Forgive me mom.
My mom used to say some things that would elicit an eye roll, sarcastic comeback, snicker or anger. I thought she was being dramatic, a martyr, unsympathetic, silly, trying to make me laugh... you name it.
God, in His infinite wisdom has made the curse "I hope you have one just like you" come true. For my mother. Karma has given her a gift in the form of my children. So she can laugh. And me a gift in the form of my children... so I can learn.
I hope one day to hear my children say the same thing I'm about to say now. "I'm sorry, mom". Man, I totally get it now. I do.
"What am I talking to? A brick wall?" - this little gem of my mother's either cracked me up or pissed me off, depending on my mood. What the hell? I can hear her. Or so I thought. I've recently had a number of friends, two of whom are doctors, ask me if I'm ADD and tell me that perhaps I should seek a diagnosis for it. I apparently exhibit many of the signs. One of which is the ability to COMPLETELY space out. Either disappearing into my own imagination, a book I find engrossing, the shiny object just over your shoulder when you're trying to talk to me, the chip in my nail, my grocery list... you name it. And suddenly, it's not that I'm ignoring you. I LITERALLY cannot hear you. CANNOT. Unlike my boyfriend, whose own ADD means he can hear every word I say (I shit you not) with the TV on, phone in hand AND laptop open, I CANNOT hear you. He (like my son actually) can APPEAR to be ignoring me and yet repeat every word I say. I am the opposite. I'm apologize if you encounter me like this. But I slip into la-la land and I cannot hear you.
Well kids, my Lizzy is the same. I can ask her the same thing 5 times. Each time raising the volume of my voice and she CANNOT hear me. She can even be looking at me and she CANNOT. I finally find myself yelling, "LIZZY!!!!" and she snaps out of her Lizzy-Land and looks utterly confused at my frustration. She hasn't even heard me as background noise. She HAS NOT HEARD ME AT ALL. And so, very recently, I found myself in a moment of utter frustration, asking myself "Jesus! What am I talking to? A brick wall?" She laughed. And I became my mother.
"It Hurts To Be Beautiful" - this is what my mother uttered as she would rip a brush through my tangled hair while I swatted at her or ran or screamed, etc. It's what she said while she pulled our ponytails so tight we had face lifts. Quite frankly, even as a small child, I thought "what a load of shit." I figured there has to be a way to do this without killing me. I was wrong. (enjoy that, mom). You see... when you have a daughter like me and like Lizzy, short of shaving her bald, she will have tangled hair. This girl CANNOT eat pancakes without getting syrup in her hair (never mind what lands on her shirt, chair, skirt, the floor... agh! topic for another blog). She can manage to get oatmeal on top of her head. She literally THRASHES herself to sleep so her hair is a rat's nest in the morning. No amount of conditioner, detangling spray, what-have-you, can defeat the mess powers of Miss Elizabeth Plavin. And so, when combing her hair, I feel like texting my downstairs neighbor lest she think I am dismembering my daughter, "no worries, I'm only armed with a hairbrush, not a rusty saw." And as Lizzy swats at me, runs from me, yells at me... I find myself uttering the words of my mother, "It hurts to be beautiful." Lizzy responded with, "NO it doesn't" and "then I don't want to be beautiful!!!" and, my personal favorite, "Mom, beauty is on the INSIDE."
"Eat Over Your Plate" - OH MY GOD. I get it, mom!!! I get it!!!! HOLY CRAP. When observing my children's places, particularly Lizzy's, after a meal, I find myself wondering just how much made it into their stomachs. Granted, when out for dinner with friends a few years ago, mine was the ONLY place at the table at a super fancy restaurant where the guy had to pull out his table cloth scraper... but I digress. I look over at my children while they are eating and they are sitting partly sideways, one-cheeking it on the chair, spoons and forks dangling over their pants/skirt, the floor, their homework, ANYTHING but their plate. And THEN, it travels the LONG distance to their mouth and I see food falling off/out of it at an alarming rate because they neglect to eat over their plate. It's amazing. I can say it 5, 6, 12, 100 times during a meal and I'm greeted with frustrate "I Ams!" as I see them lean back, sideways, away again and more food fall. AAAGGGGHHHH.
"Chew With Your mouth Closed" - Okay, even if you're not a total sensory-problemed-psycho like me who LITERALLY plugs her ears at the sound of people chewing... NO ONE wants to see what you're chewing. NO ONE. I keep trying to express this to my children. Even if the SOUND does not make people batshit crazy like it makes me (and it makes me CRAZY... like I want to punch you in the face for that smacking noise, crazy), the sight is ICK, ICK, ICK!!!! Dude, how hard is it to put food in mouth, SHUT MOUTH and chew that way? Apparently, it's really damn difficult. Because I spend entire meal times alternating between "eat over your plate" and "chew with your mouth closed". Seriously. Forget conversation. I need to record myself on an endless loop saying these to things so they can get mad at the recording and stop yelling (with their mouths full... see next mom quote) "I AM!!!"
"Don't talk with your mouth full" - What is this about? This need to put the bite IN the mouth before answering me, asking me a question or deciding it's time to tell me about their day. They can ignore me for HOURS and suddenly, food in mouth = begin talking. "don't talk with your mouth full" is invariably answered with an indignant "I mnioaw!" (which is "I know"... when said with a mouth full of food). I love it when they tell me they know not to talk with their mouths full with a mouth full of food. This is like yelling at them to stop yelling. We are an ironic house apparently.
Last but not least is "You just do". This is what my mom said whenever I asked "how did you do it?" How did she start over after her divorce? How did she manage twins by herself? How did she work and drive us a half hour away from home for school and shuttle us to everything and, and, and.
I used to think she was brushing me off or downplaying her role or being a martyr. Forgive me mom. You were just being honest. You see... when you're breastfeeding one child in a squatting position to help the potty training older child on the toilet, it's not planned ahead. When you stay up too late packing lunches and reviewing the contents of backpacks and putting out clothes and reading school calendars ahead of time so that you don't fall apart the next day, you don't pat yourself on the back. When you're vomiting and weak, but staying up all night with a feverish child doing the same... you don't map it out. You just do it. Because you have no choice. Because you are a parent. Because you signed up for this.
I have a friend who calls me Iron Woman. He thinks I carry a lot by myself... sometimes just because I'm too stubborn to ask for help, other times because I have no choice. He thinks I pour a ton of time and energy into activities and learning and just bonding time with my kids and can handle the bumps life throws at me. I don't consider myself Iron Woman. I'm a woman and a mother who is just trying to provide structure and routine to help my kids feel safe, yet provide the fun and the memories and the creativity that will bond us. I have a younger friend who is new to this mommy thing who has asked me what I once asked my mom. "How do you do it?" And before I could think about it, I said, "you just do".
It's funny how things come full circle. How your parents words become your own. My newest phrases also comes from Mom. "Life is short" and "I'll Sleep when I'm dead" - these were the words she used when she went the extra mile even when she was exhausted and what she said to encourage us to go for our wishes and dreams. When she wanted to let us know it was okay to be truly ourselves no matter what anyone thought.
Life is Short. I'm working on making sure I make the most of it... and that I quote my mother along the way.
