This week's column is written by daughter Francesca, and you'll see why.
Did you hear about the 10-year-old who writes self-help books? His name is Alec Greven, and in the spring he penned, or crayoned, How to Talk to Moms. Presumably, the intended audience is other 10-year-olds, but I think this book could have broader appeal.
Namely, to me.
I wasn't attracted to it in some condescending, look-how-cute way, either. I need this book. I need help figuring out How to Talk to Mom.
But here's the problem. I need the 23-year-old, just-moved-out-to-New-York-City version.
As you know, my mom and I are very close. When it comes to the big issues, feelings, emotions, etc., I can always speak frankly with Mom. It's the small stuff I'm sweating.
For instance, last night, I went to see my cousin in Long Island City. No big deal. So I mentioned this mundane outing matter-of-factly to my mother over the phone. But she didn't find it so mundane.
"How are you getting there? The subway? At night? ALONE?"
I thought I said, "I am going to see Paul's new apartment," but in mom-speak that translates to: "I am going to meet certain death in the New York City subway tunnels that are soon to be my tomb."
Talk about lost in translation.
So how should I have said this to Mom in a way that would not have thrown her into an unrecoverable tailspin of fear and worry?
Recently, I met a nice guy while out at a bar with friends. He's a young lawyer, and it turns out he grew up near me and we have a lot in common. I gave him my number, and lo and behold, he actually called me to go out. I share this good news with Mom, but again, in plain English. Her response?
"Dinner with a stranger? Did you verify what he told you? He could be anyone, you have no way of knowing."
See, my story in Mom-ese translated to "I met a guy named Ted Bundy, and I think he really likes me!"
To appease her, I had to Google the guy, find his last five addresses, proof of his alleged alma mater, and one official Notice of Appearance in court to prove he was a practicing (she immediately assumed he was laid-off) lawyer. And she still wanted me to spring for the $19.95 criminal background check.
I didn't.
God help me the night I actually went on the date.
