If It's Not One Thing...It's Your Mother

My mother is neurotic. Every time she comes over, she scrutinizes the "sell by" dates on all of our groceries and warns me of the dangers of salmonella. Every. Time. Not just milk, either. I'm talking about her inspecting the freshness of our mustard and pickles. Do these things really ever go bad or is this just another sign of my mother's paranoia?

I recently found out that my mother's bachelor’s degree was in Psychology (though she has worked in the airline industry for as long as I can remember, which--come to think of it-- does involve a lot of talking people in off of ledges when they find out that their flight is cancelled or their baggage has gone missing, but I digress....). This makes sense because she was probably attempting to earn a degree while diagnosing herself. Oh, yes--I forgot to mention that my mother is frugal, too. If she can accomplish two goals at one low price, she’s in!

I know a lot of people say their mothers are neurotic, but in my case it is actually true. For example, as a child my mom would take my brother and me to visit her family on their farm. During the entire ten hour ride south, she would warn us of the many dangers of farm life:

“Don’t pet the cats. These are farm cats and they live outside. They are practically feral. They have fleas and heartworms and all sorts of other diseases. They’ll just as soon scratch your eyes out as let you pet them.”

"Don’t play in the corn stalks. Some kids got lost in a corn field last year. The thresher found them.”

“ Don’t swim in the pond. Ever heard of a water moccasin? It’s a type of snake. They live near the water, and they swim much, much faster than you do.”

“Don’t give the horses any sugar. They may look docile, but have you seen the size of their teeth? They could take off a finger easily.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time a tornado hit our farm? If you see the sky turn pea-soup green, you have to get to the cellar right away!!”

“If grandma offers you milk, politely refuse. It’s fresh milk and unpasteurized. There could be anything floating around in it, breeding. In fact, don’t eat anything that doesn’t come out of a package.”


My brother and I would listen to these stories with big eyes and vow not to leave the house for the entire visit. We’d spend the entire week seated in front of the television (“Not too close! You’ll cause irreparable damage to your eyes!”) and eating only twinkies.

It’s a wonder my mom survived a childhood on a farm at all.

Don’t get me wrong, my mother is a wonderful, kind, giving person who will do anything for the people she loves (Please keep babysitting for me, mom!), but she also worries incessantly. When I recently pointed out that many (read: all) of her worries don’t actually come true and that her tendency to worry may be a waste of her energy, she pulled herself up tall, pursed her lips, and announced that her fear may be a result of the many farm accidents resulting in lost lives and lost limbs that she witnessed as a child, which has left an open wound on her delicate psyche.

Now, I ask you, how does one counter that argument? Better to just let her keep on checking my refrigerator for expired eggs and spoiled condiments, right?

(It is worth noting that my mother’s siblings deny that they ever witnessed a farming accident or became sick from drinking grandma’s milk or petting her cats. And while they acknowledge that snakes do exist in the vicinity of grandma’s farm, they report that the snakes are fearful of humans and avoid them. Still, I have not been able to bring myself to visit the farm since I was a teenager, much to my mother’s dismay. She constantly encourages me to visit. Is it any wonder why I don’t?)