I bet at least some of you DID see this one coming ...

Saturday was the big day: dress shopping with Mom. We'd talked about it a few times last week making sure we had things planned out.

I talked to Mom early last week to see when she was coming down so I knew when to schedule appointments. She said she was thinking of leaving her house at 10. I told her I wanted to get an early start so the stores wouldn't be crowded. If she left at 10, she wouldn't be here until 12:30 or 1. I told her she was more than welcome to stay at my place Friday night so we could get an earlier start on Saturday. She said she'd just leave earlier.

I scheduled appointments at a couple dress shops and made plans to go to a couple more. I wanted my mom to see the two dresses I'd liked before, and we'd move on from there. I emailed all the details to my mom on Thursday morning, and we talked that night. I told her our first appointment was at noon and that the shop was 10 or 15 minutes from my apartment. I told her I'd chosen a few dresses at a few shops, so we could try on just those or even try on more -- whatever she wanted to do.


Starting off on the wrong foot

On Saturday morning, I woke up around 9:15 and started cleaning my apartment to make it spotless and getting ready for the day. I called my mom around 10:00. She was just leaving. I reminded her that our first appointment was at noon and that I thought she was going to be here around 11:30.

"I thought you said I didn't need to be there until 1," she said. She also said she thought it didn't take that long to get to Dallas.

"Mom, you're coming from another state," I said. I told her I thought it took 2 1/2 or 3 hours at least. I was frustrated, but I kept my cool. There wasn't much that could be done. We got off the phone, and I called to move back our two appointments.

About 10 minutes later, my mom called me back. She apologized for starting the day off late. She had really thought it wouldn't take that long to get to Dallas and that she wouldn't need to be here until the afternoon.

"But why would I have told you that you were welcome to stay here on Friday if you didn't need to be here until the afternoon?" I was still staying calm.

She apologized again, saying she was "so ... very sorry" for getting things off on the wrong foot. She said it was her fault and that she should've read my email more closely the night before.

"Mom, it's no big deal. I'm not mad," I said. "I'm annoyed, but I'll get over it. It's not that big of a deal. I already called and told the places where we had appointments that we'd be late."

My mom asked if I wanted to do this some other time. I told her I didn't have some other time. This was my last free Saturday until October, really. She said she could take off work sometime during the week, and we could try it then. "Yeah, but then I'd have to take off work." (I'm trying to roll over as much vacation as possible to next year. Between K's returning from deployment, the "real" wedding, the honeymoon, moving with K [!!] to our new base, and the umpteen billion weddings we'll have to go to next year [chalk those up to the deployment -- talk about a make-or-break event!], I'm not sure I'll have enough as it is, even with the fact I get 20 personal days a year.). I told my mom it was up to her, though, and that we could do whatever.

"No, you tell me. It's your decision," she responded. We did that a few times before I finally said, "Just keep driving. We planned on doing this today."

Around 11:30, my mom called to tell me her GPS said she'd be at my place at 12:30. "Do you want me to just meet you at the first shop? You could just tell me where it is," she said.

It didn't seem like a good plan. I thought it would be better for us to just ride together from the beginning. Plus, she'd been to my apartment before. It's not hard to get to. We'd just stick to that.


The problems continue

At about 12, I had to run a quick errand near my apartment. I called my mom to make sure I wouldn't miss her while I was out. When she picked up the phone, I asked where she was.

"I don't know," she said. She told me her GPS had had her turn around a couple times. I asked why she hadn't called me. "Well, I figured the GPS would be right. They update these things all the time."

"No," I said, "they don't." I gave her K's spiel about how you can't solely rely on GPS -- and why would you when you know someone who can give you directions with 100% confidence? "I've lived here for three years. Why didn't you just call? It's easy to get to Dallas. You just stay on 75. That will take you right into downtown if you want." I told my mom at least three times in that conversation that she would hit the exit on 75 for the highway she needed to get to my apartment. I told her she didn't need to exit until then. She told me she couldn't talk to me and drive at the same time, and she hung up on me.

I was really starting to lose my cool with her. It was bad enough that she left late, but the fact she was driving around in circles miles away from my apartment when she could've just called me to get back on track made it even worse.


