Sometimes in restaurants, when my mom wants to get the waiter’s attention, she raises her hand gingerly, ever so slightly, a gesture so demure that it’s guaranteed to go undetected by not only the waiter, but by everyone but me. It drives me absolutely nuts — which is why, a few weeks ago over dinner with friends, I was so appalled to find my own elbow forming that familiar acute angle. In my head, I rolled my eyes and said what I always say, what everyone always says, when such situations arise: "Mooooom!"
All moms annoy, nag, guilt, flatter and fuss. In evolutionary terms, they must all share the gene for “universal momness.” One thing that sets apart 21st century moms, however, is their ability to express these sentiments without regard for time or space. Doree Shafrir and Jessica Grose collect e-mails, IMs, BlackBerry messages, Facebook comments and other modern motherly communiqués at their website, postcardsfromyomomma.com, the best of which they compiled into a new book, Love, Mom: Poignant, Goofy, Brilliant Messages From Home.
Back in the late ‘90s when Shafrir was editor-in-chief of this very magazine, land lines and dial-up internet access made for a decidedly low-maintenance communication landscape. Shafrir tells us, “I seem to remember my modem being struck by lightning my senior year and never bothering to get another one, so I think I checked my e-mail in Van Pelt a lot.” Today’s Penn student shudders (and hyperventilates) at such a thought. We call home at the slightest hint of collegiate crisis: freaking out over a bad grade, feuding with a roommate, dealing with an overflowing toilet. And apparently, so does everyone else in our generation: the book features moms’ musings on everything from relationships to reality television.
As a result of the website’s success, Shafrir’s mom has become increasingly cautious about the e-mails she sends her daughter. Doree, meanwhile, stayed ironically nonchalant in her heady days as a Street editor (this was B.G.: Before Google): “I can’t say I ever really thought about my mom when I was doing 34th Street — I think I just operated under the assumption that she wouldn’t be reading it. If I knew she’d be reading it, maybe I would’ve thought a little more carefully about publishing things like a [column] called ‘I Kissed a Jew’ — but maybe not.” Ah, youthful indiscretion! Everyone knows moms love nothing more than the prospect of a Jewish beau.
