Wednesday, November 29, 2006
In the last six years, my mother has become my own personal weatherman. Tired of seeing me show up in a T-shirt in thirty-degree weather, sheepishly saying, "Who knew the temperature was going to drop?", she has taken it upon herself to call me whenever there is a drastic change in the weather. This being Oklahoma, I get these calls quite frequently.
Last night, she called me to tell me about the winter storm blowing in. And to tell me to wear a coat ("I will, Mom."). And to remind me to put my ice scraper in my car ("It's already there, Mom.") And to tell me that I should unscrew the water hoses from the house ("Um. I'll be sure to have Rick do that, Mom.").
Before hanging up, she said, "I feel like there's something else I should warn you about, but I can't remember it right now."
That's my mom. She probably hoped she'd raise a kid smart enough to own a TV, if for no other reason than to know what tomorrow's weather will be, but she sticks with me anyway. No matter how old I get, she's always looking out for me. Even when I don't want her to. Even when we don't see eye to eye. She's a fantastic mother and my best friend. And I can always count on her getting my back.