#1 My mother ruined my life…again
No computer games
I couldn’t believe how many times my mother ruined my life. The last one was the worst and the best thing to happen to me. Well, all of them were the best thing and the worst thing to happen to me. I might be a drama queen but my mother does some really deplorable things when it comes to dealing with me and my life.
The first time I remember my mom ruining my life was when she wouldn’t buy me Furby Zoom. My best friend had this game and we had so much fun playing it. I received a flat no from my mom. My dad didn’t even get to have any input into the subject. When mom had said no, I went to him and begged him to talk to her. He tried with no such luck. My mom just kept saying they looked stupid and she didn’t like the sound it made. I promised I would only play with it in my room. She didn’t like me playing video games, especially if I had to play them in my room. My dad and mom argued about me getting a tablet in the first place. My mom didn’t like computers. My dad was of the twenty-first century and he was all about computers.
My parents met in college. Dad was studying finance and mom was studying art. I was told people thought they were an odd pair. When I asked my mom why they got together she would always say that opposites attract. I heard someone say my dad had such a type A personality so I looked it up on Wikipedia. What I found out was my dad was so type A personality through and through. It said they are outgoing, ambitious, rigidly organized, highly status-conscious, impatient, anxious, proactive, and concerned with time management. People with Type A personalities are often high-achieving workaholics. That described my dad to the letter “T.” They really should have put a picture of my dad next to the description of a type A personality. 
On the other hand, my mom is totally a type B personality, she is very carefree and relaxed. I would never understand why that meant she failed at understanding the concept of time. I felt like she really didn’t know how to tell time. Another thing that grated on my nerves was that she was so carefree she didn’t mind living in a mess. She was so relaxed about it she didn’t care who saw it. 
When it comes to my trait I am a totally a type C personality. I am a very detail-oriented individual who likes to be involved in things that are controlled and stable. I am interested in accuracy, rationality, and logic. No wonder my mom and I were always battling it out until I learned to control and stabilize our way of living. Of course, now I have to admit, my mother had a bit of a realization that I needed to control our lives. I really hate to admit that. 
I was told by my dad’s mom that she couldn’t see what my dad saw in my mom and grandma tried to talk my dad out of marrying mom. My grandma Wright was thrilled that my mom had found someone stable who might put some order in mom’s life. It wasn’t until I had it pointed out to me that I realized she was driven as well, though I didn’t see it that way until I was sixteen and living a life totally different to what I thought it should be. My mom knew she had talent, she just had to hone her craft and prove herself, though in doing so she let everything else in her life except me fall to the wayside. She was always very good at making me feel like I was as important as her art. I just didn’t see it until I saw it myself in other people’s eyes.
My dad tried to put order in mom’s life, but they fought all the time about it. As I stated before, my mom had no concept of time. Dad would want mom to be ready at six to go to dinner and mom might be home by six though she would be covered in paint. Time was a constant battle with them. The other battles were how messy the house was and how we didn’t eat as a family half the time. Mom would be so engrossed in a project that she was working on she would forget to fix dinner or not show up at all. She did make sure she was home when it was my bedtime. I loved our bedtime ritual. 
To be fair, sometimes my dad would work late and mom would have had dinner ready an hour before he got home. A fight would ensue because dad said he told her he wouldn’t be home until seven and she just forgot it. My mom would say, “You always blame me.” 
They tried to hide their fight from me but I could here my dad yelling all the way to my bedroom. Sometimes I would go downstairs to try to interrupt the fighting. The fighting I blamed on my mom. I was on my dad’s side because she was the one who always ruined my plans. I was on my dad side of things until it was time for bed then everything that went on during the day would fall away. My mom and I would cuddle and talk about what was good in our lives. I needed my mom to go to sleep to feel safe. 

#2 My mother ruined my life…again
My parents’ divorce and my mom and I move to New York City
One day mom said she was tired of the fighting and was taking a job at the New York School of the Arts. That was the second time my mom ruined my life. My parents were divorcing and my mom was taking me to New York to live with her. We left my beautiful three-bedroom home with three bathrooms and a pool in Liberty, Missouri, for a rundown loft apartment in New York, New York. I really didn’t even have a bedroom. My mom put up a partition in the corner of the loft so I could have a space of my own.
I was eight years old. My dad promised me that he would see me every summer and holidays. He wanted to make sure that I took care of mom. I think he still loved her but just couldn’t live with her anymore. I think my mom still loved my dad because she would cry herself to sleep for the first month we lived in New York. We each had our own partitioned room though you could hear everything that went on in that loft. The Loft in Chinatown was all my mom could afford at the time. The first six months we ate a lot of Chinese food from the little restaurant on the ground floor. When we moved away, we would go back to the little restaurant at least every month. They had the best dumplings and when they made dumpling soup it was over the moon good.
Living in New York City was an education in itself. One of the first things I learned to do was to identify what a rat looked like. One day I chased what I thought was a cat down an alleyway. I was hoping my mom would let me keep it. I knew we had a mouse in our apartment because I asked my mom, “What are these little black beads?”  
She said, “They are little presents from our friendly mouse we were sharing our little apartment. Though, we shouldn’t touch them.”
