-Wear the hearing-aid, m’kay? It took quite a bit for me to actually get you, kicking and screaming, to the appointments to make sure you got one. And the follow up visits to make sure it fit properly and personally showing you how to change the batteries several times. Never mind that I live in Cleveland OH and you in Yorktown VA; it’s not a drive-across the-street for me to actually show up there to do this for you.
-Please, try to remember my wife’s name. We’ve been married for fifteen years. It’s terribly uncomfortable when we call you every Sunday and you ask her “how are your parents… um… ahhhh…”
Mom and I aren’t talking anymore, vunderbob’s reason the same as mine, but prior to her shedding her mortal coil, she was the consummate denier. She still smoked after being diagnosed with arteriosclerosis, still ate poorly after being diagnosed with diabetes, still remained sedentary until she was a double amputee, and could no longer get around.
She stuck it out with my dad, who denied her even the base comforts, such as air conditioning, cable television, a dishwasher and clothes washer and dryer, in favor of his miserly ways. She washed clothes in 1981, in the back yard, in an old open top washer with a roller on the top, hooked up to a garden hose, to look in on it, you would have thought we lived in rural Virginia in the 50’s, instead of suburban Chicago in the 80’s.
Still, she did what she wanted to do, and it killed her, slowly, and painfully, at the ripe old age of 54. Damn stupid, ma.
There’s just something about saying this to one’s own mother that seems…well…wrong.
It’s even more wrong when your own mother is the one implying you need to get out there and start a’humpin’! :shiver:
I, too, might once have been tempted to pit my mom (with whom I actually get along quite well, though I certainly have pitted her here before) for similar issues; when I moved back home (and in with her, temporarily) after 12 years out of state, I gained 15 lbs. in just a couple of months. My sister, who’d been living with her for 3 years by then, had gained even more weight. (Before I moved back home, my mom would often discuss the “problem” of my sister’s burgeoning butt with me on the phone, and I’d think to myself, “It’s probably the fact that you fry everything, and fry it in bacon grease at that (tho’ I still maintain that there’s no better way to fry apples)!” Then, when I began to gain weight in my mom’s house, Mom went out and got me a 6-pack of Slim Fast, saying, “I thought you could take it for your lunch.” And yes, I was sitting there thinking, “It ain’t the lunch that’s the problem–it’s the dinners you make!”)
We’ve always been a food-appreciative family, so eventually, I joined in the family food fun and started cooking yummy, elaborate, fat-filled breakfasts for the three of us on Saturday mornings and, since my sister seemed to have a huge appetite, I would make and serve her portions of food that I thought she’d appreciate. Didn’t want to leave her feeling hungry, after all.
And she’d whatever I made and put in front of her with gusto. Finally, one day as I presented her with her Saturday breakfast plate, she cried, “You’re OVERFEEDING me!” Like she was a pet goldfish or an animal in the zoo. 
And that’s when the clouds parted for me. After all, if I wasn’t willing to take responsibility for my sister’s weight gain, I could hardly blame my mom and her fried apples for mine.
I will say, though, that had my mother ever behaved like overlyverbose’s mom, I might have flushed the food down the toilet for her.
:eek:
It’s a bad idea to try and get sympathy by telling me about divorcing Dad because you were having an affair right after I break up with my girlfriend for sleeping around.
Fake crying doesn’t help either. Really, it doesn’t.
Do you want to know the real reason why I don’t want you to do my taxes anymore despite the fact that your professional knowledge can save me hundreds? Because I don’t want the entire extended family knowing how much money my husband and I make. You are incapable of keeping any personal information that I share with you (or that anyone shares with you) to yourself. This has been proven over and over again. Therefore, I rarely call you and haven’t spoken freely to you in about a decade.
Please stop rewriting family history to make yourself look better. You were an abusive, neglectful parent. Stop making excuses and face up to it already. As long as you continue to act like my siblings and I are ungrateful brats for having the temerity to suggest that our childhoods were less than Brady-Bunch-perfect, we’re going to distance you. The proper phrase to follow “I know I wasn’t the best parent in the world” is “and I’m sorry”, NOT “but I did the best I could and I was certainly better than your grandmother who treated me like shit and you should be grateful that you didn’t have to put up with that.”
By the way, the reason that I will not have children is because your neglect forced me to take care of my siblings from the age of 10 until I left home. Also, I’m afraid I’d be as abusive as you were. Just thought you should know.
