When you become a mother, there are hundreds of things that no one warned you about. The bleeding nipples, the constant worrying, how you can both love and want to strangle your child at the same time. For me, ALL OF MOTHERHOOD was a shock because I never really paid attention when people with kids talked before.
But the thing that I am finding the most surprising, or perhaps the most difficult to deal with is that it has made very clear exactly what my mother did right. Lately though, it is becoming more and more obvious what she did wrong. Not that I didn't already go through therapy for a hundred years and deal with all my Mommy blame issues. Up until recently, I really thought I had forgiven her. I had decided that I was going to just use what I knew to not make the same mistakes with my child. And I do a really good job of providing Lila with structure where I had none.
There are plenty of things that I already knew about my mother. My mother (just like I do) suffered from a debilitating depression through most of my childhood. Because of this, she had little patience for my greedy desire for attention and would disappear at night to see her friends to be someone else for a few hours and forget her problems. The depression also made it hard for her to commit me to anything. No instrument lessons or dance or extra-curricular activities because committing me meant a commitment for her. I also know that she never pushed me, never gave me chores, never taught me to sat goals, never gave me boundaries. I always just slid by. I was smart. I was pretty. I was a kid and didn't know that I was lacking life skills because I was always able to talk myself out of any setback.
As a mother suffering from depression, I often find that I am too overwhelmed or exhausted to hear another whiny plea for a toy. I desperately want to just give in and let Lila watch TV all day and eat whatever the hell she wants because it is REALLY FUCKING HARD to sit there any listen to her cry when I ask her to do the things she needs to do. But I don't. Because my job as a parent doesn't allow me to. And as much as I want to take a handful of Xanax and walk away sometimes, I CAN'T. I understand the avoidance and withdrawal that my mother needed in order to preserve what little energy her illness left her with each day. I understand how much easier it would be to just decide I don't really care and just give in. It is easier to see your child happy than unhappy. I forgive her for feeling that way. Because I feel that way every day.
My mother is long recovered from her depression. She found medication that keeps the worst of it away and has worked out some of her own demons with a therapist. But here's the thing. As my child's daycare provider, the person who Lila spends several hours each day, my mother STILL does all these things. And it fucking infuriates me.
All the things that I demand of my child, all the ways that I try to mould her into a well-behaved, appreciative, cooperative kid is undone every single day. It seems that each time I pick her up, there is some argument with my mother because she has again disregarded my wishes and given something or allowed Lila to do something I have told her not to.
For example, (and believe me, this is just one) Lila was getting stomach aches. It occurred to me that she ate grilled cheese sandwiches a lot and those give ME stomach aches. So I told my mother not to give her any for the entire week to see if she still has stomach aches. And what did Lila have for lunch THE DAY AFTER I told my mother this? A MOTHERFUCKING GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH. And when I asked my mother why the hell she gave Lila a grilled cheese sandwich, she shrugged and said, "that's what she wanted for lunch." I often have to remind my mother that Lila is 4. She wants an elevator in her bedroom closet and wants to get a pet Lion. Four year olds are not allowed to make every decision in their lives. That's why they need babysitters.
Of course, my mother maintains that she does these kinds of things because she is a GRANDMOTHER and that grandmothers are supposed to spoil their grand kids, which would be fine if Lila went over there once a month. But that's not even the point. Little things like this only remind me of why as an adult, I have such a hard time with moderation and why I am (illogically) crushed if I cannot get people to give me the things I want.
I have posted a few blogs about my mother spoiling Lila, and you will find plenty of examples here,
here, and also here of how my mother refuses to listen to me with regard to how I choose to raise my child. In her mind, I turned out just fine and so she must have done things right. BUT I DID NOT TURN OUT FINE!!! I am selfish (I was given whatever I asked for), I am lazy and unmotivated (there was never an incentive for doing anything or a punishment for not doing it) , I am very smart but cannot finish anything (no one ever made sure I did) and I have always been an underachiever (how do you push yourself if no one ever pushed you to do ANYTHING you said you didn't want to do?). Additionally, it never clicked that other people actually SET GOALS for the things they wanted to do and worked toward them until I was 26. I always just had things "happen" to me. Don't even get me started about money problems (my parents' view of money and credit are seriously fucking ridiculous - my mother believes in signing up for every credit card that she possibly can, and then maxing them out and making the minimum payments because "I won't be around that long anyway. I might as well get the things I want now before I'm dead. NO I AM NOT JOKING).
(I have already posted about how shitty I am as an adult HERE)
I KNOW that she gave these things to me. I blame her because my father just went along with whatever my mother said. And at some point in my mid-twenties, I realized that it was no longer her responsibility and it was up to me to try to change these deficiencies. And I really thought I had forgiven her because when I became a mother (and subsequently a mother with depression), I UNDERSTOOD why she did the things she did.
But I look at myself with Lila and I can't help but to be angry at my mother. Because I don't want to have to instill those things in her. I don't have any idea how to, because I suck at them myself. In fact, I want to be left the hell alone most of the time. But I know what I have to do. This isn't some transcendental knowledge or wisdom that I have. This is what fucking parenting is. It is all about responsibility. It is about loving someone enough to do what they NEED even of they fucking hate you for it. It is filled with difficulty and discomfort and headaches and insanity. But that's all just the basic part of the job.
Why did she do what was easy with me? And why does she refuse to listen when I try to tell her that love is not just buying Lila toys and letting her throw several blobs of raw cookie dough at the ceiling so she can laugh when it sticks (nope, not kidding about that either). It is about setting limits so that she knows what to expect. It is about making sure she is getting the foods she needs to grow and learn and feel good. It is about telling her that you will not tolerate bad behavior because you don't want her to grow up to be a total asshole. She does not understand this. She says she does, but she reverts to the things that I described the next day.
This makes me feel disappointed in her. I am disappointed that she didn't do better with me. I am disappointed that she never bothered. I am disappointed that she thinks love is about temporary happiness, even if it destroys the future potential. I am just so fucking sad about it.
Showing posts with label dysfunctional family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dysfunctional family. Show all posts
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
New Addition to my Shit List.
I am sure this is going to make me seem bigoted and narrow-minded, but for some reason this really infuriated me when I read it.
Listen, I am all for gender equality and all that shit, but this couple should probably have been sterilized before they had the chance to ruin this kid's life.
There are about a thousand things wrong with this but I will start with some of the most obvious:
Listen, I am all for gender equality and all that shit, but this couple should probably have been sterilized before they had the chance to ruin this kid's life.
Couple Finally Reveals Child's Gender, Five Years After Birth
It's a boy! And he's five. Beck Laxton, 46, and partner Kieran Cooper, 44, have spent half the decade concealing the gender of their son, Sasha.
"I wanted to avoid all that stereotyping," Laxton said in an interview with the Cambridge News. "Stereotypes seem fundamentally stupid. Why would you want to slot people into boxes?"
