as I'd fired the one I'd had but then the one on my insurance card, recommended by a friend, had awful office staff, which is apparently very, very common. When I called to make an appointment, her office staff asked me about my insurance and then told me they weren't taking new patients. I found out too late that her office staff is just rude and she'd done that to someone else, too (who walked into the office and sat there until she was seen).
I eventually did get to a doctor, who wasn't convinced that my arm was infected (she said it was just as likely to be irritation from being wrapped up all the time, and/or allergic reaction to the topical antibiotic) but gave me antibiotics just in case.
Anyway, my mom returns from Israel and leaves me some bitchy phone message about how I could have called her (in Israel?!?) I didn't actually pick up the phone because I was driving, but it was one of those messages I've learned to dread (this becomes important—she has TRAINED me to pick up the phone, even when I don't want to, because otherwise I have to listen to the "I just don't understand why you can't pick up the phone!" message. In its extremes, it takes the form of "It's 9pm on a Saturday night—where could you possibly be that you're not picking up your phone?").
Here's why I picked up the phone on Wednesday night, even though I was just about to go to bed, was REALLY looking forward to going to bed. The worst-case scenario is this: she leaves me a message after I've gone to bed. I get it in the morning but opt not to call her, because a) it's really early in the morning and b) I'm in a hurry to get out of the house/get to work. I don't call her during the day because I'm pretty busy (I can't have my cell phone inside the building, I don't have time to walk out to my car, and I certainly don't want to engage in a protracted conversation—and with my mother, it's always protracted, because "this is a bad time" means nothing to her. In her language, "this is a bad time" sounds like "well, just go ahead and tell me what you were going to tell me." So, by the time I have a chance to return her past-my-bedtime call, it's the afternoon of the following day, and my mother lacks the ability to use logic to calm herself down, to think, hmmm, I left the first message after she'd gone to bed; she either didn't see it in the morning or didn't get a chance to call me back; she'll call this afternoon," and I get this snide message about how I'm so irresponsible about returning her calls.
Actually, once soon after I moved to DC, she called me pretty late at night; a friend was visiting, we were watching a movie. I didn't answer the phone. By the time I'd remembered that the phone had rung, and got the message, it was 3AM. I chose not to return the call then. So what happens? I get a frantic uninvited wake-up call at 7AM the next morning, with both parents screeching at me about how I hadn't returned their call. It's like they just can't do the math. Why is it so hard to think, "she probably has not been awake between now and the time we left the message"??
That and my mother's idea of urgent ranges from, "there's a show on the Travel Channel you have to see" (I've told her several times that I don't GET the Travel Channel), to "there's this guy I want to set you up with; I've never met him, but I know you'll be perfect for each other because he's a vegan and he rides his bike to work." Remember that one? It was preceded by a message on my then-work voicemail that said "call me as soon as you get this!" in a very urgent tone.
So, back to Wednesday night, just around my bedtime. I answer the phone, although I'm exhausted and just want to crawl into bed, thinking (against my better judgment) that I could say, "I'm going to bed" and do so. But mom, disturbed that I was on antibiotics, told me to call a friend of hers (ours) that lives around here to pick up this herbal remedy from her.
I said, "I'm fine, it's getting much better. Besides, I'm already ON antibiotics, I have to keep taking them."
"I just called Natalie, she has [said herbal remedy] for you. Call her right now and arrange to meet with her to pick it up."
"I'm going to bed, I'll call her tomorrow"
"Well I just talked to her and she's expecting your call right now!"
"Why did you tell her I would call? You know I get up early and try to get to bed early. Why do YOU even call me at 10pm? I AM NOT CALLING HER RIGHT NOW."
"Yes you are!"
"You can call her and tell her I've already gone to bed"
But she wore me down and I ended up calling, but it made me really angry that she would volunteer me to call, but also volunteer me to pick up this stuff. Natalie lives in McLean, which is half an hour each way on a good day (and DC area traffic is never a good day), and I have NO time. I mean, I do but I don't. Luckily Natalie offered to send it to me (and to my mom).
You have no idea how much I would have resented my mother if, on Saturday morning, which was beautiful, I'd have had to drive over there instead of going on a bike ride-- my first since the accident.
Mom kept saying, "it'll be five minutes," then "two minutes," then "one minute," and I kept saying, "no it won't, I'll have to make small talk, ask her about her grandson, etc." so afterward I called my mom back and said it was 12 minutes and thank you very much, it'll be another night I'll be getting less than 7 hours of sleep.
I mean, yes it was only 12 minutes but I think it speaks to the greater issue of her being oblivious to and very generous of MY time. She doesn't even think twice about it, as if I have nothing going on. It reminds me of the time, when I was in grad school, and it was finals, and she asked me to mail her a video (of a movie) and I said, "I'm really busy, I can't get to the post office, why don't you go to a video store??" and she said she didn't have time to go to a video store. She's retired. I had finals. And yet she argued with me about this. I could say, "yeah… you're really busy, you buy stuff, assemble it, and write complaint letters about it," but that would be unfair. I could also say, "of course, I'll let you go crash what's left of my IRA." Except that's not fair—she really does have some things to do. And while fairness doesn't factor into her repertoire, I won't stoop to her level.
It's not that I don't ask her for favors, but I never say, "drop everything and do this NOW." I say, "could you, at your convenience, do this for me?" When I was younger, my mother would go through the mail, or newspapers, and throw them into a messy pile on the floor, and then have me stop what I was doing to pick them up and put them in the recycle bin. It's the mentality. If I were typing this up at her house right now, she'd think nothing of calling me into another room because it occurs to her to say something to me, and she'd have to say it that minute. She wouldn't walk over to where I was—she'd interrupt what I was doing and call me in, because she has no respect for the fact that I have something else going on.
Except this is worse than if I were just sitting e-mailing in another room in her house, because things are very frantic now. Yes, I do fun things too, but I need those fun things and I'm not going to drive for an hour when I could be, say, reading, for something she thinks I need.
Friday, November 3, 2006
Have you applied to Google yet?
We'd had a mostly pleasant conversation for the better part of half an hour-- they told me about their trip, which was great; about their fridge drama (yes I'm domesticated-- I identified, having just survived some washing machine and vacuum cleaner drama); etc. There were a few typical mom things, as well as some typically unnecessary one, the former being of the "you're back on antibiotics?? no, no, you must stick to natural remedies!" variety, and the latter being, well, unnecessary. For example, she was talking about a museum in Israel she went to and said, "you know, you really should learn about the Holocaust. It's really not something one can afford to be ignorant about." To which I responded that she needn't worry, I had heard of it once or twice before she brought it up. To which she angrily, and oddly, responded, "yes well I've heard of it too!" It's like she's so caught up in a childish game of "am not/are too!" that she doesn't really what she's actually saying.
So we're saying our goodbyes, and... any guesses as to what come next? Anyone?
"Have you sent your resume to Google yet?"
"Goodbye."
"Pick up a copy of Fortune 500. Better yet look it up online."
"Goodbye, mom."
"You should just try..."
"Goodbye."
"No! Listen to me!"
"I've heard enough, thank you."
"No, you will listen to me!"
"Goodbye, mom."
"Fine! Don't call again!"
[Dad laughs.]
So we're saying our goodbyes, and... any guesses as to what come next? Anyone?
"Have you sent your resume to Google yet?"
"Goodbye."
"Pick up a copy of Fortune 500. Better yet look it up online."
"Goodbye, mom."
"You should just try..."
"Goodbye."
"No! Listen to me!"
"I've heard enough, thank you."
"No, you will listen to me!"
"Goodbye, mom."
"Fine! Don't call again!"
[Dad laughs.]
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Mom's birthday weekend
I think I'll start backwards, to set the mood. But first, a bit of background:
Saturday was my mother's birthday, for which I've come to Boston. Part of the impetus to make it up here was the presence of Nina, a very close friend (and daughter of very close family friends-- this makes us partners in "my family is crazy"ness), who lives in Prague but has been in town for the last few weeks. Nina helped make some parts of the evening (in which about 15 close family friends come to dinner) tolerable, until she left to go to a concert (to which she bought last-minute tickets minutes before she heard that I actually would be in town). Knowing she would leave early, she also arrived early, and we had a few moments to sit and chat. We were like two anthropologists:
"isn't that crazy, how one minute you're having a completely normal conversation, and then all of the sudden, she starts screaming?"
…and so on. It's really comforting to know that I'm not alone.
Anyway, on to the good stuff. As everyone's leaving, I make a move to walk people to the door, but Nina's mother ambushes and corners me, saying,
"Now, say what you will, but there's only one way to make your arm better."
I know EXACTLY where this is going. I brace myself. I can handle it, actually... but I feel rude ignoring everyone else, who is leaving, to listen to a speech about how I should apply urine to my wound.
