I spent a couple of decades being the leading lady; now I have a character role.
I know he's your husband now.
But he’s still my son.
You don't seem very confident about yourself.
The littlest comment from me is taken as a criticism, so I’m very careful what I say around you.
A little gratitude wouldn't hurt.
Every year, I send you a birthday present, but you never even pick up the phone to thank me. This year, I said, “That’s it. No more.” Yet look at me: I’m about to send another present. I guess that’s how I am.
I want the best for both of us.
We mothers say to our children, “I want you to be happy.” And we mean that. What we don’t say is, “But I would like to be happy too.”
I know a little something.
I’ve bought and sold 13 houses in my life. Why won’t you ask for my advice?
When I visit you, I'm just coming to see the family.
I’m not coming for a white-glove inspection.”
I've got his number.
When I really want to talk to my son privately, I don’t call your house. I call his cell phone.
I'm truly appreciative.
I’m so happy that you allow my son—your husband—to visit me on Mother’s Day. It’s a long trip and a big expense.
I have a dirty little secret.
I’m afraid that if I don’t get this right, you’ll cut me off.
I'm in competition with your mother.
She takes you on vacations every year and buys things I can’t afford. All I can do is love you and babysit for you. I hope that’s enough and that it’s appreciated.
I'm lucky to have you!
Whenever I stay at your house, you always have my room ready, my towels, everything. You do all the right things.
You know me well.
I cherish the refrigerator magnet you gave me: “Age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill.”