Another Mother’s Day has come and gone. While I’m sure the mothers appreciated the recognition, it’s back to reality today. Let’s face it — the flowers are wilting, the homemade card is in the trash, and the huevos rancheros from brunch didn’t really agree with mom’s touchy stomach. Now, we’re back to doing what we do best: criticizing our mothers.

When it comes to family, mothers get the absolute worst part of the deal. They give their blood, sweat, tears, sanity, personal hygiene, friends, hobbies (just to name a few) for the sake of their kids, and then get blamed for everything. It’s the natural order of things; your mommy is responsible for a few of the good things and all of the bad things that happen to you. Ask any therapist and she’ll tell you the truth — if it’s not one thing, it’s your mother.

My mother managed to raise her children without inflicting too much emotional pain. I mean, I grew up to be an intelligent, well-adjusted adult (you may question this statement after reading some of my posts on this site), so she must have done something right during my formative years. However, now that I’ve long since left the nest, my mother is doing some real damage to my psyche. I’m talking about email. Yes, my mother discovered the wonders of email not too long ago. And now I have problems.

My mother knows that I usually screen phone calls (yes, including hers), but that I check my email every other minute. So, she’s taken to emailing me. I present to you some of these emails today, the day after Mother’s Day – because dissing my mom on Mother’s Day just seemed a bit wrong, even for me. (But the day after Mother’s Day is fine, of course.) These emails are real and unedited. I have not removed any salutations, or any obligatory statements such as “How are you”, “I love you”, or “Thank you”. I haven’t taken out sentences that read “You are an amazing daughter and a great person” or “Because you work so hard, I’ll come over and help you out today”. No editing at all. What you see is what you get. Or what I get, through email. Someday, when my lawyer is arguing my insanity plea, these may be used as exhibits.

Exhibit A

I mentioned that last week that all of you were invited for Easter dinner.  Your brother will be here. Not sure about your other brother.

Let me know. Give me a call.

Trying to see the eye doctor today; not sure if he is in. My eyes are itchy, burning and irritated.

Mom

Notice that my mother is simultaneously inviting me to a meal and a bout of conjunctivitis. Nothing says Easter like a ham dinner with a side of pink eye. If the ophthalmology update wasn’t enough, this email is also a perfect example of how my mother tap-dances around the fact that her children haven’t gotten in touch with her about a holiday. (Although I’m sure we emailed her about coming over.) Is this email an invitation to dinner or a ride on the Guilt Trip Express? No need to answer that. All Aboard!

Exhibit B

Going to Target today. I need to get a new ironing board.

I haven’t heard from you in a long time. How is my grandchild? I miss him.

Mom

This email starts out pretty innocuous — a harmless comment about the main event of the day, the Target run. And then the hammer drops. Here’s the translation to the second line of the email: I’m a terrible daughter. I don’t get in touch with my own mother, and not only that, but I keep her from seeing her grandchild. But lest you start feeling sympathetic, in all likelihood, we saw my mother three days prior to this email. Not three years, not three months, not three weeks. Three days. And I probably talked to her on the phone (OK, I pick up sometimes) 24 hours from the writing of this email. I repeat, 24 hours elapsed from the time I spoke to her and the time she pressed send on this email message. In my mother’s world, a long time equals 24 hours. And I have to live by this world order.

Exhibit C

I’m waiting for my supermarket delivery. I’ve been sitting here all day. They (delivery men) haven’t come yet. They are scheduled to come between 1:30 and 2:30.

Mom

This email was sent at 11 o’clock in the morning. Which means that the delivery is not scheduled to come for another three hours. My mother, however, is convinced that the delivery will come early, so she stays home all day to wait. I’ve advised her that deliveries never come early. They don’t even come on time. I’ve also advised her to go out for the day, come home at 6:30pm, and commence waiting for the delivery men, since that is when they will deliver the groceries. My advice goes unheeded. My mother would rather write emails. To me.

Exhibit D

I left you three messages on your phone and haven’t heard from you. Are you OK?

It’s raining so we are in the house all day.

Mom

Just so you know, I live approximately five minutes from my mother’s house, so I know it is raining. But my mother enjoys giving me weather reports. In fact, my mother watches the weather channel fourteen hours a day. And not the regular Weather Channel, which sometimes airs interesting programs on tornadoes, storms, or other freak weather-related phenomenon. No, my mother watches the channel that runs the local weather throughout the day. Essentially, she watches a satellite map of our region with the temperature in big numbers next to the map — for fourteen hours a day.

In this email, the word “raining” can be replaced with the word “snowing”, “windy”, “cloudy”, “partly sunny”, or “foggy”. Various changes in the weather pattern get my mother very agitated. My mother only leaves the house when it is sunny, and between 59 and 64 degrees Farenheit, with a wind coming in from the northwest at five miles per hour. So, in other words, never.

Although she does express a rare sentiment of concern over my well-being in the email (the “are you OK?” part), the real point of this email is to ask if I am well enough to visit her, especially since it is raining, and she can’t leave the house.

I’ve only presented Exhibits A through D, but I’m certain that I could include many more examples of how my mother’s emails are messing up my adult life. Sorry, Mom, you did a fair job up until the moment you discovered technology.

My mother has not abandoned all forms of communication, however. Every so often, my mother will step away from the computer, put a stamp on a envelope, and drop a card in the mailbox. The card will read something like this.

Dear Nancy,

Dad and I are proud of you. We love you. Happy Mother’s Day.

Love,

Mom

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