You may be surprised, but I know what she's going to say before she even says it. When Nina was little and would hang out in her house with her friends, her mother would approach the group and tell them about how urine makes your skin soft and is an integral part of any skin care routine.
By the way, I tried to be incognito but the ^$^@*#% gauze kept slipping.
Anyway, I nodded politely and extracted myself. In case you're wondering, I'm going to stick with soap, water and topical antibiotic.
***
That really was the highlight of the evening. There were a few other incidents worth mentioning, at least for the Mom stories aficionados:
-Earlier, thankfully before anyone else got there, she had a classic Mom moment: ask me a question that I've answered at least five times before, on a topic I clearly do not want to talk about. Clearly. She asked me if I was even looking for other work. I handled it well. Then, she decided to ask me again at dinner. Someone else asked a follow-up question, to which the answer was "I was very close to getting another job, but it fell through in the paperwork stage." I actually wanted my mother to say, "why didn't you tell me about it?" so I could say, "I TRIED BUT YOU INTERRUPTED ME TO ASK WHETHER I'D APPLIED TO GOOGLE!" but instead, she asked another classic Mom-type question-- one in which she requests a level of detail she can't possibly appreciate and is completely irrelevant to her. This can take the form of, in response to my saying I went to a party somewhere, asking where geographically the party was (she doesn't know the DC area). She'll interrupt stories and jokes to ask for unnecessary detail all the time. Nonetheless, she chooses to ask, "what part of the paperwork fell through?" Okay, first of all, I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT, and I seriously doubt anyone else wants to hear about it. Second, she knows the government is full of paperwork; she's always complaining about it. I can hardly keep it straight-- does she really think she'll benefit from learning what form kept me from a job?
-The why-on-earth-do-you-live-in-DC conversation (memorable because it's joined the why-do-you-wear-sunblock and why-don't-you-drink-coffee conversations in the ranks of things we've discussed ad nauseum, yet they just keep coming up.
Mom: I don't understand how you can live somewhere where there's no water. Not even a river.
A.: Um, DC is on a river.
Mom: That doesn't count. You don't have lakes you can swim in during the summer.
A.: No, no I don't. We've discussed this. I, too, would prefer to have lakes to swim in. But I don't. I don't really understand why we have to keep having this conversation.
Mom: Well, I think you'd be happier somewhere with lakes.
A.: I'm happier somewhere where I'm employable.-My mother's probably always been this way, but it's either gotten worse or I'm more sensitive to it. She couldn't sit down and eat--she was constantly a) asking people if they had enough food, b) telling them that if any one dish was finished, there was more of it, and c) noticing non-existent absences of food. She would interrupt conversations, jokes, etc. to make a comment about food. I quietly (as in, such that no one else heard, told her that everything was okay, that everyone had plenty of food. I don't think I even said, "everyone heard you the first five times you said there was more of everything." Nonetheless, she screams at me in front of everyone, telling me that I'm behaving badly and creating an uncomfortable situation. And since I'm not that big a person, I say, "actually, you're the one who just created an uncomfortable situation," but they're all close friends so it all rolls over.
-In one ear, out the other (as we're cleaning up):
Mom: Do you remember Leah?
A.: Yes, I do.
Mom: We met her last time we were in St. Petersburg.
A.: I remember her.
Mom: She had the daughter who...
A.: I SAID I REMEMBER HER.
Mom: Well, she had problems with her kidney, and she treated it by eating a lot of lingonberry.
A., mentally: At least she didn't say urine.
I believe that's all for now. Let's see if I can get through tomorrow without needing to do another blog. Peace out.
***
I spoke too soon (re: tomorrow).
Mom: I just love Bill O'Reilly. I don't see why you don't appreciate him. He really is fair and balanced. Have you even watched him enough to judge?
A.: I've watched him enough that I know I can't stand him, and that I know he's not fair and balanced.
Mom: Let's watch him tonight.
A.: No.
Mom: Why do you think you know everything? Why do you know better than Bill O'Reilly?
A.: I don't recall saying or thinking that I know everything; I know many things better than Bill O'Reilly because it's my job to know better than he does.
Mom: It's his job, too.
A.: No, it's his job to talk about things he doesn't really understand; to spin them; and to oversimplify them to the extreme. And to mis-frame any debate he engages in to further his agenda.
Mom: You have an agenda, too.
A.: I really don't. My job is to get to the bottom of an issue without politicizing it. [Some of you will recall my regular insistence that there is no clear left-right divide in foreign policy issues].
Mom: In other words, you know better than Bill O'Reilly.
A.: Yes, I believe I do.
Mom: Well, why don't you get a job on TV?
A.: [Sigh]. I don't really have an answer for that.
[Several more iterations of "you just haven't watched him enough-- why don't we watch him" and accusations that I think I know everything].
***
Earlier in the morning. I'm in the middle of yoga. My mother comes in and starts talking to me about the importance of breathing and concentration in yoga. Then she continues to talk to me. Then she turns on the TV. I ask her if she could wait until I've finished yoga until she turns on the TV. She mutes it, and continues talking to me. At, "I wonder why Nina is overweight," I lose my capacity to ignore her.
A.: You do? I don't. Look at her father.
Mom: Oh, no-- totally different situation. She has a different shape.
A.: No she doesn't. Same shape, same genetic makeup. Except she's healthy and active. [Nina works with and rides horses]. She's not even fat-- she's big boned and slightly overweight on top of that.
Dad: Well, it must bother her to be so fat.
A.: Maybe it doesn't. Maybe she's learned to live with it. I don't even understand why we're having this conversation. Why are we discussing Nina's weight, when no one's thought to comment on what a jerk [Nina's brother] Paul is.
[Paul is a piece of work. Which is really none of my business, but when it's time for Nina-bashing, I can't help but wonder why she gets all the scrutiny, while he can do know wrong. Anyway, he shows up yesterday, picks up a serving dish from the table, and starts eating directly from it, finishing it. He actually leaves as more people show up, because there's no room for him. Close friend or not, his behavior was appalling. And yet, the conversation was about Nina's weight.]
Dad: I don't think he's always like that.
A.: That's not the point. Please acknowledge that Nina's weight is for some reason more worthy of notice than his abhorrent behavior.
Dad: I just don't think she's happy looking like that.
A.: I think she looks just fine.
Mom: I don't think the way she dresses helps.
A.: I think she looked cute. And I still don't understand why this is more of an issue than her brother's being a complete ass.
***
This was just a few minutes ago. We had set out to go for a walk. I nudged my parents along, saying that if we were going, we had to go soon because I have plans at 3pm with another friend. My mother has a heightened sense of urgency when it concerns her or when she feels like rushing everyone else for no reason, but has absolutely no respect for anyone else's schedule.
We finally leave the house, at 1:40pm. First my mother stops, in the middle of the street, to assess the progress on a house that's being remodeled. I ask her to move along. Two blocks later, she stops, in the middle of the street, outside a yard sale.
A.: Mom!!!!
Mom: What is your problem?
A.: We are on our way somewhere-- can we please just go?
Mom: I am sick and tired of your tone of voice and of your not minding your own business!
A.: How is this yard sale none of my business? Did you ask either of us if we wanted to stop?
Mom: I've had it with you.
With that, she stops the car, in the middle of the street, tells my dad to drive it home, and goes to the yard sale. Dad refuses, mutters something about how she's the one who left it in the middle of the street, so it's her responsibility, and we walk home. She follows with the car shortly thereafter and gives me a speech about how obnoxious I am and how she doesn't want to talk to me.
Mom: Why does everyone have to be a prisoner to your schedule? We can go on a walk without you-- that way we could go farther away, and you can go on our walk separately.
A.: That is fine. I never said we all had to go on the same walk. It's just that we'd planned to, and I'd thought it would be nice, back when I didn't realize it would take two hours to get everyone to leave the house. [Which was my mistake, unjustifiably. It always takes hours for my family to leave the house. First, two people are ready, and the third doesn't realize he or she is being waited for; then my mother gets into something while she's waiting, and we're waiting for her; then she decides to change her shoes. Then, on the way out, she notices that her plants need watering. Finally, we're ready to leave the house, but it's a slow walk to the driveway. As the above events illustrate, even once we're in the car, there's no guarantee we're on a direct path to our destination.]
So, my parents have gone on their walk. Hopefully, by the time we come back from our respective walks, everyone will want to talk to each other again.
Do I dare hope that the rest of the day will proceed without further blog-worthy material?
Saturday was my mother's birthday, for which I've come to Boston. Part of the impetus to make it up here was the presence of Nina, a very close friend (and daughter of very close family friends-- this makes us partners in "my family is crazy"ness), who lives in Prague but has been in town for the last few weeks. Nina helped make some parts of the evening (in which about 15 close family friends come to dinner) tolerable, until she left to go to a concert (to which she bought last-minute tickets minutes before she heard that I actually would be in town). Knowing she would leave early, she also arrived early, and we had a few moments to sit and chat. We were like two anthropologists:
"isn't that crazy, how one minute you're having a completely normal conversation, and then all of the sudden, she starts screaming?"