Anyway, when I finally cornered the rat, my mom had caught up with me. She screamed “Rat,” she grabbed my hand and she pulled me down the alleyway back to the road. She kept making involuntary shivers as we walked the rest of the way home. She promised me as soon as I was old enough to clean the litter box, I could get a cat. 
I started to learn what it was like to be a parent at eight years old. I could see why my dad would get so frustrated with my mom. My mother’s problem with having no concept of time at all, drove me crazy. I had witnessed it since I was little but it went to an whole other level when we got to New York. I was left at school so much the teachers had my mom’s phone number on automatic speed dial. After the first week of fourth-grade my teacher would call my mom before school was out every day to remind her to pick me up. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die every time my teacher called her because she looked straight at me. I thought if I weren’t a good student, she might have been mean to me during the school day. Instead, she would just look at me like, “why do I have to do this every day.” 
By fifth-grade I was starting my third school and we were in our third apartment. We could afford to live near mom’s school. The best part was I had real walls that went all the way up to the ceiling. Mom was having so much success in selling her art we were moving up in the world. Mom taught by day and worked at night; sometimes it was the other way around. She realized she was having so much success selling that she could tell the school what classes she wanted to teach. The students loved her and her classes filled up first no matter what time she was teaching. I have to admit I was proud of my mom when we would meet one of her students while we walked around the city. They would gush all over her. In turn my mom would gush all over the student telling him or her they were doing a great job on the piece they were working on.
I knew we were staying in that apartment when my mom started to make friends with the people who lived there. When she would let me go down the hall to my friend’s apartment, I knew I was in a safe place. We even had a doorman that my mom would ask how he was doing and how his family was. He was adorable. He looked like Santa Claus. She started to pay my friend Leah’s mom to take me to school and bring me home about halfway through fifth-grade. That made my teacher very happy. Actually, I was happy. 
That ended my days of me starting the morning trying to get my mom to get up and dressed, which always ended up in a fight. Now I was being dropped off at school on time, which was fifteen minutes before I was supposed to be there. Leah’s mom liked to be early. She was always waiting outside the door of our classroom when the bell rang at the end of school. Leah and I would do our homework together while her mom would make dinner. Oh, the smells that came out of her kitchen would make my stomach growl. I wished my mom would learn to cook. By the end of the school year Leah’s mom was packaging up a little food for me before I went home. This was how I learned all about Indian cuisine. I learned I loved their food.
 

My mother ruined my life…again
#3 my mom can’t cook like other moms
I complained to my mom that she didn’t know how to cook and should take lessons from Leah’s mom. On my birthday that spring my mom gave me cooking lessons from Leah’s mom. I learned how to make all kinds of things but Naan was my favorite. There is nothing like smelling fresh bread baking in your house. Don’t get me wrong, the smell of Dal Tadka (a lentil dish), Butter Chicken (has the same profile as tikka masala though different), Matar Paneer (a fresh cheese and pea stew that has an explosion of flavor) makes both my mom’s and my stomach growl. When my mom smelled samosas, she would usually be standing behind me as I was taking them out of the oven. The delicate pastry filled with spiced potatoes, onions and peas make for a mouthful of goodness. My mom told friends that was the best gift she had ever given me. I found my first love, cooking Indian food.
Living in New York City was exciting and fun. I would downplay it when I was with my dad because I didn’t want him to know I loved living in NYC. Once a week my mom and I would do some kind of excursion in Manhattan. Central Park was a regular occurrence. There was so much to do in Central Park from age 8 until I left, it never got old. We went from seeing puppet shows and playgrounds to seeing concerts in the summertime where we saw new bands. I loved it when my mom and I would get dressed up to eat lunch or brunch at the Boat House. My favorite was when we would get a table at the railing looking out onto the lake. These trips made our time together more special.
The things we did from day one until we left were go to Central Park Zoo and walk through the butterfly gardens. Both of these things we did with so much enjoyment. Much later than it should have been I stopped chasing the butterflies. I had so much joy seeing them fly around, it was magic. My mom painted a huge butterfly on my bedroom wall in each apartment. I was so excited watching the butterfly emerge from the white wall as my mother painted it. Each time the painting was different. I didn’t care, I just couldn’t wait until it was finished. I was always sad when we had to paint over the butterfly when we were leaving. I have to say sometimes I cried. I wasn’t sure why I did it because each move was to a better place and my mom would paint another beautiful butterfly on my wall. I might have a problem with change. Moving was always an ordeal, having to paint all the walls white and usually removing paint from the floors. Mom didn’t care for white walls at first but learned they were great canvases or backgrounds for her paintings.
Another of our pastimes on the weekend was finding a new place to eat. Both of us enjoy our food. We went to all the international festivals around us. Sometimes we even left Manhattan to go to festivals in the other boroughs. We could tell you all the best places to eat. My mom was always drawn to festivals that had color and art. I felt like she was always in a search of the next inspiration while we were together. The funny thing was most of what inspired her was in our own backyard, Central Park. She painted a series of me on the merry-go-round that hung in our living room. My favorite one she gave to my dad as a present from me. He has it hanging in his living room. Sometimes my mom is the best until she ruins my life…again.

