Ever since I wrote an article about my mom not knowing how to text message, she has been flooding my inbox with daily affirmations and random updates. They are the following:
i’m so proud of u!!!!!
This was sent at 7:30 a.m. and I’m not sure what prompted it but it made me happy. My mom makes me happy.
Here’s another text that she sent me at 5:30 a.m. I really don’t know what my mother was doing up at such an ungodly hour but it’s apparently when she’s feeling the most creative and adventurous.
goingto be a beaut iful day in eureka today. i have to get new curtains attarget. what are u doingg?”
My mom clearly lost a battle with the space bar with this message. Moms sort of type like Courtney Love, no? I don’t understand the double ‘g’ on “doing” though. Doesn’t that require double the effort?
Here’s one that she sent me at 11 p.m. after I didn’t answer one of her phone calls.
She usually sends me a “callmom” but I guess she got lazy, confused, or just fell asleep. After all, it was three hours past her bedtime. Sometimes she’ll just page me with her number like we’re living la vida 1995. I can’t really blame her for that one. I used to page her four times a day in middle school.
On the rare occasion that my mother will email me, it will be to send me chain letters, cute pictures of dogs, or to tell me how much she loved an article I wrote about having a one night stand. Seriously. She sent me the following email after falling into a Thought Catalog K-Hole with my writing.
your writing is getting better and better. I read your posts for last week they were great. Especially the one night stand And the one on Queer family. Its very interesting the dialog you get going between people. If it wasn’t thought provoking there wouldn’t be a dialog and that’s what its all about. Right?
I can’t believe my mom referenced an article I wrote about having a one night stand. We don’t usually talk about the fact that I essentially write about anal sex and colonics for a living. She’s not like Amy Poehler in Mean Girls. She’s a regular mom, not a cool mom. She wears mom jeans, worries excessively about things like weather and food, and farts in public without shame.
Do you ever wonder what technology we’re not going to understand when we become our parents age? Like, are our kids going to be coming home with cell phones the size of pennies that we won’t know how to operate? God, not getting “it” is sort of my worst fear. Watch me type “dad” when I’m 56 and too tired to make actual sense. Maybe my child will be a snarky blogger by then and make fun of me on the internet too. KARMA POLICE.