…and so on. It's really comforting to know that I'm not alone.
Anyway, on to the good stuff. As everyone's leaving, I make a move to walk people to the door, but Nina's mother ambushes and corners me, saying,
"Now, say what you will, but there's only one way to make your arm better."
I know EXACTLY where this is going. I brace myself. I can handle it, actually... but I feel rude ignoring everyone else, who is leaving, to listen to a speech about how I should apply urine to my wound.
You may be surprised, but I know what she's going to say before she even says it. When Nina was little and would hang out in her house with her friends, her mother would approach the group and tell them about how urine makes your skin soft and is an integral part of any skin care routine.
By the way, I tried to be incognito but the ^$^@*#% gauze kept slipping.
Anyway, I nodded politely and extracted myself. In case you're wondering, I'm going to stick with soap, water and topical antibiotic.
***
That really was the highlight of the evening. There were a few other incidents worth mentioning, at least for the Mom stories aficionados:
-Earlier, thankfully before anyone else got there, she had a classic Mom moment: ask me a question that I've answered at least five times before, on a topic I clearly do not want to talk about. Clearly. She asked me if I was even looking for other work. I handled it well. Then, she decided to ask me again at dinner. Someone else asked a follow-up question, to which the answer was "I was very close to getting another job, but it fell through in the paperwork stage." I actually wanted my mother to say, "why didn't you tell me about it?" so I could say, "I TRIED BUT YOU INTERRUPTED ME TO ASK WHETHER I'D APPLIED TO GOOGLE!" but instead, she asked another classic Mom-type question-- one in which she requests a level of detail she can't possibly appreciate and is completely irrelevant to her. This can take the form of, in response to my saying I went to a party somewhere, asking where geographically the party was (she doesn't know the DC area). She'll interrupt stories and jokes to ask for unnecessary detail all the time. Nonetheless, she chooses to ask, "what part of the paperwork fell through?" Okay, first of all, I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT, and I seriously doubt anyone else wants to hear about it. Second, she knows the government is full of paperwork; she's always complaining about it. I can hardly keep it straight-- does she really think she'll benefit from learning what form kept me from a job?
-The why-on-earth-do-you-live-in-DC conversation (memorable because it's joined the why-do-you-wear-sunblock and why-don't-you-drink-coffee conversations in the ranks of things we've discussed ad nauseum, yet they just keep coming up.
Mom: I don't understand how you can live somewhere where there's no water. Not even a river.
A.: Um, DC is on a river.
Mom: That doesn't count. You don't have lakes you can swim in during the summer.
A.: No, no I don't. We've discussed this. I, too, would prefer to have lakes to swim in. But I don't. I don't really understand why we have to keep having this conversation.
Mom: Well, I think you'd be happier somewhere with lakes.
A.: I'm happier somewhere where I'm employable.-My mother's probably always been this way, but it's either gotten worse or I'm more sensitive to it. She couldn't sit down and eat--she was constantly a) asking people if they had enough food, b) telling them that if any one dish was finished, there was more of it, and c) noticing non-existent absences of food. She would interrupt conversations, jokes, etc. to make a comment about food. I quietly (as in, such that no one else heard, told her that everything was okay, that everyone had plenty of food. I don't think I even said, "everyone heard you the first five times you said there was more of everything." Nonetheless, she screams at me in front of everyone, telling me that I'm behaving badly and creating an uncomfortable situation. And since I'm not that big a person, I say, "actually, you're the one who just created an uncomfortable situation," but they're all close friends so it all rolls over.
-In one ear, out the other (as we're cleaning up):
Mom: Do you remember Leah?
A.: Yes, I do.
Mom: We met her last time we were in St. Petersburg.
A.: I remember her.
Mom: She had the daughter who...
A.: I SAID I REMEMBER HER.
Mom: Well, she had problems with her kidney, and she treated it by eating a lot of lingonberry.
A., mentally: At least she didn't say urine.
I believe that's all for now. Let's see if I can get through tomorrow without needing to do another blog. Peace out.
***
I spoke too soon (re: tomorrow).
Mom: I just love Bill O'Reilly. I don't see why you don't appreciate him. He really is fair and balanced. Have you even watched him enough to judge?
A.: I've watched him enough that I know I can't stand him, and that I know he's not fair and balanced.
Mom: Let's watch him tonight.
A.: No.
Mom: Why do you think you know everything? Why do you know better than Bill O'Reilly?
A.: I don't recall saying or thinking that I know everything; I know many things better than Bill O'Reilly because it's my job to know better than he does.
Mom: It's his job, too.
A.: No, it's his job to talk about things he doesn't really understand; to spin them; and to oversimplify them to the extreme. And to mis-frame any debate he engages in to further his agenda.
Mom: You have an agenda, too.
A.: I really don't. My job is to get to the bottom of an issue without politicizing it. [Some of you will recall my regular insistence that there is no clear left-right divide in foreign policy issues].
Mom: In other words, you know better than Bill O'Reilly.
A.: Yes, I believe I do.
Mom: Well, why don't you get a job on TV?
A.: [Sigh]. I don't really have an answer for that.
[Several more iterations of "you just haven't watched him enough-- why don't we watch him" and accusations that I think I know everything].
***
Earlier in the morning. I'm in the middle of yoga. My mother comes in and starts talking to me about the importance of breathing and concentration in yoga. Then she continues to talk to me. Then she turns on the TV. I ask her if she could wait until I've finished yoga until she turns on the TV. She mutes it, and continues talking to me. At, "I wonder why Nina is overweight," I lose my capacity to ignore her.
A.: You do? I don't. Look at her father.
Mom: Oh, no-- totally different situation. She has a different shape.
A.: No she doesn't. Same shape, same genetic makeup. Except she's healthy and active. [Nina works with and rides horses]. She's not even fat-- she's big boned and slightly overweight on top of that.
Dad: Well, it must bother her to be so fat.
A.: Maybe it doesn't. Maybe she's learned to live with it. I don't even understand why we're having this conversation. Why are we discussing Nina's weight, when no one's thought to comment on what a jerk [Nina's brother] Paul is.
[Paul is a piece of work. Which is really none of my business, but when it's time for Nina-bashing, I can't help but wonder why she gets all the scrutiny, while he can do know wrong. Anyway, he shows up yesterday, picks up a serving dish from the table, and starts eating directly from it, finishing it. He actually leaves as more people show up, because there's no room for him. Close friend or not, his behavior was appalling. And yet, the conversation was about Nina's weight.]
Dad: I don't think he's always like that.
A.: That's not the point. Please acknowledge that Nina's weight is for some reason more worthy of notice than his abhorrent behavior.
Dad: I just don't think she's happy looking like that.
A.: I think she looks just fine.
Mom: I don't think the way she dresses helps.
A.: I think she looked cute. And I still don't understand why this is more of an issue than her brother's being a complete ass.
***
This was just a few minutes ago. We had set out to go for a walk. I nudged my parents along, saying that if we were going, we had to go soon because I have plans at 3pm with another friend. My mother has a heightened sense of urgency when it concerns her or when she feels like rushing everyone else for no reason, but has absolutely no respect for anyone else's schedule.
We finally leave the house, at 1:40pm. First my mother stops, in the middle of the street, to assess the progress on a house that's being remodeled. I ask her to move along. Two blocks later, she stops, in the middle of the street, outside a yard sale.
A.: Mom!!!!
Mom: What is your problem?
A.: We are on our way somewhere-- can we please just go?
Mom: I am sick and tired of your tone of voice and of your not minding your own business!
A.: How is this yard sale none of my business? Did you ask either of us if we wanted to stop?
Mom: I've had it with you.
With that, she stops the car, in the middle of the street, tells my dad to drive it home, and goes to the yard sale. Dad refuses, mutters something about how she's the one who left it in the middle of the street, so it's her responsibility, and we walk home. She follows with the car shortly thereafter and gives me a speech about how obnoxious I am and how she doesn't want to talk to me.
Mom: Why does everyone have to be a prisoner to your schedule? We can go on a walk without you-- that way we could go farther away, and you can go on our walk separately.
A.: That is fine. I never said we all had to go on the same walk. It's just that we'd planned to, and I'd thought it would be nice, back when I didn't realize it would take two hours to get everyone to leave the house. [Which was my mistake, unjustifiably. It always takes hours for my family to leave the house. First, two people are ready, and the third doesn't realize he or she is being waited for; then my mother gets into something while she's waiting, and we're waiting for her; then she decides to change her shoes. Then, on the way out, she notices that her plants need watering. Finally, we're ready to leave the house, but it's a slow walk to the driveway. As the above events illustrate, even once we're in the car, there's no guarantee we're on a direct path to our destination.]