My mother ruined my life…again
#4 My mom can’t even pay the bills
In sixth grade my mom was doing so well selling her art people started to recognize her when we were out in public. Her life got busier trying to meet the demand for her art. My life got busier because I had to start looking around our house for checks when bills were coming in past due. When the cable went dead and I couldn’t watch the cooking shows that really pissed me off. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, as my grandma would say. I had to confront my mother when she walked into the apartment.
My mom said, “I know we have the money somewhere.” The next morning, we both spent the day going through everything in our messy house looking for checks. We found checks in the most absurd places:  in the coffee container, under a package of deli meat in the refrigerator, in a magazine from a month ago. When I found one in the place where we keep the toilet paper, I made fun of her. This was when mom decided that we should clean as we looked. I wasn’t thrilled with the cleaning part. My room was already cleaned. I liked living in an orderly home but my mom was a slob and I didn’t want to clean up her mess. I thought after a while she would clean it up. I didn’t realize I would be cleaning it up after all.
When my mom found one of my books next to the couch, she walked it to my room to put it away. I had been reading it there when I was waiting for her to come home for dinner the night before. I forgot I had set it down when I went to get dinner on the table. She called me to my room. I remember this conversation like it was yesterday.
“Emma, Emma come here now.” I thought she had found something terrible in my room. I came running.
“What’s wrong?”
“Look at your room,” she said with such excitement.
“Again, mom, what’s wrong with it?”
“It’s clean.”
“I know.” I didn’t understand what was the problem here.
“Do you always keep it this clean?”
“Are you just noticing that my room is clean? Mom, you are unreal.” I couldn’t believe my mom and her observation. I thought being an artist made you observe everything. Well, her observation of how clean my room was gave me the job of cleaning the whole apartment. 
It took some negotiations but I got a new laptop that I wanted, my allowance was doubled, and my favorite thing was I got a clothing allowance. My mom got someone to clean her house. This was when I decided that I should take control of her finances as well. The first thing I did was easy. I just started to make deposits. On my new computer I set up her on-line banking and put as many bills on autopay as possible. After a show, my mom would hand me all of her checks. I had to ask her weekly if she sold anything so I could collect the checks. I would deposit them using my new phone – something else I got in the deal.
I had to call my dad to ask him how to do most of this and he started to put his child support checks in automatic deposit. My math skills got so much better after learning how to balance a checkbook. My dad said I had to balance the books every month. I thought that step was unnecessary but I did it to please him. 
I soon realized that mom was making a pretty good income. She was making more money selling her art than she was teaching. We were spending way less than what mom was making. Dad told me about buying a certificate of deposit with the extra money. I tried to have her meet with someone to invest in stocks but my mom wouldn’t make the time.
Knowing our finances put me in a good position to negotiate for the high school I wanted to attend. I was so excited when my mom agreed to one of the better high schools. I met so many kids from all over the world that I was in heaven. I was getting just as much of an education out of school as in school. I was making friends that had moms that really knew how to cook. I didn’t go around asking if their moms knew how to cook. It was just a happy coincidence. These moms were happy to show me how to cook their national food. Sometimes my friends and I would learn together, which made their moms happy I had come along. I was becoming an international cook. My mom and I were enjoying food from Thailand, France, Spain and Russia. 
My dad was afraid I was spending too much time cooking and not enough time studying. He searched for a bunch of workshops and summer programs that were in math and science for me. I agreed to attend them when I visited him in Kansas City. He had moved closer to work the summer before. I liked that he was living in Kansas City because I could still visit my friends in Liberty. I enjoyed my summer programs that I took after my freshman year in high school. I showed my dad that I was still smart even though I learned how to cook. He enjoyed my fresh French baguettes just as much as my mom. He couldn’t wait until it was cool enough to eat. He also enjoyed the milder Indian food I would make for him. He didn’t like the spiciness of the Thai food that my mom and I thrived on.
My sophomore year in high school I learned all about love. I met who I thought was the love of my life, Nathan. We didn’t live far apart so we saw each other all the time. My mom liked Nathan and didn’t mind him spending time over at our house. He became a valuable person in her life when she realized that he could move her sculptures or canvases with so much ease.
          

My mother ruined my life…again
#5 My parents can’t stay in one place
My dad threw me for a loop one day. At the end of the school day, he called to tell me he was moving to San Francisco, California, in a couple of weeks. I didn’t know what to say. All I could think about was no more seeing my friends in Missouri and no more seeing my favorite little big town of Kansas City, Missouri. It was such a reprieve from the noise of New York. I was so mad at him I ended the call. He called me right back and I wouldn’t answer. He started to text me thinking I would read them. I read them, but I wouldn’t – I couldn’t answer them. I just needed time to think about it and I knew that it wasn’t very nice. I just wanted to punish him for ruining my summers. What was I going to do in San Francisco? I wouldn’t know anybody.
