Mom

I haven't blogged about my parents much, but, I feel like I want to. I think the thing that's been holding me back is that I have a whole lot to say about both of them.

I'm going to start small, and with the most immediate thing.

Today, I went to go get my nails done. My mom had Alden, so, perfect opportunity. She said, "oh, that's cool, I was planning on going Monday, too, with Carrie (her friend)" I was like, "oh, hey, I'll tag along with you, so I have someone to talk to" . By her response, I could tell that she didn't want me along, for whatever reason, so I went later on. That's cool. What was really cool, is that they were just leaving, as I got there, and I found out that she paid for my manicure/pedicure, already. How sweet was that? My mommy hooks me up. I never ask for a thing, from them, but she's free with the treats. It's always been that way, though. I can honestly say, we were poor, when I was growing up, but pretty much, when she had it, I never wanted for anything, ever.

I think it's her way of making up for all the really awful things. More on that, another time. But, it's like her apologizing, without having to say "I'm sorry."

So, this evening, we talk on the phone. I made the offhand comment, that I wish Alden would clean his room here, the way he takes care of his stuff there. She goes on and on about how tidy he is, and how well he cleans up after himself. I mostly think she's bullshitting, but that's her way. So, I said "I wish I could get him to do things like that at home!" sorta joking, y'know.

She says this "Well, his room HERE isn't a tiny little shithole." I was like "Excuse me? Shithole?"

Then, further..."well, the dogs shit in there, right? Isn't it all covered with dog shit, and stuff?"

"his room?!" (I was literally gaping, at the phone. I mean, who the fuck says that?)

"yeah, the dogs sleep in there, right?"

"You think Alden's room is the house litterbox, and all the animals all shit in there? Is that what you're saying?"

"Well, it sounds bad when you say that..."

"Um."

The conversation continued. She was feigning honest cluelessness at what she was implying. Like people go around saying that kind of shit, every day. His room is smallish, and cluttered, but it's because it's filled with toys and clothes. The animals are only in there to stand on his bed and bark out his window (it overlooks the front porch). She must see them there every time she comes over, and assume that they live in there (I really don't know where she gets the whole shit thing, except that when we got Pookie, she wasn't housetrained, and shat all OVER the house, occasionally on his rug.) But, to her, dogs=filth. So, she sees the dogs in his room, and assumes that it's filthy.

It isn't. What kind of mother would I be, if I let my son lived in filth? Just her implying it, like, stings me. I don't know why, but she really hits those buttons. She makes these offhand comments about how she dissaproves of my mothering, how I keep my house, my abysmal taste, etc etc etc. Before I became a mother, she would make snide digs about the house, the husband, etc. When I lived at home, she attacked my appearance, constantly, my intellect, just...my existence. Then, 3 seconds later, she gives this wide-eyed look and says (This makes me so angry, I can't even express my feelings about it in words) "Why, I'm sorry you FEEL that way, I don't really know why you're getting so upset..." She never ever says "I'm sorry"

She's not sorry. I don't think she's been sorry for anything in her life. She's sorry that you aren't taking her "constructive criticism" and bettering yourself with it.

It's this daily dance. She says things that are totally volatile, she's a pushy, catty, nasty bitch 80% of the time (she's even taken it upon herself to 'decorate' Alden's room, in the new house. We're letting her, but we're gonna take it all down, when we move in. It's just easier...) But, the other 20% she's giving, supportive, etc. She's never honest. Never reliable. And, I'm never sure what percent I'm gonna run into when we talk.

I'm counting my blessings that I moved out of there early on, because I am very sure that we would kill each other. I'm also lamenting, sometimes, that we live 9 blocks apart. Because sometimes, that feels way too close.