So, my parents have gone on their walk. Hopefully, by the time we come back from our respective walks, everyone will want to talk to each other again.
Do I dare hope that the rest of the day will proceed without further blog-worthy material?
Friday, September 22, 2006
Asking again will not change the answer
These are getting more frequent, aren't they?
Anyway, the theme of this blog is a recurring one with my mother. Here are the pearls of wisdom that surround it:
• When I do not know the answer to a question, asking that question repeatedly is not going to give me, or you, the answer to the question.
o This means that asking me the same question seconds, minutes, hours or even days later-- any period of time in which you KNOW I couldn't have learned the answer to the question-- is not going to give you the answer.
o Following your initial question with the same question phrased differently, is not going to give you the answer to the question to which I don't know the answer.
o If I do answer your question, but you don't like the answer, asking again is not going to change the answer.
Now, some context. Those of you who already know how crazy the last week has been for me, please skip this paragraph. I'll make it short for everyone else:
Sunday afternoon- washing machine breaks in the spin cycle, full of water and a bunch of my clothes. They're much to heavy for me to lift to take to a laundromat, and because of my wrist I can't wring them to make them lighter. That evening I have dinner with my friend Heather, and at some point I mention that I hate taking a whole day off for getting my stitches out and had I known how easy it would be I'd probably have opted to do it myself. She mentions that she's taken out stitches before and that she could do it, but I'd already made the appointment for the following morning.
First thing Monday morning, I call the people the landlord likes to service the washer, and they can't find proof that we bought it from them, so they refuse to fix it. I drop my car off for inspection on my way to my doctor's appointment, which I'd made the morning after my accident, when I'd called to inform my doctor that I'd been to the ER and to ask whether he would take the stitches out. His office assured me he would and that they'd let him know. So imagine my surprise when my doctor refuses to remove the stitches because he doesn't want the liability. Furthermore, he didn't know to look out for the report from the ER, so he didn't process any paperwork, so if I get stuck with the $1,591 ER bill, it's not his fault. He really wants to make that clear. He writes me a referral to the ER, and once my car is inspected, I make my way over there. A few hours and $50 later I get the stitches out, and the doctor and PA think my doctor is on crack. They'd never heard anything like that. Anyway, I get home from the ER, my roommate gets home from work, he calls anyone who will fix our washer, someone eventually comes, and by midnight my laundry is done (I couldn't leave it there- it'd been marinating for over 24 hours).
Over the next few days, I'm making lots of phone calls, trying to get an assurance from my insurance that I won't get stuck with the bill (they also thought my doctor was on crack-- they said they didn't see why I would get stuck with the bill), getting a fax number to which I could sent a formal complaint about my doctor, writing said formal complaint, and changing doctors. Oh and let's not omit hounding my doctor, whose office wouldn't answer the phone or return my calls, because the allergist's office, to which I'm going for testing today, said he hadn't returned a request for referral that they'd faxed almost a month ago (he did get it to them yesterday-- filling someone's voicemail is an effective technique).
***
Okay you can start reading again. So, that's been my week. And yesterday afternoon, my mother calls. As usual, she doesn't bother to ask about what's going on in my life (similar to the time I'd had an allergic reaction to a yellowjacket sting and was half-passed-out on benadryl, when she called and lectured me about how I wasn't being interactive enough) and just starts lecturing. Of course she does the requisite lecture about how I haven't called (could someone explain this to me-- she HAS my number. If she wants to talk to me, she can call me. It's not like I never call; I call when I have time). She goes as far as to describe my behavior-- this is going to be lost in translation-- as piggish. I tell her I've had a crazy week. She doesn't ask about it; instead, she starts questioning me about my vacation plans. But if I'm such a pig, why does she want to go on vacation with me?
Mom: Can you go on vacation with us in October?
A.: No, we've discussed this-- I'm going on vacation on Saturday for a week... I can't take another vacation so soon. And I'm not comfortable planning any vacations far in advance right now.
Mom: Where are you going?
A.: San Francisco.
Mom: [Sneers] Oh, yeah. Well, when can you go on vacation?
A.: I'm not comfortable planning any vacations far in advance right now.
Mom: You don't want to go on vacation with us in October?
A.: [Well, no, but that's beside the point.] I can't go on vacation in October.
Mom: Well, when will you want to go on vacation again?
A.: Mom, I don't know!
Mom: Well, think about it.
A.: This is a bad time and you're cutting out. I'll call you later.
Mom: Can you go on vacation in November?
A.: Mom!
Mom: Well, can you?
A.: You're cutting out... I'll call you later.
Mom: Think about when you'll want to go on vacation.
Anyway, the theme of this blog is a recurring one with my mother. Here are the pearls of wisdom that surround it:
• When I do not know the answer to a question, asking that question repeatedly is not going to give me, or you, the answer to the question.
o This means that asking me the same question seconds, minutes, hours or even days later-- any period of time in which you KNOW I couldn't have learned the answer to the question-- is not going to give you the answer.
o Following your initial question with the same question phrased differently, is not going to give you the answer to the question to which I don't know the answer.
o If I do answer your question, but you don't like the answer, asking again is not going to change the answer.
Now, some context. Those of you who already know how crazy the last week has been for me, please skip this paragraph. I'll make it short for everyone else:
Sunday afternoon- washing machine breaks in the spin cycle, full of water and a bunch of my clothes. They're much to heavy for me to lift to take to a laundromat, and because of my wrist I can't wring them to make them lighter. That evening I have dinner with my friend Heather, and at some point I mention that I hate taking a whole day off for getting my stitches out and had I known how easy it would be I'd probably have opted to do it myself. She mentions that she's taken out stitches before and that she could do it, but I'd already made the appointment for the following morning.
First thing Monday morning, I call the people the landlord likes to service the washer, and they can't find proof that we bought it from them, so they refuse to fix it. I drop my car off for inspection on my way to my doctor's appointment, which I'd made the morning after my accident, when I'd called to inform my doctor that I'd been to the ER and to ask whether he would take the stitches out. His office assured me he would and that they'd let him know. So imagine my surprise when my doctor refuses to remove the stitches because he doesn't want the liability. Furthermore, he didn't know to look out for the report from the ER, so he didn't process any paperwork, so if I get stuck with the $1,591 ER bill, it's not his fault. He really wants to make that clear. He writes me a referral to the ER, and once my car is inspected, I make my way over there. A few hours and $50 later I get the stitches out, and the doctor and PA think my doctor is on crack. They'd never heard anything like that. Anyway, I get home from the ER, my roommate gets home from work, he calls anyone who will fix our washer, someone eventually comes, and by midnight my laundry is done (I couldn't leave it there- it'd been marinating for over 24 hours).
Over the next few days, I'm making lots of phone calls, trying to get an assurance from my insurance that I won't get stuck with the bill (they also thought my doctor was on crack-- they said they didn't see why I would get stuck with the bill), getting a fax number to which I could sent a formal complaint about my doctor, writing said formal complaint, and changing doctors. Oh and let's not omit hounding my doctor, whose office wouldn't answer the phone or return my calls, because the allergist's office, to which I'm going for testing today, said he hadn't returned a request for referral that they'd faxed almost a month ago (he did get it to them yesterday-- filling someone's voicemail is an effective technique).
***
Okay you can start reading again. So, that's been my week. And yesterday afternoon, my mother calls. As usual, she doesn't bother to ask about what's going on in my life (similar to the time I'd had an allergic reaction to a yellowjacket sting and was half-passed-out on benadryl, when she called and lectured me about how I wasn't being interactive enough) and just starts lecturing. Of course she does the requisite lecture about how I haven't called (could someone explain this to me-- she HAS my number. If she wants to talk to me, she can call me. It's not like I never call; I call when I have time). She goes as far as to describe my behavior-- this is going to be lost in translation-- as piggish. I tell her I've had a crazy week. She doesn't ask about it; instead, she starts questioning me about my vacation plans. But if I'm such a pig, why does she want to go on vacation with me?
Mom: Can you go on vacation with us in October?
A.: No, we've discussed this-- I'm going on vacation on Saturday for a week... I can't take another vacation so soon. And I'm not comfortable planning any vacations far in advance right now.
Mom: Where are you going?
A.: San Francisco.
Mom: [Sneers] Oh, yeah. Well, when can you go on vacation?
A.: I'm not comfortable planning any vacations far in advance right now.
Mom: You don't want to go on vacation with us in October?
A.: [Well, no, but that's beside the point.] I can't go on vacation in October.
Mom: Well, when will you want to go on vacation again?
A.: Mom, I don't know!
Mom: Well, think about it.
A.: This is a bad time and you're cutting out. I'll call you later.
Mom: Can you go on vacation in November?
A.: Mom!
Mom: Well, can you?
A.: You're cutting out... I'll call you later.
