Found this over in weirdjews
and figured there are enough folks who read this journal who might get a kick out of it.
Come, kinderlech, come, nosh a bissel, sit and listen to your
Mama, She Who Knows Best--what do you mean, why do I know best?
Because I'm you're mother, that's why! Now sit and listen, after
all the aggravation I've had with you! Oy! But you're a good kid,
so I don't mind all the tsoris. Of course, it would help if
you were going to school for a real degree....
Oy, what was I going to say? You made me lose track.
Oh yes...Sit and listen to your Mama, who has been known by many
names, oy, so many names, if I sat here and listed them all,
we'd be here all day, so I won't bother you; after all, why
should a mother ever bother her children?
Now, whenever you have need of anything, and of course
even if you don't need anything, you can always call me. It's
not that hard to pick up a telephone, is it? But you do, so I
don't complain. But at least once a month, is that so much to
ask? And do it at the full moon, that's best; that way there's
light, and you won't kill yourself wandering out in those woods,
God forbid. So get together, have a cup of tea and some cookies,
so you won't be hungry, first, and then meet in some place people
won't see you and the mishegoss you do, and realize you really are
meshuggeneh, and adore the spirit of Me, She Who Really Does
Know Best. I will not have my children be slaves--you will be free,
whether you want to or not, because if you really loved me, you
would do it--and as a sign of this--what, you really think I would
tell you to get undressed? Fine Mother I would be, to tell you, go
get pneumonia in the woods! Stupid idea, to be freezing cold in
the middle of nowhere, without a stitch of clothing on! And I didn't
raise my children to be idiots! No, what you should do is, get out
the charge cards, that's what they're there for, and get some clothes
you won't be ashamed of, something that's newer than the yard sale from
two years ago. You're a bigshot, you can afford it--and of course if
you see something that might fit me, it wouldn't hurt to get it, I
can always return it if I don't like it. And while I'm thinking
of it, you really need a new haircut. I don't mean to criticize,
but how many decades have you been wearing that style? Is it two or three?
Now where was I? Oh yes, you're meeting in some verkuckte God forsaken
place no one has heard and you have to spend an hour trying to find
the right street to turn onto, and when you get there you still aren't
sure if this is the right place because everyone else is even more
verblondjet than you are, and won't show up for another hour anyway.
But you get there, you're patient, you learned it from me, I admit,
and when you are all together you have a nosh, you sing, you have a nosh,
you dance--not these strange newfangled dances with that trashy music,
but good music, like we had when I was your age--you have a nosh,
you meet a nice person and do what you want, but I don't want to know
about it; just be careful, I don't need a grandchild that badly--well
I do, come to think of it, you're not getting any younger you know,
and when are you going to meet someone, please ?! And whatever you do,
don't do anything that people will talk about; you know those nosy
neighbors. And don't worry about me, I'll be home waiting up for you;
stay as late as you want, I'll be okay by myself. Just have fun, and
make your spirit ecstatic as they say, be joyful of the earth, and
I'll be fine. It will give me a chance to read that Danielle Steele book
I've had by my bed for the last year. I don't need to go out and have fun;
I'm not a spring chicken anymore, after all. Which reminds me, the doctor
says I need to watch my cholesterol. Do you know any good diet books?
What do you mean, how should you act at these silly things? Just
love everybody and everything: that's what your Mother wants you to do;
after all, that's the secret to staying young and living forever. And
believe me, sometimes it's really does seem like it's been forever.
My arthritis is killing me! That Cauldron Ceridwen gave me must be losing
its oomph, you know, the one that he gave me for my birthday a couple of
years ago, the one I use to drink wine from? You suppose maybe it's
from when I put in the dishwasher?
So listen to your Mother, She Who Knows Best: I know everything,
that's why I'm your mother, and I can still spank you if I wanted to. But
I wouldn't want to hurt my precious baby. I give the knowledge of how to
make good knaidlech, and what to put in the cholent, and beyond death I
give peace and freedom and reunion with those who have gone before--yecch,
how morbid! Who wrote this mishegoss? Eugene O'Neill? No, if you want
that you have to please your mother. I don't ask for anything, or at least,
I don't ask for much; after all I know you love me, even if you do give
me all that aggravation. Just a little peace and quiet is all I ask from
you, and maybe you can settle down finally and give me a grandchild?
I'm not getting any younger, you know. I would like to see a grandchild
before I move to Sun City or Century Village. Is that too much for
your mother to ask? Nu?