Mom got home in time for dinner. I was a little surprised because she was on time. I had texted her that dinner would be ready at six. I didn’t get a reply though to be honest I usually don’t. As I have stated before my mom was not very computer savvy and she thought her phone was a computer. I made the mistake of telling her the phone could do most things a computer could do so now she was more afraid of it. She does answer it when I call most of the time…if she can find it.
We sat down to dinner with Nathan. He has been here all afternoon listening to me whine about my dad moving. Once he asked me if I was crying because I was unhappy or because of the onions I was chopping. I made my favorite Indian dish, butter chicken. It is my comfort food. It was the first dish I learned to cook and it comforts me to make it. I saw a lot of Indian dishes in our future.
“Mom, did you know about dad moving to San Francisco?”
She is trying to get the spicy potato samosa all in her mouth. I tried a new recipe I saw online that makes them into cone shapes. After seeing her try to eat it I thought I would go back to my standard way of making them. I did like the flavor of them and would make that filling again.
“Yes, he told me he was going to call you today.” At least, she had the decency to cover her mouth as she talked.
Well, that kind of pissed me off. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Don’t get mad at me young lady. It is not my place telling you what your dad is doing. Would you like it if I told Nathan something about you before you had the chance?”
“Ms. Shaw, don't bring me into this discussion. I am a simple guy getting a free meal,” Nathan said with a big smile.
“Okay, Mom, I get your point. I am still not going to talk to him for a while. I was going to have him teach me how to drive this summer. There is no way I want to learn how to drive in a big city.”
“Honey, why do you want to learn how to drive? We don’t even own a car. You don’t want to drive around here, do you?”
“No, I want to be able to drive out to see my friends in Liberty.”
“Oh,” mom’s tone was sad, at least. Mom took a bite of butter chicken and smiled. “Just think of all the new things you will see in California. Just think about all the different kinds of food you will be able to try. I have always wanted to go to San Francisco. Let’s go see where he is moving to together.”
I have heard about going on vacations before with mom and they never happened. I was wondering if this was one more of her dreams that wouldn’t come true. It would be nice to go on a vacation with her. Dad wasn’t into food as much as mom was so going to a restaurant with him lacked excitement. When mom and I went to a restaurant, it was an experience.
Every day my dad texted me and I ignored them. It had been two weeks since dad had told me that he was moving. I wish I could control my parents. It was so frustrating when they did unexpected things. 
I thought my mom was trying to lift my spirits by taking me to the Boathouse for brunch. Little did I know it was another thing that would happen that would ruin my life. 
Mom and I were walking to the Boathouse for brunch. They had only been open for the season for a few weeks. We usually didn’t go there for the first couple of weeks because everyone who misses it would be there. It was a beautiful spring day and we were enjoying the walk. My mom seemed a little more preoccupied than normal. I just chalked it up to her show next week. We shared everything we ordered. The waiter didn’t seem happy that we were sharing the appetizer of a lump crab cake. When he brought us the crab cake, we were ready to put in the rest of our order. We decided on a Greek salad, followed by the scallops with cauliflower risotto and for dessert cheesecake with macerated strawberries plus we were getting two apple turnovers to go. Mom suggested the turnovers would be good for a snack tonight. We could heat them up and serve them with vanilla ice cream that we had in the freezer. I have not made pastries yet. I thought pastries were hard to make. I did make some cookies but that was as far as I had delved into the pastry world.
We were working on the cheesecake when my mom stopped and just stared at the lake. I couldn’t tell if she was wanting to quit or lost in thought. I finished my half and she was still staring out though she had become fidgety in her seat. That was a sign that I knew something was up.
“Mom, what is the matter? I know there is something you want to tell me I am not going to like. Just spit it out so I can deal with it.”
Mom looked at me with so much apprehension it scared me. What she had to tell me was really going to upset me. It was my turn to get all fidgety. I couldn’t sit still and my mom reached out and took a hold of my hand.
“I have some news that is exciting; nevertheless, you are probably not going to like it at first.” I pulled my hand away. “Please don’t shut down until I tell you everything. This is a huge honor for me and I think this will be good for you too.”
“Mom, please just tell me.” Her drawing it out was making me nervous.
“Okay,” she took a deep breath and I prepared myself. “I have been given a Fellowship to the Academy of Art in Florence.”
“How long will you be gone? I can stay with Maria.” I didn’t understand why she was so nervous.
“It is for two years,” she said looking down into her lap. “I am sorry but we both are moving to Florence, Italy. I will be working on my MFA in studio art at the Academy of Art.” Mom tried to reach for my hand and I scooted my chair back. 
“I can’t believe this!” I was almost shouting. “I can’t believe you are ruining my life again! Do you ever think about me and my life? I have a great school. I can’t leave my friends. What about Nathan? You ruin everything.” With that said I pushed my chair back so fast that it fell over. I didn’t even pick it up. I just walked out of the restaurant. I saw a few people who were staring at me, but I didn’t care. 
