Two: Mother and Daughter

Two: Mother and Daughter

If anyone liked putting the cart before the horse, it was my mom. Her sweet, caring and sensitive nature made up for her almost always jumping to conclusions in almost any given situation. Now that I think about it, my memory only truly recalls that particular flaw of my mom getting the best of me. Whenever I had something to tell her, regardless of its importance, she wasn’t the best listener. She would never just take the information at hand, process it, and then make an informed decision.  At least that was my hope; whenever I’d call her with my fingers crossed. Flaw or not, she was a pro at making assumptions.

Here’s a fun story for ya.

When our daughter was three months old, my husband and I decided to get her baptized. Being non-religious folk, both my husband and I purely went along with the baptism to mainly please both of our mother’s.  For the record, we both didn’t really have an opinion on it, but knew it would be helpful one day for our daughter if she ever wants to follow the Catholic Faith. Again, having no real opinion on this event, we wanted a small, quaint group of family and friends.  My mom was an Italian Catholic, so clearly this was the first mistake on our part.

She had already assumed a large amount of people would be in attendance at the baptism and she even started compiling a list of her side of the family and close friends. Typical mom fashion, but damn if I don’t miss that about her and our disagreements.  This was most likely before we even mentioned having a baptism. To make a longer story short, it was a battle for most of the afternoon the day we learned of my mom’s assumptions and list making.  My husband was on the phone with my mom and my dad, back and forth a few times, while I was most likely crying in the baby’s room.  It ended on an OK note and my mom paid for mostly everything. So I guess I shouldn’t complain too much.  It’s safe to say we lost that battle, though we did cut mom’s list down a bit. At least the cake was good.

Eventually I would get over my negative attitude about it and she’d eventually listen and talk everything out with me.  We always moved on and never held grudges against one another. Eventually.  And then we’d grab coffee at Starbucks, me a mocha latte and her a chai tea latte and talk for three hours.  I miss that big time.

The way life is ‘supposed’ to go is the parent passes before their child.  As I’ve gotten older, I realize that life doesn’t have a set order and flow. Life keeps going and we have to keep trying and doing and moving.  There’s no order whatsoever.  As children, we never really think about our parents ever leaving us.  We think they’ll be here forever. We like to think our parents are immortal.  A sweet thought that sadly just isn’t true. We never think that the really bad, horrible things in life will happen to us or our loved ones, ever.  That’s just human nature and normal assumptions to have.  But as we grow older and I like to think wiser, that’s now considered fantasy land.

Growing up, I don’t think I realized how good of a mother my mom truly was or how good I had it.  Do we ever truly know how good we have it in the moment that we have it? I put my mom through hell in my teens; mainly just with attitude and disrespect. I was an overall good kid. I never snuck out of the house, never did drugs minus the trial periods of weed and cigarettes. I said the occasional “white lie” about sleepovers that were really parties at some boy’s house.  Yeah, if I haven’t mentioned it already, I was quite prude when I was young and certainly sheltered. But we all eventually grow into the person we feel most comfortable being and we just grow into who we are. Did my mom like it when I cursed?  No.  Did she like it when I went through a grunge phase in middle school and left the house wearing baggy t-shirts and holes in my jeans?  Definitely not.  Oh and by the way, I NEVER left the house looking like that because my mom just make me walk right back upstairs to change.

I changed my mind a lot throughout my college career; community college sucked and I was unhappy; so I decided I liked makeup and I went to skincare school.  That didn’t quite work out the way I thought it would but thinking back, I wasn’t very passionate about makeup and popping pimples on strangers wasn’t for me. I studied for my boards, but after failing the written test three times and only failing by one of two points, I was all kinds of emotions.  I was confused, upset and very anxious.  My mom basically helped me decided to go back to college and get my bachelor’s degree (along with my husband (then fiancé’) who helped nudge me as well.  I was scared but excited and I knew my mom was proud of me.  We fought a lot, but she never ever judged me or made me feel like a shitty person for cursing or being honest.  Frankly, overtime, I think she truly respected me for it.  She would tell me that she is happy that I am who I am and that she couldn’t have asked for a better daughter and that she loved my honesty.  My mother was a better mother and person than her own daughter ever was.

I never really received the gene of patience she had or her insane amount of empathy for others.  Yes, sometimes it was a bit much but like, I don’t have those bone in my body at all. Maybe 20% because I’m not a cold-hearted biotch, but for real.  A MUCH BETTER PERSON THEN HER OWN DAUGHTER. I just want to grab a coffee with her and tell her that she’s taking way too long to tell me a story about her friend who’s brother’s doctor is so, so, so, nice and such a doll. And then I would start talking about my job or my husband and she'd immediately assume the worst. 

 Is that too much to ask?