Listen to you mother. Unless she's a drunk or psychotic. Listen to her because she's been doing the stuff you're trying to figure out for years and years and years. Love her for being a font of invaluable experience. Yeah, sure, she's old skool, but sometimes, no often, old school is best. May the Flying Spaghetti Monster bless all mothers, for without them, the world would be a cold and barren place, defined by Sonic drive-ins and bow-hunting tournaments.
Mom, I miss you. I wish I could sit with you again as you sipped your Port, watching me eat your perogies and no, you ate already, you don't want any, so that I could take some home to freeze and eat in a month or so. Sh*t, yeah, I miss that plenty.