Mom: Think about when you'll want to go on vacation.
Friday, September 8, 2006
One-handed Mom-blog
Since my mother is a big fan of Jim Kramer's and I caught a bit of his show tonight-- in which he slammed the stock through which my mother has decimated my retirement account-- I thought I would call her to let her know.
While I was talking to her I realized I should probably tell her about my arm. I had consciously chosen not to up to today so as not to worry her... Vanessa actually asked me today what my mom had to say about all this and I had to admit I hadn't told her. No need to cause unnecessary panic. But now that it's under control, I opted to tell her.
A.: I cut my forearm. It's fine now.
Mom: What? How?
A.: I slipped on something and reached my arm out to catch myself, but instead my arm went through the window that's on the back door.
Dad: What happened then?
A.: I called 911, they came to get me, and sewed up my arm. Now it's fine.
[I decided to skip the part about the flap and the thirteen stitches-- they just don't need to know.]
Mom: We have the most beautiful marinated mushrooms... all kinds, and I have several marinades going, with different amounts of garlic...
[Normally, for effect, I would transcribe most of the monologue that ensued, but typing with one arm isn't conducive to that kind of detail and it's not the kind of art I'm willing to suffer for.]
[Five minutes later:] Some of the mushrooms are twins... What else did I want to tell you? Did you know that the Potomac is so polluted that it has bisexual, er... hermaphrodytic fish?
A.: I didn't know that.
Dad: What happened to your arm?
A.: I cut it, it's been stitched, I'm fine.
Mom: What did Kramer say about Crystallex stock?
[And so on].
While I was talking to her I realized I should probably tell her about my arm. I had consciously chosen not to up to today so as not to worry her... Vanessa actually asked me today what my mom had to say about all this and I had to admit I hadn't told her. No need to cause unnecessary panic. But now that it's under control, I opted to tell her.
A.: I cut my forearm. It's fine now.
Mom: What? How?
A.: I slipped on something and reached my arm out to catch myself, but instead my arm went through the window that's on the back door.
Dad: What happened then?
A.: I called 911, they came to get me, and sewed up my arm. Now it's fine.
[I decided to skip the part about the flap and the thirteen stitches-- they just don't need to know.]
Mom: We have the most beautiful marinated mushrooms... all kinds, and I have several marinades going, with different amounts of garlic...
[Normally, for effect, I would transcribe most of the monologue that ensued, but typing with one arm isn't conducive to that kind of detail and it's not the kind of art I'm willing to suffer for.]
[Five minutes later:] Some of the mushrooms are twins... What else did I want to tell you? Did you know that the Potomac is so polluted that it has bisexual, er... hermaphrodytic fish?
A.: I didn't know that.
Dad: What happened to your arm?
A.: I cut it, it's been stitched, I'm fine.
Mom: What did Kramer say about Crystallex stock?
[And so on].
Friday, September 1, 2006
Good night, mom
Background: My mom had left me a message while I was out having dinner with friends. She was concerned about the weather. I called her back on my walk from the metro.
A.: It's not a big deal-- it's raining and it's windy, but nothing to worry about.
Mom: You're outside?
A.: I'll be inside in less than ten minutes.
Mom: You know, Google is hiring hundreds of people a week now.
A.: GOOD NIGHT, MOM
Mom: It just seems like such a great work environment...
A.: GOOD NIGHT, MOM
Mom: You could bring your dog to work...
A.: I'm hanging up now.
Mom: Just apply. All you have to do is apply.
A.: GOOD NIGHT!
Mom: Good night? It's not even 9pm.
A.: Being nagged about google saps my will to stay awake.
Mom: Okay, good night.
A.: It's not a big deal-- it's raining and it's windy, but nothing to worry about.
Mom: You're outside?
A.: I'll be inside in less than ten minutes.
Mom: You know, Google is hiring hundreds of people a week now.
A.: GOOD NIGHT, MOM
Mom: It just seems like such a great work environment...
A.: GOOD NIGHT, MOM
Mom: You could bring your dog to work...
A.: I'm hanging up now.
Mom: Just apply. All you have to do is apply.
A.: GOOD NIGHT!
Mom: Good night? It's not even 9pm.
A.: Being nagged about google saps my will to stay awake.
Mom: Okay, good night.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
I'm shocked!
It's of the "micromanage every aspect of A.'s life" category.
Mom: Do you have any vacation time saved up? Are you coming to visit soon?
What A. does not say: Vacation time isn't the problem; I'm not coming to visit you because you've taken to insulting me much too often, and I'm not going to go out of my way to put myself through that.
A.: I do have vacation time.
Mom: Where would you go on vacation?
A.: Well, I'm going to San Francisco the last week of September...
Mom: San Francisco??? San Francisco?!! Why on earth would you want to go to San Francisco? You've been there; what are you going to do there? Why are you going to San Francisco?
[I have been there-- I went almost six years ago and absolutely loved it. Of course, that time, I allowed my mother to manipulate me into buying her a ticket too, on account of my trip coinciding with her birthday and how dare I not be around for that. We flew in together; she went to her friend's house; I went to my friend's house; and we reconnected and returned to Boston together at the end of the trip.]
A.: There's a lot to do in San Francisco, and two of my closest friends live there. I'm really looking forward to seeing them. [And honestly, to going to a city that I've explored before, so that I don't feel the need to constantly do touristy things-- but I couldn't say that, because my mother cut me off.]
Mom: Well, that's just shocking. Shocking! I am SHOCKED.
A.: Well, you can be shocked.
Mom: I am shocked.
A.: Okay, then.
Mom: Now, did you get all the stuff I forwarded you yesterday? You have to stay informed about what's going on in the Middle East.
A.: I have access to the internet, mom.
I could go on, but I think we've had enough.
Mom: Do you have any vacation time saved up? Are you coming to visit soon?
What A. does not say: Vacation time isn't the problem; I'm not coming to visit you because you've taken to insulting me much too often, and I'm not going to go out of my way to put myself through that.
A.: I do have vacation time.
Mom: Where would you go on vacation?
A.: Well, I'm going to San Francisco the last week of September...
Mom: San Francisco??? San Francisco?!! Why on earth would you want to go to San Francisco? You've been there; what are you going to do there? Why are you going to San Francisco?
[I have been there-- I went almost six years ago and absolutely loved it. Of course, that time, I allowed my mother to manipulate me into buying her a ticket too, on account of my trip coinciding with her birthday and how dare I not be around for that. We flew in together; she went to her friend's house; I went to my friend's house; and we reconnected and returned to Boston together at the end of the trip.]
A.: There's a lot to do in San Francisco, and two of my closest friends live there. I'm really looking forward to seeing them. [And honestly, to going to a city that I've explored before, so that I don't feel the need to constantly do touristy things-- but I couldn't say that, because my mother cut me off.]
Mom: Well, that's just shocking. Shocking! I am SHOCKED.
A.: Well, you can be shocked.
Mom: I am shocked.
A.: Okay, then.
Mom: Now, did you get all the stuff I forwarded you yesterday? You have to stay informed about what's going on in the Middle East.
A.: I have access to the internet, mom.
I could go on, but I think we've had enough.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
These phone calls can be quite draining
Mom called last night to talk at me and then comment on how I
wasn't saying much. She had called me last Monday evening to ask what I was doing, and I said staying in and resting, and she said something like 'you should be out dancing.' Then last night she asked what I did on the 4th (the day after last Monday), and when I said I went to a friend's house for a bbq, she said something like, 'why go to friends' houses on weeknights?" Then she starting going on about a daughter of friends of hers who is making six figures and how when she started looking for other work, they raised her salary by another $20k. "That, my dear," Tatyana said, "is how one needs to operate." She then asked if I'd applied to Google. And then started lecturing me about how if I'm bored, it really is time to budge, especially because I have such a long commute (see, this hasn't occured to me-- the hour-long, each way commute doesn't allow enough time for reflection
on the length of one's commute). Then she asked if I'd gone swimming recently and I said no. She said, "exactly. There's nothing to do over where you live." Then she said, with some sarcasm, "talking to you has been very 'informative,' commenting on my short answers. I didn't tell her about the hornet sting that had swollen my foot to three times its natural size or the benadryl I’d just taken… wasn’t up for an ‘herbal remedies’ lecture in addition to the ones she was already giving me.
wasn't saying much. She had called me last Monday evening to ask what I was doing, and I said staying in and resting, and she said something like 'you should be out dancing.' Then last night she asked what I did on the 4th (the day after last Monday), and when I said I went to a friend's house for a bbq, she said something like, 'why go to friends' houses on weeknights?" Then she starting going on about a daughter of friends of hers who is making six figures and how when she started looking for other work, they raised her salary by another $20k. "That, my dear," Tatyana said, "is how one needs to operate." She then asked if I'd applied to Google. And then started lecturing me about how if I'm bored, it really is time to budge, especially because I have such a long commute (see, this hasn't occured to me-- the hour-long, each way commute doesn't allow enough time for reflection
on the length of one's commute). Then she asked if I'd gone swimming recently and I said no. She said, "exactly. There's nothing to do over where you live." Then she said, with some sarcasm, "talking to you has been very 'informative,' commenting on my short answers. I didn't tell her about the hornet sting that had swollen my foot to three times its natural size or the benadryl I’d just taken… wasn’t up for an ‘herbal remedies’ lecture in addition to the ones she was already giving me.
