My Mom doesn't have a Facebook
An enigma she erroneously calls "My Face"
She doesn't tweet
Doesn't pin neat stuff to an imaginary corkboard
And no matter what you are doing on your smartphone she will call it texting
That's just her
She'll answer the phone when you need on the fly cooking instructions
She'll call you out of the blue to see if you are the one kid who called
And didn't leave a message
She'll watch a Hallmark movie with you from afar while praying the Rosary
And clipping articles from the week's newspapers
She's a formidable Jeopardy opponent
Should have won at least 3 or 4 mil on Wheel of Fortune by now
Remembers poems she's read in high school
Can still recite the Orders of Insects
And is quick to solve that one crossword clue that's had you puzzled for days
But that's just her
I won't see her this Mother's Day
I'm a bad daughter like that
I spend my weekends decompressing from a week's worth of sensory overload
And making absolutely zero progress on the papers I'm supposed to be writing
We fill the void of time and space with coffee talk on Saturday mornings
If I posted Happy Mother's Day to All the Mom's, she wouldn't see it
If she did see it, she'd question the misuse of an apostrophe
Apostrophes denote possession, dear, she'd say
She won't see this admission of guilt unless I print it out and send it to her
Maybe I will, maybe I won't
That's just me
Instead, I'll call her later and work through the crossword puzzle that always has the dumbest clues
I'll Google quietly while she ponders the clues--quietly so she doesn't say
That's cheating, my dear
She'll ask over and over whether I have ANY letters filled in
And I'll tell her she's getting rusty in her old age
But that's just us
