Dear Elli,
We just got home yesterday from a brief four day tour of New England. It was you, me, and my mother.
Now normally our girl's trips are reserved for just you and me. I've made that crystal clear to everyone I know who might possibly be interested in traveling with us. No. The answer is no. Nobody else is freaking invited. Ever.
But I took Nanny for a medical procedure several months ago, and as she was waking up from anesthesia she said, "I REALLY want to go on a trip with you and Elli. That's all I want." She looked all cute and weak laying there in recovery, asking me all nicely and shit. What the hell was I supposed to do? She's my mom for crying out loud! She gave birth to me and kept me alive for eighteen years and only beat me a few times. (I'm pretty much joking.)
So I told her on her birthday that we would go. Anywhere she wanted within the continental United States. She picked Maine. And I booked it.
We left last Thursday on a jet plane to Boston.
You need to know that I have not lived with my mother since approximately one week after I graduated high school. I could not move out fast enough. Not because I hated my mom. No way, Jose. I love my mom. Always have, always will. It was because I am a fiercely independent human being, and I will not live on anyone's terms or by anyone's rules except my own. Nobody tells me what to do. Period. End of story. Let me tell you that I was a delightful teenager and I'm a delightful adult, too. Just ask your father.
Anyway, I was a little nervous about this trip. I was kind of afraid that I would get a little teenagery (that's a new word I just made up) and start some sort of stupid infantile argument with Nanny over something trivial. I know, it's a total shocker that I can become argumentative over fairly benign topics from time to time when living in close quarters with someone. Ask your father. I bet he'll be shocked, too.
But guess what? I didn't get teenagery (I like this new word). I was totally cool. Mom was totally cool. You were marginally cool. And I'm giving you a marginal score because you purposely pushed all my buttons for four days straight because you're smart and you know I won't lose my shit in front of my mother. She thinks I'm nice. And I'm gonna keep it that way.
It was a great trip! We cruised through New England listening to The Doors and The Beatles and some old ass song about "No Milk Today" that none of us could figure out the meaning behind. We saw the fall colors, the ocean, ate lunch on a boat, considered but ultimately declined having our palms read in Salem, watched street dancers in Boston, shopped in Portland, walked through the streets of Kennebunkport, and drove through Cambridge and gawked at all the smart Harvard people.
We did it all, baby! Without a single argument or even a minor disagreement!
I'm giving 90% of the credit to my mom for being awesome, and 10% to myself. Now that I'm pushing 40, it appears I can finally live in close quarters again with my mother without saying something like, "You don't even understand me! You don't understand ANYTHING! You make my life UNBEARABLE!" - and then slamming a door.
I'm moving up in the world, little lady. It appears I may have finally grown up! (It's not likely that I've actually grown up, but it sounds good so I'm going with it.)
But don't think I'm not going to pick on my mom at least a little bit. I can't help it. I'm really good at giving people a hard time. It's my thing. (That quality came from my dad.)
So here it goes, with some background first:
My mother cannot be cool with me paying for things. Ever. It's like a mental barrier that she cannot overcome. I kind of get it. She's the mom. She's supposed to provide, right? I'm her kid, even though I'm 37 years old and I have my own kid. And I haven't lived in her house for nearly two decades. I digress, although I really do understand.
But this trip was my gift to her. Period. End of story. I'm the boss of this trip, dammit! (I told you I was delightful.)
I say, "I'm buying everything on this trip. It's my gift to you for your Birthday (and for not killing me when I was a teenager)"
"Okay", says my mother.
Then we go to dinner.
She says she wants to pay.
I say no. That's not the deal. I'm the boss up in here right now.
So the woman proceeds to scour the menu for the cheapest possible food item, eyes squinting hard while she struggles to read every single line without her reading glasses. I can feel it coming. I know it's coming. And here it goes....
She orders a freaking salad.
And then looks all uncomfortable like she's constipated. And I know she's convinced a Cobb salad will bankrupt me. My mom doesn't even like salads.
Jesus Mary Mother of God! (I said that inside my head, not out loud.)
I can't even.
But I bit the insides of my cheeks and smiled big.
"Mom, how's that salad?"
And Mom says, "It's great. Really good!"
It's not that good. I can tell by the way she's chewing.
But I didn't say anything more. I kind of wanted to, but I didn't. Because I'm a grownup now, remember? I just smiled while she chewed her lettuce and pretended it was the best damn meal she's had since 1973.
Hey Mom - I know you're reading this, so I'm gonna say this for what I hope is the last time: I owe you. I owe you really freaking big. There's not a single thing I could do for you that would ever make us even. You gave me everything. I've given you very little in comparison. Let me buy you dinner every now and then. Order the whole damn menu three times over. I don't care. It's the least I can do. I love you.
Now that that's out of the way, I want to reiterate that our trip was fantastic, and I'm super glad we went. I'm pretty proud that three generations of midwestern women successfully navigated three New England states in four days with a rental car and no fewer than four Uber drivers who couldn't speak English without a single incident! We are the epitomy of success!
I love you.
Mom
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