Friday, May 05, 2006
She Means Well: My Mom is a Nutcase - Vol. II
My brother and I went to our folks' for the weekend.
They are doing some work around the place as usual. Since it has finally started warming up, all attention has moved to the yard. Of course.
My mom has always claimed to have "mild OCD" as well as a host of various other medical problems. It's not good for hypochondriacs to become nurses. Did you know that hot-tubs carry an infection that gets in and clogs your pores causing you to suffocate and die? It happens a lot. I worry about all those kids I see on those dating shows. Someone should make a movie of the week warning people!
As I try to take in the scene in their yard, I have to wonder if maybe she didn't properly diagnose herself after all. There are more birdhouses! I roamed the yard slowly, trying to find them all. Marking off a section of the property, are a row of dense bushes. There are barely more than buds on them at this point, but they're still fairly dense. I've been creeping about for about 10 minutes, and I've lost count of the number of birdhouses I've uncovered. As I catch a bowl-shaped wicker nest tucked amongst the branches, I laugh. I'm in a real life puzzle picture! How many avian habitats can you find hidden in this picture?
My stepdad is in the dirt, packing in what looks like a bunch of jagged sticks. My mom proudly informs me they're "blahblahblah roses." I have some sort of block that prevents me from remembering plants' names until she's told me hundreds of times. She doesn't seem to mind.
Anyway, these are apparently some spectacular breed of roses that some guy developed. They're ridiculously difficult to grow and maintain, but luckily the guy has written a book detailing all you'll need to grow your own high-maintenance roses. I pick up the various plastic bags scattered around their wheelbarrow. I find a bag of bone meal. Bone meal. Who knew that it was possible to purchase ground up animal bones for your gardening needs? The bone meal is crucial to the development of these super awesome roses along with manure, moss, vitamins, water, insecticides, drainage and placement.
"Wow," is about all I can manage. I cut eyes at my brother, and he shakes his head. It's always the same look, I know he's feeling bad for our stepdad. He's a good guy. The best guy my mom's found. Whenever we visit, it's the same fear that she's driving this man away. We spend a lot of time gently trying to persuade her to ease up on the dude. Of course, she doesn't listen, and somehow he stays. It's amazing really.
So, he's packing in their high tech homemade fertilizer and says these roses are more trouble than they're worth if you ask him. No one says anything and my brother sighs. He thinks she's getting worse. He can't comprehend why she's so demanding and why anyone would possibly want all this stuff. He's also worried that ol stepdad is going to get sick of her crap one day and give her the boot. And then what?
I don't know, but she's not living with me.
We head to farther around the backyard, and I wander off again to see what's new. The old bathtub that they removed last year when they remodeled on its side, just off the patio.
"What's this?"
"Oh, we're gonna bury it, and put some fish in there. See that statue over there with the lady?" One of those stone statues you see at every garden center, a half naked lady with her toga around her waist, pouring water from a vase. That will keep the water moving.
Well that's cool.
"Next summer, soandsos are getting married here, it's gonna be so pretty. We're putting up a gazebo over there."
"A gazebo? What do you need a gazebo for?"
My stepdad volunteers, "We've run out of stuff to border with flowers, so your mom wants a gazebo so she can put flowers around it."
So, they will have this gorgeous deck they've built, with a pond on one side, a gazebo across from that with a giant ass fountain across from that. Surrounded on all sides by hundreds of colorful birdhouses.
"We're gonna landscape it so it all flows together."
Breathtaking. I'm amazed and awed and a little afraid. I know where she's going with this. I understand. She's trying to create peace for herself. For her, and her mom, the garden was a peaceful place. And in her mild OCDness, she's taking gardening to a frightening new level. She can sit in complete silence doing nothing for hours. The water flowing in the fountain soothes her. The multitude of birds' songs fills her with joy. The fat squirrels make her laugh. It's her homemade slice of heaven.
I see this shit in magazines. It's another thing to see it come to life before your eyes. It will be undoubtedly be beautiful. It already is. It's like a mini nature show. We sit there and I point out birds and ask my mom what they are, even if I can never remember. I know a few, though, like cow birds. Those birds are super cool-lookin. They're medium sized black birds with brown heads. You almost can't tell the brown from the black until you see them closer up. They're called cow birds because they follow cows around and eat the flies.
"I really feel sad for you that you can't have a garden this year," my mom tells me, wistfully, "I was really looking forward to us planting together."
"I know, I'm sad, too" I tell her.
And I am. I have to admit, I love the way warm earth feels in my hands. I had started to get excited, planning all the pretty things I was going to try to grow. I suck at gardening, though, so I'm sure most of my plants would die. My ex's mom brought me a bunch of hostas after I first moved in. I dutifully planted them all, surrounding the house, and promptly forgot all about them. She stopped by one day and fussed at me because I hadn't picked the weeds. I told her I had, but they just kept coming back.
"I have to tell you something," Mom says gravely. She's giving me a look I know all too well, she's preparing herself for my defensiveness. She's done something she knows will piss me off, but she had a reason, damnit.