Are you seriously still not listening to me?

Mom called me about 10 minutes later. "I think we need to rethink the way I'm coming," she said. "This isn't gonna work. There are cars everywhere. I can't even move."

I was confused. I didn't think they were doing any construction where she would be coming from. "Where are you?" I asked her.

Imagine my frustration when she told me (after I'd told her MULTIPLE TIMES in the previous conversation how to get to the right highway) that she was on another highway a ways north of the one she knew she needed to exit on. Before I knew it, I blurted out, "How the f*$k did you wind up on 121? I told you not to exit 75."

She told me her GPS had said she was supposed to turn. "I'm not even sure I'm on 121," she said. "There are so many cars around that I can't even see." She was definitely on 121. It's a highway with stoplights. It's pretty much a parking lot.

I asked my mom for any sort of indication where she was. If she could tell me what intersection she was at, I could tell her how to get back on track to get to my place. She told me she couldn't see anything for all the cars. (Seriously?) Finally, she saw a sign that told her [Major Road] was three-quarters of a mile ahead. "That's good!" I said. "When you get to that light, turn left. Then stay on that road until you hit the next big intersection. Then, I want you to call me so I can tell you where to go from there."

My mom started griping at me for talking to her like a child. She said I was cussing and yelling at her. "Mom," I said," I only said one cuss word. It was a bad one, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it. I haven't been yelling at you. I yelled that one sentence, but that was it." She went on to say I was talking to her like a sailor. "Mom, I said f*$k one time. One time. That's one cuss word. That's not talking to you like a sailor."

"It's not that big of a deal that I'm late!" she said. She was starting to get emotional. "Just call the shops and tell them. It's not open-heart surgery. I'll get there!" She repeated "it's not open-heart surgery" about three times in the conversation, to the point I finally cut her off and said, "OK, OK. I get it. I get it."

I asked her again where she was. It had been at least five minutes since I told her she needed to turn left. "Have you turned on [Major Road] yet?"

"I can't turn left there. I'm in the wrong lane." How could she not have gotten over? She'd had plenty of time! "Well I don't know how I'm supposed to get over there!" she responded. "There are so many cars I can't even move!"

"Mom! You have to turn on your blinker and butt your car into their lane. They won't just let you in. They don't drive nice here. You have to push your way in there."

My mom told me again to quit talking to her like a child. She again said she couldn't talk to me and drive at the same time. She hung up on me. Again. Awesome.


The peak of the drama

My phone rang again about 10 minutes later. "Where are you?" I answered.

I can't remember if she was crying when we got off the phone in the last conversation -- knowing her, she probably was -- but I could tell she was crying a bit by this point. "I'm in some parking lot."

"OK, are you at an intersection?"

"I don't know. I just pulled off in some parking lot."

I was really losing my cool. "All right, you gotta work with me here. I can't help you get here if all I know is you're in a parking lot that may or may not be off of [Major Road]."

"Well, I turned on [Major Road], but then the GPS started --"

"YOU'RE STILL LISTENING TO THAT THING?! Mom, I told you to turn left and keep going to the next intersection!" (really losing my cool now)

"I'm just going to turn around," she said.

"Mom, that's stupid. Just tell me where you are."

"Well, I turned on [Major Road], and then I turned off into a parking lot. It's just confusing and there were so many cars around. I can't drive and talk to you at the same time. I didn't know where I was, so I just pulled into this big parking lot."

I tried to calm down. "OK, that's good. That's good that you pulled over. Do you see any signs around?"

My mom already had her mind made up, though. She was still babbling about me talking to her like a child and cussing at her. I reminded her I'd said one cuss word. She said, "I don't let anyone else talk to me like that. Why would I let you?"

"I don't know, Mom," I said cooly.

"Why do you have to be so hateful?" she asked, crying more.

"Why do you have to be so emotional?" I asked her. "For the first 20 years of my life, you were tough. You could be mean even. You're big thing was, 'If you can dish it, you better be able to take it too.' You could dish it, but you could take it. And now? You can't handle anything! Someone says hardly anything to you, and you get all emotional! I don't even know you anymore!"

