Make no mistake, I love my mother. Am lucky to still have a mother. And she is a wonderful mother. Her phone calls? Sometimes I just have to wonder what planet she is calling from. Most recent cases-in-point:
My sister had an unpleasant but necessary hospital procedure this week. Upon returning from the hospital, my mom called me to update me on sister’s condition.
Mother: “Well, I’ve just gotten home from the hospital. Your sister cannot move an inch for 11 hours. They are giving her morphine. She is in terrible pain. Why don’t you give her a call?”
Morphine? No Moving? Terrible Pain, three ingredients which scream no talkee. Me: “You know, I think I’ll call tomorrow when she is out of pain and her morphine haze.”
Mother: ” No, really, you should give her a call.”
Me: “She can’t move. If I call her, she might move and throw a clot. Plus, she is stoned beyond the pale and would not remember a call from Brad Pitt. Okay?”
Mother: “Well! Whatever!” Whatever, indeed.
My parents are headed to beautiful place for a reunion with a number of old friends. Fun, fun, and more fun. I’d called to wish them a happy trip.
Me: “Hey there, just called to wish you a good trip; it will be so much fun!”
Mother: “I really need this trip (she does). Why do you sound so happy?”
Mother: “WHY DO YOU SOUND SO HAPPY?”
Because I’m going to call everyone I knew from high school, invite them to your house while you are gone, and we will reenact the party scene from “Sixteen Candles”. Me: “Would you prefer me to sound sad?”
Mother: “No, but you don’t always sound happy?”
Me: “Who does?”
Sheesh. While I was growing up – and exasperating her to no end – she would say, “You could make a patron saint cuss.” Methinks this apple hasn’t fallen far from that tree.