Laxton, a UK-based web editor, and her partner, Cooper, decided to keep Sasha's sex a secret when he was still in the womb. The birth announcement stated the name of the gender-neutral name of their child, but skipped the big reveal. Up until recently, the couple only told a few close friends and family members that Sasha was a boy and managed to keep the rest of the world in the dark. But now that he's starting school the secret's out."
(courtesy Yahoo! News)
 |
| Sasha better get used to that attitude... |
There are about a thousand things wrong with this but I will start with some of the most obvious:
First I want to answer this asshole's question about why you would want to assign someone a gender or ("slot people into boxes"). Here it is: Because I am pretty sure that throughout the history of the earth, this system has seemed to work pretty well for nature FOR MILLIONS OF YEARS. There are boy bees and girl bees, and they have different tendencies. There are even male and female parts on plants. Who the fuck are you to thwart your little experiment in defying nature on some innocent kid who just wants to be a kid?
Do I understand that the way we act and the things we do in life are sometimes dictated by our genders? Yes. Do I know that some people feel that they are not made to be the gender their sexy parts tell them to be? Yes, and I have seen that first hand. Do I agree that the male and female roles are something that is entirely based on a man-made construct? Well, mostly.
You see, although I know that much of gender is psychological, I also realize that men and women are physically different. Not just because of their puzzle pieces but also because of hormones, brain construct, muscle and fat distribution and a myriad of other traits that have been more or less consistent throughout the history of the species. It is true that there are many exceptions to this and it is true (to a point) that we are all individuals and genetically have an endless array of variations. But I can acknowledge that perhaps the roles reflect the inherent strengths and weakness of each sex. No matter how bad Ben wants it, he will never carry a baby (and have all the hormonal and emotional havoc associated with it) and no matter how hard I try, I will never thoughtlessly leave my socks in random places because that's where I needed to take them off at that moment.
But to me, it seems there is something more questionable about this. These parents are not celebrities. Beck is a web editor and apparently Kiernan is a stay at home parent who likes to think of fun ways to force children into a lifetime of therapy. That being said, who the hell is this "rest of the world" that they care enough to "conceal" his gender from? Sasha? The mailman? The pedophile down the street? It stands to reason that perhaps they were just looking for their 15 minutes (5 years) of fame because who the fuck cares about your kid and what genitals it has? We aren't talking about simply giving a kid all the gender-neutral options here. We are talking about purposely refusing to tell anyone (I am assuming the kid as well, because 3 year olds CANNOT keep a secret) because they have some bizarre fetish with androgeny.
Do I understand that the way we act and the things we do in life are sometimes dictated by our genders? Yes. Do I know that some people feel that they are not made to be the gender their sexy parts tell them to be? Yes, and I have seen that first hand. Do I agree that the male and female roles are something that is entirely based on a man-made construct? Well, mostly.
You see, although I know that much of gender is psychological, I also realize that men and women are physically different. Not just because of their puzzle pieces but also because of hormones, brain construct, muscle and fat distribution and a myriad of other traits that have been more or less consistent throughout the history of the species. It is true that there are many exceptions to this and it is true (to a point) that we are all individuals and genetically have an endless array of variations. But I can acknowledge that perhaps the roles reflect the inherent strengths and weakness of each sex. No matter how bad Ben wants it, he will never carry a baby (and have all the hormonal and emotional havoc associated with it) and no matter how hard I try, I will never thoughtlessly leave my socks in random places because that's where I needed to take them off at that moment.
 |
| Hey, it makes him feel beautiful, okay? |
But to me, it seems there is something more questionable about this. These parents are not celebrities. Beck is a web editor and apparently Kiernan is a stay at home parent who likes to think of fun ways to force children into a lifetime of therapy. That being said, who the hell is this "rest of the world" that they care enough to "conceal" his gender from? Sasha? The mailman? The pedophile down the street? It stands to reason that perhaps they were just looking for their 15 minutes (5 years) of fame because who the fuck cares about your kid and what genitals it has? We aren't talking about simply giving a kid all the gender-neutral options here. We are talking about purposely refusing to tell anyone (I am assuming the kid as well, because 3 year olds CANNOT keep a secret) because they have some bizarre fetish with androgeny.
But there's more to this story:
For years, Becks has been referring to her child, the youngest of three, as "the infant" on her personal blog. But guarding the public from her son's gender was only part of her quest to let her kid just be a kid.
Sasha dresses in clothes he likes -- be it a hand-me-downs from his sister or his brother. The big no-no's are hyper-masculine outfits like skull-print shirts. In one photo, sent to friends and family, Sasha's dressed in a shiny pink girl's swimsuit. "Children like sparkly things," says Beck. "And if someone thought Sasha was a girl because he was wearing a pink swimming costume, then what effect would that have? "
Ooooooh I can't WAIT to go and link over to her blog! I bet it is filled with all kinds of fun stories about the dog really wanting to play with catnip and the cat trying to fly like a bird.
Sasha can only dress in clothes he likes if those clothes are either gender-neutral or super girly. No cargo pants (even though they make them for women) and no skulls or "masculine" things? But sparkly skirts? YES! WONDERFUL! That seems a little shady to me. As if they are trying to force the issue that he select opposite-gender things. What if he really LOVED skulls and lightening bolts and monsters? I bet that would be a HUGE dissappointment to these dicks.
But there is something else. There are more kids in the house...who know what parts they have. So although little Sasha probably is too little to be aware of what ass hats his parents are, the older children have been in school and have likely been sworn to secrecy by their parents and been harrassed and teased for the he/she brother/sister they have. And kids LOVE having to lie and keep secrets from their friends. Nothing could be more fun for a kid than to have a dark secret to keep.
Sasha's also not short on dolls, though Barbie is also off limits. "She's banned because she's horrible," Laxton says in Cambridge interview.
On a macro level she hopes her son sets an example for other parents and makes them reconsider buying their sons trucks or forcing their daughters into tights. She's seen how those consumer trappings affect how and who kids play with in the sandbox.
Ohhhhhh. BARBIE is horrible. She may have porno boobs and weird feet, but at least she isn't running a social experiment on her kids.
And I believe that her dreams of setting an example is lost on me. I am pretty sure that you can just tell people "she is a girl" but still allow her to dress and play however the hell she wants. Or you could just do what other parents do and name your kid something totally unisex like Pat or Terry or Beck or Kiernan.
My point is that there are plenty of ways to encourage a kid to like and do non-gender specific things without sending him/her out into the world totally unprepared for the very realistic and extremely likely possibility that he WILL be put into a hundred different categories throughout his life and people WILL have different expectations of him based on those things. Boo hoo hoo. That's the way it is.
But the sandbox is just a precursor to the classroom. When Sasha turned five and headed to school, Laxton was forced to make her son's sex public. That meant Sasha would have to get used to being a boy in the eyes of his peers. Still, his mom is intervening. While the school requires different uniforms for boys and girls, Sasha wears a girl's blouse with his pants. (emphasis mine)
Oh Jesus Christ. I am going to go see if anyone has set up a place to send donations for this kid's lifetime of therapy costs.