Tuesday, July 4, 2006
Dear Sir or Madam, Please do *not* consider this application for a position at Google.
Dear Sir or Madam,
Please do *not* consider this application for a position at Google; I am submitting it for the sole purpose of getting my mother off my back. You see, ever since my mother read an article on the internet about Google's incredible work environment, particularly the part about allowing pets at work, she constantly insists that I apply. I respect Google's innovation; positive work environment; and pet-friendly policies. However, I am quite happy in my chosen field of international relations analysis, which I did not see alongside programming, accounting, and law, on the list of positions for which you were hiring. Since my mother now believes that Google is the *only* place to work, writing to you is the only way to move on with my life. I apologize for wasting your time, thank you for your patience, and wish you the best in your recruiting efforts.
A.
P.S. I do not, at this time, have any pets.
***
Allow me to set the stage for that letter by exploring a few of my mother's personality traits.
#1. Mom lacks whatever part of the brain contextualizes experiences--the one that says, "sure, this worked for someone, but every situation is different, and that's not to say that everyone should drop what they're doing to do said thing." This goes back to when I was in high school, when Mom heard that a friend of a friend of a friend's son took a class called "career planning" and found it helpful. Naturally, she concluded that everyone, especially her daughter, should take career planning. Never mind that he was at a different high school; never mind that he's a different person. He found career planning helpful, so A. must take career planning.
A. rolls her eyes but takes the necessary precaution of humoring her mother by at least running the idea by her guidance counselor, who says, "absolutely not! That class is for people not going to college and your class schedule is already overloaded."
A. reports back to her mother, who has a fit. For at least months I have to hear about how if I'd only just taken career planning… Actually, I can't say for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if she reminded me of my decision not to take that class all through college, too.
Which leads us to personality characteristic #2: Mom does not suggest, she insists; furthermore, she clobbers. For example, when she shops for clothes, she kindly picks up things for me, too. More often than not, I like them, but sometimes I don't. Again, I take the necessary precaution of at least trying on the ones I think I won't like, and if I refuse because I can absolutely tell right away that I would never wear something, I hear "no, try it on" enough times that the effort to try it on is less than the effort to resist. And when I try things on that I absolutely know I will not wear, she insists that I take them with me anyway. The conversation goes something like this:
Mom: Well, just take it with you anyway.
A.: I don't *want* to. I don't have a lot of space and I don't want to take things I know I won't wear.
Mom: That style is very trendy right now.
A.: I don't care. I don't dress according to trends, and this is a case in point: no matter how trendy cropped pants are right now, short people will always look bad in them, and I don't wear them.
Mom: Well, just take them with you.
A.: No.
Mom: You never know.
A.: I do know- I don't like the way these look on me and I'm not wearing them.
Mom: Well, take them with you anyway.
Trait #3 is my mother's penchant for sweeping generalizations.
Unfortunately, my parents' neighbors have recently installed an air conditioner whose noise level is significantly grating on my parents' quality of life. My mother is retired, and on days she's home she alternates between the computer and the back yard. She'll, say, do some day trading and crash my IRA account, and then go outside and read or garden. Before, she would read or garden with the birds in the background, whereas now all she hears is the air conditioner.
My mother talked to the neighbors about it, and they agreed to use it less frequently, but it's still annoying, so she went to Newton City Hall to inquire about the City's noise ordinance. The employees there told her they knew nothing about that and she'd have to ask the police; she drove to the police station, where the employees looked at her like she was insane. She returned home, furious, and googled "noise ordinance" and the name of the town, quickly finding it.
I appreciate her frustration at the noise situation. I appreciate her aggravation at the City Hall employees, as does anyone who's ever had a parking ticket or other obligation to deal with them. My appreciation does not extend to her logic, which goes something like, "I've just come from City Hall. I know how stupid government employees are. You need to get out of the government and into the private sector."
Which sort of but not really takes us to personality trait? #4: Mom doesn't understand what I do. She does not fundamentally realize that foreign policy, international relations, public policy, are field. For example, over the holidays some close family friends were over for dinner. They asked me for my professional opinion (actually said, "in your professional opinion…") about, for lack of better term, a global situation, but the second I opened my mouth, my mother started answering the question. Sure, part of that is because she's opinionated and she likes to be the center of attention, but largely, she fails to grasp that I actually *have* a professional opinion.
When the Indian Ocean Tsunami hit, my mother was fretting about which aid agencies to support. I gave her a rundown of recommended relief agencies. Being the Fox News watcher that she is, she had told me that she wouldn't give money to the UN, so I was surprised when she said "what about Unicef?" I informed her that that was the UN's Children's Fund, but she insisted that they weren't UN-affiliated and asked me what made me think I was such an expert on humanitarian aid. Umm, the fact that I kind of am an expert on humanitarian aid makes me think I'm an expert on humanitarian aid. I mean, she went to my graduation; one of the ceremonies she sat through was the awarding of a Certificate in Human Rights and Humanitarian Emergencies.
There are other examples, but the gist is, when I do comment, usually in response to a comment she makes, on a global situation or issue, she's incredulous at the level of detail and substance of the comment and asks me where I get off speaking so authoritatively about it. She just doesn't get that I am a professional, in a field.
Which is a shame, because in what is a huge step in my personal growth, I'm love my field. In grad school, I often wondered whether my two years and $50k were going to anything I couldn't just get from reading the paper, and now I absolutely realize that they were. I'm not saying that non-professionals shouldn't be interested or informed; I'm not saying that they shouldn't have opinions. I'm saying that I've realized from listening to those opinions that I do have a heightened sense of understanding of international systems that allows me to—who knew—*analyze* issues intelligently and contextually. Yes, I've been unhappy at my job and that unhappiness has at times made me wonder, "why didn't I become a professional dog walker?" But when I go to conferences, or hit on parts of my job that are as they should be, or read Foreign Policy magazine, I realize that I really love this field, I understand it well, and that I've made the right career choice. Which for me is, like I said, huge. And it would be nice if my mother could join me in celebrating that development, but to expect as much would be to live in a fantasy world.
I could go on and on with traits, really, and just traits relevant to the story, but I'll stop after one more: Mom's lack of sense of urgency; rather, Mom's lack of respect for *other people's* urgency. When she has a sudden attack of "we're in a hurry! Everyone hustle!" she expects everyone to be as impatient as she is for no apparent reason. I kid you not. We were in Portugal, having a peaceful dinner at an outdoor café, when she all of a sudden decided that we were in a hurry to get back for a summary of the day's market activity on CNN and started pressing us to eat faster. The pressing was accompanied by other childish behavior. Contrast that with a matter of my saying, "this is a very bad time to talk, I have to go right now, I'll call you back." In those cases, I hear, "well, let me just tell you this… we were going for a walk earlier today and we saw this rabbit!" or "when will you call me back?" or "why is it a bad time?" Not even "it's a bad time because my throat is very sore and I'm very tired, could we continue the rabbit conversation tomorrow" will register. I'll remind you that this is the woman who, years ago when I was in Wales, came home to the following message on her answering machine: "I have a feeling you were planning on calling me tonight, but I'm not feeling well so I'm going to go to bed early—I think I have a chance of fighting this cold if I just get a good night's sleep—so please don't call when you get home; we'll talk tomorrow." She responded by calling me at midnight my time to tell me she got the message.
***
But now, back to the present. About a month ago, I was on the phone with my parents:
Mom: I just read this article about Google—it's such a great place to work. You won't believe this—you can bring your pets to work. Go on their website- apply for a job at Google.
A.: Okay.
I go on their website (necessary precaution), and find that one doesn't just 'apply to Google;' one has to actually pick a profession and then apply within that category. And since I'm not an accountant, or lawyer, or any of the twenty or so professions listed on the site, my application to Google ended there. Or so I thought.
One week later:
Mom: So, did you apply to Google?
A.: I went on their website, but you can only submit your resume to specific positions- there's no way to submit it generally.
Mom: Yes there is.
A.: Well, I didn't see it.
Mom: Well, go back and apply to Google.
A.: Mom, they hire certain categories of people, and *foreign policy analyst* was NOT one of them.
Mom: You shouldn't close yourself off to any possibilities.
A.: I've long ago closed myself off to the possibility of being a lawyer or accountant.
Mom: Just apply. Just send them a letter telling them about yourself.
