The other day I read a Dear Abbey type column in the paper. A woman was writing in to say that she’s fed up with the behavior of her son. I immediately tuned in because, I too, am fed up with my son and his head-butting ways.

Then I lost interest because her son is an adult and I only like stories having to do with children and how to force teach them to obey listen carefully so they will do exactly as I say until I am dead and gone grow up to make safe, appropriate choices in life.

But, I was on the toilet and didn’t want to get off. It’s not my fault I’m efficient – my husband takes 45 minutes in there – I figure 20 minutes is believable for me and my digestive system. So, I kept reading.

This woman is peeved because her son and daughter-in-law only talk about themselves. Incessantly. They talk about the kids, the dog, the house, their jobs, blah blah blobbity blah. Again, I was intrigued. This couple sounds suspicously familiar – like I know them ve-ry intimately. I skipped ahead to try and decode the identity of the sender because, damn. I think it’s my mother-in-law. If it isn’t, it should be, because – oh my god are we guilty of this.

K. watches the kids two days a week at our house and this woman is a saint. She has 5 kids, 12 grandkids, 1 great-grandkid and a husband with a golf obsession problem habit hobby. She is the friendliest, kindest, sweetest lady EVER. We’ve lived in this neighborhood 8 years and I’m still meeting neighbors who ask me – “Who are you and what are you doing with those kids? They belong to K. Where is K? How are the bunions on her right foot? Please tell her that my husband’s stones passed without surgery, she’ll be so pleased to know.” And she WILL actually be pleased – and relieved.

Occasionally, I’ll ask my husband, “How could we not KNOW she has bunions?” Or, like this past Friday when I discovered we’d missed her birthday, I asked – “What kind of son ARE you?” And then he’s forced to reply – “Didn’t you just forget to call your mother on the day of her SURGERY?” Oh. Well. I guess if you’re gonna count that – WE BOTH SUCK ASS.

I hearby pledge to get over myself.

Incidentally, this blog is not helping.