On the phone with my mom this evening:
Mom: I decided to have the sidewalk and driveway redone. And at first I thought... do I want to exclude companies that don’t have websites? But then I realized that everyone does so I did a web search and requested quotes on-line.
Me: You are from the future.
Mom: I know! And one guy just called me and said, “It’ll be $8,000.” I mean that’s it. That’s all he said. And then this other guy e-mailed me a unbelievably detailed quote that listed a 6” pad and 3/4” epoxy coated rebar and he gave me about a dozen references in the neighborhood.
Me: That’s the guy you want. A few hundred bucks in the short run is better than a new driveway in the long run.
Mom: I know.
Me: Just to give you a head’s up, after he places it, you want to keep your concrete moist for the first seven days; you can water it with the hose. The temptation is to think that you want it to dry out but you’re actually waiting for it to cure, not to dry. So water is good -- as much as possible for the first week.
Mom: That makes sense. So... where did you hear the scoop on concrete?
pause
Me: Well, I’ve been to concrete design school.
Mom: That’s right, you built a road in Alaska.
She really doesn’t listen, which is fine, because really... how many people that you talk to actually listen? But somehow I expect more of her because she’s my mother. I’ve told her about school before. And when I was in Alaska I talked about the project every Sunday when I called home but never mentioned concrete because we didn’t place any. Someday I’m going to internalize that she’s a person. She’s no different than anyone else. So she’s my mom. So what? It doesn’t mean that every breath I take is inherently interesting or even that what I do matters. What it means is that she puts up with me and expects me to put up with her.
And I do.
Me: You are from the future.
Mom: I know! And one guy just called me and said, “It’ll be $8,000.” I mean that’s it. That’s all he said. And then this other guy e-mailed me a unbelievably detailed quote that listed a 6” pad and 3/4” epoxy coated rebar and he gave me about a dozen references in the neighborhood.
Me: That’s the guy you want. A few hundred bucks in the short run is better than a new driveway in the long run.
Mom: I know.
Me: Just to give you a head’s up, after he places it, you want to keep your concrete moist for the first seven days; you can water it with the hose. The temptation is to think that you want it to dry out but you’re actually waiting for it to cure, not to dry. So water is good -- as much as possible for the first week.
Mom: That makes sense. So... where did you hear the scoop on concrete?
pause
Me: Well, I’ve been to concrete design school.
Mom: That’s right, you built a road in Alaska.
She really doesn’t listen, which is fine, because really... how many people that you talk to actually listen? But somehow I expect more of her because she’s my mother. I’ve told her about school before. And when I was in Alaska I talked about the project every Sunday when I called home but never mentioned concrete because we didn’t place any. Someday I’m going to internalize that she’s a person. She’s no different than anyone else. So she’s my mom. So what? It doesn’t mean that every breath I take is inherently interesting or even that what I do matters. What it means is that she puts up with me and expects me to put up with her.
And I do.
posted by Jessica at 21:56
3 Comments:
One would like to believe that to a mother, her daughter is amazing in everything she does. But it seems to be the nature of the mother-daughter relationship, which I observe often, that mothers forget more than half of what their daughters say.
I don't know if it's because we aren't interesting or if they just refuse to believe we do anything besides gain weight and chase foolish dreams.
regardless, it's incredibly frustrating to tell your mother on 4 separate occasions not to buy Thank You cards, napkins and paper cups for the party because you already have them, only to show up and have her reveal Thank you cards, napkins and paper cups and tell you that she knew you would forget to buy them.
One day I'm going to do an experiment that will involve a bunch of mundane information along with "I'm a lesbian" interjected in the middle. See if she's listening.
just popping in to say "hello"
Hello, Heather. Good to hear from you.
Christina -- The shower was that good?
Did I ever tell you that I'm pretty sure my parents used to think I was a lesbian? It all came together one day and made so much sense (an insightful friend helped me sketch it out). One day, after several gins and tonic, I'm going to confront her and see what she says. I can already see her tight and nervous smile.
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