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First to arrive and the last to depart, I left my girlfriends house at half past midnight, got into my car and headed toward my parents' house in Los Angeles. My daughter, who is currently attending UCLA, is living with my parents, and I was looking forward to spending the night cuddling her like so many years ago when she was just a baby.

I had been up since very early that morning, but felt like I had more energy than ever. Tonight was one of our Book Club meetings, and reconnecting with my girlfriends always recharges my batteries. I kept thinking how six of us reading the same book could batter up different opinions and views. In particular, it amazed me how three of us thought that the main character died tragically, while the other three insisted that he did not. Discussing books is always fun, and catching up and bonding with girlfriends is priceless.

My busy day required several hours on the cell phone, and by the end of the evening the battery had run dead and my charger was at home. Around 9:00 p.m., I called my other kids to say goodnight and mentioned that my battery was dying. Knowing that three of them were with my husband and one was with my parents, I could relax and enjoy my evening without any worries.  

As I got into my car after a delightful evening of book discussion, dinner, a few drinks and a lot of gossip, I thought about my parents and how much they enjoy having my daughter live with them. Daisy appreciates living there as well, but is always concerned that they worry about her.  

Before Daisy moved in, my mom swore that she would not give her a hard time about going out and coming home late. So far, she has kept her end of the bargain. The only problem is, she doesn't bother Daisy; instead she calls me!

Déjà vu All Over Again

As I parked my car and climbed the few steps to my parents' town home, I opened the door and froze. There stood mom in her pajamas, a look of horror on her face.  

Before I had a chance to ask what was wrong, she began screaming that she has been up for hours, worried sick about me. She tried calling me, but my phone was dead. She didn't know if something happened, and why didn't I call, and on and on she went.  

As I stood there at 43 years of age, a mother of four grown children, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Part of me felt like asking mom what she was doing up so late, and part felt like I was back in high school, about to get grounded.  Only when my mom proclaimed that, "she will talk to my husband" and that "these book clubs have to end, after all how long does it take to discuss one book?" could I no longer contain my laughter.  

I love my overly protective, neurotic Jewish mother, but getting lectured at 1:00 in the morning for staying out too late was just too much to take with a straight face. When I asked her to keep quiet in fear of waking my father, mom turned around and announced that she was going to bed.

Still laughing, I entered the bedroom where my daughter laid snickering under the sheets. She told me that grandma waits up for her every time she leaves the house, and also said that my mom made her call and text all of my friends to see if they knew of my whereabouts. Fortunately, my daughter wasn't worried about me, and actually found the whole incident very entertaining.

As I climbed into bed with my 'baby," we had a long talk about how a mother's job is never done. In my mom's eyes, I was still a child that needs protection - regardless of my age - and that will never change.  

It was a real eye opener for Daisy to see me standing there, ready to take the punishment from my mom.  Only this time, I could risk having a smile on my face without the fear of getting sent to my room or ruining my chances of going out that weekend. As my daughter turned to say goodnight, she said, "Mommy, I promise never to run out of power on my cell phone" and we both happily fell asleep.  

Before I left for home the next morning, I made an orchid arrangement for my mom as a silent thank you for loving all of us the way she did.  

Mom, I love you, Happy Mother’s Day.



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