My sister and I constantly feel guilty about how crazy our mom makes us. She raised us as a single, working mother, and even before I had a kid of my own, that qualified her for sainthood in my eyes. But while I can recognize her amazing contributions to my life, I can't help but also recognize that she is crazy as a loon and getting crazier by the day. She and I have always had a turbulent relationship (even before my rebellious teenage years), and although the tension between us has retreated beneath the surface a bit, we have never settled into any sort of comfortable or adult relationship. For this and so many other reasons, her visits to Detroit are always...um...terrifying. Sometimes they're lovely and sometimes they're holy hell--one just never knows.
She arrived last night.
It would take a thousand blogs to even touch the tip of what it is about my mom that makes it so hard for us to get along (and I'm just as much at fault, I know--ask sweet Nate who watches me become an irrational crazy lady whenever mom is near). I'm not even trying to go there. What did occur to me last night, however, is the new level of both peace and anxiety having my own child brings to the mix. On the one hand, Clementine's new fear/dislike of everyone who is not her mom and dad makes my mom insecure and desperate...she acts out, and I want to kill her. On the other hand, when my mom starts to wander down her dark path (you don't support me, why do you think I'm fat?, I'll just wash these dishes, why don't we go get your hair cut?), I can throw darling C. between us and the rage bubbles back.
All that said, the other realization I came to last night is that my mom is not unlike a child. Perhaps dealing with her will prepare me for the trials ahead as darling C. forges her own personality and tests the hell out of her parents (as if she hasn't already started). My mom acts with little understanding of consequence, anything (no matter how small) can set her off, she's terrible if she hasn't had a nap or enough sleep, she's not afraid of yelling, crying or making an ass out of herself in public (sorry to last night's patrons at Traffic Jam & Snug) and she gets super defensive when she knows she's wrong. She cannot be reasoned with--logic means nothing to her--and you have to bribe her with sweets in order to get her talking to you again. She has little regard for anyone else's belongings (she breaks and spills things all the time when she's here beause she doesn't pay attention) and needs constant reassurance that everything she does is OK. From what I know of toddlers, she's right on their level.
I know I'm going straight to hell for these thoughts and feelings, especially because I know so much of her bad behavior comes from a good place--she just wants to feel loved and useful. I weep to think that some day darling C. will feel any of these things about me, and yet I wonder if it's inevitable. Do we become our moms? Sure, everyone has a story about the first time her mom's words come directly from her own mouth, but can it end there? How much of her insanity have I subconsciously absorbed and will I be able to resist any of it when it comes to my own parenting?
SO much more to say on this topic, but she lurks, she lurks. I must go entertain.
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