Read the full article here:
http://shine.yahoo.com/parenting/couple-finally-reveals-childs-gender-five-years-birth-180300388.html
Sasha can only dress in clothes he likes if those clothes are either gender-neutral or super girly. No cargo pants (even though they make them for women) and no skulls or "masculine" things? But sparkly skirts? YES! WONDERFUL! That seems a little shady to me. As if they are trying to force the issue that he select opposite-gender things. What if he really LOVED skulls and lightening bolts and monsters? I bet that would be a HUGE dissappointment to these dicks.
 |
| A big ass is not the kind of "cargo" these pants are made for. |
But there is something else. There are more kids in the house...who know what parts they have. So although little Sasha probably is too little to be aware of what ass hats his parents are, the older children have been in school and have likely been sworn to secrecy by their parents and been harrassed and teased for the he/she brother/sister they have. And kids LOVE having to lie and keep secrets from their friends. Nothing could be more fun for a kid than to have a dark secret to keep.
Sasha's also not short on dolls, though Barbie is also off limits. "She's banned because she's horrible," Laxton says in Cambridge interview.
On a macro level she hopes her son sets an example for other parents and makes them reconsider buying their sons trucks or forcing their daughters into tights. She's seen how those consumer trappings affect how and who kids play with in the sandbox.
Ohhhhhh. BARBIE is horrible. She may have porno boobs and weird feet, but at least she isn't running a social experiment on her kids.
And I believe that her dreams of setting an example is lost on me. I am pretty sure that you can just tell people "she is a girl" but still allow her to dress and play however the hell she wants. Or you could just do what other parents do and name your kid something totally unisex like Pat or Terry or Beck or Kiernan.
My point is that there are plenty of ways to encourage a kid to like and do non-gender specific things without sending him/her out into the world totally unprepared for the very realistic and extremely likely possibility that he WILL be put into a hundred different categories throughout his life and people WILL have different expectations of him based on those things. Boo hoo hoo. That's the way it is.
But the sandbox is just a precursor to the classroom. When Sasha turned five and headed to school, Laxton was forced to make her son's sex public. That meant Sasha would have to get used to being a boy in the eyes of his peers. Still, his mom is intervening. While the school requires different uniforms for boys and girls, Sasha wears a girl's blouse with his pants. (emphasis mine)
Oh Jesus Christ. I am going to go see if anyone has set up a place to send donations for this kid's lifetime of therapy costs.
Read the full article here:
http://shine.yahoo.com/parenting/couple-finally-reveals-childs-gender-five-years-birth-180300388.html
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Two parts Sunday Stealing, one part Other Shit.
First, let me say that I love my blog time. For me it is unwind time, and when I have had a rough day, sometimes it's just what I need.
About 2 hours ago, I was upstairs putting away laundry and Ben was vacuuming. Suddenly I hear this awful "frhhoooonnnnk" sound followed immediately by a crash and Ben yelling OH NO! Lila starts screaming and I sprint downstairs to find Ben holding her and Lila holding her head. It seems that Lila was looking for something under the couch AT THE SAME TIME that Ben was vacuuming under the couch (!!!!???!!!!). Her hair got caught in the vacuum (as any sane and remotely sensible parent would assume would happen if a girls head gets close to the vacuum cleaner)and she was completely traumatized (as would be expected from a 4 year old that pretty much hates the vacuum because it attempted to eat her head). Needless to say, I didn't have to demand that he apologize for that one. Why is safety never a consideration for some fathers?
Aaaanywhooo....Everyone is alright but there was a HUGE chunk of hair pulled out and it was all tangled into her hair and she screamed while I tried to untangle it because she was afraid she was going to be bald.
Subsequently, the meatloaf Ben was cooking spilled in the oven and the smoke detectors went off for like 15 minutes (because there's literally one in every single room of our small (small) house, they're all wired to go off at the same time, and they're electrical and you can't just pull a battery out of one and be done with it). Lila screamed all through that as well. And since it's like 4 degrees outside, we couldn't just step out on the porch to avoid it all.
And before you all point out the obvious, yes, I realize that he vacuumed AND cooked on the same day. But seriously? You let your kid and the vacuum get that close? Jesus.
FUN FUN!!
Moving on...I skipped last week's Sunday Stealing and since this was a two parter, you get double the fun. Plus I know you just LOOOOVE hearing my stupid answers.
Sunday Stealing: The Never Ending Meme, Part One
Cheers to all of us thieves!
1. Song that always makes you sad?
Anything by Justin Bieber. It isn't sadness, exactly...more of a murderous rage that makes me feel like I need to kill small animals...
2. Last thing you bought?
Prescription sedatives. Ahhhh....sweet relief.
3. Last person you argued with?
There are only 2 possibilities. Ben or Lila. And Lila had a rough day. So you do the math.
4. Do you put butter before putting the peanut butter on?
WHAT??? I am not into food mixing like that. Everyone knows that there is only one thing you are allowed to spread on bread with peanut butter. Chocolate sauce.
5. One of your stuffed animals’ names as a kid?
Like I remember that shit. (actually I had a monkey that my mom tells me was called Mahnu, because I couldn't say monkey. And that I used to refer to any older man with a beard as Mahnu too.)
6. Did you ever at one time own a Barenaked Ladies CD?
Do I look like an asshole? Actually they are from these parts and I think it's hilarious that they have a children's cd out.
7. Favorite day of the week?
Tuesday. I have the day off work, and Lila goes to the sitter.
8. Favorite sundae topping?
Peanut Butter and Hot Fudge. Together.
9. Did you take piano lessons?
I wanted to but since my mother was insane, that never happened. Instead I learned to play terrible 80s ballads on my Casio keyboard.
10. Most frequent song played?
Since I am not going to go look at itunes to figure this out, I will take a wild guess and say "Rump Shaker" by Wrecks N Effect (ahhhhh Snap!)
11. T.V. show you secretly enjoy?
Secretly? Dr Phil. His guests make me feel well adjusted.
12. Would you rather play basketball or hockey?
I would rather slit my wrists.
13. Date someone older or younger?
At this point, if I could score a 24 year old, that would be awesome.
14. One place you could travel right now?
To the bathroom.
15. Do you use umbrellas?
Sure. I also use toilet paper. I am not sure get why this is a question.
16. Do you know all the words to the Canadian national anthem?
OH CANADA! OH CANADA! Blah blah blah blah something or other....
17. Favorite cheese?
Any kind that won't make me feel like I have an alien growing in my bowels.
18. The Smith’s or The Cure?
Neither. That was my generation's version of Emo.
19. Do you prefer blondes or brunettes?
I prefer well hung.
20. Best job you ever had?
Working at the used bookstore. Until I realized that my boss was extremely unstable and weird.
Sunday Stealing: The Never Ending Meme, Part Two
Cheers to all of us thieves!
21. Did you go to your high school prom?
No. I barely showed up at school.
22. Perfect time to wake up?
4pm.
23. Perfect time to go to bed?
4 pm.
