I like to think of myself as a good person. I go to church, volunteer and have been known to hold the door open for others.
I offer up greetings and salutations to folks I don’t know, yield when I clearly have the right of way, and slow down so that an apparent race car driver can switch into my lane.
I make my family’s favorite foods, let them occupy my favorite spot on the couch and even let my charges take a long draw out of my much-coveted can of diet soda.
Darn near brings tears to your eyes, doesn’t it?
Yet, if there is one area where I don’t feel I’m doing my fair share, it is with my spare time.
Lord knows that none of us have enough of it. Sometimes a person has to choose between laundry and grocery shopping, dusting or banking, scrubbing the tubs or putting one’s feet up at the end of a hard day because her “dogs are barking.”
For the most part, folks don’t really seem to notice how limited I am with spare time. Friends are busy; kids are running here and there; and, as long as the dog has food in his bowl, he rarely complains.
But if you want to get feathers riled, grind some gears and really burn one’s toast, just forget to call your mother for a day or two. That will certainly put you on the “bad daughter” list post-haste.
My dear and precious mother is nothing if not tolerant and understanding of a busy schedule. Yet, there is nothing she enjoys more than a good guilt trip, and she really knows how to lay the humility down.
Why, just last week, I got wrapped up in my own schedule. I filled my days with bill paying, errand running and handling things that life tends to throw my way.
When I finally called her on Saturday morning, she answered with a weak cough and a sad voice. Meanwhile, she surely sat back in her chair; took a sip of her coffee; and, although it wouldn’t compare to a cruise to the Bahamas, she was certainly set to enjoy the guilt trip she was about to take me on.
“Who is this?” she asked as if she were addressing a wayward child that she had not spoken to in years.
She went on as if she had no recollection of having a child going by my name, and even took it so far as to ask Dad if he remembered fathering a daughter named Lori.
“And exactly what have you been so busy doing that you don’t have time to call your mother?” she asked as she shifted into high gear.
Mother is good at many things, but the guilt trip? She is the tour director. She is the captain of the cruise ship. She is mission control.
My own children apparently have every minute of their days filled, as well. It would seem they are going to and fro, taking classes, studying, and I suppose there is some need for a social life.
Yet, they tend to send text messages now and then, will make attempts to Facebook their dear mother, and will even call when they are getting a little thin in the wallet.
But last week I realized I had not heard from one of them for several days. I tried to call, but he didn’t answer. He also ignored my texts, Instagram posts and didn’t like any of my Facebook posts. “Who is this?” I asked in a weak voice when he finally took a moment out of his busy schedule to call his poor old mom.
In the ways of my own dear and precious mother, I pretended to have no recollection of him.
I asked if he was sure he had the right number and told him I would have to consult the family tree to see if there was any actual proof I had a child named Huey. “Too busy to call your mother just to let her know you’re alive?” I said after I finally acknowledged that I knew of his existence.
It was no trip to the Bahamas, but I have to tell you — Huey knew he had just won a guilt trip, all expenses paid, and with Mama at the helm.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her by sending an email to [email protected].