On my mother

My mother has the most extraordinary ability to make me feel guilt with very little effort. An example:

I called her to make arrangements for my trip home this weekend. Friday night will be spent with my father, stepmother, sister and brothers in Saratoga. I have a hair appointment at noon on Saturday in Schenectady (I'm very particular about my hair and have only let Dana at The Corner Attraction touch it for the past 6 years), where my mother will be meeting me. I will spend the remainder of the day with Mom, including dinner, and then will go to Albany with my girlfriends, to celebrate the birthdays of myself, Kim, Marina and one of the Heathers. I'll sleep at Mom's Saturday, go to my Grandparents with her to celebrate Easter and will leave from there Sunday evening to take the train home.

Mom just called to let me know that Easter dinner will be at 2:00, because...

That way your Grandparents will at least get to spend some time with you before you have to head back. And now, suddenly, I'm quite certain I am the Worst Grandchild Ever.