24. Do you use your queen right away in chess?
I only use my queen to get into the gay bar.
25. Ever been in a car accident?
Yes. Totally not my fault. He should have seen that I wasn't paying the least bit of attention.
26. Closer to mom or dad…or neither?
Used to be my dad. But then he turned into a miserable old man so now it's my mom.
27. What age is this exciting life over for you?
22 (I'm 34).
28. What decade during the 20th century would you have chosen to be a teenager?
1975-1985. If I was of the age of sexual consent during the hair metal days, I would have been the trashiest, most aggressive groupie the world has ever seen.
29. Favorite shoes you have EVER owned?
When I was a kid I had these awful white shoes that had a row of safety pins side by side. My mother hated them which meant I thought they were fucking incredible.
30. Do you have an article of clothing you have had since you were in high school?
I burned pretty much any mementos from high school on purpose.
31. Were you in track and field?
Hahahahahahahahahaha! I only run if I am being chased. And that doesn't ever happen anymore.
32. Were you ever in a school talent show?
If being slutty was considered a talent, then yes.
33. Have you ever written in a library book?
BLASPHEMY!!!!
34. Allergic to?
Motherhood, manual labor, heartfelt sentimental-type conversation, emotional intimacy, and cockroaches (the last one is true. I was actually allergy tested as a kid and that is the only one I really remember).
35. Favorite fruit?
Gay Shawn...Oh and this banana:
About 2 hours ago, I was upstairs putting away laundry and Ben was vacuuming. Suddenly I hear this awful "frhhoooonnnnk" sound followed immediately by a crash and Ben yelling OH NO! Lila starts screaming and I sprint downstairs to find Ben holding her and Lila holding her head. It seems that Lila was looking for something under the couch AT THE SAME TIME that Ben was vacuuming under the couch (!!!!???!!!!). Her hair got caught in the vacuum (as any sane and remotely sensible parent would assume would happen if a girls head gets close to the vacuum cleaner)and she was completely traumatized (as would be expected from a 4 year old that pretty much hates the vacuum because it attempted to eat her head). Needless to say, I didn't have to demand that he apologize for that one. Why is safety never a consideration for some fathers?
 |
| Ours is not nearly as friendly as the Noo Noo. |
Aaaanywhooo....Everyone is alright but there was a HUGE chunk of hair pulled out and it was all tangled into her hair and she screamed while I tried to untangle it because she was afraid she was going to be bald.
Subsequently, the meatloaf Ben was cooking spilled in the oven and the smoke detectors went off for like 15 minutes (because there's literally one in every single room of our small (small) house, they're all wired to go off at the same time, and they're electrical and you can't just pull a battery out of one and be done with it). Lila screamed all through that as well. And since it's like 4 degrees outside, we couldn't just step out on the porch to avoid it all.
And before you all point out the obvious, yes, I realize that he vacuumed AND cooked on the same day. But seriously? You let your kid and the vacuum get that close? Jesus.
FUN FUN!!
Moving on...I skipped last week's Sunday Stealing and since this was a two parter, you get double the fun. Plus I know you just LOOOOVE hearing my stupid answers.
Sunday Stealing: The Never Ending Meme, Part One
Cheers to all of us thieves!
1. Song that always makes you sad?
Anything by Justin Bieber. It isn't sadness, exactly...more of a murderous rage that makes me feel like I need to kill small animals...
2. Last thing you bought?
Prescription sedatives. Ahhhh....sweet relief.
3. Last person you argued with?
There are only 2 possibilities. Ben or Lila. And Lila had a rough day. So you do the math.
4. Do you put butter before putting the peanut butter on?
WHAT??? I am not into food mixing like that. Everyone knows that there is only one thing you are allowed to spread on bread with peanut butter. Chocolate sauce.
5. One of your stuffed animals’ names as a kid?
Like I remember that shit. (actually I had a monkey that my mom tells me was called Mahnu, because I couldn't say monkey. And that I used to refer to any older man with a beard as Mahnu too.)
6. Did you ever at one time own a Barenaked Ladies CD?
Do I look like an asshole? Actually they are from these parts and I think it's hilarious that they have a children's cd out.
7. Favorite day of the week?
Tuesday. I have the day off work, and Lila goes to the sitter.
8. Favorite sundae topping?
Peanut Butter and Hot Fudge. Together.
9. Did you take piano lessons?
I wanted to but since my mother was insane, that never happened. Instead I learned to play terrible 80s ballads on my Casio keyboard.
 |
| Go on, act like you didn't have one... |
10. Most frequent song played?
Since I am not going to go look at itunes to figure this out, I will take a wild guess and say "Rump Shaker" by Wrecks N Effect (ahhhhh Snap!)
11. T.V. show you secretly enjoy?
Secretly? Dr Phil. His guests make me feel well adjusted.
12. Would you rather play basketball or hockey?
I would rather slit my wrists.
13. Date someone older or younger?
At this point, if I could score a 24 year old, that would be awesome.
14. One place you could travel right now?
To the bathroom.
15. Do you use umbrellas?
Sure. I also use toilet paper. I am not sure get why this is a question.
16. Do you know all the words to the Canadian national anthem?
OH CANADA! OH CANADA! Blah blah blah blah something or other....
17. Favorite cheese?
Any kind that won't make me feel like I have an alien growing in my bowels.
18. The Smith’s or The Cure?
Neither. That was my generation's version of Emo.
19. Do you prefer blondes or brunettes?
I prefer well hung.
20. Best job you ever had?
Working at the used bookstore. Until I realized that my boss was extremely unstable and weird.
Sunday Stealing: The Never Ending Meme, Part Two
Cheers to all of us thieves!
21. Did you go to your high school prom?
No. I barely showed up at school.
22. Perfect time to wake up?
4pm.
23. Perfect time to go to bed?
4 pm.
24. Do you use your queen right away in chess?
I only use my queen to get into the gay bar.
25. Ever been in a car accident?
Yes. Totally not my fault. He should have seen that I wasn't paying the least bit of attention.
26. Closer to mom or dad…or neither?
Used to be my dad. But then he turned into a miserable old man so now it's my mom.
27. What age is this exciting life over for you?
22 (I'm 34).
28. What decade during the 20th century would you have chosen to be a teenager?
1975-1985. If I was of the age of sexual consent during the hair metal days, I would have been the trashiest, most aggressive groupie the world has ever seen.
 |
| I totally don't understand why the girly look was sexy back then but for some reason, it totally was. |
29. Favorite shoes you have EVER owned?
When I was a kid I had these awful white shoes that had a row of safety pins side by side. My mother hated them which meant I thought they were fucking incredible.
30. Do you have an article of clothing you have had since you were in high school?
I burned pretty much any mementos from high school on purpose.
31. Were you in track and field?
Hahahahahahahahahaha! I only run if I am being chased. And that doesn't ever happen anymore.
32. Were you ever in a school talent show?
If being slutty was considered a talent, then yes.
