A few weeks ago, I called my mom because I was sick. I knew that she wouldn’t be able to do anything for me, but I called her anyway. It was early in the morning and I was getting ready to go to the doctor, but I stopped to call her and complain about being sick. For some reason I thought it would make me feel better, like through the phone lines Mom would wrap a warm blanket around me, turn on Fraggle Rock, and hand me a bowl of homemade chicken soup. A major stretch, I know, and physically impossible, but I did it anyway. So shoot me.
I called her again when I left the doctor, told her what he had said, that yes I had strep throat but no they didn’t actually test for it, yes he gave me a prescription which yes I am currently standing in the pharmacy waiting to get filled. Yes I got lozenges and yes I plan on laying on the couch all day drinking lots of fluids, getting lots of rest, and gargling warm salt water frequently. Yes Mom, yes. Yes you have taught me well how to nurse an illness and you’re right, this is not the first time I’ve been sick. Phew.
About an hour later my phone rang, and it was my mother calling me this time. I answered the phone reluctantly, since I was tired and medicinally inebriated and wasn’t up for another round of “Make Sure You (blank).”
Me: “H-Hello?”
Mom: “Hi, I don’t want to bother you. I just wanted to tell you that you have really matured in the past year or so. Really. You know what you need to do and you just do it. I just wanted to tell you that I noticed that.”
Me: “Uh, um….thanks?”
Mom: “No problem. Feel better I will check on you later.”
It’s not the fact that my mother gave me what can actually be called a compliment, something that does not happen often and when it does it’s always laden with sarcasm and pessimism. It’s the fact that I wasn’t sure whether or not I agreed with her. I mean, did I not call her just three hours earlier whining like a 4-year-old that my throat hurt and I had the chills?
I used to be like a lot of people I know, and probably you know too. The “Gonna Do’s” as I like to call them. You’ve heard them:
“I’m gonna go back and get my degree.”
“I’m gonna change my career.”
“I’m gonna get out of my miserable relationship.”
“I’m gonna start going to the gym.”
And on and on and on. They’re always “gonna do” something, but they never actually DO anything. I can proudly and honestly say that I am no longer one of those people. I’ve learned a lot in the past year. I’ve become a stronger person, a person who knows what they want, knows what they need to do to get it, and then goes and gets it. Or at least tries her hardest to get it, because not everything works out and sometimes when you think you want something once you get close to having it you realize you don’t want it anymore. Such is life.
So how could I possibly disagree with my mother’s observation that I’ve matured, given that my life has so blatantly and immensely changed in the last year? I don’t know. I’m not sure I can equate maturity with perseverance, which is what I guess I’d like to call my new “attitude” on life. An immature person can still persevere, right? I’m pretty sure.
Maybe she should have clarified a bit more – like maybe I’m ACTING more mature even though I still do a lot of stupid shit. Or maybe she felt for a brief second like she did a decent job raising me if I can make it through what I’ve been through and completely change my life for the better. Because I still do lots of immature things, like kick ass at video games and laugh when people walk into things and play drinking games and watch too much tv and dance around in my kitchen belting NKOTB tunes at the top of my lungs. But I know that at this point in life it’s probably best to do those things in the privacy of your own home or only in front of close friends or family, because, well…because mature people don’t act like that in public.
Thanks Mom.
