I can appreciate the upcoming holiday for the most part. I mean, I love my son-and love my daughter. They are by far, the best reason I can think of to carry on-even when life seems long. (which isn't often, to qualify)
But, Mother's Day always sparks a bit of melancholy for me.
Ok so, My mom. She's dead.
Ok, ok...I am not leaving it there-relax.
My mom...who I judge, a lot. Yes, even though she's gone. I still do it. I think of my skills as a mom and hers and think-OFTEN- that...my mom could have done this. She could have accomplished this. She could have been better as far as I am concerned.
She left me with so much shit-as you have probably seen in my reading.
My neurosis is SO deep.
My anxiety, my fear, my negativity, my coldness, my jaded and misanthropic nature, my inability to connect with people, and my anger.
The shit.
Sometimes I look at her picture on the wall, and I don't feel sad...I feel pissed off.
And then guilt because I feel pissed off at her.
Here's why: This whole "I do things so much better than my mom did", is just ego...it's false-yet...I somehow-even knowing that I am full of shit-hang on to it like some pathetic silk ribbon that saves me.
Guess what? It doesn't.
Because it always comes back to you.
My son (who is amazing and every other positive adjective you can measure) also struggles with anxiety, negativity, and demoralized behavior.
For all of my sanctimonious rabble-babble...here I am.
Here he is. A mini version of my horrible self (sometimes)
I did that.
I struggle with the mistakes a lot more than I should, I know.
What I also know is this: I am an asshole for judging her.
You learn a lot as a mom, it's a never-ending process of education. Some things you really never wanted to learn. Like colors and consistencies of poo, or the best sexual position after hemorrhoids, or the inner workings of a circumcision, or how to clean body fluids from a microfiber couch.
They are all real things...look them up.
Or-maybe- don't-unless imperative. Learning about these things is like hitting the wrong word or phrase in a Google search to find something horrible, that you worry the FBI has red-flagged you on-only you've done it purposefully. Don't say I didn't warn you, people.
So...when you learn the BIG lesson... (cue big suspenseful build music clip)
I am becoming my mother. (cue horror movie scream clip)
It's like Armageddon in your brain.
And what's worse...when you see YOU-I mean, the true YOU-in something your children do or say. It's like Armageddon and the Holocaust all wrapped up in a tight silk ribbon.
And when you have wrapped this ribbon up too tightly... it cuts off all circulation.
So that ribbon?
It doesn't save you after-all.
The trick is knowing that you have to let go of all of it.
Unwind yourself, so to speak. Don't expect for one second that living inside your delusions will help you become super mom. That's a myth created by Johnson & Johnson. There is no such thing.
We are ALL stained shirt wearing, bad haired, scattered, shuffled, over-scheduled, over-caffeinated, making-it-up-as-we-go-zombies trying to muddle our way through everything. Relationships, football games, teacher conferences, custody battles and changes, acne, puberty, lies, grades, drivers permits, angst, puke, poo, breast feeding, bottle feeding, no sleep, labor pains, heartburn, positive pregnancy tests. ALL OF IT.
We were meant to be everything to everyone. Our significant others, our children, our family. When really...all we want to be is US.
And Mother's Day is the day we are supposed to get to do this.
So **celebrate it however you wish.
**Notice how I used the word celebrate, and not mourn?
Yeah, I teach myself lessons every-time I write stuff. It's a thing I do. Shut up.
Judgment, sucks.
The mistakes make the victories sweeter, and the learning deeper.
That goes for you too, mom.
I'm sorry I judged you.
I'm sure I will still glare at your picture occasionally when something really smart-assy comes out of my 17 year-olds mouth. Or, you know...when I try to make your homemade chicken and noodles (for like the hundredth time)-the recipe which you took to your grave and the noodles look and taste like wallpaper paste or the broth is too thin. Thanks, Jerk.
I may call you names-But, I won't judge you.
Chances are, I'll probably just judge myself.
Because that's what good moms do.
Because I'm just like you.
Happy Mother's Day to all of my fallen and alive homegirls out there.
Eat some cake, and I will too.
(with a side of guilt-it's not on my calorie count)
Smothering,
Mama T
No comments:
Post a Comment