33. Have you ever written in a library book?
BLASPHEMY!!!!
34. Allergic to?
Motherhood, manual labor, heartfelt sentimental-type conversation, emotional intimacy, and cockroaches (the last one is true. I was actually allergy tested as a kid and that is the only one I really remember).
35. Favorite fruit?
Gay Shawn...Oh and this banana:
HOLY SHIT!!! I forgot to add the link to where I stole it from! You totally cannot trust a thief!
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Sorry is (apparently) the Hardest Word to Say
Ben is really bad at apologizing. It isn't that he is a bad person. He tries really hard to do the right thing and I don't know that he has EVER intentionally hurt anyone. I don't even think he has it in him. But he just doesn't think he is ever wrong (or at least he can't admit when he is). It doesn't matter how glaringly obvious the emotional injury is or how many times I try to explain it, he just doesn't get that even though it wouldn't bother him, it really bothers me. So when he just gives in and apologizes just to shut me up (usually while rolling his eyes and saying "there, you happy now?'), we all know that it was only issued out of annoyance and/or pity.
Imagine the example this sets for a 4 year old.
A couple of days ago, Lila was climbing on/beating up Ben on the couch (as usual) and he moved the wrong way and accidentally pulled her hair (or hit her with an elbow, or something). She started crying and was very upset because she thought he had done it on purpose.
As mothers, we all know that there is no use in trying to explain to a 4 year old that it was not done on purpose and that there is no reason to be upset unless you really want to drag the tears out for 45 minutes. It's best just to say sorry and give a kiss to make it better and move on with your day.
Daddy doesn't see it this way. He simply told her to stop. That she wasn't really hurt. You can imagine how this went over. Naturally, she cried even harder.
"Say you're sorry, Daddy." I told him. "That's what you do when you hurt someone."
You might want to sit down when I tell you his response.
"I didn't hurt her. She did it herself. What should I apologize for?"
Go ahead. Let that sink in for a minute.
Obviously shocked that he would even need to be told to apologize, let alone debate the issue with me, I went on. "Ben, she needs to know that when you hurt someone, the right thing to do is apologize. You don't claim you didn't do it. You don't tell them to get over it. YOU SAY YOU'RE SORRY. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE DO WHEN THEY HURT SOMEONE WHETHER THEY MEAN IT OR NOT...."
"Yeah, but I didn't do anything. She did it." I suddenly realized that I am teaching morality to not one, but TWO children.
"Ben," I said. "When she accidentally knocks someone over in school even if they bump into HER, should she turn to them and say 'I didn't do anything. I don't know what to tell you,' or should she instinctively say, 'Sorry, let me help you up?'"
Eyes rolling, and with a dramatic sigh that I mostly recognize from my 4 year old drama queen, he belts out, "FINE! Sorry."
Lila continued to cry.
"She isn't even REALLY crying!" REALLY BEN??? This is what you are going with? "She is only making a big deal of this because YOU are."
"Um...No. If you had just apologized and rubbed her head where it hurt this would have been over, but since you are acting like a bratty child, she still feels bad because you clearly don't care that you hurt her."
"I DIDN'T HURT HER!!!!" He is still sticking to his story. "Plus, I just said I was sorry and she's still crying."
What the hell kind of person did I get involved with? Am I going to find the bodies of mutilated squirrels in the basement? What kind of animal doesn't just try to make their 4 year old feel better?
Then I realized that this wasn't about him and her. It was about me and him.
"Ben, you need to realize that you are showing her how to treat people. If you don't want her to be a total asshole when she gets older, you need to do a better job of not showing her what an asshole acts like."
At this I went over to Lila and tried to change the subject.
He walked out of the room pissed off.
We haven't talked about it since.
Imagine the example this sets for a 4 year old.
A couple of days ago, Lila was climbing on/beating up Ben on the couch (as usual) and he moved the wrong way and accidentally pulled her hair (or hit her with an elbow, or something). She started crying and was very upset because she thought he had done it on purpose.
As mothers, we all know that there is no use in trying to explain to a 4 year old that it was not done on purpose and that there is no reason to be upset unless you really want to drag the tears out for 45 minutes. It's best just to say sorry and give a kiss to make it better and move on with your day.
 |
| It isn't a game. |
"Say you're sorry, Daddy." I told him. "That's what you do when you hurt someone."
You might want to sit down when I tell you his response.
"I didn't hurt her. She did it herself. What should I apologize for?"
Go ahead. Let that sink in for a minute.
 |
| You should note that THESE boys are about 8 years old. |
Obviously shocked that he would even need to be told to apologize, let alone debate the issue with me, I went on. "Ben, she needs to know that when you hurt someone, the right thing to do is apologize. You don't claim you didn't do it. You don't tell them to get over it. YOU SAY YOU'RE SORRY. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE DO WHEN THEY HURT SOMEONE WHETHER THEY MEAN IT OR NOT...."
"Yeah, but I didn't do anything. She did it." I suddenly realized that I am teaching morality to not one, but TWO children.
"Ben," I said. "When she accidentally knocks someone over in school even if they bump into HER, should she turn to them and say 'I didn't do anything. I don't know what to tell you,' or should she instinctively say, 'Sorry, let me help you up?'"
Eyes rolling, and with a dramatic sigh that I mostly recognize from my 4 year old drama queen, he belts out, "FINE! Sorry."
 |
| This is what he was really saying. |
"She isn't even REALLY crying!" REALLY BEN??? This is what you are going with? "She is only making a big deal of this because YOU are."
"Um...No. If you had just apologized and rubbed her head where it hurt this would have been over, but since you are acting like a bratty child, she still feels bad because you clearly don't care that you hurt her."
"I DIDN'T HURT HER!!!!" He is still sticking to his story. "Plus, I just said I was sorry and she's still crying."
What the hell kind of person did I get involved with? Am I going to find the bodies of mutilated squirrels in the basement? What kind of animal doesn't just try to make their 4 year old feel better?
 |
| This song is stuck in my head now. |
"Ben, you need to realize that you are showing her how to treat people. If you don't want her to be a total asshole when she gets older, you need to do a better job of not showing her what an asshole acts like."
At this I went over to Lila and tried to change the subject.
He walked out of the room pissed off.
We haven't talked about it since.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Why I (Don't) Love Christmas
Twas the day before Christmas and here at my house,
I have one antsy kid and an exhausted spouse.
The baubles keep getting knocked off of the tree
by a fat asshole cat who clearly has a death wish.
Instead I will expose why people get so depressed in the weeks leading up to Christmas. I know this from VAST experience with the subject...
Ideally:
The tree is big and lush and sparkles perfectly with all the ornaments perfectly spaced. The house is lightly scented with the aroma of pine and we sit around at night marveling at the beauty of it all.
Reality:
We apparently got our tree too early. Ben insists on a real tree and even though we watered it religiously, it is drooping and drying out. The ornaments that looked so perfect when we first put them on are now all sort of grouping together where the heavier ones and pulled the branches down to the lighter ones. Instead of noting the beauty of the lit-up tree, I am being driven insane by the amount of new needles strewn all over the floor for 30 feet in every direction every time I finish sweeping a pile up.
