Everybody has a theory on what the perfect mom, mom-behavior, mom-thoughts, and Mother's Day should be like, so I thought I'd send my own out into the blog-iverse after being inspired by
this.
First, you should know that as the oldest of my generation of 20 or so first cousins in the family, I've been baby-sitting kids since the next kid in my generation was born: a cousin, 2 years my junior. My childhood was based on being responsible for what the other kids were doing and saying. My adolescence just heaped on even more responsibility. Needless to say, I did not enjoy growing up. I knew I always wanted kids, but I had learned that I wanted to wait as long as possible (the universe just choked on its drink).
I was always a very sensitive child and completely un-materialistic, basically one of those "dreamer" types, much to everyone's distaste. I've spent a lot of time trying to get over my experiences and thought that by becoming a mother myself, I would find some divine explanation that would help me understand why my mother was the way she was. I didn't.
Since this seems to be a big deal in every other piece of material I've found on Mother's Day, I thought I'd give my two-cents. Of course, most of the other material out there is from people that have real good properly put-together lives, so here's the perspective of what it was like growing up as my mother's child, i.e. left with many issues.
- I don't remember whether or not my mother ever wore pajamas or yoga pants to take me to school, but I do remember her always being dressed to impress, and me living on ill-fitting hand-me-downs or thrift store finds until I was able to donate it all and buy every single thing in my closet myself at the age of 19.
- I don't remember how often my mother bought herself new shoes, but both of my big toes grew crooked from being forced to grow in too-small shoes because it was a waste of money to buy the right size for me, but made sense for everyone else in the family to have all the right sizes until I was in my late teens. Then it was okay for my brothers to have gaping holes in their shoes and frost-bitten toes.
- My mother was probably around 30 when she was graced with the treat of her first manicure, and by her mid-thirties made any sacrifice necessary to do her nails. Even when we lived in a homeless shelter and had nothing to eat.
- My mother accepted every gift we gave her, but complained that breakfast, cake, crafts, cards, keepsake ornaments, etc weren't expensive enough. When I was old enough to buy her gold, she demanded to see the receipt and store catalog, bit on each piece of jewelry to test it, and then threw it in her closet and asked "So that's it?"
- My mother made sure I got up for school every morning. It was my responsibility to clean the house, fix breakfast, and get everyone ready for school. Even with a cold. Or the flu. Or food poisoning. Or dengue. Or pneumonia.
- My mother expected homework to be done every day. Before she got home from work. With time to spare for me to clean the house, fix or help fix dinner, pack lunch, pack book-bags, get things ready for school the next day, and put the boys to bed.
- My mother expected 100% or A+ on every assignment. From everyone. Or I would be physically reprimanded. The rule was if anything didn't go the way she wanted, I would be physically reprimanded.
- My mother was not a morning person. Therefore everything happened the wrong way every morning. Therefore I was physically reprimanded every morning.
- My mother made a major effort to accept my friends. She would be incredibly nice to them, whisper secrets to them where I wouldn't hear, and share embarrassing stories about my childhood. Thus ensuring that nobody would believe me if I ever had the courage to reveal the abuse.
- My mother made every effort to be the 1950's perfect mother and wife. In the public line of sight. I was not allowed to repeat any of her drunken conversations, admit that I was her nightly bartender, or reveal any of the bruises.
- My mother took the time to tell us stories on a regular basis. Since my dad's moving job kept him away most of the time, before I finished elementary school I was successfully brainwashed and honestly believed that my own father hated me and wanted to kill me. I also believed that I deserved to be beaten until I couldn't move on a regular basis because I was the worst child in existence with no purpose in life, who intentionally ruined her mother's life by existing.
- The laundry was always done because it became my responsibility from the age of 8.
- My mother always had something to eat. My brothers and I have gone days without food before.
- My mother always had time for parties, fetes, drinks, and friends. But not time to stand up for me after her in-laws accused me of being adulterous when I acted in a harmless religious play she and her mother introduced me to.
- My mother feels rage at people. As a bigot who judges people based on their appearance, sexual orientation, personal tastes, etc.
Don't let me go on. As I suffer from making-excuses-for-people-itis, let me just say that I think it's very likely that a possible combination of undetected post-partum depression paired with old-fashioned interference from negative family and friends may have started or added to all of that. I'll never know. To this day, she continues to deny ever doing a single negative thing in her life and still regularly insults me over the phone since coming back into my life at the end of my pregnancy. Maybe it can't be helped and that's just who she is. I don't know.
Nevertheless, it still hurts. As a child, you see how other mothers react with their children in school and in movies. I would have preferred to blush from embarrassment at a motherly hug or kiss than to be led away crying with threats of abuse as soon as we got home being whispered in my ear because I talked in class, brought home a 99% instead of 100%, or forgot to sign a permission slip.
I secretly wished I was actually adopted and one of the other kids' mothers would one day claim me. It didn't matter what kind of pants they wore. I wouldn't have cared if they wore NO PANTS at all. What I wanted was a real mother. The kind that would look at me with love, congratulate me on my achievements, encourage me from my disappointments, hug away any discomfort or hurt, protect me from cooties and bullies, surprise me with cookies or a funny-looking cloud, or at least remember my birthday.
The hell if I was gonna sit there scrutinizing PANTS with a mother like that. Jeebus. Look at the kind of mother I did have, and I still can't remember what kind of pants she wore.
I know, I totally vouch for Capricorn Girl's thing about "When you look good, you feel good" because it works for me so much. And maybe putting on some "normal" pants will make you look better and then make you feel better. But seriously? When you don't have the time or piece of sanity to spare digging through your wardrobe to take that extra 2 minutes looking for a pair of pants because you prioritize your child's wants and needs and memories? Pants be damned. That does NOT in any way make you less of a mom, or a lazy mom, or an excuse-making mom.
It means you're trying your best to focus on the important things. And if dabbing peanut butter on each other's noses or stopping for a hug or doing a silly dance is one of the important things, then I personally salute you and thank you from the bottom of my heart for being an amazing mom and strongly urge you to keep on keeping-on. Because those moments are what count. Not the spit-up dripping down your neck, the oh-so-old breastmilk stains, the poop on your chin, the hole in your socks, or who or what you're wearing.
Sure, some professional uppity person is gonna make some kind of comment eventually, but they can go suck Eric Cartman's balls. Because they. do. not. matter. Freaking pants do. not. matter. Your child matters.
I'm not saying that you should totally ignore your needs and wants by the way. You definitely deserve some love too, and make sure you get it when you can! Just make sure you're doing it for your reasons and not because anyone else says so because they don't understand what the real deal is all about. I'm sure all the perfect moms are turning their noses up at me for saying such preposterous things (or because I haven't showered in 3 days), but if your instincts say sing a silly song, don't step on the cracks in the sidewalk, and count all the blue cars that pass by to treasure the moment; and do your nails, do your hair, try on everything in your closet, and take yourself out for coffee after your kid's in school/alternative care, don't let anyone give you crap about that. For that, you are all my heroes.
And for the record, if your traditional Mother's Day isn't your dream thing, hint about it! And by hint, what I really mean is write it down somewhere people will see, talk about it often with people who are involved, get involved yourself if you can, and hope really hard it works!
