If It’s Not One Thing It’s A Mother
Read Time:4 Minute, 27 Second
Dutiful children of whatever age who live many, many miles away from their mothers ring them on a regular basis to ensure they are in good health and not in need of their children’s assistance. I am no exception. I call my mother at least once a week to ensure she is fine and I have no need to drive from London to Oldham (about 20 miles north of Manchester and a total journey of around 220 miles from London) until the time comes for one of my quarterly visits.
“Hello mum. Are you ok?”
“So you’re still alive then?”
“Er – yes”
“So why haven’t you rung me?”
“I rang you on Tuesday and it’s only Friday now”
“I could have died in between”
“Well – erm – yes I suppose so but you haven’t have you?”
“Don’t be flippant! You aren’t too old for a clip around the ear”
“Sorry mum”
“I’ve not been to your father’s grave lately”
“Oh? Why not?”
“Because my knee is bad and my hip is bad and I can’t walk very well now and my son isn’t here to take care of me”
“Well, I know but I live in London”
“Only because you married that hussy!”
“Mum! That’s not fair! I’ve been married for 26 years!”
“She took you away!”
“No she didn’t! I moved here over 10 years before I met her!”
“Oh you would make excuses for her wouldn’t you?!”
“Mother! It isn’t an excuse! I never even knew she existed when I moved to London!”
“Excuses excuses – that’s all you’ve ever done. Even at school it was excuses excuses!”
“School?”
“Yes school! That Grammar school me and your father paid to send you too and where did that get us eh? Answer me that!”
“What do you mean ‘where did it get you’? It was my school”
“Paid for by me and your father and look where it got us! Your father is in the ground and I’m disabled and you’re in London!”
“I could be in Australia if I was luckier”
“What was that?”
“Nothing mum – now look – are you ok?”
“No thanks to you!”
“What? I’m calling you to make sure you’re ok!”
“And what would you do if I wasn’t then?”
“I’d help”
“How? Fly up on a magic carpet?”
“Don’t be daft”
“Don’t you call me daft or I’ll give you a thick ear!”
“Yes mum. Sorry. Look I’ll be up in a couple of weeks”
“If I’m still here”
“You will be! I’ll take you to dad’s grave”
“What and push me in?” (I should be so lucky)
“No mum. We can take flowers eh?”
“Oh alright son. I’ll see you next week”
“In two weeks mum as arranged eh?”
“You said next week!”
“No. In two weeks when I can get time off”
“So I have to fit in with your job then do I? I’m your mother!”
” – fucker-”
“What did you say?”
“Yes mum, I understand it’s hard being alone but I’ll be up in two weeks”
“It’s a good job I have good neighbours!”
“Those would be the one’s you aren’t speaking too right now would they?”
“You’ll get a clip around the ear when you get here!”
“Yes mum. See you in two weeks”
“Bye then”
“Bye mum. Love you”
“I suppose so then”
Mother’s are strange creatures sometimes – especially if they are Northern England Matriarchs and have nobody to be matriarchal with. It makes them sulk because they have nobody to control – especially if their son is too far away – but it doesn’t stop them trying.
On one glorious occasion my mother, in a temper because I’d failed to go up north for several weeks, said loudly “I’ll outlive you and dance on your grave!”
“Good” I replied
“Good? What do you mean ‘good’?”
“I’m being buried at sea”
On another strange telephone conversation she told me that after a number of years had passed since my fathers death she had applied to join a ‘Lonely Hearts Club’ in the hope of meeting a companion for her twilight years. The Lonely Hearts Club wrote back saying ‘nobody could ever be that lonely’ – she was apopleptic, I was in hysterics.
On one trip up north with my daughter – then around 12 years of age (the wifey won’t come on pain of death) – we pulled into a shopping mall as you Americans call them and into a ‘disabled parking bay’ as my mother has a disabled badge due to her dodgy knees and hips.
A very nice red Ferrari driven by an extraordinarily attractive young blond lady pulled into the disabled bay next to us.
My mother glared at the young attractive blond in the Ferrari and announced haughtily “These parking bays are for disabled people!”
The young blond lady opened her Ferrari drivers door to reveal she had an artificial leg.
“I am disabled” she announced correctly given the obvious evidence.
“You’re not as disabled as me!!” said my mother as my daughter and I hid behind our car biting our knuckles in a vain attempt to avoid hysterical fits of laughter.
Mothers eh?
If it’s not one thing it is almost certainly a mother.
God Save The Queen and God or anybody save us from Matriarchal mothers!!!!
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Your parents paid for you to go to Grammar School? Tell her she’s lying – it was free!
Nope, they paid. I failed my 11 plus exam but as my dad was in the same Masonic Lodge as the Headmaster I got in – at a price. The early 70’s eh? Now that was a time!
Norman, I think you good use that material as a stand up comic. Very humorous. But on a more serious note, years ago when I went to visit my step father and my mother my step father seemed to get meaner toward me with each visit. Since I was in my fifties and in good health I thought he was just being a bastard and resented me for moving off and not stating around like the other kids did. When I finally gave up on visiting was when he, my mother and I would be sitting in the same room and he would look at me mother and say, “Ask him why he is visiting us this time.” I would look at him and say, “Dad, I am right here, why don’t you ask me.” He would look at Mom and say, “Tell him I just did.” It actually became a chore to go visit and put up with that. What I didn’t realize was his crankiness was equal to the pain he was feeling from his illnesses. After he passed away my mother’s forgetfulness migrated from mild dementia to Alzheimer’s and in just a few years she had to be put in a nursing home and did not know who I was. I would visit but to no purpose.
So, Norman, for what it is worth young man, enjoy your mother and her crankiness while you have her. One day she will not be there and you will miss those phone calls and visits.
I know. I will
WOW…all I could think about is what might have made her so miserable? Not a religion or another person, but something deep inside. My husbands mother was like that and never seemed to relax or be happy…so sad. In the mean time, Norman, do the best you ca to take care of her and good luck.
Yeah, moms are odd birds; that’s why fathers usually die first!
I thought husbands die first because they want to?
As I read this post I couldn’t stop wondering if Norman was talking about my mother.
Don’t blame your mum. It probably is not her fault. It sounds as though a Catholic upbringing has made instilling guilt to maintain control has become second nature to her.
Great post, While I didn’t exactly fall down laughing, I did have this idiot grin through it all. 🙂