I didn’t understand why she needed a degree when she was making so much money selling her art. She had an art exhibit a couple of times a year. She was very prolific in her art. She had no life besides art and having dinner with me most days. Our dinners had become a regular thing since she made a studio in our apartment. She would paint while I made dinner. It was like we were working on our own art together. We sat and talked for an hour or two about what I was doing or what Nathan was doing. His parents let him eat dinner with us three days a week. I really liked that time of day and I thought she did too. I knew she liked it because sometimes she was working on a painting or a sculpture for a show and she would still sit with me for a couple of hours. Our excursions around town were limited since I had a boyfriend. I thought the dinners were making up for the time we would have spent going around town. Sometimes I would talk Nathan into joining us on an excursion that my mom said we just had to go on. Mom didn’t seem to mind that Nathan would come with us.
My mom caught up with me just as I got to our street. How could she leave this place? So many people would give anything to live in Manhattan. All the museums, theaters, restaurants, cultural events and if you like sports we have that, too.
“Emma, let’s talk about this. You will love Italy.” She was out of breath. She still had to wait for the bill and the apple turnovers. I would not talk to her. She had ruined my life again. It had been a couple of weeks since dad told me he was moving and now this. I wouldn’t want to live in San Francisco, but did I really want to live in Italy? “Emma,” my mom touched my arm and I yanked it away from her. “Emma, you have always wanted to learn how to cook Italian. Now is your chance to learn in Italy.” Shoot what do I say to that? I really liked this idea of learning to cook Italian in Italy. How cool would that be? I decided to give my mom the cold shoulder for a while until I could figure things out.
That was the worst day ever. I didn’t want to leave my school or Nathan. How was I going to tell Nathan the news that I was leaving for two years? 
I baked his favorite chocolate chip cookies and took them over to his house the next day. I was in pretty good spirits after sleeping on moving to Italy. It could be a cool experience. I felt lucky that I was finishing out the school year so I had about a month to say goodbye to everything I loved. 
Nathan knew I had bad news as soon as he opened the door. I had a huge bag of cookies for him. I had never given him that huge of a bag of cookies before. We discussed our situation for an hour while eating a large portion of the cookies. We decided to give the long-distance relationship a try but he didn’t seem thrilled about it. Nathan never really said he loved me but I knew I loved him.
In getting ready for Italy, Mom had asked Peter, our neighbor, if he would give us Italian lessons. Peter told us all the places we should go for a good gelato. He had lived in Florence for a couple of years and assured me I was going to love it. When we weren’t taking lessons, Italian music was being played in the apartment. 
I had taken Spanish for six year and was pretty good at speaking Spanish with my friend Maria’s family. Her mom was the one who taught me how to cook Spanish food. She didn’t speak English very well so I really picked up what I had missed in school. My freshman Spanish grade went from a C+ to and A+ after the first semester. Learning Italian was much easier than I thought it would be since I had a great concept of the Spanish language. I actually was liking the thought of moving to Italy more. Was I going to tell my mother that?...no way!
My mom on the other hand was having a terrible time picking up the language. She was combining English and Italian half the time. Another reason why I had a short fuse with her was I couldn’t deal with her attention span when we were having the lesson. I just knew she was not trying. I didn’t have patience with people who didn’t try their best. She tried to compliment me by saying my attention to detail was what made me a great cook at sixteen.
The week before we left for Italy my mom and I flew out to California to see my dad. I thought my mom wanted to see where my dad was living. It was nice to play like we were a family again. We did all kinds of touristy things San Francisco had to offer. We took a boat to Alcatraz, toured Chinatown, went to Fisherman’s wharf, rode the cable car, and went to the zoo. It was hard not to compare the two Chinatowns nevertheless I thought both of us liked San Francisco better. Even though New York’s was bigger and we are more familiar with it, there is something special about San Francisco’s Chinatown. 
It was the first time we had spent this much time together since before the divorce. What was I saying: I didn’t ever remember spending this much time together. Neither of them were working and there was no fighting, it was a very pleasant time together. It was the only time since my mom made the decision to move that my behavior was pleasant. Yes, I was being a drama queen. I was thankful that I had parents that understood me enough to let me work out what I was dealing with before they intervened.

My mother ruined my life…again
#6 Moving to Florence Italy         
The day before we left for Italy Nathan’s parents threw us a going away party. It was very nice of them. They had been letting Nathan spend as much time as he wanted at my house. Saying goodbye to Nathan was the hardest thing I have ever done. I just knew my life was over. I cried myself to sleep that night. Nothing my mom said or did would make up for her moving us again. I had made sure my mom knew that over and over. 
In the morning when we got on the plane my mom was surprised that I had bought us first-class tickets. I knew the finances better than she did. Besides, I made the reservations and I didn’t feel like flying to Florence sandwiched between a bunch of people. I thought a little of me wanted to make my mom pay for moving us to Italy. I knew I should have been nicer; I just couldn’t make myself.
On the flight I made us practice our Italian. I had my mom ask for her drinks and her dinner order in Italian. The flight attendant complimented her on her pronunciation but I knew he was being nice. When I ordered you could see he thought my pronunciation was so much better with how he nodded his head and smiled at me. Mom patted my hand and told me that I was going to have to do all the shopping when we got to Florence. I thought, what was the difference? I did all the shopping when we lived in New York, well that was the way I felt. Funny thing was when we were moving to New York from Missouri I told my mom I was never going to forgive her for moving us to New York. While I was sitting on the plane, I was feeling I would never forgive my mom for moving us from New York. I loved New York, it had so much to offer. We were moving from one of the best cities in the world to a small town in Italy. What was I going to do with my time? My mom assured me that Florence wasn’t that small; it had over 300,000 people. It couldn’t be that small, right? 
