Hi Mom!

The Mothership has landed... at my blogspot.

I'm on the phone with her now. She's never read a blog before, and prior to 2 nights ago, had never heard of one. She thinks I'm the funniest, smartest woman ever, or in her words, "you are a superior blog!" I think she meant "blogger." She thinks I should take over the void left when Candace Bushnell quit writing "Sex in the City" columns. "You should be a columnist," she says with decisive glee. Then her voice gets serious. "It says you're confused-- what are you confused about? Is everything ok?" Typical Jewish mother.

Now she's reading me articles over the phone on fertility and yo-yo dieting. This is a favorite pastime of Mom-ah-lah's. She reads articles like these to me all the time. Take vitamin E! Don't take vitamin E! Eat more fruit! Flossing combats heart disease! And the ones she doesn't read to me over the phone, I get in the mail. The last envelope had an article about a 14-lb. lovesick bunny, clipped right from the evening paper.

Have I mentioned that I'm an only-child? There are no siblings to help shoulder the burden of my mother's constant concern, nagging and attention. No brothers to be lectured about the importance of getting enough sleep at night. No sisters to withstand the constant nagging to floss. "You don't want your teeth to fall out, do you?!"

But it's hard for us, living so far apart. How else do you expect a sweet Jewish mama to show her "only egg" (my parental nickname has been Egg for years and years) how much she loves her when she's on the other side of the continent? A little nagging here, a little (ok, a lot) worrying there.

"Mom, I'm 35 years old. I'll make a dentist appointment when I get a chance. Stop worrying!"

"I will never stop worrying about you, so tough."

Sounds suffocating, doesn't it? And at times, I admit, I get frustrated and annoyed and feel nagged to my wit's end. But after a deep breath, I realize how much she loves me and that she's just trying to show it long distance. The tirades are like giant interstate hugs and homemade matzoball soup in the form of persistent badgering. Besides, when I can get her to stop harassing me about all things health-related, she's wise, spiritual, supportive, gives good advice, dishes about make-up and celeb gossip with the best of 'em, laughs at my lame jokes, and cracks me up. Ok, so I admit it. She's one of my best friends.

Lately, she and my dad have become addicted to, of all things, "Sex in the City" reruns on TBS. No, I'm not kidding. (And for those of you who have met my dad, I'll say it again, "no, I'm not kidding.") So now, in addition to the ubiquitous kvetching, I am bombarded with her new-found knowledge of cheesy sex slang.

"Do you know what a 'happy ending' is?"
"Have you ever heard the term 'teabags' (sic)?"

Did I mention I'm an only-child?