Everything is an adventure, right?
It can be!
Like, the grocery store. Anyone with a child knows how magical that place is. See it from their perspective-aisles upon aisles of food! Edibles! Treats! And you can pick and choose?!??! Holy awesome!
I think grown ups, adults, the people with the jobs and the wallets and the bills, we get all weighed down by...well, the jobs and the wallets and the bills. Our brains automatically focus on the price. Or the calories. Or the dietary restrictions.
But the reality is...it's rows and rows of food! And all we have to do is pick the one we want, put it in our cart and be done with it!
When I was packing (read: going through things in preparation to pack) and I found a grocery list I made for M when he was three years old. I remember having him sit down with food magazines and telling him to cut out (with child safety scissors) the foods we needed: Milk, bread, eggs. Then he'd glue them onto paper collage style and that would be our grocery list! How wonderful of a mom was I back before the two jobs and the house hunting and the schooling! Thank goodness I saved that paper, so it could remind me four years later to be that mom again.
So, yes. Grocery stores are magical.
House hunting can be, too! You walk into all of these places you've driven by a million times and never noticed, and you try to picture your furniture in them. What a great game for your mind! Take away all of the stress about due dates and out by dates, in by dates...down payments, references... and find the magic in it!
And if you can't find the magic in something (everything), see it through your kids eyes.
Once again, he saves me...
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Well, it's not the Beatles...
There's many things you could have done to me that would have been worse. At least that's what I tell myself, because I'm sure it has to be true somehow. Not that it lessens what you did manage to damage in the course of seventeen years, or however long it took me to realize that the label that had been given to you was nothing more than an explanation of how we met rather than a marker of your actual influence on my life. If you're wondering why we don't speak, it's time for you to have a little introspection. Trust me, the reasons shouldn't be that hard to find.
As a mother, it is our job to raise our children to essentially break our hearts. We birth our babies, care for them, feed them, love them, nourish them. We build our children up and give them self-esteem and set reasonable boundaries that encourage their healthy development-mentally, physically, emotionally. We do this without complaint and with a happy heart...until one day, we do all of this so well, our children no longer need us. Sure, we communicate frequently, but the topic matter evolves, and we're free to not only be "mom" but a person with experience as well. We encourage the healthy development of a need for our child to separate themselves from us; for it is essential if our child is to live independently in this big huge world.
I would feel comfortable betting that most of that paragraph you find arguable. I can hear your voice picking apart my thoughts on parenting, trying to disprove my theory individually. But don't you think that children need guidance more than freedom? You told me once that you had children so that you felt wanted and needed. You procreated so that someone could love you as much as you needed to be loved. What you never anticipated was that your daughter would be too independent to fit your mold. How you handled that was how you separated yourself from being my mom.
Rather than encourage and guide, you excommunicated. You manipulated, you cajoled, you guilt-tripped. And when that didn't work, you sent me to my fathers.
The things most women learn from their mothers, I didn't. Grace, manners, social behaviors, maintaining relationships-these are all of the things I've had to learn from other people in my life or self-help books, and even that feels like getting the Cliff's Notes guide to life. I did, however, learn how to fight dirty. I learned to never trust, to be aware of ulterior motives, to believe that men were the enemy, how to flip a switch so I don't care anymore (which is soooo not healthy). I learned how to rely on my intuition to know what was going on inside of someones head so that I knew if I should talk to them or go to my room. I learned about narcissism and hypochondria. These things I understand implicitly. So thank you, because I recognize these behaviors in others and sometimes, myself, and I know that work needs to be done to either get away from the person or make adjustments to myself. Of course, the latter feels like a never ending battle that I should have to be fighting while raising a child of my own.
Which brings me to where I am now. You volunteered to testify in court to have my child placed in the sole custody of the man who routinely hit me in front of him, because you knew that his father would grant you access to your grandchild. Rather than talk to me as an adult, apologize and admit that you knew there were behaviors that you were working on-you know, assuaging my fears as your adult child so that you may have a relationship with both your daughter and your grandson-you went behind my back in the worst form. You were willing to tell a court things you couldn't possibly know about my lifestyle, since we hadn't spoken since before my child was born. You never ever acknowledged your mental health issues or how they affected the upbringing of your own children-why would I give you the opportunity to pass them on to my son? The healthiest decision I made was to not allow you in until you were at least able to admit you had a problem. To do otherwise would be doing nothing more than inviting the same reckless, self-indulgent and harmful behaviors back into a life I built despite them.
