Many thanks so much for this! I have not been this thrilled by a site post for really some time! You have got it, whatsoever that indicates in blogging. In any case, You are absolutely a person that has anything to say that men and women should hear.
Above is just one example of the myriad oddball responses that I’ve received to the blog, baiting me to increase my blog traffic with their help.
This one is strangely inspirational. I have got it! My girls are always telling me: “you’ve got this mom!” It guess I really do. Okay, it was likely generated by a very supportive computer…whatever.
Now on to the post.
When I want my mom to do something and she decides to dig her heels in, she’ll say: “I’ll do my best.”
I’ve continued to ask her to read the blog and last, she said, “If I can get over there tonight I’ll call you.”
She means if she can get to my sister’s house, where someone, either my sister or one of her kiddos, will help her get online to access the blog.
Now, you’d think, after reading up to this point, that my mom would have to make a trip to get to my sister’s. You know, if I can get there. That must mean she has to get in the car, during the day, of course, and make her way onto the circuitous and busy freeways of Los Angeles. Nope. My mom lives in a house in my sister’s backyard. Are you laughing? I’d be laughing if it wasn’t so effing annoying. Really? I’ll do my best?
This is my mom’s default response when it’s going to be a cold day in hell that she’ll do what you want her to do. “I’ll do my best.” Those words tense up my entire body.
Is it truth? Is it a lie? Is there a best to be tried? Why does her best, end, so often, in her doing the opposite of what I hope? There is no try, only do, right?
I’ve begun telling her “your best isn’t good enough.” Doing “your best” Is code for I don’t wanna, right? We are both stubborn. I want her to, and she doesn’t wanna. I suppose that it’s time to acknowledge and move on.
Now, I’ve taken to telling her not to do her best.
“Don’t do your best, your best isn’t good enough.” She thinks it’s hilarious. Last go round in asking her to read the blog, she said: “you may get a surprising call from me.” “I’m not getting my hopes up.” I replied. “I may just do it,” says she.
“I love you,” says I. “I won’t do my best,” she says. “Excellent, mom,” I laugh. “Kiss all those bums for me,” she says.
We do our habitual, incalculably slow fade out of kisses into the phone, neither of us wanting or easily able to hang up.