A.: I don't really have time or energy to write cover letters for jobs I don't want.
Mom: I'm not saying you have to take the job. I'm just saying you need to apply. It sounds like it's a great working environment. You could bring your pets to work!
A.: I understand your opinion. You want me to apply. I understand what you want me to do. Can we move on now?
Mom: Will you apply?
A.: No. I'm going to bed. Goodnight.
Not quite one more week later
Mom: Where are you? [the requisite question]
A.: Walking home from the gym. I had a dentist appt so I didn't go into
work.
Mom: How's your job search going?
A.: Very well, actually… I have two possibilities that look promising…
Mom: Did you apply to Google?
A.: No, I did not apply to Google. But let me tell you about these other
two…
Mom: Why didn't you apply to Google?
A.: Because I don't want to work at Google.
Mom: I'm not saying you have to take the job. Just apply. Just send them a letter telling them about yourself.
A.: We've had this conversation.
Mom: But you could bring your pets to work!
A.: I don't want to work at Google.
Mom: Listen to me—I know what a huge difference a positive work environment makes.
A.: So do I.
Mom: You're unhappy at work.
A.: I am applying, with some knock-on-wood progress, to jobs IN MY FIELD.
Mom: Google has jobs in your field. You never know. You shouldn't close yourself off to any possibilities.
A.: I'm closing myself off to the possibility of wasting my time applying to a job that I don't want and that I would be extremely unlikely to get.
Mom: Just send them a letter telling them about yourself. Humor me.
A.: I do not have time to write a cover letter for a job I do not want. You can write the cover letter.
Mom: You know very well I can't write.
A.: This conversation is over. Can we please talk about something else?
Mom: Just *write* them.
A.: Do you understand that YOU want me to work for Google, but I do NOT want to work for Google?
Mom: I'm not saying you have to take the job. I'm just asking to you humor me and write them a letter.
A.: No.
Mom: You have to get out of the government, because, having just been to City Hall, I know that everyone who works for the government is an idiot.
This conversation goes on for about twenty minutes before I'm able to break it off and insist that the conversation is over. I am so angry that I call my dad at work.
A.: What is *wrong* with her? Why can't she just suggest things and leave it for the suggestee to then make her own decision?
Dad: Google again?
A. You guessed it. Why? Why can't she leave it for me to decide?
Dad: That's what I told her.
***
In case you're wondering, I have not applied to Google.
Please do *not* consider this application for a position at Google; I am submitting it for the sole purpose of getting my mother off my back. You see, ever since my mother read an article on the internet about Google's incredible work environment, particularly the part about allowing pets at work, she constantly insists that I apply. I respect Google's innovation; positive work environment; and pet-friendly policies. However, I am quite happy in my chosen field of international relations analysis, which I did not see alongside programming, accounting, and law, on the list of positions for which you were hiring. Since my mother now believes that Google is the *only* place to work, writing to you is the only way to move on with my life. I apologize for wasting your time, thank you for your patience, and wish you the best in your recruiting efforts.
A.
P.S. I do not, at this time, have any pets.
***
Allow me to set the stage for that letter by exploring a few of my mother's personality traits.
#1. Mom lacks whatever part of the brain contextualizes experiences--the one that says, "sure, this worked for someone, but every situation is different, and that's not to say that everyone should drop what they're doing to do said thing." This goes back to when I was in high school, when Mom heard that a friend of a friend of a friend's son took a class called "career planning" and found it helpful. Naturally, she concluded that everyone, especially her daughter, should take career planning. Never mind that he was at a different high school; never mind that he's a different person. He found career planning helpful, so A. must take career planning.
A. rolls her eyes but takes the necessary precaution of humoring her mother by at least running the idea by her guidance counselor, who says, "absolutely not! That class is for people not going to college and your class schedule is already overloaded."
A. reports back to her mother, who has a fit. For at least months I have to hear about how if I'd only just taken career planning… Actually, I can't say for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if she reminded me of my decision not to take that class all through college, too.
Which leads us to personality characteristic #2: Mom does not suggest, she insists; furthermore, she clobbers. For example, when she shops for clothes, she kindly picks up things for me, too. More often than not, I like them, but sometimes I don't. Again, I take the necessary precaution of at least trying on the ones I think I won't like, and if I refuse because I can absolutely tell right away that I would never wear something, I hear "no, try it on" enough times that the effort to try it on is less than the effort to resist. And when I try things on that I absolutely know I will not wear, she insists that I take them with me anyway. The conversation goes something like this:
Mom: Well, just take it with you anyway.
A.: I don't *want* to. I don't have a lot of space and I don't want to take things I know I won't wear.
Mom: That style is very trendy right now.
A.: I don't care. I don't dress according to trends, and this is a case in point: no matter how trendy cropped pants are right now, short people will always look bad in them, and I don't wear them.
Mom: Well, just take them with you.
A.: No.
Mom: You never know.
A.: I do know- I don't like the way these look on me and I'm not wearing them.
Mom: Well, take them with you anyway.
Trait #3 is my mother's penchant for sweeping generalizations.
Unfortunately, my parents' neighbors have recently installed an air conditioner whose noise level is significantly grating on my parents' quality of life. My mother is retired, and on days she's home she alternates between the computer and the back yard. She'll, say, do some day trading and crash my IRA account, and then go outside and read or garden. Before, she would read or garden with the birds in the background, whereas now all she hears is the air conditioner.
My mother talked to the neighbors about it, and they agreed to use it less frequently, but it's still annoying, so she went to Newton City Hall to inquire about the City's noise ordinance. The employees there told her they knew nothing about that and she'd have to ask the police; she drove to the police station, where the employees looked at her like she was insane. She returned home, furious, and googled "noise ordinance" and the name of the town, quickly finding it.
I appreciate her frustration at the noise situation. I appreciate her aggravation at the City Hall employees, as does anyone who's ever had a parking ticket or other obligation to deal with them. My appreciation does not extend to her logic, which goes something like, "I've just come from City Hall. I know how stupid government employees are. You need to get out of the government and into the private sector."
Which sort of but not really takes us to personality trait? #4: Mom doesn't understand what I do. She does not fundamentally realize that foreign policy, international relations, public policy, are field. For example, over the holidays some close family friends were over for dinner. They asked me for my professional opinion (actually said, "in your professional opinion…") about, for lack of better term, a global situation, but the second I opened my mouth, my mother started answering the question. Sure, part of that is because she's opinionated and she likes to be the center of attention, but largely, she fails to grasp that I actually *have* a professional opinion.
When the Indian Ocean Tsunami hit, my mother was fretting about which aid agencies to support. I gave her a rundown of recommended relief agencies. Being the Fox News watcher that she is, she had told me that she wouldn't give money to the UN, so I was surprised when she said "what about Unicef?" I informed her that that was the UN's Children's Fund, but she insisted that they weren't UN-affiliated and asked me what made me think I was such an expert on humanitarian aid. Umm, the fact that I kind of am an expert on humanitarian aid makes me think I'm an expert on humanitarian aid. I mean, she went to my graduation; one of the ceremonies she sat through was the awarding of a Certificate in Human Rights and Humanitarian Emergencies.
There are other examples, but the gist is, when I do comment, usually in response to a comment she makes, on a global situation or issue, she's incredulous at the level of detail and substance of the comment and asks me where I get off speaking so authoritatively about it. She just doesn't get that I am a professional, in a field.
Which is a shame, because in what is a huge step in my personal growth, I'm love my field. In grad school, I often wondered whether my two years and $50k were going to anything I couldn't just get from reading the paper, and now I absolutely realize that they were. I'm not saying that non-professionals shouldn't be interested or informed; I'm not saying that they shouldn't have opinions. I'm saying that I've realized from listening to those opinions that I do have a heightened sense of understanding of international systems that allows me to—who knew—*analyze* issues intelligently and contextually. Yes, I've been unhappy at my job and that unhappiness has at times made me wonder, "why didn't I become a professional dog walker?" But when I go to conferences, or hit on parts of my job that are as they should be, or read Foreign Policy magazine, I realize that I really love this field, I understand it well, and that I've made the right career choice. Which for me is, like I said, huge. And it would be nice if my mother could join me in celebrating that development, but to expect as much would be to live in a fantasy world.
