My mom came to visit over the weekend, which is typically a delightful girly time wherein we do fancy things like get mango margaritas down the street, go for long walks, and make a fun dinner or two that enables me to bust out my cheese platter and cheese knives, colander, and spice rack. BUT, weekends with mom also tend to devolve into much exasperation and groaning on my part due to her numerous complaints about her health and refusal to do a %#&%*?#@! thing about any of them. I get it mom, you’re going to die, but do you have to, like, help death along? Also, fighting over the check and pointing out that 15% is beyond a non-acceptable tip.
ANYWAY.
Looking back on our weekend, there were a number of entertaining conversational tidbits that I thought merit sharing. Tidbits like…
Me: “Hi, mom! You made it!”
Mom: “Let me see your hand!”
Me: “Dude. Are you serious right now?”
Mom: “Oh. Nevermind. So, hiiiii…”
Apparently, it turns out, my family thought I’d come back from Alaska engaged. HA! Between seeing whales and glaciers and eagles and mountains and snow and eating lots of seafood, I don’t think my brain could have handled a proposal on top of it all. But, despite a lack of news to the contrary and despite having seen my hands in several HUNDREDS of our vacation pictures, my family still somehow thought there was a ring on one of them. WHALES, people. WHALES! Not rings! Jeez.
Mom: “Hold still for a second, there’s a smudge by your eye.”
Me: “That’s not a smudge. It’s an age spot.”
Mom: “No, it’s not…oh. Hehehehe. Whoopsie.”
This is one You’re Officially Old moment that I hadn’t anticipated, especially since I’ve talked about said age spot with mom before. The upside is that I can happily report that I have acquired the Clinique Clinical Dark Spot Corrector (duty free no less thanks to some downtime at Sea-Tac!), and am already seeing results despite this disheartening mom moment.
Mom: “Do you think they’ll have that soup I had last year? The one with tomato. What’s it called?”
Me: “Gazpacho.”
Mom: “Yeah, Geshhhh-tapo.”
Me: “Gestapo?”
Mom: “Yeah. That.”
Me: “Nope. That’s not it.”
My mom, for all her “I’ll-just-eat-oatmeal-today” refusal to eat like a normal human being, actually enjoys going to the Taste and eating. I took her last year and she ate more than she put away at Thanksgiving. So, we went back again this year, once more exposing her to taste sensations like Gestapo.
Mom: “I mean, I think the PRIDE parade is great and all, but why do they get a parade for being gay? I don’t get a parade for being not gay.”
Me: “Ummm, okay. So I’m not really the expert here, but I guess it’s like….no one’s ever told you that you couldn’t get married or celebrate your lifestyle.”
Mom: “Oh, so it’s about gay marriage.”
Me: “Sort of, but no. I think it’s about celebrating overcoming obstacles and embracing who you are. Think of the civil rights movement and how we have a holiday on Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Well, just like people of other races, gay people are people too. You know?”
Mom: “Yeah…I really like those gay cowboys and their line dancing! They were the best. Oh, and the girls in tutus on the motorcycles! Too funny!”
She’s trying. Really. In fact, I’m amazed at how far she’s come. When we went to the PRIDE parade last year, she did in fact love it. More than anything, she was shocked by the clothing, or lack thereof, and by many a man’s skillful ability to strut in heels. She had fun and, I think, even surprised herself. Still, I’m not certain she knows what’s really happening there beyond the spectacle of it all.
Mom: “Can I get all of this combined into one bag for carrying?”
Whole Foods Cashier: “You most certainly can! Look at you! Such a good city person!”
After seeing her appreciation for the farmer’s market, I introduced my mom to Whole Foods. She loved it immediately, then swiftly learned why it’s also called Whole Paycheck. Girlfriend went crazy up in there! Organic hand-cut almond soap? Check. A berry-laden pie weighing more than my handbag? Check (even after I specifically warned her not to make eye contact with the bakery). Spicy tuna and Philly sushi rolls? Check (who knew she ate Gestapo and sushi?!). FOUR bags of crispy apple chips? Check. A veritable bin of broccoli crunch from the deli that cost $7.91 alone? Check.
All in all, she was happy with her purchases albeit suffering from buyer’s remorse. Buoyed from being called a “city person” by my new gay boyfriend (he got all angsty with the biz-natch stroller mom who cut in front of us and who I just finished loudly calling a “whore,” then shared his hate with us for the double-wide strollers clogging up our quaint sidewalks. Turns out, he too wishes all the mommies would go back to Andersonville and Lincoln Park!), I didn’t want to blow her cover and sully the replete happiness with which she floated out of the store.
What can I say? My mom’s a character. A character who annoys the ever-living fuck out of me at times, but who I also love dearly.
Filed under: awesomeness, city encounters, creative time management, engaging boyfriends, family, mothering, things people say, whale hugs, work in progress, you're a card by Nic
2 Comments »