Dad (looking at blackberry): “Oh! Today is Jeremy’s birthday.”
Mom: “Poor kid…it’s his 30th birthday and he’s all the way out there in California. I hope he has someone to celebrate with.”
Me: “He’s in Mexico with like 10 friends.”
Mom: “What?!”
For the record, I only knew this from Facebook.
That moment when you have dinner with your parents and, because you owe them your life and they have supported you emotionally and financially through thick and thin, you offer to pay, as it is literally the LEAST you can do. And that subsequent moment when, for the first time ever, they actually allow you to do it.
WTF!?!
My parents are coming to NYC this weekend to watch my baby nephew while my sister and brother-in-law are in Philly for a wedding. Steph asked if I have any friends who babysit so that Mom and Dad can go to dinner Saturday night (in true Mom and Dad fashion, they have failed to realize that they ARE the babysitters).
Me: “I don’t have any friends who babysit, but if they want to go to dinner, I’ll watch the baby for a few hours.”
Steph: “Um…I’m sure they want to go to dinner with YOU.”
Me: “Oh. Shit. I didn’t even think of that.”
Steph: <no expression whatsoever, but definitely wondering what’s wrong with me>
Cue Jewish guilt. OF COURSE they want to go to dinner with me. What kind of daughter am I?!? The WORST. That’s what kind.
Mom calls a few hours later. I try to sound casual, like I figured all along we’d have plans…
Me: “Hi! So…we’re going to dinner Saturday night?”
Mom: “What? No. Dad and I are going out with our friends.”
You would think having their photo taken would be the ONE thing babies would be good at, given that they are so damn cute. But let me tell you something– babies are TERRIBLE at taking a selfie. Like, shockingly bad.
I tried taking one with my nephew all night, and he would not cooperate for ANY of them. He either blocked my mouth with his little alien hands, made the “I’m totally shitting myself” face (likely because he was), gave himself six chins, or stuck out his tongue like a drunk uncle. It’s like he was purposely TRYING to take the world’s first photo that Valencia couldn’t fix.
Luckily I Magic Hour-ed that shit and managed to filter out all the drool. It doesn’t matter WHOSE drool it was, guys. The point is, I fixed it.
Because I am good at things, baby nephew. Pay attention to your Auntie Em and maybe you’ll learn some things. You know, important things. Things EVERY SINGLE Kardashian knows how to do.
On an unrelated note, I should never have children.
…with the photo Steph sent of our baby nephew’s new hobby.
That thrilling moment when your brother switches his PhD program to something you actually understand!
Well, not understand, but know how to say.
Because it’s three initials.
Just don’t ask me what they stand for.
My mom, on the phone, after learning that I have the flu…
Mom: “Do you have any food in your apartment?”
Me: “A little. I have some soup.”
Mom: “Ok. Well, are there places there that will deliver?”
Yes, I GOT THE FUCKING FLU SHOT.
I know this is a natural question to ask someone who has the flu, and I’m sure I’ve asked it a million times, but honestly, it comes off as slightly accusatory. Because what if my answer was no? Would your next line be, “Oh. Well then this is your own damn fault.”
Also, I thank you sincerely for checking in, and for all your well wishes. You guys are the BEST.
My Dad gets my blog posts sent to his email. I guess the last one worried him.
(Part of the Emails From My Brothers series)
Jeremy wrote us this email in 2013, while living at home with my parents. My mother said something in a social setting that made Jeremy uncomfortable (I’m not posting what she said– not because it’s that bad, but because it involves other people and isn’t the funny part of the email anyway).
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