............................................................................
Ideally:
Baking cookies, assembling gingerbread houses, crafting heart-felt gifts and doing volunteer work to show how much we love our friends, family and community.
Reality:
Working more hours to have enough cash to buy crap that no one is going to use. This means that when I have time off all I want to do is sleep, but I force myself to stay awake and manage to complete the basic tasks of running a house with enough time to spare to shower once in a while. All that other crap will have to wait.
..........................................................................................
Ideally:
In lieu of being able to craft beautiful hand-made items, instead, I go out shopping in a cheerful mood, spreading joy to every store I walk into by wishing everyone a wonderful holiday season, and picking out the PERFECT gift for each person on my list that I just know they will love.
Reality:
Fighting through a bunch of assholes in a store to find that the only thing I could think of to get Ben's mom is out of stock and the next closest model is way out of my price range. Instead I get a standard, one-size-fits all gift: a scented candle, and when I get to the register the clerk has had enough of this bullshit and needs a break so she angrily rings up my order without saying a word. I spend the days until Christmas feeling unsatisfied with every gift I bought and regretting every dime I spent. At some point while shopping, I also inevitably spend 20 minutes arguing with some asshole in line behind me about the fact that the cashier is part of a huge conspiracy to take the "Christ" out of Christmas, and explaining to him that the Pilgrims actually banned Christmas and that the idea that there is a war on Christmas is fucking stupid.
...............................................................................................
Ideally:
Christmas dinner is a time when everyone in my family and all my aunts, uncles and cousins sit around a giant table with a fireplace in the background and talk about all the wonderful things we have been doing since last Christmas while listening to Christmas music playing softly in the background.
Reality:
Only 4 people show up to Christmas dinner because someone owes someone else money or slept with someone's wife, and so no one is willing to sit in the same room with each other. An uncle invariably drinks a little too much and starts a fight with my dad over who gets the last serving of chocolate cream pie. The police are called and the kids cry inconsolably while they watch my uncle get carted away in a police car.
......................................................................................
Ideally:
Lila wakes up in complete awe at the fact that Santa has come and there are heaps of beautifully wrapped gifts under the tree. Every time she opens a present it is EXACTLY what she wanted and for weeks after Christmas she is amused and enjoys every item staying occupied and content.
Reality:
After the momentary awe of waking up in the morning and being thrilled at the prospect of presents, Lila tears through the wrapping with a "wow" for the first few items and gradually getting bored opening things. After opening all her toys, she leaves them all where she opened them and rounds up all the ribbons and bows and plays with them for 3 hours. Two days later she asks for a new toy.
...........................................................................................
Ideally:
After having Christmas dinner and getting the house back in order, I take a few minutes with Lila and Ben to relax on the couch and talk about how everyone got something they wished for and how fortunate we are, because we know that not everyone has family or love or the ability to provide nice things for the ones they love.
Reality:
This one is spot on.
Merry Christmas everyone.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
What no girl wants to hear. Ever.
Last week, for reasons that I am not going to go into in this post (it was a memorial service for someone I wasn't very close to but felt the need to pay my respects) I had reason to meet up with one of my brothers friends who I hadn't seen in at least 8 or 9 years. My brother is almost 10 years older than me which means that growing up he and his friends spent many fun-filled hours being entertained by teasing me and doling out all kinds of psychological cruelty at my expense.
This particular friend had grown up and spent many hours of his teenage years at my house watching MTV (this was back when they played videos and had VJs) and locking me in closets with my brother. So it is possible that many years later I may have felt the need to prove that I was no longer that whiny, annoying, nerdy little girl and we really "got to know each other" (*wink wink*).
As I said before, I hadn't seen this friend in a LONG time and as soon as I knew that I was going to see him I was instantly extremely self conscious about the fact that I was not the young hot sex object that he knew when last we met. In fact, lest just be honest here: I GOT FAT.
As an aside, I realize that this is stupid and that I really shouldn't care what this guy thinks. I am in a happy relationship and this guy (to be completely honest) is a pothead who lives in his mother's basement at 40-something years old. But whatever. Sometimes the insanity takes over and twists things around to make things like not totally disgusting a guy that you used to sleep with when you were 20 and completely bat shit crazy seem like a necessity.
Since Ben had a thing that evening, I arranged to meet the friend at the place because I have this fear of walking into places alone (yeah, again totally stupid). I got out of my car and wearing my nice clothes and fancy shoes, I walked over and we hugged and did the whole "so nice to see you" thing. Then he looked my up and down and nonchalantly made a comment that made me die a little inside.
"Wow. Hello, Sue. When did you start looking so much like your mom?"
The urge to smack him was strong but I resisted. You see, my mom has always been heavy. Not like "needs to be lifted with a crane to leave the house" heavy, but she was never a MILF to my brother's friends. In fact, he likely remembers her being drunk at least half of the time when he was around, which, if I were them I would find extremely unattractive.
I tried to ignore this comment and reminded myself of why we were there (someone DIED, after all) and said my "Sorry for your losses" and "I can't believe it's" and got the hell out of there (funerals and the like cause me more anxiety than I can handle).
Part of me knew that he was just saying this to be a jerk, the way that my brother and him used to say that I was adopted because it would make me cry when I was 5, but the other part of me knew that there was a great degree of truth to it. I DID look like my mother, not just because I had put on a few (no need to tell the truth) pounds but because as I get older I see more and more of her in my face.
I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I don't hate my mother or anything. And she isn't an ugly woman. She has silky blonde hair (which I don't) and was considered a beauty before she had kids (because having kids will destroy you if you aren't vigilant). But the truth of the matter is that what I heard was not "you resemble your mother more than you did when you were young and slutty". What I heard was "YOU HAVE TURNED INTO YOUR MOTHER."
No girl wants to hear that. And certainly not from someone who once saw her naked.
On the way out he made some stupid comment about how we should get together again under better circumstances (*wink wink*) (he actually winked when he said it) and I didn't even hesitate. "hmmmm. I don't think so. I have what I need at home. And besides, you got old."
This particular friend had grown up and spent many hours of his teenage years at my house watching MTV (this was back when they played videos and had VJs) and locking me in closets with my brother. So it is possible that many years later I may have felt the need to prove that I was no longer that whiny, annoying, nerdy little girl and we really "got to know each other" (*wink wink*).
As I said before, I hadn't seen this friend in a LONG time and as soon as I knew that I was going to see him I was instantly extremely self conscious about the fact that I was not the young hot sex object that he knew when last we met. In fact, lest just be honest here: I GOT FAT.
As an aside, I realize that this is stupid and that I really shouldn't care what this guy thinks. I am in a happy relationship and this guy (to be completely honest) is a pothead who lives in his mother's basement at 40-something years old. But whatever. Sometimes the insanity takes over and twists things around to make things like not totally disgusting a guy that you used to sleep with when you were 20 and completely bat shit crazy seem like a necessity.