I could go on and on with traits, really, and just traits relevant to the story, but I'll stop after one more: Mom's lack of sense of urgency; rather, Mom's lack of respect for *other people's* urgency. When she has a sudden attack of "we're in a hurry! Everyone hustle!" she expects everyone to be as impatient as she is for no apparent reason. I kid you not. We were in Portugal, having a peaceful dinner at an outdoor café, when she all of a sudden decided that we were in a hurry to get back for a summary of the day's market activity on CNN and started pressing us to eat faster. The pressing was accompanied by other childish behavior. Contrast that with a matter of my saying, "this is a very bad time to talk, I have to go right now, I'll call you back." In those cases, I hear, "well, let me just tell you this… we were going for a walk earlier today and we saw this rabbit!" or "when will you call me back?" or "why is it a bad time?" Not even "it's a bad time because my throat is very sore and I'm very tired, could we continue the rabbit conversation tomorrow" will register. I'll remind you that this is the woman who, years ago when I was in Wales, came home to the following message on her answering machine: "I have a feeling you were planning on calling me tonight, but I'm not feeling well so I'm going to go to bed early—I think I have a chance of fighting this cold if I just get a good night's sleep—so please don't call when you get home; we'll talk tomorrow." She responded by calling me at midnight my time to tell me she got the message.
***
But now, back to the present. About a month ago, I was on the phone with my parents:
Mom: I just read this article about Google—it's such a great place to work. You won't believe this—you can bring your pets to work. Go on their website- apply for a job at Google.
A.: Okay.
I go on their website (necessary precaution), and find that one doesn't just 'apply to Google;' one has to actually pick a profession and then apply within that category. And since I'm not an accountant, or lawyer, or any of the twenty or so professions listed on the site, my application to Google ended there. Or so I thought.
One week later:
Mom: So, did you apply to Google?
A.: I went on their website, but you can only submit your resume to specific positions- there's no way to submit it generally.
Mom: Yes there is.
A.: Well, I didn't see it.
Mom: Well, go back and apply to Google.
A.: Mom, they hire certain categories of people, and *foreign policy analyst* was NOT one of them.
Mom: You shouldn't close yourself off to any possibilities.
A.: I've long ago closed myself off to the possibility of being a lawyer or accountant.
Mom: Just apply. Just send them a letter telling them about yourself.
A.: I don't really have time or energy to write cover letters for jobs I don't want.
Mom: I'm not saying you have to take the job. I'm just saying you need to apply. It sounds like it's a great working environment. You could bring your pets to work!
A.: I understand your opinion. You want me to apply. I understand what you want me to do. Can we move on now?
Mom: Will you apply?
A.: No. I'm going to bed. Goodnight.
Not quite one more week later
Mom: Where are you? [the requisite question]
A.: Walking home from the gym. I had a dentist appt so I didn't go into
work.
Mom: How's your job search going?
A.: Very well, actually… I have two possibilities that look promising…
Mom: Did you apply to Google?
A.: No, I did not apply to Google. But let me tell you about these other
two…
Mom: Why didn't you apply to Google?
A.: Because I don't want to work at Google.
Mom: I'm not saying you have to take the job. Just apply. Just send them a letter telling them about yourself.
A.: We've had this conversation.
Mom: But you could bring your pets to work!
A.: I don't want to work at Google.
Mom: Listen to me—I know what a huge difference a positive work environment makes.
A.: So do I.
Mom: You're unhappy at work.
A.: I am applying, with some knock-on-wood progress, to jobs IN MY FIELD.
Mom: Google has jobs in your field. You never know. You shouldn't close yourself off to any possibilities.
A.: I'm closing myself off to the possibility of wasting my time applying to a job that I don't want and that I would be extremely unlikely to get.
Mom: Just send them a letter telling them about yourself. Humor me.
A.: I do not have time to write a cover letter for a job I do not want. You can write the cover letter.
Mom: You know very well I can't write.
A.: This conversation is over. Can we please talk about something else?
Mom: Just *write* them.
A.: Do you understand that YOU want me to work for Google, but I do NOT want to work for Google?
Mom: I'm not saying you have to take the job. I'm just asking to you humor me and write them a letter.
A.: No.
Mom: You have to get out of the government, because, having just been to City Hall, I know that everyone who works for the government is an idiot.
This conversation goes on for about twenty minutes before I'm able to break it off and insist that the conversation is over. I am so angry that I call my dad at work.
A.: What is *wrong* with her? Why can't she just suggest things and leave it for the suggestee to then make her own decision?
Dad: Google again?
A. You guessed it. Why? Why can't she leave it for me to decide?
Dad: That's what I told her.
***
In case you're wondering, I have not applied to Google.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
The feta flies
I was home for the holidays (I have to phrase it that way to be complicit in the "war on christmas"). My parents had just picked me up at the airport, we were sitting around the table catching up.
My parents are not, have never been, socially conservative. We were talking about the news- in fact, we had just discussed something we all found ridiculous. Then I brought up the then-recent ruling on "intelligent design"- how this religious, conservative judge slammed its proponents- and my mother starts going off on how he's wrong and how evolutionists don't understand anything.
My mother has never taken even the most basic biology, so she is full of misconceptions (as we all are about some things), but-- and this is a recurring theme with various people I know-- has no idea that she has no idea. So she starts going off on how there's no way a world this complex could have evolved, and am I saying that we evolved from an ameoba, and how mutations are usually negative so how can positive evolution happen...
At which point I couldn't take it and told her she didn't know what she was talking about. Which, while true, is never taken well, so it was my mistake. But beyond just not taking that statement well, which was her right, she loses her temper completely and starts screaming about how I'm the one who doesn't know what I'm talking about, etc.
My father and I both try to calm her down (this is a familiar routine, including the part where my mother starts screaming at my father to not butt in, that she was having a conversation with me, and my father says, I thought we were all having a conversation, and everything we say just makes her angrier). So it escalates and escalates. My mother gets so angry that she starts shaking and looks around, as if she’s looking for something. Apparently, she was looking for something to throw at my dad, because she finds a small piece of feta left on her plate and flings it at him.
***
My father can be pretty slow on the uptake, but he's also surprisingly insightful. He's put names on certain Mom behaviors-- such as how, whenever we leave to go somewhere, she decides she wants to water the plants then and there on the way out, and then she yells at everyone else about why we're late. He also recently coined "her Saturday morning fit"-- which is a generic version of what happened that day: everything's going fine, when all of the sudden my mother decides to pick a fight. That usually involves noticing that there's a dirty glass on the table and starting to yell about how she's always picking up after everyone. And it's not anything to take at face value (although I imagine she does do quite a bit of picking up) because it's stuff like "what's that [pointing at parsley]? why is that there? that's been there since yesterday" when it's been there for about five minutes, and I just took it out because I'm using it to cook. She does do it about every Saturday. It's getting old. And I'm learning to accept it and just roll my eyes, without arguing.
***
She hasn't let go of the evolution thing. From time to time, she'll rekindle the argument, including when I'm trying to sleep. She'll say, "how can we make you see that evolution is just not possible?"
I don't say anything. That seems to work, and we can move on, discuss other things.
My parents are not, have never been, socially conservative. We were talking about the news- in fact, we had just discussed something we all found ridiculous. Then I brought up the then-recent ruling on "intelligent design"- how this religious, conservative judge slammed its proponents- and my mother starts going off on how he's wrong and how evolutionists don't understand anything.
My mother has never taken even the most basic biology, so she is full of misconceptions (as we all are about some things), but-- and this is a recurring theme with various people I know-- has no idea that she has no idea. So she starts going off on how there's no way a world this complex could have evolved, and am I saying that we evolved from an ameoba, and how mutations are usually negative so how can positive evolution happen...
At which point I couldn't take it and told her she didn't know what she was talking about. Which, while true, is never taken well, so it was my mistake. But beyond just not taking that statement well, which was her right, she loses her temper completely and starts screaming about how I'm the one who doesn't know what I'm talking about, etc.
My father and I both try to calm her down (this is a familiar routine, including the part where my mother starts screaming at my father to not butt in, that she was having a conversation with me, and my father says, I thought we were all having a conversation, and everything we say just makes her angrier). So it escalates and escalates. My mother gets so angry that she starts shaking and looks around, as if she’s looking for something. Apparently, she was looking for something to throw at my dad, because she finds a small piece of feta left on her plate and flings it at him.
***
My father can be pretty slow on the uptake, but he's also surprisingly insightful. He's put names on certain Mom behaviors-- such as how, whenever we leave to go somewhere, she decides she wants to water the plants then and there on the way out, and then she yells at everyone else about why we're late. He also recently coined "her Saturday morning fit"-- which is a generic version of what happened that day: everything's going fine, when all of the sudden my mother decides to pick a fight. That usually involves noticing that there's a dirty glass on the table and starting to yell about how she's always picking up after everyone. And it's not anything to take at face value (although I imagine she does do quite a bit of picking up) because it's stuff like "what's that [pointing at parsley]? why is that there? that's been there since yesterday" when it's been there for about five minutes, and I just took it out because I'm using it to cook. She does do it about every Saturday. It's getting old. And I'm learning to accept it and just roll my eyes, without arguing.
***
She hasn't let go of the evolution thing. From time to time, she'll rekindle the argument, including when I'm trying to sleep. She'll say, "how can we make you see that evolution is just not possible?"
I don't say anything. That seems to work, and we can move on, discuss other things.
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