I tried to have a relationship with you even after this happened. I forgave you because I had to for my own sake. This was the finality of me believing you were no longer a mom; that you would forever be putting yourself first no matter what the cost and the playing the victim for other people's attention and sympathy. I kept you at an arms length and only met you on my terms. This still wasn't acceptable to you. You'd express anger and resentment that I would not leave my child alone in your care. Let me tell you-it's painful to see you try to relate to him because you have no idea how to do it. He is related to you and yet you can get nothing from him, and it turns you into such an awkward mess that it would be comical to watch if it weren't real life. Your job as a grandmother is to love and nurture, to enjoy the time with him and soak up the rewards of a job well done. These are all foreign concepts to you.
The only thing you've ever acknowledged was that you were surprised I could talk to you after you testified against me as a mother. That you thought your testimony would make me fight harder and you were surprised when we agreed to the custody arrangement we did, and that you were disappointed. This was what you said to me the last time we spoke face to face. No apology, just a gentle disapproval of how I handled one of the most important challenges of my life. It was confirmation that you hadn't changed; that you would forever be playing the game of Judy and that you saw me-even as an adult-as a pawn to be moved however you felt necessary. No matter how much grace I have to extend, this would never change. To open my life up to you would be to welcome your criticism after I made extremely hard, selfless choices. You would never see that I've only wanted your approval and to be told that I'm loved, that I'm the best thing you ever did. That being a mother was your greatest accomplishment and that you are proud of the person I've become. You'd never ever see that while I could stand up to the 300 pound guy whom I had a restraining order against, I could never stand up to you because you taught me from a young age to fear you; to believe that your word was final and that your opinion was all that mattered. You would always believe that you failed as a mother because your child, now a mother herself, didn't fight the way you fought.
That's why I call you my mother, not my mom. Some days I tell people you're no longer with us because I don't feel like looking damaged enough to have a mother that doesn't acknowledge me when she sees me in public. This makes me feel terrible, but a lot less terrible than everything you've managed to do (and not do) to raise children. I imagine that I think of you how adopted kids think of their birth moms...that you gave birth to me, but were ill-equipped to do the whole "raising" part. I give you the credit you deserve-you have not ruined me, not by a long shot. You've given me an example of how not to parent and the incentive to give my child the best childhood I can. I wake up every day with the goal of being the mom I wished I had. Most days I think I do pretty well, and that's how raising a child has helped me overcome you. Thank you for that!
I don't wish you harm, I wish you well. Literally. I wish you would wake up, see what has happened around you and understand why your children don't talk to you. My wish for you is that you allow yourself to hurt and heal the proper way, that you find some kind of inspiration to be your best self and to stop using your past as a crutch. For your birthday, I wish you could really understand why you're alone and how much you truly do not like it. I wish you healthy responses to the negativity in your life, both inward and outward. I wish you the peace of mind that can only come from living your best life. I wish you all of these things, because we're both still alive, and I don't ever think it will ever be too late for you to redeem yourself. You've outlived many things for a reason-you are not done yet. Grow and change, and when you do, come tell me about it. I'm still your daughter, and I've earned the right to have a mom-even this late in the game.
Enjoy your next trip around the sun.
As a mother, it is our job to raise our children to essentially break our hearts. We birth our babies, care for them, feed them, love them, nourish them. We build our children up and give them self-esteem and set reasonable boundaries that encourage their healthy development-mentally, physically, emotionally. We do this without complaint and with a happy heart...until one day, we do all of this so well, our children no longer need us. Sure, we communicate frequently, but the topic matter evolves, and we're free to not only be "mom" but a person with experience as well. We encourage the healthy development of a need for our child to separate themselves from us; for it is essential if our child is to live independently in this big huge world.
I would feel comfortable betting that most of that paragraph you find arguable. I can hear your voice picking apart my thoughts on parenting, trying to disprove my theory individually. But don't you think that children need guidance more than freedom? You told me once that you had children so that you felt wanted and needed. You procreated so that someone could love you as much as you needed to be loved. What you never anticipated was that your daughter would be too independent to fit your mold. How you handled that was how you separated yourself from being my mom.
Rather than encourage and guide, you excommunicated. You manipulated, you cajoled, you guilt-tripped. And when that didn't work, you sent me to my fathers.