"I called ___." My mom conveniently forgets my rule that when I'm done with you, I have no need to ever say your name again. Neither should anyone else I know. She just casually drops his name all the time. That shit pisses me off.
"I feel hurt, too," she says, "I feel a sense of loss because I really thought you two would be getting married here if not this summer, at least next year. And I introduced the two of you so I wanted to know what happened."
So I brace myself. And swallow it. What's the point of getting mad anymore? She doesn't understand. And it's her fucking fault she's feeling this loss. I certainly wasn't planning on getting married this fucking summer! Maybe I thought about it...but that's neither here nor there. She and his mom being such good friends were so proud of themselves for setting us up. They had our wedding planned before we even met. Our kids had names when they found out we were going on a second date.
She goes on to reassure me that it's for my own good really, "I thought that maybe if you knew then maybe you could do something. Even if you don't get back together, you could know for next time so you don't do it again. I thought it could give us some closure." This is what happens when people who put too much stock in self-help books have children.
So she tells me the crap he spewed. It doesn't matter what it was, really. I mean... it does, I've mulled it over. Perhaps he's got a point about some things. It's not going to change anything, though. We're not getting back together! And I don't understand why she doesn't see that. How hard is it to figure out that no matter what, that part of my life is over?
Now I'm pissed at him, too. I want to call him up and scream at him. Fuck that, drive over there and throw something at him. Because, what the fuck? You tell my mother and not me?! Oh yea, you'd already told me, but I didn't listen. Fuck that.
And I haven't talked to my mom since then. I'm mad. I don't like being mad at her because I'm not sure what to do with it. We didn't talk to one another for years; I certainly don't want to go back to that. She doesn't get it, anyway. She meddles, that's who she is, that's what she does. I told her more times than I care to remember that this relationship was bound to end eventually. It was inevitable. If there is a "one for me," he wasn't it. I would have preferred figuring that out before I moved to the KKK capital of Wisconsin, but such is life.
My brother told her to never, under any circumstances call any of his exes for any reason, ever.
I understand why she does these things. I wish I could make her stop. I can't be angry at her because I feel so bad. She feels like she let us down, that she wasn't a good enough mom. We were poor, we didn't have our dad around. She made a lot of mistakes. Who doesn't? She's mentally flogging herself.
How do you deal with that? I can't argue her mothering skills. Life was fucked up when we were kids, but we're not kids anymore, and we came out pretty OK. At some point you have to let things go. I can either be mad at her forever for ruining my life. I can blame her because I'm damaged. I can hate her for my low self esteem or whatever. Or, I can realize it's my life and do what I need to do. I wish I could make her understand that. Then maybe I can have a visit to my mother's without coming home pissed off.
They are doing some work around the place as usual. Since it has finally started warming up, all attention has moved to the yard. Of course.
My mom has always claimed to have "mild OCD" as well as a host of various other medical problems. It's not good for hypochondriacs to become nurses. Did you know that hot-tubs carry an infection that gets in and clogs your pores causing you to suffocate and die? It happens a lot. I worry about all those kids I see on those dating shows. Someone should make a movie of the week warning people!
As I try to take in the scene in their yard, I have to wonder if maybe she didn't properly diagnose herself after all. There are more birdhouses! I roamed the yard slowly, trying to find them all. Marking off a section of the property, are a row of dense bushes. There are barely more than buds on them at this point, but they're still fairly dense. I've been creeping about for about 10 minutes, and I've lost count of the number of birdhouses I've uncovered. As I catch a bowl-shaped wicker nest tucked amongst the branches, I laugh. I'm in a real life puzzle picture! How many avian habitats can you find hidden in this picture?
My stepdad is in the dirt, packing in what looks like a bunch of jagged sticks. My mom proudly informs me they're "blahblahblah roses." I have some sort of block that prevents me from remembering plants' names until she's told me hundreds of times. She doesn't seem to mind.
Anyway, these are apparently some spectacular breed of roses that some guy developed. They're ridiculously difficult to grow and maintain, but luckily the guy has written a book detailing all you'll need to grow your own high-maintenance roses. I pick up the various plastic bags scattered around their wheelbarrow. I find a bag of bone meal. Bone meal. Who knew that it was possible to purchase ground up animal bones for your gardening needs? The bone meal is crucial to the development of these super awesome roses along with manure, moss, vitamins, water, insecticides, drainage and placement.
"Wow," is about all I can manage. I cut eyes at my brother, and he shakes his head. It's always the same look, I know he's feeling bad for our stepdad. He's a good guy. The best guy my mom's found. Whenever we visit, it's the same fear that she's driving this man away. We spend a lot of time gently trying to persuade her to ease up on the dude. Of course, she doesn't listen, and somehow he stays. It's amazing really.
So, he's packing in their high tech homemade fertilizer and says these roses are more trouble than they're worth if you ask him. No one says anything and my brother sighs. He thinks she's getting worse. He can't comprehend why she's so demanding and why anyone would possibly want all this stuff. He's also worried that ol stepdad is going to get sick of her crap one day and give her the boot. And then what?
I don't know, but she's not living with me.