Since Ben had a thing that evening, I arranged to meet the friend at the place because I have this fear of walking into places alone (yeah, again totally stupid). I got out of my car and wearing my nice clothes and fancy shoes, I walked over and we hugged and did the whole "so nice to see you" thing. Then he looked my up and down and nonchalantly made a comment that made me die a little inside.
"Wow. Hello, Sue. When did you start looking so much like your mom?"
The urge to smack him was strong but I resisted. You see, my mom has always been heavy. Not like "needs to be lifted with a crane to leave the house" heavy, but she was never a MILF to my brother's friends. In fact, he likely remembers her being drunk at least half of the time when he was around, which, if I were them I would find extremely unattractive.
I tried to ignore this comment and reminded myself of why we were there (someone DIED, after all) and said my "Sorry for your losses" and "I can't believe it's" and got the hell out of there (funerals and the like cause me more anxiety than I can handle).
Part of me knew that he was just saying this to be a jerk, the way that my brother and him used to say that I was adopted because it would make me cry when I was 5, but the other part of me knew that there was a great degree of truth to it. I DID look like my mother, not just because I had put on a few (no need to tell the truth) pounds but because as I get older I see more and more of her in my face.
I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I don't hate my mother or anything. And she isn't an ugly woman. She has silky blonde hair (which I don't) and was considered a beauty before she had kids (because having kids will destroy you if you aren't vigilant). But the truth of the matter is that what I heard was not "you resemble your mother more than you did when you were young and slutty". What I heard was "YOU HAVE TURNED INTO YOUR MOTHER."
No girl wants to hear that. And certainly not from someone who once saw her naked.
On the way out he made some stupid comment about how we should get together again under better circumstances (*wink wink*) (he actually winked when he said it) and I didn't even hesitate. "hmmmm. I don't think so. I have what I need at home. And besides, you got old."
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Ba-Ba Blues?
What the hell is it with the older women and their total refusal to allow modern moms to do what we think is best for our kids?
Yesterday I was at a family barbeque (and I won't even get into the thrilling experience that I had) and was talking to my aunt, whose first grandchild has just turned one. She and her son were discussing the bottle and the aunt was APPALLED at the idea that he would even THINK of taking the bottle away from her at a mere 1 year old. She defended her stance saying that the pediatrician said "15 months at the latest for a bottle, 18 months for a pacifier." She acted like it was flat-out child abuse to even consider depriving a kid of a ba-ba so "young".
This is not the first time I have encountered this kind of outrage from an older woman in my family. My mother completely lost her shit when I suggested that Lila was not supposed to have a bottle to go to sleep since that is what parents had done for 50 years previous. She told me that this was basically the cause of all the problems I had with Lila's infancy and that if I just gave in all those problems would disappear.
I finally DID give in. And guess what, a year later when Lila was 2 and still wanting a bottle to go to sleep my mother acted like I was talking about murder when I suggested that it was time to stop. Even though the doctor had told me to do it a year before. Even though every parenting book ON EARTH says that they shouldn't have a bottle to go to sleep, my mother thought it was simply cruel.
Believe me when I say that it was one of the worst transitions I have ever had to make. Lila was never a good sleeper to begin with and this just made her worse.
All that being said, why do these women think that we modern mothers are so mean and cruel for trying to do exactly what all the pros tell us we need to do? Are they offended that their way may have been wrong? Or is it actually mean to take a comfort item from a baby? Are we no good at going with our guts or is it just a matter of them trying to keep the babies as babies for as long as possible?
What do you guys think?
Yesterday I was at a family barbeque (and I won't even get into the thrilling experience that I had) and was talking to my aunt, whose first grandchild has just turned one. She and her son were discussing the bottle and the aunt was APPALLED at the idea that he would even THINK of taking the bottle away from her at a mere 1 year old. She defended her stance saying that the pediatrician said "15 months at the latest for a bottle, 18 months for a pacifier." She acted like it was flat-out child abuse to even consider depriving a kid of a ba-ba so "young".
 |
| "Once you pop you can't stop," says Grandma. |
This is not the first time I have encountered this kind of outrage from an older woman in my family. My mother completely lost her shit when I suggested that Lila was not supposed to have a bottle to go to sleep since that is what parents had done for 50 years previous. She told me that this was basically the cause of all the problems I had with Lila's infancy and that if I just gave in all those problems would disappear.
I finally DID give in. And guess what, a year later when Lila was 2 and still wanting a bottle to go to sleep my mother acted like I was talking about murder when I suggested that it was time to stop. Even though the doctor had told me to do it a year before. Even though every parenting book ON EARTH says that they shouldn't have a bottle to go to sleep, my mother thought it was simply cruel.
Believe me when I say that it was one of the worst transitions I have ever had to make. Lila was never a good sleeper to begin with and this just made her worse.
All that being said, why do these women think that we modern mothers are so mean and cruel for trying to do exactly what all the pros tell us we need to do? Are they offended that their way may have been wrong? Or is it actually mean to take a comfort item from a baby? Are we no good at going with our guts or is it just a matter of them trying to keep the babies as babies for as long as possible?
What do you guys think?
Thursday, May 26, 2011
My Mother's Daughter?
I know you are going to be shocked to hear this, but I really didn't turn out so great.
I dropped out of high school even though I was taking college-level classes simply because I refused to participate in gym class. I hated high school so much that I never bothered to apply to college. When I did go, I went to community college and only took classes I was interested in rather than actually attempting to follow some kind of curriculum. I dropped out of college too when I realized someone was going to have to pay for all those classes I enjoyed so much and then managed to throw my student loan into default during what can only be described as "one of my insane periods". This has ruined my chances of going back to school to get a degree so that I can make real money to actually pay back the loan so that I can go back to school to make real money...you get the idea.
And I blame the entire spiral on one person..MY MOTHER.
Yes, yes...I know. I am an adult and was when I went to college so how can I blame my mother for decisions I've made since that magical age when I should have been living alone and being responsible for myself?
Well, simple. Her parenting sucked.
And I am reminded of it every time I show up to pick up my kid and she is having a Hershey Bar at 5:00 pm (perfect for an appetizer I suppose) or when she demands that she IS NOT putting her shoes/coat/clothes on to leave because she doesn't have to do what my mother says. I am reminded when Lila comes home and tells me she played with the hose all day in March "because Grandma doesn't like it when I cry". I am reminded of it when I try to explain the concept of "time out" to my mother and she tells me it isn't nice to let Lila cry like that, even for a few minutes and that it "hurts Lila's feelings" when I yell at her.
My mother is a woman of no boundaries and fewer limits. It was her lack of limits that allowed me to have a 17 year old abusive boyfriend when I was 13 and allowed me to skip school and sleep in because everyone knew I could pass the test. It was her lack of limits which was the forerunner of my inability to delay gratification for ANYTHING until I was about 25 years old. And by then it was too late.
