My mom is a lovely, supportive person who believes in me and wants me to do my best. She also (like many of your moms, I’m sure) has some difficulty following the ups and downs of my freelance lifestyle. This has resulted in some most excellent bon mots. Below are some actual quotes from my mother on freelancing – love you, Ma – it’s all you:

Mom: “How is the blogging about pets going?”
Me: “What?”
Mom: “Weren’t you writing something about pets?”
Me: “… what? What are you talking about?”
Mom: “Who can keep track?”

“Are you still doing something with computers?”

Mom: “Do you need money? I can lend you some money. DON’T STARVE BECAUSE YOU WON’T BORROW SOME MONEY.”
Me: “Mom, honestly. I don’t need money. Thank you.”
Mom: “Just call me! Ring-ring, bling-bling!”

[After hearing about a big big opportunity]:
Mom: “Huh. That’s nice. Maybe you’ll even be able to afford health insurance.”
Me: “So they’re really interested in producing it, which is great, and really exciting!”
Mom: “Gosh. Hey, when are you and [boyfriend’s name] finally moving in together?”
Me: “Nice try, Ma.”

“Do you write on what do they call it, Twitter? The Tweets? Should I get on the Twitter?”

Mom: “I don’t know how you get all of this work done. Are you sleeping well?”
Me: “Yes, Ma, I sleep fine.”
Mom: “Well, make sure you sleep.”

“You’re so busy! You’re the busiest person I know. (pause) Too busy to call, I guess.”

Mom: “Since you’re writing so much now, I would play Scrabble with you… but you cheat.”
Me: “What? Ma, you haven’t played Scrabble with me since I was, like, eleven.”
Mom: “And you cheated then. And like they say, ‘once a cheater…’”

Mom: “Tell me again what the Freelancers Union is?”
Me: [gives ten-minute explanation]
Mom: “… Eh, I don’t really get it. But then, I’m not tech-savvy.”

Me: “So I said, ‘But I don’t know who to ask’, and then he yelled at me, and I’m just having the worst, worst day.”
Mom: “… but I don’t know whom to ask.”
Me: “… what?”
Mom: “I thought you were some big grammar expert.”
Me: “Ma! Can you stay focused, here, please?”
Mom: [cackles]

“Well, of course they think your posts are funny. You’re always funny. You’re even funny when you cry.”

“I hate any play where you act like you’re in pain.”

“After you get rich and famous, you can buy a big apartment and move me into it, to live with you. Actually, never mind. You’d drive me too crazy.”

[Upon meeting virtually anyone after a play I’ve done:]
“Hello, I’m the mother.”

“What would you say that you do, again?”

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