Finally, please stop asking me to shoot you in the head should you become incapacitated and need to be place in a nursing home. I am not going to jail for your ass. I will take care of you to the best of my ability when you become unable to take care of yourself because I do love you despite your failings, but you might want to do something to help yourself in the meantime. P.S. - it’s your own behavior will put you in a nursing home before you’re 65. You smoke constantly, you’re a hundred pounds overweight, you don’t eat vegetables unless they’re battered and deep-fried, and you have high blood pressure and osteoporosis that you are not treating because you’re too much of a damn martyr to seek medical care.
Mum. I love you dearly. But I wish you’d learn to control your worries and fears a little better. Yes, I know a tornado went through a few miles from my hometown. But you knew the power was out at my house. My cell phone was charging in the car. My landlines were down because of the hurricane. Did you HAVE to send my step-sister out in the nasty weather to check on me? Did you HAVE to freaking panic when I was in the shower and didn’t answer the doorbell/knock? I’m a big girl, and if the tornado had touched down in town, you’d have seen it on the weather report, and besides, Sarah and I live less than two miles apart…and the tornado went through on the OTHER SIDE of her from where I live (and the weather guys said so.) So if she was fine, so was I!!!
Wow, we must be lost siblings!
Dear Mom,
I appreciate that you try to keep your house supplied with food items I like, really I do. I appreciate that you go out of your way to buy my favorite beverage. And I am flattered that you remember what I said my favorite drink was twenty years ago. But here’s the rub – that was TWENTY FREAKIN’ YEARS AGO! I’ve told you many times since that I no longer care for caffeine free Coke. Ever noticed that my beverage of choice is now water? Ever noticed that I’ve been telling you that for 19 years? Ever notice that when I arrive, you have an entire case of caffeine free Coke on hand, and when I leave, you have an entire case of caffeine free Coke on hand?
Come to think of it, this ain’t much of a rant. Carry on.
Your loving son,
Queen Victoria
Are we sisters? 'Cause that’s my mom. Even the “calories, calories, calories” bit.
Mom:“Here, eat some more. I made plenty.” She takes a breath “You know, you really need to watch what you eat. Calories, calories, calories! It all adds up!”
Of course, now that I’ve lost a lot of weight, she accuses me of “making” my husband buy me lots of new clothes. Yeah, Mom, that’s why I lost weight, to “make” him buy me new stuff.
We also have the “Nag Till I Snap, Then Get Offended” routine. The words change, but the dance remains the same.
Mom: “You know, Biblio, you shouldn’t let the kids buy lunch at school every day. It’s too expensive.”
Me: “They don’t, they get to buy two days a week.”
Mom: “Well, it’s so much cheaper for you to make their lunch. It’s so expensive for them to buy it at school every day. You really shouldn’t let them buy it every day.”
Me: “They don’t buy it every day.”
Mom: “You really should have them take their lunch, rather than buying it every day. It really adds up when they buy every day.”
Me: “They don’t buy it every day. BiblioSon gets a monthly menu and he marks off the days he want to buy, which is pizza and hot dogs. They’re each once a week. He takes it the other three days.”
Mom: “What about BiblioDaughter?”
Me: “I give her money to buy it twice a week (she doesn’t get a menu, since she’s in high school). If she wants to buy more often, she has to pay for it out of her allowance.”
Mom: “But you shouldn’t let them buy it every day. It’s too expensive and it’s more nutritious if you make it.”
Me: “They don’t take it every day! They each get to buy twice a week!”
Mom: “It’s so much more nutritious if you make it, and cheaper, too. You shouldn’t let them buy lunch at school every day.”
Me: “They. Don’t. Buy. Lunch. Every. Day.”
Mom: “You just need to make them understand that buying lunch out is a treat, and they just don’t get to do it every day.”
Me: “THEY DON’T BUY IT EVERY DAY!”
Mom: “Well, there’s no need to snap at me. I’m only trying to help.”
Mom, I love you, but you’re making me crazy.
Second cousin of this conversation:
Mom: Honey, are you upset?
Me: No, why do you ask?
Mom: Because you look upset.
Me: I do? Well, I’m not. I’m just sitting here.
Mom: You know, if you’re upset, you can talk to me any time.
Me: I know. But I’m not upset.
Mom: A mother can tell these things. What’s got you so upset?
Me: sigh Mom, I swear, I’m not upset!
