Mother’s DayA few Sundays ago I was up around 6 a.m. with Charlie. As Charlie hung out in his chair, I read through the paper. I saw an article looking for “Mama’s Tales” or wisdom one received from her mother. The reporter was soliciting these anecdotes for a special Mother’s Day article. Now, I know the newspaper was probably looking for timeless advice passed down from generation to generation or heart-warming stories of mothers and daughters, but I couldn’t resist. I just had to send in the web address to my blog.
As you know, dear reader, my mother is a font of wisdom. After all, she is the one who taught me not to microwave Pop-Tarts because “they are very dangerous”. She taught me optimism when she scoured Charlotte Beach on a warm day in winter while looking for “treasures”. But, most importantly, she taught me that when one reaches a certain age, she can do or say whatever she wants because “I want to”.
I really did not expect an email from the reporter.
A few hours after I sent in the stuff about my mother, I received a phone call. The reporter wanted to know more about “Life with Marlene” and what would possess me to write it. We set up a phone interview for the next day.
The reporter asked me questions about where I lived, what I did for a living and why I set up the web journal. After chatting for a few minutes, she asked me if my mother knew I submitted the website to the newspaper. I never told Marlene because (A) I never thought the reporter would respond and (B) she would probably kill me. The reporter wanted to talk to my mom about her reaction to her weblog. I promptly gave her my mother’s work number and prayed that Marlene and I would still be on talking terms. The reporter said she was going to call after she hung up with me.
I hadn’t heard from my mom for awhile after I hung up the phone. The guilt started to eat me up. I tried to busy myself by playing a computer game, but I was distracted. “This is it,” I thought. “I’m totally dead.” I really expected her to call me after the interview because she would be either excited or pissed. The silence was killing me.
I finally bit the bullet and called her at work.
“She’s sitting her in stunned silence,” said one of her coworkers when she answered the phone. “Good job, Kim. You gave us our laugh for the day.”
She handed my mother the phone.
Me: Hi Mom.
Mom: I’m shocked.
Me: Listen, I’m sorry I submitted “Life with Marlene” to the newspaper. I didn’t know she would call.
Mom: Well, that’s it. I’m not watching Charlie anymore.
Me: You gotta watch Charlie! I’m going back to work in a week.
Mom: Well, when they answered the phone, they said, ‘Marlene, it’s for you. It’s the Democrat and Chronicle’. And I thought, ‘Oh shit, they tracked me down at work because I didn’t pay my subscription.’ (pause) Anyway, I have a phone interview on Saturday and they want to do a photo shoot of us on Wednesday.
Me: That’s cool.
Mom: Maybe we can do the photo shoot on Saturday. (pause) Yeah, Saturday is better for me. Will you call the lady and tell her we want Saturday?
The article probably won’t appear in the paper anyway. They never printed my letter to the editor about the guy who jumped your brother on Halloween. They never printed the article about the pediatric office. I think they just don’t want to print anything about me.
Me: Who knows?
Next Up: Date with the Photographer
