On Being a Jewish Mother

This morning I had the TV on in the background while pecking away at the computer. Suddenly I heard a loud and urgent, “Urrr! Urrr! Urrr!” My eyes immediately turned to the now black screen, to see that The National Weather Service was announcing a severe thunderstorm and flash flood warning for Southern California, my homeland. Not only that, they also cautioned, “Protect life and property!” Apparently there was a chance of quarter-sized hail pelting everything in the path of the storm. Nothing was crashing to earth at this point outside on my deck, but the sky was certainly a deeper dark than usual for 8 am. And I did hear some thunder.

I went to e-mail. There was a note from my daughter. I answered it, adding a few words about the storm warning in case she hadn’t heard, with a cautionary note about staying in and keeping the top up on her car if she had to go out to work or anywhere else.

Soon I got a reply. “Mom, I got it. I am not 10.”

“You’re not? When did that happen?” I wrote back.

Most of the time my grownup daughter is OK with what I say. And most of the time I keep a lid on it, or a lid with holes punched for steam release. So, I guess I have to live with occasionally taking the lid off entirely, and annoying the living hell out of her.

Don’t worry about me, Nicole. I’ll just sit home with my cats, continuing to ponder when it’s OK to warn you about something you probably already know at least as much about as I do.