I had made hotel reservations near the Uffizi Gallery. Again, my mom was surprised that we were spending over $200 euros for a hotel room. She reminded me that our money would have to last us for a couple of years. I told her that we weren’t staying at the hotel I picked out first, that one cost over $600 so she should be happy. I also told her that I knew she would be selling her paintings over here so I was not worried. I was not sure if it was that I complimented her on her ability to sell her paintings or that I said something nice to her. She got all teary eyed and gave me one of her hugs that I had declined since it came out that we were moving. She didn’t let go until minutes after I started hugging her back. I had not said two nice words to her for a month and I was missing our daily night time hugs. I had never gone to bed in my life without a huge bear hug until a month ago.
I have a dilemma going on in my head; do I forgive my mom for moving us here or do I keep giving her the cold shoulder? I missed my hug at night. I missed our talks; I missed Nathan right now probably more. I would have to think about how long it will be before I give in and forgive her.
Florence wasn’t as crowded as New York, nevertheless it was a noisy city. The street our hotel was on was relatively quiet but when we walked in Piazzale degli Uffizi the noise got louder. I ordered tickets for us to tour the Uffizi tomorrow. I told my mom the reason we were staying in that hotel was because I knew she would spend all day in the Uffizi and I wanted to be close to our hotel. I knew I wouldn’t be able to spend all day at a boring museum. I had been to many art museums and art shows to know I couldn’t handle an all-day event. The truth was I didn’t mind museums. It was the lectures I received about how important the piece of art that was before us. I might have looked at it for a few minutes but with mom we would stand for a half hour while she lectured me.
On our first day we just walked around until we got tired. We stopped for a snack from a bakery or got a gelato and sat in some piazza and people watched. Just walking around town, I felt like I was walking in a museum. I was beginning to melt just like my gelato on this warm summer day. I was beginning to like that we were in Italy. 
I knew my New York friends were jealous that I was going to live in Italy. They said it wouldn’t be long and I would have an Italian boyfriend. I have been told over and over how pretty I was by mom but when my friends started telling me I was pretty I started wanting to believe it. I knew my mom was beautiful because I noticed all of the men staring after her as she walked down the street. She didn’t notice men. Her art was her love. I didn’t know how she could stand being alone all the time. I enjoyed kissing Nathan. You couldn’t kiss a painting. Well, you could kiss a painting but it wouldn’t kiss you back or touch you. Sometimes when Nathan would touched me, I would get all tingly. I liked that feeling.
You could tell mom and I were mother and daughter but I got my dad’s brown eyes while my mom had striking green eyes. They were so much prettier than mine. My hair was curly brown. The same color as my dad’s but curly like my mom’s. My mom’s hair was a coppery auburn and it was long. At least she took care of it now so it wasn’t covered in paint or worse, clay. When I started using a conditioner, she started using it too. Both of us needed a conditioner to have nice hair. Yes, I was influenced by commercials. We were always changing what we had in the house when I started taking care of things. I made up the grocery list so that was what we bought. I wonder if TV will influence me here.
With the help of Peter, our New York neighbor, and his connections here I was able to set up a realtor to show us places to rent the day after we saw Uffizi. I was giving my mom and me time to adjust to the time change and making sure I wouldn’t have to pull her out of the Uffizi to look for places to live. I was surprised that she didn’t want to go there the minute we got off the plane. I thought she was doing pretty good just walking around the town.
My stubbornness was making it difficult for me not to talk to my mom. My curiosity won out. I had to talk to my mom because I wanted to know where she wanted to live.
“I thought it would be nice to live close to the school but I don’t know if we can afford to live in that neighborhood. What do you think?” Before I could answer she added, “I could come home when you have dinner ready very easily if we lived close to the school. Maybe even having lunch together”
Before she went any further trying to make me want her around I said, “What I found online; I think we can afford to live here way cheaper than we lived in New York.”
“You and your computer. One of these days you will have to show me how to use it.” I couldn’t believe my mom still didn’t have a computer. It was crazy. I kept telling her to join the 21st century. I finally got her to use a cell phone just a couple of years ago. Over and over I told her she could use her phone as a computer and search for all kinds of things but I was just lucky that she managed to call me on it. I couldn’t tell you how many times she had swiped down to ignore my call instead of swiping up to answer my call. I had to call her back sometimes two more times before she remembered to swipe up. I started to text her to tell her to swipe up when she had swiped down more than twice. Yes, she has learned to text though she wasn’t great at that either. Lately, she has been texting me more. Thank God for that.
“Mom, I am sure you will be selling your paintings here so I don’t think we will have to worry about expenses. Plus, you still have quite a few paintings and a couple of sculptures in the gallery back in New York. They will automatically deposit the checks into our account.”
My mom linked our arms together. “Have I told you lately, how I am so lucky you are in my life?”
