Mom's Thoughts
Mom’s Thoughts
May 16, 2001
Mother’s Day always makes me feel the same way I feel when a 19-year-old salesgirl says, “My, you look cute in that bathing suit!”
Sure, I look cute—who has she been selling bathing suits to? Elephants? I’d believe her if she said, “man, if I were you I’d make sure I was only going to swim in a private pool with a 12-foot concrete fence, no mirrors and extra room in the deep end for when the waves hit. You ‘re not going to dive are you? You look like the Titanic?” Sure, I wouldn’t buy the suit, but at least I’d respect her.
People don’t tell you you’re okay unless there’s some question that you’re not. You don’t tell healthy people they look in the pink. You say, “Hey, you look great! Your hair is really growing back fast since you quit chemo; you can hardly see the bald spots.” No one ever tells skinner people they look skinny. They say, “That shirt makes you look SO THING—you’d NEVER know you got it at Intermountain Farmers.”
It’s just hard not to suspect the motives of people so enthusiastic that they go out, for no reason, to K-Mart and buy you a geranium. Whenever I get my geranium at church, I always want to say, “What’s wrong? What do you want?”
My kids, I trust. They show up, make their favorite food, pizza, turn on their favorite show, basketball, and leave me the dishes. Their action are sprinkled with enough blatant self-interest that I don’t worry. It’s nice enough but not so nice that I worry about my checkbook. After all, I am the same mother that never went into their bedrooms for the year they had hamsters running amuck, chewing up furniture, breeding like...hampsters, building nests under their beds, because I just didn’t want to deal with it. The woman whose idea of teaching good spending habits was to say, “Here’s ten dollars, go away and don’t bother me.” We all know what kind of mother I am.
Like every other mother, I just about die from guilt on Mother’s Day. I read all those “Remembering my mom” things in the paper: “My mom taught me that I was as good as everyone else and better than most;” “My mom showed me how to keep house and juggle the finances and still have fun;” “My mom is my hero.” I wonder what my kids would write. “She taught us, ‘Don’t get mad, get even’?” That pizza can be eaten at all thre meals when you’re too tired make cereal? And it also makes a nice snack after school while you watch MTV because your mom’s not home.
What’s going to happen anyway? They’re going to leave home, and the first, most important thing they’ll do is make sure they don’t turn out like me. I’m actually a character builder. And after all, they’re going to do what they want anyway. I can’t be responsible for their behavior for the rest of their lives. When they get to heaven, the angles are not going to ask what their mother gave them for breakfast, they’re going to ask if they were good people, if they were kind of their neighbors. Think of what a break it will be for them to be able to say, “I came from a horrible home where my mom taught me nothing.” That’s a 10-point handicap right there. Moses, or whoever’s on duty that day, will say, “Walk right in, set right down.” So to speak.
Then I start thinking about what a terrible daughter I am and what an awful wife. It’s not worth it just to get a geranium and pizza. Mothers, unite! Let’s just say “NO” to Mother’s Day!
May 16, 2001
Mother’s Day always makes me feel the same way I feel when a 19-year-old salesgirl says, “My, you look cute in that bathing suit!”
Sure, I look cute—who has she been selling bathing suits to? Elephants? I’d believe her if she said, “man, if I were you I’d make sure I was only going to swim in a private pool with a 12-foot concrete fence, no mirrors and extra room in the deep end for when the waves hit. You ‘re not going to dive are you? You look like the Titanic?” Sure, I wouldn’t buy the suit, but at least I’d respect her.
People don’t tell you you’re okay unless there’s some question that you’re not. You don’t tell healthy people they look in the pink. You say, “Hey, you look great! Your hair is really growing back fast since you quit chemo; you can hardly see the bald spots.” No one ever tells skinner people they look skinny. They say, “That shirt makes you look SO THING—you’d NEVER know you got it at Intermountain Farmers.”
It’s just hard not to suspect the motives of people so enthusiastic that they go out, for no reason, to K-Mart and buy you a geranium. Whenever I get my geranium at church, I always want to say, “What’s wrong? What do you want?”
My kids, I trust. They show up, make their favorite food, pizza, turn on their favorite show, basketball, and leave me the dishes. Their action are sprinkled with enough blatant self-interest that I don’t worry. It’s nice enough but not so nice that I worry about my checkbook. After all, I am the same mother that never went into their bedrooms for the year they had hamsters running amuck, chewing up furniture, breeding like...hampsters, building nests under their beds, because I just didn’t want to deal with it. The woman whose idea of teaching good spending habits was to say, “Here’s ten dollars, go away and don’t bother me.” We all know what kind of mother I am.
Like every other mother, I just about die from guilt on Mother’s Day. I read all those “Remembering my mom” things in the paper: “My mom taught me that I was as good as everyone else and better than most;” “My mom showed me how to keep house and juggle the finances and still have fun;” “My mom is my hero.” I wonder what my kids would write. “She taught us, ‘Don’t get mad, get even’?” That pizza can be eaten at all thre meals when you’re too tired make cereal? And it also makes a nice snack after school while you watch MTV because your mom’s not home.
What’s going to happen anyway? They’re going to leave home, and the first, most important thing they’ll do is make sure they don’t turn out like me. I’m actually a character builder. And after all, they’re going to do what they want anyway. I can’t be responsible for their behavior for the rest of their lives. When they get to heaven, the angles are not going to ask what their mother gave them for breakfast, they’re going to ask if they were good people, if they were kind of their neighbors. Think of what a break it will be for them to be able to say, “I came from a horrible home where my mom taught me nothing.” That’s a 10-point handicap right there. Moses, or whoever’s on duty that day, will say, “Walk right in, set right down.” So to speak.
Then I start thinking about what a terrible daughter I am and what an awful wife. It’s not worth it just to get a geranium and pizza. Mothers, unite! Let’s just say “NO” to Mother’s Day!
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