"ignore the story. see the soul. remember to love. you will never regret it" --- Seane Corn

"ignore the story. see the soul. remember to love. you will never regret it" --- Seane Corn
it's a jungle out there

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

I am NOT my mother

I've spent so much of my adult life trying to NOT be my mother.
I'm not like her. I don't LIKE her.

When I wanted to become a midwife, I only hesitated because I had to become a nurse first.
she's a nurse... i don't want to be a nurse.

Then, while I was becoming a nurse, I did my pediatrics rotation.
On the first day I FELL IN LOVE WITH PEDS
i can't go into peds... she was in peds...

Oh well.

Pediatrics is my thing. I love it. Mainly because I don't like grown ups. I don't get grown ups
which i blame on my mother

But I do get kids.

So when I got my own kids, I vowed to do so much
not everything
Cause I remember really well what it's like to be a kid
which is why I'm good in peds

So I snuggle my kids and tell them I love them and
smile into their eyes.
Cause the first time I ever saw my mother look at me with joy and happiness was when Bruce and I danced together at our wedding. I was 31 years old.

And I'm honestly not sure if I've ever heard her say
I love you.

not sure at all

So I make sure my kids hear those words every single day. And I make sure they will be able to recall my special smile when I'm seeing only them. And they will be able to recall hugs and kisses and gentle touches. They will always be able to crawl into my arms and feel safe rather than awkward.

So I'm
not like her. I throw shit out all the time cause I can't stand the crap that piles up because
She wasn't quite as bad as that creepy tv show. But it did take 2 huge dumpsters to get rid of all the accumulated crap in her house. And seeing us throw her shit out gave her... the shits.


For several years when I was in high school, I couldn't have friends over cause there was so much garbage everywhere it was embarrassing. Those were her church lady years. I remember being glad that she had something for herself, rather than her life being only about us.
Cause "us" didn't really float her boat.
But the HOLY SPIRIT and Father Godley did.
Yes. Father Godley. Seriously

Sometimes, when I'm blogging, I wonder if my blogging is like church was for my mom. I wonder if my kids resent it
just a little bit. Cause I could be doing stuff for or with them, but obviously, right at this particular moment in time, I'd rather be blogging.
Maybe just like she'd rather be with the church ladies.

But I'm not like her.

And that detached, distant way she had about her. Quiet, but still exuding exasperation. Or desperation. Or exhaustion. Or irritation.
Or this is so not where I want to be.
I've worked SO HARD not to give off that vibe when I'm with my kids. It's been work. A lot of work. And I think I've been pretty successful.

Cause I'm not like her.

But since my little blue pill, I hardly have to work at that stuff at all. It doesn't take all my energy to keep my head above water. It doesn't take all my energy to make sure I appreciate my kids and show them love every day. It's not work to feel a little peace and joy. It's almost... effortless.

My mom never had a little blue pill.

She did have really awesome Christmases, though. She made us beautiful dresses. And crocheted lovely delicate snowflakes for our tree. And baked tons of fancy yummy cookies. And made Gourmet worthy Christmas feasts. She gave us picture book Christmases.

I hate Christmas.
Cause I can't give Christmas like she gave Christmas.
Cause I'm not like her.

I'm different.
I have a pill.


  1. ???

    maybe you need to consider bwave winsdays?

  2. This claws at my heart like a cat gone mad. It would be so much easier for some of us if our mothers had been complete abusers and never sewed us a dress, never brought us ginger ale and comic books when we were sick, never...what? Done the things that every mother should do?
    And yes, it would have been so much easier if our mothers had had little blue pills (how I wish she had had those).
    Michelle- I am sending you love for your Bwave Winsday. We could trace the map of our hearts by talking about our mothers and perhaps one day we will all be brave enough.

  3. Thanks for visiting me and I want to know what Bwave Winsday is all about?

    This post was moving, in so many ways.

    I had a great Mama, but there are areas that I definitely would like to avoid emulating, and my sister...Jesus, how do you define Train Wreck?

    And God, you catch yourself doing stuff,saying stuff, even thinking stuff, and the shame just seeps outta you, because you know it's your childhood smacking you in the forehead.

  4. And I thank all that is good for that little blue pill.

  5. Very powerful. You nailed so much of my mother, too, so thanks. I'm glad you went the route of having such awesome kids and being a wonderful mother, and so not being her.

  6. You are not her. You are wonderful you.

  7. Powerful posting that spoke to me. Some parents come from the generation of not showing any emotion to their kids. It's the way they were, and it's great that you are aware of not doing the same to your kids.

  8. I love the part where you "smile into their eyes"! I totally know where you are coming from there. How beautiful...
    And as long as you know that you don't want to be like her, that's most of the battle. (that's what my hubby tells me anyway)

  9. So beautiful. I wish my mother had had a little blue pill as well. She was wonderful when we were sick. (She is also a nurse.) And would make pretty carnival costumes and birthday treats. So many of us, dealing with such similar stuff. I'm always showing the love as well. But then I have the creche and mindfulness, and the internet. (My little blue pills.)

    Thank you. x

  10. That's it; psychic sisters for sure. Hugs.

  11. Is this a safe place to talk about our mothers? Feels like it. I can't even bring myself to talk about her on my blog. For 46 years I have had to deal with her and I would like 46 years to not deal with her. Many of you seem to me to be fabulous mothers. And me too.

  12. Thank God for medication! And wine. Red wine.



  13. Oh could I have written this post (except about the nurse part - I broke that family tradition) because I've always been about needing so much to be not my mother, but not being any better, it turns out anyway. Or just fucked up in different ways. The hoarding, the somethings never right depressed needy life I ran away from, that's my mom, and I search for my own little blue pill. Right now I have a little white pill, but it's not the right one.

    Anyway, you are the next in series of blogs I've read this week and thought holy shit. Somebody else who gets this part of my life. Patched together, it's been as therapeutic as any pill for me lately. And less time consuming than therapy, knowing other people are thinking the same thing.

    I'd love to start a conversation where we all can compare notes about the many ways we self medicate, including the pills, wine, writing, detaching, reading, hugging and everything else inbetween. Now that would be something. I always want to ask other women What do you do? How do you stay sane? Life is so crazy-making, and I so do not want to be crazy in front of my kids!
    Thanks for this post, thanks for letting me babble, and yes, thank goodness for blogs and wine.

  14. I wish she had had a little blue pill. I'm glad you can be who you know you are with the help of meds. It's a gift to your children, obviously.


so... wadaya think?

Your fairy is called Columbine Icedancer
She is a bone chilling bringer of justice for the vulnerable.
She lives in mushroom fields and quiet meadows.
She is only seen when the bees swarm and the crickets chirrup.
She wears lilac and purple like columbine flowers. She has icy blue butterfly wings.