“Yes, but it’s always nice to hear it over and over again,” I smiled at her and leaned into her.
“I don’t know what I would do without you. You are my joy and my life. Without you I would be nothing.” My mom gave me a kiss on the cheek. “You haven’t let me paint you in a long time. You should let me do a sketch of you in one of these piazzas.”
“Mom it would be piazze,” frustrated that she was butchering the language.
“Sorry, they are going to hate me here.”
“You have to concentrate or you will never learn the language.” I had said that more than once.
“I can say pasta so why don’t we find a quaint trattorias and get something to eat.” I just cringed when she said trattorias. “Sorry, I will try harder.”

My mother ruined my life…again
#7 My mother has tunnel vision
We were walking down a beautiful little street that not many tourists were on. I had heard so much English walking in the streets I wondered if we were in Italy. Mom and I loved the touristy areas but we were trying to see where people who lived here walked and ate. I saw ahead of us this little trattoria with a few tables outside.
“Here is a place, do you want to eat outside or inside?”
“It’s so cute out here but isn’t it a little too hot to sit in the sun? I think this place would be perfect to sit outside when the weather is a little cooler. I have no idea when that will be.”
We walked in and as usual all the heads turned to look at my mom. I was used to it but every once in a while, I wished we could go somewhere where she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the room. We were seated at a table close to the door and close to the counter that looked like a little deli was set up. I watched as people waited in line at the counter for layers of meat so thinly sliced and layered on waxed paper. Then they were packaged up so neatly. I wondered what the meat was. The man behind the counter had run out of the meat he was slicing and pulled a big hunk of meat off a hook hanging from the ceiling. Hanging from the ceiling all along the wall behind the counter were what looked like pigs’ legs. I had to ask the walking us to our table what do you call that meat the man was slicing. I learned they called it prosciutto. I have had prosciutto in Italian restaurants but had never seen that it came from the leg of the pig.
Our waiter came up to our table and asked in Italian if we wanted a glass of Chianti. I responded in Italian that it was too hot for red wine. We would like the house white. The man behind the counter burst out laughing. My mom was kind of lost in what was going on. She politely laughed. The man came out from behind the counter and brought my mom and me a cold glass of his white wine. When he set a glass in front of me my mom got all flustered.
“She is too young to drink.” I was kind of thinking I was really going to like living in Italy if they were going to let me drink wine.
The man seemed a little apologetic putting his hand on his chest, “I am sorry ma’am. Here in Italy, we start drinking wine at a very young age. I can add some water to it if you like. Though your friend here looks old enough to drink to me. Especially when she orders it correctly in perfect Italian.” He looked at me and winked. I thought I found my first friend in Italy.
“I guess it’s okay if it’s not illegal to serve her. Emma, do you want to try it? Please tell me this is your first-time trying alcohol.”
“Yes, mom, I haven't had any alcohol before.” I winked at the man still standing there. We exchanged smiles…my heart fluttered.
“Well, this is a special occasion. It is our first meal of many in Italy. Thank you, sir.” I thought my mom was wondering why the guy was still standing at our table. I thought she was trying to dismiss him with the thank you, sir.
“Oh, I am Lorenzo. This is my place. May I make a suggestion for your lunch?” His English was perfect and I could listen to him all day long. His accent sent goose bumps up my arms, it was so intoxicating. I didn’t know if my mom noticed that he was as dreamy as Doctor McDreamy. She was too busy looking around the place. I was sure that she would paint a picture that would make this place look better than it does at this minute.
“Yes, sir. I would like a suggestion.” I thought I should say something since my mom was too busy taking in the room and drawing it in her head. No wonder she didn’t date. She never saw the guys gawking at her.
“Oh, yes, please help us decide.” Good, my mom was back with us.
“We make the best pappardelle with wild boar in Tuscany. Although it doesn’t quite go with your wine choice, it is delicious if I say so myself.”
My mom started to say, “Well..” letting it hang in the air. You could tell she was trying to think of how to word her next sentence. I have seen that face many times in my life.
Lorenzo interrupted her. “Please don’t tell me you two don’t eat carbs. You Americans come to Italy and you don’t want to eat carbs. Italy is made up of carbs. We are known for bread and pasta.” He would have continued on his tirade but my mom was tired of it.
“Excuse me, sir, I was just worried you wouldn’t want to serve us your pasta because we were drinking white wine.” My mom sounded as huffy as he just did. You could see Lorenzo went pale in a flash. He started to stammer when my mom cut him off. “Well, we don’t want to cause an international incident so are we allowed to have pappardelle al cinghiale con vino bianco?”
“Si, Si, of course,” as he bowed his way from the table.
“Mom, I can’t believe you.”
“Did I say it correctly? I just love that word.”
“Mom, you said it beautifully. I was very impressed. When Peter told us to order cinghiale I wasn’t sure if I wanted to try wild boar. I can’t become a chef if I don’t try everything, right?”
“Are you sure you want to be a chef?” She saw my look and she made up for it with the comment. “Honey, you are the best chef I know but you will have to work when everyone is off. Everyone wants to go out on holidays, weekends, and nights. It’s hard work. Plus, your dad will go ballistic when he finds out you want to do something creative instead of finance.” She gave me the biggest smile. I was not sure if my mom was smiling because my dad would go crazy or if she liked that I was creative.
