My mother is in town for a few weeks. I have currently managed NOT to revert to an angry teenage girl but it’s been close a few times. But it is only day three.
So far, I’ve only sneered at her choice of foot wear – socks and Birkenstocks - and laughed outright at her gardening pants worn as regular pants with the socks and Birkenstocks. I didn’t forbid her to leave the house “dressed like that” like I would have when I was a teen. I even I let her wear her silly bushwhacker sun hat and my old dress shirt with the said gardening pants that she’s hemmed herself. I didn’t scream “MOM! How could you?” when she talked to the person at the pet store like they were friends and like the person cared if she was visiting me from California. Or when she made conversation with the checkout lady. Or when she answered the helpful but never sincere “Finding everything you need?” question posed to us by the Target lady. I have only smiled when she presented a tiny purse filled with dimes and pennies and nickels and said she intended to use them. I was quick on the draw and paid with my card instead. And I pointed out the large glob of white sunscreen on her face and suggested gently she rub it in instead of taking a paper towel to her face like she used to do to me I’m doing well. I have, however, spoken to her like she was a child and not my mother and was told off. “Don’t speak to me like I’m two years old. I can follow directions. I’m not a toddler.” I have made fun of her attempts to get down Husband’s new basement stairs without the benefit of a handrail, creeping down the steps, holding onto the walls so she doesn’t fall. I’ve only laughed a little bit. And taken a picture or two. But I didn’t post them on any social media so, points to me. I’ve not limited my cussing at all. In fact, I think I’ve increased my use of the F word and have started peppering every other word with it. She’s only winced a few times. I figure I’ve got another day in me and then I’ll get shut down when Mom uses her scary mom voice with my full name used, every syllable sharp and biting. And I have tried to feed her on numerous occasions – not literarily feed her but tried to make sure she would eat, like she was totally incapable to do so on her own, like she hadn’t been eating when she was hungry her whole life. And I’ve told her how to operate the gas stove. And the shower. And the sink... I’ve pretty much talked to her like she’s stupid more times than should have. I know better. She knows I know better. A few more days of this and she’ll show me that she’s the parent, set me right and send me to my room. A few more days of this and I’ll be thirteen again, slamming my door and screaming, “ I hate you! You’re the worst mom ever!” To which she’ll reply “Good. I’m trying.” I’m so happy she’s here!
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AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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