I am a bad, bad Maman.
I really don't want to help out on tomorrow's all day field trip.
I really don't want to spend the day in the park watching the Pope on the Jumbotron and praying.
I will go if they really need the help.
Cross your fingers for me.
You know what is the best kind of day?
The kind where you are totally on top of things and are productive and then find out it was all an illusion.
Yup. Fun.
I was nice and organized, I had ordered my mother her birthday gift (lovely and likely totally inadequate flowers). After I took my shower, I noticed on my email that I got a confirmation that they were delivered and that my mother had signed for them... So, I called and wished her happy birthday. We had a pleasant conversation and then she hung up so she could go shopping.
I continued on with my day, getting some work done, feeling pretty good. The kids got home had a snack, went to volleyball practice, came home, worked on homework that I checked while I cooked dinner and cleaned out the refrigerator and ran four loads of dishes, deboned two cooked chickens, made home made chicken broth out of the carcass of one of them and made stir fry out of left over steak. Then we ate dinner. After dinner, I ran another load of dishes while Imelda had a quick shower. MonAnge ran up to take her shower when the phone rang.
It was my mother.
Wanting to talk to the girls. I put the girls on with them and they wished her a happy birthday and had a couple of questions for her. I noticed MonAnge giving me a strange look and then passing the phone off to her sister. "Is Nana ok?" she asked me. Hmmm, well since I had spoken to her less than 30 seconds, I didn't and said so. So then MonAnge went to take her shower.
Imelda didn't speak much longer to Mom. She asked if Mom wanted to speak to me, she gave a weird look then hung up the phone. "Nana said she was tired and going to bed," she told me. "But." Imelda told me, "She just sounded sad".
So, being the good daughter that I am? (or perhaps the word is idiot), I called back. Dad ditched from the phone as quickly as he could adding, "I don't need to be part of this!" Uh, oh... this ain't gonna be good.
And so I sat their quietly while I got lectured accordingly:
My mother had three children. One is dead. One is my bitch sister Margo who hasn't spoken to any of us in four years so therefore did not call Mom on her birthday. and then there is me. (Frankly, every time I hear this description of my Mother's situation I read a subtext of "and all I am left with is YOU!" I have been told over and over again that is not what is meant and that I should get over it and/or stop personalizing it, but I think that I am making a reasonable interpretation of the situation...)
Mom has always depended on me and I have always come through. I am like my father that way. She loves my father... therefore she loves me. (Because love can be broken down into a syllogism)
My mother has three grandsons who don't even know her! She SHOULD get a call from her grand daughters with whom she spends so much time. "Yes, she should," I tell her. "I am sorry" (No holiday or birthday in the last two years is complete without an apology from me... so I just offer them randomly now) "Well, you ARE responsible," I was told, "You are the MOTHER!"
My mother gave birth to three children. One is dead. One is a bitch. My grandmother didn't call and I fucked up again. She will see me Saturday when I cook her a gourmet birthday dinner and coconut cake from scratch. In the meantime? You ruined my day (subtext again... but really? Is this REALLY a stretch for me to make?)
The time at the end of this phone call? 8:15 pm. IT WASN'T EVEN 9:00! Was I really making such a mess of everything?
FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. I hate all people.
Oh, and then Fun Daddy called and I told him what happened and I got the standard irritated change in voice and then, "Anything else?" I hung up.
FUCK.
Fuck Gram for forgetting, FUCK MARGO, FUCK PJ for dying. FUCK Fun Daddy for not sticking up for me, not making me feel any better or even trying and for getting pissy with ME! Fuck les filles for not being more enthusiastic when they spoke to her and for being so busy that I couldn't call before 8pm.
I am so tired of feeling inadequate. I am tired of being expected to be everything to all the people in my life and for being judged as wanting.
Because I do want. To run away, but like an idiot, I stay to take whatever tomorrow's humiliation will bring.
God, I hope I am in the group in my family that dies before they are 60. I don't want to be everyone's asshole for another 60 years.
note: Did I mention that I also made home made doggie treats, went grocery shopping, paid the Amex bill and researched environmental disasters in the south suburbs? No? Well that was part of my inadequate mix of the day.
A couple of years ago I got into an argument with my FIL about where the girls should sleep when they were out on Long Island.
See, when the girls were small my ILs thought that les filles would wake up in the middle of the nights, get disoriented and fall down the stairs (since of course, we have no stairs at our house in Chicago) Fun Daddy and I indulged his parents and the girls ended up sleeping in their very large walk in closet. They even outfitted the closet with two twin beds.
Several years later, this system was less than ideal. See, the girls were used to being able to get up in the middle of the night to visit the bathroom. And they were used to their way being guided by a series of night lights. The problem? Well Nana and Papa need an absolute blackout to sleep and the night lights were not acceptable. What did this mean? The girls would wake up try to figure out where they were going in the pitch dark, give up and wet the bed. Surprisingly enough this irritated my ILs.
So one day when the girls were 6 and 5, and my ILs were not at home, I switched their rooms from the traditional closet to the upstairs bedrooms that had always been referred to as "the girl's room". I even bought waterproof mattress pads lest I was mistaken.
Instead of viewing this as my right as their mother, I was berated by my FIL for blaming him for the girls accidents and because I was exposing them to sure death. See, in the room next door,(not their room) in a closet that had no knobs (duh)was his rifle for skeet shooting.
Yes, I was the bad mother. Purposely endangering my children just to defy him. Naturally, when I raised my voice, Fun Daddy complained that I was picking on his poor defensely Daddy and should knock it off. (and yes, my life often appears to be taking place in a parallel universe like that)
This week, Fun Daddy and FIL decided to try to get in some skeet shooting... Unfortunately it rained. But when I got back from running my errands that morning and came upstairs this is what I found.
Yup.
Not in the closet
Just sitting right there.
I hate my life
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