For the next couple of Nepotism segments, I’m going to focus exclusively on a single member of my family, starting with the woman who expelled me from her birth canal: my mom.

My mom is a terrible influence — persistently persuading those around her to choose chocolate cake over gluten-free bran muffins, jojoba facials over jogging, globe-trotting adventures over the daily grind.

A typical conversation with my mom goes something like this:

Mom: I’m going to [insert exotic locale] to see [insert fabulous world-premiere theatrical event here]. Come with me!

Me: Mom, I’d love to, but I haven’t accrued enough vacation time. I can’t just skip work whenever I feel like it.

Mom: Just tell your boss you’re traveling to cover a story!

Me: Mo-om, for the zillioneth time, I’m not a reporter! And even if I was, I’m pretty sure that isn’t how newsroom assignments work.

Mom: Oh, whatever. When I’m dead and you look back at your life, you’re going to wish you had gone to [exotic locale] with your mother. That’s all I’m saying.

Me: [Grumble, grumble, grumble]

The truth is, if I played hooky every time my mom commanded me to do so, I’d almost certainly be broke and unemployed. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t right.

At the end of my life, I will wish I had gone to New York / Scotland / Italy / Alaska / England. I will wish I’d spent more time with her, and less time with everyone else.

There is never enough time to accomplish everything one wants & needs to do. That’s the great tension & tragedy of mortality.

Still, I never want my mom to stop pestering me with unrealistic propositions. Even though 9 times out of 10 I have to say “no,” her invitations force me to weigh my priorities. And in doing so, I usually find that my scales are out of alignment.

Romance novels & backstage tours & sickening schmoozing & terrible accents & caramels from Trader Joes & driving lessons & that god-awful family portrait in the hot tub & brisk cups of tea & dental hygiene & “always-bring-a-wrap” & lipstick rings on all the white china & sunscreen & star-shaped cookies & spa days & Irish ballads & closet raids & the martini glass throwing incident.

For all this and more, I love my mom.

(Photo via VisualNewbie)