I live in the same city as my parents, and I *try* to call them once a week. Of course, sometimes that doesn't happen, and when I do call I get the "Oh, we have a daughter?" comment. No matter how often I point out that THEY could call ME.

I get the "Who is this? Sunil, who's that? I have a son?" in addition to the "Oh, you remembered you have a mom?" I am supposed to call at least once a week, more would be better, but I never bother because she calls me fifty billion times a week so there's no point. If my phone rings and it's not my mom, I am surprised.

In my book, always Said.

A much better writer and thinker, but not so much my area of research as Goffman is.

Job~ma to Jilli, hugz to smonster and general~ma to all Buffistas which I missed by skimming.

My mom is usually the one to call. Average of 4-5 times per week, sometimes 1-2 times per day. We don't have a lot to say to each other - conversations lasts about 5 minutes. She just wants to know I'm alright.

I'm not so bitter towards the academia here anymore. I guess that's just like the rest of my human fellows, I hate it when change is enforced upon me, and not something that happens naturally.

For new year and once my grandfather's inheritance will be in my bank account and I'll stop feeling so guilty for being supported by my parents (even that will still be the case, but they'll have more money to support me), I think I want Jilli's book and the dress I WANT SO BAD from Bernard (a store here with clothing that looks the awesome on me). It's satin, little longer than a mini-dress, and even though I haven't tried it on - it'll look wonderful, I'm sure of it.

When both parents were alive we talked on the phone about once a week. We generally traded off, and if I let them do the calling for a few weeks in a row I'd get pointed questions about remembering their number.

When Mom got sick, Dad would call more often because he had primary care duties and wanted the support. After Mom died Dad was lonely and we usually talked five or more times a week. It was odd after he died. Almost all my friends contact me by email (my preferred method of communication, so I can go back and double check agreed dates/times/plans for lo, I am a flake), so my phone just stopped ringing.

I generally talk to my parents once a week (almost always on Sunday morning). That's been our pattern (and my sisters) since we all went to college. In between phone calls we email as much as we need/want to - sometimes that's every day, sometimes less.

When my DH's mother was alive, he'd talk to her every day. It was difficult to actually have a conversation because she wasn't a get-up-and-go sort, and didn't have a lot to say. Mostly, she wanted to hear what we'd done all day. While I understood that she was lonely, and really looked forward to the calls, you'd finish telling her what you wanted to share, and she'd say, "What else?" There wasn't any actual conversation. It drove me up a wall and I finally told the DH not to put me on the phone with her.

New Ryan milestone: today, he grabbed my glasses for the first time. I am certain it won't be the last.

Oh, and he had his first meal of solid food too. Unrelated.

Oh, baby milestones. Hope your glasses are the flexible ones, bt. Otherwise, make sure you have a spare pair about.

I have come to crank. I worked 9 hrs last weekend, including taking a 10 pm phone call that resulted in me going in at 6 am Saturday morning. I assumed I was earning comp time.

What I forgot is that you have to work 40 hrs in a week to get comp time, and Monday was Labor Day, so for all that work I get ONE hour comp time.

I was going to use that time to take off on my birthday next Monday.

Excuse me while I have a rage blackout.

That is so not right. By overtime rules, back when I got such a thing, the eight hours of the holiday counted into your 40. Comp time is less regulated, so they can probably do what they want, but it's still pretty shitty.

the eight hours of the holiday counted into your 40

Yeah, it's the same for Lewis. Man, smonster, that is seriously craptastic.