I guess the thing I gotta try to remember is that they still see us as the kids who tried to stick our sandwiches in to the VCR, our fingers in our nose, and our forks in the light socket.
With the window closed.
My mom is also afraid that I have died in every major catastrophe within an 800 mile radius. Plane lands in the Hudson river? I am getting phone calls to make sure I’m safe. It doesn’t matter that I wasn’t on a plane or in the Hudson at the time, I still need to call and tell her I’m alive. A power plant explodes 4 hours away in bumblefuck, CT? I need to call her and let her know that I was not in another city and state at the exact moment that the explosion ocurred. A blizzard in Vermont? I need to call her and tell her I have plenty of bread and milk on hand.
See that’s the funny thing - mom didn’t want me driving after dark because it was “too dangerous”, but flying airplanes? No problem. I’m forced down what is essentially someone’s backyard due to bad weather? She’s not worried because she “knows” I’m a great pilot, but I’m still supposed to be home before dark because… it’s dark. 
pbbth - my mom does that - but back when I worked in radio, she also held me responsible for everything that happened on radio.
"Did you hear what that Rush Limbaugh said? I want you to tell him . . ."
It didn’t matter if that person wasn’t on my radio station schedule, work for the same broadcasting company, nada. She was also constantly shocked when I didn’t hear about some obscure story she heard on the news on a different station.
“Um, mom? I actually don’t always listen to the radio at work . . .and if I do - I have to listen to one of our stations, it’s just standard procedure.”
Did she worry about you flying after dark?
Regards,
Shodan
BWAHAHAHAHA… sorry. Couldn’t help it.
My mother keeps pointing out places I could go to meet nice men, or that her new doctor is a nice young man, etc. Which I wouldn’t mind except that I’ve been in a committed relationship for 5 years. “Well,” tearfully, “I just think you should get to have somebody sweep you off your feet.” She thinks my relationship (four of those years living together) is insufficiently romantic, so she wants to be a homewrecker.
My mother once yelled at a flock of ducks to look both ways before crossing the street!
And did they?
Regards,
Shodan
When I see a stray dog in the street, I roll down my window and yell at it to “go home.”
No - but I sure did!
Heh.
I was forced forced, I tell you! to wear a dickey from like 7th grade through parts of High school. Look, you don’t know what it is like to have an ex-nun for a Mom. that look she’d give me …
I’m pretty sure that was one of the reasons I was such a dorkwad then.
I’m thinking a dickie would be an AWESOME gift for today’s teens. The look on their face(s) would be priceless.
" What is it?"
" A dickie!"
Giggles. " A what?"
“A dickie!”
“What do you do with it?”
“You wear it! Your grandpa wore a dickie! Your grandma too! Everyone back then just loved dickies!!111!!! There coming back in fashion, lemme tell you! Be the first on the block to have a dickie!”
They’ll think you lost your mind.
BOT,
My mom insists to this day the best hair cut I ever had was the Dorothy Hamill. In 2nd grade. Apparently, its been a Bad Hair Day since then.
My gray hair is a personal affront to my mother. I told her I’d dye it green. She said that was fine, as it would make me look younger.
OMG, I got my hair cut into a Dorothy Hamill in third grade. Problem was, I’d had waist-length hair my whole life, and mom was tired of combing pine sap out of it (bit of a tomboy, I was). So, I lost, like, 2.5 feet of hair in one day.
AND, my hair was so thick, and my glasses so wire-rimmed, that I ended up looking significantly more like this than this.
And the entire class, including the teacher, laughed at me when I walked into class the next day 
Yes, the hair thing is something my mom will not give up.
My mother thinks everywhere is dangerous. I mentioned the other day that I thought I’d go to Chinatown on the weekend to do some shopping.
Her: ALONE?!
Me: (Trying to explain that Chinatown in the middle of the day is just a shopping district, not dangerous, etc.)
Her: Yes, but I don’t like you going alone.
Me: (joking) Forget it, Ma, it’s Chinatown.
Her: blank look
Me: You know, “Chinatown,” the movie? Jack Nicholson? Classic…nevermind.
Not a parent, but a grandparent.
My grandma cannot be convinced that I’m not starving the second I wake up, because she heads straight for the kitchen first thing pretty much. Every time I visit, I have to go through this with her. “Yes, Grandma, I’m just having some coffee now. I’ll eat later. I’m not hungry first thing in the morning. Really, I’m okay, this is just how I am.” I simply do not wake up hungry. I never have. Her own daughter, my mom, gave up with me on this about twenty years ago. I’m going to be 34 next month, I think I know when I’m hungry.
Grandma, I love you, but you can drive me nuts sometimes.
My dad still maintains the fiction with us 4 kids that he and my mom were married before we were born. I can’t see any reason to disillusion him on that, especially as none of us care one way or another, except that it’s interesting to hear his stories about that time period. I don’t think he out and out LIES about anything, but I can see him temporally rearranging events to fit the scenario. I think it’s sweet. 
Maybe you should change your username to Sleeping Beauty 
With my mom, it’s the hair thing. She chopped my hair from waist length to a boys’ haircut when I was six and she got tired of detangling it and has wanted me to wear it short since. Not as much of an issue since she’s 400 miles away now and legally blind. 
For a long time, it was “when are you going to settle down, get married and have kids?” from both parents. Even when I was living with someone (and even though he had kids) they wanted to see a ring. Mom wanted god’s blessing on the whole mess. Dad would just take me aside and give me the serious lecture about the legal benefits of marriage, how it would be a contract to protect me financially if something would happen. Not much of an issue anymore since the time for kids is pretty much past, but once in a while, Mom will still inquire.
Hey nick, did you get that email about the job I sent you?
Yeah dad. Not interested.
Well, I think you should give it a shot. It sounds really neat and is across the country in a nice place.
I’m fine dad.
Rinse and repeat every few weeks. Its nice that he thinks I could be doing better, but I am in fact 30 now.
My mom also seems determined to wring some sort of commiseration out of me by telling me who died if there’s a remote possibility she, my sister or I might know them. “overly, did you hear?”
“Uh, hear what?”
“Your high school friend’s uncle’s grandmother died.”
“Oh.”
“Isn’t that sad? Heart attack. What a tragedy.”
Noncommital grunt from me
“Overly! Isn’t that sad?”
“Well, yeah. I’m sure that family is upset. But have you met this person?”
“No. But it’s still sad.”
She also hates it when I use the bathroom at rest stops, especially if I’m traveling alone. She’s convinced a trucker will rape me. “Now remember, overly, only stop in Mount Vernon. You know how dicey those rest stops are, and a woman traveling on her own/with smaller children can’t be too careful.”