These Are Things My Mother Really Says

Really.

Things you should know before you start reading these posts:

1) I am 22 years old, living at home. I graduated college Magna Cum Laude with an art and teaching degree, and got interviews all summer, but was never hired for a teaching position. I now work part time for a gallery and full time at a cafe to make ends meet.

2) My loving parents charge me rent for living at home. They know they can't charge me too much as I only make about $800/month and I already pay other expenses like car insurance, health insurance, cell phone bills, etc...but they charge me rent. And they demand that I keep on top of the dishes. Which wouldn't be a hard things, except...

3) I am rarely ever home. I am one of those people who likes to overwork, mostly because I don't want to come home and have the excuse of always wanting to earn an extra buck. So I cover shifts for co-workers, do extra un-paid projects for the gallery, and even volunteer to help out at local events. Often, I have left the house by 6:20am, and come home anywhere between 7pm and midnight. By which time, my parents have already come home and there are dishes in the sink.

4) My Dad is fairly reasonable. My mom is not. I don't know what to blame for this. The most prominent explanation she puts forth has to do with her background as a substance abuse counselor, or highschool counselor.

Now that you have a decent background....time to let loose today's tidbit:

Today my mom came into my room, half-dressed. This is typical of her. If anyone in my family were to start a nudist colony, she would be the head of it.

She remarks at how warm my room is. Stating the obvious, as she has been letting me use a space heater she used to store in the basement. I have been using it for months, but she is always giving her "cautious mother" talks about how I'll burn the house down if I leave it on when I go to work, etc...

She sits down on my bed, "I like it in here." Then she lays down for a minute. I am busy, at this point, answering an email, mostly ignoring her.

"You should be a lawyer," she says.

I stop typing. Turn and slowly look at her.

"What?" I say.

"You should be a lawyer. You know, one of those artist lawyers. You can help artists with legal stuff," she says, trying to be helpful.

"Do you know how much law school costs?" I ask her. Not because I have ever secretly dreamed of being a lawyer. I hadn't even thought about it really. Lawyers are just not my type. They're always reading or researching or trying to find that loophole that will save the day.

"Well," she says, "You could just study on your own and take the bar. You'd probably pass."

I'm debating whether to point out that that is a highly unlikely situation, but instead I say, "That's an expensive test, too." I have learned that while logic does not make much impact on my mother, finances generally do.

"I bet it isn't," she says, "I just took one to be a principal and it was only like $400."

I don't bother pointing out that being a school principal and being a lawyer are two completely different careers.

"I just don't think I'm lawyer material, mom," I say, and try to get back to typing my email.

"Sure you are. You argue with me all the time. And your arguments are so....rational. Like every time I tell you to do the dishes, you always come up with reasons why you couldn't."

I shrug. I'm not even going to argue this one, because the sad part is that I know she's not trying to be sarcastic. She's serious.

"I don't think so mom."

"Okay, hun. Just trying to give you ideas."