It was Saturday in the late afternoon and I was in the middle of ridding my apartment of dog hair when I heard my cell ringing over the hum of the vacuum. My iPhone screen indicated it was my mom calling. Ever since I successfully taught her how to text message a year and a half ago, the majority of our telecommunication has existed in written form, her messages nearly always signed “Love Mom” as if I wouldn’t be sure. I knew her actually calling me meant something was up.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, bringing the vacuum to a stop.
“Hi, hon,” my mom said. “Listen, I just wanted to let you know not to worry, but it looks like I’m about to be arrested.”
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Last week, we shared the stories of how our parents met. From Ami’s parents — who met at summer camp — to Kate’s mom and dad — who bonded over Shakespeare in the Park — you guys immediately connected and shared your own parents adorable stories. We noticed a couple of startling similarities in so many of the tales shared — for one, that people used to get married at a much younger age. That’s not entirely surprising — but it is rather shocking that so many stories involved couples getting engaged after only six weeks, and married after only six months. It seems the courting and engagement period was typically much, much shorter than it is now. And what’s more, from your stories anyway, most of those couples seem to still be happily married today. Just something to consider.
More than 70 of you told your parents story, and we’ve selected our 10 favorites for you to read. And if you haven’t told your tale already, feel free to share it in the comments! Keep reading »
This past weekend, my dad threw my mom a surprise birthday party. This is the second surprise birthday party he’s thrown her in five years, which is partly because I think he just really enjoys organizing surprises and partly because he really loves my mom and this is his way of making her feel special. My parents are still married, which is, yes, increasingly rare, and incredibly bizarre considering how utterly different they are. My mom is a Democrat. My dad purports to be a Republican. He’s an analytical nuclear engineer and she’s a palm-reading, feelings-focused guidance counselor (no, she does not read the palms of her students). Their personalities could probably best be summed up by the way they met. Keep reading »
On last night’s episode of “The Bachelorette,” the four remaining bachelors took Ashley home to meet their families. You can read all about the details of the episode in Kate’s recap, but the thing that stuck out most to me was the fact that each of the guys made sure to emphasize just how essential it was that their families approved of Ashley. And if they didn’t? Each dude seem to imply that not getting the thumbs up from mom, dad, and their siblings would make pursuing a more serious relationship impossible.
This was fascinating to me. There’s no doubt that having your parents like — and even love — your significant other is a wonderful thing, but I don’t know that it’s essential for me. Keep reading »
This story begins with an answering machine. Which means that, yes, it happened a long time ago—I believe in 2003. I was at home in North Carolina visiting my parents, and on the second day of my stay, I plunged my key in the lock of the front door, dropped my bag on the table beside it, and hit the play button on the answering machine—autopilot reflexes I’d perfected years before when I’d actually lived in this house. The first message was obviously for my parents—skip. Ditto for message number two. But the third message contained a familiar baritone voice—Liam*, the guy I’d dated my senior year of high school through my junior year of college. We hadn’t spoken in the two years since we’d broken up.
Oh, that’s nice, I thought. I haven’t heard from him in forever. We should really meet for a cup of coffee while I’m here. Wait a second. How did he know I was home?
“It was wonderful seeing you two last week,” Liam said, his deep voice echoing through the foyer. “Thanks for the advice.”
And that’s when it hit me—this message wasn’t for me. It was for my parents. Keep reading »