Mom

Despite the fact that my father and I have both tried to teach my mom how to use email, she pretty much refuses. She does read the blog these days (hi mom), so she isn't completely anti-computer, but email just doesn't happen. Unlike everyone else in my life, if I want to communicate with mom, I have to call her. Or, and this is what I choose in most cases, email my dad saying, "tell mom..."

Because of this lack of email situation, I still get things in the mail (yes, the actual mail) from her. Articles cut out from the New York times about cool places to go in Oakland or articles from the Los Angeles times about ballet dancers I once knew or animal related stuff.

Today, I got one and was surprised to find an actual letter (non article) in there. Until I read more and realized it was an excerpt from an book by Anne Lamott called Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. Handwritten on a yellow note pad.

I actually laughed out loud so I figured I should share it with you all as I would have had it been emailed to me as a 'forward' by one of my family or friends. So thanks Mom.

"My son Sam at three and a half had these keys to a set of plastic handcuffs and one morning he intentionally locked himself out of the house. I was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper when I heard him stick his plastic keys into the door knob and try to open the door. Then I heard him say "Oh Shit." My whole face widened like the guy in the Edward Munch's The Scream. After a moment, I got up and opened the front door.
"Honey," I said, "what did you just say?"
"I said, 'Oh Shit'" he said.
"But Honey, that's a naughty word. Both of us have to absolutely got to stop using it, okay?"
He hung his head for a moment, nodded and said, "Ok, Mom." Then he leaned forward and said confidentially, "But I'll tell you why I said "shit". I said okay and he said, "Because of the fucking keys!""