She never pushed me to do anything I didn't want to do, assuming that I was a strong kid and I would figure it out and she criticizes the way I refuse to allow Lila to do insane things (like take everything out of the refrigerator to keep her busy for 2 and a half minutes) even though it would "make Lila SOOO happy."
I parent NOTHING like my mother. I set rules and limits. Lila cannot stand up on the dining room table. She cannot act like an animal in Wal-Mart. She will not get Pepsi no matter how much she cries for it and I don't care if she wants a toy. I said no.
I am hoping that with a little guidance and direction, I will succeed where my mother failed me. I want Lila to find a life that suits her but also that is not full of missed opportunities and hurts that were totally unavoidable.
Oh, and I hope to spare her the 10 + years worth of therapy I have accumulated throughout the years.
Inspired by one of Mama Kat's weekly writing prompts:
Not your mother's daughter...how do you parent differently than your mother did? Is it a good thing or a bad thing?
I dropped out of high school even though I was taking college-level classes simply because I refused to participate in gym class. I hated high school so much that I never bothered to apply to college. When I did go, I went to community college and only took classes I was interested in rather than actually attempting to follow some kind of curriculum. I dropped out of college too when I realized someone was going to have to pay for all those classes I enjoyed so much and then managed to throw my student loan into default during what can only be described as "one of my insane periods". This has ruined my chances of going back to school to get a degree so that I can make real money to actually pay back the loan so that I can go back to school to make real money...you get the idea.
And I blame the entire spiral on one person..MY MOTHER.
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| My life after about 10th grade. (Image thanks to wired.com) |
Yes, yes...I know. I am an adult and was when I went to college so how can I blame my mother for decisions I've made since that magical age when I should have been living alone and being responsible for myself?
Well, simple. Her parenting sucked.
And I am reminded of it every time I show up to pick up my kid and she is having a Hershey Bar at 5:00 pm (perfect for an appetizer I suppose) or when she demands that she IS NOT putting her shoes/coat/clothes on to leave because she doesn't have to do what my mother says. I am reminded when Lila comes home and tells me she played with the hose all day in March "because Grandma doesn't like it when I cry". I am reminded of it when I try to explain the concept of "time out" to my mother and she tells me it isn't nice to let Lila cry like that, even for a few minutes and that it "hurts Lila's feelings" when I yell at her.
My mother is a woman of no boundaries and fewer limits. It was her lack of limits that allowed me to have a 17 year old abusive boyfriend when I was 13 and allowed me to skip school and sleep in because everyone knew I could pass the test. It was her lack of limits which was the forerunner of my inability to delay gratification for ANYTHING until I was about 25 years old. And by then it was too late.
She never pushed me to do anything I didn't want to do, assuming that I was a strong kid and I would figure it out and she criticizes the way I refuse to allow Lila to do insane things (like take everything out of the refrigerator to keep her busy for 2 and a half minutes) even though it would "make Lila SOOO happy."
I parent NOTHING like my mother. I set rules and limits. Lila cannot stand up on the dining room table. She cannot act like an animal in Wal-Mart. She will not get Pepsi no matter how much she cries for it and I don't care if she wants a toy. I said no.
I am hoping that with a little guidance and direction, I will succeed where my mother failed me. I want Lila to find a life that suits her but also that is not full of missed opportunities and hurts that were totally unavoidable.
Oh, and I hope to spare her the 10 + years worth of therapy I have accumulated throughout the years.
Inspired by one of Mama Kat's weekly writing prompts:
Not your mother's daughter...how do you parent differently than your mother did? Is it a good thing or a bad thing?
Monday, May 16, 2011
A long slow death
I hated getting out of bed then. I was about 13 and suffering from a pretty severe case of my own melancholy. Not the way normal teens did. It was much, much worse. But it was hard for her to notice. Because of the way she just sat there.
I used to come down the stairs loudly, hoping it would make her snap out of it. I thought that perhaps she would put on a show of being okay just for me. She didn't.
Outside, the sky was always gray - a constant miserable bleakness that only seemed to make the kitchen more gloomy and unbearable than what it was. I hated that time.
She always sat at the end of the kitchen table in her dark blue furry bathrobe. It was old and worn in plenty of places and she usually had not washed yesterday's makeup off so her mascara would be smeared around her eyes. She sat in the dark and held her head up with her right hand leaning closer to the wall, just in case she couldn't hold it any longer, I suppose.
She chain smoked with her left hand. One cigarette after the other. As I tried to work around her silence, I would rinse the coffee pot, trying to make some coffee for her so that she would seem more awake. But she just sat there. She wouldn't even move when I needed to get into the drawer behind her. She'd just let the drawer hit her in the back.
The tip would light bright fiery orange and she'd breathe in and hold. As she stared straight ahead, she'd seem to relax a bit as she exhaled - a long soft sound that sent the smoke swelling out into the room and sent her back to being still for a few minutes until she suddenly put the thing back to her lips and started all over again in a simple, small, slowly choreographed motion.
She would sit there like this for hours. Some days I wasn't allowed to turn the light on. Other days she would just forget. She would just sit there - sad and alone, silently contemplating some hurt that I had no way of comprehending and that she would never tell me for fear of accidentally passing that inertia on to me.
The same way I fear I am going to accidentally pass it on to my own girl. Like killing her slowly with secondhand smoke.
(written in response to the above photo as a prompt at the RedDressClub)
Sunday, May 15, 2011
30 Days of Books - Day 4
A Book That Reminds You Of Home
This would have been much easier if I was still living AWAY from home in Arizona. But I am going to pick one and tell you why:
It isn't the theme of this book that makes me think of home. Honestly, I don't remember much of the story. It's the time when I was reading it.
I was an odd teenager. I was suffering from serious depression and dropped out of high school half way through my senior year. During that spring, I started this book. I would spend hours sitting in my parent's backyard or in my room reading this. I had a tough time concentrating and so I went and got the audio version hoping to listen AND read to absorb the story. I didn't know about audiobooks being abridged though and so I had to tough it out with the book.
Half way through, my parents split. My mother had a boyfriend and so she moved out and my father was thrown into his own private hell, which I could do nothing about because I knew that there was no words to help. I was stuck there and this book became my escape.
So that is my book that reminds me of home. My parents' home.
This would have been much easier if I was still living AWAY from home in Arizona. But I am going to pick one and tell you why:
It isn't the theme of this book that makes me think of home. Honestly, I don't remember much of the story. It's the time when I was reading it.
I was an odd teenager. I was suffering from serious depression and dropped out of high school half way through my senior year. During that spring, I started this book. I would spend hours sitting in my parent's backyard or in my room reading this. I had a tough time concentrating and so I went and got the audio version hoping to listen AND read to absorb the story. I didn't know about audiobooks being abridged though and so I had to tough it out with the book.
Half way through, my parents split. My mother had a boyfriend and so she moved out and my father was thrown into his own private hell, which I could do nothing about because I knew that there was no words to help. I was stuck there and this book became my escape.
So that is my book that reminds me of home. My parents' home.
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