Today's brief conversation with Mom:
ME: Merry Christmas!
Mom: Yeah, I suppose it's still Christmas. (Long, long pause: can't tell if she's pissed off about something or Lost In Space. I mean, some of the comments about Christmas Carols might have come across as harsh...)
ME: So, the Christmas Party at my school was awful. I wrote about it.
Mom: You wrote about it on the email thingy?
ME: No, on my blog.
Long, long pause. Seriously, like half a minute. Finally:
ME: Have you read my blog lately?
Mom: What's a blog?
ME: It's a journal I keep on line. You know, I started it this summer when I was staying with you and Dad.
Mom: What do you mean, online? (This from a woman who still doesn't use an ATM card because--and I quote--"What if the machine asks me a question I can't answer?")
ME: On the computer.
Mom: Well, you know how I am with those things. I didn't even know you had a blog, whatever that is.
ME: It's an online journal.
Mom: Whatever. You know I can't keep up with that stuff.
Consider the following: My brother in law is a blogger. I started the blog under my mother's watchful eye and READ THE FIRST FIVE ENTRIES aloud to her. (Her comment at the time: Too bad a person can't make money off that internet thingy, then you might really have something.) I changed the original name of the blog (Food Ho) to the one she suggested. So, all this time while I was worried that I wasn't hearing from her because she was upset about something I had written, in truth, I wasn't hearing from her because she didn't want to call. Nice.
So now I can write about the Lord of the Cock Rings and the time a group of students found me at Watson's with a vibrator strapped to the back of my head, and what her comments were on our weddings, but... I find I don't really want to: they're good stories and all, and I will enjoy writing them, but there's a part of me that's so sad because my mommy doesn't remember what I do, and would rather sit and feel whatever she feels instead of picking up a phone once in a while and calling.
ME: Merry Christmas!
Mom: Yeah, I suppose it's still Christmas. (Long, long pause: can't tell if she's pissed off about something or Lost In Space. I mean, some of the comments about Christmas Carols might have come across as harsh...)
ME: So, the Christmas Party at my school was awful. I wrote about it.
Mom: You wrote about it on the email thingy?
ME: No, on my blog.
Long, long pause. Seriously, like half a minute. Finally:
ME: Have you read my blog lately?
Mom: What's a blog?
ME: It's a journal I keep on line. You know, I started it this summer when I was staying with you and Dad.
Mom: What do you mean, online? (This from a woman who still doesn't use an ATM card because--and I quote--"What if the machine asks me a question I can't answer?")
ME: On the computer.
Mom: Well, you know how I am with those things. I didn't even know you had a blog, whatever that is.
ME: It's an online journal.
Mom: Whatever. You know I can't keep up with that stuff.
Consider the following: My brother in law is a blogger. I started the blog under my mother's watchful eye and READ THE FIRST FIVE ENTRIES aloud to her. (Her comment at the time: Too bad a person can't make money off that internet thingy, then you might really have something.) I changed the original name of the blog (Food Ho) to the one she suggested. So, all this time while I was worried that I wasn't hearing from her because she was upset about something I had written, in truth, I wasn't hearing from her because she didn't want to call. Nice.
So now I can write about the Lord of the Cock Rings and the time a group of students found me at Watson's with a vibrator strapped to the back of my head, and what her comments were on our weddings, but... I find I don't really want to: they're good stories and all, and I will enjoy writing them, but there's a part of me that's so sad because my mommy doesn't remember what I do, and would rather sit and feel whatever she feels instead of picking up a phone once in a while and calling.