“Mom, right now I think this is what I want. I like languages too. So, you never know. What I do know is I have to learn how to cook Italian now. When do you think I can take classes?”
“I am sure you will be able to find a class somewhere soon. Have you looked on your computer?”
Oh my God, she has no idea about the internet. I really wonder if she thinks my computer has all the answers. I keep telling her I have to have internet to look something up but she doesn’t get it. How could this woman not have used a computer in school? 
Okay, I saw I had lost my mom again. She had pulled a pad out of her purse and was drawing the restaurant. Well, I was glad I had my phone my dad gave me before I left. I was so excited that I could call my friends and text them whenever I wanted. My dad made sure that I knew that he was connected to the internet and his phone, day and night and would answer any calls I made to him. I just had to remember that there was a nine-hour difference in our time. I thought that was his way of telling me not to call him too many times in the middle of the night. I started looking at Instagram to see what my friends did yesterday.
Our pasta was placed in front of us by the waiter. Lorenzo watched as we each took our hand and waved them over the pasta to take in the smell. I heard my mom’s stomach growl at the same time mine did. She must have heard mine because we both burst out laughing. Lorenzo came running out from behind the counter.
“Is there something wrong?”
“No, it smells so delicious. We both are excited to try it.” I looked at my mom and she gave me a smile. I knew she was pleased with my answer. “Can I put this on Instagram?” I looked at Lorenzo.
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Can I put you on to show my friends?”
I thought I embarrassed him. “Well, I just made the sauce. Do you want the woman that made the pasta to come out? I can get her for you.” He was about to walk away.
“No, this is cool. You made the sauce and you own this place! My friends will be so jealous.”
I started the video with the camera on me. “I am here at Lorenzo’s and he made these pappardelle al cinghiale. We are having it with white wine but next time we will have Chianti.” I turned the camera so you could see our plates, then tilted up to show Lorenzo. He was so cute, he waved. 
Our attention changed when my mom said, “Oh, my God, Emma put the phone away, this is delicious.” I turned the camera on her with her mouth stuffed with the pasta. At least, she had the decency to have her hand over her mouth when she spoke. “You are going to have to learn how to make this.”
I looked up at Lorenzo and he seemed very pleased with himself. I put my phone down and I twirled the pasta around my fork and took a lady size amount and put it in my mouth. I just swooned and I looked up at Lorenzo. “This is probably the best pasta I have ever had. Can you buy wild boar in the store or do you have to go out and shoot it?”
He laughed. “I take it, you like the sauce too?”
“The pasta is nothing like I have had before but the sauce is what makes it taste so good.” I told him.
My mom had to interject her opinion too. “Sir, you are talking to a real chef here. If she is complimenting you, you should feel honored. I am not a cook. That said, this is the best pasta I have ever eaten too.”
“Well, thank you ladies.” He turned to me and asked, “So you are a chef? What do you cook?”
My mom didn’t let me answer. “Emma, here, can cook Indian, Thai, Spanish, French and some Russian. She has really mastered Indian, and Thai. You say Italy is known for bread though you haven’t tried Emma’s French baguette. I would put it up against all of Italy’s bread.”
“Mom.”  I was so embarrassed with her bragging about me.
“Well, Emma, I would love to try your food sometime.” He was looking at me, not my mom. Maybe I have made a friend here.
“I am not a chef yet.” I felt like I should clarify the situation though I was guessing he didn’t think I was old enough to cook.
“Well, I was younger than you when I started to cook. My dad had to pull a stool up to the stove so I could reach the top to stir the pots. Don’t underestimate yourself. Obviously, your mother has good taste in food.” He turned to look at my mom and smiled at her. She was back to eating. Seriously, I was going to have to teach her manners. My dad’s mom made sure I had manners. More importantly, I was going to have to teach my mom to pay attention to men. Who was going to take care of her when I went away to college? Maybe I will have to get her a personal assistant. Lorenzo brought me out of my thoughts. “I should let you get back to your dinner,” as he walked away.
I said in a low voice. “Mom, did you see him?” 
My mom looked up from her plate. “What?” She glanced over at Lorenzo. He was busy with a customer, slicing the ham so thinly I wondered if you could read through the slice.
“He is gorgeous and you didn’t give him a minute’s thought, did you?”
She looked back at Lorenzo. This time he looked up to see her looking at him. He gave her the most dazzling smile. His teeth are so white and straight. He has the perfect mouth. I bet he was a great kisser. My mom smiled back at him and raised her wine glass to him. Oh, he just bowed. He was Mr. McDreamy or, I know, I should call him Chef McDreamy. My friends were going to be so jealous when they saw my post.
“Yes, I guess he is good looking but I bet he is married. Wasn’t he going to get the woman who made the pasta? I bet she is his wife.” Mom took a piece of bread from the plate and swiped it through the ragu and took a bite. “Well, that wasn’t worth the calories. This bread is blah. I don’t think there is any salt in it. What do you think?”