About a month ago, my mother moved to Colorado and settled into a cute little place a few miles away from my house. Things have gone rapidly downhill from there. Aside from expecting my undivided attention, my mom also expects me to forego work for more leisurely pursuits.
"So, what are you doing?"
"I'm sleeping, mom. What are you doing?"
"Oh, well, I've already eaten breakfast, done three loads of laundry and gone for a five mile walk this morning."
"That's great, mom."
"What do you have planned for today?"
"I thought I would duct tape the kids to the couch so I can get some work done."
"Why? Is there something you want to do later?"
"Yeah, but you've have to work, so I guess I'm on my own."
And that's when it hits me: I'm thirty-one years old with kids and a house of my own, but my mom can still make me feel like the biggest shit heel because I choose to be productive and work instead of hanging out with her at Wal*Mart.