Little Girls Need Moms

I find it funny that having a bad relationship with my mother teaches me so much more about how to be the right mother than even a good one might have.  The thought and theory that it works comes from the notion that through my failed relationships I have taken away some positive lesson to be learned.  I looked at my life as if it had been some piece of fiction, and I asked what the moral of the story was and how the characters grew.  Each time, I learned something valuable about myself, and all lessons have helped me towards being my better self.

I've only recently realized that this practice can help while still inside the failing and doomed relationship.  The source of failure is now both our faults, but of course originates with the bearer.

Source of failure: love.  

Sometimes I imagine her in her college days when she might have been seducing each little seedling of a future.  One of them ended up being my dad, and I think that says a great deal about her.  I can attempt to brag about my dad without trying to sound like I'm (indirectly) bragging about myself, but it's impossible.  He's a smart guy.  He outsmarted his professors in college without even caring, but that's not a very good example.  We all know what professors really are, but that's another essay for another time.  In the end, my mom chose someone she felt suited her, and who suited her?  The smartest guy around.  It makes sense, too.  She was the only one of her siblings to go to college like a normal person should.  The rest either were manipulated into impregnating young women (yes, it's true) or ended up in drug and alcohol rehab.  She was used to being the brightest, and so she must marry the brightest.

They go along happily for a few years, even have two little squats running around their feet.  She coasts through the first few years because the first little girl was just so docile.  Even after having been thrown into a parenting shock with the second, the Tasmanian Devil, she seemed to be doing okay.  Both were making good grades in school with no disciplinary problems.  Her brother's children were not so lucky.

After a while, though, she begins to wonder philosophically as to who she wants her children to become and how to achieve the result.  Of course, she wants her children to be raised in her image so she treats them accordingly.  She speaks to us as if we are adults; she begins planting good, healthy behavior in our habits; she rewards us for smart behavior.

The result of it all is pretty good.  Her first daughter is at school on scholarship, seems to be having all the normal relationships she should be.  Her second daughter is well on the same path with some nice side dishes of musical talent.

I thought this was the story, but then I start seeing the behavior she's implanting on the two new little daughters she's molding.  I see her rewarding them with "Oh, what a smart girl" when, once a day, they count correctly.  She doesn't see the hugs she should be giving them, or the simple playtime and attention they so desperately want from her.  She doesn't see that the rations of affection she gives them now will be devastatingly missed when she slowly whittles them down to nothing.

Then what do the girls do?  They get lost from trying to find love.  I did.  All through middle school I never had the courage to love myself, and I blame it on her all because she was too busy fine-tuning a smart little gadget to say "I raised the child," somewhere down the line.  At what point, exactly, did she forget that the only thing I wanted was her eyes and her attention.  We were never good enough for her, never good enough to keep her company.  Just good enough to brag about and then tuck into bed.  "Think of all the great things you'll be doing tomorrow!"  And then she stopped tucking us into bed/stopped noticing anything to be proud of/started noticing the heating bill/water bill/dirty dishwasher.

I think that in her eyes we are machines.  All she did was provide the original parts and occasional grease to work out the rust.  When the machine broke after she didn't maintain it, she yelled at it like the piece of tin it is.

I'm losing my focus.  Anyone can blame her mother for feeling lost without love.  Instead, I'm thankful that I have love with Judson and that I can regain some of that lost, truly unconditional love with his family (I never knew it felt like that.  If you're reading this, know you're lucky.  I've never seen such love inside my own home).  More than that, I'm thankful that I can see how to be the mother mine didn't know how to be.  She blames her mother, but I should thank mine for showing me.  So what?

Love.  That's it, and that's all.  Don't hold back the love for fear of seeming foolish.  Don't stop tucking in the little girl, even if she becomes a big girl while you're in the middle of it.  Don't stop reading her stories, or telling your own, or listening to heres.  Don't stop the embarrassing hugs and I Love Yous.   Don't kid about her hardships even when you feel like they've long passed.  Don't ask why she's crying, just hold her and let her listen to your heart.  Do cook her breakfast, her favorite meal, even after she's moved out.  Do act like she's still the little girl whose back you scratched before bedtime.  Do have the deep eight-year-old conversations that bore you but make her feel a part of everything.  Do say you're proud of her, no matter how small her accomplishments are.  Help her cook, sit down with her and help her with homework instead of complaining what a shitty day at work you had.

Most and best of all, be with her as much as you can.  Just talking or sitting or sleeping or watching a movie, anything.  Make it so that when she gets older, she doesn't doubt your love for anything, and make it so that you're the one she runs to when she needs someone.