I usually call my mother on the way home from work. Sometimes it’s 2 PM. Sometimes it’s 8:30 PM. If I don’t call she assumes that I didn’t go to work and she’s usually right. So, tonight I called as usual. She tells me about her day. Then says, “I have to ask you a question.”

I say, “OK.”

She asks, “Do you really think that your sons are perfect?” (She’s referring to this post.)

I asked, “They’re not?” (Notice the technique?)

She says, “Well they’re very nice, but I wouldn’t say that they’re perfect.”

Me (feigning alarm): “They’re your grandsons!”

She says, “I raised four children. They’re all smart, good looking, well-mannered, successful, but they’re not perfect.”

I added, “Except one!”

She rebutted, “Your brother’s not perfect.” (Sometimes I wonder why I call her.)

Then she says, “I married a wonderful man, a special man, but he wasn’t perfect.”

Me: “What?”

Then she says, “Now if you were talking about me….”

I interrupted her with, “This is gonna be a great blog post!” and said, “Good night”.

Can you tell she’s my mother?

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