My Mother

i sometimes forget, in my distaste (to put it lightly), for my mother that there is, after all, something good and bad i get from her.  this something is a thing i've mistakenly passed onto my daughters.  i say mistakenly because it's something i suffer for, lol. 

my mother was the most impatient woman in the world.  she would wait for "her man" to notice that something manly needed doing.  if he didn't notice it, she'd mention it off handedly, and if it didn't get done within a reasonable amount of time (like immediately if not sooner) she would do it herself.  in the most pissed off and humiliatingly (to her man) manner possible.  whatever the job was, raking leaves, fixing holes in the wall, laying carpet, tearing down a garage, she would get it done with whatever tools were at hand.  hammers, screwdrivers, duct tape, her six kids, whatever it took she did it.  once she got started she absolutely DID NOT want him underfoot.  he was extraneous flesh at that point, useless.   she taught us not to tolerate weakness, laziness, shiftlessness, in ourselves.  if there's work to be done, get up and do it because no one else is gonna do it for you.  lol 

we kids took a BEATING in the work department, that's for sure.  we learned the limitless uses of duct tape.  the girls learned there wasn't a damn thing a man could do that a woman couldn't do at least as well, if not better, given the time and tools.  we learned that we didn't need a man to take care of us, although that was what was expected of us anyway, to marry and produce children, and be obedient, subservient wives.  as time went on we just became this, bull-workers.  this is what we do. 

today, i'm out in the yard, cleaning it.  i told joe i didn't want his help at all, because he works so hard at wally world and he doesn't need to be doing this too.  so i'm out their tossing trash, moving logs, moving lawn furniture, pulling tarps, bull work.  i'll pay for it later, i'll have to use ice, and the tens unit, and the shoulder is gonna be screaming.  but THIS is the thing my mother taught me and it just happens almost without even thinking about it.  and what do my daughters do?  not a thing. 

they know that i won't ask for help.  they know i don't really want or need it.  they know even if i need a glass of water, i'll come in and get it myself, because deep inside i still (even now) have a little streak of my mothers Martyr Complex.  GAG!!!!!!!  and i work this hard just to suffer and say to my husband, "see what i did because you couldn't...wouldn't". 

the very worst thing about this is that my daughters will do this very same thing to their spouses.  my mother, no matter how long i stay away, no matter how soon she passes or how long she's gone, will live on forever.  what a terrible thought. 

dw~

That Baby

It was a hellish night. Almost no sleep with the granddaughter teething like a 'gator, alternately crying and snotting or crying and biting. I haven't, even now, figured out which is worse. At least with her crying and snot draining down my shoulder I wasn't bleeding from those too little razor sharp incisors cutting into my shoulder. I am always shocked at the immense pressure a 10 month old baby can put into those bites.

Finally, she fell asleep. Fitful, but asleep. I was finally able to, sort of, curl around her and start dozing off myself. Joe's deafening snores were already drifting across the covers, probably what lulled her off to lala-land. I could almost feel myself slowly stumbling off into that dark corner of my mind where there is no light, no sound, only quiet coolness and soft breezes in the trees, and then...

Suuuuuuuu-MACK! Right in the left eye and across the bridge of my nose. OH MY GODS! I was seeing stars in my left eye! My eyelashes were poking INTO my freaking eyeball like tiny needles! My sinuses were about ready to pop out of my face! Then I heard it, once it got past the ringing in my head. The shriek. The shriek of a young animal in high terror as a lion is about to drag it down on the plains of Africa and rip it's throat out! Oh, geeze, that's not it, it was just the baby waking up AGAIN! Somehow or other, deep in her subconscious she realized I was getting close to being comfortable, and it was time for her to wake up and terrorize me. So there I was, snapped awake by a roundhouse slap that would've made Jane Crawford proud at about 120am. For the third time since we went to bed at 1100pm.

Well, what do you do with a crying infant when she's so upset and obviously in pain, when you yourself are also in pain by the very same crying infant? Well, you could just put her in the play pen and let her work things out for herself....you could give her a good solid whack on the diaper and say "GO TO SLEEP!", like so many surely do....or you could do what I actually really did. Pick her up unravel her blankie from around her arms and legs, wipe all the accumulated snot and tears from her face, give her a kiss on the cheek and hold on your shoulder and proceed to join her with your own tears and snot. Because in all actuality, we're both just too tired and upset to work any harder at anything else.

Finally, thankfully, baby's mommy comes home from work at 2am or so. By this time I can't see straight enough to even be able to read the clock. Between the lack of sleep, being smacked around by a baby, and the number of shed tears, my eyes just don't work right anymore. But I do see her walk in the bedroom in her pristine white shirt looking for all the world like an angel of mercy come to give me my release to heaven. In this case, my release to the haven of sleep. She says to me,

"Mom, is everything okay? Are you okay?"

And of course, I can't tell her how really abusive her sweet little daughter has been. Well, because I adore my granddaughter, and I just couldn't say a negative thing about her. She's my little angel-baby. It's not her fault that she freaking hates me tonight! So I tell her,

"I'm fine honey, just a little tired. The baby has had a really hard night and she's very, very tired. You should take her right upstairs and get her right back to sleep."

Lovely girl that she is, she gently takes the baby from my arms, I kiss the babe goodnight and they quietly leave my room. I am left in the dark with my wonderful stentoriously snoring husband to finally fall asleep. Yet, when I lay my head on my feather pillows, my eyes remain wide open. Even the left one, still stinging from the lash-burns. I lay there, and lay there. I cover my head with my pillow. I can't breathe, so I take it off and turn over on my belly. Nothing. No Sleep. Not even relaxation. Why wasn't his snoring putting me to sleep too?! I will never sleep again. I will forever be exhausted. It's all because of THAT BABY!

Then all of a sudden I glanced up and over at the clock and surprisingly it was 730am. It was no longer 4am. Ahh, i had slept after all. Somehow, some way, I had finally passed out and slept the sleep of the comatose. It will be a good day. I wonder if my daughter works tonight or if it's her night off....