The things most women learn from their mothers, I didn't. Grace, manners, social behaviors, maintaining relationships-these are all of the things I've had to learn from other people in my life or self-help books, and even that feels like getting the Cliff's Notes guide to life. I did, however, learn how to fight dirty. I learned to never trust, to be aware of ulterior motives, to believe that men were the enemy, how to flip a switch so I don't care anymore (which is soooo not healthy). I learned how to rely on my intuition to know what was going on inside of someones head so that I knew if I should talk to them or go to my room. I learned about narcissism and hypochondria. These things I understand implicitly. So thank you, because I recognize these behaviors in others and sometimes, myself, and I know that work needs to be done to either get away from the person or make adjustments to myself. Of course, the latter feels like a never ending battle that I should have to be fighting while raising a child of my own.
Which brings me to where I am now. You volunteered to testify in court to have my child placed in the sole custody of the man who routinely hit me in front of him, because you knew that his father would grant you access to your grandchild. Rather than talk to me as an adult, apologize and admit that you knew there were behaviors that you were working on-you know, assuaging my fears as your adult child so that you may have a relationship with both your daughter and your grandson-you went behind my back in the worst form. You were willing to tell a court things you couldn't possibly know about my lifestyle, since we hadn't spoken since before my child was born. You never ever acknowledged your mental health issues or how they affected the upbringing of your own children-why would I give you the opportunity to pass them on to my son? The healthiest decision I made was to not allow you in until you were at least able to admit you had a problem. To do otherwise would be doing nothing more than inviting the same reckless, self-indulgent and harmful behaviors back into a life I built despite them.
I tried to have a relationship with you even after this happened. I forgave you because I had to for my own sake. This was the finality of me believing you were no longer a mom; that you would forever be putting yourself first no matter what the cost and the playing the victim for other people's attention and sympathy. I kept you at an arms length and only met you on my terms. This still wasn't acceptable to you. You'd express anger and resentment that I would not leave my child alone in your care. Let me tell you-it's painful to see you try to relate to him because you have no idea how to do it. He is related to you and yet you can get nothing from him, and it turns you into such an awkward mess that it would be comical to watch if it weren't real life. Your job as a grandmother is to love and nurture, to enjoy the time with him and soak up the rewards of a job well done. These are all foreign concepts to you.
The only thing you've ever acknowledged was that you were surprised I could talk to you after you testified against me as a mother. That you thought your testimony would make me fight harder and you were surprised when we agreed to the custody arrangement we did, and that you were disappointed. This was what you said to me the last time we spoke face to face. No apology, just a gentle disapproval of how I handled one of the most important challenges of my life. It was confirmation that you hadn't changed; that you would forever be playing the game of Judy and that you saw me-even as an adult-as a pawn to be moved however you felt necessary. No matter how much grace I have to extend, this would never change. To open my life up to you would be to welcome your criticism after I made extremely hard, selfless choices. You would never see that I've only wanted your approval and to be told that I'm loved, that I'm the best thing you ever did. That being a mother was your greatest accomplishment and that you are proud of the person I've become. You'd never ever see that while I could stand up to the 300 pound guy whom I had a restraining order against, I could never stand up to you because you taught me from a young age to fear you; to believe that your word was final and that your opinion was all that mattered. You would always believe that you failed as a mother because your child, now a mother herself, didn't fight the way you fought.
That's why I call you my mother, not my mom. Some days I tell people you're no longer with us because I don't feel like looking damaged enough to have a mother that doesn't acknowledge me when she sees me in public. This makes me feel terrible, but a lot less terrible than everything you've managed to do (and not do) to raise children. I imagine that I think of you how adopted kids think of their birth moms...that you gave birth to me, but were ill-equipped to do the whole "raising" part. I give you the credit you deserve-you have not ruined me, not by a long shot. You've given me an example of how not to parent and the incentive to give my child the best childhood I can. I wake up every day with the goal of being the mom I wished I had. Most days I think I do pretty well, and that's how raising a child has helped me overcome you. Thank you for that!
I don't wish you harm, I wish you well. Literally. I wish you would wake up, see what has happened around you and understand why your children don't talk to you. My wish for you is that you allow yourself to hurt and heal the proper way, that you find some kind of inspiration to be your best self and to stop using your past as a crutch. For your birthday, I wish you could really understand why you're alone and how much you truly do not like it. I wish you healthy responses to the negativity in your life, both inward and outward. I wish you the peace of mind that can only come from living your best life. I wish you all of these things, because we're both still alive, and I don't ever think it will ever be too late for you to redeem yourself. You've outlived many things for a reason-you are not done yet. Grow and change, and when you do, come tell me about it. I'm still your daughter, and I've earned the right to have a mom-even this late in the game.
Enjoy your next trip around the sun.
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