We head to farther around the backyard, and I wander off again to see what's new. The old bathtub that they removed last year when they remodeled on its side, just off the patio.
"What's this?"
"Oh, we're gonna bury it, and put some fish in there. See that statue over there with the lady?" One of those stone statues you see at every garden center, a half naked lady with her toga around her waist, pouring water from a vase. That will keep the water moving.
Well that's cool.
"Next summer, soandsos are getting married here, it's gonna be so pretty. We're putting up a gazebo over there."
"A gazebo? What do you need a gazebo for?"
My stepdad volunteers, "We've run out of stuff to border with flowers, so your mom wants a gazebo so she can put flowers around it."
So, they will have this gorgeous deck they've built, with a pond on one side, a gazebo across from that with a giant ass fountain across from that. Surrounded on all sides by hundreds of colorful birdhouses.
"We're gonna landscape it so it all flows together."
Breathtaking. I'm amazed and awed and a little afraid. I know where she's going with this. I understand. She's trying to create peace for herself. For her, and her mom, the garden was a peaceful place. And in her mild OCDness, she's taking gardening to a frightening new level. She can sit in complete silence doing nothing for hours. The water flowing in the fountain soothes her. The multitude of birds' songs fills her with joy. The fat squirrels make her laugh. It's her homemade slice of heaven.
I see this shit in magazines. It's another thing to see it come to life before your eyes. It will be undoubtedly be beautiful. It already is. It's like a mini nature show. We sit there and I point out birds and ask my mom what they are, even if I can never remember. I know a few, though, like cow birds. Those birds are super cool-lookin. They're medium sized black birds with brown heads. You almost can't tell the brown from the black until you see them closer up. They're called cow birds because they follow cows around and eat the flies.
"I really feel sad for you that you can't have a garden this year," my mom tells me, wistfully, "I was really looking forward to us planting together."
"I know, I'm sad, too" I tell her.
And I am. I have to admit, I love the way warm earth feels in my hands. I had started to get excited, planning all the pretty things I was going to try to grow. I suck at gardening, though, so I'm sure most of my plants would die. My ex's mom brought me a bunch of hostas after I first moved in. I dutifully planted them all, surrounding the house, and promptly forgot all about them. She stopped by one day and fussed at me because I hadn't picked the weeds. I told her I had, but they just kept coming back.
"I have to tell you something," Mom says gravely. She's giving me a look I know all too well, she's preparing herself for my defensiveness. She's done something she knows will piss me off, but she had a reason, damnit.
"I called ___." My mom conveniently forgets my rule that when I'm done with you, I have no need to ever say your name again. Neither should anyone else I know. She just casually drops his name all the time. That shit pisses me off.
"I feel hurt, too," she says, "I feel a sense of loss because I really thought you two would be getting married here if not this summer, at least next year. And I introduced the two of you so I wanted to know what happened."
So I brace myself. And swallow it. What's the point of getting mad anymore? She doesn't understand. And it's her fucking fault she's feeling this loss. I certainly wasn't planning on getting married this fucking summer! Maybe I thought about it...but that's neither here nor there. She and his mom being such good friends were so proud of themselves for setting us up. They had our wedding planned before we even met. Our kids had names when they found out we were going on a second date.
She goes on to reassure me that it's for my own good really, "I thought that maybe if you knew then maybe you could do something. Even if you don't get back together, you could know for next time so you don't do it again. I thought it could give us some closure." This is what happens when people who put too much stock in self-help books have children.
So she tells me the crap he spewed. It doesn't matter what it was, really. I mean... it does, I've mulled it over. Perhaps he's got a point about some things. It's not going to change anything, though. We're not getting back together! And I don't understand why she doesn't see that. How hard is it to figure out that no matter what, that part of my life is over?
Now I'm pissed at him, too. I want to call him up and scream at him. Fuck that, drive over there and throw something at him. Because, what the fuck? You tell my mother and not me?! Oh yea, you'd already told me, but I didn't listen. Fuck that.
And I haven't talked to my mom since then. I'm mad. I don't like being mad at her because I'm not sure what to do with it. We didn't talk to one another for years; I certainly don't want to go back to that. She doesn't get it, anyway. She meddles, that's who she is, that's what she does. I told her more times than I care to remember that this relationship was bound to end eventually. It was inevitable. If there is a "one for me," he wasn't it. I would have preferred figuring that out before I moved to the KKK capital of Wisconsin, but such is life.
My brother told her to never, under any circumstances call any of his exes for any reason, ever.
I understand why she does these things. I wish I could make her stop. I can't be angry at her because I feel so bad. She feels like she let us down, that she wasn't a good enough mom. We were poor, we didn't have our dad around. She made a lot of mistakes. Who doesn't? She's mentally flogging herself.
How do you deal with that? I can't argue her mothering skills. Life was fucked up when we were kids, but we're not kids anymore, and we came out pretty OK. At some point you have to let things go. I can either be mad at her forever for ruining my life. I can blame her because I'm damaged. I can hate her for my low self esteem or whatever. Or, I can realize it's my life and do what I need to do. I wish I could make her understand that. Then maybe I can have a visit to my mother's without coming home pissed off.