Mom: No, I can hear it in your voice. You’re mad about something.
Me: I’m fine! Will you please just leave me alone?
Mom: I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what you’re so mad about.
Me: DAMMIT, MOM, WOULD YOU GO AWAY?!? I. AM. NOT. UPSET!!!
Mom: Then why are you yelling at me? See, a mother can tell these things.
I always thought I might be adopted. 
One other thing my mom does that makes me nuts is getting upset over the misfortunes of people she’s never met. Perhaps it makes me cold-hearted, but I can’t understand getting upset when your friend’s nurse’s mother develops bronchitis. I really can’t because I don’t know the woman, my mom doesn’t know the woman, her friend probably doesn’t know the woman, either. Yet my mom calls me heartless for not making more of a big deal out of it when she tells me. Usually I just say, “Oh, that’s too bad, I hope she gets better,” which in the real world would be sufficient. And I actually mean it - of course I don’t want anyone to get sick, and I understand the dangers when someone who’s 80 develops an illness. But I don’t know her, and for me to cluck over and over again “Tragic, just tragic. huge sigh I know her daughter must be terribly worried. I hope to God she gets better,” etc. etc., moaning and getting all sad about it, would be ridiculous. Calling me heartless for not getting all worked up about it seems just bizarre. I’m not saying that you should have no sympathy for someone who is sick, but making a big deal over someone she probably hasn’t heard of until her friend said, “Yeah, my nurse’s mom was sick, so the nurse was a little late when I went in to get blood taken,” seems a bit disingenuous.
Understand something- I am not overweight. Only in my incredibly thin family could a person wearing size 9 be " the fat one". But I am. My mother is constantly going on about my weight- I should lose weight, or " You look good- did you lose weight?" OK, fine, I can deal with it. By why is it followed by “Is that all you’re going to eat?” Make up your mind- either I’m not eating enough or I need to lose weight. I didn’t get the family tapeworm that allows you and my sisters and my daughter to pig out and never go above a size 3.
There’s a Flannery O’Connor short story that makes me admire your mom. It’s narrated by a grown son who complains about his mom’s constantly going out of her way to be nice to people who don’t deserve it. She finally takes in a girl she read about, who was in jail, and of course the girl’s no good at all; destroys everyone’s life. The son gets angrier and angrier, and the mother just goes along, taking each thing as it comes, continuing to defend the girl. It ends with an accident, involving a gun and the girl, where the son accidentally shoots and kills his mom. She dies peacefully, he’s left with his rage. Gave me a whole new perspective on charity.
Not that your situation is the same–the woman in the story sacrifices actively to help others, while your mom gets needlessy worked up over something she can’t do anything about–just made me think of that story.
If your mom is anything like my mom, it’s probably the same case of Coke from 20 years ago.
My dear mother,
ENOUGH WITH THE FUCKING HILFIGER CLOTHES.
Regards,
Tom who hates being called Tommy, much less wearing bright-yellow clothes emblazoned with the name
Mom,
Cut the apron strings. PLEASE! I appreciate your generosity greatly, but if I don't up front and ask for something, I don't really need it. Seriously! When my car has something wrong with it, I can get it taken care of. You don't need to ask your boyfriend to look at it as a favor for me. I really don't want any favors right now. I'm not so proud as to snub your advice, I really do listen to what you have to say. Right now I'm trying to make it on my own. This isn't easier, and its even LESS easy when you take it to yourself to do everything for me.
And stop worrying! You're sense of worry is infectious; things that I don't worry about myself will worry you, and when you act all paranoid and worried about it, I start to get nervous. And its always over NOTHING.
No, I'm not embarassed to be around you. I grew out of that. No, I can't drop my plans at the last minute because you want me to go somewhere. You didn't make it to my piano recital because you had plans to do other stuff, but I didn't guilt trip the hell out of you. We live in a busy world, its a fact of life.
And finally,
If the hall light bothers you, shut the door. If the cat is bothering you because he is meowing to go in your room, leave the door open. BUT PICK ONE OR THE OTHER. Frankly Buster the cat is a much better scapegoat, since he doesn't stick up for himself when he gets yelled at. If you leave your door open so he shuts up, you'll have to deal with the fact that your superhuman hearing might pick up the sound of me tiptoeing as quietly as I can past your room into my bedroom. I don't relish the idea of coming back from school until 10:30 either, but this is my last semester, and the last couple months I'll be living here.