Say What?

I believe that for each person on earth, there exists another person perfectly created to push every one of their buttons. I believe this because it makes me feel better about the fact that the pusher of my buttons is my mother. And I love her dearly. I'm not just saying that because people she knows may read this... I'm saying that because she is highly lovable in a contagious kindergarten-teacher kind of way. Nobody can help loving my mom. Which makes it that much more frustrating when she pushes my buttons. How could you be mad at someone that sweet... that gentle... that truthful... that... perfectly created to push every one of my buttons. Sigh.

When I was younger, mom and I had a joke about her driving. We called it "adventures with mom." It was a nice way to say that sometimes, the things that topped her mental "this is really important" list didn't top mine. Imagine sitting in the front passenger seat, no driver's license, maybe 14 years old. Cold morning, a bit of frost, winding back-country road, apple orchard on the right. Look to your left-- there is Mom. She is driving you down the winding road. Its a good used car-- reliable-- though the alignment is a bit off. Regularly running into curbs when parallel-parking will do that to an alignment. You glance ahead at the road, and then look back at mom. She is very focused. Her left hand is stretched out to feel whether or not air is coming-- and how warm-- out of the far left driver's air vent. Her right hand is on the climate control knobs in the middle of the dashboard. She is hunched down and to the right, squinting at the labels on those same controls as she fiddles with them. There is no way she can see the road from that position. We are driving at about 35 miles per hour down that winding road. There is a car coming. Adventures with Mom. (insert shark music here)

This nice, sweet, loving, lovable, intelligent woman has been responsible for many a spike in my adrenaline as an adult, too. She can even take me back to those childhood moments of sheer panic and helpless anger over the telephone-- and regularly does. Its not intentional. She just has different priorities than most of the people I know. I've learned to laugh at a lot of these interactions we have... though my laughter rarely has anything to do with our topics of conversation. In fact, if you heard me laughing, you would think I was heartless and deranged. Unless you'd been with me in that car on that winding road way back when... Then you'd realize my laughter is the only alternative to screaming. And its a dumbfounded kind of laugh.

My good friend, my costar in the sitcom of our lives, recently insisted that one of these conversations with my mother would make a good blog. She's seen my mother in action-- she knows all about Adventures with Mom. When I call to say-- what the heck??!-- and tell her about the latest conversation... and try to make sense of it... she stops me. She reminds me of how futile it is to compare my mom's list of what's important with mine. "IT's your MOM!"
Oh, yeah. Right.

I don't know how it happened, but this year, I've been the one to arrange our West-Coast Family Christmas Event. It includes between five and fifteen people, of which only two live in the same town, and only four keep a calendar, and may possibly know what day it was yesterday. Some live out of state. Some are in school. Some have transportation, some have none. Just like the little piggies, who go screeching back home to be tickled. (Boy, I hope you know about "this little piggy" or you are really going to think I'm whacked!) My uncle believes that NO ONE is EVER too old to be tickled. I can still remember the Christmas he made my cousin (married, two kids, very proper) pee her pants because he tickled her right after a long car ride. Her kids were thrilled. There is nothing like family to keep you humble.

Anyway- there are seven of us getting together this year. Possibly eight. And once my cousin decided she wanted to give my parents Christmas Gifts, since she'd be there with them and loves them and all... my mom felt she really needed to give my cousin a gift, too. And if she gave that cousin a gift, she had to give my cousin's sister a gift, since she is also coming to Christmas. I got a list of things that each of my cousins would like to get, decided what I would give them, and passed the list on to my mom. This is where the story starts. (Yes- all the hella long way down here.)

Mom and I are each getting my cousin a book from a series that is on her wish-list. Mom might be able to get a discount at a store in her town-- I know the whole series is carried at a store in my town. I call mom a few days after giving her the information that my cousin has the first few books in the Sandman graphic novel series. We want books between #5 and #10. It doesn't matter which ones. "So- did you find the Sandman series at your bookstore?"
She did, but they only had the latest one, and it cost $20, so she only got one.
I feel that this makes sense, as getting two of the same book is not the same as getting two books from the same series. "What number is it, so I can get her a different one?"
Hmmm... It takes a minute to find the bag the book should be in. It takes a minute to get the book out of the bag. She explains these delays as she experiences them. She looks at the book she bought. Yup-- it cost $19.95.
"What number is the book you bought?"
Well, she had trouble finding it, and then the lady at the bookstore helped her, and the lady could only find this one, but that lady really thinks its the most recent book in the Sandman Series. And mom proceeds to tell me the title of the book, and some of the authors.
I have never heard of the Sandman graphic novels before learning of my cousin's wish list. All I know are the name of the series, and that we can get her any books between #5 and #10. I don't care what the title of this book is.
"Is there a number on it anywhere? I need to know what number it is in the series."
Mom is looking the book over, and finds some more description of the book on the back cover. She reads it to me. The whole back cover. In the process, she comes to the conclusion that the person who wrote the INTRO to the book she bought was the AUTHOR to the series, so the book she bought might not be a part of the series. She explains all this to me, after reading me the back cover, and then flipping through the book once or twice. She decides she will probably have to take this book back to the bookstore and get a refund for it. She's not sure what to do or if it is really part of the series or not, but she's worried.
"Why don't I go to my bookstore, and get two books from the series-- one from me, and one from you?"
She guesses this will work-- and she'll definitely reimburse me for it.

Then she brings up her biggest worry-- the thing currently at the top of her list of important concerns. My other cousin-- the one who is giving HER a gift-- she doesn't have enough information about that cousin's guitar to get her new strings for it. (The wish-list said "anything to do with stringed instruments.") She doesn't know what kind of strings my cousin is used to, or wants to buy for her guitar. She doesn't even know if its a base guitar or what kind it is, and she would also need to know how LONG the strings should be, and.... So... She is thinking about getting my cousin a gift certificate to a music store instead. But a gift certificate is so impersonal! ... and... my cousin doesn't have a car, and lives in a different town from my mom, so she really REALLY doesn't know what STORE to get a gift certificate FROM... and ...

We've been on the phone for nearly half an hour. I'm getting a bit frustrated, and I really need to pee. I could have had this whole conversation with someone else in about five minutes. I am getting frustrated (did I say that already?), and that means I need to get off the phone soon-- because she is trying to steer this conversation, but neither of her hands are on the wheel, and its making me crazy.
"Would you like to hear what I would do if I were in your situation?"
Well... okay. Yes, she would, she thinks...
"I would go onto google maps, and-"
She doesn't know what goggle nappies are. I swear. That is what she said. And if I'd laughed out loud, she would have been really hurt, and felt stupid. Which she is not. She just prefers to do her exploring in a library. It took another five minutes to get www.googlemaps.com spelled correctly over the phone. Then I explained that I would search for music stores in my cousin's town, and find one on the map that is within walking distance of her apartment. My mom has been to her apartment a few times, so I thought that was a reasonable suggestion. Mom's not so sure, but she'll give it a try.
My bladder is killing me, and I'm getting that helpless angry chaos-is-here feeling... so I suggest that its about time for me to get off the phone as I've got some errands to run, and-
"Oh, by the way-- I'm not sure if I've mentioned it already, but I think I may have broken a rib."
Say WHAT?

In my mind, this sort of information would probably have made it higher on the worry-list than my cousin's gift certificate. But that's me. I think a broken rib is an important health issue, and should receive serious attention. Mom is simply embarrassed about it. She is thinking about going to the doctor, maybe. I want her to get tested for osteoporosis, and she decides she needs to get going now, but don't worry about it, its just a broken rib. I hang up the phone, and start laughing. Its either that or scream.