About a year and a half ago, I wrote a post dedicated to the devastating loss of my grandmother, who for my first 28 years served as one of the most significant and influential parts of my life. Today would have been her 86th birthday.
I called my mom to commemorate this event, and also to remind her that later this week is Rosh Hashanah, or for those of you who aren't of the Jewish persuasion, our New Year. For anyone who is, in fact, of the Jewish persuasion, you will know exactly what I mean when I use the phrase "Jewish mother." I always love talking to her, but our conversations tend to remind me of this:
My mother is one of those moms who adores her family and would do anything for her kids, but she's also the fifth one down on the list when I have news- good or bad- because I know she'll immediately call everyone I've known since I was five and blow it way out of proportion. If I have a paper cut, I'm dying. If I have a date (like that will ever happen), I'm automatically engaged. Maybe this is because I'm pushing thirty, single and have no discernable donor candidates.
Today's telephone exchange inspired me to write this post, based on a recent discussion I had with my brother over Facebook chat. He IM'ed me to talk about recent plans about my move (more about that as it gets closer to the date) and to give me updates on his own life: job stuff, music preferences, and dating stories. He had just started seeing someone and wanted to give me a heads up before my mom started picking out china patterns. His new girlfriend is two years older than he is (older woman- nicely done) and a lawyer, so right away my mom is probably naming their first born. I told a few of my friends about this rap session, and the most common follow-up question was "why is this not a blog entry?" Once you scroll down, you may begin to see why.
Highlights from the found footage of my Jewish family, ladies and gentlemen:
Nugs: (re: Brother Nugs' new gf) That's awesome!
Brother Nugs: Don't tell Dad yet. I want to call him tomorrow. Unless you just texted him, just now.
Nugs: It's literally been like four seconds. I'm not Mom.
Brother Nugs: Haha. True.
Nugs: So what did you lead with? "I'm dating someone" or "she's a lawyer?"
Brother Nugs: Does it matter?
Nugs: Not really. Either way Mom is already blueprinting the sonogram.
Brother Nugs: Also I told Mom she doesn't have Facebook.
Nugs: Does she?
Brother Nugs: Of course she does. Everyone is on Facebook.
Nugs: Ahahaha. Well played.
***(This is the part where I admit I went through his friends and found someone who I think is her. She looks like she's probably pretty cute but sadly her profile is private. Creepy stalker or curious sister? Your call.)***
Nugs: Remember when I dated a Jewish lawyer? After a month she was already drafting wedding invites.
Brother Nugs: Yeah. I remember him. That guy was a douchebag. For some reason Mom really liked him though.
Nugs: Jewish. And lawyer. Although Mom likes anyone who she thinks is going to implant me with their seed.
Brother Nugs: You're definitely next.
Nugs: She's like, "How about that nice kid in the next apartment?" And I'm like, "No Mom. He's 16, and a Klansman."
Brother Nugs: She probably likes that at least he has high-thread count sheets that get frequently washed. You need better excuses.
This is seriously the conversation that occurred, on Facebook, between my brother and I, at 9pm PST on a weeknight.
The best part is that my mom insists that she's totally normal and doesn't do any of this. The three of us (I have two brothers) all know that she's insane, but we've all grown accustomed to it over the years and usually just do the sitcom shoulder shrug at this point.
I know that I'm not alone in this and that some of you know exactly what I'm referring to here. Are all of your parents desperate to marry you off and turkey baster anyone that walks in the door? Please, tell me I'm not a cult of one (or three).