I was writing a post a few nights ago when all of a sudden came a knock at my door. Before I could say, “come in,” mom entered and announced, “I can’t sleep.” What was I supposed to do? Should I had sung her a lullaby? Read her a story? Counted sheep with her?
She stepped around my bed, trying to peek to see what I was doing on my laptop. In response, my heart began to pound as I quickly navigated to another webpage. I didn’t know why I was so nervous to not let her find out I was blogging. She knew I have a blog. What’s the big deal?
“So?” I asked. “What do you want me to do?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she moved toward the door but paused and asked, “how many years have you been in the United States?”
“Almost 21 years,” I answered, “so?”
“How awesome of a mother am I? Bringing you to such a wonderful country, how can you ever thank me? In the next life, you need to find me as your mother again, you understand me?”
In the back of my mind, I was rolling my eyes over and over and sighing. Not this again. This wasn’t the first time she’d said these words. She’d probably said it at least 2 or 3 times in the last week and let’s not count the number of times in 2022 alone. Where did she develop this sense of grandeur?
The next night, once again came a knock on my door. She couldn’t sleep again and wanted to come in to check on me. This time, I was crocheting, trying to finish one of the patches that makes up the motif for my project. Once again, she went on about how great of a mother she is, cooking
my her favorite food and allowing me to pursue my hobbies.
a) I kind of have to eat what she cooked because otherwise, it’s nothing at all. I haven’t purchased my own groceries in a long time because there’s simply no room in the fridge nor the house to house both of our groceries. That, and also, every time I buy food home, she’d have a look of disgust and betrayal like I’ve done something criminal.
b) I would’ve pursued my crochet hobby whether she approved or not. And no, she doesn’t really approve any of my hobbies. All of them, in her mind, are a waste of money. Hobbies are all waste of money, aren’t they? Their soul purpose is keep us entertained and from boredom, right?
But this sense of grandeur and self-importance? Say it once? That’s fine. Say it on repeat? That’s just annoying.