"Well I'm sorry if I get offended when my child says f*$k to me. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's not that big of a deal. Maybe I should ask around and see if anyone else I know has kids who talk to them like that. I bet they don't."

I was tempted to tell my mom while she was at it to ask how much trouble those people's kids gave them in high school -- how many times they snuck out, got drunk, got detention, got arrested or whatever else my brother and I never did. I'm sure they'd much rather have their almost-25-year-old child say "f*$k" to them than any of those things.

My mom told me again that she was turning around and going home. This was kind of funny to me, since she had no idea where she was and seemed determined to rely on a stupid GPS system that clearly had no idea how to navigate the highways in Dallas. "Best of luck," I said.

The conversation only lasted a few minutes longer, and it didn't get any better. It also kind of just repeated the things from above. I was frustrated and annoyed, but I honestly wasn't that surprised. This is my mom for ya.


Not surprised ... and realizations

When I get really frustrated, I cry. I held it together until I talked to my dad and told him what was going on. I told him everything -- even my 121 comment. "You said that?" he asked.

"Yeah, and I shouldn't have, I know. But seriously, how the f*$k did she wind up on 121?"

My dad laughed. "True." He wasn't surprised my mom had turned around either.

I was so annoyed about the whole thing. My mom has been to Dallas and in the suburb I live near hundreds of times. How can she just forget how to get here? Why wouldn't she just listen to my directions instead of the stupid GPS?

After a while, I couldn't help but feel bad that my mom had gotten so upset. I shouldn't have gotten so frustrated at her and cussed at her, but I couldn't help it.

I realized part of the reason I get so frustrated with her is because she's just so emotionally weak now. When my brother and I were little, she really was mean a lot of the time -- especially to my brother. So many times when she and my dad fought, she'd shout at him, "Maybe we should just get a divorce" (my brother and I heard her say that many, many times). When my dad finally told her he really did want a divorce (I was 19 then), she softened. Overnight.

So now that we're adults and we don't have to deal with her every day, she's all nice? What wonderful timing. So I get annoyed when she starts breaking out the tears and acting like some softie. Whatever. I know better. My mom was a bitch. Really. How can you completely transform overnight (trust me, it was overnight) from such a huge bitch to someone who cries over everything? It's a little melodramatic. Unbelievably melodramatic, actually.

Anyway, I didn't let myself waste too many tears over it. A minute or two, and I was done. A little while later, I sent my mom a text message saying I was sorry I had gotten so frustrated at her.


Funny how things work out

Somewhere in there, Heather sent me a text message. I'd given her a few updates throughout the morning via phone calls and texts, and she knew my mom wasn't coming. She asked if I was still going to the appointments. And then she offered to come with me. She was eating lunch with Elle, so they both wound up coming with me.

As I left to go meet them at the first shop, I called my mom. I felt bad that she was driving all the way home again. She didn't answer her phone, so I left her a voice message. I apologized for cussing at her and for getting so frustrated. I told her I had been excited that she was coming, so it was frustrating when the plan kept getting messed up. I told her I was sorry she wound up losing half her weekend to driving.

I called because I felt bad for her (and because I wasn't sure she can get text messages), even if it was her decision to get just a few minutes from my place only to turn back around. By the end of the day (and still today), I wished I hadn't called her. The text message was almost too much. Knowing my mom, she'll take that as my admitting full responsibility for what happened, when really, I wasn't entirely to blame. I think I kept my cool through a lot.

The day wound up working out well. Heather, Elle and I went to two dress shops, and I actually found my dress!

It's the same designer as Heather's dress was, which is cool. And what's great is it's a lot like the lacy dress I'd liked before, but the things I disliked about the first one were just right in this dress!

I don't have a picture of me in the dress, since the store won't let you take pictures unless you're ordering it. I'm pretty sure I'll wind up doing that, but until then, here's a picture of the dress from the designer's site. (FYI, I'm going to have them alter the top to a sweetheart neckline.)






















Thank goodness for Heather and Elle! (Also, pretty sure my mom and I aren't talking again.)