I Need To Send a Thank You Note

I have not had an easy relationship with my mother. I've broadcast this many times over with various friends and my husband. My siblings and I share special knowing looks whenever the topic of our mother comes up.

She's not a bad mother. Far from it. And she's a far cry from episodes of horrible parenting several of my friends experienced while growing up.

But she's a hard woman. Hard to get to know. Hard to understand. She and I have some hobbies and beliefs in common, but our worldviews are miles apart. Especially when it comes to people and their foibles.

I understand that people are elastic. Emotional. That sometimes they say one thing and may do another. I believe in the supernatural phenomena such as whims and feeeeeelings. That sometimes people are driven by these, and that may make them unreliable but does not make them bad people. I can listen to a story about a conflict, and see where both sides are coming from.

My mother seems to have a more rigid outlook. There are times when people must seem downright incomprehensible to her. Probably myself included. I wonder at times if I must be to her the changeling daughter left on her doorstep.

I could give examples, but I don't want this blog to turn out seeming like a bash-fest of my mom. In many ways, I can understand her viewpoint, because I know at least some of the circumstances that made her turn out that way.

The point I'm trying to boil down to is this -- I suffer from envy. Extreme envy at times. I try not to, but I feel a twinge of envy every time I meet a woman that has a close, friendly relationship with their mother. Where they talk to each other about life, spouses, relationships and yes, feeeelings. Even in movies. I can't even watch the damn Golden Girls without feeling at least a little jealousy about Sophia and Dorothy's sarcastic, yet easygoing relationship.

Over the years I've learned, if I need to vent, if I need someone to listen to my problems, if I need sympathy -- I DO NOT call my mother. I don't tell her my problems, unless they've grown to the point it is unavoidable and my conversational skills are overtaxed by mentally editing everything I say.

I can recall one instance in particular, when my son wandered off. The panic and frenzy I felt while he was missing was excruciating. Fortunately, he was soon found. I knew it was something I could not avoid telling my mother, but I was wise enough to talk to a few friends before I made that call. I knew better than to seek sympathy from her at this point, and was correct. Instead I received a lecture about my irresponsibility and neglectfulness.

Last night, I was watching a movie, and once again feeling envy for the relationship of the mother and daughter. Thinking it would be nice if my mother and I could be the same way. That it would be nice to have my mother's advice and sympathy during a time I feel I will really need it, since my husband is accepting a new job that's going to take him away from home weeks at a time. Essentially leaving me as a single parent.

That's when it hit me. If anything, by now, my mother has taught me to be self-reliant. I couldn't believe the revelation. In all my 30 + years, I finally learned that whether it was intentional or not, my mother has given me a terrific gift. That was the gift of being able to listen to my own voice, in the head that sits on my own shoulders.

To make a decision, mostly uncluttered by what other's opinions of that decision are. I won't need her advice. I won't need the validation. I will occasionally need a break sometimes, but that is something else I've learned to seek out on my own.

Her greatest gift to me has been teaching me how to be an adult. I just never recognized it until now. I've essentially kicked her in teeth all these years, and have been nothing but ungrateful for this lesson. I need to send her a thank you note.

Hot Mess Mommy

"How has motherhood made you a misfit? Have you found that parenthood has made it easier or more difficult to make friends? Do you rebel against the cliches of modern motherhood or embrace them? How have you changed?"

Those were the questions posed recently on a blog I follow. They're definitely food for thought.

You know, as far as being a misfit goes, I've always been that. Now I'm just a misfit with children. Sometimes that makes it easier to make friends. Sometimes, that makes it harder.

Having children is definitely an icebreaker, and opens doors for you in some ways. If you see a person with children, you know you're in the same boat. Theirs may be a yacht, and yours a dinghy. But nevertheless, you're both navigating the tricky ocean of parenthood. Instead of say, driving a car. On an established road.

If it weren't for my daughter, I would never have attended storyhour at the library. I wouldn't have made friends with other new mommies, and found myself as part of a playgroup. However, these women, as nice and friendly as they are, only see a facet of myself.

Don't get me wrong, I'm genuine with them.... I'm just not my "whole" self. These women have their lives together. They make potty charts for their children. Shuffle them off to Gymboree, preschool soccer, all sorts of organized activities. They have mommy hairstyles. They get the perils and pitfalls of motherhood, but they do it with class and style.

I'm a hot mess of a mommy. My kids are perpetually crusty faced and messy haired. I wear T-shirts and jeans insteads of blouses and khakis. I'm never prepared for anything, always forgetting to pack a snack or sand toys when we go to the park, not having any wipes or extra pants for my kid when he messes himself. Always having to borrow these items from other mommies, my face full of shame, even when they tell me they understand, they have 3 kids themselves.

I wear my hair in pigtails, when I so fancy. My chidren have never attended anything more organized than preschool or storyhour. We dig around in the yard looking for worms, when the weather's nice. I'm always, ALWAYS running late. To everything.

Every once in a while, when the planets align just so, I find another Mommy rowing a dinghy like mine. Ok, I admit it -- it's just happened once. But it's glorious to find another mom who appreciates the finer things in life. Like old school paper, pencil and dice role playing games. The merits of playing a video game for 6 hours straight. Trashy celebrity gossip rags. Or leaving the kids with the grandparents to get your drink on and dance the night away in some dingy, dimly lit overcrowded lounge.

I like to think I've stayed true to myself, while also embracing the part of me that is Mommy. I'm all about feminism and equality. When my daughter wanted a Bob the Builder cake for her birthday, she got it. She loves to play outside in the dirt, and I encourage it. When she's debating on whether to be a ballerina or a firefighter when she grows up, I suggest being a ballerina who's on the volunteer fire department.

I also try to keep an open mind and agree to requests from my son, when he wants help putting on his sister's Cinderella dress. Polishing his fingernails if he asks, and letting him wear one of my rings if he wants. And stand up for him and say, "That's what he wanted" if someone should dare tsk, tsk me about it.

While some mothers are dragging their babies and children off to pageants or getting their ears pierced and suggesting I do so too, I stand firm. My children are their own people and not my personal accessories or an accomplishment. Should they ever want to do those things, I'll support them. But they're not going to do them, solely because *I* want them to.

I guess that's one way I have changed. My children have given me a reason to root out the issues I care about, and to stand firm on them. Before children, I was a reed in the wind, bending to the whims of wishes of others, whether I agreed or not.

Memorializing this for my son's future embarassment

My son is 3, and mostly potty-trained. However, he still wears disposable training pants at night. After getting my son ready for bed, my husband related to me the following story:

My son had a piece of fuzz stuck to his "peanut" as he likes to call it, and was trying to remove it. In doing so, a predictable reaction occurred. Or in his words, "Look, Daddy! I made it big!"

Husband's response. "Yes, you did, son. That happens sometimes."

Son's reply, "It's as big as a mountain!"


Well, at least he's got a healthy self-esteem. Heh. But I had to share that story, since it cracked me up!