I love my mom. Really. She’s always been in my corner, she’s a wonderful listener and friend, and a great volunteer mentor. Heck, she stood up for me at my wedding.
But every now and then we have a conversation that knocks me a tad off kilter. Like this past weekend.
My mom: “It’s really gotten cold here [in Chicago].”
Dutiful daughter: “I don’t want to hear about it. It’s never going to get cold here.”
My mom: “Really, the temperature dropped into the 50s!”
Dutiful daughter: “I really don’t want to hear about it! It’s never going to drop into the 50s here.”
Sidebar: Today is the official start of fall . . . except in the Houston area. We’ve been sweating to the 90s forever, it seems. And the evil weather forecasters claim that temps won’t drop until sometime in October.
Back to the conversation . . . .
My mom: “I even had to put on more clothes.”
Dutiful daughter getting irritated: “Really, Mom? Like a jacket or a sweater?”
My mom: “A sweatshirt!”
Just plain daughter: “What’s that? Don’t think I’m familiar with that article of clothing.”
My mom, reverting to her role as sympathizer: “The temps are supposed to be in the 80s in a few days.”
You know, that does not comfort me at all!
Of course, I will get my revenge by December—those mild Houston temps vs. Chicago’s blustery, freezing, depressing, much-too-long winter that I don’t miss one single bit. I can’t wait!
Love ya, Mom!